An Isolated Incident (11 page)

‘A newspaper writer from Sydney, I know. I've just had Cheryl Sands on the phone blabbering apologies about having given out my address.'

‘I hope you don't mind, I –'

‘Nah, it's fine. Come in, come in. I've just made a cuppa, d'ya want one?'

‘No, thanks.'

Julie's living room reminded May of her grandmother's place in Blacktown. Spotless peach carpet, grey fake-leather lounge, glass coffee table bearing a weekly gossip magazine and a romance novel, mantelpiece holding a series of photos in matching gold-coloured frames and a cross-stitch of the serenity prayer. Julie drank her tea from a mug saying SAVE A FUSE, BLOW AN ELECTRICIAN.

‘I should tell you that I didn't know Bella very well. We'd say hi if we saw each other at the shops but other than that . . .' She shrugged, smiled apologetically.

‘I was hoping you could tell me about Nate Cartwright, actually.'

Julie's smile slackened a little, but her tone remained light. ‘Not much to know about Nate. What you see is what you get.'

‘Was he close to Bella?'

She sighed, put her mug down on the table. ‘He was once. She lived with him and Chris for a while. But since he moved up to Sydney, he hasn't been great at keeping in touch. I mean, we see him when he passes through but don't hear much in between.'

‘Why did he leave town? Was it a bad breakup?'

‘Look, I hope this doesn't sound rude, but I don't think that's really anyone's business.' She turned her mug around in her hand.

‘I get that, it's just . . . The news has been full of stories about Bella's death, and that's fair enough, I mean, it was terrible and people want to know the details, want to understand, but I feel that what's been lost in all this is the story of her
life
. Who she was before she was turned into news.' May noticed Julie's eyes tearing up; she leant forward, spoke softly. ‘And who she was, I think, was a woman who cared about her family and friends very much. And from what I can tell she counted Nate in that group, but I also understand it was complicated because of his relationship with Chris. So, I'm trying to get a picture – a true, full picture – of who she loved, who loved her and –'

‘Okay, yeah, yeah, look, I can tell you some stuff, but I'm not going to, you know, invade his privacy or anything.'

‘Julie, it's no secret that he and Chris have a continuing relationship. I mean, he's hardly left her side since they found Bella, but he refuses to speak to the media – which I respect, I understand – but rightly or wrongly, it does give the impression that he's got something to hide, you know?'

Julie shook her head, smiling with a kind of desperation that made May want to tell her to stop being so fucking accommodating. People-pleasers made May's job so easy and her spirit so tired.

‘It's not a matter of hiding anything. It's a very, very hard time. None of us can take it in, what happened. Me, as soon as I even start to really think about it, my mind kind of shoots off in another direction, because it's just too much. And if I feel like that, then imagine what Chris is going through. And you know, if Chris is suffering then Nate will be . . .' Her smile dropped, then came back smaller, less pleading. ‘You're right about him and Chris, you know, it's so complicated. I mean, the way those two were together, geez, nearly ruined my marriage. Like, you know all that stuff you believe about love when you're eighteen and then by the time you're twenty-five you realise it's total crap? Like, you accept that real love – long term and that – well, it's not going to be a thrill a minute, it's not going to be constant bliss. Not that I don't love Melvin, but he's not exactly Christian Grey, if you get what I mean. I accepted that, thought, well, this is what real love is. Not a thrill a minute but nice all the same.' She shrugged. ‘But then those two hooked up and suddenly it seemed I was wrong about what was possible. I felt ripped off. Like I'd settled. I mean, seriously, you never saw a couple so perfect together. Hands all over the place like teenagers, but in between that you'd see them talking or listening to the other one talk to someone else and you could just see how much they
liked
each other. I was happy for 'em – I mean, I love Nate like a brother – but geez I was jealous, I tell you what.'

‘So what went wrong?'

