by Vicki Tyley
She came to an abrupt standstill. A man in a suit bumped into her, scowling as he veered around her. She stepped out of the thoroughfare, found her phone and called Todd. When it diverted straight to voicemail, she hung up.
Once her phone was back in her handbag, she looked for a street sign or some other landmark to tell her where she was. The heritage building behind her took up the whole block but had no sign that she could see. Directly opposite, its name partially obscured by a tree, was the Bank of China. Neither helped pinpoint her location.
Her phone rang. She delved in her handbag, for a second not able to find it, even though she’d just put it in there. She glanced at the caller ID. Todd.
“Returning one missed call,” he said, when she answered.
“I’m in the city. Can you spare me a few minutes?”
“I’m just finishing up here. We could meet for coffee if that suits you. Where are you?”
“Good question. Give me a minute,” she said, walking up the footpath toward the corner. “Queen Street.”
“Do you know the Myrtle Café at the Flinders end of Elizabeth Street?”
“No, but I’ll find it. About twenty minutes?”
“See you then,” he said and rang off.
The lights changed and she made a dash for it. Once on the other side, she paused to get her bearings, then started up Lonsdale Street.
Arriving at the café a few minutes before the appointed time, she bought herself a bottle of water and sat at one of the outside tables. From the number of teenagers in uniform on the street, school was out. Laughing and happy, without a care in the world. Dervla would’ve given anything to be in that place.
She tipped her head back and gulped half her water, her stomach contracting as the chilled liquid hit it. She waited a few moments for the sensation to pass and downed the rest. Her thirst quenched, she went back inside to order a coffee.
Todd appeared at her shoulder as she was about to pay. “Let me get that,” he said, and then to the counter assistant, “I’ll have the same, plus a piece of that caramel slice.”
He led her to a table at the rear of the café. Her eyes took a moment to accustom to the lower light, the only illumination in the area coming from two stained glass floor lamps. Except for a couple holding hands across a table, Dervla and Todd were alone. At any other time, she might’ve thought it intimate.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
He smiled and pulled out a chair for her. “Any time.”
“You might not think that when I tell you why I wanted to see you.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a slow smile. “Not for my body?”
She blushed. “Not exactly, no.” The heat in her face intensified. What was she saying?
He leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked. “Not exactly?”
“More your brain,” she said quickly. “Or rather what’s in it.”
He laughed, moving his arm to make room for the waitress to set the coffees and cake on the table. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“You know me too well?”
“Somehow I doubt that. Okay, so what is it that you want to know? I can’t promise I can tell you but ask away.” He cut the caramel slice in two and offered her half.
She shook her head. “First, I’d like to know what the DNA tests on the sports towel showed? Surely that’s information that has to be made available to the defense.”
“Which it has been.”
“And?”
Todd glanced around, then leaned in close. “Since you ask so nicely and since the information is going to be public knowledge soon enough…” He paused, drawing back from her slightly. “Forensics confirmed the blood as your stepmother’s and half-brother’s. DNA from your father was also identified, though that’s hardly surprising given it was his sports towel.”
Something inside of Dervla died. She stared into her coffee at the slowly dissipating layer of crema. “What about Emmet’s DNA? Did you find that?”
“No.”
She looked up.
“Don’t get excited. That doesn’t prove anything one way or another. It’s more than likely,” Todd said, his tone measured, “he would’ve worn gloves.”
“Hang on. Not only does that imply premeditation, it’s mere conjecture.”
Todd peered down his nose at her. “What isn’t conjecture is the evidence found in his car linking him to the murders of at least two family members. You don’t know all the facts.”
“What facts? Tell me.” She spread her hands. “Please.”
He sugared his coffee and stirred it, avoiding her gaze.
“At least tell me if Emmet’s boots matched the partial bloody print you found.”
“Not the ones we recovered from his apartment, no.”
Dervla breathed out.
“However,” he continued, “that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have disposed of the footwear. His shoe size matches.”
“You can’t condemn a man for his shoe size.”
“Nor can we discount him.”
“Does that go for the umpteen-thousand other men who have size 11 feet, too?” Angling sideways, she glanced under the table. “What’s your shoe size, detective?”
He steepled his fingers, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Not that.”
“Still, give me five minutes on the street and I’m sure I could round up a few suspects for you.”
“Your loyalty to your brother is admirable but—”
“It’s nothing to do with loyalty. I know my brother, and I know he’s not capable. Just like I knew my father wasn’t.” She lowered her voice, more hiss than whisper. “For God’s sake, Todd, if Emmet killed Dad…” She swallowed. “Tell me how he got back to Melbourne. Hitchhike? Sprout wings and fly? That’s assuming he shot Lucinda and the kids, then forced Dad at gunpoint to drive to that bush track in the middle of nowhere. Unless, he split himself in two, there’s no way he drove back in his car. Which begs the question, why that sports towel was found where it was.”
