Bitter Wash Road Read online

  Hirsch acknowledged, then fired an e-mail to Sergeant Kropp, explaining the circumstances. So I’ll be in Adelaide all next week, sorry Sarge.

  ~ * ~

  After breakfast, he made another run at the Donovans’ house. The tired Mazda had returned. He mounted the veranda, reached out his knuckles and knocked.

  Nothing. He looked across at the Muirs’, sensing their eyes on him.

  Just then the red door screeched and a woman appeared, rounded, not plump, untidily beautiful, drawing a brush through damp red hair. Taking in Hirsch’s uniform she said, ‘Yvonne said you’d dropped by.’

  As if he’d been an old friend passing. Hirsch removed his cap and said, I’m very sorry, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through, everyone has such kind things to say about Melia, but I wonder if I could have a quick word with you and Nathan?’

  He stopped, conscious that he was babbling. The door widened and he was hit by a front of stale warm air from inside the house, faintly laced with dope and beer. ‘Only if it’s convenient. I could come back tomorrow.’

  Everything stopped. Leanne Donovan was very still in her doorway, her eyes clear and searching, then her hands moved, squeezing the end of a rope of the thick hair. Fresh out of the shower, her body was scented with shampoo and lotions and, despite himself, Hirsch was aware of her flesh beneath the green sundress.

  ‘Nathans not here.’

  ‘That’s all right, I’ll catch him another time. Could I come inside, do you think?’

  Her voice came raggedly, ‘It’s like a bad dream,’ and her eyes filled.

  ‘Yes. I’m very sorry.’

  She dropped where she stood and might have slapped onto the cement front step if not for the door frame and Hirsch grabbing her around the waist. ‘Let’s get you inside. Would you like me to fetch Mrs Muir?’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  Her legs found their strength and Hirsch eased her along a narrow corridor to a worn, dimly lit sitting room. A bulky old TV set dominated one wall, a detergent ad splashing blue and red over the reflective surfaces—the glass cabinet against one wall, the glossy veneer coffee table. A lived-in room, with a couple of empty bottles, an overflowing ashtray, a spill of lifestyle magazines. On one wall there was an image of Christ on the cross, on another Christ gazed soulfully past Hirsch’s shoulder. But no grime or spills, and the only other furniture was a card table in the corner, crammed with a boxy old computer, a cheap inkjet printer beside it. Communal computer? He settled Leanne Donovan onto a floral fabric sofa, but it faced the television set, which continued to paint the room, so he found the remote and switched it off.

  ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’

  Leanne fiddled with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. ‘I’m okay.’

  God, Hirsch was dreading this. ‘Before I start, were you told there’ll be an inquest?’

  Leanne nodded. ‘This lady rung me from the coroner’s, she said Dr McAskill’s finished the autopsy and I can have Mel back to bury.’

  There was a pause. A word you can’t sweeten, autopsy. Knives, saws, fluids, the peeling back of flesh. Hirsch said, ‘Do you have a day for the funeral?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘Would you mind if I came?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Another pause, and Leanne said, ‘Dr McAskill said she must of been hitching.’

  Hirsch trod carefully. ‘Her injuries and the position she was found in do suggest that.’

  Leanne was very still and then she reeled and wailed. Hirsch waited. She swiped a sleeve across her nostrils and gasped, ‘Sorry, I’m okay, it hits me out of nowhere sometimes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. She was alone up there? Someone just left her to hitch home? Was she, you know, drunk?’

  ‘She’d had a couple of drinks.’

  ‘Where was Gemma? She should of been looking after her.’

  ‘They went their separate ways earlier in the evening. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Everyone wants to make me tea. What I want is my daughter back.’

  ‘I understand. Perhaps we could start with what Melia had planned for the weekend.’

  Hirsch strained to hear the reply. ‘She didn’t come home, the little devil.’

  ‘She usually comes home after a night out with Gemma?’

  ‘She’s a good girl.’

  ‘So you don’t know what she was doing or who she was seeing in Muncowie?’

  No reaction. Hirsch didn’t know if the woman was taking it in or not. Maybe she had never taken an interest in her daughter’s movements. ‘Mrs Donovan? Does she know anyone up there? Did she mention a party she was going to, for example?’

  No response, then, ‘Nathan’s all I’ve got now.’

  ‘Did Melia have a boyfriend, Mrs Donovan? Could she have been with him on Saturday night?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Hirsch felt his insides stir. ‘Can you give me his name? I’ll need to speak to him.’

  She shook her head, her eyes weepy but alertness returning to them. ‘It was a secret. She didn’t want to jinx it, you know.’

  ‘You didn’t meet him.’

  ‘No.’

