‘He’s... he’s a bit busy at the moment, Mills.’
‘Ash, you know this is important. I don’t need to go back there, if that’s the problem. Could he come out?’
‘It’s not that, it’s... he’s just busy.’
Just then the door opened. ‘Miller,’ Kahu said, glancing behind him and then looking at Ash. He stepped through the open door and closed it. ‘What’s up?’
Miller handed him the letter from her satchel. ‘Another one.’ She watched him as he read it. ‘Is this right? It wasn’t him? If it wasn’t, who the hell would do this? Someone’s copying him? Who would do that? I was thinking it was just his way of not owning up to killing Li, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? He loves us knowing what he’s done. That’s the whole point of his fucking letters.’
Just then Miller was still, quiet. Her brain had rarely stopped throwing up images of Li’s dead body for the last twenty-four hours: the congealed blood, almost black; Li’s bloated face; the navy scarf around her slender neck. ‘Kahu, he’s right. It wasn’t him. There was no lipstick.’
Kahu gave a tight smile. ‘Ten out of ten,’ he said. ‘We’ve got someone in there. We arrested him earlier this morning. He’s confessed to Li’s murder.’
Miller almost dropped to the floor with relief. ‘Who is it? Do I know him?’
‘Yeah, you do. Look, you shouldn’t really be here. We haven’t released any information to the media yet. We’ve just interviewed him and he’s on his way to Hamilton. He’ll appear in court tomorrow.’ Kahu hesitated. ‘It’s Logan Dodds.’
Miller dropped onto the bench seat under the window. ‘Logan Dodds?’
‘We figured out it’s likely Li died Tuesday night.’
‘The night of the candlelit vigil.’ Miller looked up at Kahu. ‘The night those guys were after me.’
Kahu nodded.
‘Jesus. When Logan came along...’ Miller couldn’t finish.
‘He’s told us he had an interview with Li on Tuesday night before the candlelit vigil. We found notes from the interview that Li had transcribed. At the top of the paper she’d written “Tuesday 19 December 8 p.m.” He did the interview, attended the candlelit vigil with his parents and then told them he was going to walk home. He went back to Li’s. When he came across you and those two guys, he’d just killed her. The scarf he used to strangle Li belonged to his mother.’
The door opened again, and two detectives filed out and waited. After a moment Logan Dodds appeared, handcuffed, wearing creased shorts and jandals; his T-shirt, a size too small, left his pale, hairless stomach on display. Beatrice came up behind him, a hand on his shoulder, looking ten years older. Suddenly the small reception room felt very crowded.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Miller whispered, standing. Ash came to stand by her and laid a hand on her arm as if worried about what she might do.
‘He told his mother last night. She brought him in first thing this morning,’ Kahu said.
‘Miller,’ Beatrice said, trying to get her attention. ‘Could you please refrain from reporting this in the Lentford Leader?’
‘Beatrice, I think that’s the least of your problems right now. You think your son can murder someone and you still get to protect your family’s precious reputation?’ Miller asked, incredulous.
‘He’s sick. Miller. You must understand. I know you understand.’ She reached out, an act of solidarity, friendship, but Miller shook her head and stepped back.
‘That’s Li’s,’ Miller said, her head indicating towards Beatrice’s wrist.
‘What?’ Kahu said.
‘The watch,’ Miller said, voice calm. ‘It’s Li’s.’
Any pretence Beatrice had put up now shattered. Her tanned face paled and she struggled with the gold clasp on the watch and shoved it into the hands of the detective next to her. Letting out a strangled cry she rushed from the station.
‘There’s an inscription: “With all my love, L.” It’s from Li’s ex – Liam. Go on,’ she said to the detective. ‘Check it.’
The detective turned the watch over, then nodded at Kahu.
‘It was Mum’s birthday a few weeks ago and I didn’t get her anything,’ Logan said, speaking for the first time. The sound of his voice, soft and whiny, made Miller want to scream.
Miller turned to leave. She couldn’t bear being in the same room with him any longer.
