Cam looked at the thing dangling from McManus’s forceps and drew in a sharp breath of recognition.
“Hey,” he said, “it’s a piece of weed.”
“Caught in the right descending bronchus, a common area of entrapment. But is it weed or grass?”
“No, the leaf is too broad for grass. May I?” Cam relieved McManus of the forceps and examined the ribbon of green under a magnifying glass. After a moment’s study he said, “It’s dam weed, Doc, I’d know it anywhere.”
They both looked up and exchanged expressions of triumph.
“There’s your cause of death then, Sergeant: fresh water drowning. I’ll send it and the other samples off to the lab, but I’d bet my last dollar, that’s it. I’d better continue with the rest for the sake of routine. I suppose you want the stomach contents analysed too?”
“His last meal might tell us something.”
“Yes. I imagine it’ll look a bit like an underdone haggis.” He gave Cam a wink, and the caterpillars wriggled.
15
Her hands were shaking so much she was having difficulty doing up the buckles of her overalls. They weren’t real overalls as in work clobber of course; her Gramma had bought them for her in Sydney from a trendy little boutique on The Rocks. She’d never worn them before; they made her look too young. Now Ruby was glad she hadn’t chucked them out, as they were perfect house-cleaning clothes. She giggled aloud. Jesus, who’d have thought Ruby Fraser would go voluntarily to some nut-ball teacher’s house to clean?
She wasn’t sure if she was shaking from nerves or excitement and concluded it must be a mixture of both. She liked the weirdo teacher and she was sorry for what she had done. But it wasn’t as if she’d gone to the school intending to commit a crime in the first place. She’d only ridden to the school to get away from the dotty old biddy at the stock feeder’s, and see what kind of prison her dad was going to lock her in next. Angelo had told her about the hippy English teacher and when she saw the car she couldn’t resist the chance to see if there was mull stashed in the glove box. She’d wanted it for Angelo – she didn’t even like the stuff much. The only time she’d ever smoked it she’d coughed herself silly and made like an idiot in front of her friends.
She’d only done it to get back at her Dad.
Shit, but she hated this waiting; Cecelia had said she’d be coming at nine and it was already ten past.
Ruby sat on her bed to tie her sneakers, then moved to the window in the lounge to gaze down the street and listen for Cecelia’s car. Her nerves were stretched taut; she had to do something to pass the time or she’d snap. There was a mountain of washing up at the sink and she made a move toward it, but stopped just in time.
She poured herself some milk from the fridge, drank it then left the scummy glass on top of the pile.
At last she heard the car chugging outside. She opened the front door to give Cecelia a cautious wave. The woman beckoned her over and indicated for her to climb in.
“Is your dad at work, Ruby?” Cecelia asked as they took off from the curb with a screech. Ruby nodded, suddenly feeling shy and nervous. She began to play with the buckles of her overalls; it seemed no amount of fiddling would get them untwisted.
She wasn’t ready for Cecelia’s next question.
“What does he do?”
Ruby’s head snapped up from her task.
“Your dad,” Cecelia qualified.
Ruby ran her tongue around her lower lip, knowing that whatever lie she told would be as transparent as water to this woman.
Cecelia took her eyes off the road for a moment and smiled. “It’s none of my business, I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. I don’t mind.” Ruby took a deep breath. It felt funny to have an adult apologise, especially as she was the one supposed to be doing all the grovelling.
“He works for the government.”
She’d have to tell Cecelia sooner or later. She was after all enrolled at the school where Cecelia worked. She’d tell her when she’d done the cleaning, when she wasn’t feeling so nervous. It was awful to have a dad as a cop. Even before the fire it had been hard. Friends never wanted to stay for dinner despite the fact he was rarely home. And she’d often noticed how they’d hesitate before telling her things, worried that she’d squeal to him.
But she never squealed.
Sometimes she thought her secrets were the only things she had left.
“The government?” Cecelia repeated with raised eyebrows, probably realising he could be anything from a postman to a bus driver. “Did you tell him anything at all about yesterday?”
“I told him I’d fallen off my bike and a lady took me home.”
“What did he say?”
Ruby bent her elbow and regarded the surgical dressing her father had so carefully applied to it. “I don’t think he heard me. He was in a hurry to get to the pub.”
