The Summertime Dead Read online

  ‘No, but we can be civil, even friendly to him – and the others – just as we would be to any other visitors. I’m sure they’ll be just like you and me.’

  He kept staring at the sky so she wondered what he was seeing up there.

  ‘Time will tell, I suppose,’ he said. ‘I’m going to bed, anyway. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Terry.’

  She listened to his footsteps disappear.

  Why it even mattered to her what people thought of the town, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was about wanting to fit in, she supposed, wanting to be accepted as one of them when her greatest fear was being moved on again, as if the summoning of all the people alongside her would prevent it from happening. The murders were a stain on them all, not just a tragedy for the two families and their wider circle, but an indictment on a place that such a thing should happen amongst them. Small acts of mercy and kindness, therefore, were a way of restoring pride and virtue to a place, and of barricading it against further attacks.

  Whatever Terry thought of this Fielder she would do her level best to have him and his friends see that they were a welcoming town. She looked forward to seeing Lloyd too, who was always good to her, and to seeing his wife Nancy. She liked Nancy, even though she was a mystery. She drank, and you could see that in her foggy eyes, and in the way drink took a hold of her. The Coles’ two children were grown up and living in Melbourne and she wondered if the children being away from her was the reason for her drinking, or if she had always been like that.

  Regardless, she was excited by the prospect of company and Friday’s barbecue couldn’t come around quickly enough for her. It would be a splash of rain in this drought.

  Chapter 6

  Next day as the Melbourne detectives began interviewing the dead youngsters’ closest friends, Cole drove to the Faradays and Quades to spare them the further grief of attending the station after they’d made a positive identification of their children.

  He found Ron and June Faraday inconsolable. With family and neighbours clucking about, Cole sat across a low coffee table from the devastated parents, his own thoughts and attention constantly distracted by the movement of visitors around him. An unsolicited cup of tea was set down before him. Then came a bread and butter plate loaded with scones and shortbread biscuits. A large dish with slices of fruitcake added to the offering. It was as though the weight of hospitality might hold at bay the heavy burden of distress that lay over the house, for the Faradays could barely raise their heads to speak to him. Seated on a wicker chair beside her husband, June mopped her eyes with a handkerchief as Ron tried explaining what he felt, as much to those hovering about him as to Cole opposite.

  ‘What had she ever done?’ he implored tearfully. ‘A beautiful girl like her? How could she have ever deserved anything like this, our Rosy?’

  Cole knew they were too upset, too bewildered to give him anything, so he expressed his condolences and made small talk with the rest of the gathering, many of whom quizzed him as to what line of inquiry the police were pursuing. As he listened as sociably as he could, he felt the subtle tone of accusation in their voices, as at the same time they raged against the filth and vermin that would be capable of killing two innocents. As if ‘These … these people!’, as though their existence was a deflected slight on the police force and its members, that these criminals could have been allowed to perpetrate their ungodly crimes in a community such as theirs.

  Cole reassured them as best he could and tried to tamp down the heat in the room. Such was the feeling in the house, he was glad he hadn’t sent a junior in to talk with them.

  He made his farewells to the family and left, thinking he’d made a mistake in going.

  Expecting more of the same, and furthermore beginning to feel guilty that he’d approached these smitten houses, he knocked on the Quades’ front door. The copper’s life, he thought, as he waited for his knock to be answered. Who would ever want it?

  But it took a minute for the door to open, and it was Peter Quade, Max’s father, who stood at the door, saying, ‘Come in’ to Cole as he turned back into the lounge room.

  Cole closed the door behind him and joined the Quades. There was no offer of food and drink here, no invitation to sit down so Cole asked, ‘Do you mind if I take a seat for a minute? I’d just like to ask a few questions.’

  A stout man with a generous belly, Peter Quade waved his arm, ‘No, of course, sit down. Wherever you like.’

  Quade went to take a seat but Cole saw he couldn’t manage it, that he had to stand. His wife Zelda was also standing, and was also jittery.

  ‘I’m sorry about your son,’ Cole offered. ‘From what I knew of Max himself, and from what others say, well, you couldn’t hear of anyone more highly thought of.’

  ‘You couldn’t,’ Quade said. ‘He was golden. Golden. The best son a father could have.’

  As he spoke the last sentence his eldest son Conor entered the room. Cole caught the fleeting shadow passing over the boy as he heard his father’s words.

  Zelda Quade tried adding to what her husband said. ‘He was … he was … just the nicest boy …’ she began, but couldn’t continue.

  Conor, a smaller version of his father, his fair hair tightly sprung in dense coils, stood by his mother and touched her shoulder, shooting daggers at Cole that he should have come to their house and upset her in this way.

  Cole stood, too, when it was clear the Quades weren’t going to be seated.

  ‘I just wondered,’ he went on carefully. ‘If you might have had any more thoughts about what happened that night. Or before Max went out. Anything he might have said, not just then but in the days or weeks before. Any spat or argument he might have mentioned.’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything,’ Quade said wearily, a hand passing through his springy hair. ‘I don’t know anyone would have had anything against him.’

