Gregg fell oddly silent as they neared. She glanced at him. He cleared his throat.
“I was with Willow,” he said.
“What?”
“I was with her. In the morning. Before six a.m. yesterday. I saw them—the Cresswell-Smiths—going out in their Quinnie.”
“And when were you going to tell me this?”
“I just did.”
Lozza’s blood pressure went up. She looked out the window and tried to breathe deep.
They drew up outside a gate under a jasmine arch. Willow’s lime-green VW Bug was parked on the street outside. Lozza hesitated. “So you’re sleeping with her?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I didn’t say it made a difference. I’m just asking.”
“It’s not really your business, Lozz.”
“Just want to know what I’m dealing with before we go in there.”
“And if I was—how’s that going to change our interview?”
“It means I’m doing the talking.” She got out of the car and banged on the door.
Gregg followed suit and said, “Chill, Lozz. It’s not like I’m delivering drugs or anything.”
She cursed under her breath and opened the garden gate.
THEN
LOZZA
Willow opened the door wrapped in a turquoise kimono with a dragon embroidered on the back. Her feet were bare and her hair was tousled—clearly they’d woken her.
“Hey.” She looked at Gregg, then Lozza. “What’s going on?”
“Martin Cresswell-Smith is missing,” Lozza said. “Gregg says you witnessed his boat going out to sea.”
She frowned, looked confused. “Yeah, we both saw the Abracadabra going out. Martin and Ellie were on board. What do you mean he’s missing—where’s Ellie?”
“She’s in the hospital. Drug overdose.”
“What?”
“Can we come in, Willow?”
But she seemed frozen for a moment. “Is . . . is she okay?”
“She’s in a coma right now.”
Willow’s hand went to her mouth. Her eyes watered. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “How . . . how did this happen . . . if they both went out on the boat?”
“This is what we’re trying to figure out,” Gregg said quietly. “Can we come in for a moment, Willow? We need to interview anyone who saw them going out.”
“Sure, sure.” She stepped back, allowing them to enter.
“Sorry if we woke you,” Lozza said as they followed her into a stunning living room overlooking the sea.
“No worries. I worked late last night. I do readings online in time zones across the world. Sometimes that means crazy hours. Take a seat. Can I get you guys coffee, tea?”
“No. Thanks,” said Lozza. “We shouldn’t be long.”
They sat and Lozza got out her notebook. “Describe what you saw, please,” she said.
“I saw them quite clearly through the scope.” Willow nodded to the telescope on a tripod in front of the huge picture windows. “Gregg was with me. He saw them, too.”
Gregg grunted.
“What time was that?” asked Lozza.
“It was . . . just before six, I think. I was making coffee when I saw a boat heading out into the bay. I went to the scope to get a better look. I saw it was the Abracadabra. Saw the name clearly. And I saw Martin and Ellie on board.”
Lozza scribbled in her notebook, feeling hot and clumpy in her big boots with her stupidly frizzy ginger hair and peeling sunburned nose while Willow sat across from her in her pretty kimono and elegant home. Despite her late night and the shadows under Willow’s eyes, she still managed to look sexy.
“What were they wearing?” asked Lozza. “How did you know it was them?”
“I could see. Martin had . . . I think a tan shirt. Cargo pants. The same as he wore fishing the other day when they got into trouble on the bar. Bare head. Ellie had a pale-blue cap on. A royal-blue jacket. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. I noticed because it’s so long and was blowing in the wind. They were headed toward the Point of No Return. I was surprised to see them because Martin was supposed to be away on a business trip. And there were whitecaps on the sea. It was windy. Not ideal fishing weather . . .” Her voice faded.
Lozza glanced up. “Anything else?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Thanks,” Lozza said, closing her notebook and coming to her feet.
“Is Ellie going to be okay—can she have visitors yet?” Willow asked.
“She’s unconscious. Don’t know yet.”
Worry creased Willow’s brow. “I . . . I don’t understand. What . . . what does it mean that Martin is missing?”
