You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll

Author:B.M. Carroll [Carroll, B.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Profile
Published: 2021-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

28

BRIDGET

Bridget and Sasha debrief in the car. The young detective constable seems unperturbed about working the weekend. Bridget likes her dedication.

‘Right, so we need some background checks on the boyfriend, Alex, and a list of the vehicles and firearms licensed to the family farm. Can you run with that, Sasha?’

‘Sure thing.’

It’s a twenty-minute drive to Megan Lowe’s address, their next port of call. Another cloudless blue sky and a lazy Sunday-morning air. Sadly, Bridget has too much happening to enjoy the drive.

‘Let’s check in with Dylan, make sure he’s safe.’

Bridget spoke to Dylan last night and relayed her concerns for his safety without sharing too many specifics about the investigation – a very delicate balancing act. Dylan would be on her visiting list today if he weren’t away on the south coast for the weekend. Bridget considered driving down there until common sense – and her overwhelming workload – prevailed. A twenty-four-hour delay is tolerable, once she knows he’s not in harm’s way.

‘Dylan? This is Bridget Kennedy again. Just checking in.’

‘Everything’s f-fine.’

‘What time are you getting home tonight?’

‘Ah … Ah … ten … May-may-maybe later.’

Too late to arrive on the doorstep of the family home; Dylan still lives with his parents.

‘Look, can you send me a quick text when you get back? Just being cautious until we get to the bottom of what’s happening here … And I’d like us to talk at some stage tomorrow. Can you come in to see me?’

They agree a time and Bridget ends the call. She’s interested to see him face to face, this stammering man who was accused of sexual assault at the tender age of eighteen. What kind of impact did the case have on his life? I haven’t been able to sleep, he said in his statement at the time. I feel so guilty and embarrassed. I really liked Megan, and I thought she liked me. I was drunk, too. My judgement that night was pretty crap. I’m so sorry that I hurt Megan.

Now that Bridget has spoken to him a couple of times on the phone, she knows that the statement would have been delivered in a very faltering fashion, with none of the fluency of the written version.

William Newson and Thomas Malouf are dead. Is Dylan nervous that he’s next?

Megan Lowe’s house is on a tree-lined sleepy street, two kilometres outside Hornsby’s town centre. It’s a weatherboard, a small house on a large block like most of its neighbours. A ladder leans against the gutter; there’s a man standing three-quarters of the way up. A woman is painting the trims of the doorway, and another is engaged in vigorous sandpapering. Music is playing loud enough to be heard from a distance: Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’, one of Bridget’s favourites. Their arrival has been registered by the woman who’s doing the sandpapering, presumably Megan’s mother. She turns the music down abruptly.

‘Can I help you?’

Her tone is hostile, which is off-putting because her appearance is so cheerful: pink lipstick, dyed brown hair held back from her face with a floral bandana.

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