  Speak to her friends, Hirsch thought. Better still, speak to her enemies. If the boyfriend was an older man, married or single, or a farmhand, or from a town outside the district, he’d not be easy to find.

  In a choked voice Leanne Donovan said, ‘It was a hit-and-run?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Would she of felt...Did she...’

  ‘It was instantaneous, Mrs Donovan,’ Hirsch said, reaching out to touch her wrist before he could stop himself. He saw her shrink away and knew she was watching a nasty movie in her head.

  The voice rose. ‘She shouldn’t of had to hitch home. Someone should of given her a lift.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hirsch said, understanding why Gemma Pitcher had left town. ‘We’re still not sure of her movements after the pub in Redruth.’

  ‘She likes a good time, why shouldn’t she?’

  ‘Think back: did she say anything about her movements, anything at all? Did she mention anyone’s name, for example?’

  ‘Not to me,’ Leanne muttered, looking mad and incomplete.

  ‘Did Gemma usually pick her up when they went out together?’

  Leanne just looked at him, helpless.

  ‘They were together in the early part of the evening but later separated. Mrs Donovan, I’d dearly love to know who she might have hooked up with. Have a think about it, will you, please? Ask around? Get Nathan to ask his mates?’

  ‘They wouldn’t know anything.’

  ‘I found her bag, but no mobile phone. Did she leave it at home?’

  Leanne scoffed. ‘Her and mobiles! She loses them and I can’t afford to buy her new ones all the time, plus she run up a huge bill last time.’

  ‘So she doesn’t have one at present, she’s not on a plan?’

  ‘Not unless she paid for it herself.’

  Hirsch looked across at the computer. ‘What about Facebook? E-mail?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Did she use the computer in this room, or have one of her own?’

  Leanne shook her head. ‘We all use that one.’ Looking oddly shamefaced, she said, ‘Bob and Yvonne gave it to us when Melia started high school. It’s their old one.’

  The sadness and poverty dragged at Hirsch. The Donovans lived on the margins, and a kid like Melia would want what others seemed to have. ‘Would it be all right if I borrowed it for a couple of days? I’ll give you a receipt.’

  He didn’t tell her that he’d found a list of passwords in Melia’s wallet, not that it would do him any good, for the befuddlement faded from Leanne Donovan’s eyes. He could see the cogs turning: she saw dirty tricks, saw a greater darkness attending her daughter’s death, quotation marks around the word �
��accident’.

  She shook her head adamantly. ‘We need it.’

  ‘Everything in confidence, Mrs Donovan.’

  ‘Don’t you need a whatchamacallit, warrant?’

  I certainly do, Hirsch thought. ‘How about if I had a quick look at her Facebook page and recent e-mails? You can sit with me, watch I don’t accidentally stray into anything private to you and Nathan.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right. I can’t think straight and I don’t think you should come here poking your nose in.’

  ‘Yes, all right, Mrs Donovan. Insensitive of me.’

  Hirsch climbed to his feet, feeling the weight. ‘Again, I’m very sorry about what happened to Melia. It’s tragic,’ he added, meaning it.

  ‘You’ll never catch who did it. How can you? Long gone by now.’

  ‘We won’t stop trying.’

  Leanne Donovan drew sharply on the last centimetre of her cigarette, scathing and focussed. ‘They might not even know they done it. Half asleep in the middle of the night, what was that bump? Must of been a rabbit, no big deal, no need to stop.’

  Hirsch knew she had a point. ‘Is Nathan at work?’

  ‘His boss gave him the week off.’

  ‘He works at the grain shed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that his car in the yard?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘How does he get around?’

  ‘What is this? You think he run her over? Who the fuck do you think you are?’

  Fortunately Yvonne Muir came darting in, she might even have been listening, and saved Hirsch from giving further offence.

  ~ * ~

  He said he’d make a pot of tea and hurried into the kitchen, ignored by the women, who were lost in hugs and weeping.

  They’re neighbours who habitually come and go through each other’s back doors, he thought, filling the kettle. The window above the sink was laced with cobwebs in one corner, the insect screen clogged with dust, but he could see the back yard easily enough: a tumbledown chook shed, rotary clothesline with two stiff tea towels hanging from a wire, a rusted car body ringed by weeds. A back gate to a laneway, some evidence of regular use in the path tracked through the patchy grass, the scraped dirt at the base, and Hirsch wondered if the girl had liked to slip out the back way at night.

  Waiting for the kettle to boil, he peered at the refrigerator door. A dozen cards and photos held by cute magnets. A recent shot of Melia Donovan, looking vaguely scruffy in her school uniform, and a family grouping: Melia, her mother, her brother. The brother had dark hair and skin. Hirsch removed both photographs, placed them face up on the table, and took close-ups with his phone.

