by Vicki Tyley
An eclectic mix of office chairs lined one side of the long trestle table positioned parallel to the whiteboard. Except for one empty glass and two coffee cups clustered together at one end, the table was empty. Setting his own cup beside the others, he straddled one of the chairs and, with his arms folded across the chair back, studied the whiteboard and adjacent wall.
Enlarged copies of both the photograph and the driver’s licence seized from the Edmonds’ house drew his attention. While not enough to convict Craig Edmonds, their discovery had been a significant breakthrough. The photograph, picturing an obviously inebriated Tamara Whitfield hanging off Craig Edmonds at a staff Christmas party, her arms looped around his neck, clearly showed he had been on more intimate terms with the murdered woman than he had let on. Even supposing the photograph was nothing more than the result of festive frivolity, it didn’t explain finding architect Chandra Pinder’s driver’s licence tucked inside the flap of one of Craig’s old diaries.
Something bothered him, though. Although he hadn’t been involved with the original investigation, he had no doubt the initial search would have been as thorough, if not more so, than the one that had uncovered the photograph and driver’s licence. One of the items could have been missed, but not both. It all seemed too convenient.
Daniel also wasn’t one for coincidences. Acting on anonymous information, he and his team had been granted a warrant to search for firearms at the Edmonds’ property. Yet, when they arrived to execute the warrant, the mystery gun had vanished, the only evidence of its existence a bullet in the ceiling. Gut instinct told him they had been meant to find the photograph and driver’s licence.
The bullet he wasn’t too sure about. Could that have been staged, too? Preliminary ballistics results had identified the bullet recovered from the ceiling and those found with the human remains in the Toolangi State Forest as coming from a .38-calibre revolver. Every gun left distinctive marks on a bullet. However, the bullet fired inside the house had hit a steel coach bolt, mangling it and greatly diminishing the odds of matching its striations with those of the others. Without the gun, they had nothing.
His gaze moved to the Toolangi crime scene photos grouped together on the wall. In less than a two-year period, two young women had been murdered, their bodies dumped in bushland, and another had disappeared, assumedly under the same circumstances. Then the killings had stopped. Kirsty Edmonds had been the last known victim, but where was her body? He needed to expand the search area even further. She had to be there somewhere.
But what had been the murderer’s motive? Daniel now knew all three women had links to Craig Edmonds, but what reason would he have had to kill them? The discovery of the first two victims’ remains, rather than strengthening the case against him, weakened it. When he had been charged with his wife’s murder, the prosecution had argued the age-old motives of sex and money. Not only had Kirsty stood in his way of a life with her younger sister, Narelle, but her death meant he also stood to gain $1,000,000 from the life insurance policy he had conveniently taken out less than six months prior. Motive, opportunity, means. He had it all, but without the body, it still hadn’t been enough.
Now they had two bodies, but no motive. Maybe the answers lay with the victims themselves. What common characteristics did they share? What sort of lifestyles had each led? What were the relationships in their lives? Who were their friends? Did they have any enemies? Standing up, he selected a green whiteboard marker and added a series of question marks after each of the women’s names. By the end of the day, he hoped to know everything there was to know about Tamara Whitfield and Chandra Pinder.
CHAPTER 43
Jacinta opened the shower door to find a naked, bleary-eyed Brett holding out the phone. “Daniel for you.”
Stepping onto the cotton bath mat, she pulled a towel from the rail. “Tell him I’ll call him back in a couple of minutes,” she said, bending forward and wrapping the towel around her head. Brett hadn’t seriously expected her to talk to anyone – let alone her stepbrother – nude and dripping wet, had he?
Already running late for work, she quickly dried herself off, sprayed her underarms with deodorant, and missing the toner step, smeared moisturiser over her face. Then, with one eye on the clock, she dialled Daniel, dressing one-handedly while she waited for him to answer. She didn’t even have time to wonder why he had called.
