Eleven Rules: A gripping domestic suspense (The Rules Book 1)

by PJ Vye

  After finding nothing in the cabinet, she sat down heavily on the bathroom floor. A phone message came through, but she couldn’t be bothered standing back up to check it. Probably spam.

  She began to shove back the contents of the cupboard and tried to calculate whether she could still afford to leave him without the money. Her dad would support her a while in London until she got a job. He’d probably suggest she come work for him, tiling. He’d even send her the money for a ticket to fly home, if she asked. She didn’t want to ask. Judd had her money and she deserved to have it. The thought of asking Judd for her share flicked into her mind and then quickly disappeared. He’d be so angry she’d left without a word he’d barely be able to speak to her. She never wanted to face his wrath again.

  She could send him an email, explain everything and ask him nicely to send it. The idea almost made her laugh. He’d have a million reasons why he couldn’t afford to do it.

  Maybe he’d taken the password book with him? He had a photograph of its pages on his phone, she knew that, so it was unlikely he’d keep them both in the same place. He was a stickler for backing things up.

  Her phone beeped with messages several more times and, finally curious because no-one ever texted her, she checked her phone. Mat’s aunt had sent the same message five times.

  “Come home, Mataio.”

  Great. Now she’d have to talk to him again. If he ever came back. Why didn’t she just say no when he asked to use her as a contact? She should have told him to get his own phone. He could afford it.

  She had to take Ipo out anyway, so she’d write a note and stick it on his door.

  She threw a box of soap back under the sink and it landed with a thud as she slammed shut the door. Even though she wouldn’t be here to see Judd go nuts over the state of it, she instinctually reopened the cupboard to set it right. The package of soap had dislodged the bottom piece of plywood sitting loosely in place, leaving a gap between the floor and where the skirting laid.

  Sunny laid on her belly and stuck her head inside.

  One book of passwords. Thank you, Judd.

  Beneath that, wads of $100 bills, bound and stacked as high and wide as a shoebox.

  Rule No. 5

  Never Tell

  Nineteen

  MATAIO

  36 days to go

  Mataio didn’t know what he expected to find as he walked up the broken path to his aunt’s house at number 97. His aunt rarely used text so it must be something big. If Junior had died while he was away, he wondered how long it would take for his aunt to turn him in. He had no doubt she’d do it. Her attachment to her only son ran far deeper than it ever would for him.

  He went to knock but the door flung open.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked quickly, taking in the sight of her. Her hair was tied back in its usual way, but much of it had escaped and not been reassembled and her apron sat crooked on her hip. Her eyes widened as she asked, “Oh Mataio, did you bring more of the medicine?”

  He’d expected a fight to continue the treatment. Now he’d returned she seemed excited by the prospect. “Yes,” he said, his argument ready. “I think it’s important we cont—.”

  “Yes, yes. Come see.” She grabbed his arm with more energy than he’d seen in months and dragged him to the bedroom. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Junior upright on the bed, awake and eating a bowl of soup. He winked as Mataio came in. Aunt Tulula tugged at Mataio’s backpack, and he let her drag it from his shoulders.

  “Hello, cousin. Good to see you,” said Mataio, unclenching his jaw where he hadn’t realised he’d clenched.

  Junior put out his arm and Mataio grabbed it in a long wrist shake. “You came home, bro.”

  “Of course.”

  “Mum thought you’d done a runner,” said Junior, his eyes sparkled.

  “I knew he’d come back,” said his aunt with none of the resentment he’d heard last time he was here. “Now, I’ll call the carer to give him the medicine. It’s working you see.”

  Mataio could see. The difference was unmistakable. Junior’s face had been rounder, puffier under the eyes, no chin to speak of. Now, the tone of his skin had evened out, his cheekbones were visible, and the line of his chin peaked from within the rolls of fat.

  “How do you feel?” asked Mataio, taking out his stethoscope and checking the book of observations the carer had taken in his absence. His aunt laid out the new batch of medication neatly on the table beneath the window.

  “I feel good, bro,” he said with enthusiasm.

  “I’ll get the carer. She wants to speak to you. But first, Detective Ronson’s waiting for you in the kitchen.” She left before he had a chance to register what she’d said.

  Without giving himself time to think about it too much, he dropped his stethoscope on the bed and headed straight to the kitchen to confirm it for himself. Aunt Tulula hadn’t lied. There he was.

  Detective Ronson, the man who’d been the officer in charge of investigating La’ei’s disappearance all those years ago. He’d put on weight—a round oval of belly that sat on his belt like a ledge. His white shirt hadn’t been updated since the weight gain and the buttons struggled to hold it closed. He wore a cheap blue tie and a smirk that said, “I bet you’re surprised to see me.”

  Mataio kept his face passive as he sat down in the chair to the man’s right. “What’s happened?” he asked and felt a slow burn in his chest as he waited for an answer.

