She put on an old, comfortable cotton dress. She had work to do.
A knock came at the door. Answering it, she found Jacob standing there, clutching a bunch of flowers. She’d forgotten he was flying back to Australia this morning—she’d been too caught up with everything. He looked good, in jeans and a blue shirt and cleanly shaved. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been in a crumpled coat straight from the microbiology lab, his beard the victim of an uneven shave. Today, she was sure it was herself who was looking worse for wear.
“I know you said you don’t like cut flowers, but these looked nice.” He shrugged casually, but his smile was a little sheepish.
She combed her fingers through her wet hair. “Thank you. Hmmm, do they come with wine and dinner and chocolates? I mean, if we’re being all traditional?”
He grinned. “No, it’s just the flowers. And me.”
She laughed, taking the flowers. “Then come on in.”
Jacob followed her inside and perched on one of her kitchen stools. “Hey, this absolutely can be dinner and wine, if you’d like.”
“I was just kidding. Dinner would be nice, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I’ve got some things to do tonight.”
“That’s a shame.” He looked at her reflectively. “Are you sure this is okay, me turning up like this? You know, if you’re seeing someone else—”
“Jacob, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Just so you know, I wouldn’t blame you if you were. Or if you thought I wasn’t putting any effort in. I’ve been away a lot.”
“Noted.” She attempted a lighthearted grin. This was how Jacob and herself had run their relationship so far—they joked with each other, never venturing into the serious kind of dialogue that committed couples had.
He looked as if he had something else to say, but a tight ball of nerves formed in her chest, and she carried the flowers to the kitchen bench. The exchange had felt awkward. Were they at the stage where they were ready to have the conversation about becoming exclusive? She didn’t know if she wanted that.
Opening one of the two cupboards in her tiny kitchen, she fumbled about, searching for something that resembled a vase. She didn’t own any. Settling for a water jug, she took it to the sink.
“Have you heard about the cold room murder case?” she asked him, deciding to steer the conversation back to safer territory.
He nodded, frowning and seeming confused at the change in conversation. “Yup.”
“I was asked to speak with the two girls who escaped from that guy. And they’re missing now. I’ve got some notes to go over—I want to see if there’s any clues to where they might have gone. Haven’t had a chance yet. I went to a media briefing up in Darwin today.” She filled the jug with water and dropped the bunch of flowers in.
He came and sat on a stool at the kitchen bench. “Heavy stuff. Do the police have any ideas?”
“Not really. The girls originally came up to the NT to do fruit picking at Llewellyn Farm. There’s a small chance they might have met up with some friends they made there.” Megan didn’t mention the fact that it seemed that Hayley and an unidentified man had taken Gemma by force. So far, the police were holding that piece of information back from the public.
“Llewellyn Farm? Is that the one owned by Tate Llewellyn?”
“Yeah. You’ve heard of him?”
He shrugged. “He’s been at some of the pharmaceutical events I’ve been to. And I remember a lab of his in the same building that we had one—in Thailand.”
“I guess that makes sense. I mean, I keep thinking of him as a fruit farmer. But he’s also a chemist. And his father does own a pharmaceutical company.” She paused. “Can I get you a cold drink? Ginger beer? Or a coffee?”
“Ginger beer sounds great. Interesting stuff Llewellyn was researching.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” She fetched two bottles of ginger beer from the fridge and gave him one.
“He had dozens of rats,” Jacob told her. “They were researching memory recall.”
“Memory recall? For what purpose?” She sat beside him on a stool.
“Hmmm, not sure. No, wait, I think I do. I chatted with one of the Thai lab techs in Llewellyn’s lab one day. She said the lab was for post-traumatic stress disorder. Testing drugs to see if they could make the rats forget a specific psychological trauma.”
“That is interesting.”
“Knew that’d get your attention. That kind of thing is your field. How would they make the rats forget a memory?”
