Secrets - The Contact

Yeah, I have a secret journal. Case notes relating to you. After the crowbar attack, Lana asked me to let the past go – which I did. Maybe not entirely, though. When Lana left during the summer, I created the secret journal, encrypting the content for privacy. 

The visit to your mother has got me thinking again.
      
The police, the possibility that they didn't follow through a crucial lead (according to your mother), and my own involvement with the police as an adult when I did something that I suppose would be against the law – technically, at least.
      
Yeah, Macarthur might have posted threatening notes nine years ago.

But I went looking for him first.  

And my guess is, he found out somehow.  Hence, his anonymous notes.

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Most Recent Update (two weeks ago):  

They say I drove straight up to Whaley Hill nine years ago on a sort of whim, believing against all odds that Vince Macarthur would be there – true, to a point.
But it was a lot more orchestrated than that.

You see, Craig, I had plans from the time Macarthur's release became imminent. Certainly, I can't recall them all – the blows to my head have distorted things – but the plans revolved around a northern town and information leaked to me by a former police officer, whom some might describe as corrupt. I did warn you that there was a secret.

 I can still picture the ageing officer's walnut face, the grey eyes that exuded disillusionment and a sense of having been betrayed by his superiors – but above all, a tit for tat, whistle blowing attitude, minus any real concern for the consequences of his actions. I suppose it was a bit of a let down to me, as you and I had always regarded policemen as heroes – don't all boys? – and this bloke certainly wasn't a hero by any stretch of the imagination. If I'm correct, he and I met in a rundown pub on a cold, rainy afternoon – near some steelworks? –  and he passed on the date of Macarthur's release and other details relating to Macarthur's proposed whereabouts after release. Those would have been strictly confidential. I have no doubt that he knew what I had in mind – i.e. some form of physical confrontation – but he chose to adopt a see-nothing/hear-nothing approach.

I don't know how many times he and I met, but I have never seen or heard from him since the crowbar attack and can't even remember his name or how the initial contact came about.  Maybe he's dead now.  He was a bit of a drinker after all. 

But then, so was I.

I have secrets too, Craig.