Julie shook her head. ‘Private stuff. Stuff that's none of my business let alone yours. I can say, though, it made me appreciate what me and Mel have. Calm, no drama.' She looked up at the mantelpiece, seemed to remember something, turned back to May. ‘Bloody hell, I can go on with some rubbish! Look, none of what I've said has anything to do with anything. What's important – I mean, if you're going to write about any of this – what's important is that Nate and Chris are very good friends, always have been from day one. Things didn't work out with the marriage and that's their business, but there's no way that Nate wouldn't support Chris through this. Not being able to stay married doesn't mean the bond between them is gone. I can't imagine him not being there for her right now. And, yeah, he loved Bella. He really did.'

The interview with Julie had given May some useful colour and phone numbers for several of Nate's local mates. It had also poked at her pain so acutely that she had to waste an hour buying, cooking and eating five packets of two-minute noodles smothered in processed cheese slices and then emptying her guts into the hotel toilet. It was, like smoking, a disgusting habit that she thought she'd ditched when she finished uni but which had reasserted itself in the past week. So there was another thing to hate Craig for: her regression into a pathetic nineteen-year-old stinking of vomit and fags.

She brushed her teeth then sat on the bed and listened back to the interview.
That stuff you believe about love when you're eighteen and then by the time you're twenty-five you realise it's total crap?
Such grief and shame at those words. Such fury. Thirty years old and she'd imagined herself cynical and street smart yet had believed entirely in the idea that Craig was her everything and she was his and that nothing could part them.

They'd met at a funeral, of all places. She'd just completed a profile piece about the old poet who'd passed; Craig was a mate of the poet's grandson. Like in a cheesy romance novel their eyes met across the room and it was all May could do to stay in her seat for the rest of the service. She searched for him in the milling crowd outside the chapel, had a second to take all of him in – young, lean, snake-hipped, expensive grey pants worn too low – before he saw her looking, closed the space between them. Within an hour of old Charlie's body being lowered into the ground they were fucking in May's entry hall.

They swapped scraps of their lives between breaths between kisses between violent bucking between sated naps. He worked at the council, in records, which wasn't what he cared about but was the best job he could get around here with his degree, which was in history, plus it was undemanding and so gave him lots of time and access to do what he was really interested in, which was research his family – Oh! Family history interested her, too; in fact, she'd considered studying history but had decided on journalism because it seemed to offer better prospects but ten years later here she is still doing – Ten years? So she was . . .? Huh, same age as him, almost to the day, born in the same hospital, even. If his family hadn't moved north when he was three they might well have gone to kindergarten and primary and high school together. They might have been lifelong friends by now, childhood sweethearts married young, a houseful of kids together before they turned twenty-five. But as it happened he'd lived in Cairns all those years and only returned here five years ago because his wife got a job working at – Yeah, a wife. And kids, three of them if she could believe it, which she could, because of all the things that had happened to her this day the existence of three children was the least remarkable of all. But she was worried, because she just assumed – No, no, it's his fault, he should've said something but the energy between them was so – I know, I know, it's just I thought – He kissed her lips, her forehead, her lips again. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. What had happened was a once-in-a-lifetime, and even then only if you're lucky, kind of thing. Love at first sight! They laughed; such a silly phrase but it's what it was. If he'd known today was coming – that she was coming – he wouldn't have ever married, but how could he know? And now, she said, now we'll just have to deal with it the best we can, with as little hurt as possible, and he nodded, kissed her until she couldn't breathe, and she thought how it would have seemed to her, mere hours ago, a ridiculously, embarrassingly, presumptuous thing to assume that a man whose surname she didn't know would leave his marriage and children for her, and yet as it happened it was completely and utterly obvious. Of course he would. Of course the two of them, May and Craig, were together and it was serious. It didn't need to be said.

May glared at her un-ringing phone. What a fucking idiot child she had been.

She made a cup of tea to help soothe her raw throat and began to phone the contacts Julie had given her. On call number three she hit pay dirt.

AustraliaToday.com

Bella's brother-in-law a ‘criminally violent man'

May Norman

10 April 2015

As Strathdee police continue to search for answers on who might have abducted, raped and murdered 25-year-old aged-care worker Bella Michaels, it has emerged that the deceased's brother-in-law, Nate Cartwright, 40, has a history of violence towards women.