“Make it quick, Daniel. Being late on my second week on the job is not a good look.” Her new copywriter position wasn’t as stimulating as journalism, but it paid the bills. She couldn’t afford to jeopardise that.
“Are you free for lunch, then?”
“God, I haven’t even thought that far ahead,” she replied, rummaging through her shoes, looking for the mate of the wedge-heeled sandal on her right foot. “Can I call you when I get to work?”
“Sure, but I thought you ought to know Craig Edmonds is expected to be discharged some time today. I imagine the news would be better coming from you — not that the hospital would let me near your friend, anyway.”
Jacinta stopped still. “Are they insane?” she exclaimed, not realising the irony of her words but provoking a chuckle from Daniel.
“I sincerely hope not.” He cleared his throat, serious again. “Call me as soon as you have a few free minutes.”
Dumping the phone on the floor beside her, she used both hands in her hunt for the missing shoe. Precious seconds ticked by before she found it. Brushing her teeth took another minute.
Brett, taking full advantage of a late start, had gone back to bed. He lay flat on his back, sounding like a chainsaw. With no time to spare, she grabbed her satchel and, blowing him a kiss, ran out the door.
Hearing the clang of tram bells in the distance, she sprinted for the corner, almost spraining her ankle in the process. Only when she was seated and the tram had moved off did she take stock. Feeling half-dressed, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she had forgotten to put on her bra — or, worse, her knickers. She ran a finger across her shoulder, feeling for the strap, reassuring herself she wasn’t about to turn up at work braless.
With nothing left to do except watch the traffic, her thoughts turned to Daniel’s phone call. It was the first time she had heard from him since he stopped her accompanying Narelle in the ambulance. There had only been room for one additional person, and he had wanted that person to be a police officer. For Narelle’s own protection, he had said.
Still in hospital under observation, Narelle had yet to speak to the police. Her obstetrician had insisted she was not fit to be interviewed, putting the cause of her collapse down to undue stress. That had restricted Daniel’s access to her, but not Jacinta’s. The first night she had gone to visit, Narelle had been sleeping. The following evening, she was sitting up in bed, looking the most rested Jacinta had seen her in a while. Narelle didn’t mention the police search or the items they had uncovered, and as much as Jacinta wanted to ask, she managed to limit the conversation to small talk.
And now, Daniel had just informed her that Craig was about to be let loose on an unsuspecting public again. Did he know about the search warrant? Did he know his wife had been hospitalised? Did he know his father’s gun had disappeared? If he didn’t, Jacinta didn’t want to be around when he found out.
Sighing, she gathered up her satchel, slid past the petite Asian lady and her wheeled shopping bag in the seat beside her, and waited at the back door for the next stop. The tram trip had been a brief respite, but once her feet hit the footpath, she was off again.
She arrived at Alvico Media’s offices gasping for breath, but only ten minutes past her scheduled starting time. Normally ten minutes would be neither here nor there to her, but she had only just started in the job and first impressions counted. Thumping her chest, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and then opened the door. She slunk through the empty reception area, not encountering anyone on the way to her office.
Grateful she hadn’t had to use any one of the feeb
le excuses she had formulated on the way in, she turned on her Apple Mac, using the time it took to power up to phone Daniel. They arranged to meet at midday at Café Face, the same café where she had first thought she was seeing things.
Preparing copy for a new day spa’s brochure consumed most of her morning, her cramped muscles hankering to take advantage of its services. She stood up, her intertwined fingers stretching up over her head as she leaned first left and then right. Collecting her satchel from the floor behind her, she made a detour via the toilets, screwing her nose up at the makeup-free face in the mirror. Her sunglasses and a touch of lipgloss didn’t remedy the situation, but helped.
By the time she had battled the heat and lunchtime crowds and made it to Café Face, Daniel was already waiting for her. He waved her over. Looking longingly at the chilled drinks cabinet, she weaved her way through the tables to him.