Megan thought for a moment, toying with the bottle caps she’d just removed from the ginger beer bottles. “I’d like to know what the experiments were about, exactly. But memories can be altered, even without drugs. We think our memories are reliable and sorted in filing cabinets in our brains, but they’re not. Each time we recall a memory, it’s plastic and can change.”
“Well, I didn’t find out much,” Jacob said. “Llewellyn came into his lab and shut me down super quick. He was polite, but he showed me the door, more or less.”
“Weird. Hope they weren’t mistreating the rats or something. Do you think there was something he didn’t want you to see?”
Jacob swigged his beer. “I didn’t see anything out of order. The rats were looking a bit dazed, but y’know, that could have been part of the experiments.”
“Hmmm, so what happened with his research?” she mused. “I mean, I’m guessing the tests weren’t successful?”
Jacob shook his head. “The Thai lab is still functioning, as far as I know. I saw Llewellyn there just four or so months back.”
Megan stared at him. “That guy has a finger in a lot of pies.”
Bronwen had told her that Tate Llewellyn was running a sizeable mango farm and some kind of perfume testing that went on every day—and now she’d learned that he was actively conducting memory research with lab rats.
Just where, exactly, did his real focus lie?
30
Bronwen
It was seven a.m., and Bronwen woke from a cot in the corner of her office. She made her way to the showers, grabbed a towel from her locker, and ducked under the lukewarm water. This was the third night in a row that she’d slept at the station. Going home and having a nice warm bath would be nice. Maybe she could order in and eat a Chinese feast on the sofa in her pyjamas. Those were the things that dreams were made of, not falling asleep on top of crime scene photos.
Throwing herself into a case wasn’t unheard of, but she’d never gone this long without a rest, and now the little herb garden she’d been cultivating on the porch was beginning to die. Joe had a girlfriend to go home to, but for Bronwen, her modest house was her haven. Quiet. Unquestioningly hers and sorely missed.
But it was worth staying at the station, because Bronwen had been examining her notes on Leah Halcombe overnight and had to admit that Megan was right: Leah didn’t fit the profile of the other victims. She was a professional woman with a decent job. Why would she be mixed up with so many young drifters? If you added to that the fact that one of her clients, Clay, was a young troubled guy who did fit the profile of the other victims, then there was definitely something unusual about this whole situation. One thing that seemed likely was that Leah only ended up in the freezer room on Denton Road because of her connection to Clay.
It all leads back to the farm. Where do young drifters go? They find work picking fruit at places like Llewellyn’s.
The shower was a short one, just enough time for a wash. She dried swiftly, pulled her hair up into a tight bun, and slipped into a spare suit she kept at the office. She had to remember to ask someone to dry-clean her worn clothes so she could keep ahead of this schedule. Never had Bronwen felt this kind of pressure. The super wanted this case done. Every time they spoke, he talked about White. It’s clear Rodney White is the perp here, McKay. No? What’s taking so long to close this case? The commissioner is on my back about this one. Don’t you know who Llewellyn is? We can’t keep investigating
the guy.
Every time they met, he refused to acknowledge that the case was far more complicated than that. Yes, Rodney was with the girls at the time of the accident, and yes, they had identified him as their attacker, and yes, he was the person renting the slaughterhouse on Denton Road. She wasn’t denying that Rodney was a murdering scumbag, she just thought he wasn’t the only one. And now she had to find those girls, get them back, and figure out who else was involved.
“Good morning, sleepy head.” Joe strode into her office carrying coffee, which he placed down on her desk. “It’s the good stuff from the coffee shop in town. Extra strong.”
Bronwen lifted the safety lid from her coffee and sipped greedily.
“I come bearing other gifts,” Joe said, his eyes sparkling.
“Pastries?”
“No, well, yes, actually, but that isn’t the gift.” Joe reached into his top pocket and removed a sheet of paper. “Came in from the JoP this morning. The search warrant for Llewellyn Farm.”
“Joe, I could kiss you.”
