Bitter Nothings

by Vicki Tyley

“When was this?”

  Cass’s throat moved up and down. “The week before the murders.”

  “Around the time these photos were taken?”

  “Just after.”

  “You think Lucinda is responsible for these photos?”

  “Who else?” Cass swallowed again. “I don’t blame her. She was only trying to protect her marriage.”

  “That’s very magnanimous of you,” Dervla said, before she could stop herself.

  Cass stood. “I’ve answered your questions. Now, if you don’t mind.”

  Leaving the photos on the chest, Dervla rose from the couch. “Thank you for your time.” She drew a deep breath. “I can’t condone what you did, but I also realize that it wasn’t down to you alone.”

  Eyes downcast, Cass showed Dervla to the door. The dog leapt to its feet, tail wagging, sitting down again on Cass’s command. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said and shut the door.

  Back at the car, Sophie had the door open and her feet up on the dashboard. “That was quick.”

  “Hmmn.” Dervla slipped into the driver’s seat and hooked the seatbelt. Something didn’t feel right. If only she knew what it was.

  CHAPTER 36

  An incessant ringing roused Dervla from a deep slumber, one she didn’t recall falling into. Daylight leaked around the bedroom blind. How long had she been asleep? Still wearing the clothes from the day before, she clambered off the bed and went to answer her phone.

  “I thought you’d like to know that the woman in the photos has come forward,” Gabe said, when she picked up.

  Good. One less thing to worry about. She dragged a hand through her hair. “Any news on Emmet’s bail hearing?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Nor the DNA on the sports towel, I suppose.”

  “No.” He paused. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the woman Dad was having an affair with?”

  “Yes, of course. Who is she?”

  “Does the name Cassandra Marek mean anything to you?”

  “No,” Dervla said, grateful that Gabe couldn’t see her expression. “Should it?”

  “She’s a photographer. Apparently, they met when Dad hired her for some catalogue work.”

  “Was it serious?”

  “Not according to the Marek woman. If she’s to be believed, she ended the relationship.”

  “Why did she end it?” Dervla asked, wondering if Cass had filled the police in on Lucinda’s visit.

  “Don’t know. I wasn’t privy to that part.”

  “Does she have an alibi?” Something Dervla hadn’t been game to ask her in person.

  “Out of state on a calendar shoot, though that’s yet to be verified.”

  The doorbell rang. “So,” she said, moving to answer it, “does this mean she is no longer ‘a person of interest’?” She opened the door, her jaw dropping at the sight of Harry standing on her doorstep. “I have to go,” she said to Gabe and hung up.

  She stared at Harry, her emotions mixed.

  He gave her a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head. “Can we talk?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Inside would be preferable.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she swung the door wider. He stepped inside, the warm muskiness of his aftershave unsettling her as he brushed past. She followed him down the hall, her fingers checking her shirt buttons hadn’t come undone overnight.

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the couch.

  “Be my guest.” She waited until he was seated, then dropped into an armchair.

  Harry’s gaze flicked between her face and the coffee table. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I suppose you’ve been wondering where I’ve been.”

  When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again after this, but first I’d like a chance to explain.”

  She crossed her legs.

  “When I was eighteen, I dumped my girlfriend for her best friend. It got nasty, with my ex threatening all manner of things. I didn’t take it seriously, and that’s where I went wrong.”

  Dervla frowned. Where was he going with this?

  “About six months after that, the police turned up on my doorstep with a warrant for my arrest.” He lowered his voice and gaze. “For rape.”

  Rape? Her breath caught in her throat. Had she heard right?

  “She – my ex – alleged that I’d pushed my way into her home and forced her to have sex against her will. It was her word against mine.”

  She touched her lips. “Are you saying the sex was consensual?”

  He nodded. “She must’ve planned it all along. I was just too young and stupid to see it. The charges were eventually dismissed but not before she almost destroyed my life. Mud sticks.”

  “I don’t get it,” Dervla said. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I wanted you to hear it from me first. I was told in no uncertain terms that associating with an accused – albeit innocent – rapist was not in your best interests. I suspect he had an ulterior motive.”

  “Todd threatened you?” She didn’t know who to be madder with: Todd for using his position to blackmail Harry, or Harry for buckling.

  “He’ll deny it, of course.”

  That she believed. “So why did you come back?”

  “Because you deserved an explanation and an apology. I’m sorry, Dervla. I wanted to do the right thing by you, but I realize taking off like that wasn’t it.” He stood and faced her. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  His hips were level with her gaze. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t a matter of forgiveness; it was more about what and whom she could believe. “I’ll need some time.”

  “I understand. You know where to find me. I’m staying at the same hotel.”

  When she went to stand, he stopped her. “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

  She breathed out, sinking back into her chair. One less awkward moment to deal with.