‘Miller,’ Logan said. She could feel his eyes on her. She looked at him then away. ‘I know Li was your friend, and I’m sorry for your loss. After my sister, Amelia, I’ve always... wondered... what it would be like. And now I know.’
Chapter 39
Tiff wasn’t at home when Cassie got back from Miller’s. She’d be off getting high somewhere, Cassie was sure. That was something else she wasn’t into. She did it because Tiff liked it, but it was something she could see might be a slippery slope. She didn’t want to become that person again. She rang Tane, telling him she had a migraine and couldn’t come in. Tane did his best not to sound pissed off, but it was a Friday, three days before Christmas.
There was only one Winslow in Hamilton in the White Pages online so finding an address was easy. She drove past beautiful homes on River Road with river views and finally found the one she was looking for. Driving down the steep driveway she parked next to a sleek black Audi. The house was weatherboard, two storeys, surrounded by thick foliage, so much so she couldn’t even see the river down the side of the house.
She stood at the door, took a deep breath and used the tarnished grey-green door knocker to announce her arrival. A man in his late forties answered the door. Tiff’s dad. Had to be. Tiff had his eyes, nose, hair, everything.
Cassie introduced herself. ‘I’m your daughter’s girlfriend. I’ve come to see you today because I need some information.’ Even to her ear her speech sounded forced, rehearsed.
‘You know Tiffany?’ the man asked. ‘You know where she is? Sorry.’ He stood aside to let her in. ‘Come in, please. I’m Gerard, Tiffany’s father.’
He ushered her into a hallway and through to the dining room and kitchen off to the right. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said. ‘Coffee?’ He walked to the bench without waiting for an answer and began to grind beans next to a gleaming coffee machine.
Cassie sat down at the long bench seat that took up one side of the dining room table, which was strewn with papers and a laptop. She waited as Gerard set about making the coffee and frothing the milk, the machine hissing and spitting.
‘Excuse the mess,’ he said. ‘I’m an accountant and work from home occasionally. We have an office, but I like the vibe in here.’ He smoothed back his auburn hair, obviously nervous.
He brought two oversized mugs to the table and sat down. ‘Ah, sugar.’ He stood up again so forcefully that he knocked his chair over. He went to the pantry, placed a silver sugar bowl on the table and, picking up his chair, he sat down with a loud sigh. ‘I’m sorry... Cassie, was it? We haven’t heard from Tiffany since she went into The Oaks. We’ve had a bit of trouble with her since... Well, forever, it seems. We thought it best not to upset her by trying to track her down. We’ve been told by countless therapists and counsellors that she’s an adult, that her choices are her own, that we need to let her start living her life, not pandering to her every whim.’
Cassie was taken aback by this softly spoken man. He was nothing like the father Tiff had described. She had spoken of a brash man, uncaring, unsupportive.
‘We’re living in Lentford at the moment,’ Cassie said. ‘I work at the Royal, the local pub.’
‘And Tiff?’’ Gerard asked.
‘She’s... looking for work,’ Cassie said, trying to be diplomatic.
‘Can I ask you, is she off the drugs?’ Gerard looked down at his half-empty coffee mug.
Cassie felt as though she was about to tell a child Santa wasn’t real. ‘I...
No, she’s not. I’m sorry.’
Gerard’s shoulders slumped. ‘What can I do for you, Cassie? Is there a reason you came?’
‘I met Tiff at The Oaks. I was dealing with some stuff. I loved her... Love her... I don’t know,’ Cassie said, confused. ‘She... she hit me this morning.’
Gerard looked up; the corners of his mouth dropped.
‘When I think about it, she hasn’t treated me right from the beginning.’
‘It’s who she is, I’m afraid. She uses and abuses everyone in her life. She lies, she cheats, she would do anything for money. That’s how it started. Stealing money from me and her mother, even from her older brothers.’
‘What for?’ Cassie asked.
