You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

the day off work and exudes energy. Megan expected her mum to be emotional and resistant to stripping the house bare; instead, she seems keen to get things underway. Ironically, Megan is sad and deflated, exhaustion exacerbating everything.

‘Nice try, Mum. But I get better gigs in Melbourne, and Cassie would never leave her job. Righto! How long do we have till they get here?’

‘Three hours,’ Megan says with a weary sigh. ‘They’re booked for midday.’

By the time the removalist truck backs into the driveway, the house is virtually empty except for the larger pieces of furniture. Boxes are waiting outside to be loaded into the truck. Items that are not going into storage have been stockpiled in the garage. It’s been weeks of planning, culling and packing, culminating in this forlorn, hollow house. The stylist’s furnishings will arrive on Monday and they’ll go from one extreme to another: the house will look better than it ever did. There’s sadness in that, too.

The three of them watch as the truck rumbles away.

‘I’m going for a shower,’ Megan decides. ‘It’ll either wake me up or put me to sleep. We’ll see which way it goes!’

Her bedroom has bare essentials only. The bed, an armchair that wasn’t vetoed by the stylist, and a small selection of clothes hanging in the built-in wardrobe. She selects a clean pair of jeans and a fleece sweater.

The shower revives her. The emptiness of the house is a fresh assault on coming out of the bathroom. A profound silence compounds the bareness. Have Seb and Roslyn gone out?

Megan raps on the door of her brother’s room. ‘Are you in there?’

‘Come in,’ he calls in return.

He’s lying on the bed, pillows propped behind him, looking at his phone.

‘There’s nowhere to even sit out there!’ she says, plonking herself down on the side of his bed. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Gone to the charity shop with a car-full.’ Seb puts his phone on his lap, screen facing down. ‘She seems fine, doesn’t she? I thought she’d struggle today.’

‘She’s a trooper,’ Megan agrees, before admitting, ‘I’m finding it hard … I keep thinking about Dad … How disappointed he’d be.’

Seb’s gaze shifts away. ‘I know, he’s been on my mind, too.’

They sit in silence, remembering. How their dad fought to keep the house. The toll on his health and eventually his ability to work. The unavoidable truth: he might still be alive today if he’d cut his losses.

The photo albums and leather jacket are on the bed, where Megan left them.

‘You taking these back to Melbourne?’

‘Yeah, Cassie loves looking at old photos. Might wear the jacket at one of my gigs.’

Her brother has some explaining to do. Stop skirting around. Just come out with it. ‘I found something, Seb …’ She picks up the relevant album and extracts the offending document, laying it down on the bed between them. ‘Why didn’t I know about this AVO?’

Guilt floods his face. He searches for words, comes up with, ‘Because I didn’t want to upset you … or have you think I was making things even worse …’

‘What did you do, exactly?’

‘Beat him up a bit.’

Megan didn’t know that her brother was capable of beating someone up! He is the broody type rather than the fiery type, as far as she knows.

‘Why Thomas and not Dylan?’

He grimaces. ‘Oh, I thumped O’Shea too but he didn’t report me to the police. I guess he thought he had it coming.’ Then a flash of defiance. ‘I went doubly hard on Malouf, I belted him for you and Dad …’

Now she is starting to understand. Seb’s double-fold frustration. Her brother wasn’t as unaffected by the trial as she believed him to be.

‘Did Mum and Dad know about this?’

Seb looks horrified. ‘God, no, they had more than enough on their plate.’

‘Do you have a criminal record because of it?’

He shakes his head. ‘Once I kept to the terms, it didn’t go on my record.’

Violence is wrong, she knows this better than anyone. But escaping justice is wrong, too.

She reaches across to hug him. ‘Thank you. I wish I’d known about this. It makes me feel better to know they got hurt too.’

47

BRIDGET

Dave has a satisfied glint in his eye. ‘Leo Malouf: some traffic offences that resulted in a couple of court appearances. Got off with minimal fines, despite one of the incidents causing serious injury to the other party. I’m seeing a pattern …’

Bridget has been preparing for a court appearance on Monday relating to a different investigation. She mentally changes gears. ‘Go on.’

‘Apparently, Leo had top-notch legal representation, as did Thomas for his misdemeanours … which got me thinking. I checked the database for Joe, the father, and quite a few entries for him, too. He’s a property developer, disputes and litigation go with the territory, but as I said, a pattern … This is a family who’re used to being in court, who’ve all the right numbers in their phones should they get into trouble.’

Bridget knows that type of family all too well. ‘What if one of them was at real threat of going to prison this time? What if Newson declined a job? That could be motivation for killing him. Maybe even explains why Thomas jumped in front of a train.’

‘Yeah, but I can’t find any current charges on the database. But as you know, disputes can happen through different channels, or be completely off record.’

Dave is right. Only matters involving police make it on to the database.

‘Keep at it. Make inquiries through employee, industrial and any other channels you can think of.’

A short while later a copy of the forensics report lands in Bridget’s inbox, distracting her from the court matter once again. The contents are at the same time disappointing and suspicious. No latent fingerprints detected on either the gun or the motorcycle. If Thomas planned to kill himself, why bother with gloves, or scrupulously cleaning away fingerprints? Leo, on the other hand, would have more incentive to ensure that no trace had been