Burnington Gaol

N I N E T E E N | Adeline

The ice-cold steel of the bus stop bench cut through my layers of stockings and skirts, numbing the backs of my thighs. My body trembled, breath fogging in front of me as I managed to open Susie's file with gloved hands.

"What's that?" Billy asked, his words weaving past a lit cigarette.

"Susie's first file."

"The disappearance one?"

"The very same."

Billy wandered over, cigarette now between his fingers. He glanced at the file and I noticed his distant eyes, sifting through the not only the information in front of him but everything I'd told him thus far. He cleared his throat.

"How'd you convince Tony to get this stuff for you?"

"Told him I'd keep digging either way. I think he decided that if I was going to do something stupid and dangerous, then he could at least supervise."

The bus's headlights glistened on the horizon, piercing through the thinning fog and the early rush hour traffic. I closed the file but kept my index finger on my page. Billy paid our fare and I offered a stiff smile to the driver. He was a cranky old man, jaded by years of picking up food wrappings and sticky pink gum that schoolkids left in their wake. My brother and I sat in our usual seats. I opened the file again.

"So, got any leads yet?"

"In the second file, the one where Susie was murdered, all the evidence points to the brothers. Skin fibres, hair molecules, fingerprints. Except for one bit."

Billy furrowed his brow.

"There was hair found at the crime scene on Susie's clothes. It was blond. Male. Jimmy and Frank both had brown hair, and Susie was a redhead. But police assumed it was from somewhere else – a mistake. Somebody tried to sweep it under the rug."

"So we're looking for a blond male. How specific."

"Shut up," I smiled. "It's a start."

I looked back down at the first file in my hands, the rumbling bus tossing me about in my seat. I tried not to look at the photos. One depicted the poor woman that Frank killed – Susie's biological mother. She was sprawled across a dark grey floor, thick blood surrounding the bullet hole in her forehead and her face twisted into a look of pure terror. I turned the page, saw no more photos. I frowned.

"What's wrong?" Billy asked.

"There isn't any mention of Susie's biological father," I said, flipping through the pages. "Ah, wait. Here." I scanned through the lines. "Vincent Maynard. It looks like they found his blood at the scene, but not his body."

"What?"

"Look," I said, pointing to the right section. "Body never recovered."

Billy paused, processing.

"Did Jimmy mention anything about moving the body?"

"Not a word," I said. "But come on, that's weird. Why leave the mother there and move the father? It doesn't make any sense."

"Unless he survived."

I met Billy's eyes, a cold feeling running through my veins.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if he lived? What if Frank thought he'd finished the job, when actual fact, he hadn't?"

"Even if he is alive, what's that got to do with Susie's death?"

"Think about it. Frank stole his baby and killed his wife. And like Jimmy said, he was a serial killer. A real psychopath. What if, after all those years, he managed to track down his wife's killer and when he saw that Frank had raised his baby girl – that he truly loved her like his own – he decided to punish him by murdering his own daughter and framing him for it? Frank and Jimmy would be put in prison and then hanged, and serial killer Joe got to walk away, scot free."

"That's insane."

"Is it, though? I mean, he was a serial killer. No emotion. No empathy. It's entirely plausible. Besides, according to this, Vincent was blond."

"But Susie was raped."

"So?"

"So it was her father."

"It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened."

I looked away from him, feeling sick.

"No," I said. "He has to be dead. Look at what Frank did to the wife," I said, showing him her photo. "Quick, efficient, no loose ends. He wouldn't leave until he did the same thing to the father."

"Then what happened to his body?"

I paused, biting my lip, trying to find an answer.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe we should ask him."

"You said Tony wanted to keep this quiet; he can't just barge in and take Frank for questioning. I say while we wait, we pay a little visit to the mother's great aunt in the meantime."

"And where do you expect to find an address?"

Billy smirked, reached over the seat and snatched the file.

"Hey! What are you doing?!"

He ignored me, flipped to the next page.

"Here it is. Kathleen Maynard's next of kin."

He showed me the file. Beside his freckled finger was the name Ida Abbott. Great aunt. Living on Westford Street. I nodded.

"So when should I meet you?"

"Now," he said, pulling the cord for the bus to stop.

"What? We have school."

"School can wait."

Billy slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up.

"I can't just skip school."

"Of course you can. I do it all the time."

"Billy – "

"Fine. I'll check it out. You go to school. We'll meet up later and figure it out."

I glared at him, hating this idea.

"Why can't we just go together?"

"Because I'm not patient enough to wait for your goody-two-shoes to wander on over. Just go. I'll sort it."

The bus pulled to a stop and Billy jumped out. Through the dirty glass windows, I gave him an annoyed expression and he gave me a bright smile and a wave, before the bus pulled away and I was left all alone once again.

© A.G. Travers 2018