The Twisted Knot Read online

  ‘Angel’s Crossing is a small town. We stick together here,’ the woman said. She did not appear to have a shopping trolley or basket. Had she followed Sammi into the supermarket to ambush her? Had they crossed paths before?

  Why had Sammi been singled out? Because she was a woman? Because she had seen the note? Was this the author of the note?

  ‘You’re still a police officer, aren’t you? Do your job. The police need to sort it out before someone else does.’ Although she was a smallish woman and probably in her sixties, there was something about the hunch of her shoulders and set of her chin which unsettled Sammi.

  The woman turned abruptly and stalked up the aisle, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.

  The panic attack came in a rush. Sammi’s head started to spin, and her breath came hard and fast. The tin of pineapple chunks hit the floor for the second time. She had to get out of the supermarket. She abandoned her half-filled trolley and headed towards the door. Quick effective steps – she would not let herself run. She focused on the door, closer with each step. One more step, just one more step. As she got to the end of the aisle, she slowed to look left and right. Where was that woman? She could not cope with another encounter, those eyes drilling into her. The coast was clear and she hastened to the exit, not too fast, so the automatic doors would have a chance to open in time.

  Then she was outside, past the point where the air-conditioning was defeated by the afternoon heat. For a brief moment, she forgot where she had parked her car. But there it was, by the trolley bay. Don’t run. Stay in control. She fumbled for her keys in her handbag. Where were they? Had she lost them in her dash from the store? She looked around, twisting left and right to survey the area around her. There was a car pulling into the parking lot. It was driving slowly, too slowly. She didn’t recognise it. Who was it? Why did that matter? It was a carpark, of course cars drove in here. Calm down. Focus on the keys. The car was getting closer. Were they looking for her? Had they seen her? With a little jingle, she fished her keys out of her handbag. She pressed the key remote, accidentally hitting the button a second time and re-locking the car. She pressed one more time. Hard and with intent. Wrenched the door open, slid in and slammed it shut again, smacking the central locking button as the other car drove past her. The young man inside did not give her a second glance. Her car’s engine growled to life and Sammi turned the air-conditioning all the way up, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. She sat there, clutching the steering wheel until her breathing returned to normal. Only then could she trust herself to drive home.

  10

  Eric Lutczyk went where the action was. Right now, that was Angel’s Crossing.

  He had grown up there, still had friends in town. None of them bothered too much about staying in touch, but when the shit hit the fan, mates were still mates. And one had tracked him down and let him know what was going on.

  He packed a shovel and a shotgun in the back of his Falcon and drove eight hours, only stopping for petrol. It was 1 a.m. on Saturday morning when he let himself into his mate’s house. Although his mate had left the front door unlocked and a pillow and blanket on the couch, he still did the hospitable thing. Got up and cracked some beers for them both.

  When Eric walked into town at about midday, he was hungover and in a bad mood.

  The Royal was the rougher of the two pubs in town and had always served better chips. They were beer battered and fried till they were crispy. You needed a stiff drink to wash down the grease but that went without saying anyway. Breakfast of champions. He wanted to hang out at the pub for a bit, see who was around, what he could find out. Renew some old friendships.

  He was in town because he had business to take care of. There was shit going down and he had every right to be in the thick of things.

  He slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a bourbon.

  ‘Eric? Is that you, ya old bastard?’ A man approached from the pool tables.

  ‘Hey, Taddy! You had hair last time we had a drink together.’ Eric gestured to the barmaid to bring a drink for his friend.

  ‘Yeah, and you had fucken manners,’ Taddy replied.

  ‘Mustn’t have been me then.’ Eric laughed.

  Taddy punched him lightly in the arm and sat down next to him.

  ‘What are you doing in town?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ Eric lowered his voice.

  Taddy shook his head and leant in.

  ‘That fucken rock spider’s at it again,’ Eric said.

  ‘What? Pete?’ Taddy asked.