‘At the start it was just wanting money for junk food, magazines. Then when she was fourteen, she bought cannabis from a guy that had been selling to high-school kids. He was dealt with, Tiff and a lot of other kids were suspended. Most learnt their lesson but Tiff, by then, was hooked. Large amounts of money were going missing. By sixteen she’d moved on to methamphetamine. She was running away, often we didn’t see her days at a time. At first, we called the police in panic, thinking she’d been murdered, but she’d always turn up. Eventually the police, while kind enough, pretty much told us Tiff would turn up when she was ready. And, of course, she did, always looking for more money, or she’d stay clean for a few days, sleep and eat and we’d get glimpses of the old Tiffany, but then she’d disappear again. That’s been our life for the last nine years.’
Gerard wiped a hand across his eyes and took the coffee mugs to the sink even though Cassie’s was still half full.
‘I had no idea. That’s not the story she told me,’ Cassie said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Gerard stood at the sink, his back to Cassie. ‘She was always good at lying, sucking people in. I’m sorry you became a pawn in her little game.’
‘How did she get to The Oaks?’ Cassie asked.
‘She’d been to a heap of treatment facilities, run away from all of them. We took her to this one, hopeful as ever. And to our shock, she stayed.’
‘Why didn’t you visit her?’ Cassie asked, trying not to sound accusing. ‘Tiff was always so sad on visiting days when no one turned up. At least that’s what she said.’ She was beginning to realise she needed to look at Tiff in a whole other light – her actions, what she’d told Cassie about everything.
Gerard returned to the table. ‘We were told we shouldn’t contact her. By this stage I believe she really hated us. Her counsellor told us it would be detrimental to her recovery. And so we stayed away. But her counsellor did check in with us, letting us know how she was doing and by all accounts, she was doing great.’
‘I think she was,’ Cassie said. ‘I met her the first day I arrived. She scared me a bit. She was so confident, knew exactly what she wanted.’
Gerard smiled. ‘That’s our Tiffany.’
‘I don’t think I can stay with her,’ Cassie said, tears coming from nowhere, which she hastily wiped away.
‘Cassie, I don’t believe you should. We love our daughter, always will, we can’t not. But she has ripped our family apart and she leaves a trail of destruction wherever she goes. We’ll always be here for her – but you’re young. You shouldn’t let her into your life. She’ll only destroy it.’
Chapter 40
To get Logan out of her mind, Miller left for Hamilton after she’d seen Kahu. She stopped in at the Kowhai to get a double shot of caffeine. Kahu had said no information had been released about Logan, but Lentford being Lentford, word had got out. The cafe was buzzing. Aubrey was holding court, spewing information about Logan, true or not, but the crux of it was right on. Logan Dodds had murdered Li Chen. Miller waited for her coffee in the corner by the door, refusing to engage with anyone, preparing to leave as soon as Len called her order.
‘Thanks, Len.’ She took the cup from him. The Len standing in front of her was very different to the one she usually saw. ‘You okay, Len?’ she asked.
Len sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I can’t believe it.’ His voice broke. ‘She was a good girl. And I was...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t treat her as well as I should’ve. And now she’s gone. Excuse me.’ He turned and walked into the back room, away from prying eyes.
Miller hoped that Li, wherever she was, had heard him.
The address the young receptionist had given Miller for Amanda Taylor was in Fairfield. Miller turned down the street, slowing to find the right number. She parked in front of the red brick house. The neighbours, doors and windows flung open, were playing Metallica on high volume. Amanda’s house was partially obscured by weeds and grass that grew almost a metre high. Miller walked down the cracked path and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she walked to the side of the house, clearing a path through grass and weeds, sending up a flurry of cabbage butterflies and cicadas, screwing up her nose at the overpowering stench of dogshit, and peered into the lounge window. Empty. No furniture, no curtains.
‘Can I help you?’
Miller flinched and turned to see a woman standing a few metres away on the path.
‘I was looking for Amanda Taylor,’ Miller said, trying not to look guilty.
‘Don’t live here no more.’ The woman took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled away from Miller, although the slight breeze blew it back into Miller’s face.