  The detective didn’t answer right away, instead taking his time to take in Mataio’s features. Finally, he opened a notebook and picked up a pen. “We’ve had some new information.”

  Mataio didn’t blink. “You’re re-opening La’ei’s case?”

  “It never closed.”

  “Right.” Mataio didn’t press the detective. He knew the man preferred total control and waited for him to continue in his own time.

  “Michael Fui, La’ei’s boyfriend at the time, has just been arrested for sexual assault on an underage girl.”

  “What?” Mataio tried to recall his features, but he hadn’t met La’ei’s boyfriend more than twice. She’d kept him very separate from the family as she knew her parents wouldn’t have approved. Mataio knew him by reputation though.

  “It wasn’t a violent assault,” said the detective as he scratched the bristles on his chin. “The girl was sixteen years of age and of course, as you know, Michael Fui is now well into his forties. The age difference didn’t appear to be a problem until Michael messed around with another girl and the girlfriend found out. She filed for statutory rape and he’s been charged.”

  “What does this have to do with us?”

  “Fui was the last person who saw your cousin alive.”

  “I still don’t understand.” said Mataio. “I’ve not seen the man in over twenty years.”

  “Michael Fui is trying to negotiate a lesser sentence.” The detective stared at Mataio like he should’ve seen where he was heading with this.

  Mataio stared back, not following.

  The detective dropped the pen and clasped his hands together. “He has new information.”

  Mataio felt air stick in his throat and coughed. It took him a minute to get it under control. The detective poured a glass of water from the sink and handed it to Mataio.

  As Mataio took a long drink, the detective continued. “Michael Fui has information that he didn’t reveal at the original investigation.”

  Mataio took a slow breath in and sat very still, willing the detective to continue so he wouldn’t need to speak. A tick in Mataio’s thumb began to shake uncontrollably and he held it hidden in his lap.

  “Did you know La’ei was pregnant when she went missing?” asked Ronson.

  Mataio kept his face straight and made eye contact with the man, just long enough to appear genuine. “No.”

  “Fui says you knew.”

  “She wasn’t pregnant. She would’ve told me.”

  “Fui got the feel
ing it wasn’t his. He says you knew who the father was.”

  Mataio’s shoulders slumped heavily with a weight he truly felt. He shook his head. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Let me ask you this. If she had been pregnant and you did know about it, would you have told the police?”

  “Yes. But La’ei was only sixteen years old at the time. She wasn’t pregnant.”

  “Well, as you’ve told us before, you knew her better than anyone.”

  “Yes,” agreed Mataio. He did know her better than anyone. And at a time when his world seemed unstable, she kept him balanced and loved him despite all the stupid things he did.

  Once he’d stolen a guitar from the music centre at school and was caught by the teacher as he walked home with it under his arm. He’d been given detention for a week and after serving his time, La’ei forced him to apologise and then stole him another instrument—without getting caught. Although he’d half suspected the teacher just turned a blind eye the second time, knowing how much the guitar would mean to them.

  They played and sang songs every night on that guitar, teaching each other chords. When Junior had shown some interest, Aunt Tulula went and bought him his own brand-new instrument. Just like that.

  “She didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Why would Fui say she was, if she wasn’t?”

  “It’s obvious isn’t it? He’s trying to get a reduced sentence.”

  “Maybe.” The detective tapped his fingers on the shiny table.

  Mataio waited.

  Eventually he asked, “Did you like La’ei’s boyfriend?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why?”

  Mataio focused on the question, trying to ignore the words like ’scum’ and ‘low-life’ that flashed into his mind. “I didn’t like the way he treated her.”

  “In what way?”

  Mataio had to be careful. Keep his language neutral and not allow emotion to cloud his thinking. “He was a player.”

  “As in…?”

  “He slept around.”

  “Did La’ei know what you thought of him?”

  “Of course. But she wouldn’t listen to me when it came to Michael Fui.” Even he noticed the bitterness in his voice. There was no way Ronson didn’t hear it.

  “Can you remind me of your last conversation with La’ei?”

  “It’s all on the record, detective.”

  “Yes. But I’m interested to hear your memory of the event now, twenty years later.”

  “It’s not been twenty years yet.”

  “Sorry, nearly twenty years ago.”

  Mataio sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was no point upsetting this guy and have him making trouble. Mataio needed to stay on Ronson’s good side. Mataio closed his eyes a minute and tried to remember the details he’d so agonisingly tried to forget.

  “It was a Saturday. We walked to KFC for lunch, the one she worked at.” Mataio stopped, unsure for a minute. How much detail did he actually want?

  “What did you talk about?”

