Last Known Contact

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  Her glass was empty, so she refilled it. There was a decent bottle of red on the dining table, where she’d placed it with two fresh glasses and setting for two. If Ben wanted to eat with her. He’d called before Paul fronted up, and said he had something to discuss if she was up to it.

  Ellie stared at the table. Had she made it too pretty? Too much like a…date? She ran over and took away the candle and wine. Then the glasses. No, this wasn’t a date. In a moment she’d cleared the table and was swallowing a mouthful of wine with half an eye on the weather. The storm was back, or a new one here. Either way, the wind had increased, and she’d closed and locked the door to the balcony. Lightning flashed and she jumped as the intercom buzzed.

  “Kind of wet out here.”

  “I’ll find a towel. Come up.”

  The concierge would send him up in the elevator. The security in this building was more than she needed, but proved its value on nights like this.

  About to unlock her front door, she hesitated. The building was safe.

  What if gym man came calling?

  She ran to get a towel from the main bathroom and waited near the front door.

  The elevator dinged.

  “It’s me.”

  “What’s the password?”

  “Profiteroles.”

  With a smile from somewhere, she opened the door to Ben and looked him up and down.

  “You are barely damp.”

  “Thanks for getting a towel.”

  She handed it to him and closed the door. “Good luck getting any drier.”

  Ben made an exaggerated attempt to dry his hair and she laughed.

  “Good to hear that laugh. Are you cooking?”

  Ellie returned to the kitchen. “The pasta maker was feeling unloved in the back of a cupboard. Look at all the linguine it made to say thanks for using me again.”

  “Very nice of it. Are you eating it all by yourself?” Ben leaned on the counter, eyes on the pot of water ready to heat.

  “I am hungry.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, I guess there’s enough for two if you—”

  “Yep. I think I should stick around a bit and make sure there are no…um, leaks. From the storm.”

  “Leaks. Right.” She turned the stove on and settled the pot over the heat. “Once the water boils, dinner will be ten minutes or so.”

  “Jack’s pen has been dusted and is staying in the evidence room for now. I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”

  “How long until you hear anything?”

  “Fingerprints? Tomorrow, next day. Depends on who touched it and if they have the fingerprints on file anywhere. I know you do so we can exclude yours. Jack does.”

  “And Paul would, being security.”

  “Why would Paul handle Jack’s pen?”

  She reached for a heavy based pan with a shake of her head. Why would anyone, other than Dad?

  “Ellie, there’s something else.”

  “Go ahead.” She tossed the butter and sage into the pan and adjusted the heat. “I can listen and cook.”

  “Sea Angel. You’ve never mentioned who owns her.”

  This was the last thing she’d expected Ben to say. As the butter gradually melted, she poked at it with a spatula. Why did it matter?

  “You’ve always referred to her as Jack’s. He and Meredith go sailing on her. She’s tied up at a pier Jack pays a lot of money to use.”

  “When I turned eighteen, Dad gifted Sea Angel to me. But there were some conditions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Ellie bit her bottom lip as she added the sage to the butter. The water in the pot was almost boiling but she wasn’t ready to add the pasta. Not until Ben stopped with the questions.

  He noticed the bottle of red and opened it. Ellie snuck a glance as he poured two glasses. Tendrils of his slightly damp hair curled around his neck.

  “Shall I set the table?” He didn’t wait for an answer, coming into the kitchen and helping himself to cutlery, salt, and pepper. “I’m not trying to scare you, but as the owner of Sea Angel, if the gun is identified as having any illegal associations, then you’ll be under the scrutiny of other police departments.”

  Her mouth dried out. In her haste to get a glass of water, she knocked the spatula and it landed on the floor with a clatter, bits of sage and butter in a trail behind it.

  Ben tore paper towel from a roll and went to clean up, but Ellie took it from him without a word. She had none. This nightmare had no ending. Squatting, she dabbed at the small mess, barely able to see as yet another round of tears flooded her eyes. Her fingers wouldn’t hold the paper towel and with a thump, she sat on the tiles.

  “Ellie, it will be okay, I promise.” Ben was kneeling at her side. “Last thing I wanted to do was make you feel worse but you need honesty, and I don’t think you’ve been getting it lately.”

  “Why…are you…kneeling here?” Nothing made sense anymore. Dad was gone. There was a gun on her yacht. A body in the water which might be Dad. Her husband was involved with her stepmother. Ben was back.

  Ben offered a handkerchief. “I thought you were making your world-famous burnt butter linguine.”

  She wiped the tears away and blew her nose as discreetly as possible.

  He leaned closer without touching her. “I said the other day you are the strongest woman I know. But it doesn’t mean you can’t cry or grieve. Being able to feel and know how you feel is a mature response.”

  “Don’t feel mature right now. More like I want to throw a tantrum and beat the ground with my fists.”

  Ben stood and offered his hand. “Perfectly good bottle of wine up here which won’t drink itself.”

  Ben finished setting the table to give Ellie a chance to compose herself. She’d disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes before returning to the kitchen. He’d switched everything off the minute she hit the floor, gutted at her reaction.

  Think before speaking, Rossi.

