Cold Skin (13 page)

I fell past Mr Paley.

The rope held.

The mayor is dead.

For all I know he’s still there

swinging below the bridge.

I couldn’t save him.

I squeeze my eyes tight

to stop myself seeing his face.

Roaring in my head

is the certainty that I failed.

I stuff the sheet into my mouth

and bite down hard

to stop myself from screaming.

Albert Holding

Eddie rushed across the river

and my guts tightened

like I’d been punched.

I knew what he was going to do.

Even if he could make it to Paley

he’d never free the rope in time.

Not before the train.

I shouted with all the venom I felt

for Fatty to jump

and spare my son.

My son’s life

in the hands of a coward.

Fatty waited until it was too late,

I closed my eyes,

unable to watch

as the train stormed past.

I was on my knees

beating my fists on the ground,

sure that Fatty had not only killed Colleen

but now he’d taken my son.

Then I saw him.

Eddie had jumped.

He was face down in the water

near the bank.

I dragged him out,

crying,

calling his name over and over,

afraid he couldn’t hear me,

would never hear me again.

He whispered something.

Someone’s name.

I carried him up the track to our house.

My son in my arms.

As I reached the bend

I looked back.

Paley was hanging from the bridge,

the rope swinging tight,

his eyes lifeless,

staring straight across the water

at me.

SEVEN
The bridge

Sergeant Grainger

Albert is in the yard

swinging his axe,

splitting firewood.

He sits on the chopping block

and rolls a smoke,

offering me the packet

as he shields his eyes

from the setting sun.

‘Do you know Mr Paley is dead?’

He shrugs and drags deeply on the cigarette,

letting the smoke drift away.

I say,

‘It must have taken a lot of guts

to do what Mr Paley did.

To jump with a rope around his neck.’

Albert looks up fiercely,

as though he wants to shout,

but he stops himself.

I almost had him.

All I have to do is keep baiting him

and he’ll crack.

He’ll tell me what I want.

What I suspect.

Paley wasn’t alone.

How could he tie his own hands?

I say,

‘Mr Paley did a lot for this town, Albert.

When all you men were away.

He worked tirelessly for the war effort.

Raising money. Organising.’

Albert stabs the cigarette into the block,

crushing it in his fingers.

A voice behind me says,

‘Mr Paley jumped, Sir.’

Eddie is near the clothes line,

hands in his pockets.

His hair is messy

and he looks unsteady on his feet.

‘I was there, Sir.

I saw what happened.’

He walks to the woodpile

and stands beside his father.

Eddie’s eyes are bloodshot

and his dad can’t meet his gaze.

‘I tried to stop him . . .’

Tears fill Eddie’s eyes.

Should I ask him if anyone else was there?

He’ll tell me the truth.

But I already have the answer.

I place my hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

‘Thanks, son.

You did your best.’

I nod to Albert

and take my leave.

There’s no point in pressing Eddie.

He did what he could,

and that was more than enough.

Mr Carter

On my desktop calendar,

Galatians reads:

For every man shall bear his own burden
.

And mine is to sit here

without typing a word.

I notice the spiderweb

hanging from the ceiling.

A huntsman scurries across the wall.

There’s so much to write

and I can’t print a word of it.

Headlines flash through my mind,

‘Mayor commits suicide.’

‘Murder solved.’

Simple.

To the point.

An end to all the rumours.

Except there’s no proof.

I’m not printing gossip.

Or theories.

I’m not calling a dead man

a murderer.

Not on the front page of
The Guardian.

Wilma Paley is beside herself with grief.

I type:

The Mayor of Burruga, Mr Kenneth Paley,

was found dead near Jamison River.

Sergeant Grainger has yet to make a statement

regarding the cause of death.

All of Burruga will mourn this tragic loss of life.

The rest of the article comes automatically.

Mr Paley’s past.

His achievements.

I finish with the line:

‘Mr Paley is survived by his loving wife, Wilma.’

I’m glad they didn’t have children.

At the top of the page

I type the heading:

‘Tragic death.’

Enough said.

Eddie

Sergeant Grainger leaves

and Dad goes back to chopping wood

as if nothing has happened.

I watch him split the ironbark

with clean sharp blows.

He cuts much more than we need for tonight,

tomorrow,

the whole week.

He doesn’t look at me.

‘Dad.’

He grips the axe and swings,

splitting the log in one clean blow.

‘Take these logs in for your mother, Eddie.’

I lean down

then stop myself.

‘No. Not yet.’

He’s going to have to tell me.

I stand in front of the chopping block

and reach for the axe in his hands.

‘Look at me.’

Dad’s shoulders sag.

He glances back at the house

to see if Mum is watching.

My legs buckle and I feel dizzy

as I sit on the block.

Dad crouches beside me,

whispering urgently,

‘Fatty killed Colleen.

The bastard murdered that girl

and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.’

I swallow hard to stop the bile rising.

‘Why? How?

I mean, how do you know?’

Dad looks up sharply,

and he’s about to snap at me.

Then he remembers what happened.

‘I have a right to ask.’

He covers his face.

I see the cuts and burns on his knuckles

from the heavy rope.

They must have fought on the bridge . . .

‘Grainger was asking questions, Eddie.

He suspected Larry.

People were talking about your brother

being drunk that night.

As if
that
made him guilty!

