He was looking out the window again, for what seemed like a long time.
“I really do appreciate you coming back, Jim,” he said without looking at me. “The first thing we did was check on Lightman. He’s still locked up and tucked in at Crab Apple. I don’t know whether he’s recruited an accomplice or whether there’s a genuine copy-cat but someone is definitely looking for fame.” He looked like he had aged fifty years rather than the actual twenty. He looked ancient, the creases in his face looking like deep fissures instead of wrinkles, his head now almost completely devoid of hair, save for a couple of white strands, the thick black mane he once wore, long gone like his youth. He sighed deeply as he turned and sat at his desk. “His lawyer is fighting to have him released. Some hotshot called Lovett.” It was a statement that struck me in the centre of my chest, almost knocking the air out of me. Frank saw the shock in my expression and nodded as if in agreement.
“But-” I began, but he held his hand up, stopping me.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I can promise you that that is something that won’t be happening anytime soon. I’ve also been on the phone with four separate newspapers, a radio station and a reporter from one of the New York dailies. Can you believe it? Even a Yankee newspaper is on to this. They all think we locked up the wrong man.” I hadn’t considered how the media would handle the news that the killings had resumed. And the media had a funny habit of following their own agenda.
“We can’t let that happen, Frank,” I finally said.
“That much I know, son. We have to find him. We have to find the arsehole that’s doing this. And quick. I think the wheels have already begun to turn and if we don’t act fast, then…” his voice trailed off, his attention drawn to the window once more. He sat like that for a long time, the silence descending on us like a blanket.
“I’ll do my best, Chief,” I finally said. His expression suddenly changed, and he looked surprised as if he had forgotten I was still sitting there.
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, of course.”
“Are you OK?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. Not at first. I stood to go, but when I reached the door, my hand about to reach for the handle, his voice, quiet and reserved, drifted to me.
“Melanie has cancer, Jim.” I stopped turned and was shocked to see him crying. “The doctors have told her she doesn’t have long. It’s in her lungs.” His voice trailed off with the last words and he looked embarrassingly at me. I walked back towards the desk, stopped next to him and offered him my hand. Melanie was Frank’s wife, they married back in 24 and had lived in Cider Hill all their lives. They had met during a football match, him playing and Melanie cheering for her brother, Robert, one of Frank’s team mates. He had told me their story over beers many years ago, one night after our shift ended and a bunch of us had gone over to the Railway Hotel. In the end it had just been the two of us, me a first-year constable and him, my boss. I remember feeling a little uncomfortable sitting there alone with him, listening to his half-drunk whining, but after a while had relaxed and kind of enjoyed listening to his war stories.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Frank. If there is anything I can do.” He shook my hand, limply and indifferent, then dropped it into his lap.
“I’m telling you this because, well, I may not be as on the ball as I need to be right now. If you could, you know, look after Stephanie. She is a good officer, young but hot-headed and determined. She reminds me of another officer I knew long ago.” I nodded and understood.
“I’ll do my best, Frank.” I turned and walked out of the office, glad once the door closed behind me.
8.
Stephanie was waiting for me outside, a cigarette jutting out from between her fingers. I could tell right away she was pissed. She took a long puff then jettisoned the smoke out in a short harsh stab.
“That son of a bitch is a womanising bastard who hit on every single teacher that started at that school. And He is protecting him,” she cried, pointing a finger at the building behind me. I put my hands up in a surrender, smiling.
“Hey, I’m on your side, remember?” She stopped, took a deep breath and took another puff. “How did you find out about Bester?”
“I ran into one of the teachers at the supermarket, June Trapnell. I had popped in for some quick supplies and was still in uniform. She approached me and was asking me about something or other, then out of the blue she told me to watch myself. That George has a keen eye out for any single ladies that grace this township. I caught up with her a few days later, just a tea and biscuit kind of thing, and she told me the finer details. He’s been harassing a lot of ladies for a long time. And that son of a bitch is married.” She took another angry puff of her cigarette, so long and deep, I thought she might inhale the rest of it without stopping. Then she relaxed her lips and released it, the smoke drifting out slowly in long thin tendrils.
“Yes, I noticed the ring on his finger. Why would it concern the Chief so much though?”
“Because George Bester is the brother in law of Lachlan Murdoch.” I looked puzzled, not understanding the relationship she was trying to highlight.
“Lachlan Murdoch?” I asked, unsure.
“Geez, Jim, don’t you know anything? Lachlan Murdoch is married to Katherine Reinhart, and Katherine Reinhart just happens to be the sister of-” but she didn’t need to
