Thin Blood

by Vicki Tyley

  It’s the very least I can do for you, thought Jacinta. She felt like a fraud. If only Narelle knew the truth about her newfound friend, she wouldn’t be standing there, pleading with her eyes for Jacinta to stay. It didn’t matter that Jacinta had renounced her journalistic ambitions: the damage was done. Thanks to her, old wounds had been opened. The media, along with Grace Kevron, were baying for blood.

  Not trusting herself to speak, Jacinta simply nodded and followed Narelle down the hall.

  The two detectives had given up waiting in the living area and were loitering near the kitchen. The female officer held a mobile phone to her ear with one hand and was busy writing notes with the other. The male officer stood head down, hands in pockets, scuffing his feet on the tiled floor. He looked up briefly without acknowledging them, and then returned to acting like an insolent schoolboy.

  When the female officer finished on the phone, Narelle switched into hostess mode, introducing Jacinta to the detectives but leaving it to them to introduce themselves when she stumbled on their ranks and names. Detective Sergeant Renee White extended a hand, which Jacinta happily accepted. Detective Constable Mark Fratta, on the other hand, kept his hands firmly planted in his pockets, a thinly veiled scowl on his face. The feeling was mutual.

  Narelle was acting as if it were a social occasion, fluffing around in the kitchen, filling the kettle, opening cupboards. Her offers of coffee, tea, juice, water or perhaps something stronger were all turned down. She opened drawers, closing them again before moving on to the next, as if searching for something. That, or playing for time. One look at Narelle’s wringing hands told Jacinta it was the latter.

  Looking to Narelle for confirmation, DS Renee White suggested they all take a seat at the round glass table in the meals area next to the kitchen.

  DC Mark Fratta made the first move, taking the seat closest to him. The DS opted for the chair next to him. Narelle was dallying at the end of the kitchen bench, seemingly waiting for all her visitors to be seated before joining them.

  Jacinta glanced at the two remaining chairs, settling for the chair opposite Mark Fratta rather than the one beside him. She sat down, immediately wishing she had chosen the other seat. If she kept her eyes down, she looked straight through the glass tabletop at the fabric bunched around the DC’s groin, and if she looked up, she was staring him in the face.

  Thankfully, Narelle joining them provided them all with a temporary distraction. She didn’t know about anyone else, but Jacinta found the whole situation disconcerting and rather farcical. All it would have taken was for them to join hands and they could have had a séance. Maybe then they could find out what had really happened all those years ago.

  This time the sergeant did all the talking, starting by apologising for calling unannounced. In a soft, unthreatening voice, she went on to explain that the gold and sapphire cross had recently come into their possession. Since it matched the description that Narelle had given in her statement of a cross belonging to her sister, they were seeking her assistance in identifying it.

  For a few long seconds, no one spoke.

  Then, in a small voice, Narelle asked, “Where was it found?” Her head remained bowed, her hair falling forward and obscuring her features.

  “In the Toolangi State Forest, north-east of Melbourne, on an old logging road.”

  “What made you look at my statement?” Narelle lifted her head, meeting Renee White’s gaze. “It must be years since anyone’s looked at that file,” she continued, her words stronger now.

  The slightest of smirks appeared on Mark Fratta’s face, vanishing the instant he caught his sergeant’s look.

  The DS deftly deflected the question, telling Narelle that like many of the old cases, it was reviewed regularly. Before Narelle could say anything else, the DS had the plastic evidence bag containing the cross out of her pocket, dumping it on the table directly in front of Narelle. “Narelle,” she said, dispensing with the formalities, “is this, or isn’t this, Kirsty’s cross?” No more softly, softly.

  Narelle’s jaw jutted defiantly, her answer just as blunt and to the point. “No, it’s not.” She pushed herself away from the table, the chair scraping on the floor. “I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

  “Skeletal remains were also found.” The DS paused for effect. “They are believed to be female.”