  “We talked about Junior. How my aunt—La’ei’s mother—treated him special. We always talked about that. Junior liked a girl called Lassiea and she didn’t like him back. We thought that was funny. La’ei showed me a new Spawnbreezie song on Youtube that we planned to try that night when she got home from work. We talked about my suspension from school for shoving Ben Vinarello against the lockers when he took my headphones. We laughed about how she’d pretended to be my aunt on the phone to the year eleven coordinator so I wouldn’t get in trouble at home. La’ei promised the teacher she’d have a ‘serious’ conversation with me about my anger management issues.” Mataio shifted in his seat and crossed his legs at the ankles before continuing. “I went home, and she started work at KFC.”

  “And where were you when she finished work?”

  “I knew she finished at 10pm but I was already in bed.”

  “In bed? At 10pm on a Saturday night? A fifteen-year-old boy?”

  “I had no phone, there was no internet and with La’ei at work, there wasn’t anything much to do.”

  “And that was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “Yes,” said Mataio, in a low, broken tone.

  “She didn’t contact you again?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t have a phone.”

  “Where was your phone?”

  “It broke a few months before. I didn’t have any money to buy another one.”

  “Do you have a theory?”

  “Of what happened to her?”

  “Yes, a theory. What do you think happened to her?”

  “Sorry. Look I know you’re just doing your job, but I’ve been asked these questions so many times before. It’s all in my official statement. What are you looking for here? Why come and upset my aunt again when you could have called? Do you think there’s still something I’m not telling you?” Mataio took great care to keep his voice even, though inside his heart pounded with a heat that travelled every cell of his body.

  Detective Ronson leaned forward and pulled on his tie, then patted it straight. He spoke lightly, but Mataio knew Ronson’s attitude was anything but light. “I’m curious.”

  Mataio exhaled slowly, not trusting his voice. He cleared his throat and eventually asked, “Yes?”

  Ronson’s eyes locked with Mataio’s. “You know who I am,” he said. “I’ve been assigned to your cousin’s case from the beginning.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You recognised me the second you walked through that door, right?”

  “We did spend a lot of time together nineteen years ago, Detective. You haven’t changed that much.”

  “True. Although you have, haven’t you,” he said with a lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A doctor. You were a bad-mouthed, arrogant teen the first time I saw you. Look how far you’ve come.”

  “You were saying, you were curious about something?”

  “Ah, yes. You recognised me as the detective on the case of your missing cousin. And when you saw me again after all this time, you’d think a person might ask something like, ‘Have you found her?’” Detective Ronson’s eyes bore into him. “But all you had to say was, ‘what’s happened?’”

  “Have you found her?”

  “No.” The detective continued to stare openly at Mataio.

  “But the case is still open?”

  “It’s a cold case. We investigate only when new information becomes available.” Detective Ronson held his gaze tightly. “Do you want us to find her?”

  Mataio felt the heat spread to his face. “What kind of question is that?”

  Detective Ronson shrugged casually.

  “La’ei meant everything to me. My mother was dead, my father in prison and my aunt and uncle took me in, fed me, clothed me. But La’ei—she raised me. She understood me. Every day I want her back. Every single day.”

  “You talk about her like she’s dead.”

  “Do I? It’s been nineteen years and we’ve had no word. Do you think there’s any hope? Really?”

  “By all accounts she was a smart, headstrong, independent girl. If she was pregnant and didn’t want the family to know, she might have disappeared. A new start.”

  “We’re Samoan. Do you not understand us at all? Family is everything to us. Leave our family behind?—that’s not what we do.”

  “Your uncle left.”

  “To be with other family.”

  “You left.”

  “Yes, well, my case is different.”

  “Why?”

  “Will that be all, Detective? I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “Your father is up for parole next month,” he said, his lips barely moved.

  Mataio stood and walked out of the room.

  Twenty

  SUNNY

  Sunny cleared a space on the kitchen table for her laptop and googled the online bank website. She entered Judd’s c
ode and password, closed her eyes and held her breath in case it needed a phone verification. When she reopened her eyes, she was logged in.

  Four accounts lined up, all in Judd’s name except for the joint account where her wage and royalties were deposited. Judd told her he kept their savings for a house deposit in that account, but it had a zero balance. The other three accounts, the ones in his name only, had a combined balance of just over $300,000-

  How was that even possible?

  She stood up and walked around the room, her hands tugging at the roots of her hair and stared back at the laptop as if it was lying.

  Ipo climbed laboriously out of his bed to her side and looked up, expectedly. She leaned down and patted his head then sat back in front of the computer and opened the first account.

  This was where Judd’s pay was deposited—he earned almost triple what he’d told her. The second account had monthly transfers from the joint account. She opened the joint account to find her royalty cheques and pay from the masseuse had been covering all the expenses, while Judd’s money had contributed none. It had just been accumulating while he’d been living with her rent free.

  Was he ever going to tell her?

  He’d told her it would take years for them to save enough for a house deposit. That they had to live in this dive, in the middle of an industrial estate because it was all they could afford. He left her here alone for six weeks at a time, when they could’ve been in a house of their own. They had more than enough for a deposit, and with their combined income, a mortgage.