"Lunch is on the table, Mattie," Jean called from the kitchen.
Mattie set her book aside and stood up from the couch as Lucien walked into the kitchen. The three of them sat down, before looking at one another.
"I thought Charlie said he'd be eating lunch here today," Jean said. Mattie glanced at the place set for him beside the housekeeper, the chair there currently conspicuously empty.
"Yes," Lucien put in. "He said he was going for a run by the lake, but that was at least two hours ago."
Mattie frowned. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and Charlie, she and Lucien were all off duty. She had been looking forward to spending time with the whole makeshift family together, and was a little put out that a spanner had been thrown into the works. Not to mention the fact that while Charlie was a fit young man, even he wasn't likely to run for more than two hours – he didn't jog by any means.
Jean let out an annoyed sigh, placing a tea towel over his plate to keep his lunch warm. "I suppose he'll be back soon," she said as she picked up her own cutlery.
Lucien began to eat, suggesting with a shrug, "Perhaps he bumped into someone he knows and stopped to have a rather long chat."
Mattie chewed slowly. The young sergeant had been in Ballarat for only a few months, had no family nearby and little occasion to make new friends. That hypothesis was unlikely to be correct, but she kept quiet. She had no suggestion of a more likely alternative.
They chatted amiably, and by the time they had all finished eating, Charlie still hadn't returned. Lucien looked at his watch as he dried dishes handed to him by Jean. "Still no sign of him, hey? That's nearly three hours, I wonder what he's gotten up to…" he mused.
Mattie bit her lip and walked out of the room. She skipped up the stairs, knocking on his door before gently opening it when there was no response. She hadn't been in here since he had moved in two months ago. The room was clean and tidy, the single bed neatly made, all of his clothes presumably away exactly where they belonged for there weren't any visible. There weren't any trinkets around the place, apart from shaving and hair supplies arranged on top of a set of drawers. The only really personal touch she could see was a small number of books haphazardly stacked on the bedside table, and a framed photograph next to it.
Mattie had only meant to poke her head in, to see if he was hiding up here or had left any obvious sign of why he had disappeared. However, she was intrigued by the starkness of the room, and the significance of the few items important enough to warrant their position. She walked into the bedroom, hesitantly at first, then with more conviction. The longer she took, the more likely it was that someone would find her snooping. And it was snooping, she admitted to herself, though she restrained herself from looking in any of the drawers or wardrobe.
She picked up the photo, taking note of its exact position. The frame was plain, lightly stained wood. The image it contained, however, brought a small smile to her face. A smiling woman, perhaps a head shorter than Mattie and noticeably thinner, stood in a garden, surrounded by four boys of varying ages and a young man with his arm around her shoulders, all clearly her sons. They all grinned at the camera, even the young man whose police uniform denoted his rank as senior constable. Charlie smiled up at her, an expression so open and content that she barely recognised him, though he the photo was only a few years old, she would have guessed. One of the boys, second- or third-eldest, she estimated, looked quite like the man she knew, a strong and trustworthy face and curly, dark brown hair. Her finger trailed over the glass. She wished there was a photo of the boy, about twelve she thought, where she could see if he had the same earnest, pale eyes as his older brother. The other boys looked too young to judge their likeness to Charlie, though they all had the same brown curls, even if the black and white photo didn't allow her to judge the similarity of the shade.
Mattie placed the photo back where she had found it, facing the bed so that it could be seen when one's head was on the pillow. Guiltily she made to slink out of the room, feeling like she had betrayed Charlie's trust. She paused though, warring with herself for a moment, then bent to look at the spines of the books also within arm's reach of the bed. Australian poetry, interrogation strategies, and the history of Ballarat were all topics covered. On top of the pile was a smaller, leather-bound book with nothing marked on the outside, most likely his diary. That was where she drew the line, turning on her heel and marching out of the room.
As she descended the stairs, Jean's muffled voice said something speculatively and Lucien laughed in response. She walked into the kitchen where the policeman's lunch still sat untouched and placed her hands on her hips. "I think something might have happened to Charlie," she declared.
Lucien straightened from his easy pose leaning on the bench. "And why do you think that?" he asked seriously.
She pursed her lips and frowned. "I don't know… I just have a bad feeling about this. He always comes back when he says he will, and three hours is far too long for a run, even a runner like Charlie," she said worriedly.
He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, he's probably fine, but how about we drive over to the lake and see if we can find him?" he suggested.
The pair were relatively quiet on the short drive to the lake, Mattie keeping an eye out for the runaway sergeant on the footpaths. They came to a stop in a carpark not far from where they had parked during the investigation involving the high school rowing clubs. Mattie got out of the car, walking a little closer to the shore, standing on the running track, turning in a slow circle. There were a few figures on the deck of one of the boathouses a bit further along, but Mattie ignored them, searching for a lone, pale runner with brown curls.
