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Authors: Emily Maguire
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interviewed âa number of peopleâ in relation to the crime, including several local residents with records of physical or sexual assault, but that they had yet to identify any suspects.
Before she gave the answer that resulted in her breaking down, Ms Rogers had read from a prepared statement. âAll who knew Bella are shattered by her death,â the statement said. âWords canât come close to describing the hell weâre experiencing knowing that her last moments were likely full of suffering.
âBella was a gentle, sweet soul who worked hard, cared deeply for her patients and was adored by her family and friends.
âWe will miss her every minute of every day.
âNothing can ever heal the hurt weâre feeling, but we desperately hope that the person or people responsible for taking her from us can be found, both so that justice is done for Bella and so that no one else has to go through this unending pain.
âItâs of utmost importance that anyone with information about the events of that night contact the police immediately. Anyone with information is urged to call Crime Stoppers or the Strathdee police.â
Iâd taken the first two nights off work. I couldâve taken more â Old Grey at the Royal is a softie at heart and God knows Iâve put enough years in there to have earned some downtime â but why would I want to spend any more time than I have to alone in my bloody house thinking about my poor bloody sister?
Anyway, the pub is more home to me than anywhere else, really. Iâve worked there, geez, thirteen years? About that, anyway. I started in the kitchen and then moved to the bar once I got my alcohol service card. I know every last in-and-out of the place, could run it, easy, but Iâve got no desire to. I like my job as is and could happily do it until my legs give out from under me.
A while back the manager at the Imperial tried to get me to come work for him. Cheeky bugger he was, coming in and ordering a beer and then giving me the hard sell right under Greyâs nose. He offered me more money and a full weekend off a month and for a day or so I considered it, but in the end I figured why fix whatâs not broken, you know? Besides, the Imperial is right in the centre of town so they get all the after-five office and shop trade. Weâre closer to the truck stop, caravan park and motel near the Sydney off-ramp, which means we get most of the stopover traffic. Itâs not like it was before the bypass, but we still get a good number of truckies and travellers and I do love having a chat with someone from a place Iâve never been. Even better, a place Iâve never heard of. You can learn a lot that way.
And, yeah, no denying it at this point: I do have a bit of a thing for truckies, the long-haul variety especially. I mean, physically, most of them could be in better shape, but thereâs something about thick, sun-wrecked arms and bristly cheeks. Plus the kind of patience it takes to stay on the road ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day, and the skill needed to manoeuvre those monster things in and out of all kinds of nooks and crannies, well, letâs just say patience and manoeuvrability in the truck tend to translate quite bloody nicely to the bedroom.
Anyway, turns out tragedy is good for business. Iâve never seen the place as full as it was that Wednesday night of the week they found Bella. The usual scattering of folks passing through and then half the goddamn town. Honestly, more people than weâve had on a weeknight in a decade.
Nobody said anything more than âHow you holding up, love?â but when I answered that I was okay, I could see the disappointment in their faces. They wanted tears or rage. They wanted details. I could see that, too. I could see that every one of them had read the papers and put real effort into imagining her. Everybody was respectful and sombre when they approached
Before she gave the answer that resulted in her breaking down, Ms Rogers had read from a prepared statement. âAll who knew Bella are shattered by her death,â the statement said. âWords canât come close to describing the hell weâre experiencing knowing that her last moments were likely full of suffering.
âBella was a gentle, sweet soul who worked hard, cared deeply for her patients and was adored by her family and friends.
âWe will miss her every minute of every day.
âNothing can ever heal the hurt weâre feeling, but we desperately hope that the person or people responsible for taking her from us can be found, both so that justice is done for Bella and so that no one else has to go through this unending pain.
âItâs of utmost importance that anyone with information about the events of that night contact the police immediately. Anyone with information is urged to call Crime Stoppers or the Strathdee police.â
Iâd taken the first two nights off work. I couldâve taken more â Old Grey at the Royal is a softie at heart and God knows Iâve put enough years in there to have earned some downtime â but why would I want to spend any more time than I have to alone in my bloody house thinking about my poor bloody sister?
Anyway, the pub is more home to me than anywhere else, really. Iâve worked there, geez, thirteen years? About that, anyway. I started in the kitchen and then moved to the bar once I got my alcohol service card. I know every last in-and-out of the place, could run it, easy, but Iâve got no desire to. I like my job as is and could happily do it until my legs give out from under me.
A while back the manager at the Imperial tried to get me to come work for him. Cheeky bugger he was, coming in and ordering a beer and then giving me the hard sell right under Greyâs nose. He offered me more money and a full weekend off a month and for a day or so I considered it, but in the end I figured why fix whatâs not broken, you know? Besides, the Imperial is right in the centre of town so they get all the after-five office and shop trade. Weâre closer to the truck stop, caravan park and motel near the Sydney off-ramp, which means we get most of the stopover traffic. Itâs not like it was before the bypass, but we still get a good number of truckies and travellers and I do love having a chat with someone from a place Iâve never been. Even better, a place Iâve never heard of. You can learn a lot that way.
And, yeah, no denying it at this point: I do have a bit of a thing for truckies, the long-haul variety especially. I mean, physically, most of them could be in better shape, but thereâs something about thick, sun-wrecked arms and bristly cheeks. Plus the kind of patience it takes to stay on the road ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day, and the skill needed to manoeuvre those monster things in and out of all kinds of nooks and crannies, well, letâs just say patience and manoeuvrability in the truck tend to translate quite bloody nicely to the bedroom.
Anyway, turns out tragedy is good for business. Iâve never seen the place as full as it was that Wednesday night of the week they found Bella. The usual scattering of folks passing through and then half the goddamn town. Honestly, more people than weâve had on a weeknight in a decade.
Nobody said anything more than âHow you holding up, love?â but when I answered that I was okay, I could see the disappointment in their faces. They wanted tears or rage. They wanted details. I could see that, too. I could see that every one of them had read the papers and put real effort into imagining her. Everybody was respectful and sombre when they approached
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