  He heard a car pull up, doors slam, footsteps, and by the time he’d reached the hallway the boy in the family snapshot stood there, a slender form inside a black T-shirt and baggy jeans midway down his arse. He looked red-eyed and stunned, but the instant he noticed Hirsch’s uniform, the distress faded to wariness, shame and anger.

  Fear, too. Hirsch didn’t have time to read it as another kid came in on his heels, a bulky ginger with pimples and weak stubble. He was alarmed to see Hirsch there, and Hirsch was about to say something reassuring when the kid raised a hand and said, ‘Catch ya later, Nate.’

  Nathan returned the wave. ‘Later.’

  The redhead shuffled away, out to a lowered Commodore that Hirsch recognised from earlier in the week. It complained away from the kerb in a cloud of toxins.

  Hirsch turned back to Nathan Donovan, who’d reached the door of the sitting room. He checked that his mother didn’t need him and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

  Hirsch shook his head. He didn’t want to distress the kid further, but he did need to speak to him. And Nathan must know he wouldn’t go away, or would soon be back if he did.

  He followed the boy, knocked and entered. Nathan was already sprawled messily in the little room, on his back on the bed, arms flung wide, his huge dusty trainers trailing laces across the worn lino floor. This was his cave and he didn’t move when Hirsch took another step into the room, and another.

  ‘Nathan? My name’s Paul Hirschhausen.’

  After a while the boy shrugged and examined the ceiling.

  Hirsch regarded him, taking in the fine-boned, olive-skinned lankiness—attractive, but you had to look for it, under the scowls. ‘I know this is a bad time for you but I’m anxious to find the driver who knocked Melia over. Hoping you might be able to help.’

  Too late, Hirsch wondered if saying ‘I’ was a misstep. What did he have to offer? And would his saying ‘I’ necessarily cancel his apparent ties to the despised Redruth police, in Nathan’s estimation? There was silence and it grew, and he was conscious of a kind of misery and defeat in the air.

  ‘Just a couple of questions,’ he said gently. ‘For example, do you know what Melia’s plans were last weekend?’

  ‘Nup. Going out. She’s always going out.’

  Hirsch said, ‘I’ve spoken to Gemma. She drove Melia to the pub down in Redruth but after a while she went to the drive-in with another friend and isn’t sure what Melia’s movements were. Do you know? Did you see her on Saturday night or Sunday morning?’

  Nathan shook his head.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Pub.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Spalding.’

  ‘With the guy who dropped you off just now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Still Nathan was looking at the ceiling. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your friend.’

  ‘Sam. Hempel.’

  ‘Would he know anything of Melia’s movements?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Did you spend the night out, or did you come home?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘You didn’t notice if Melia was at home or had been home and gone out again?’

  ‘She does what she does.’

  ‘What about this boyfriend?’

  ‘What boyfriend?’

  ‘Older guy, apparently.’

  Nathan shrugged, said, ‘Dunno,’ and showed no other interest.

  ~ * ~

  Hirsch returned to the sitting room.

  ‘Did you see Nathan?’ Leanne asked.

  Hirsch nodded. ‘He doesn’t know anything.’

  Leanne exchanged glances with Yvonne Muir. ‘Von thinks it would be okay if you looked at the computer.’

  Hirsch shot the neighbour a smile. ‘You can look over my shoulder if you like.’

  Both women demurred, as if fearing what they’d see. Hirsch sat himself at the old monitor, switched on the box and, waiting for it to boot up, smoothed out the paper slip from Melia Donovan’s wallet. The machine was slow, and no wireless.

  There were two passwords: the first gave him access to a file named ‘MelD’ and it proved to contain a handful of school essays, saved e-mails, journal entries and photographs. He’d examined all of it within a few minutes. Nothing stood out, apart from several references to ‘Cool’. A name? A concept? The second password gave him access to the Facebook page. He poked around in it. It revealed nothing of her secret life.

  ‘Before I go, Mrs Donovan, could you give me a list of Melia’s school and town friends?’

  That took a while, Leanne embarrassed because the list was brief and opened gaps in her knowledge. Hirsch returned to the station and started dialling. School holidays. Half the kids on the list were away, the others said they knew nothing of Melia’s movements and were astonished that anyone would think they did.

  ~ * ~

  That afternoon he bit the bullet and called Kropp.

  ‘What do you mean, missing?’

  ‘She left a note, didn’t say where she was going.’

  ‘Unbelievable. Have you tried family? Friends?’

  ‘No luck, Sarge.’

  ‘What’s she scared of? What’s she hiding?’

  �
�Maybe she just feels guilty for not looking after her best friend, Sarge.’