That is, she ignored them until she noticed how they seemed to be viciously struggling. Mattie was too far to identify any of them, but three men were wearing trousers and shirts, and one had shorts and a short-sleeved top on. They looked like they were towing the thrashing man towards the edge. His movement seemed to be hindered, as though he were bound. He had crimson stains on his sports attire. He was dressed like a runner.
The air was cold and quiet, the gentle breeze carrying his final yell of protest and the following splash as he was thrown into the water to Mattie effortlessly, leaving her in no doubt that the bound athlete was Charlie. She took off running toward the shed where he had been thrown in, sparing no thought for the men still occupying it. She vaguely heard Lucien's engine behind her, racing toward the shed, quickly passing her by. So too did the three men, who took off running. One limped, hopping more than running, and another's progress was slow and stilted as he held his side.
The car kept going, pursuing the culprits. Perhaps the doctor hadn't seen that Charlie had been tied up, and didn't realise the dire situation.
Mattie reached the shed and tore through it, hurtling to a stop at the last place he had stood. She searched the water, chest heaving, waiting for him to surface. Unbidden came to her the thought that this was how the loved ones and fans of the Goldman boy must have felt when it was he who was thrown into the lake, never to leave it alive. But Charlie's heart was fine. Perfect. Charlie wasn't going to die.
Not on Mattie's watch.
She didn't know how long she had wasted staring uselessly at the water or where Lucien was, but she threw off her coat and slid off her shoes as fast as she could. She cast her eyes over the water again, trying to pick where to dive in, but the murky depths offered no clues as to where her friend was.
With one last deep breath to brace against the cold, she jumped into the freezing water. The water stung her eyes but she forced them open as she dived below the surface, hands outstretched, searching. She came up for air, and dived again. And again.
The third time she surfaced, struggling to hold back a sob of desperation, she saw it. White, just below the surface, right near the edge of the water. Charlie's shirt. She kicked towards it desperately, glad they weren't in a river as Mattie wasn't a very strong swimmer and the current would have made it even worse.
She reached him, floating in the water where it was little more than a foot deep, and dragged the top half of his body out of the water. He was apparently unconscious, and cold as ice. Mattie didn't even entertain the idea that he could be beyond her help. She lay him on his side, moving as fast as her frozen limbs would let her, and untied the knots that held his hands behind his back. He had managed to mostly undo the knots, and the rope burns on his bloodied wrists attested to that struggle. As soon as she could slide one hand out, she put him on his back with arms by his sides. She adjusted the tilt of his head, feeling that he wasn't breathing, and began chest compressions. The adrenalin stopped the tremors that would have wracked her body otherwise, dripping wet, kneeling in the mud with an arctic wind compounding it. She paused to cover his mouth with hers, block his nose and force air down his airways. No response. She continued her resuscitation attempts, hearing Lucien's eventual cry of 'bloody Hell' from the top of the bank. Mattie took no notice, continuing her steady rhythm, hoping desperately for some kind of response from the still form beneath her.
This time, Lucien's alarmed voice came from right beside her. "Mattie, let me do it," he ordered.
She continued to throw her weight onto his chest for a few beats, teeth gritted and tears on her face, before she sat back on her haunches, surrendering control to the doctor. She had time for one, exhausted, gasping sob, while Lucien got in two compressions, before Charlie came to life beneath their hands. First, a weak cough, then, he rolled to the side, hacking and spewing water from his lungs. Mattie fell back, out of the way when he rolled suddenly, but reached out to stroke his dripping hair comfortingly while he gasped for air. When he quieted, he fell still on the grass, panting. Mattie was tempted to lie down next to him, she was so tired.
"We'd better get you both to the hospital. I dare say at least one of you will have hypothermia," Lucien said urgently, slicing the rope around his ankles with a pocket knife. "Right, sit up, Charlie. There you go," he soothed as he pulled the younger man upright, though he looked ready to faint and his lips were blue. Lucien pulled off his sopping white t-shirt, replacing it with his own, dry blazer. He then slung one of Charlie's arms over his own shoulders, dragging him to stand up and helped him stumble to the back seat of the car.
He then ran to where Mattie had left her things, grabbing them, before coming over to swing her up into his arms. "Mattie, you'll feel better if you can take off your shirt and put this on instead," he said, placing her down next to the car and hold her coat out for her to slide her arms into. He looked politely away while she peeled off her own drenched shirt, putting the coat over her thin undershirt. Charlie's eyes were closed as his head rested against the seat.
She slid in next to him, pressing against him to try to muster all the warmth they could. He put his arms around her and held her to his chest, her ear over the heart that beat once more, thanks to her.