“We can’t exactly talk privately here,” she noted, taking in the packed tables as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Anyway, food first, talk second,” she said, picking up the acrylic menu holder from the centre of the table. “I’m famished.”
Daniel ordered a healthy rare roast beef salad. Jacinta opted for a rocket, goat’s cheese and crispy pancetta focaccia, making up for the breakfast she had missed.
Waiting for the meals to arrive, Daniel casually asked after Narelle.
“She’s fine, but you have to tell me what it was that got her so stressed out. What did you find?”
Daniel folded his arms, pressing his back against the seat.
“Come on, Daniel, I’m going to find out eventually.”
He leaned forward, his arms still firmly crossed over his chest. “As you said before, this isn’t the right place to be talking about this.”
Jacinta frowned. “So why are we here?”
“Can’t a man buy his sister lunch?” he asked, fixing her with a smile.
She caught his omission of ‘step’ and wondered if it had been intentional, or simply a slip of the tongue. “That’s not what it sounded like when you rang this morning.”
He dropped his arms, resting his large, square hands on the table, one covering the other. “I’m not good at eating humble pie,” he said, his gaze and voice dropping. “Sunday, I told you to stay away from the investigation. Officially, that’s still the stance; unofficially, I think you could be in a position to help.”
Jacinta hunched forward, keen to hear more.
“There’s one proviso, though.” He held up a finger. “If, at any stage, I consider you might be at risk, you are to do exactly what I tell you and withdraw. No arguments. I’m putting my job on the line here.”
“Anything you say, boss. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Lunch arrived before he could answer. Momentarily forgetting her question, Jacinta descended on her focaccia like a ravenous beast, not realising until then how hungry she really was. It wasn’t until she had swallowed her first mouthful and was on to her next that she looked up.
Daniel had got as far as picking up his knife and fork. “Hungry?” he asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
Her mouth full, she simply nodded, continuing to cut off another piece of the focaccia before spearing it with her fork. Swallowing, she reworded her question. “What has happened to make you think I can be of any help now when I was nothing but a hindrance before?” She took another bite, waiting for him to reply.
Daniel held her gaze. He had a way of studying her that made her feel as if he were reaching right into her mind. She stopped chewing, suddenly self-conscious. He glanced down at his salad and then, without a word, started jamming shavings of pink roast beef, mesclun leaves and semi-dried tomatoes onto his fork. “Eat your lunch,” he said, nodding at her plate as he lifted his own laden fork to his mouth.
Too hungry to argue, she did as she was told, and ate. Over lunch, they barely exchanged a word, the only conversation coming from neighbouring tables.
Daniel wiped his mouth on a paper napkin, tossing it onto his empty plate as he started to rise. “Fancy a walk in Treasury Gardens? We’re less likely to be overheard there,” he said, reaching into his hip pocket for his wallet.
“I can’t,” she said, checking her watch and standing up. “Some of us have to work.” Arriving late for work was one thing, but a long lunch would really have been pushing it. “I’m sorry, it’s going to have to wait.” She shoved her chair in. “Narelle is expecting me straight after work, but then I’m all yours.”
“What about Brett? I was under the impression he wanted you to stay as far away from this investigation as possible.”
Perceptive, as well as a mind reader. “He’s flying to Canberra this afternoon for an IT conference. I’m on my own for the rest of the week.”
Daniel’s eyebrows drew together in concern, the furrow on his forehead deepening. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “Don’t you start getting all over-protective on me as well. It might not look like it, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
He still didn’t look convinced.
“I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”
The cashier dropped the change into Daniel’s open hand. “It’s not your actions I’m worried about,” he said, turning to face her as he tucked the coins into his trouser fob pocket.
They parted company on the footpath, Daniel turning left and she crossing the street to walk back to work.
Kept busy, her afternoon passed quickly. Before she knew it, it was five o’clock. She finished formatting the text she was working on and packed up.
