A Place to Stay

by Jennie Jones

  ‘You’re not coming into my house. Not unless you have a warrant for my arrest. And even then, I don’t want to look at you.’

  ‘We need to talk this through,’ he told her. ‘It’s official now—but I want to hear your side of things before others are involved.’

  ‘Others? How many police are looking for me? What do they think I’ve done?’

  ‘What do you think you’ve done?’

  ‘You can’t be anything other than suspicious, can you?’

  He paused. ‘We both have to take the personal out of this for the moment. We can come back to this place later. When it’s all over.’ What a joke—he was telling her to get a grip when minutes ago he’d been thinking about Rachel and forever in the same breath and telling himself to get a grip. ‘Do you understand why I have to do this?’

  ‘I understand,’ she said in a tone not dissimilar to the one she’d used when she first came to town almost five weeks ago, eager to keep up the pretence of a reserved, reticent woman who didn’t want to go on a date with him. Except she was soft and caring. And scared, although she thought he hadn’t recognised that. ‘You’re tired,’ he said in a softer tone. ‘I’m tired. Let’s get this finalised, shall we?’

  ‘I’ll get it finalised,’ she told him. ‘It’s clear you don’t want me here—in town or anywhere close. So I’ll leave, okay?’

  ‘I don’t want you here?’ he repeated, all those thoughts of forever striding to the forefront of his mind and crowding his judgement. ‘Why the hell do you think I’ve got you penned in? And you have no idea what I want.’

  ‘Don’t shout at me.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m talking in a reasonable tone that holds a lot of frustration. I needed to look out for you. I couldn’t do that without knowing so I ran the check on your vehicle because I thought something wasn’t right. I don’t apologise for it.’

  ‘Have a good night,’ she said. ‘Don’t expect me to put the outside lights on just because you’re parked at the end of my driveway.’

  ‘I like you more than I can say, but you’re testing my patience.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘Rachel. We need to talk now. We need to be honest. Listen to me.’

  ‘The way you didn’t listen to me? The way you took your assumptions and rode them?’

  ‘That’s not fair—’

  ‘Being fair didn’t stop you running a check on the new woman, did it? It didn’t stop you from flirting with me and making me believe there was a chance for us, did it?’

  His heart kicked. ‘Did you think that? Did you really think there was an us—or the chance of an us?’

  ‘No. I’m pulling your leg.’

  ‘Actually, you’re beginning to piss me off.’ He regretted the words a soon as he spoke them—half regretted them. He got back in the car and angled his head away from the house so that he no longer had to control his facial expressions.

  ‘I’m going to handle this,’ she told him. ‘And I will be talking to the police.’

  ‘I am the police. I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.’ He swung around to look at the house again. ‘Is it an argument about me being a cop that you want? Fine. Step outside and we’ll have one. But just remember, I’m here because you’re in trouble—not with me but possibly with others. I can’t help you unless you talk to me.’ He felt fired up and pissed off all at once. With himself. With Jack. With Rachel. With the whole damn mess. ‘Come outside and talk to me or I’m coming in.’

  ‘You can’t unless you have a warrant for my arrest.’

  He withheld the need to thump the steering wheel. ‘Actually, I can pull you in right now. But let’s forget that for a minute.’ His chest ached for her. ‘What if I wanted to be the man in your life? The man who wants to be with you. Have you thought about that?’

  There was no response, not even a breath.

  ‘Fine. Goodnight.’ He punched End Call and threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

  Sixteen

  Rachel chewed on her bottom lip, pacing the tiled floor from the dining table to the benchtop and back again. The ceiling fans were on but the air was still burdened with trapped heat. Apart from the whirl of the blades it was quiet in the house—all the noise was in her head.

  She moved her phone to her other ear and wiped the palm of her hand on her jeans. She’d been on hold between various stations and departments for nearly twenty minutes. ‘Come on,’ she murmured. If they didn’t get her through to somebody from the Domestic Violence Investigation team soon she’d change her mind, forget who she was—or who she wanted to be—and barricade herself in the house until they came for her.

  She gulped hot air, felt it coat the back of her throat, and reminded herself to stay rational. Luke had driven off forty minutes ago. She didn’t know where he was going, although she suspected it wouldn’t be far. He’d be back, or still around where she couldn’t see him. What had he meant when he’d said she was in trouble? And that it wasn’t with him, but with others? The police must already know that she’d met Peter. But how?

  It had to be the Swiss Army knives. Both had belonged to her, both had been used by Peter to hurt a man she was seeing. The police had her fingerprints from the time Peter attacked her in her flat. If they’d found her prints on the knife used in the attack on the sergeant three months ago, then the only deduction she—or anyone—could come to was that they thought she was working with Peter. It would almost be laughable—if it wasn’t so horrendous a notion.

  But whatever Luke had seen in his reports, he’d found something else. Something she didn’t know about.

  She couldn’t bear to think of him looking at those photos, and it hurt hearing him so pained and frustrated. It was like she’d lost something she’d never owned. Perhaps this was the price she had to pay, the suffering she had to go through before she’d ever clear her conscience about the women she’d not been able to help during that first year of marriage, and now about the sergeant too. And for those Peter might hurt in the future.