In 2001
Cartwright was sentenced to twelve months in prison following a cowardly attack on his then girlfriend Liza Townsend. Court records show that Cartwright punched the woman, who was half his height and weighed a mere 50 kilograms, breaking her nose and causing a concussion which required hospitalisation.

Cartwright's defence claimed that Townsend had attacked first, slashing his chest with a broken bottle. The court accepted this as a mitigating factor and Cartwright was only required to serve one month of his sentence in prison, with the rest served as home detention.

Julie Atkins, a close friend of Cartwright, spoke yesterday about the continued relationship between her friend and Ms Michaels' sister, Chris Rogers. ‘Not being able to stay married doesn't mean the bond between them is gone. I can't imagine him not being there for her right now,' she said, though she refused to comment on just why the two were ‘unable to stay married'.

Meanwhile, two different sources close to Bella Michaels' family have alleged that Cartwright assaulted Ms Rogers on at least one occasion.
AustraliaToday
has been unable to confirm these allegations.

According to Monica Gordon of the women's rights activist group Femolition, ‘most women who are murdered die at the hands of someone they know well and most of those killers have a history of violence. Of course Mr Cartwright has the presumption of innocence in the case of Bella, but that doesn't change the fact that he is, by definition, a criminally violent man. One hopes the Strathdee police are taking the potential threat this man may pose to Chris Rogers and to other women in the community very seriously.'

Strathdee police confirmed that they have interviewed Cartwright in relation to his former sister-in-law's death, but said that he is not considered a suspect. Cartwright and Rogers were contacted by
AustraliaToday
, but declined to comment.

Saturday, 11 April

‘Babe, listen.'

‘What I usually do when I pick up the phone.'

‘Yeah, serious though. You at home?'

‘It's six in the morning.'

A breath. ‘So. Thing on the radio just now. They've found a body.'

‘A body.'

‘A woman's body. They're not saying if –'

‘Like Bella, you mean?'

‘They're not saying. Could be nothing to do with –'

‘Oh, fuck. Nate. Fuck.'

‘– Bella. I just thought . . . You haven't heard from the cops?'

‘I haven't heard anything. Jesus, Nate. They've done it again, haven't they? The fucking cops have been pissing around asking about bloody bullshit nothing shit and meanwhile these
things
have been out there and they've –'

‘Babe, please. Take a breath. We don't know. We don't know anything. Just . . . Listen, I had to drive up to Sydney late last night, I'm still here, but I'll be back in Strathdee by this arvo. Can you maybe head over to Lisa's or something until then? Wait for the police to call. If it's anything to do with Bel they'll call, otherwise, try not to worry about it.'

I stared at the wall, wishing for the dark spot. I don't know why. I stared and then squeezed my eyes closed, popped them open. Nothing nothing nothing.

‘Chris? You right, babe? Come on, you right?'

‘Yep.'

‘You sure now?'

‘Right as rain. See you later, hey?'

My phone rang again as soon as I hung up. Unknown number. I ignored it, dialled Detective Brandis. Went through to voicemail. I showered, stood naked in front of my wardrobe for so long that when I snapped out of it I was dry. I dressed in my gym gear and sneakers and headed out. Lisa was at her window; she did a double take and then waved. I waved back, kept walking, all brisk and focused like. I imagined her feeling pleased I was getting some exercise.

The walk to the cop shop was just under half an hour. I kept expecting to be stopped along the way, but either no one noticed me or they saw the look on my face, which I reckon must've been as grim a picture as anyone'd ever seen, and let me be. I walked fast, had to admit it felt good. Better than curling myself around my pillow and staring at the wall. Better than bouncing on top of that Tyler shithead. Almost as good as bourbon. Almost as good as pressing my back against Nate's chest and feeling him mould himself around me.

