Scrublands(126)

Swift had left Mandy and gone to the church. Fran Landers arrived in a panic, warning him that her husband and his friends were coming to kill him. He laughed at the thought of Landers, a demonstrable coward, posing any threat to him. Swift had beaten him up before, he could beat him up again; if Landers brought a gun, he would fetch one of his own from the vestry. He told her not to worry, that he was leaving town anyway, leaving that very day.

That was the first she knew of his imminent departure, so she pleaded her own case. Swift would be abandoning her and her son Jamie to the violence of her husband; he should take them with him. And when that failed to move him, she not just accused Craig, but also implicated his friends. Yet Swift remained unmoved, unable to help, unwilling to meet her at Blackfellas Lagoon.

And then the shape of the morning changed again. Fran returned home, tried to pacify her husband, told him Swift was leaving, that there was no need for violence. Jamie Landers then convinced his father that the abuse allegations were unfounded. And in that moment, Craig, the violent husband and father, saw the opportunity for petty revenge. He came to the church, enlisting the unknowing support of his hunting companions, to wreak vengeance on the man who had cuckolded him, beaten him and humiliated him. Martin considers this, just how intensely Craig Landers must have hated Byron Swift—and how badly he misjudged him.

Craig arrived at church, unarmed, outwardly civil, shaking the priest’s hand and smiling benignly. And delivering a message of hate. What did he say, what phrasing did he use to fuck with Swift’s mind? If Fran was right, he told the priest that he was going to enslave her and Mandy, unleash his depravities upon them. That the town belonged to him. Martin recalls what Swift said in his phone call to Foster: ‘Him and his gang. That crime scene out in the Scrublands, that one I told you about, the blood and the women’s underwear, it must have been him. And his mates. Not the Reapers.’ Martin thinks about that. Landers couldn’t have alluded to the killings of the backpackers; he was ignorant of that. If the hunters had discovered the crime scene, they would have reported it. But in Swift’s imagination, Craig’s guilt must have seemed undeniable; he had become the embodiment of evil, the devil incarnate, a violent sexual predator, depraved and Godless, leading a gang of dark apostles.

Believing Craig’s false claims and stated intentions, believing Fran’s unfounded smear against the Bellington Anglers Club, believing his own fevered imaginings, Swift went to the vestry. He used the phone, the one he’d installed to communicate with the Reapers, and called Avery Foster. Martin recalls the recording. Swift told his confidant that he needed to take Mandy with him, to get her away from Landers’ clutches. Foster had agreed. At that point Swift was still planning on leaving, perhaps even picking up Fran on the way after all, perhaps sending for her later.

But while he was getting changed, preparing to conduct his last service, Harley Snouch, prosecuting a deception of his own and unaware of what was happening at the church, rang Foster, telling him he knew that Byron Swift was an imposter, that he was the war criminal Julian Flynt. Foster called Swift immediately, told him to leave, told him to abandon Mandy.

Martin imagines the priest, sitting in the vestry, crucifix in hand, considering his options. Swift could still flee, but the police would be after him now that they knew he was Flynt. It was unlikely he could run for long. Taking Mandy, newly pregnant and ignorant of his past, was no longer an option: in the short term it would endanger her life; in the long term it would stain her with complicity. But how could he flee and leave her in Riversend, her and their baby, and Fran, leave them here to be preyed upon by Landers and his followers?

Swift sat there in the vestry, the priest in his cassock, amid his guns, and realised he couldn’t go and he couldn’t stay. So he walked out here, to where Martin is standing on the steps, and shot them one by one, methodically. He made Riversend safe, the future safe, for Fran, for Mandy, for his unborn child. But he was wrong, so very wrong. None of the men were rapists and none of them were murderers, except for Allen Newkirk, whose life he spared. None of them had committed any crime whatsoever, except for Craig Landers. And even Landers, a wife beater and a son basher, didn’t deserve to be summarily executed. Nor was it inevitable that his threats would be carried out. As Mandy had so forcefully reminded Martin, the fact that Landers had abused his wife in the past didn’t mean Mandy was about to submit to the same treatment.

Martin considers all of this as he stands at the door of the church. Was it possible that the priest, driven by decent if misguided motives, committed a heinous and unforgiveable crime? And Martin decides that is exactly what the evidence suggests.

And then what? The priest sat here with his gun, where Martin is now standing. He’d killed the five men, believing he’d rid the town of evil. He could run, but the police would catch him soon enough. They’d spare no expense, no resource: he was a mass murderer twice over. Did he consider suicide? Probably. Put a gun in his mouth, pull the trigger. So why didn’t he? Religious conviction? Or because it would still leave them all exposed, the people he cared for: Avery and Robbie and Jason, all the people he had persuaded to help him, all the townspeople who had benefited from the drug money? He was the one who’d killed those innocents in Afghanistan; he was the one who needed to make amends. Or the police would find them and punish them too, punish them for his crimes.

And then Robbie appeared, sweet foolish Robbie, and the solution presented itself. If he had to die, then he could make it a worthwhile death. A sacrifice, dying for all their sins. What better death for a man of the cloth? For if Robbie killed him, then the constable would be a hero, above reproach; no one would suspect him of aiding and abetting the drug operation. And Robbie could protect Avery, and in turn Avery could shield Jason and Shazza. So Swift had fired at Robbie, fired and missed, slowly, deliberately, forcing Robbie to kill him. But not before warning him: ‘Harley Snouch knows everything.’ Mandy had suggested Robbie loved Byron Swift; perhaps at the end, Byron recognised that love and did what he could to protect it.