Georgie Harvey and John Franklin Collection

Chapter 22

Espresso poised for first sip, its aroma flaring his nostrils, the front door buzzed. Franklin peered sideways. Hart was on the telephone. He sighed, hitched the service belt above the bony points of his hips and steeled for a potential rerun with the crackpot from Melbourne.

It wasn’t the writer but another b****y female. In the past few days, the balance of Franklin’s male to female customers tipped towards the latter. In her early thirties, this one wore strawberry-blonde hair that coiled in spirals to her narrow shoulders, red-framed glasses and a black T-shirt under a rainbow-coloured body-hugging dress in turn worn over faded blue jeans. An infant snuggled her chest. It sported a tri-coloured beanie, purple jumper with white teddy bears at the waist and blue track pants.

As he thawed in the wake of another paternal surge, the woman said, ‘John Franklin?’ and, at his nod, added, ‘I’m Renee Archer.’

‘And what’s his name?’ Franklin asked.

Renee tilted her chin high and laughed huskily, like a blues singer. ‘Her name is Alex. But thank you.’

Her He raised his eyebrows.

‘For confirming I’m not pigeonholing Alex. I’m trying to avoid the pink, girlie stuff. I don’t want Alex driven into the subservient little girl role, playing with Barbie and makeup. Not unless she wants to, of course. But if she’d rather play with mud pies, climb trees and become a dan in karate, well great!’

‘Even if she breaks a leg?’

‘Especially if she does.’

Especially ‘What does your hubby think?’

In tandem with his question, Franklin noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band and groaned.

She wiggled her bare left ring finger and laughed again. ‘Oh, I am married, although I don’t wear a ring and kept my surname. I don’t approve of the whole chattel thing. You know, being branded a married woman. Carl’s fine with it, he’s used to me being independent. He’s so preoccupied with changing the world anyway.’

Her tone was neither resentful nor regretful. In fact, she acted poles apart from the hesitant caller earlier.

Renee seemed to perceive his thoughts. She explained, ‘Sorry about before – on the phone. I nearly backed out. If Carl knew I was coming here…’ After a beat, she added, ‘But now that we’ve met and with what Tayla and Lauren said –’

Georgie’s heartbeat quickened. She raised an eyebrow.

Murdered?

Murdered?‘Believes he was murdered? They still don’t know what happened to him?’

‘Oh, there are plenty of theories, but I don’t think we’ll ever be certain. Not after this long.’

Pam suddenly looked very sad, frail even. She clamped her mouth and refused to elaborate.

Eventually Georgie stopped flogging that point.

‘Do you have contacts for Susan’s other family and friends?’

‘Oh, a few.’ Pam picked up the address book. ‘She’s a little funny like that. She has loads of friends but keeps us… I don’t know how else to put it but compartmentalised from each other. Her friends from here, from Melbourne, Nhill, Wychitella and so on, we’re all separate groups.’

‘Do you think that’s because a lot of people turned on Roly after the fire?’

‘Possibly, dear.’ Pam drummed her fingernails as she said, ‘I can help you with local friends, although I doubt that would do you much good. There’s no one closer to Susan than me.’

Out of ideas, Georgie finally confessed she’d poked around at Abergeldie and Pam chuckled over the encounters with feline Oscar.

‘The kitchen was pristine on my first visit but filthy when I went back. Do you think –’

‘Oh, that would have been Roger and Mick,’ Pam cut in. ‘Susan lets them have free rein of the place. Housework’s not their forte.’

‘What about this Jack guy. Know who he is?’

Pam shook her head and wrote something in elegant script. ‘Here’s the phone number for her sister. They were close until Ann moved to Sydney. She has four children, and now that her children have their own children, the girls don’t see each other very often. Ralph and Norma are years older than Susan, who’s the youngest of the four. They never married and live together in Maryborough. I wouldn’t bother contacting them, they’re pretty much hermits. On Roly’s side, there’s only Irwin, his brother. But he’s loopy.’

At Georgie’s surprised laugh, Pam said, ‘I’m a lot older than you, so I can get away with saying it! He is loopy, with advanced Alzheimer’s, poor thing. And his wife, Thelma, died giving birth to Margaret’s sister, which left poor Margaret and Irwin alone.’

is More dead ends than leads, it seemed. But one lead might be all she needed.

‘I don’t have a phone number for Mick and Roger. They’re easiest to catch at Abergeldie… Or the TAB.’ Pam added the betting agency with a grin.

Before she left Rose Cottage, Georgie tried Susan and Margaret’s telephone numbers. She then contacted Ann Campbell in Sydney. Pam listened, rapt. Georgie spun the story so as not to unduly concern Susan’s sister and drew a dead end.

Why was she unsurprised?

‘Ah, you’re friends then?’ Franklin pictured the mums, Tayla and Lauren.

Renee smiled and interpreted, ‘What you mean is: “Ah, so you’ve received a letter too?”’

Her mood was infectious; Franklin chuckled and mocked a bow. ‘I promised discretion.’

‘Well, you’ve done fine.’ She touched his forearm, which was a bit familiar, but he didn’t mind.