  The sharp intake of breath Jacinta heard was her own. The soft thump she heard was Narelle sliding from her chair to the floor.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jacinta shivered, her thin top offering no protection against the evening chill. She could see the outline of objects around the swimming pool, but no detail. Hugging herself, she trod carefully around the pool to the far side.

  While the police had long gone, the doctor had just left, assuring Jacinta that Narelle would sleep for at least eight hours. Sedative or no sedative, Jacinta wasn’t taking any chances.

  Nearing the boundary fence, she wondered what she would do if Brett didn’t answer his phone. Craig hadn’t come home yet and she needed Brett’s help in finding him. She would stay the whole night, if need be, but Jacinta felt sure that Narelle would expect to see her husband’s face when she woke, not that of a woman she had only just met.

  At the edge of the paving, she turned and raised her mobile phone in front of her face. Even with the mobile’s keypad backlit, she still had to squint to read the digital display as she scrolled through the address book.

  The steady flow of distant traffic droned in the background as she waited for the call to connect. Just when she thought it was going to divert to his voicemail, he answered.

  “Make it quick, Jacinta,” he said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.

  Watching the house for any sign of movement, she cupped her hands around her mouth and the phone. “Brett, I’m at Narelle’s. I—”

  “Excuse me, did you say you’re at the Edmonds’ home?” Giving her no chance to reply, he ploughed on. “How could you, Jacinta? You promised me you would stay away from them. Just once couldn’t you have left well enough alone? Was that too much to ask?”

  Her throat tightened. “Stop! Just let me explain.” She heard him sigh, the underlying message obvious: It had better be good.

  In a hushed voice, she quickly filled him in on the events of the day, starting with Narelle’s distraught phone call that morning. She told him about the police visit, the gold cross, and then the news that had tipped Narelle over the edge. The police hadn’t confirmed they suspected the skeletal remains found in the Toolangi State Forest were those of Kirsty Edmonds, but they weren’t denying it, either.

  “Oh dear God, Jacinta, what have you started?”

  Something snapped inside her. “What have I started?” she hissed, managing to keep her voice to a low roar. “I’m not the one responsible here. I’m not the one who found the body, and I’m certainly not guilty of murder.” She took a breath. “Although that could be arranged.”

  “Okay, I get the point. When will they know for sure if the remains that were found are Narelle’s sister’s?”

  Breathing a little easier now that Brett was no longer haranguing her, she recounted what DS Renee White had explained to her about the degradation of nuclear DNA over time.

  “Does that mean they won’t be able to positively identify the bones?” Brett sounded concerned.

  “Not a hundred percent. However, there is something called mi-to-chon-dri-al,” she sounded the word out, hoping she had recalled it correctly, “DNA that is inherited solely from the mother.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “That means if the mitochondrial DNA matches Narelle’s, then the remains belong to someone in the family with the same maternal lineage. And I assume that unless there are other members of the family missing, that would mean Kirsty. They should know within a week to ten days.”

  She could almost hear his mind ticking over, his only response a low whistle. She waited, allowing time for the possible ra
mifications if the remains were positively identified as Kirsty Edmonds to sink in. If his thinking was anything like hers had been, there would be a slew of conflicting scenarios playing out in his head.

  On first hearing about the discovery of the skeletal remains, Jacinta’s immediate thought had been that it would bring closure. At long last, Narelle and Craig would be able to grieve properly; she for a sister and he for a wife. It would mean that they could escape the shackles of the past and get on with living.

  Who am I kidding?

  The likelihood of that happening and everyone living happily ever after had to be almost zilch. As soon as the news got out that unidentified human remains had been found, media speculation and rumour would be rife. How soon would it be before some switched-on reporter put the police visit to the Edmonds’ house together with the discovery of the skeleton?