Cecelia Bowman lived in an old single storey cottage. Hammered into the ground by time, the house stood firm and squat as if weighed down by its expansive umbrella of corrugated tin roof. Colourful hanging baskets dangled on chains from the eaves and swayed in the breeze like rainbow pendulums. Cecelia and Ruby parked in the driveway. A neighbour weeding her front garden looked up and gave them both a wave. Ruby waved back, forgetting for a moment she didn’t belong here.
Cecelia’s bloodhound, Prudence, sat waiting for her mistress beside a blood red standard rose. Her tail flicked when she saw Cecelia and she bounded towards them as they passed through the gate of the small, fenced garden, almost knocking her mistress over with her enthusiasm. The dog accepted Ruby after a cautious sniff, leaving a thick string of drool on her overalls. But Ruby’s squeal of revulsion soon became a laugh when she saw the warmth of Cecelia’s smile and the humour in her eyes.
The dog followed them into the cool of the old house. Cecelia told her what needed doing, showed her the cleaning equipment, then disappeared into her study to sew. She was making pouches out of blue and pink baby flannel for the orphan joeys at the wildlife sanctuary, she’d explained. Soon the whirr of the sewing machine was the only indication that Ruby was not alone in the house.
Ruby enjoyed the cleaning more than she thought. It was as if she’d been given a licence to snoop: to find out everything she could about this woman. She started in the kitchen, wiping the surfaces and cleaning the sink.
Bunches of dried herbs dangled from the ceiling and left a fragrant dust of seeds and crushed leaves on the bench tops. She wiped them away first, noticing how they filled the kitchen with their scent, evoking images of delicious foods like roast turkey with stuffing, pizza, pasta and fresh garden salads. One set of shelves was stacked high with recipe books, and on the other neat rows of sparkling jars contained ingredients with unpronounceable names.
The fridge was covered in pieces of paper curling over a colourful assortment of fridge magnets. She removed them so she could give the fridge surface a good wipe. Most were photocopies of children’s poems: Jane Davis year 8c, Claire McDonald, 8a, Jackie Godet 8c: all written in loopy childish writing. One of them was dedicated to ‘Miss Bowman, best English teacher ever.’ There was also a hand-drawn picture of the slobbering bloodhound, Prudence, sitting next to the standard rose. This must mean that some other girl or girls had been to Cecelia’s house and met her dog. Small greasy fingerprints dotted the fridge door, adding further evidence to her theory. Ruby wiped them away as quickly as she wiped away the fleeting notion that she was somehow special to Cecelia.
Prudence followed her wherever she went, her toenails clicking on the polished wood floors. The dog’s sad expression never changed, even when Ruby fed her a homemade biscuit from a tin she’d found in the kitchen cupboard. Ruby laughed aloud when the dog wagged the tip of her tail but continued to look miserable. She bent down and pulled at the dog’s jowls.
“Come on, rubber face, things can’t be that bad. You just have to make the best of it.”
Shit: “You have to make the best of it.” Wasn’t that what her dad was always saying? Shaking her head in disgust, she went to clean the other rooms.
Framed photos covered almost every spare inch of wall space in the hall. Ruby took each one off the wall to give it a thorough clean, spending the longest time on the wild animal photos. She liked the echidna the best. The photo had been taken in the early evening and it was standing on its shadow looking as if it couldn’t decide between worms or ants for dinner. She smiled and carefully put the photo back on the wall. She wanted to spend longer looking at the other animal photos, but time was running out and she still had the vacuuming to do.
On the way home they called in at Flo’s for a milkshake. Flo’s was an old fashioned diner and the only good thing Glenroyd had going for it. It was cool in a retro way, with vinyl records hanging on strings from the ceiling, pictures of old rock ’n roll stars on the walls and a jukebox in the corner that could have been a Star Trek prop. The owner, whose name really was Flo, had hair as tall as a chimney and always smelt of smoke. Ruby could imagine her stooped over the pots in the kitchen, the cigarette in her mouth sprinkling the secret ingredient that people always said was the
je ne sais quoi
of her cooking. She made good milkshakes though, and Cecelia ordered them both a chocolate.
The diner was deserted except for a figure at the corner table. Ruby saw it was Leanne before she could think up an excuse to duck back to the car.
Crap crappity crap. This was not what she needed right now. She’d wanted to tell Cecelia about her father in her own time, one on one, but now she was sprung. Cecelia would think she was hiding things from her; any remaining hope she’d had of this woman liking her was lost.