Franklin let Renee settle into the interview room, fixed two fresh espressos and grabbed the poison-pen dossier.

He skimmed her letter. She sipped the brew and adjusted Alex’s position.

‘When did you receive it?’

He arranged all three poison-pen letters on the desk.

‘Ten days after Alex was born,’ Renee replied. She handed an envelope to Franklin. ‘I kept this and all. See, it’s postmarked 1 February.’

Franklin plucked the envelope by a corner and positioned it fourth in line.

Large margins isolated the text on both Renee’s A4 page and the ordinary DL-sized envelope. It struck him again that it could symbolise that the words and their writer were surrounded by an impenetrable sea.

The content also matched.

He squinted to compare the calligraphic script. Although mere weeks separated Renee’s letter from the other two, he noticed a minor deterioration in the penmanship: a wavy baseline and irregular capitals. He bagged the evidence, wishing he knew an expert who could interpret the handwriting, and gulped his tepid coffee in one go.

‘Ideas on the sender?’

Renee lifted her palms. ‘I wish.’

Franklin drew eye contact. ‘You mentioned Carl’s reaction to you coming here. And cut yourself off.’ He gently pressed, ‘What’s the story?’

‘Carl makes his living—and I’m not complaining; we live very well—out of controversy. He’s a lobbyist and gallivants all over the place. Unfortunately, it’s the type of job that makes enemies, and so he tries to keep his two lives separate. Home and work – two different worlds.’

Franklin chewed over the word enemies as Renee continued.

enemies‘We used to live in Melbourne, but twelve weeks into my pregnancy with Alex, I was mugged. In the car park of Chadstone shopping centre, would you believe?’

‘One of Carl’s enemies?’

‘No, it seemed unrelated to Carl’s work, but he still thought I should have a bodyguard and live in a fortress, but I put my foot down. I’ve no intention of living a half-life, always fixated on what might happen. I’m a glass-half-full type, if you hadn’t gathered…’

She faltered. Franklin nodded and inched nearer.

‘Okay, let me back up a little. Alex was fine. But I wasn’t going to take chances with my bub after the mugging, so I decided we’d move to the country. Daylesford would be an ideal place to bring up kids, plus there’d be a network for my poetry. To keep the peace with Carl, I agreed to his security precautions at the house. I take my own little protective measures while he’s travelling but I never dreamed Daylesford would be anything other than safe. Well, I was shocked when the letter arrived.’

‘Do you think there’s a connection to Carl’s work?’

‘No.’ Her reply was firm. ‘If it were just me that got a letter, maybe, but with the other two…no, there’s a bigger picture here. Someone with a vendetta against unwed mums.’

‘The writer assumed you’re an unmarried mother.’

‘And I guess that’s my own fault. No ring, going by Ms Archer, phone listing under my name – that’s because I baulked at a silent number. And I guess I don’t talk about Carl much. It’s one of my protective measures. If I don’t say too much, I won’t let it slip when he’s travelling. He was away for Alex’s birth.’

‘That’s a real shame,’ Franklin commiserated.

‘No, that’s life in our house.’ Renee chuckled. ‘Seriously, I’m used to it. At least we never go past the honeymoon stage. Each time he comes home…’

Franklin blushed.

Too much information.

Too much information.‘How do you know Tayla and Lauren?’

‘The maternity centre first. Then we met properly at mothers’ group and hit it off straight away.’

‘Has there been contact from Solomon since the letter?’

She paused, but he got the impression she’d already thought it through.

‘I’ve had a few hang-ups on the phone. I pick up, the line’s open but no one speaks. Could be Solomon, I guess.’

‘No follow-up letters?’

She shook her head.

‘Have other mothers received letters?’

‘Don’t know.’ Renee grimaced. ‘The three of us met for coffee this morning. Lauren doesn’t want all this to get out and end up the hot topic of gossip. She only let Tayla quiz me because we’re friends and we three don’t fit the mould. I mean, the others are married and wear big rocks to advertise it. It’s patent that this Solomon is targeting unmarried mums and got it totally wrong with me.’

‘Sure did,’ Franklin agreed, then asked, ‘Where did you have the birth?’

‘Same as the other two: Ballarat Base. Carl wanted me to go back to Melbourne and have Alex at Cabrini or at least St John’s in Ballarat. But I’m no snob. I don’t need a private hospital. I’d rather be in a ward than stuck in my own little room with no one to talk to.’

They chatted further, then Renee departed, and Franklin returned to the stark interview room to ponder developments.

He updated his daybook, concluding with:

Solomon seems to have made a mistake in sending a letter to a married woman.

Solomon seems to have made a mistake in sending a letter to a married woman.Lack of research? Made assumption regarding Renee?

Lack of research? Made assumption regarding Renee?Alternatives: letters are random and/or sent to all new mothers. Or Solomon does realise Renee is married but is judging her alternative lifestyle.

Alternatives: letters are random and/or sent to all new mothers. Or Solomon does realise Renee is married but is judging her alternative lifestyle.Common denominators: babies under three months old and born at Ballarat Base. Part of same mothers’ group. All visit local maternal health centre and live/shop here.

