Wiping away the coffee, I walk past the silent playground, away from the tower and over to where the lake curls out sharply from the path. The trees, mainly gums, hang low here, dipping sporadically into the water. There is only a clumsy rail to prevent people from stepping off the path and tumbling into the water. At night, it would be easy to slip and become tangled in the greenery and be eaten by the earth. We used to come down here and covertly smoke cigarettes during lunch, planting ourselves in the gazebo at the end of the pier so that we could spot the teachers coming. A strange flutter of desire for a cigarette bubbles inside me and I almost laugh, wondering whether the craving will ever fully leave me. I make do with another sip of coffee instead. I keep walking. I know I’m going to where she was found in the water but I take my time.
A rumble of thunder rolls across the sky and I look up to see I’m being watched by several sets of solemn glass eyes: the dark windows of the houses built high along the ledge that runs the length of the parkland look down at me. If only someone had seen something that night. No one in this town can keep to themselves so it seems ironic that not one of the lakeside dwellers stepped out onto their balcony and saw Rosalind with her attacker. Only bleary-eyed Moira Foss, with her screaming baby and rows of spit towels blocking her view, heard something, but her observations hardly provided clarity.
A pretty jumble of rocks leads into the water where Connor Marsh first saw Rosalind floating just over a fortnight ago. Bouquets of flowers are arranged in a sloppy pyramid a few metres from the rocks. Damp teddy bears and soggy envelopes poke out between the heads of flowers. I squat next to the makeshift shrine. Such an insignificant spot before this. Not a place that anyone would have thought to stop at, not even to pause and look out over the lake. There are far better vantage points.
Another blast of thunder shudders and I relish the cool air lapping my face. The storm is getting closer. I wish I could summon the rain to turn me inside out and wash over me. Clean my soul.
I finish the coffee and grimace, screwing the lid on tight. I absently pass the thermos back and forth between my hands, trying to think. What would have made Rosalind come to the lake that night? Could someone have forced her to go with them? But how? Blackmail? Maybe someone had found out something that was damaging to her reputation. No one saw or heard anything that would indicate she was abducted. Was she lured to the lake with the promise of something? Money? Drugs? It doesn’t fit. Of course, despite my doubts, it could have been a random stranger, but that still wouldn’t explain why she was at the lake in the first place. Plus, it just feels personal. Both Felix and I sensed that from the start. Nothing about Rosalind has ever seemed random anyway.
Maybe it was attempted rape that turned to murder. I’ve worked cases where the killer is frustrated that he can’t perform and turns lethally violent as a result. Or did the killer get spooked while he was assaulting her? I shiver lightly, thinking about someone abusing her still-warm dead body. I wonder about her brothers. Could Timothy have been obsessed with her? Followed her here?
I pull a card out from the pile of tributes, exposing a picture of a white dove inside a ring of flowers. Damp has curled its edges. Sharp edits of Rosalind’s possible final moments form a steady stream of film through my mind but nothing seems right. It’s a random montage without a plot. A stray droplet hits me square in the eye and I blink, trying to clear the wetness. A scraping sound behind me on the path causes me to whirl around, hairs on end, still blinking through the water.
Rodney Mason swings his leg over his bike so that both feet are on the same side, slowing it to a stop.
‘Hey.’ He looks past me to the shrine, swallowing heavily.
‘Rodney. What are you doing here?’
He props his bike next to a tree. ‘Dunno. I guess I just wanted to come here. You know, to where it happened. Pay my respects.’
I watch as he steps forward, balancing carefully on the rocks, and looks out towards the gazebo.
His eyes are closed as he says, ‘I never really come here, you know. ’Cause of Jake. Mum doesn’t like it.’
His shoes are worn and the cuffs of his jacket have holes in them. I can’t tell if it’s fashion or reflective of his financial circumstances. The Masons never had much money.
‘Have you been here before now?’
He turns and looks at me. ‘Is that a trick question?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
He comes closer to me and I quickly stand and step back onto the path.
‘I came here last week with some of the others from school.’ He shrugs, blinking quickly as he takes in all the flowers and toys. ‘Some of the girls said it would help.’
‘Did it help?’
‘Dunno. I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to help with. It’s not like she can come back.’
Another rumble breaks around us. Rodney looks heavenwards. ‘It’s weird without the heat today. I’d got so used to it.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing.’ I can’t pull my eyes away from him. The face so like Jacob’s. The colour of their eyes an exact match.
‘Do you still think about him?’ he asks me.
Lightning sparks in the sky and is immediately followed by a release of large droplets that turn into sheets of rain. We stand rooted to the spot, looking at each other for a moment, and then I say, ‘Quick, this way!’ and he follows me up the path, the dust turning to mud. Water pours down my face and I run into it. It feels good. My legs pump steadily underneath me. Strong. I can feel Rodney just behind me, our feet pounding in unison. I beep the car open and gesture for him to get in the passenger side. We heave ourselves in, breathless and soaked. There are still no other cars in the car park; probably no one will come here now with the rain like this. Inside the car, noise drops away as if we’re inside a drum. Rodney is wiping water from his eyes with the bottom of his t-shirt, revealing his taut abdomen. Sparse dark hairs disappear into his waistband. He sees me looking.
‘Let’s get the air on, hey?’ I fiddle with the keys, turning the car on and feeling relieved when the wind moves through the car, creating space between us. I feel like my body has reversed through time: I am eighteen, in love with Jacob, with the world in front of me. It’s hard to breathe and there is a faint ringing in my ears.
‘Jeez, it’s really coming down out there.’ Rodney stares out the window. Lightning flashes in the sky and the trees are rag dolls waving for help.
‘I still think about him all the time,’ I say.
He turns towards me, leaning his head back on the headrest, and sighs deeply. ‘Yeah. I do and I don’t. Less often, but deeply. Like now I really feel it when I think about him. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes. I’m sort of the same.’
‘You must see some pretty bad shit in your job though. I guess you get tough from all that.’
I lean my head back like his and turn to him. ‘Sort of. It’s hard to compare really. I don’t know what I’d be like if I didn’t do this. This is just how I am now.’
He nods and twists his hands in his lap, and I remember that he did this the other day too. ‘Are you working right now? Is that why you’re here?’ he asks.
‘Once you have a case everything you do is work. It’s on your mind the whole time. You can’t stop.’
He seems to think about this for a while. ‘I guess that makes sense.’
‘Why wouldn’t your mum let you come here?’