  ‘Yes, hello?’ she said when the taped music stopped pounding her eardrum.

  ‘Miss … Meade, is it?’ a woman asked.

  ‘Yes. Previously Rosalind Fletcher.’ She closed her eyes briefly as she said the name. She hadn’t spoken it aloud for so long and tonight she’d said it a dozen times.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Williams, and—well, look, it’s late here. In fact it’s early tomorrow now and I’m having difficulty finding someone on the team you originally dealt with. Are you in trouble?’

  Rachel almost laughed out loud.

  ‘I can get someone out to you.’

  ‘No need,’ she said quickly, eager to dispel the detective constable’s concerns. She already had someone out there—a cop who was probably in the bush watching the house. ‘I’m not in that kind of trouble.’ Not yet. She prayed she wouldn’t be.

  Why hadn’t this detective been given some reference automatically linked to Rosalind? If Luke knew who she was, surely her name had some notification next to it. Something that would tell the police she was wanted for questioning about whatever it was they thought she’d done.

  This detective didn’t appear to have any knowledge of her, unless she was playing a game, in which case Rachel might be deeper in trouble than she’d first thought. ‘Do you have my file?’ she asked as a thought struck her.

  ‘Um … Nothing I’m afraid. Your file is probably sealed now because you changed your name.’

  Rachel doubted the Crime Squad, who would still be after Peter, would have allowed her files to be sealed. They’d get them somehow. ‘I was just wondering if you have a mobile or after-hours telephone number for my lawyer. It might be written down somewhere.’ She gave his name and was put on hold. Whatever happened, she was going to need a lawyer.

  ‘Nothing. Sorry,’ the detective constable informed her after a couple of minutes. ‘But once your message gets through to the right persons, I’m sure they’ll call you back.’r />
  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rachel said, sounding droll even to herself, ‘I’m sure they will.’

  She ended the call and checked the time. After nine. It was already Monday in Victoria and she had over eight hours to wait before her lawyer’s office opened.

  She bit down on her back teeth as she thought about Luke. The agony of him only behaving in that tender and compassionate way because he was prising information out of her was hard to bear. Except …

  She shouldn’t be succumbing to this doubt that she was wrong and Luke was right—but it was there, singing in her head. That he’d wanted to be tender and had wanted that kiss as much as she had wanted it, regardless of everything bad occurring around them.

  They didn’t have a relationship, and were never likely to have one now. They didn’t know what pushed the other’s buttons but it still felt like this was a personal issue that needed airing. Something much deeper than a kiss between them, and it was nothing to do with her predicament. It’s Rachel, she’d told him when he’d called her Rosalind. Rosalind’s long gone. She’d spoken without thinking, but it had been the truth. At last, in this horrible situation, she knew who she was. She’d found Rachel again. And she’d have to find a whole lot of courage all over again too.

  The efforts of trying to control a world that had suddenly spun upside down were taking their toll, and exhaustion had wormed its way into every part of her mind and her body. Things were never going to be the same. She hadn’t done anything to hurt others—but Peter had. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was her fault. He’d told her he would hurt the sergeant but she hadn’t believed him, and she’d been so busy running she hadn’t given any thought to his threat. If she’d led Peter here and he caused trouble some people might never speak to her again. Once this was over, she’d have to leave or stay and face the backlash. Which would be worse? She wasn’t frightened of the disrespect or accusations but she didn’t think she could stand the pain of seeing Luke every day and having him despise her for her past and for the trouble she’d caused.

  She sent Luke a text.

  Do you know where he is?

  No. Do you? He knew who she was referring to, even though they’d never uttered his name.

  No.

  She deliberated what to say next. Did Luke already know and was simply trying to get her to talk? She could hardly trust her own judgement just now, but how well could Luke and his officers handle Peter if he was around?

  Be careful, she texted, then put the mobile down so that she didn’t have to answer any more questions.

  She stared at the door she’d locked. The only risk she’d ever taken in her life had been the choice to stay under Peter’s thumb. She could have run. He kept you locked up. Not in physical chains but emotionally. It was an old fight against herself and one she’d likely never win. Then she’d found her place in Mt Maria. She’d thought she’d broken away. Living here was like taking a sip from a glass of wine when all you’d ever had was a mug filled with tap water.

  She looked at the kitchen window where she’d peeked between the blinds earlier. If Luke was sincere about caring for her, the lies she’d been forced to tell would be stuck between them forever, bitter in her throat and his ears. How could that ever be resolved?

  * * *

  Luke had driven from Rachel’s house an hour ago, heading for town. Or so it would have appeared to Rachel. Instead he’d bumped onto an old track and doubled back through scrub and bush.

  Rachel’s house was on a bend on the southbound road so he’d parked where he’d parked the last two nights—a clearing back from the road, giving the vehicle ample cover, and giving Luke a decent view of the front and the back of the property. If she tried to sneak out the back, he’d see her.

  He didn’t think she’d try to leave because she was in trouble. He’d believed her when she’d said she would talk to whoever he sent out to her house. But he thought she might be tempted to leave in order to take any trouble with her. And that’s what worried him the most. No way was he was going to let her put herself in harm’s way. Neither was he going to let her carry on with her assumptions that he didn’t care.