  ‘How was his mood when he left to go out that night?’

  It was a question he’d asked before. Quade seemed to have been avoiding his gaze, but now he did direct it to him.

  ‘He was Max,’ he said. ‘The same old Max he was all the time. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. Nothing ever got to him. Nineteen and all his life ahead of him. How do you ever make sense of a thing like that?’

  ‘It was that bastard Furnell!’ Conor cut in. ‘I said from the start that he was right in on it.’

  ‘We’ve been speaking to him, and others,’ Cole answered calmly.

  ‘Why don’t you arrest him then?’

  ‘We don’t just jump in, Conor. We have to make sure we’ve gathered all the evidence we need to make a charge stand up in court. It’s no good to anyone if we don’t. And a team of detectives has arrived from Melbourne now that it’s a murder investigation. We need to keep an open mind about things.’

  ‘We don’t need them to tell us who did it!’ Conor spat.

  ‘Conor,’ his father gently rebuked him and the young man fell silent without losing the glowering stare he’d fixed on Cole.

  ‘Did you ever see Rosaleen Faraday here yourself?’ Cole asked his father.

  ‘Maybe once or twice. Why?’

  But Quade’s eyes were looking elsewhere, seeing something Cole couldn’t.

  ‘Would you have said they were just friends, or do you think there might have been more to it? We have witnesses who believe they saw sexual activity between the pair.’

  ‘They were mates, sergeant, that’s all.’

  His wife interrupted, ‘But Conor, dear, you knew her better than Max, didn’t you?’

  ‘Me?’ Conor asked. ‘How would I know her?’

  ‘Didn’t you take her to that dance?’

  ‘What dance?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was a few months ago. I can’t remember exactly when, can I?’

  ‘I didn’t take Faraday to any dance,�
� the son muttered. ‘She’s been going out with Furnell for ages, the weed.’

  He gave a grunt of disgust and left the room.

  ‘He’s upset, that’s all. It’s hard when you lose your brother,’ Quade explained.

  ‘Yes, it must be very hard,’ Cole agreed. ‘On all of you. Maybe I’ll talk with you at more length another time. I’ll just ask a couple more questions and I’ll be on my way, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Quade replied, but distantly.

  ‘You’ll appreciate we have to explore every avenue when something like this happens, Mr Quade. What led to this tragedy may have been something to do with either Max, or Rosaleen, or both of them.’ They were standing by the chimney mantelpiece and he noted the ledge free of dust, an array of framed family photographs on it. ‘Or – and this might be a long shot – it might have been to do with neither of them.’

  Quade looked at him, surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting anything, it’s just something we have to cancel out. That Max and Rosaleen might have been killed for reasons that had something to do with their families.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Or the Faradays. It’s not the obvious motive, of course, but if there’s anything we should know about, now would be a good time to tell us.’

  ‘Tell you what?’ Quade demanded.

  ‘Whether there had been any threats to anyone in the family. If there has been any trouble, threatened violence for example, from anyone in the past. Or, say, whether you owed a substantial amount of money to anyone and it’s become a problem.’

  Quade reddened.

  ‘I want you to get out. Now!’ he shook.

  Chapter 7

  Ray Furnell strode into the police station. Cole glanced up and saw him coming in.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Lloyd,’ he said and Cole immediately knew what he had come for. ‘I want to talk to the other bloke.’

  ‘He’s not here, Ray. Tell me instead.’

  ‘Lee just told me what happened,’ Furnell said, his temper up. ‘I knew something was wrong. He didn’t want to say but I made him. You think Holloway has got the right to lay into Lee the way he did? Isn’t that assault?’

  ‘There wasn’t much in it, Ray.’

  ‘You think I didn’t see the bruises?’ Furnell hitched up his shirt to show the places. ‘Here and here? Think I wouldn’t like to give Holloway a piece of what he’s got coming to him?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea, Ray. Look, I know this isn’t a happy situation. Sometimes when things get heated, things can go end-up. Your boy gave him a bit of lip, you know. But you’ve got my word. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Truthful?’

  ‘That’s my word. And you know that means I’ll do what I can.’

  Furnell looked at him and then slowly nodded his head.

  ‘It wasn’t him that done it, Lloyd. I know it looks that way and bad and everything else. But it wasn’t him. And if Holloway gets into him again I’ll take it into my own hands, I swear to God I will.’

  ‘Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, because it won’t do anyone any good.’ He took a breath. ‘Has Lee said anything else about that night, anything that might give us a clue?’

  ‘Nothing. He doesn’t know.’

  ‘What about you, Ray? Have you heard or seen anything?’

  ‘If I did, I’d tell you, but I got no idea.’ A frightened look came into his eye. ‘I thought and thought about it, you don’t know how long, but I couldn’t think of anyone who might’ve done it. And I’m not about to stand here and put the blame on someone else just to save Lee. That’s not my way.’

  ‘No, I know it’s not. But you can take my word that we’re giving it all our attention here, thinking about all the angles and the reasons.’ He pulled himself up. ‘What about Rosaleen, though? I’m not saying she invited trouble, but do you think she might’ve been the type to have other boyfriends besides your boy?’

