It took a good minute for us to regain our composure, and by the time we had ourselves back under relative control, my sides were physically hurting.
“That arsehole always had a way with words, no doubt about it.” I stood, tucked my shirt back into my pants then held out my hand to her for a third time. “I am more than happy to help you, Steph.” I could see actual relief wash over her as she shook my hand, although inside, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to help. I’m not certain why I agreed to help, other than to get in the face of Rademeyer again. I had a feeling that we would work on this for a few days, find the copycat, then watch as that prick took all the glory, just as he always had.
“Could you give me a moment to pack some necessities?” I figured this wouldn’t be a simple overnight trip. My schedule was already fairly slim, thanks to me wanting some time to myself, so I had kept my diary free for the past few weeks. A few more would not hurt me too much, especially not in the financial department.
“So, where do we go first?” Steph asked as I came back into the sitting room, one suitcase in hand. I considered for a moment, trying to think of the right answer. Visiting Harry was the obvious choice, but I didn’t have the details of anything yet. I would ask one question and then that would be it. What I needed, was information.
“Can we go to where the young lady was found? Is that OK?”
“Sure,” she said and headed for the door. I followed, grabbed my keys and hat, then followed her out the door.
She must have driven the three hours to my home in almost complete darkness, to reach it by 8 that morning. I respected her eagerness and felt compelled to help her. The drive back to Cider Hill, one I hadn’t undertaken personally in well over ten years, was pleasant, even if the day was a dreary one.
4.
The scene of the crime turned out to be the Cider Hill Primary School oval. Whoever had performed this ritualistic rebirth of the Daylesford Devil had suspended the victim, a relatively new Grade 1 teacher, naked from the football goals at the far end of the ground. She had been stripped, strung up by her wrists, fed upon, then left for the poor unfortunate soul that discovered her the next morning, the school janitor, Clancy Higgins. He had arrived at the school a little before 7 and had begun his morning routine of emptying the rubbish bins for the day to come. It was a cold morning, and the fog hung as thick as a woollen jumper over the back half of the school grounds. The police had door-knocked the entire area that morning and not a single person remembered hearing anything unusual the night before. It puzzled me immediately considering the amount of noise a person would make, having someone biting a chunk of their flesh from their body. Yet no-one had heard a thing.
The police had taken Clancy back to the station and had questioned him for almost four hours. He had a rock-solid alibi and was released a little before 1, the mob of reporters anxiously waiting at the foot of the station steps, pouncing on the man known as Cloudy Clancy to the kids, as soon as he emerged from the doorway. There were a couple with cameras, the flashes popping brightly in the gloomy daylight, almost blinding the simple-minded man, yet most were the traditional pencil and notepad kind of journalists, their questions tripping over each other like a Wall Street trading floor.
“Did you kill Rita Carlisle?” asked one.
“What happened to her?” shouted another.
“What did the police ask you?” a third shouted from somewhere in the back. But Clancy ignored them all, just like Constable Rawlinson had advised him.
“Walk straight past them and speak to no one, Clancy. Straight home, do you understand?” he had told him, and that is exactly what he had done.
5.
We walked around the ground a couple of times, had stopped at several inconspicuous spots but saw nothing of interest. Behind us, the school bell clanged loudly across the open space and within seconds, children began spilling out from every visible doorway, their loud chatting and laughing drifting out to us. Several came running out onto the grass, some to kick footballs, while several girls peeled off and began to play a skipping rope game. Their song drifted across the oval to us sounding loud and cheery as one girl jumped a rope that the other two girls were twirling between them. The girl was wearing a beanie with an especially long pompom and I watched as it bobbed this way and that.
A group of boys spotted Steph and I standing back near our starting place by the goals, came to a halt and stared at us for a second. After a few moments, they cautiously made their way over to us. When they were about twenty