Foraging in her satchel for her tram ticket, she left her office. She found the ticket, almost dropping it again when she caught sight of Daniel sitting in reception, leafing through an album of the company’s latest work. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
He closed the album, replacing it on the low table next to the chair. Standing feet together, he doffed an imaginary cap. “Your car is waiting, ma’am.”
“I thought we weren’t meeting until later.”
“Correct, but since I was in the area, I thought we could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. You need to get to the hospital, we need to talk and I have a car. I thought we could talk in the car on the way to the hospital. I’ll wait for you and then you can either join the Lassiter family for a very informal dinner or, if that doesn’t suit, I’ll run you home. A win-win situation, don’t you think?” He gave her a broad grin.
It certainly sounded more tempting than a bowl of two-minute noodles, with only the television for company. “But Wendy’s not going to want a dinner guest landing on her unexpectedly.”
He ushered her out the door. “Wendy suggested it.”
In the time it took to walk the two blocks to the car park, drive in a spiral down five levels to the exit, nose the car into peak-hour traffic and make it to the CBD outskirts, she could’ve been at the hospital. Except for when some mindless driver decided to cross the tram tracks before checking it was clear on the other side, trams on St Kilda Road didn’t have to contend with vehicular traffic.
With outbound traffic at a crawl, Daniel had no excuse for avoiding her questions. “You still haven’t told me what changed your mind.”
Having had all afternoon to come up with what he wanted to say, he didn’t hesitate. “To be honest, Jacinta, I’m at a bit of an impasse.” Somewhere behind them, a couple of impatient motorists were having a tooting contest. “So far I have three people on my list to talk to.” He didn’t need to name names for her to know to whom he was referring. “But it’s proving rather difficult,” he said, tapping his finger against the underside of the steering wheel. “Besides the fact that we’ve been refused access to all three on medical grounds…”
“What’s happened to Grace Kevron? She is the third person, right?”
“Grace is fine. She’s responding well to treatment, but I can’t give you any details.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He glanced sideways at her, the tensing of his jaw almost imperceptible.
“Look, Daniel, I’ll do everything I can to help, but you have to be straight with me. No bullshit.”
As the lights at the corner of St Kilda and Commercial Road changed to green, he mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “Ditto.” Turning left into Commercial Road, he said, “Do you have any idea how far I’ve already put my neck out, telling you what I have?”
“Of course I do! But if this is going to work, we have to pool our resources. What the hell do you think I’m going to do with the information? Sell it to the highest bidder? Now there’s a thought,” she added sarcastically. Seeing the hospital up on the right, she started to unbuckle her seatbelt.
As the car passed under The Alfred’s helipad, the mobile phone in the dashboard cradle rang, its display screen lighting up. After three rings, it answered automatically, leaving Daniel no option but to respond.
“DI Lassiter,” he announced, glancing down at the screen.
“Daniel, it’s Renee. Craig Edmonds has been shot. The bullet penetrated his shoulder, causing massive bleeding. He’s alive but critical.”
Jacinta’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, her gaze flitting from the mobile phone to the expansive multi-storeyed hospital complex across the road.
“Where did it happen?” Daniel pulled into a no parking zone, leaving the engine idling.
“Outside his house. His wife is beside herself. She can’t give us any information. I don’t think she knows what day it is. A couple of neighbours heard what they thought was a car backfiring, but so far we haven’t found any eye witnesses.”
He glanced at Jacinta. “Where’s his wife?”
“Inside the house. A paramedic is with her.”
“Where’s the gun now?”
“There’s no sign of it, but we’re still looking. Crime scene are here now, doing their bit. Let’s hope they come up with something soon.”
Jacinta found it all too hard to take in at once. When had Narelle been discharged? Why hadn’t she let Jacinta know? Had she been with Craig when he was shot? Had he been the intended victim, or had he been shielding his wife? Had either of them seen his attacker? Was the weapon used the missing revolver? Question after question raced through her head, the answers nowhere in sight.