  Half an hour after Harry left, she hadn’t moved, her thoughts still in a tug-of-war. Whom could she trust, if anyone? A high-ranking police detective, who’d stoop to dirty tactics for his own ends? Or her stepmother’s ex-husband, who’d not only as a teenager been accused – though not convicted – of rape, but had fled when threatened with exposure?

  But he’d come back. That took a lot of courage.

  The chime of the doorbell jarred her from her inertia, her muscles protesting as she pushed herself to her feet to go and answer it.

  She opened the door. Dressed in a fifties-style pencil skirt and a jade-green silk blouse, her auburn hair pulled up in a smooth bun, Sophie looked the epitome of understated elegance. Quite the opposite of how Dervla felt with her mussed hair and creased clothes.

  “If this is not a good time, I can come back later.” Sophie pulled a face.

  Dervla laughed, the sound brittle. “Good times are in rather short supply around here at the moment, but I’d be glad of the company.”

  “I can’t stay long.” Sophie stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I have an appointment with a potential new client at ten. I could always reschedule it,” she quickly added.

  “No, don’t be silly. I’m fine, really. I have work I should be getting on with, too.”

  “Have you heard anything more?” Sophie asked when they reached the living room.

  Dervla headed to the kitchen. “Cass Marek identified herself to the police and Harry is back.”

  “Wow.”

  “To what part?”

  “Both.” Sophie pulled a chair out from the dining table. “Tell me more.”

  While she made coffee, Dervla recounted Gabe’s call.

  “So if the Marek woman’s alibi checks out,” Sophie said, “she’s in the clear?”

  “For the actual murders, I guess so.”

  “You think she could still be behind it?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Dervla said, carrying the two cup
s to the table. “But if she’s telling the truth about ending the relationship, I can’t see she had motive. And even if she isn’t, I still don’t see it.”

  “Psycho perhaps?”

  Dervla shook her head. “Unlikely. She came across as very sane. Stressed but sane.”

  “And what’s this about the mysterious Harry reappearing?”

  “You make him sound like a ghost?”

  “Ah, but are you sure he wasn’t an apparition?” Sophie sipped her coffee.

  “Quite.” Dervla ignored her friend’s raised eyebrow and proceeded to fill her in on Harry’s visit.

  “You’re saying that Todd put the frighteners on Harry over some spurious rape charge from his youth?”

  “That’s how he tells it. And I really have no reason to doubt him. What man in his right mind would make up a story in which he was accused of rape?”

  “What’s Todd have to say about it?” Sophie set her cup down.

  “I haven’t spoken to him yet. He’ll deny it anyway.”

  “So he doesn’t know that Harry is back on the scene?”

  “Not from me.”

  Sophie’s eyes creased in merriment. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he does.” Her smile faded. “Bloody men. We’d be better off without them.”

  “Martin?”

  “Who else? Can you believe he’s taken to sending me threatening emails now? He doesn’t come out and actually say he’s going to harm me. No, he’s too smart for that. More along the line of I’d better watch my back, that I’ll get what’s coming, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “It’s got way beyond a joke. Sophie, you have to do something. Do you still have the emails?”

  “They might still be in my deleted box.”

  “Not unless you haven’t closed Outlook since you deleted them.” After discovering Sophie had accumulated in excess of two thousand deleted emails, Dervla had changed Sophie’s email settings to empty the deleted items folder on exit. “Regardless, you have to go the police.”

  “What with? I have no evidence he even sent them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. At least it would be on record. Then if he sends anymore…”

  Sophie stood. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  And that’s about as far as it would get. Dervla knew her friend well enough to know when she was being fobbed off.

  After Sophie left, Dervla took a long shower. Then, feeling halfway human again, she phoned Todd. For now, she’d decided to stay mum about Harry being back in Melbourne. She wanted to see his face when she confronted him about the allegations.

  “DSS Gleeson.” He sounded harried.

  “Todd, it’s Dervla. I need your advice about something.”

  “How can I help?” he asked, the hard edge disappearing from his voice.

  “If someone sends a threatening email to another person, but that person deletes it, is there anything the police can do?”

  “Has someone been threatening you?”

  “No, not me. A friend.”

  “Not having the email to back up the allegation doesn’t make it easy. Hearsay evidence is notoriously unreliable.” He paused. “Of course, I could always have a quiet word with this guy. Put him on notice.”

  “But I haven’t told you who it is.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  She nodded. Todd was more than familiar with Martin’s antics.

  “I spoke with Gabe earlier,” she said. “He told me Dad’s mistress came forward.”

  “Indeed, she did.”

  Dervla chewed her lip. “Now what?”

  “Let’s just say, we’re pursuing a line of enquiry that we hope will yield results.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Four hours later, Dervla paced the floor of Gabe’s apartment. Traffic noise and the smell of cigarette smoke filtered through from the balcony.

  She paused in the open doorway. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “The justice system isn’t renowned for its speed,” Gabe said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “Just because the hearing was scheduled for eleven-thirty doesn’t mean that’s when it’ll happen.”

