I watched my daughter and felt sad and embarrassed, and yet more understood by my ex-wife than I had in the course of our entire marriage. ‘That’s right. You two have talked about this?’
‘Yes.’
‘About me being a prick?’
‘Only to say, like, she wishes she had one,’ Bridie said. ‘A Prick Switch. Like, if she had one, people would leave her alone about what happened in … in the marriage.’
I mulled over a question I didn’t want to ask, a question I already knew the answer to. The answer had been riding in the back seat of my heart for half a decade. ‘People give her shit about the divorce, do they?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Still?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What kind of shit?’
‘Um, like, they call her “The Beard”,’ Bridie said. ‘Or whatever.’
I looked out the windscreen so I didn’t have to look at my child. ‘I’m sorry, Bridie.’
‘I know.’ She popped the car door. ‘I’ll go get the coffee.’
EVAN
Astretch of farmland, where an old iron clothesline stood crookedly on a hill, festooned with sun-faded socks. A group of Shetland ponies grazing in the shade of a pear tree. Hand-painted signs urging drivers to slow down and watch for wildlife. The bridge to Redbelly Crossing township wasn’t visible through the tree line until I was almost on it, white-painted wood and steel frame, bare boards that drummed under the car. I looked across the river and saw the pub, with its striped corrugated-iron awnings and high sandstone chimneys. There was a pair of squad cars and a forensics van parked at the roadside. The entire outdoor seating area was closed off with police tape.
I came down onto the main road and spotted Louis Dodge pacing in front of the police tape, tapping out a message on his phone. I parked across the street from the pub and walked over. The portly, round-faced sergeant from Wisemans glanced up when he heard my footfall in the gravel, seemed relieved to see a familiar face.
‘Oh, Evan. Hey.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘Pretty bad.’
‘Who was she?’
‘Chloe Lutz. From Sydney.’
‘What was she doing here?’
‘Dunno. But because she’s from the big smoke, they’re sending me a detective from there. Guy should arrive any second.’ Dodgelooked at me, paused the texting. ‘Happened last night, we think. They found her this morning. Are you just passing through town, or …?’
‘Hayley asked me to come on to it as lead of the local team.’
Dodge dropped his hands by his sides. ‘Why would that be?’
‘Why do you think?’ I said. ‘She’s trying to get rid of me, and this is the only way she sees how.’
Dodge’s meaty face twitched with conflicting emotions. Anger, frustration, nervousness at the idea that whatever he said now might make it back to Hayley, our shared superior. He was a rule-follower, Louis Dodge. A respecter of rank. It was part of the reason he’d come up to sergeant as fast as he had, in a region where nothing happened and there was no opportunity to prove your skills and get promoted out. ‘Seems almost like—’
‘Like what?’ I asked.Like a reward for bad behaviour, I thought. Dodge could read the words in my eyes. He turned and eased a sigh. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’ll still be needed. Everyone will. I’ll make sure the detective knows you’re number three when he gets here,’ I said.
‘Uh-huh. Thanks.’
‘No worries.’