Out front of the station the reporter from the Wagga TV news and a couple of newspaper types were clustered together smoking and drinking coffee. They all seemed to spot me at the same time, dropped their smokes and cups, slung cameras and recorders out of nowhere as they jogged towards me.

‘No.' I kept walking, bumping elbows and hips and feet with the fuckers. ‘No,' I said again and pushed through the station doors, letting them swing shut behind me. Inside, I leant against the wall and tried to catch my breath. Sally Perkins spotted me and called out to someone behind her. It took seconds before Brandis's sidekick was closing his cold dry hand on my sweaty forearm, leading me through to the room with the whiteboards and chairs and pot plants.

‘Chris, mate, what's happening? You look a little – Alrighty, let's get you sat down, eh? That's the way. Now, tell me what's this about? Did you think of something –'

‘They've done it again, haven't they?'

‘Sorry, mate. Not sure what you're –'

‘Another woman, killed like Bella.'

He screwed up his brow, scratched his head. Every fucking move the man made was straight out of the picture book my cousin used to teach her autistic son how to identify emotions. ‘Chris, if you know something about –'

‘She's talking about Miller.'

The dickhead turned towards the woman who'd spoken. ‘What's that got to do –'

‘Fucking Roddro talking about it on his show this morning. Implying it's related.'

‘Why the fuck would he do that?'

The woman put down the coffee pot she'd been rinsing, dragged a chair from behind a nearby desk and sat with her knees almost touching mine. She was in her late forties, dressed in a grey pants suit that looked as if it'd feel like clouds. Best thing about her was that she was almost blocking the dickhead cop from my view entirely.

‘Miss Rogers, I'm Detective Sergeant Belinda Mancini. I'm over from Wagga on a matter unrelated to your sister's case, but I have been following it and I want to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.'

‘Thank you.'

‘What's happened is that we have unfortunately had a murder overnight, but there's no connection whatsoever with your sister. We know this for certain, but we can't release any of the info to the public yet and so idiots like Roddro on 2SB are filling in the gaps for themselves and stirring up all this fear and panic and, for you –' she touched my hand ‘– real distress. I'm so sorry about that.'

‘How do you know for certain? I mean, another woman murdered this close to –'

‘We can't tell you that for the same reason we can't release to the public.' The boofhead scooted forward in his chair, his big legs crowding into the space between Belinda and me. ‘You've just gotta trust us on this one. It's nothing to do with your sister.'

‘Okay, so, have you . . . Is there anything, have you found anything about –'

‘You know we're working hard on it, Chris.'

‘You need to work harder! Someone else could be –'

‘Chris, mate, I gotta go. Brandis is waiting for me. We'll be in touch when there's something to be in touch about, alright? Belinda, get her a cuppa or something and make sure she's got a way to get out of here without those maggots out the front grabbing her?'

‘I don't want a cuppa,' I told Belinda. ‘I just want to know how you can be sure that this wasn't – by the same – because they're still out there, they're still –'

‘Miss Rogers.' She squeezed my hand and leant in very close. ‘Between us, right? We know who killed this woman last night. We know this but haven't finished gathering the evidence we need to arrest him so we can't say anything.'

‘But what if it was – was she –'

‘Nothing like Bella. This was . . .' She closed her eyes, looked back into mine with a look of such deep sorrow I felt my chest split open.

‘Fast,' I finished for her.

She nodded. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘I know. Thank you.'

Young Matt offered to drive me home and I accepted but soon as I got in the car with him I started shaking like I did on that first day, so I told him I felt like walking. He drove until we were clear of the media mob and then let me out.

I'd only been going a couple of minutes when an Avis rental car pulled up beside me.

‘Ms Rogers, Joel Frankle from –'

‘No,' I said and kept walking.

The bastard parked right there in the bus lane, came after me on foot. ‘Ms Rogers, can I talk to you for a moment about your relationship with Nate Cartwright?'

I kept walking.

He trotted alongside me, smelling like sweat and tomato sauce. His recorder hovered near my chin. ‘Given his history of violence, aren't you concerned that –'

‘I'm not giving interviews.'