Leanne gave her away, just as she’d feared.
“Hey, Cecelia,” the policewoman called out.“Come and have a bite of this mud cake, it’s nearly as good as yours.” She saw Ruby and did a double take. “Well, hello, Ruby. Come and sit down.” She patted the plastic chair next to hers.
Ruby hadn’t known Leanne long, but liked her despite the fact that she worked for the enemy. She forced out a smile and drew up the chair.
Cecelia waved a hand between the two of them in surprise. “So how do you two know each other?”
She probably now thinks I know Leanne professionally, Ruby thought. Caught me in the middle of some kind of heinous crime like tying a firecracker to the tail of a cat. Ruby rested her chin on her hand and sighed. She was beginning to know what it felt like to be a hardened criminal.
Leanne said, “Boss’s daughter – you know, Sergeant Fraser. You met him when you found the body.”
Cecelia raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to speak. Ruby jumped in first. “I was going to tell you, Cecelia.”
“I reckon she’s embarrassed her dad’s a cop,” Leanne said with an understanding that surprised Ruby.
Cecelia laughed. “Really, Ruby, it’s no big deal.” She turned to Leanne.“I came across Ruby after she fell off her bike, took her home. We’ve been friends since.” She waved a finger at Ruby. “Of course, the eyes. You have eyes just like him. I thought they looked familiar.”
Ruby winced. She hated her eyes; she’d always wished they’d been like her mother’s, large and brown.
Leanne changed the subject, thank God. “Have you tried some of Cecelia’s mud cake, Ruby? I tell you, it’s to die for.” She took a bite of the cake in front of her, wrinkled her nose and whispered out of Flo’s earshot, “It’s much better than this shit.”
Ruby laughed. Now she felt like one of the girls.
“I thought cops only ate doughnuts,” Cecelia said.
Leanne’s voice was muffled through a mouthful of mud cake. “American cops eat doughnuts, Aussie cops eat mud cake. It’s in the International Code of Conduct.”
The women seemed to be good friends despite being so different, and soon Leanne was offering an explanation. “I failed English and had to repeat to get into the police service. Cecelia tutored me in exchange for housework, that’s when I first sampled her cooking. I tell you, it was almost worth failing for.”
Cecelia gave Ruby a sideways look. “I’ll do anything to get out of housework.”
“Suits me,” Ruby said with a secretive smile.
“How are you going with the murder investigation?” Cecelia asked.
“My end’s going nowhere fast. Seems everyone in this town knew of Herbert Bell but no one can tell me anything about him. I just popped in here for a sugar fix before pounding the beat again. We’re all hoping the autopsy will show up something. Sarge is there now; I don’t envy him that job.”
“He doesn’t care,” Ruby said without thinking. Both the women looked at her as if she’d just declared she didn’t believe in God.
Cecelia said, “He probably does, Ruby. It just wouldn’t be professional if he showed it.”
Ruby shrugged and began piercing the froth of her milkshake with her straw. Leanne broke the awkward silence. “So are you looking forward to your new school, Ruby?”
Shit, here we go again. She turned to Cecelia. “I’m going to your school. I was going to tell you that too, I just didn’t, I didn’t…”
Cecelia gently squeezed her arm. “Ruby, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure you would have told me sooner or later.” She raised her hands to her mouth. “Of course, you’re the Fraser I’m seeing tomorrow. You and your dad are coming in for interview. Oh shit.” She bit her lip and looked at Leanne. “Ruth and I gave him a hard time in the lab the other day. I’m glad I’ve been warned. I’ll need a good think about how to approach this.”
Leanne gave a hearty laugh. “Oh yes, I heard all about that – jeez, you and Ruth, drinking in the lab, what a couple of dags.” She grinned, running her finger around the plate to scrape up the last of the icing.
Cecelia coloured.
Leanne shrugged. “It’s OK. Just act like it never happened.”
The older woman nodded but still looked worried. Ruby giggled and took a sip of milkshake to stop herself from laughing any more. Her dad had told her about coming across the drunken teachers in the science lab, though of course she’d pretended she wasn’t listening.
Leanne licked her finger clean and waggled it at the two of them. “So, Sarge doesn’t know that you two know each other?” she asked.