“Come on, Bron, don’t be gross.”
“What do you think Brad Pitt of the Mangoes is doing on that farm?” Joe said, licking the last of the Danish from his fingers.
“Joe, use a napkin and keep those mitts off my glove box,” Bronwen snapped. They were on their way to Llewellyn’s with a search team following directly behind them. The farm was a big place, and it was going to take some time to comb through it. “Killing backpackers? Keeping the girls somewhere? I dunno.”
“What’s his motive?” Joe finally used a couple of napkins but then screwed them up and threw them on the floor of the car. “Rich guy likes to kill? He’s got a lot to lose, hasn’t he? And why work with a man like Rodney—a total lowlife?”
“I honestly don’t know. We’re missing something, but I don’t know what it is. Seriously, Joe, are you gonna pick them up?”
“What?”
“The napkins.” Bronwen rolled her eyes. Her stomach had flipped over several times this morning, and she’d been unable to finish her pastry. Since this case started, she’d lost three kilos and needed a new belt.
They pulled onto the property, parked up, and climbed out of the car. Bronwen touched the search warrant in her pocket and hoped to God they’d find something. She needed it after blundering through that damn press conference yesterday. Try explaining missing witnesses to a room full of journalists hungry for details. She needed the win, but she was exhausted.
It was early, barely eight a.m., but the receptionist greeted them cordially. Bronwen asked for Llewellyn before turning to the team to help split up the officers for a thorough search. The farmhouse was a priority, seeing as this was where Llewellyn lived, but they also had to search the dormitories, outbuildings, and the fields. It was going to be a long day.
“Detective McKay. Detective Kouros. It’s so lovely to see you both. But what on earth is going on?”
She’d half expected Tate Llewellyn to come downstairs in silk paisley pyjamas, but he was already fully clothed and without a hint of sleep in his eyes. She’d forgotten just how good-looking the bastard was, but this time it didn’t move her. She was prepared for it.
“It’s a little early for all this, isn’t it?” he said, smiling broadly. “Sophie, would you mind getting the officers some coffee?”
“Sure.” The receptionist slipped away from her post while Tate Llewellyn stepped closer.
He placed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the reception desk.
“Mr Llewellyn, we have a warrant here issuing us the right to search your property.” Bronwen took the piece of paper and spread it out on the reception desk.
He bent over the paper with a smile. “Interesting.” Then he leaned back and clapped his hands together. “Well, good luck with your search, officers. I’m not exactly sure what you’re looking for, but I’m confident that our operation is completely legal. We have a strict ’no-drugs’ rule on the premises, and my employees are well aware of that rule.”
“Even still,” Bronwen said, “we’ll begin the search now.” She turned and smiled at him. He lowered his chin and met her eyes with his own.
Bronwen took her coffee in a small room with comfortable chairs. Sophie handed her a printed list of all employees from the last five years, and she began to work her way through the list, looking for names matching those of the bodies found in the freezer room. She’d sent Joe to organise the search teams while she kept an eye on Llewellyn.
She worked in silence for a while, trying not to get distracted by the way Llewellyn insisted on tapping against the arm of his chair. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity to rile her. As she worked, she received updates when a zone had been searched and cleared. Every time a zone ended, Tate smirked, as though he knew the police would find nothing.
Eventually, he said, “I can save you some time, detective.” He placed his elbows on his knees as he stretched himself forward in the chair opposite. “I recognised some of the names from the news. Clay, for instance, worked here for a time. Ellie too. I’ll be reaching out to their parents to help with the funeral costs. It’s the least I can do.”
“How generous of you.” Bronwen refrained from rolling her eyes. “Why do you think at least two people from your farm have been murdered?”
“Honestly, I think someone is pursuing these people because they are easy targets. I hate to put it that way, but many of our employees are young wanderers running away from abusive families or a broken home. They come here to work, but they happen to be people who may not be missed. It’s incredibly sad, but that’s the way it is.”