  ‘Yep. I’ve come to sort things out. Should have done it all those years ago.’ He couldn’t keep the note of anticipation out of his voice. He took a large swig out of his glass. Nearly empty already. He put some money on a dry spot on the bar mat and caught the barmaid’s attention. Before continuing his conversation with Taddy, he looked around to see if there was anyone else around to share his story with.

  11

  Shane Layton wasn’t normally a nervous man. He was usually decisive and firm, used to taking charge. These personality traits had secured him the Officer in Charge position at Angel’s Crossing seven years ago and had since been honed by experience. But right now he was peeking through the slats of his venetian blinds like he was working undercover.

  A number of cars were pulling up out the front of the station. Men, women and even a couple of children piled out of the cars, collecting on the front lawn.

  He watched as the assembly slowly moved to the door of the station. The faces had aged – the years had been cruel to some of them – but he recognised them all.

  ‘I did everything I could,’ he said out loud, but he didn’t even believe it himself. He had failed them. Well, the system had failed them and he was an agent of the system. The blood thundered through his head. Part of him had always known this case would come back to haunt him.

  When Bob had told him about the note pushed under the front door the other day, he had sat in his office poking at each of his recollections, seeing which ones still had the power to bite him.

  A peculiar mix of emotions churned through the pit of his stomach now. Frustration and fear. But then he was decisive again. He strode down to the dayroom and grabbed a set of keys to one of the marked cars.

  ‘I’ve got an enquiry to make,’ he said, to no one in particular, and no one in particular paid him attention. He was the boss. If he wanted to head out, no one was going to stop him. He glanced out towards the front door. He could see the figures on the other side. He turned on his heel and barely restrained himself from running out the back door. He should have stayed. He should have faced them and led from the front. Any other situation, that’s what he would have done. But not this one.

  12

  ‘I’m going to duck out for an hour,’ Bob said, stopping in the doorway of the station’s kitchen. ‘It’s my son’s swimming carnival and I said I’d drop past if I could.’

  Sammi, reading the paper over her lunch, waved a crust at him without looking up. A little later, as she washed up her dishes from lunch, she could hear a commotion at the front counter. The sound of lots of people, voices talking over one another. She quickly dried her hands and hurried to the front of the station.

  Mel was standing behind the centre of the counter, arms spread wide, palms resting on the edge of the desk as disgruntled people pressed up against the other side of the counter. This was her territory and she had the gumption to defend it. Sammi moved next to her, though a half-step back. Her fingertips started to tingle as adrenaline seeped down towards them, ready for anything.

  Mel at least seemed to have some idea what was going on. This was her town. She knew who to address – a middle-aged woman front and centre of the throng.

  ‘How can we help you today, Kayleen?’ Mel smiled as if there was nothing unusual about fifteen people squeezed into the small front foyer. Someone
was holding the front door open so the people outside who hadn’t been able to jam into the foyer could hear what was going on. Sammi watched, keeping her mouth shut, just adding the presence that came with the uniform until she worked out what was going on.

  ‘How’s it going, Mel?’ Kayleen’s greeting sounded friendly enough, but the question was rhetorical. She continued immediately. ‘We’re here because there’s a pedophile loose in our community.’

  Sammi could hear a note of icy bitterness in the woman’s voice. This wasn’t a job for Mel.

  ‘Okay,’ Sammi said, stepping forward. ‘We certainly want to speak with you. But it’s not going to work like this.’ She gave a shaky wave of her hand towards the mass of people jammed into the small space of the foyer. She could smell their sweat and anger.

  ‘Everybody wanted to come,’ Kayleen said. ‘On behalf of Janey. Because she can’t be here. And if we didn’t come, it would be like we had forgotten her. We haven’t. We never will. We haven’t forgotten what happened to her. We haven’t forgotten who did it.’

  ‘The police did everything they could for Janey, your –’ Mel started, but Kayleen cut her off.