  But if he didn’t prepare her, who would? The confirmation from Andy that Ellie owned Sea Angel was not entirely unexpected. It was so well kept and loved. Much as Jack Bannerman appreciated order, he had none of the light touches making the yacht so welcoming. So why the secrecy and what made Ellie hesitate when she answered? For that matter, why did the whole Bannerman family—excluding Michael—have to be so complicated?

  “Almost ready.”

  “Any candles?” Ben joked.

  “This isn’t a date.”

  The lights went out. Not only in the apartment, but the buildings around them. Further away the lights were on and a few generators must have started as shops below lit up again.

  “No generators in the building?”

  Ellie carried two bowls to the table. “I imagine so, but if they are anything like the ones at work, don’t count on a quick solution.” She nodded to the sideboard as she returned to the kitchen. “Candles in there.”

  It might not be a date, but dinner by candlelight was happening anyway. Ben lit the candles he found, collected a basket of bread from the counter, and waited for Ellie. She glanced outside as she set down a salad. “How strange to look out on darkness.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, surrounded by lightning and torrential rain. Perfect pasta in a buttery sweet sauce, soft bread, and rocket in balsamic—memories of past meals with Ellie poured into Ben. Picnics and breakfasts, late night snacks by the sea and romantic dinners for two. He put down his fork and picked up his glass.

  “To Chef Ellie.” He touched the glass to hers when she raised it.

  “Haven’t heard that name in a long time.” She sipped. “I have to cook more often.”

  “You should. And being a chef is still possible, you know.”

  “Maybe one day I’ll own a restaurant. Run it with people who fall through the cracks and create a safe place for the displaced.”

  Always there for the underdog. Ellie’s hear
t knew no boundaries.

  Except when it comes to me.

  Ben forced away a sudden heaviness in his chest. She’d made her decision years ago and it was fate that brought them here tonight, not love nor a hope to start over. By candlelight, her eyes softened as she spoke more about the restaurant of her dreams. If only they’d met another time. If only Michael hadn’t been his best friend. He nodded at her words although he heard none of them. She stopped speaking and drank some more wine, then turned intense eyes to him.

  “I want to tell you about Sea Angel.”

  This he heard.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Dad transferred the papers to me on my eighteenth birthday but I had to sign an agreement. Because I was so young, he would pay all the costs around Sea Angel until I was earning enough to take them over. Yachts are expensive creatures. In return, I’d give him use of her when mutually convenient.”

  “Seems fair.”

  “But. And it was a big but.” Ellie played with the stem of her wine glass, her eyes on her fingers. “For the arrangement to continue, I had to work for Dad.”

  “Do you mean in order for him to pay the costs, you had to be employed by Bannerman Wealth Group?”

  She nodded.

  “And what about when you were in a position to take over?”

  “Kind of fell to pieces when I left for a year. Although I still own Sea Angel on paper, in Dad’s eyes I broke the agreement. We’ve been at a polite impasse for years.” She emptied her glass, then scooped up the last of her pasta.

  A slight shaking of the hand with the fork belied her calmness. Ben refilled her glass, then his, giving her time to continue. Her meal finished, Ellie pushed the bowl aside and held the wine glass between her fingers.

  “I won’t sign the papers back, and he won’t take his stuff off the yacht. There’s no animosity, but we’re not getting anywhere.”

  “The yacht belongs to you, Ellie. Why haven’t you returned all his belongings to his house, and moved Sea Angel to where you want to moor her?”

  “When I left for a year without leave or notice, it damaged our relationship and it took ages to rebuild. If you hadn’t noticed, Jack Bannerman isn’t a man you defy.”

  “I know this.” Ben folded his arms on the table. “But that is his problem, not yours. And before you defend him, I know Jack loves you, Ellie. There’s a difference between love and ownership. And he is controlling you. Why do you still let him use you? The way he uses everyone.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she bit her bottom lip. In a moment she’d tell him to leave again and this time it would be permanent.

  “I’m his daughter. He needs me.” Her voice was so quiet he barely heard her. “I’m all he has now.”

  “No, sweetheart. He has Meredith, or did. And he has…”

  “Michael?” her chin went up. “Yes. Until he was arrested.”

  Surely, she could hear the pounding of his heart? He dropped his hands beneath the table and let them clench so hard it hurt.

  The silence dragged on between them while outside, thunder shook the building. The chimes were out of control, jangling heavily in the wind. Ellie closed her eyes as if shutting him out. Everything out.

  “Tonight isn’t the time to speak of this, Ellie and I am so sorry I let the conversation go this way. You’ve done a beautiful job with dinner and I’m going to make us coffee, okay?”

  She pushed herself to her feet.

  “Coffee would be good. I might sit on the sofa and watch the storm.”

  As the coffee machine warmed up, Ben cleared the table and packed the dishwasher. If Jack was the body, then Ellie’s life was about to change. But if the man was alive somewhere, Ben intended to find him and have a long overdue conversation.

  With the coffees, Ben joined Ellie at the sofa. She was asleep, her head nestled in her arms and her body curled up. He sat on the end, drinking his coffee and watching her sleep.

  30

  Whose Body?