He wasn’t fooling her with his bleeding-heart act. “Then the killer must be someone from your farm.”
“That’s not true,” Llewellyn replied. “My employees are free to come and go off the farm. They go kayaking, hike the Kakadu Park. They go into Katherine or Pine Creek sometimes too. They could be discovered anywhere at any time. The murderer doesn’t have to be at the farm at all.”
“But your farm is the consistent link in this case,” Bronwen pointed out. “Both Hayley and Gemma were here for a time, and now at least two of the bodies from the freezer room too. Everything leads back to your farm, Mr. Llewellyn. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “Like I said before, the people here are often vulnerable.” He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, I thought you had your killer. What was his name? White? Didn’t he die?”
“He did,” Bronwen said. “Which is a shame, because now we can’t ask him if he had any accomplices.” She finished her coffee and turned back to the list of names, rubbing at the growing ache of a headache forming at her temples. It wasn’t good coffee, too bitter, but hopefully it would keep her awake after a bad night’s sleep in her office.
“Why would a sick, twisted individual like Rodney White need an accomplice?” There was an odd shift in the tone of his voice. It had turned rhythmic, soothing. Bronwen tried to ignore the way his voice made her feel even sleepier. “More coffee?”
She held out her cup and allowed Tate to pour her another.
“Tell me about what’s troubling you, detective.”
“The girls’ stories don’t match,” she said. “I can’t trust them as witnesses. The upkeep of the freezer room on Denton Road must be expensive and time consuming. Plus, it doesn’t fit the chaotic nature of Rodney White. He’s messy and dirty, but the freezer room is neat. The bodies are placed carefully. Why?” She frowned and lifted her head from the paper. Had she really said that out loud? That was far more detail than she should be telling a suspect.
“It sounds like you have quite a case on your hands, detective. Perhaps you need a sounding board to figure out what’s going on. You know, I might not have much experience, but I am willing to listen—”
Bronwen’s phone began to ring. She glanced at the screen and saw that it was Megan. “Would you excuse me a moment?”
“Of course.”
&n
bsp; Bronwen took her phone and coffee into the hallway. “Megan.”
“Hi, Bronwen. Sorry to bother you at work. I wondered if there was any news on Hayley and Gemma?”
“Nothing so far. We’re searching Llewellyn Farm to see if they’re here. So far none of the teams have found them, and we’re almost halfway through the search.” As she said the words she realised how deflated and tired she felt. Her head was fuzzy, and she was having trouble concentrating.
“Listen, this might be nothing, but I wanted to pass it on. You remember that biologist I was seeing?”
“Oh, Mr Incommunicado? Yeah, what about him?”
“He met Llewellyn at a pharmaceutical event and apparently he owns a lab in Thailand.”
“Huh, small world.”
“Yep. He’s conducting some pretty cutting-edge research. Attempting to alter the memories of lab rats. Jacob told me one of Tate’s lab tech’s said it was for post-traumatic stress applications. I was thinking about it all last night and, I don’t know, I just felt like maybe it’s connected to the case in some way.”
“There is a lab on the premises,” Bronwen replied. “I’ll get the search team to check for drugs.”
“That could be a good idea,” Megan said. “It just seems odd, doesn’t it? Going from working on memory drugs to owning a mango farm? Thought it might be worth looking into.”
“Yeah. That’s true.”
As Bronwen hung up the phone, she stared down at the coffee cup in her hand. She felt spaced out and woozy, and her hands were shaking as she put the phone back in her pocket. This felt like more than lack of sleep. Sure, this case was the toughest she’d ever been through, but she’d never experienced this kind of dizziness while on the job before. And now Megan was telling her that Llewellyn had a history of experimental drug trials. That was suspicious in itself.
Rather than head back into the room with Llewellyn, she decided to go downstairs, find some sort of container, and have the lab test the coffee in her mug. If he’d… if he’d drugged her…
Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Page 24