  Her fingers twitched, a long-dormant nicotine craving gnawing at her gut.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” He sucked on his cigarette. “Bail is only granted in exceptional circumstances in murder cases.”

  “We should’ve been there.”

  “You heard what his lawyer said. Emmet didn’t want us there.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “We should’ve been there to support him.”

  “It’s better this way. No waiting media circus to contend with.”

  Dervla joined her brother on the balcony, gazing out over the railing at Treasury Gardens, its treetops and pathways spread out like a giant board game. On the street below, traffic flowed, punctuated by the occasional clang of a tram.

  By the time the phone rang, Gabe had chain-smoked his way through half a packet of cigarettes. When he answered the phone, she held her breath, hanging on his every word, nod and “I see.”

  “Well?”

  He held her gaze for a moment, his lips pressed together in a hard line. “Bail was refused,” he said, voicing what she already knew. “He’s been remanded in custody to reappear in February.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, her stomach in knots. Even though she’d known the odds were stacked against Emmet, she’d clung to the hope that Gabe’s hotshot lawyer would get him released. “What about an appeal? Did he say anything about that?”

  Gabe nodded. “We can appeal to the Supreme Court, but only if there are new facts or circumstances.”

  She stared at Gabe, her mind racing in circles. Somewhere out there had to be proof that Emmet was innocent. All they had to do was find it. “You’ll call me if anything comes up, won’t you?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need some air.”

  He nodded and turned away, his shoulder tensing as she touched it.

  “But I can stay if you’d rather,” she said, dropping her hand.

  “No, it’s fine. I have something I should be attending to, anyway.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?” He pulled another cigarette from his pack.

  She saw herself out, emerging onto the street a couple of minutes later. The lunchtime crowds had thinned, the pace less rushed. Away from the lee of the apartment buildings, the air was cool, a chill wind cutting through the sun’s warmth. Instead of crossing the street for the gardens as she’d intended, she turned left toward the city centre.

  Paying scant attention to her surroundings, she strode block after block, slowing only for the lights. When she reached the far side of the Bourke Street Mall, she took a breather and called John Bailey. He’d have the low-down on what’d happened inside and outside the Magistrate’s Court. As it was, she felt sure he knew a lot more than he was letting on. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she told him that Cass Marek was the woman in the photos. But then what sort of reporter would’ve handed over a phone number without checking it out first?

  He answered on the second ring. “Bailey.”

  “John, it’s Dervla. I take it you were at the court.”

  “I was. How did you manage to slip away unnoticed?”

  “Easy. I wasn’t there. Emmet asked us not to be.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve heard, though?”

  “That bail was refused? Yes. Were there many reporters?”

  “Put it this way, if you don’t want to see your brother’s face splashed across the news, don’t turn on your television. Same goes for tomorrow’s papers.”

  “But what’s to tell? He hasn’t been convicted of anything.”

  Bailey laughed. “You’ve obviously never heard the term ‘trial by media.’”

  She had, of course, but then this was her brother they were talking about, not some nameless person. “Does that include you? Are you going to hang him out to dry, too?”<
br />
  “In case you’ve forgotten, we have an agreement, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

  “Which means?”

  “I’ll only be reporting the facts.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “My, what a short memory you have. The exclusive inside story of a family murder from the accused killer’s sister, who also happens to be the victims’ daughter and sibling, that’s what.”

  Then it dawned on her. “You’re writing a book.”

  “Give the girl a gold star. Books, newspapers – it’s all words.”

  Dervla rubbed her forehead. She only had herself to blame. “And what if I can prove Emmet didn’t kill anyone?” A passerby gave her a strange look.

  “All the better.”

  She lowered her voice, cupping her hand over her mobile. “Do I get any say?”

  “You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours.”

  “Nice talking with you,” she said, hanging up before he could reply.

  Twenty minutes later, she found herself standing outside the hotel where Harry was staying. It took her another five to decide to go in.

  She remembered the bespectacled receptionist from her last visit. He, however, showed no glimmer that he recognized her.

  “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

  “Dervla Johns. I’m here to see one of your guests, Harry Kilbourne. Could you please let him know I’m here.”

  “One moment, please.” The receptionist picked up the phone, waited and hung up. “I’m sorry, he’s not answering. Would you care to leave a message?”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll catch up with him later, thank you.”

  So much for knowing where to find him. She opened her phone, in two minds whether to call him, and closed it again. Why was she even there?

  CHAPTER 38

  With no destination in mind, Dervla traversed the city streets and laneways. Her feet hurt and her calf muscles ached, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving. A luxury Emmet, locked up in a cell, didn’t have.

  Her pace slowed. What had Todd been referring to when he said they were pursuing a line of enquiry? Was it possible evidence had emerged that could exonerate Emmet? Or at least raise doubts?