‘Just the small issue of my article this morning all but convicting Swift of topping the girls.’
‘How’s that a problem? The guy’s dead; he’s not going to sue. Plus, he did put five people into an early grave. Go tell the cops and we have our yarn for tomorrow.’ Bethanie adopts a mock newsreader voice. ‘The Herald is again leading the investigation into the murder of two German backpackers in the Riverina, supplying police with vital new evidence,’ she says, before returning to her normal voice. ‘Just don’t tell them until late today, okay? They’ve got the shits with us; we don’t want them handballing it to the competitors.’
Martin can’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, good point. I just hate getting it wrong, that’s all. Max too. You know what a stickler he is.’
‘Yeah, well, on that score I’ve got good news and bad news.’
‘That sounds ominous. What gives?’
‘It’s like this: on the good side of the ledger, the researchers have been digging away on our behalf. We’ve spoken to someone who knew the real Byron Swift in Cambodia and says it’s not the same person. Your man without a past story is right on the money. That’s one of the reasons I was trying to contact you yesterday evening. I’m not sure if you noticed, but we inserted a few pars into your feature, firming it up.’
‘Thanks for that. Much appreciated. What’s the bad news?’
‘The researchers have found no record of a Harley James Snouch ever being charged or convicted or arrested or investigated for rape, not in the past thirty years. Nothing in the court records, nothing in the newspaper archives. In fact, no record of him being convicted of anything. Not in New South Wales or Victoria. We’re looking at Queensland and South Australia.’
‘Christ, are they sure? He’s got prison tats, for God’s sake. We’ve more or less accused him of murdering the girls when the cops haven’t charged him, and we’ve described him as an alleged rapist. Does Max know?’
‘Yeah. He’s crawling up the wall. You don’t want to talk to him.’
‘But I told Max at the time that Snouch denied the conviction.’
‘Really? You sure? Max told us Snouch had denied the rape, not the conviction.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sure. He said we were safe to go with it, just to make sure we said alleged until we could confirm it was rape and not sexual assault or something else.’ There’s a pause before Bethanie speaks again. ‘Sounds like you two had your wires crossed.’
Martin feels a hollowness in his core. It looks like he’s not only got his facts wrong, but has somehow made Max complicit in his error.
‘Fuck it. Hose him down, will you? Snouch has lived with these allegations for years without taking legal action. Shit. And see if you can soften Max up for the next instalment: he’s not going to be overjoyed when we put Byron Swift in the clear over the backpackers.’
‘Leave him to me, Martin. As long as the Herald is leading the way, he’ll be fine.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Anything else?’
‘One thing: your story, the Crime Stoppers tip-off. I assume you got your info from the Sydney cops?’
‘That’s right. Covering their arses, no doubt. Making sure any blame fell on Walker, not them.’
‘Do you know who they are?’
‘No. It came through police PR.’
‘So an authorised drop, from the hierarchy? Trying to discredit Walker?’
‘Probably. But that’s strictly between you and me, okay? I can’t afford to piss them off.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Okay. And let’s make sure we keep each other up to date from now on.’
‘Too right. I’ll touch base later in the day. This lack of mobile coverage is starting to give me the shits.’
‘Tell me about it.’
They talk for a bit longer, making sure of phone numbers and times to call, then hang up.
Back in the store, the journalists are paying for their coffees. Martin waits for them to leave before speaking. ‘You okay?’ he asks Mandy.
‘Yep. I’ll be fine. They told me the police are working out of the Riversend station today, calling in people for interviews. There are TV crews and photographers set up outside.’
‘Who are they talking to? Did anyone say?’
‘Yeah. People who live out in the Scrublands. Checking if they saw anything.’ She pauses briefly, biting her lip. ‘Can we leave it until a bit later before we talk to the cops? I don’t want to go over while the TV crews are there.’
‘Sure,’ says Martin, feeling first relief—he and Bethanie don’t want her interviewed until later either—and then feeling like a heel for thinking of himself at Mandy’s time of need. ‘If they’re still around later, I’ll go by myself, ask the police to visit you over here. Tell them you’re looking after Liam.’ Martin looks at the boy, lying on his back on the floor, playing with his own hands as if they’re toys. Less than a year old. Christ. Mandy and Byron? ‘Mandy, did Fran know about you and Byron?’
‘Yep.’
‘And did you know about him and Fran?’
‘Yep.’
‘Jeez.’ Maybe he should think beyond his feature; there has to be a book in this. What a town: either screwing each other or shooting each other. No wonder the population is in freefall. Martin dismisses his thoughts as unworthy. ‘I didn’t realise that you and Byron Swift were so, you know, intimate. My story today, that he wasn’t who he claimed to be, that he was a former soldier, does that ring true to you?’
She nods, looking none too happy as she says, ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Did you know?’
‘No. I mean, I guessed he’d been in the military. He had some tattoos. But I didn’t know anything about a false identity. I thought Byron Swift was his real name. Are you sure that it wasn’t?’
‘Pretty sure. We’ve been able to confirm the real Byron Swift died in Cambodia.’
‘Good God. Do you think that’s got something to do with why he did it? Shot those men outside the church?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
They stand in silence then, overtaken by their own thoughts. Martin is imagining Mandy falling under Swift’s spell, sleeping with him, knowing that he was also sleeping with Fran Landers. What must Mandy think of Swift now, knowing he was deceiving them both, pretending to be someone he wasn’t? Evidently her regard for him endures: she’s still willing to defend him, to show her diary to the police, to clear Swift of abducting the backpackers. Is she still in love with him?
‘How do you feel about that?’ asks Martin. ‘That he was an imposter?’
Her forehead furrows, her lower lip quivers, her eyes reveal pain. She shakes her head, as if in disbelief. ‘Not good,’ is all she says.
Martin takes her hands in his, a gesture of sympathy and support. ‘Believe me, I want to work it out, find out why he shot those men. You were right, that first day when I came to Riversend: it would be a hell of a story. Will you help me?’
She nods, her face serious. ‘Yes. If I can.’
‘Okay. Let’s sit down. I’ll record it.’
‘Of course. You want to do it before the police start questioning me, don’t you?’
Martin wonders if his motives are so transparent. ‘Yes.’
‘Will you write about Byron and me? Byron and Fran? Please don’t. If not for my sake, for Liam’s.’
Martin looks again at the baby. ‘Mandy, is Byron Liam’s father?’
She looks up, meets his gaze, unapologetic. ‘Yes. But please, Martin, whatever you do, please don’t write that. You can’t write that. Liam doesn’t deserve to be branded with his father’s sins. Promise me that and I’ll help you.’ The look on her face is so sincere, her words so heartfelt, that Martin agrees. How could he not?