At the exact moment Norma O’Mealley handed her banana cake over to the custody of the detective at the CIB office, Joyce Tippet climbed painfully out of bed. Richard was gone, of course. He was always up with the birds, springing out of bed, embracing the morning with a brisk walk around the town in his colourful tracksuit, ready with a hearty wave for any early-rising constituent. Joyce winced as her feet touched the floor, the shooting pain in her shin a sharp reminder of the damage a man’s shoe can render.

In the ensuite, Joyce squinted against the light and examined her face in the mirror. The swelling in her jaw had gone down a bit, she thought. She touched it gingerly and flinched. Still hurt like hell, though. She hoped it wasn’t broken. Rolling up a sleeve, Joyce reached into the shower and turned on the tap, waving her hand underneath until the icy water turned warm. She pulled her nightie over her head and stepped beneath the soothing waters. Closing her eyes to the kaleidoscope of blues, purples, greens and yellows decorating her pale skin in fist-sized clusters, Joyce tilted her head upwards and imagined for a moment she was standing under a waterfall in a land far, far away.

Dressed and perfectly made up, Joyce finally left her bedroom and walked into the kitchen. She spotted the letter on the bench and grimaced. She knew what it would say; what they always said. He loved her. He was sorry. She just needed to try harder. But she was trying as hard as she could, yet nothing seemed to change. And Richard was such a great dad, even though their two daughters visited less often now, which Joyce was almost thankful for. One of them, Tracey, had even suggested she leave Richard. Joyce was horrified and embarrassed. How could Tracey know?

Tonight he would bring flowers and takeaway Chinese from the place in town she liked. And then they would retire to the bedroom, where he would murmur his love with the lights off so they could both ignore the bruise-scape as he enforced his entitlement to her body. And if inconvenient tears leaked from her eyes, it was too dark for anyone to notice.

CHAPTER 10: TWO DECEASED ADULTS, ONE LIVE CHILD

CHAPTER 10

TWO DECEASED ADULTS, ONE LIVE CHILD

I let Norma O’Mealley out of the door and returned to my desk. I could see why she and my nana were such good friends. Norma reminded me of her. White-haired, kind, intuitive. No-nonsense. I made a mental note to stop in and see Nana Pollard on my way home from work. What Norma had to say about Jack Barratt’s medical status was interesting. It would be worth checking if victims had reported any symptoms. We hadn’t found the medicines Norma talked about at his unit. He might have run out, or the symptoms might’ve gone away.