The Simple Death Read Online Free

sort of sense? How could no one have seen this happen on a Thursday at quarter past nine?’
    Rostov again: ‘The crew say weekday nights are quiet, except Friday. The lights were out in the section of the cabin where Austin says he was lying, some electrical fault—supports his claim he was there. They did their normal white-level security check towards the end of the trip, missed Pearson’s bag, it was stuffed down behind a row of seats. Cleaners found it later.’
    McIver picked up the photograph of Mark Pearson from the table. It showed someone who looked older than thirty, keen, serious eyes and a determined mouth, already half bald as though eager to grow older. He seemed born to wear a suit.
    â€˜What did he do?’ asked one of the detectives.
    â€˜Hospital ombudsman,’ McIver said. ‘Dealt with complaints from patients and their families.’
    Troy said, ‘Doesn’t look like the sort to have accidents.’
    McIver shrugged. ‘But do we trust Jim Austin?’ He stood up. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the super here to talk accommodation.’
    â€˜So we’re taking this seriously?’ said Conti.
    â€˜Until further notice.’
    A general alert was out for Austin. Parramatta would be checking his usual haunts in case he returned. McIver allocated tasks for the next few hours: Rostov and Conti would visit St Thomas’ Hospital, talk to Pearson’s boss and colleagues; the plain clothes would obtain what extra CCTV they could; Troy and he would see Emily Nguyen at two.
    When the others had left, he said abruptly to Troy, ‘Anna come to her senses yet?’
    McIver knew Anna, knew what had gone wrong between them. But Troy hadn’t seen him for the past few months, because Mac had been away on a job up at Coffs Harbour. He explained she was still in Brisbane. When she’d walked out he’d assumed it was temporary and had hired an architect to design the extension to their house they’d been talking about. He’d sent the plans up to her as a sort of gift. And then, without telling him, she’d taken Matt to India.
    â€˜I wondered if they were coming back,’ he said.
    It had been bad. He’d chided himself for marrying someone from a different culture, had thoughts of Matt all the time, for weeks he’d had trouble sleeping. After a month they’d returned and things had improved. Anna and he talked on the phone every few days now, sometimes good conversations. But it wasn’t going anywhere.
    â€˜You think she’ll go back for good?’ Mac said. ‘To India?’
    Troy shook his head. If anything, the trip had turned her against the place; she’d talked of the violence, the constant delays and security checks, the blanket of filth over every patch of ground, every waterway. Blokes pissing in the streets, in the middle of the city men in suits just stopping in front of you and undoing their flies. Anna and he had been there on their honeymoon, he’d thought it bad then. She said it was worse now.
    â€˜So it’s okay,’ McIver said, ‘she’ll come to her senses?’
    That was what friends said, but Troy couldn’t see it. For a while he’d been hopeful, but that was fading.
    â€˜It’s been four months.’
    She still hadn’t told him what she thought of the extension plans.

Three
    L unchtime, Troy wandered down to the beach and stared at the vast line of bright sand stretching north. There was an old tourist poster on the wall of the station meal room: Manly, seven miles from Sydney and a thousand miles from care. He turned and gazed up the hill to the old building that for a long time had housed the seminary that produced Sydney’s priests. He’d been there once, to a function, with Luke Carillo, the priest who’d sort of taken him in after his parents died when he was fourteen. Luke, in his sixties now, was the friend who was dying of lung