They made their way around to the front of the house and walked back down the path. ‘Amanda’s been gone almost two years now, I think.’ The woman rubbed at her chapped lips, picking at a piece of dry skin.
‘Do you know where she lives now?’ Miller asked hopefully.
‘She’s at River Village. Assisted-care facility. Had a stroke a couple of years ago. I was the one who found her.’ She pointed to the front steps. ‘Was on her way out grocery shopping and collapsed right on those steps there. Anyway, it left one side of her face paralysed, so she can’t speak too well, has a bit of memory loss and depression. After the stroke she never came back here. Sad really,’ the woman said, without looking sad.
‘How about her family?’ Miller asked.
‘She spoke about her father sometimes. I think he’s in a rest home somewhere.’ She ground her cigarette butt onto the footpath with a wedge heel.
‘Yes, I know her father. How about a son?’
‘Never mentioned him, but I didn’t really know her that well.’
Miller thanked her for her help and got back in the car.
The woman came over and knocked on Miller’s window. ‘You might want to let that old folks home know what’s happened here. Just in case the old fella carks it and they can’t track her down, although fat lot of use she’d be – couldn’t organise her way out of a paper bag let alone a funeral.’ She walked away, stumbling on her high wedges, and back into the house, yelling, ‘Turn that fuckin’ music down!’
Miller entered River Village into her phone to get directions. The drive to Hamilton East was less than ten minutes. She passed Claudelands Event Centre on her left and continued along Grey Street. She stopped at the traffic lights in the middle of Hamilton East’s main street and watched people going in and out of shops that were glittering with tinsel. Cafes with chairs and tables set up outside were heaving with customers. Miller revved the Triumph’s engine and eased ahead as the light changed green. She turned right off the main road and drove down towards the river.
The River Village was clean but run down. The furniture in the waiting room was tired, the vinyl covered chairs spewed out foam, and magazines over a year old were strewn across a chipped coffee table. At reception she asked to see Amanda Taylor and was taken into a large lounge room. A ranch slider was open as well as windows on the opposite wall, but it was still stifling. The two pedestal fans humming in the corner did nothing but move the heavy air around, rustling the pine needles on the Christmas t
ree in the corner.
‘Amanda, dear, you have a visitor.’ Before leaving them, the receptionist said to Miller, ‘Lovely that you’re visiting. It’s not often anyone comes to see her.’
Amanda was sitting in a chair. Her right hand was closed into a fist, the knuckles white, as if holding onto something tight; her left hand lay limp in her lap. Her hair, a mix of browns and grey, was pulled into a lank, greasy ponytail. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, her speech slightly slurred.
‘No, you don’t. But I know your father, Karl. My name’s Miller.’ She pulled up a seat close to Amanda and caught the light floral scent of talcum powder.
‘I haven’t seen him in quite some time.’ Her already watery eyes teared up. Her right hand, still clenched, began to rub up and down her thigh in agitation.
‘Please don’t worry, he’s doing fine. I told him I’d come and check on you,’ Miller lied, ‘see how you were doing.’
‘Not bad,’ Amanda sighed.
Miller looked around the room. Everyone looked to be at least twenty years older than Amanda, many sleeping in armchairs, covered in rainbow-coloured crocheted blankets, even in this heat.
‘I couldn’t look after myself at home and my doctor said it would be best to move here. They take good care of me.’ She smiled, one side of her face frozen in place. ‘Would you like to see my room?’
‘I’d love to.’ Miller helped Amanda up. Her left arm hung limp as they walked to her room, Miller holding her right forearm.
Amanda opened the door and shuffled in. It reminded Miller a lot of Karl’s room at his rest home, but seemed, if possible, even smaller.
Amanda sat on her bed and lay back with her feet up. ‘Take a seat.’ She waved to the chair.
‘Do you have any other family?’ Miller asked.
‘I have a son, and my father, of course. I’ve seen neither for a very long time.’ She looked out the window which gave a view of the carpark and the road beyond. Miller felt she was losing her.
‘A son?’ Miller asked. ‘And where does he live?’ Miller made sure her voice was light and cheery.
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