“The boat is gone,” said Gregg as he stood up. “Martin and the boat.”
“So how did Ellie get back?” asked Willow.
“We’re trying to figure that out,” Gregg said.
Willow frowned at him. “I’m going to call the hospital. I need to see her.”
“Did you know Ellie well, Willow?” Lozza asked.
“We’re friends.” She sniffed her emotion back. “Ellie has confided in me, as a friend.” She hesitated. “I . . . Look, it’s not my place to say anything because . . . it’s personal. But . . .” Willow’s frown deepened. “Given the circumstances, it might be relevant. Ellie . . . she’d just gotten proof that her husband was having an affair.”
“What do you mean?” Lozza’s interest was suddenly piqued.
“She’d hired a PI to follow Martin and his mistress, and Ellie had recently received photographic evidence. She told me she was planning to leave him—return to Canada—before he got back from his business trip. But he must have come back early. Which makes it really strange that they’d even go out in the boat together. Especially since Ellie had such an awful experience the first time they went fishing. It doesn’t make sense. None of it.”
“Did you see the photos?” Lozza asked, her brain racing now.
Willow nodded, hesitated, then said, “Ellie had also apparently found proof her husband was moving money out of their joint account. She feared he’d married her in a rush to get access to her money. She even thought he might be drugging her.” Willow swore softly, rubbed her face, then said, “Ellie found a receipt for two plane tickets to the Cape Verde islands. The departure date was in two weeks, and they were not for her.” She paused. “I . . . I can’t believe this. They only got married in May. In Las Vegas. It was a whirlwind thing, Ellie said.”
Lozza stared at Willow. “You mean Martin was getting ready to bolt?”
“I’m not sure. It seems that way.”
“With his mistress?” asked Gregg.
“That’s what Ellie feared.”
“Who’s the mistress, Willow?” asked Lozza.
Willow looked out of the window, clearly conflicted.
“Willow—” Gregg pressed. “This puts everything in a different light. If Martin is lost out there”—he flung his arm toward the picture windows overlooking the sea—“it could be a life-or-death situation. The clock is ticking. But if he’s not—if he’s bolted—there are search-and-rescue volunteers out there right now, good people risking their lives and losing employment hours searching for him. We need to know if there’s a chance he’s fled the country with some woman or something.”
“Rabz,” she said quietly. “It’s Bodie Rabinovitch.”
As Lozza and Gregg walked back to the Commodore parked on the street, she said, “Let’s go find Rabz at the Puggo.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Gregg, pushing open the gate. “Who’da thunk—Rabz?”
“So is Willow’s witness statement consistent with what you saw of the Abracadabra going out?” Lozza asked.
“Yeah. Two people. One Quinnie. Ellie in a blue jacket and pale-blue cap, hair in a ponytail. Martin with no hat. Around six a.m. I was going to have a coffee, then leave, go home, get ready to go to work.”
They got into the car, and Lozza s
aid, “There were those two suitcases in the Cresswell-Smith house when I found Ellie unconscious in the bathroom. Women’s stuff. All over the floor.”
“Like she’d packed?” He leaned forward and started the engine.
“Yeah. Maybe she was about to leave for Canada, like she’d told Willow, went for a last swim on November sixteen, which is when I saw her on the beach, and suddenly Martin was back. There in the dunes. Ellie looked shit-scared when she saw him. And he looked like bottled pressure ready to blow. Something evil about him. Even Maya said so.”
Gregg pulled into the street. “Maya was with you?”
“Maya and I swam with Ellie.”
He shot her a glance. “Why?”
“That’s the weird thing. She was sitting next to our gear when we came out of the surf. She seemed both terrified of the water—the waves—yet determined to go in. And because she was clearly scared . . . I don’t know, I offered to go in with her.”
“Lozza the savior.”
She gave a shrug. “I felt sorry for her. And then I saw her bruises. It’s consistent with her neighbor saying Martin hit her. This is starting to look really weird.”
