“What’s so strange about that?”
“The record book from 1966 has disappeared.”
“Whoa. When did it disappear?”
“Bronwyn wasn’t sure. She said she’s been in the records department since the late 1970’s and she’s never seen it, and the records show it was never sent to the archives.”
“Do you think it’s misfiled?”
Matt shook his head. “I asked the same question, but she said her predecessor was pedantic about the records. She worked with him for nearly ten years, and apparently he was OCD about everything. She doesn’t believe he was capable of making such a mistake and besides, the book hasn’t turned up in any of the searches she’s made since then.”
“Did you ask the guy’s name? Maybe we can track him down and see if he remembers anything.”
“Yeah. Are you ready for this?”
I frowned but nodded.
“It was Paul Pritchard. The same guy who wanted to spill all the hospital secrets.”
I gasped as alarm bells rang in my ears.
“Matt, this is huge!”
“I know. It sounds like this book is a missing piece of evidence.”
“Evidence of what, though?”
“That’s what I would like to know.” He grinned, the reporter in him excited about a story.
“Do you think the book was stolen from the hospital?”
“When Paul Pritchard called me and wanted to talk to me about all of this, I did some background research. I learnt that his job in the records department was the only job he held, and when he retired, they gave him a watch for his service. He never married, had no known children, and didn’t have very many friends. Bronwyn mentioned he was a bit eccentric and didn’t gel with a lot of people. But he was good at his job. I believe if the book was stolen then he would have reported it at the time.”
“Then how would he have lost something like that?”
Matt rested his chin in his hand, his lips pinched. “That’s a good question.”
The moon peeked out from behind a cloud, bathing the ocean in its cool light. Using my handbag as a pillow, I laid my head back and stared at the clouds allowing my mind to wander over the possibilities.
Matt sighed and laid beside me.
“Matt, do you think he would have the book? After all, you said he wanted to speak to you about hospital cover ups. He could have taken it as evidence.”
“But Bronwyn said the book went missing a long time ago.”
“Maybe it’s something he’s kept, waiting for the opportune moment.”
“Possibly.”
“Come on,” I coaxed, sitting up. “Surely a man who is OCD about everything wouldn’t contact you unless he had something to back up what he was going to say?”
“We’ll never know,” said Matt, sounding more dejected than I’d heard him in months.
“Maybe we will.”
“How? He’s dead, remember? Dead men tell no tales.”
“Exactly. Which sounds a lot like a good reason for him to have been murdered. Have you spoken to Ed about this?”
“Not about the book, but I have spoken to him about the story.”
“Great. Let’s assume Ed doesn’t know about it yet then. This means if the book is still around, we have a good chance of seeing it before it goes into evidence.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If I’d taken that book all those years ago, I would have kept it somewhere safe.”
“Like a security box at the bank maybe?”
“Possibly. But if I had arranged to speak to you about the story, I would have the book close at hand.”
Matt nodded, following my theory. “So, you’re guessing the book is in his home.”
“Ahuh.”
“Okay, let’s think this through. If Pritchard had the book at home, and we believe he was murdered to stop him talking about the cover ups, then what’s to say the murderer didn’t take it?”
“What’s to say they even found it? You know what I think?” I was on a roll, theories tumbling over each other as I pieced information together in my mind.
“It looks like you’re about to tell me.” Matt smiled.
“I think we need to go and take a look.”
“Break into his house?” Matt gasped.
“Sssh. Not so loud,” I hissed. “We don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing.”
“Molly, this is real life. People don’t just break into houses.”
“Sure, they do. You report it on the news daily.”
“Okay you got me there. But we don’t break into people’s houses,” he protested, waving his hand between the two of us.
“It’s not like anyone’s there. You said he had no family and no friends. My money is on that house is empty.”
Matt sighed and laid back on his hands.
“Do you want to know what that book says?” I pushed.
“Of course, I do.”
“And what happens to the book if the police find it first?”
“It’ll go into evidence and it’ll be years before I could learn what’s in it.”
“Exactly. So how important is it that you learn who the attending midwife was at your father’s birth?”
Matt chewed his bottom lip. “Very important. I need to find an explanation for the whole blood type issue. I know how much peace you would have if there was a way to learn we’re not related.”
****
I wasn’t sure how much Paul Pritchard got paid working for the health department, but if I was judging it based on his house alone, then I figured it was a lot.
Hidden behind the tall immaculate hedges was a grand home sprawling in front of us. The timber Queenslander was surrounded by verandas on all sides, the wrought iron railing painted a bright white. A large fountain stood in the middle of the path that led to the front door, the manicured gardens highlighting its stateliness. Thankfully it was situated in an older part of Westport where the blocks of land were larger, placing the neighboring home a good acre away.
I grabbed Matt’s hand as we stuck close to the hedge and tiptoed towards the rear of the house, the silencing of the Cicada’s the only clue to us being there.
We’d left Harper sleeping on the back seat of the car, the windows down far enough for him to get all the evening air he needed. The full moon lit the way as we looked for a way to get inside, keeping to the shadows as much as we could. I was grateful I’d brought my sweater as it not only protected me from the cool breeze that had whipped up, but it was also black, disguising me a little bit more than Matt’s bright yellow shirt was doing for him.
“Is that...?” I froze as the police tape came into view.
“Yeah. I’d say that’s where Pritchard died.”
I shivered as we sidestepped it and made our way towards the steps leading to the back door.
“This is a pretty fancy house,” I whispered.
“He inherited it from his parents. His father was a prominent doctor in Westport and from what I learned the family made a lot of money from investing in the growth of Westport at the time. This was their reward.”