  ‘Then why is she dead?’ Kayleen’s voice had raised and her cheeks were flushed with anger. ‘And why is this starting all over again? Tell me that! Tell me why he was never held accountable for what he did and now had the opportunity to do it again!’ Roars of agreement came from her supporters.

  ‘Why the fuck isn’t he locked up?’ someone called out.

  ‘Dirty rock spider!’

  ‘Chop his nuts off.’

  Sammi clenched her teeth to stop herself flinching at the angry noise. Every part of her wanted to back away. There was a ripple of movement as someone outside the door tried to push forward. Sammi could see a mob forming, as group mentality started to drive them towards the counter. There were so many of them, pushing forward. Would the glass panes separating her and them hold? She had a mental image of the glass shattering, bodies and shards of glass flying towards her.

  Her rising apprehension was turning to fear. The sweat started to prickle on her face. This was surely tied in with the note at the front counter and she wanted to hear what had triggered it all. But pedophilia was a highly emotive topic and things could get out of hand very quickly. She wanted to call for help. Where did Bob say he’d gone to? What about the senior sergeant? It appeared to be only her, Mel and an unruly mob.

  She had to take charge. It was that or turn and run. She could do this. She raised her hands to get attention.

  ‘It’s not going to do anyone any good, you all coming in here like some sort of lynch mob, yelling and shoving,’ she said loudly, trying to keep her voice calm and authoritative.

  It didn’t help. The crowd surged as a single mass when someone from the back pushed forward again.

  ‘Fuck the police!’

  ‘We pay your wages!’

  Sammi couldn’t see who made those comments, and she suspected that was precisely why they were made. She had to take control before this became dangerous. She banged both hands on the counter, a flare of anger giving her momentum.

  ‘That’s enough!’ she shouted. She felt all eyes in the room on her and she squared her shoulders against them.

  ‘I am more than happy to talk to two or three of you,’ she said, winding back the volume of her voice but not the tone, ‘and help however I can. But if you come in here swearing at me and trying to intimidate me, you’re going to get yourselves locked up. I’ll call the crew in and we’ll see how many people fit into that watchhouse. So sort out who’s going to talk to me like civilised adults and the rest of you can wait outside.’ Her face burned and sweat covered her forehead. Mel stayed beside her, and Sammi was grateful for the support.

  Kayleen turned around to the crowd and made a flapping gesture with her hands.

  ‘All right, we’ve made our point. We didn’t want any trouble. So do what the officer said, and go outside.’ There were a few mumbled responses, but clearly Kayleen had summoned this crowd, and thankfully she had the power to disperse them too. They filed out the door, leaving Kayleen and an older woman behind. With a start, Sammi recognised the woman who had bailed her up at the shops. Sammi could also see the resemblance to Kayleen and guessed the older woman was her mother.

  A man was pushing forward against the people moving out of the door. He was muscular in a wiry way which suggested muscles built by manual labour rather than the gym. This and the greenish homemade tattoos spotting his arms gave him a thuggish look.

  ‘I should be here too,’ he demanded.

  Kayleen gave him a dismissive wave. ‘Not now, Eric.’

  ‘We’re fucken talking about the pedophile who raped my daughter! Don’t fuck me off, Kayleen.’

  The older woman turned now, hands on hips. ‘Understand, Eric. This isn’t about you.’ Her voice belonged in a morgue. ‘We don’t need you in there making a scene.’

  Eric gave her a death stare but didn’t challenge her. Sammi kept her mouth shut and her eyes open.

  ‘Okay, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll sort this shit out myself.’ He turned away. ‘The cops were never good for anything the first time around anyway.’ He gave the front door a hard shove. They all watched as he stormed out.

  ‘That was probably for the best,’ Sammi said to the two women. She took a deep breath. She needed to be in charge. She opened the door from the front foyer into the station and ushered the two women into the interview room.

