The Survivors(31)

Through the window, Kieran thought he could see Sergeant Renn talking to another officer. It was hard to tell from that distance, but Renn seemed to be watching them through the glass.

‘And who knows?’ Julian said. ‘Maybe your dad could tell them something that might help?’

Kieran looked at him, annoyed now. ‘Have you seen the state of my dad lately?’

‘I have, mate, yes,’ Julian said pointedly. ‘Have you?’

‘Yeah, all right.’

‘Look. Sorry.’ He sounded contrite. ‘But the cops wasting time on Liam doesn’t help any of us.’

‘Okay.’ Kieran sighed. ‘Renn can sort it out. I doubt my folks would’ve really known Bronte.’

Julian said nothing but his face made Kieran stop.

‘What? So she helped Mum clear out the shed once.’

Julian nodded. ‘Your place has got a reasonable-sized shed, is all. Wasn’t a one-day job.’

Kieran stared at him. ‘You’d better tell the cops that, too.’

No response. He already had.

Kieran opened his mouth, but his phone began ringing in his pocket, quiet and insistent. He checked the screen. Mia. It went to voicemail and immediately started ringing again.

‘I’ve got to go.’ Kieran started towards home.

‘Give my best to your folks.’

Kieran turned at that. ‘Seriously, mate?’

‘Yes, actually.’ Julian’s hand rested on the gate to Fisherman’s Cottage. ‘Whatever happened here doesn’t have anything to do with us, or you, or anyone from this town, I reckon.’

Kieran didn’t answer, just began to walk.

‘We need to be looking out for each other, not at each other,’ the other man’s voice floated behind him.

Kieran wasn’t sure yet if he agreed with that or not. But he found himself thinking about it, all the way home.





Chapter 12


Mia pulled open the front door before Kieran reached it, Audrey in her arms.

‘The police are here.’ Her voice was low.

‘Now? I just saw Chris Renn at the cottage –’

‘Not local. From Hobart.’

The woman was waiting in the living room, looking out of place amid the boxes and clutter. She was wearing plain clothes and a sombre expression, and had her hands clasped behind her back as she examined a framed family photo still hanging on the wall. Brian, Verity, Finn and Kieran on the beach right outside their house, all smiles and sunlight, their arms around each other. The officer looked up as Kieran came in, and extended her hand.

‘Detective Inspector Sue Pendlebury.’ She was tall and her dark hair was streaked with strands of grey. ‘I was explaining – oh, wonderful. Thank you.’ She broke off as Verity came into the room with a tray of coffee mugs and Brian trailing behind her. ‘As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m here about Bronte Laidler.’

‘Right,’ Kieran said as Verity gestured for them all to sit. They did, other than Mia, who hovered near the door, jiggling Audrey.

‘Do you know what happened yet?’ Kieran said as Pendlebury accepted a coffee mug.

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’ She took a sip. ‘Did you know Bronte well?’

‘I didn’t know her at all,’ he said. ‘Mia and I met her for the first time yesterday.’ He hesitated. ‘She drowned?’

‘We believe Bronte was drowned.’ Pendlebury was calm in making the distinction. ‘She had some bruising injuries that indicate she was held under the water.’

Audrey whimpered and Mia shushed her. Verity very carefully wiped a spot of milk off the coffee table.

‘That’s terrible,’ she said quietly.

‘She shouldn’t have been out on the beach alone.’ Brian’s voice rose suddenly from his armchair in the corner. They all turned and he blinked, surprised by the attention.

‘I’m sorry?’ Pendlebury said.

‘I told her she shouldn’t have been out there. Not with the storm warning.’

Kieran heard Verity exhale with a sharp shake of her head.

‘He’s talking about someone else,’ she said quickly to Pendlebury who, after a beat, dragged her steady gaze back. ‘We were hit by a big storm here. Years ago. He’s thinking of that. Sorry. He’s not well. Ignore him.’

Pendlebury nodded slowly. She glanced at her notes. ‘I hear Bronte spent a few days here. Helping you clean, was it?’ Her eyes wandered over the boxes lining the walls.

‘Clearing the shed,’ Verity said. ‘She was collecting a few bits and pieces for a sculpture she was working on. We had a lot of junk. I said she could help herself.’

‘What did she take?’

‘Some wire, I think. Some sheeting from when we fixed the back decking a few years ago.’ Verity shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It really was junk.’

‘And did you talk at all –? Sorry –’ Pendlebury’s phone vibrated silently against the coffee table. A photo flashed on the screen of her smiling alongside a grey-haired man and a girl and boy in their twenties who looked a bit like both of them. She pressed a button and turned the phone facedown. ‘Sorry. Yes, Bronte. Did she talk to you about her life here? Boys? Work? Her impressions of the town?’