Larry can be a fool,

but he isn’t a murderer.

I told Grainger the killer was a coward.’

Dad looks blindly at the firewood

and the axe, and says,

‘The only cowards in town were Fatty and me.’

My head is spinning.

Dad tied a rope around the Mayor’s neck

because he thought Mr Paley was a coward?

‘What about Butcher?’

Dad shrugs,

‘He goes into the city on Friday nights.’

I grab Dad’s shirt and shake him

with all my strength, shouting,

‘He was late for the train.

He was late for the train.

I saw him running!’

Dad shoves me back

and I tear his shirt.

The rip stops us both

and we look at the cloth in my hands.

Dad says, ‘It was him, Eddie.

He admitted it.

As soon as the rope went around his wrists

he started gushing.

He was guilty as sin.’

I don’t want to hear any more.

I rush past Dad,

jump over the fence,

head into the bush.

I need to get as far away as I can.

Dad calls my name but I don’t look back.

Eddie

By the time I reach the top of Jaspers Hill,

my breath is coming in short sharp stabs.

I drop under the overhang of Coal Scar Man,

keeping my eyes closed,

trying to shut out what Dad has done.

Let me stay here for ever.

I wrap my arms tight around my body

to ease the sobbing,

praying for rain to start

and never stop

until the valley is awash

and the river overflows

and covers our house,

the streets of my town

and cleans away all that blood

from the sand where Colleen died

and floods the bridge where Mr Paley . . .

I can see Mr Paley

just before I got to him.

I remember now.

He said,

‘Forgive me.’

His eyes were calm.

He knew his fate.

He spun around to face the train.

We both jumped.

I reached out for him

and tried to take him with me

but the rope held

and I kept falling

into the rushing water.

Maybe Dad was right,

but how could he be certain?

Unless he was there when Colleen . . .

‘NO!

Please no.’

My whole body starts shaking.

I’ll have to face him.

My father.

Coward.

Sergeant Grainger

Mrs Paley asked me to lock up when I leave.

The store will be closed for a few days,

in memory of Kenneth Paley.

Tonight I’m a cop in the mayor’s office,

taking out one drawer at a time,

emptying the contents onto his desk,

making a right mess,

handling each object.

Staples, fountain pens,

notepads full of work orders,

pencils, sharpener,

paper and an invoice book.

As boring as batshit.

But here, in the bottom drawer,

there’s a green metal box,

locked.

Something moves inside when I shake it.

I could go downstairs to the shop,

grab a crowbar and snap the lock.

But cops aren’t supposed to do that.

So I spend the next thirty minutes

searching for the bloody key,

going through each account book,

through each folder

in the whole bookcase.

I’m about to chuck the box against the wall

in the hope it might break open,

by accident, you understand,

when I remember the key chain on Paley’s belt.

Mr Smyth gave me all his possessions

to pass on to the widow.

I’ve been too busy chasing my tail to do it yet.

It’s on my desk at home.

If there’s anything to find,

it’s in this box.

Sally

It’s dark when I knock

at the Holding house,

quietly.

Quick footsteps,

Eddie’s mum opens the door.

Her eyes search behind me.

‘Have you seen him?’

She looks haunted.

‘He’s not here.

We don’t know where he is.’

She grabs my arm and pleads,

‘You’ll tell him to come home, won’t you?

If you see him.

Please.’

I nod quickly and leave.

Jaspers Hill?

There’s just enough moonlight

to scramble up the track,

calling his name,

listening for an answer.

The rumours are sweeping town.

Eddie tried to save Mr Paley

from jumping off the bridge.

Eddie is curled up on a rock,

head bowed,

hugging his knees, shivering.

I put my arms around him

and hold him until the lights of the mine

glow bright in the valley.

Two sharp siren calls

signal the end of dinner break.

There’s nothing I can say.

I’m staying with Eddie

until he’s ready to come down,

no matter how long it takes.

Sergeant Grainger

I have Mrs Paley’s permission to open the box.

‘Do whatever you have to.

Find out what happened.’

She meant something different

from what I was suspecting.

As kids, we used to search the river

for sunken treasure.

A bunch of us diving,

hands tracing the sandy bottom.

Once, we found the steering wheel

of a Bedford truck.

When I presented it to my father,

he grinned and tousled my hair,

‘It’ll come in handy, son.

If we find the rest of the truck.’

I turn the key in the lock,

and lift the lid.

A white cloth is wrapped around some items.

A broken wrist watch,

a school photo from this year,

a deck of smutty cards

with pictures of naked women

and a bank book.

The last withdrawal was today.

Five hundred pounds.

Mr Smyth gave me Paley’s things in a satchel.

Keys, a wallet, cuff-links,

and a sealed envelope.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s inside.

I should pass this on to the widow.

But, for now, it’s evidence.

Five hundred pounds worth of evidence.

Eddie

I tell Sally everything.

My dad, Mr Paley and Colleen.

She holds my hand and listens.

Sergeant Grainger will ask me

what went on at the bridge.

What can I say?

How can I face my dad again?

After what he did!

What will I tell Mum and Larry?

What if Mrs Paley comes up to me in town

and thanks me for trying to save her husband?

That’s when it hits me . . .

I wasn’t just thinking of Mr Paley.

When I came out of the bush,

I could see Dad

standing on the other side of the river,