  She turned to close the door behind her, throwing Mel a grateful smile. On impulse, Sammi didn’t shut the interview room door properly, leaving it open a crack. Just in case.

  ‘My name’s Sammi,’ she started. Everyone in town knew who she was, but it was a civil way of starting the conversation.

  ‘Kayleen and Wendy,’ Kayleen said.

  ‘Yes, I met Wendy at the shops yesterday.’ Sammi left it at that.

  Kayleen shot a glance at her mother but then addressed Sammi. ‘This is about my daughter, Janey. Mel knows all about it.’

  Wendy jumped in. ‘Your boss knows all about it too. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have the guts to come down and face us. Left it to some poor junior who doesn’t even know what it’s about.’ Her tone was bitter.

  Sammi bristled at being referred to as a junior, but knew better than to say so.

  Kayleen bumped her shoulder against Wendy’s. ‘Mum!’ she said sharply. ‘Be nice.’

  ‘You know how angry this makes me,’ Wendy replied in a low voice, but she sat back a little.

  ‘Janey overdosed four years ago. It’s still very upsetting for our family,’ Kayleen explained. Wendy made a low grunting noise in her throat.

  ‘Fourteen years ago, when Janey was twelve years old, we lived next to Faye Woodford. That was when she was still out on the farm, before she handed the property on to her sons. Her younger son, Peter, was living with her at the time. Faye seemed to be a good neighbour, and she babysat Janey for us a few times. Not often. A couple of times when we wanted to go out to dinner or when there was a special event on. Janey always seemed a bit odd when she got back, but never said anything when I asked her.’ Kayleen paused and took a deep breath. ‘She kept it to herself for years.’

  Wendy couldn’t contain herself. ‘That bastard, Woodford, raped her,’ she spat. ‘She wasn’t even a teenager when it happened. Still a girl!’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Sammi murmured. She doubted they were listening but felt compelled to say something.

  ‘He should have been castrated and locked up when it happened back then. But you know what happened to him?’ The full force of Wendy’s anger was directed at Sammi. All she could do was sit tight and weather the storm. This wasn’t personal, she reminded herself. This was directed at the uniform. She knew from reading the report what was coming next. She made sure she main
tained eye contact with Wendy. Wendy wanted to be heard. Sammi could at least listen to her.

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your yellow-bellied boss was the investigator. He never charged him, never drove him out of town. Woodford was allowed to keep living here, in the same town as the girl he had destroyed.’ Wendy was nearly yelling now, tiny specks of spittle flying as she spat out each word.

  Sammi recalled the report she had read the other day, finalised with no charge. She understood the legal system that tied their hands on occasion. She was probably the only one in the room who did.

  Kayleen reached over and patted her mum’s arm. ‘It’s not Sammi’s fault,’ she said. Sammi turned her attention to Kayleen now. She could see Wendy out of the corner of her eye, staring down at clenched fists.

  ‘Janey started behaving badly after all this happened,’ Kayleen said. ‘We had trouble controlling her. At first we thought it was because she was approaching puberty. It was nearly three years before she told us what had happened. He had raped her twice, two different times when Janey was at his mum’s house. Eric wanted to go around and sort things out himself, but I persuaded him that we should go to the police.’

  ‘That was a mistake! Eric might have done something useful for once in his life,’ Wendy interjected loudly. Kayleen made a shushing noise at her.

  ‘Eric and I broke up after the investigation was over. He was very angry. Sometimes he didn’t know what to do with his anger.’ Kayleen lowered her eyes and Wendy placed a hand on her daughter’s forearm. Sammi’s heart dropped even further.

  Kayleen took a deep breath. ‘Your boss, Shane, investigated. He was a detective at that time. He took statements and poor Janey had to have a medical examination, even though it had happened years earlier. That really upset her. She was a teenage girl by then, and was horrified at being poked and prodded like that. Then Shane got her to phone Peter while he taped the call to try to get him to admit what he’d done. Pretext call, I think he called it?’