The Twisted Knot Read Online Free Page B

There was a single sentence written in the middle. It said ‘Peter Woodford is a pedophile. Do your job.’
    She turned the piece of paper over, then opened the envelope to check for anything further. But that was it. One single sentence printed in neat capitals in black marker.
    They often received anonymous mail like this at the station. Usually it came in their post office box. Often it was written by people with mental problems. There was one elderly gentleman who regularly sent fifteen-page manifestos detailing Indonesia’s plan for the invasion of Australia. But this note was different. Its simplicity gave it credibility. A statement without explanation or justification. Sammi put the paper and envelope on the front counter, regretting that she hadn’t pulled on a pair of latex gloves before she’d opened it.
    Mel was looking over her shoulder.
    â€˜Do you know who Peter Woodford is?’ Sammi asked.
    Mel pulled a face like she’d bitten into an apple to find half a worm.
    â€˜Go and show Bob,’ she replied. She looked at Mel again, surprised she didn’t have some story to share about the person.
    Bob appeared from nowhere at the sound of his name.
    â€˜Show Bob what?’ he asked.
    â€˜Envelope shoved under the front door,’ Sammi said, gesturing to the piece of paper on the counter.
    Bob peered forward. Then his face tightened, his mouth pulling downwards.
    He grabbed the paper and envelope, screwing it up with a decisive twist. Then he flattened it out enough to get it through the slot on the confidential waste bin.
    â€˜Ancient history,’ he muttered, then stalked up the corridor towards the boss’s office before Sammi had a chance to ask anything further. Sammi turned to Mel, her mouth opening and shutting twice before the words came out.
    â€˜What was all that about?’ she asked, equal parts aghast and dumbfounded.
    Mel shook her head. ‘Not my place to say.’
    Sammi looked at her in surprise. Some gossip that even Mel thought was off limits? Now she was really interested.
    â€˜C’mon,’ she implored Mel. ‘You can’t say that and then not explain.’
    Mel shook her head and walked away to show she really meant it.
    â€˜Mel?’
    She kept walking.

5
    It was a busy morning and a few hours passed before Sammi had any time in front of a computer. It didn’t take her long to turn up ‘Peter Woodford’ on the police computer system. Although it was a fairly common name and she didn’t have a middle name or date of birth, she quickly narrowed the results by adding ‘Angel’s Crossing’ into the search parameters. If Bob and Mel knew about him, whatever had happened had happened in the Crossing.
    Peter Woodford was forty-nine years old and his address was on the outskirts of town. He had a few entries. A couple of drunk and public nuisance type offences. And sure enough, there it was. ‘Indecent dealing with a child under the age of 16’. It dated back eleven years. Sammi glanced at the victim’s date of birth. She’d be about twenty-six years old now.
    The report pre-dated the current computer system. The details were there, but all in one enormous block of information. Sammi scrolled through to read the report entries, listed chronologically, from the beginning.
    A fifteen-year-old girl accused her neighbour of raping her when she was twelve. Two counts particularised. Medical exam completed, but no physical evidence due to the length of time which had elapsed. 93A interview with the child completed. A statement from the fresh complainant, who was the child’s mother. Pretext phone call, with denials. Interview with Woodford. More denials. Not enough evidence to proceed.
    â€˜Ugh,’ Sammi said to no one in particular. She looked at the dates on the report. It had been finalised about eight years ago. What had triggered today’s anonymous mail, she wondered. And why