'We've paid for six months,' he'd told her, 'and you can't just go from one activity to another without seeing things through.' He told Jill and Scotty hollowly that he'd been determined not to let their children take their life of privilege for granted.
Marie Kaplan had been alarmed by her daughter's change in demeanour that year, but because Carly had seemed to lose enthusiasm for most things, she had not honed in on the riding lessons as the source of her misery. Besides, she'd tried to reason with herself later, Carly's best friend, Brianna, also took the lessons, and the girls were out in the fresh air. It had seemed the right thing to do to encourage her to continue.
But the girls hadn't spent all of their time in the fresh air. Their instructor, David Carter, had told them that he had to take some photos for their horse-riding licences. Marie and William learned years later that Carter had taken the girls into a disused cricket stand in the grounds of the park. Under the isolated bleachers he'd encouraged them to dress in their riding clothes and later fairy outfits, snapping away as they changed and posed, giggling, in the costumes.
Face grey, eyes dead, William Kaplan told Jill and Scotty that even when Brianna had quit the lessons he had insisted that Carly see out the six-month contract with the riding instructor. His wife stared at the carpet as he spoke.
Under the bleachers one week, David Carter had convinced Carly that he could kill her mother any time he wanted to. He told Carly where Marie Kaplan shopped, the name of her best friend and their next-door neighbour. He knew where Carly's mum swam three mornings a week, and that she volunteered at the school canteen twice a month. If Carly ever told anyone what they did under here, he'd told her, he would kill her mother before anyone could do anything to save her. And it would be all Carly's fault.
Her parents recounted how Carly's marks had declined steadily from that year. She showed no respect at school any more, especially for male teachers, and she became a nightmare at home – harassing her sisters constantly and lashing out in fury when chastised by her parents. Their formerly quiet home was constantly ringing with the sound of Carly swearing and slamming doors. When Carly was eleven, Marie Kaplan found cigarettes in her daughter's backpack. At thirteen, Marie and William had been called to Carly's new high school, enduring an hour with an excruciatingly embarrassed principal who finally choked out that Carly had been caught having sex behind the gymnasium. Later that month they were back at the school to take her home, suspended for arriving back to class drunk after recess; vomit in her hair. School counsellors and changing schools twice hadn't helped at all.
It wasn't until Carly's fourteenth birthday, after yet another screaming row, that Marie and William Kaplan had found out what David Carter had done to their child. A sobbing Marie told Jill and Scotty how she had walked into the bathroom to find Carly slimy with her own blood, razorblade in hand, carving at her thighs. In the emergency department at midnight she and Carly's father had learned that their daughter had been self-mutilating for two years, and that this was a commonly observed behaviour in child sexual abuse victims.
Jill understood too well that a door to a nightmare world had opened that night at the hospital; Marie and William Kaplan walked in, and had never really come out. They learned that Carter had raped their eight-year-old child once a week for four months while they'd been walking in the park. They'd driven her there, taken her home – forced her to keep going when she'd asked to stop. William Kaplan held himself more accountable for the abuse than the man who'd actually committed these crimes. In her deepest heart, Marie blamed him too. They became strangers in the same house.
Over the next six months, Carly had made a one-hundred page police statement that required the most explicit, exhaustive minutiae of every encounter she'd had with Carter. Carly had come home from each appointment with the police beyond exhausted, her stomach cramping, unable to sleep. She missed weeks of school at a time, beset by nightmares and bouts of tearfulness and anxiety attacks. She'd had to tell the same story to doctors, counsellors, and the Department of Public Prosecutions over the remainder of the year.
Marie told them quietly that Carter had finally been arrested and charged. Carly had prepared herself for the agony of going through the details again in court. The matter was deferred every time it was listed, and the process continued for two years. The case had finally gone ahead last month. The court found Carter not guilty and he was acquitted.
Jill and Scotty already knew that Marie had not been fast enough to stop Carly bleeding to death in the bath. In the living room in Woollahra, Jill had watched Marie mentally replaying the bathroom scene. She knew that movie would be screening the rest of her life.
15
After her bath, Jill stood on her balcony in boxer shorts and a singlet, watching the beachside afternoon becoming evening. She loved the sounds and smells of the ocean, and watching the cars and the people below left her with a sense of community. This connection from a distance was as close as she got to being neighbourly.
The sunset bled into the horizon, and a chill breeze puckered Jill's bath-warm skin. She hugged her arms, unable to rid her mind of Marie Kaplan's thousand-mile stare.
Time to cook, gotta eat, she told herself firmly. She stepped back into her living room, relishing the thick carpet under her toes.
From a rack next to her lounge, she selected a glossy food magazine and walked with it into the kitchen. Her mum had bought her the rack, and the twenty or so magazines had been home-delivered monthly via the subscription she'd also bought. Jill smiled. More than one way to tell your daughter to eat properly, she thought.
Hmm. Poached chicken breast with rocket pesto. Easy, and she had everything she needed. She pulled produce from the refrigerator, lulled by the rituals of cooking.
A glass of wine would work well right now, said the white-eyed girl in her mind. Jill tuned her out.
She thought about Jamaal.
She knew that the inspector would be reluctant to let her take Honey out to the hospital. Mahmoud was a witness in the Manzi case, ostensibly not related to the Carter killing, but the cases had to be connected. Besides, she had to know if he was the same man who had ensnared Honey a decade ago. Was he still in business? Was Mr Sebastian still around? Somehow, these questions seemed far more important than who had killed David Carter. Convincing Honey to come along to the hospital hadn't been easy. She'd been sullen when Jill had shown up at her door the next evening. She was dressed in low, low-rider jeans and a pink halterneck top that left the creamy skin of her back completely exposed; her acid-green contact lenses glinted like gaudy beads, still freaking Jill out a little.
'I'm going out tonight. A girl's gotta work.' But Honey moved backwards to allow Jill into the flat.
Jill stayed where she was. That place was too small.
'Come on, Honey. I'll get you back here by nine, I promise. You wouldn't have left before then anyway,' Jill wheedled. 'We can grab something to eat. What do you want to eat? I'm paying.'
Honey stood silent in the doorway a few moments longer, her eyes giving nothing away; then she turned and walked back inside.
'Shit,' Jill muttered, moving to leave.
'God! Give me a minute,' Honey stood in the doorway again.
She threw Jill her handbag, juggling her keys and a canary-yellow cowboy hat while she locked the door. 'I want Lebanese food.' The corridors of the Brain Injury Unit of the Prince of Wales Hospital were haunted by the relatives of patients who fought for life behind the doors that flanked it. Their wraith-like presence contrasted with the bright efficiency of the hospital staff manoeuvring around them. Jill needed to show her badge twice before the Nursing Unit Manager gave them permission to visit Jamaal Mahmoud, the nurse's eyes on Honey the whole time they talked.