Page 62 of The Therapist
‘He was. We just wanted to make sure she was okay after the text she sent me. Have you seen the text on my phone? The constables took my phone, have you seen the text? I mean, that’s why I asked him to come with me…’
Detective Grafton pulls my phone out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me so I can find the text. They sit in silence for a minute as I scroll through my messages, struggling to find the right one, but it’s gone. There’s no record of the text. There’s no record of any text from Sandy at all.
‘I… It’s gone,’ I admit, ‘but it said, “Lana, help me. He’s going to kill me.”’
Detective Grafton nods his head as though this is exactly what he has been expecting.
‘Do you remember the number it came from?’ he asks, knowing that there’s no way I will.
‘No, but she did send me a message, she did. Detective Franks told me that she called him and said she was fine. Why would she send me a message saying her husband was going to kill her?’
‘And you’re sure it was her who sent the text?’
‘I had her number saved with her name. If you find her, she’ll tell you, she’ll tell you she sent the text.’ I know that Sandy will do nothing of the sort. She will lie about the text. She’s lied about so much; it’s just one more thing.
‘Here’s the thing,’ he says, ‘we can’t actually find her. Our constables searched the house, their house, and they found her phone. It was under the mattress in her and Mike’s bedroom. We don’t know how long it’s been there but the battery was nearly dead. A call was made from it on Tuesday to the station where Detective Franks works. We can’t unlock it yet so we have no record of anything else but the call was logged with our system.’
‘That’s weird, don’t you think?’ I sit back and fold my arms. I haven’t told them everything, not yet. I suppose it’s the therapist in me but I am leading them to where I want them to go. When I reveal all, I need them to trust that I have it right. Detective Grafton and his colleague exchange a look and I understand that while I believe I am leading them, they believe they are in the lead.
I push my hair behind my ears, wishing I had tied it up. I am starting to feel desperate and I still can’t think how to explain things so they believe me. ‘And have you spoken to Ben? What did he say?’
‘We haven’t been able to locate him. Do you have a number for him and maybe an address?
‘He was with me. Right up until he shouted at me through the window, he was there,’ I say, slapping my hand lightly against the sticky table for emphasis.
‘He wasn’t in the house when police and the ambulance arrived,’ says Detective Grafton and then he stares at me, letting the words sink in.
And of course I understand it all because I was right. But now things have gotten a little more complicated. I didn’t expect Bento just leave and now I’m not sure what to do. But why would he have stayed? He knew the police were on the way.
‘You can see the messages between us on my phone,’ I say. ‘You can see that we planned to go together and we did.’
Detective Grafton offers me a quick smile and picks up my phone, scrolls through it for a few minutes. ‘What do you have his number saved under?’
‘Ben Summers,’ I reply, holding out my hand. He hands me the phone and I go to find the messages between me and Ben, but they’re gone as well. Ben’s name is no longer in my phone.
I can only shake my head in admiration at Ben’s thoroughness.
I had one objective, but of course, Ben had another.
The objective was to find Sandy and to make sure that the truth was told.
Three days ago, I understood the world one way. I was a therapist who was worried about her patient, a single mother and a woman who was trying to do her best.
But today, many hours ago, everything shifted. And now it’s shifted again.
‘I know you’ve said you got the gun from Ben,’ says Detective Grafton, scepticism at Ben’s very existence in his voice.
‘I did,’ I reply.
‘Right, but we can’t find Ben right now and we’ve had our constables look through records of gun ownership, which is something police have access to, and we can’t find a Ben Summers anywhere. Also, the rules at gun clubs are very strict in Australia. He is allowed to own a handgun but he would have had to go through quite a long process to obtain a licence, which as I have said, we have no record of, and once he has the licence, he is required to store the gun at his gun club.’
‘I know that,’ I say. ‘I mean I didn’t know that when he gave me the gun, but I know it now.’
‘And when did you find out that information?’
‘After I spoke to a private detective.’ Both detectives sit back in their chairs. Detective Grafton gives his head a scratch.
‘You’re going to need to explain that,’ he says as there is a knock at the door.