  What could a collection of old bones reveal? Did the dead woman have a tale to tell? Jacinta knew forensic science had advanced, but not to what extent. Perhaps evidence would be found clearing Craig Edmonds of the murder of his wife. But then again, what if the evidence, rather than exonerating, further implicated him? Or even more unthinkable — Narelle?

  Of course, all that would be immaterial if the remains proved not to be those of Kirsty Edmonds. Narelle had been adamant that the gold and sapphire cross found near the body hadn’t belonged to her sister. Time would tell.

  “Brett, I have to go.” She had seen a light go on in the kitchen.

  “Don’t—”

  She hung up, cutting short whatever it was he was about to tell her not to do. Promising herself that she’d call him back as soon as she left the Edmonds’ place, she retraced her steps to the house.

  Opening the glass sliding door, she slipped inside. The kitchen was lit up but there was no sign of anyone. She noticed, on the bench next to the sink, a glass that she was sure hadn’t been there before. Had Craig come home, or had Narelle, in her somnambulistic state, wandered out for a glass of water?

  Thinking she ought to first check on Narelle, she crept down the hall toward the master bedroom. With no light to guide her, she strained to see more than an arm’s length in front of her.

  Her nose wrinkled. A faint, vinegary odour that somehow seemed familiar hung in the air. Stale wine. She recognised it in the same instant she touched something soft and warm. She screamed.

  Light flooded the hall, blinding her. Instinctively, she ducked, her arms out in front of her, shielding her face. She heard him before she saw him.

  “What the hell?”

  Her sentiments exactly.

  She blinked, her pupils contracting with the sudden influx of light. “I can explain,” she blurted, wishing she could be anywhere else but there. “Narelle called me.”

  Taking a step back, he lowered the bottle he had been holding like a baton over his head and frowned at her. In the confines of the hall, he seemed a much larger man than she remembered. His clothes looked like he had slept in them. His face was unshaven, sporting a dark stubble that definitely wasn’t designer.

  She stared back, trying desperately to formulate something better than, Your wife was sick, I came, the police were here, your new wife collapsed, the police went, the doctor came… And, oh, by the way, skeletal remains that might be your dead wife’s have been found.

  CHAPTER 16

  Bloody interfering woman. Craig Edmonds banged his glass down hard on the table. Neat whisky sloshed over the side, spilling onto his hand.

  Ever since that Jacinta Deller woman had infiltrated their lives, nothing had been the same. He had tried to tell Narelle that no good could come of accepting that dinner invitation. If only he had tried harder.

  Instead, he had given in to her pleading and gone along with her wishes. He wanted her to be happy, but even he couldn’t have foreseen the events of the week. Would they have happened regardless? He couldn’t answer that. But although he had no evidence to back his hunch, he was certain that Jacinta Deller had been the catalyst.

  Throwing his head back, he downed what was left in the glass, feeling the fiery liquid coursing through his throat into his stomach. He then refilled it with the last of the Chivas Regal. With the glass gripped in one hand, he stumbled to his feet and staggered toward the master bedroom.

  Stopping in the bedroom doorway, he sagged, the doorframe supporting his weight. The light from the hall, whilst not shining directly on the bed, was enough for him to see that his darling wife was sleeping soundly. Narelle, her breathing slow and steady, lay on her back with the sheets tucked up under her chin.

  The alcohol was making him maudlin. His eyes brimmed with tears, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had never loved another woman with the intense passion he felt for Narelle. It was an intensity that sometimes frightened him. He couldn’t imagine a life without her in it. She was his world. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t need anybody else; they had each other. Two halves of one whole…

  Sniffing, he wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. A couple of deep breaths helped him regain some composure. He gazed at Narelle’s sleeping form, wondering what had possessed him to push her away? At a time when he needed her most, he had erected barriers. He loved her yet he had found himself unable to reach out, unable to share his innermost feelings. As much as he wanted to, he hadn’t been able to put them into words.

  He moved into the room. Placing the empty glass on the bedside table, he knelt on the carpet beside the bed and caressed her brow. He smiled.