  Ellie woke when the front door clicked shut, sitting upright with wide eyes. A blanket covered her and she was still dressed.

  Early morning light streamed through the windows. The storms were gone, leaving clear skies through the gaps between buildings. A lamp was on, so the power was back. She dropped her feet onto the floor, waiting for a headache, or worse, from so much wine last night. But none came, and her mind was clear. In fact, this was the first time she’d woken without battling exhaustion.

  When Ellie opened the front door, the hallway was empty. Why had he left without waking her? She cast her mind back. They’d not argued, but emotions had run high. Cooking for Ben, sharing a table with him, touched a part of her heart she’d long buried. The stirring of memories was not what she needed now, if ever.

  Propped against the coffee machine was a note.

  Call when you are ready and I’ll have you picked up.

  Retrieval underway.

  Ben.

  PS. Chef Ellie deserves happiness.

  Much as she wanted to throw clothes on and get to wherever this retrieval was, she needed a shower. And to prepare herself.

  Under a steady stream of hot water, she practiced a meditation technique to protect herself from what was ahead. Until the body was identified, there was doubt, and staying calm and logical was better than what she wanted to do—fall apart. By the time she dressed, her mind no longer chased thoughts into circles.

  She sent a text to Ben as she made coffee. Ready for pick up. Once she’d poured coffee into a reusable coffee cup, she’d wait downstairs.

  Ben’s note caught her eye. Chef Ellie was what he and Michael called her back in the days of university, dinner parties and big picnics on the beach.

  Not knowing what to expect today, Ellie threw a packet of tissues into her handbag and sunglasses, then peeked out of the door. Running into gym man would be too much. She pulled her door shut and sprinted to the elevator, willing it to be quick. Her phoned beeped as she stepped in. Andy is downstairs. Ellie tapped the ground floor button.

  “Hey, hold the lift!”

  Gym man’s face appeared for a second before the doors completely closed. Exhaling in relief, Ellie watched the floor lights as the lift descended.

  A police car was outside. Not like Ben’s plain one, but the lights and sirens type. A prickle of dread traced up her spine, so she raised her chin and pushed the door open before the concierge got to it.

  Andy was coming up the steps and smiled. “Hey, Ellie. All set?”

  “I guess. Where’s your car?”

  Andy opened the back door. “Ben commandeered it. Some issue with his. This is Constable King.”

  They exchanged pleasantries as Andy climbed into the front passenger seat, then Constable King pulled away from the curb. Ben’s car was parked further down the road, with both street-side tyres flat.

  “How?”

  “All four are slashed. Someone took a dislike to the car. Or Ben.”

  “Where are we going, Andy?”

  He turned as far as he could to speak to her. “Black Rock. About half an hour away, depending on traffic. Our crew was there at first light, setting up what they could. The tide is going out but the storm made a mess of the area.”

  “Is…um, is it still there?”

  “The body? It is. By the time we arrive, they may have retrieved it and you won’t be going near it unless we need help with identification. Ben wanted you there so you’re kept in the loop. Nothing worse than being alone and thinking the worst.”

  The police car wound through the early morning traffic, through the Burnley tunnel and cutting through suburbs to emerge on the road not far from where Dad had his beach box. The sky was the clearest blue and the sea reflected it. Calm and endless. Nothing like yesterday.

  Ellie went through the messages on her phone, anything to distract her thoughts. One from Campbell expressing his concern for her after the news broke. She replied, telling him she was on her way there now. One from Teresa
updating their interview time after cancelling yesterday. Then another, expressing her hope this wasn’t Jack. Why was she trying to be nice? Finally, a message from Dennis.

  We need to talk.

  What on earth was there to discuss? His relationship with Meredith? Failure to be a husband? Or was it about Dad? Did Dennis know something?

  Ellie put the phone away. Dad’s pen didn’t get onto Sea Angel by itself. Either Dad was on the yacht and dropped it, or someone took it from him and lost it there. Dennis went sailing without Dad. So, he said.

  Ben once painted a different picture. Two men out in the bay, a long way out. An argument, or even an accident where Dad fell overboard and Dennis kept the secret. If there’d been a struggle, the pen might have slipped out and rolled under the seats. Ellie’s chest tightened. And the gun. Was it used to…to shoot Dad?

  “Almost there. At the end of this road there’s a carpark.” Andy’s voice cut into her spiralling thoughts and she glanced up with a start.

  The sea was a long way down from the road. They turned into a carpark dotted with emergency services vehicles. A couple of uniformed police were in attendance and they waved Constable King through. Andy was on the phone as they climbed out.

  “Yeah, just got out of the car.” He hung up. “This way.”

  Ellie rubbed her arms as she followed Andy. A narrow track led to a clearing where equipment and emergency services people created a sense of urgency.

  “Wait here for a moment.”

  Andy vanished down a side path. Ellie stayed put for ten seconds then took off after him. Underfoot was slippery, with muddy patches and loose stones. Voices called to each other ahead but the words weren’t clear. Ellie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Was it Dad?

  Around a bend the ground evened out. On a stretcher on the ground, covered almost completely with a sheet, a bloated body lay. Ben squatted beside the grotesque form while Andy was back on his phone.