Common denominators: babies under three months old and born at Ballarat Base. Part of same mothers’ group. All visit local maternal health centre and live/shop here.Check: if share medical clinic, general practitioner, obstetrician, etc.

Check: if share medical clinic, general practitioner, obstetrician, etc.Harty entered as Franklin was stroking his chin. ‘All good in here?’

Franklin closed his book and gave a thumbs-up.

‘The inspector wants us to drop Meeshan’s firearm into Bacchus Marsh, then go across to Ballarat to pick up a brief and some internal mail. After that, he wants us to do a radar patrol on the Midland. He and Lunny have copped hoon complaints.’

One of those hoons was the rider of a blue-over-white Kawasaki Ninja and definitely knew better. Franklin jumped to his feet.

The front door buzzed. As Harty moved to answer it, he said, ‘Leave in five or ten?’

‘No probs.’

Franklin reckoned that’d give him enough of a window to check his emails. It took ten minutes to log off his partner and get back into the system, thanks to the antiquated server. He seldom gave out his email address and there were just three messages despite it being almost a week since he’d checked the inbox. The most recent had been sent by the registrar of Ballarat Base Hospital. He printed the message and exited the system.

Harty returned. ‘My turn to drive.’ He jangled keys and grinned.

‘Okay.’ Franklin’s reply left his mate open-mouthed, but being the passenger allowed him to scan the maternity ward roster and admission details for the last quarter. No surprises that Tayla, Lauren and Renee were all listed.

Another name sprang off the page. Cathy Jones who’d had a son named Tyson on 16 December. Not being a fan of coincidence, Franklin pictured the mother at the bakery yesterday. Her behaviour and the equivalent age of her son – it all corresponded.

He made a note to visit Cathy Jones and added at the bottom of his to-do list: Visit Abergeldie to check on Susan Pentecoste.

Visit Abergeldie to check on Susan Pentecoste.Franklin gazed out his side window, and his eyes flicked as the car whizzed past telegraph poles. His mind wasn’t on what he saw, though. He vowed to sort out the irrational writer from Melbourne and solve the poison-pen and van Hoeckel cases before Wells or the Ds in Bacchus Marsh caught wind.

Georgie declined another drink, then asked, ‘It’s been well over a week since Susan left Abergeldie. Do you really think she’s fine?’

really She might have backed off if Pam’s vivid eyes hadn’t clouded to grey-blue. That launched the pop song What You Waiting For? into her psyche, and she visualised an oversized clock.

What You Waiting For? The clock’s ticks increased in volume and speed during her return to Richmond.

It diminished during her domesticated evening with AJ; pizza and red wine before the television. This was the sort of night that reminded her how good she and AJ could be together. Theirs hadn’t become a relationship of convenience, had it? Maybe their problems stemmed from being too alike. Both headstrong, certain their way was the right way.

She shut down her fluctuating feelings about AJ.

And her mind soon oscillated back to Susan.

What You Waiting For? haunted her again. The stupid song made her toss right through the night.

What You Waiting For? Their life echoed their last night together, perfect in its ordinariness to the great part, topped by a special dinner in celebration of nothing but a happy union. Afterwards, they pushed away the velvet chairs and miner’s couch, rolled back the heirloom floor rugs and danced until breathless in their drawing room, especially ardent when he placed That’s My Desire under the needle.

Their life echoed their last night together, perfect in its ordinariness to the great part, topped by a special dinner in celebration of nothing but a happy union. Afterwards, they pushed away the velvet chairs and miner’s couch, rolled back the heirloom floor rugs and danced until breathless in their drawing room, especially ardent when he placed That’s My Desire under the needle.That’s My Desire It wasn’t a case of wearing rose-coloured glasses. Oh, no, they’d fought – about things worth arguing over and those that weren’t.

It wasn’t a case of wearing rose-coloured glasses. Oh, no, they’d fought – about things worth arguing over and those that weren’t.And they’d experienced their share of misfortune. What farmers didn’t taste fire, drought, flood or infestation over the years, along with pressure from banks? They’d overcome illness, dealt with the heartbreak of remaining childless and lost loved ones. But they’d done it together, and that’s what made the difference.

And they’d experienced their share of misfortune. What farmers didn’t taste fire, drought, flood or infestation over the years, along with pressure from banks? They’d overcome illness, dealt with the heartbreak of remaining childless and lost loved ones. But they’d done it together, and that’s what made the difference.He said they had the trifecta: lover, best friend and business partner. They had somebody to share everything, good and bad. Warts and all, a permanent fixture, rather like meat and three veg, the essence of a simple but good life.

He said they had the trifecta: lover, best friend and business partner. They had somebody to share everything, good and bad. Warts and all, a permanent fixture, rather like meat and three veg, the essence of a simple but good life.He’d lifted his glass that last evening and toasted, ‘To us. To the woman who is still the most beautiful girl in the room.

He’d lifted his glass that last evening and toasted, ‘To us. To the woman who is still the most beautiful girl in the room.‘To the best being yet to come.’

‘To the best being yet to come.’