  Furnell thought. ‘I’d see her around the place. Sometimes she came to the garage. She didn’t say much to me, but what kid talks to someone else’s parents? I probably didn’t know her much better than any other of Lee’s friends. She seemed a good kid, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘You’re probably on the money then.’ Cole could see that Furnell, for all his rough manner, was softer underneath than he liked people to think. ‘I should tell you,’ he went on. ‘We’ve got the Melbourne detectives here now. The Homicide Squad. At some point they’ll want to speak to Lee, too. Encourage him to tell it straight just as he told it to me.’

  ‘Won’t they take your word for it, Lloyd?’

  ‘I’d like to think they would, but I don’t know them or how they go about their business. They might not do it the way I would.’

  ‘They won’t believe him then. I got a feeling about it. But I can’t let him keep taking it either. A boy’s got to grow up, sure, but his girl’s been killed and people are saying it’s him. Christ, the whole town is talking, Lloyd, and you don’t think he’s paying a price, too? He loved that girl. He never said it to me but I could see it in him. He can hardly hold a spanner in his hand now he’s that low.’

  ‘You’ve just got to take it as easy as you can, Ray,’ he said. ‘They’ll find who did it. This will blow over.’

  ‘And mud sticks. And the longer they don’t find out who killed Rosy and Max the harder it will be for Lee, for all of us.’

  He turned then, casting a final glance around the station as if he might catch Holloway, before he pushed back out through the door with his head down.

  Cole sat back down at his desk. The truth was he didn’t know what Fielder would do, how he would tackle it. Whether he would just charge at Lee Furnell – his first guess being the only guess he was interested in – or whether he would cast his net wider.

  When Terry Holloway came back to the station they decided to take the outside air for a while, getting into the police car and criss-crossing Mitchell’s streets with windows fully down.

  ‘Furnell came in about his son,’ Cole said.

  ‘I saw him driving off.’

  ‘He’s pretty adamant that Lee didn’t do it.’

  ‘He’s the boy’s father. What else would he say? Anyway, it’s not up to us now, is it?’

  ‘That depends on what Fielder wants us to do. Or not do.’ He paused. ‘But what Ray Furnell was saying, Terry. You can’t do that again to Lee.’

  Holloway nodded. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Lloyd. It was the way he was slouching around, then sniping at me. I just snapped.’

  ‘Still.’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ Holloway reassured him. ‘How did you get on with the Faradays and Quades?’

  Cole took the corner back into Main Street.

  ‘The Faradays are in pretty bad shape. The Quades, too, but in a different way.’ When Holloway looked at him inquiringly, he pressed on. ‘I’m not completely sure what’s going on there. But there was something odd about the way no one else was at their house. Not that that says anything, but you’d think someone would have been there to give them a hand. And then Peter Quade was right on the back foot when I asked whether anything had happened in the family that might have invited trouble from elsewhere.’

  ‘You’re talking about his business ventures?’

  ‘Not in as many words to him, but that’s what I was angling at. He was more than a bit touchy about it, I’ve got to say.’

  Holloway laughed sourly, ‘No wonder. He sold the newsagency, went speculating in property around here just as the drought hit. I’d hate to think how much money he borrowed. Greed.’

  ‘He borrowed plenty, I’m guessing. And you’d be struggling to give away a property at the moment.’ He shifted down a gear as they dawdled along the street. ‘What do you m
ake of the Melbourne blokes, Terry?’

  ‘Not much. Especially Fielder.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s just something about him that rubs me up the wrong way.’

  ‘Well, if Melbourne sent him they must think he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Think. That’s the right word for it. If they actually did know they would have sent someone else.’

  Cole laughed. ‘He has rubbed you up the wrong way, hasn’t he?’

  He slowed the car even further before pulling in against the kerb.

  ‘What are we stopping for?’ Holloway looked around.

  ‘Lee Furnell. A bit further on there,’ Cole said, taking a hand off the wheel to point ahead.

  The young man had his back to them, his hands in his pockets as he ambled along the footpath. Cole eased the car out again, other cars passing as he maintained a distance between them and the boy.

  ‘Are we going to pick him up?’

  ‘No. Sometimes you can tell something about people just from the way they walk. I want to watch him walk.’

  What they saw was Furnell with his head bent as he mooched along the hot footpath. As he approached the shops he slowed down even further, once even drawing away from the path to wander into the grassy area leading to the memorial park. Cole took the car to the kerb and cut the engine, starting it again only when Furnell wandered back to the footpath and resumed his path to the shops.

  Cole said, almost to himself, ‘He’s going into town. He doesn’t want to, but he’s going. He knows what they think of him. Or he thinks he knows what they think of him. Let’s see where he goes.’

  Chapter 8

  Lee Furnell turned into the almost deserted London Milk Bar and slumped into a booth by the window.

  Ruby Bunn stood behind the counter serving.

  ‘Chocolate milkshake,’ Lee glumly ordered from his seat.

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty hot out there, Lee,’ she said, watching him. ‘Going to be a hundred again today they reckon. How come you’re not working for your Dad?’