  She still hadn’t answered his question about why she thought he had to be careful—but he was on edge about it. Did she know something about Fletcher’s whereabouts after all?

  His phone rang.

  He sighed and closed his eyes while he thought up a great excuse for not answering Jax’s call, then answered anyway.

  ‘Hey, handsome,’ she said. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ He tried for convivial but it came out like a bark.

  ‘Well, for one, you sound like a feral billy goat, and two, I heard something just now about the barbecue. Understand you and your lovely lady might have had a tiff and I wanted to check that you’re okay. Which you’re obviously not.’

  ‘Jax—can we leave this for now? I’m kind of—kind of between a road and a big bush at the moment.’

  ‘Just tell me you’re listening to your heart and not getting yourself all beat up about something else. You’ve found someone, Luke. Don’t let her go.’

  He’d all but pushed her away. ‘Not now, Jax, okay? Just not now.’

  He ended the call and dialled Jack. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s done. We talked. She’s in trouble—she’s not the trouble.’

  ‘What has she told you?’

  ‘Not enough. But she will.’ She hadn’t told Luke she’d met with Fletcher, but she had met with him: three months ago. He just didn’t know why or what for, but there was no way she was working with him. ‘I think she did meet with Fletcher. I think he frightened her and that’s why she ran.’

  ‘So why didn’t she call in to the local cop shop to tell someone?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Fear,’ Luke said. ‘You know damn well we can’t protect one hundred per cent—not always. And she’s not working for him,’ he said in a low but emphatic tone. ‘It’s not her. I know her.’

  ‘How much has she told you?’

  ‘What is it about this op that’s concerning you?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet. That’s why I don’t want you to haul her in.’

  ‘What’s Morrison got to do with all this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t sound convincing.’

  ‘Luke—’

  ‘You better let me know what’s on your mind soon. Because you’ve already taken me off the limits of “by the book” and I’m going to do this my way.’ Luke punched End Call and ground his teeth.

  The station mobile buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered. ‘Weston, Mt Maria Police.’

  ‘Luke.’

  ‘Everything all right, Mary?’

  ‘I was wondering if you could find time to pop over, dear. I need three picture hooks in my front room and because it’s a brick chimney, you’ll need to bring your drill.’

  Luke closed his eyes and put his hand on his forehead. ‘Mary, this is the station’s mobile. If you need help in any way other than official police attendance, you need to call me on my personal mobile.’

  ‘It’s been bugging me all evening. I used to have the photographs of me and Henry on my sideboard, but I can’t see them when I’m watching television.’

  ‘Mary, I’m in the middle of a siege. I’ve got fifty elderly residents being held hostage in a vacant property. The bad guys have guns, and they’re threatening to riddle the hostages with bullets.’

  ‘Oh no! Do you need a hand? I could call Amelia. She has a car-jack, a can of pepper spray, and a marvellous way of talking people around.’

  Luke took the phone from his ear and looked out the side window. ‘Why me?’ he asked no-one.

  ‘Don’t tell her I told you about the pepper spray!’ Mary said. ‘Is it legal?’

  ‘Mary, gotta go. I’ll ask Constable Davidson to come over with a drill tomorrow. And he’ll be confiscating the pepper
spray.’

  He pocketed the phone, then started when he got a radio call.

  ‘Where are you?’ Will asked in a jovial tone. ‘No—don’t tell me. I’m guessing you’re somewhere on the southbound road. Say about twenty minutes from town?’

  Luke unclipped the mic on his shoulder. ‘Not quite what you’re imagining, mate.’ He scrubbed his face with his hand. ‘What’s been happening?’

  ‘Where’s the station mobile?’

  ‘I’ve got it. Sorry—forgot to leave it at the station.’

  ‘All right, well—Louie reported that the Baxter parents found an abandoned vehicle down one of the old mine tracks. Dark green station wagon. It’s burnt out, still smouldering. Got to be the one old Roper reported.’

  ‘Stolen?’

  ‘Well the licence plate doesn’t belong to the vehicle.’

  ‘Get someone back out there to cordon it off. We might need forensics out there.’

  ‘Forensics?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Now works for me.’

  ‘What about Billy?’

  ‘Can’t find him.’ Will sighed. ‘I’ve got a car out looking for him, but I could do with those two officers closer to hand. The gastro bug has got worse—including another of ours. We’ve got a doctor flying in.’

  ‘Make sure all medical staff are on standby,’ Luke said. ‘And put our people on alert for extra shifts.’ Four officers sick. They were now down to nine. Eight, if he didn’t count himself for general duties.

  ‘If something heavy goes down,’ Will said, ‘I’ll be radioing you in.’

  Except that Luke wouldn’t be going. ‘Call in Donna and Davidson. You’ll have to manage without me. Any movement from Donald Wiseman?’

  ‘I kept as good a watch on him as I could but we’ve had a burglary, a car crash—nobody hurt—and two fights at Breakers. And there’s still an hour and half before closing. As far as I know, Wiseman hasn’t left his house.’