Gregg swore. “Yeah, it’s sus all right.”
“So maybe Martin comes back early. He sees her suitcases packed. They have a fight that night, the suitcases get trashed . . . but then why go out in the boat together early the following morning?” Lozza said. “And now she’s in a coma. And he’s vanished.” She paused, thinking. “We need to confirm whether Ellie did in fact purchase an air ticket for Canada. And for what date. We need to know a lot more about those two.”
As they turned into the road that led to the Pug and Whistler, Lozza’s mobile rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Jon Ratcliffe. She connected the call.
“Bianchi.”
“Lozz, Ellie Cresswell-Smith has regained consciousness. I need you guys there.”
Excitement crackled through Lozza. She hung up.
“Detour,” she said. “Hospital.”
THEN
LOZZA
“What happened, Ellie, after you and Martin went out in the boat?” Lozza asked. She sat in a hospital chair beside Ellie’s bed. Gregg propped his butt against the windowsill, his arms folded over his chest, a notebook in one hand, watching. Late-morning sun streamed in behind Gregg, tiny dust motes dancing in the hazy rays.
Ellie appeared confused. Her gaze flickered around the hospital room, and she touched her hand to the bandage on her head. “I . . . I don’t recall going out in a boat.”
On their way to the hospital, Lozza had checked in with marine rescue. Still no sign of the Abracadabra or Martin. And the other Jarrawarra Bay police officers who’d been canvassing residents around the boat launch and along the ridge had confirmed what Gregg and Willow had reported seeing—all had witnessed Martin and Ellie Cresswell-Smith heading out to sea in their Quinnie shortly before 6:00 a.m. No one had seen the boat return.
“Ellie, your husband is missing. He’s been gone since early morning yesterday. Helicopters, fixed-wing aircraft, marine rescue boats, volunteers, police, have all been combing up and down the coast in search of Martin and signs of the Abracadabra. Anything you could say might help—time is critical.”
Ellie blinked, frowned, then winced as the movement appeared to hurt her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. Hollows had sunk below her cheekbones, and her complexion was so pale her skin looked almost translucent. Lozza had thought she was dead. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d arrived just in time to save the woman’s life. If it hadn’t been for the drug package . . .
“Ellie, do you know where Martin might be?” she asked again.
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you know why you’re here, Ellie?” Gregg asked from his window perch. Lozza heard his duty belt squeak as he repositioned himself against the windowsill.
Ellie’s gaze shifted to Gregg. She flinched against the sunlight and turned away again. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to moisten her lips. Lozza offered her water with a straw. Ellie sipped slowly. It clearly hurt to swallow.
Lozza tamped down her frustration and put Gregg’s question to her again. “Did the doctors tell you why you are here, Ellie?”
“They told me I’d overdosed.” She touched her bandage again. “The doctors . . . said I had a cocktail of drugs in my system. Alcohol, GHB, and something else—I don’t remember taking them.”
“What else did the doctors tell you?”
“They said I probably fell under the influence and hit my head in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen before I went up to the bathroom. They gave me stitches. They said I had vaginal bleeding and tearing . . . I have no recollection of anything. They also say I have some retrograde amnesia and that memories prior to my . . . accident might or might not return.”
Lozza swore to herself and glanced at Gregg. He shrugged a shoulder. This was the first time Lozza had heard of vaginal trauma. Her mind went back to what the neighbor had said about witnessing Martin hitting his wife and hearing screams. She thought about the bruises, the allegations of a mistress, and the other things Willow had said.
“Okay, here’s what we do know, Ellie,” Lozza said quietly, leaning forward. “And maybe going through it all will jog some memory. Several witnesses, including Constable Abbott here, saw the Abracadabra leaving Bonny Bay early yesterday morning. According to Jarrawarra Bay Marine Rescue records, the Abracadabra radioed to log in at 5:49 a.m. At that time the Abracadabra informed the volunteer radio operator that there were two adults on board and they were heading out to the FAD. Their estimated time of return was six p.m. That was the last anyone heard from the boat. Do you recall any of this, Ellie?”