‘Did Nate Cartwright have something to do with Bella's death?'

Like a punch in the stomach, it was, but I didn't stumble or gasp or even look at the grub.

‘Are you covering for him, Ms Rogers?'

‘Fuck off,' I managed to say.

‘I'm only trying to –'

‘Fuck off or I'll call the cops, charge you with goddamn harassment.'

He let out a little laugh, said something about not being my enemy, but he turned and headed away from me.

I went straight to Lisa, asked her if she knew what the dickhead had been on about. She ducked and dodged a bit but then gave in and showed me the
AustraliaToday
article about Nate.

Look, yes, two years before I met him, Nate spent a month in jail for breaking his girlfriend's nose. He would have spent longer, but the fact she'd first slashed his chest with a broken bottle meant the judge went easier on him. Nate got sober right after it happened and stayed that way for almost six years. He fell off the wagon on my thirtieth birthday when I begged him to have a glass of champers to celebrate with me. He said no a few times and I nagged and sulked and then he took a sip and then knocked back the glass. He whooped and kissed me and we finished that bottle and then bought another and then started on the bourbon. We had a blinder of a night. Drinking and laughing and fucking and then drinking some more. Next day I was so hungover I could barely open my eyes, but when I did I saw in his face that he would never forgive me and he never really has.

That we lasted as long as we did after that is testament to what a wonderful bloody man he is. He's hurt me like I never thought possible, but he's the best of men, best of people, he really is. He tried hard to forgive me for getting him on the booze again. Tried hard to take responsibility for himself even as I continued encouraging him to drink with me each night. And when he decided to get sober again he spent months trying to talk me into doing it with him. He tried so hard. And I tried just as hard to keep him drunk. I don't know why. I suppose I was scared of losing him, but I had no reason to think that's what would happen if he sobered up again. He'd fallen for and married me while straight, after all.

In the end, he got into a fight outside the pub after Grey kicked him out for bothering me when I was working. When I finished up and came out he punched me in the face and when a bloke passing by told him to lay off, Nate knocked him over and then kicked him in the guts a few times before I managed to get him to stop. The bloke didn't press charges, thank Christ, although the police wanted him to. Wanted me to as well, but I couldn't. I'd asked for it, really. Not the punch, but the man who'd thrown it. I'd egged him on for years.

We had a bad few days after that. Screaming at and hating each other. I told him if he hit me again I'd send him back to jail. He believed me, even though I'm not sure myself I would've done it. But he believed I would and that was enough. He told me he needed to get sober again no matter what. I told him he was pathetic, that most men didn't use booze as an excuse for belting women. I accused him of being weak, compared him to the winos who got maggoted every night down at the footy oval. Broken, cowardly, weak losers who'd been barred from all the pubs 'cause they couldn't enjoy a couple of drinks without turning into whiny, self-pitying thugs.

Nate listened to all that and then he told me he loved me and packed his stuff and left.

AustraliaToday.com

Local woman victim of domestic dispute

May Norman

11 April 2015

Police have this afternoon confirmed that the husband of Tegan Miller, 22, who was found dead in a Strathdee shopping centre dumpster, has confessed to her murder.

Mrs Miller had been shot in the back of the head before being placed in the dumpster outside StrathTown on Elizabeth Street, where a security guard found her late Friday night.

The local rumour mill churned with speculation that the killer or killers of Bella Michaels may have struck again, but all such talk stopped with the arrest of 24-year-old Bradley Miller.

The Millers had been married for three years and, according to a source close to Mrs Miller, had a ‘tempestuous' relationship. ‘They were always fighting, making up, fighting again. But arguing, not physical fighting, far as I knew. I never would have thought him capable of this. He loved her so much,' said the friend, who asked not to be named.

Strathdee police have confirmed that Mr Miller was suffering from self-inflicted knife wounds when arrested. He is under police guard at Strathdee Hospital until he is well enough to be transferred to Wagga Wagga for a court hearing.