  She needed him now.

  CHAPTER 17

  The hot, northerly wind whipped at Jacinta’s hair as she stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of the Alvico Media offices on to the footpath. Surveying the street, she saw only the usual motley collection of shoppers, tourists, business people and truant students going about their day, none of whom seemed to be paying her any attention. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  She shuddered, still unable to shake the prickly sensation she was being watched. It wasn’t the first time. She had been feeling it, on and off, for a few days. Was it paranoia or was it actually possible that someone was following her? Rummaging in her satchel for her sunglasses, she made a mental list of everyone she knew, crossing out names as she went.

  Since that first demented phone call from Grace Kevron, when she’d ranted on about blood and vengeance, Jacinta had received numerous calls from her. Most had ended up as messages on her voicemail — some strangely polite, some abusive, all scary. Notifying the police would have entailed explanations.

  Jacinta blamed herself. In hindsight, contacting Grace about the Edmonds case had been asking for trouble. However, phone calls were one thing; following someone was something else altogether. Grace didn’t know where she lived.

  Last week’s encounter with an inebriated Craig Edmonds had certainly left her reeling, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t left his wife’s side. She had phoned the Edmonds every day in the hope that Narelle would answer. Instead, each time it had been like confronting a fire-breathing dragon guarding his treasure. Craig refused to enter into a discussion of any kind, let alone tell her how Narelle was faring. She tried leaving messages but somehow doubted they ever reached her. At least, Jacinta hoped, Narelle had her husband to look after her.

  The ludicrous idea that Brett could be stalking her stayed with her for less than a second. They might not be living together anymore but, if nothing else, they were still talking to each other. He had phoned that morning to wish her luck for the job interview, sounding more like the old relaxed and carefree Brett. Maybe they had a future after all.

  With her sunglasses not only shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare but also giving her a sense of anonymity that she knew was false, she hurried down the footpath, breaking into a trot as the cross lights flashed green. As her foot touched the kerb on the other side of the street, she stopped and turned. A quick sidestep prevented her from being trampled by the stampede of pedestrians.

  She sca
nned the throng, failing to recognise any of the faces. Her breathing steadied as, feeling relieved but more than a little foolish, she continued on her way.

  Outside the open-fronted Café Face, she wavered, the tantalising aroma of coffee so intense she could taste it. Like a magnetic force, it drew her in.

  Within seconds, she was ensconced behind one of the small, square tables dotted in front of the padded bench seat that ran the entire length of one wall. Out of habit she picked up the acrylic menu holder from the centre of the table, scanning both sides before putting it back. She had no appetite.

  A pimply-faced waiter, dressed from head to toe in black, took her order. Waiting for her macchiato to arrive, she turned on her mobile and checked for messages. No one had called during the hour or so she had been pitching her skills as a copywriter to the directors of Alvico Media. She tried calling Brett, but he wasn’t answering. She then phoned Narelle, hanging up the instant she heard Craig’s voice on the answering machine. All the while, her gaze flitted back and forth, checking the faces of the people coming and going.

  Her coffee arrived. She downed the demitasse of milk-stained espresso in two swallows, and immediately ordered another.

  The second cup went down almost as quickly as the first. She had hoped the caffeine would keep her alert, but it just made her more anxious. When her heart started flip-flopping, she wasn’t sure if it was simply an after-effect of the coffee or weeks of accumulated stress catching up with her. Clasping her hands together to stop them shaking, she waited, hoping the sensation would pass.

  After a minute or two, her heart no longer felt like it was trying to escape her chest. Although keen to get home, she still didn’t trust her legs. She ordered a bottle of mineral water, buying herself time and giving her a legitimate excuse to stay seated at the table. Sipping the ice-cold water helped to cool body and nerves. She finished her drink and readied herself to leave, sliding across the bench seat to the gap between her table and the next.