Ellie stared blankly at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember any of it.”
Frustration bit through Lozza. “Okay, here’s what else we know. Your neighbor saw you come home in the dark, around seven forty p.m.”
“That woman next door who watches everything from her window?”
“She saw you from an upstairs window,” Lozza said. “She reported you stumbling and bumping over a rubbish bin near the boathouse studio, then she saw you going over the lawn and entering your house from the rear sliding doors. How did you get back to shore if the boat is gone?”
Ellie frowned and touched her bandage again, as if confirming it was still there.
Lozza pressed. “Your neighbor said you looked wet and that you were wearing a baseball cap and a windbreaker—the same items of clothing you were seen wearing that morning while heading out in the boat.”
Ellie began to look frightened. She glanced at Gregg.
“I arrived at your house at 8:02 p.m., Ellie,” Lozza said. “The rear sliding door was open. I found you unconscious in the bathroom. There was broken glass downstairs, blood smears in the kitchen, blood at the base of the stairs, clothes all over the bedroom floor, open suitcases, some blood on the bedsheets.” She paused, thinking again of the noise in the vacant lot and the Corolla that had sped off in the dark. “Can you remember what happened at your house?”
Ellie was quiet for several moments. Her eyes flickered and Lozza tensed in anticipation, but Ellie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have . . . it’s all just a black hole.”
“Was anyone else with you inside your home?” Gregg asked.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
Lozza moistened her lips and nodded. “Okay. Now, I do have to bring this up—it could be relevant. Do you recall having a fight with your husband the night prior to going out in the boat?”
Ellie hesitated. “No.”
Lozza watched her eyes. The woman was lying. She remembered something. Even a hint. Or perhaps Ellie just expected from habit that this was something that had occurred.
“Ellie, you’ve just mentioned vaginal tearing. Do you recall having aggressive intercourse that might have caused the vaginal trauma?”
Tears coalesced in her ey
es. “No,” she whispered. “I only know what the doctors have told me.”
Gregg inhaled deeply behind Lozza. Uncomfortable.
Lozza said quietly, “Ellie, I came to your house with a package that had been left for you at the Pug and Whistler. It contained the same black-market prescription medication that you overdosed on. The package had your name on it. What can you tell me about that package?”
She gave Lozza a blank look. But the pulse at her neck increased in tempo. Her breathing became more shallow. “I . . . I don’t know anything about a package, or those drugs that the doctors said were in my system—I don’t take them. I used to take Ativan, but I’d stopped.”
Lozza showed her the photo of the bald man in a leather jacket with the tattoo on the side of his neck. “Do you know this man?”
Ellie peered closely at the photo. Sweat broke out on her brow. She swallowed. “I . . . I’ve never seen him. Who is he?”
Again, Lozza felt she might be lying.
“This man left the drug package for you at the Puggo. He has a hummingbird tattoo on the side of his neck, and he rides a dirt bike with Queensland plates.”
Ellie looked frightened. She said nothing.
“Had you ever received packages from this man before?”
“I told you, I don’t know who he is! Maybe Martin does.”
“Martin is missing, Ellie,” Lozza said.
Ellie raised a hand to wipe her mouth. She was shaking. She looked even more pale. Lozza felt the clock ticking. Any minute a doc or nurse was going to barge in and shut this questioning down.
“How do you think you got back from the boat, Ellie?” Gregg pressed again.
“I don’t know!” She glowered at Gregg. “I told you. Do you have any idea how this feels—to have you guys telling me all this, to think I might have been raped or something, and have absolutely no recall? Do you know how vulnerable this makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cresswell-Smith,” Lozza said firmly. “But your husband is missing and you’ve been in a coma. We need to ask you these things now. If Martin is still alive somewhere, his life could be in grave danger. Time is critical.”
In the Deep Page 25