Cold Skin Read Online Free PDF

must have taken a lot of guts
    to do what Mr Paley did.
    To jump with a rope around his neck.’
    Albert looks up fiercely,
    as though he wants to shout,
    but he stops himself.
    I almost had him.
    All I have to do is keep baiting him
    and he’ll crack.
    He’ll tell me what I want.
    What I suspect.
    Paley wasn’t alone.
    How could he tie his own hands?
    I say,
    ‘Mr Paley did a lot for this town, Albert.
    When all you men were away.
    He worked tirelessly for the war effort.
    Raising money. Organising.’
    Albert stabs the cigarette into the block,
    crushing it in his fingers.
    A voice behind me says,
    ‘Mr Paley jumped, Sir.’
    Eddie is near the clothes line,
    hands in his pockets.
    His hair is messy
    and he looks unsteady on his feet.
    ‘I was there, Sir.
    I saw what happened.’
    He walks to the woodpile
    and stands beside his father.
    Eddie’s eyes are bloodshot
    and his dad can’t meet his gaze.
    ‘I tried to stop him . . .’
    Tears fill Eddie’s eyes.
    Should I ask him if anyone else was there?
    He’ll tell me the truth.
    But I already have the answer.
    I place my hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
    ‘Thanks, son.
    You did your best.’
    I nod to Albert
    and take my leave.
    There’s no point in pressing Eddie.
    He did what he could,
    and that was more than enough.

Mr Carter
    On my desktop calendar,
    Galatians reads:
    For every man shall bear his own burden .
    And mine is to sit here
    without typing a word.
    I notice the spiderweb
    hanging from the ceiling.
    A huntsman scurries across the wall.
    There’s so much to write
    and I can’t print a word of it.
    Headlines flash through my mind,
    ‘Mayor commits suicide.’
    ‘Murder solved.’
    Simple.
    To the point.
    An end to all the rumours.
    Except there’s no proof.
    I’m not printing gossip.
    Or theories.
    I’m not calling a dead man
    a murderer.
    Not on the front page of The Guardian.
    Wilma Paley is beside herself with grief.
    I type:
    The Mayor of Burruga, Mr Kenneth Paley,
    was found dead near Jamison River.
    Sergeant Grainger has yet to make a statement
    regarding the cause of death.
    All of Burruga will mourn this tragic loss of life.
    The rest of the article comes automatically.
    Mr Paley’s past.
    His achievements.
    I finish with the line:
    ‘Mr Paley is survived by his loving wife, Wilma.’
    I’m glad they didn’t have children.
    At the top of the page
    I type the heading:
    ‘Tragic death.’
    Enough said.

Eddie
    Sergeant Grainger leaves
    and Dad goes back to chopping wood
    as if nothing has happened.
    I watch him split the ironbark
    with clean sharp blows.
    He cuts much more than we need for tonight,
    tomorrow,
    the whole week.
    He doesn’t look at me.
    ‘Dad.’
    He grips the axe and swings,
    splitting the log in one clean blow.
    ‘Take these logs in for your mother, Eddie.’
    I lean down
    then stop myself.
    ‘No. Not yet.’
    He’s going to have to tell me.
    I stand in front of the chopping block
    and reach for the axe in his hands.
    ‘Look at me.’
    Dad’s shoulders sag.
    He glances back at the house
    to see if Mum is watching.
    My legs buckle and I feel dizzy
    as I sit on the block.
    Dad crouches beside me,
    whispering urgently,
    ‘Fatty killed Colleen.
    The bastard murdered that girl
    and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.’
    I swallow hard to stop the bile rising.
    ‘Why? How?
    I mean, how do you know?’
    Dad looks up sharply,
    and he’s about to snap at me.
    Then he remembers what happened.
    ‘I have a right to ask.’
    He covers his face.
    I see the cuts and burns on his knuckles
    from the heavy rope.
    They must have fought on the bridge . . .
    ‘Grainger was asking questions, Eddie.
    He suspected Larry.
    People were talking about your brother
    being drunk that night.
    As if that made him guilty!
    Larry can be a fool,
    but he isn’t a murderer.
    I told Grainger the killer was a coward.’
    Dad looks blindly at the firewood
    and the axe, and says,
    ‘The only cowards in town were Fatty and me.’
    My head