Todd munched on a mouthful of slice.
“Or do you have another theory?” she asked. “Can you even place him there? Or do you think he somehow managed to do it remotely?”
“Asking the questions is supposed to be my domain,” he said, and continued eating.
“You don’t even have anything that puts Emmet at either the house or Baw Baw National Park.”
The detective’s mouth paused mid-chew.
“Todd, please,” she said, an edge of desperation creeping into her voice. “What aren’t you telling me? If it’s something I’m going to find out sooner or later anyway, I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Okay.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But only if you answer something for me first. Do you or have you ever had – even temporarily – a key to your father’s Coopers Street property?”
She frowned. “No, why would I?”
He wiped his fingers on the napkin. “To water the pot plants when your father and stepmother were away, perhaps?”
“Lucinda wasn’t into indoor plants.”
“So then, it’s even more unlikely that Emmet would have a key?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our search of your brother’s apartment uncovered a key to your father’s house.” Todd’s gaze narrowed. “Blood traces were found on the head of the key.”
Her pulse fluttered in her throat. “Whose blood?”
CHAPTER 39
Dervla closed her office blinds, shutting out the night. The police had every reason to suspect Emmet. Why would he have a key to their father’s place when they were essentially estranged? On Emmet’s own admission, he’d had nothing to do with his stepmother and his half-siblings. Dervla gave her head a sharp shake. There had to be another explanation.
With a sigh, she dropped onto her office chair and stared at her silent mobile phone, telling herself the reason Harry hadn’t called was because he was waiting for her to make the firs
t move. She’d believed him when he said he hadn’t raped his ex-girlfriend. Not that that counted for much; she thought everyone innocent. Especially those close to her. Or so it seemed.
And why hadn’t she confronted Todd, when she had the chance, about abusing his police privilege to blackmail Harry into leaving town? Maybe it was because she didn’t want Todd knowing Harry was back on the scene.
She picked up her mobile phone and tapped out a text message to Harry:
“Dropped by yr
hotel today. Sorry
I missed you. E
refused bail.
Dervla”
Hesitating for only the barest moment, she pressed send. His move.
A ping sounded from her computer. New mail.
With her phone still in her hand, she clicked the read button, opening the message to full screen. From [email protected]. Spam? Her finger hovered over the delete button. Final warning, the subject line read.
Wheeling her chair in closer to the computer monitor, she read the one line email:
“Keep your nose outta other peoples business or else.”
One sentence. No signature. She reread the message. Or else what? With no lines to read between, she didn’t know what to make of it. She could only assume it had to do with Todd’s quiet word with Martin. Who else would feel the need to warn her off?
For a long while, she just stared at the words. Sophie might put up with her ex-husband’s crap but she wasn’t about to. She hit the forward button, typed in the email address from Todd’s business card and a brief message, attached the header data with the IP and tracing information, and pressed send. He talked about her letting him do his job. Here was his opportunity.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten. She attended to her most pressing emails before heading to the kitchen to whip up an omelet. She’d cracked two eggs into a bowl, seasoned it and was about to whisk it when the phone interrupted. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she picked up.
“Dervla Johns,” she said, walking back toward the kitchen.
“Help,” a small voice said. “Please…”
She stopped mid-step. “Sophie is that you?”
“Please…”
“Sophie? Where are you?”
The line went dead.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Dervla raced for her car keys, grabbing her handbag and mobile phone along the way.
She charged out the front door straight into a solid wall. Not quite solid, she realized, when she heard a surprised grunt. “Harry!”
He caught her as she bounced off his chest. “Whoa.”
“Sorry, can’t stop.” Dervla ducked under his arm. “Something’s happened to Sophie.”
“Wait. We can take my car.” He pointed to a pale-colored sedan parked under a streetlamp on the other side of the street. “You navigate.”
She didn’t argue, across the street and standing next to the passenger door before Harry had stepped off the curb. When she heard the unlock beep, she opened the car door and jumped in, belting herself in as Harry appeared at the driver’s door.
“Where to?” he asked, starting the car.
She gave him directions, phoning Todd while Harry drove. When her call diverted to voicemail, she cursed and waited for the message to end.
“Todd, it’s Dervla Johns. I’m on my way over to Sophie Lombardi’s place. She phoned and said she needed help.” She took a deep breath and recited Sophie’s address, her voice calmer than her pulse. “Hurry, she sounded weak.” She hung up.
“It might be an idea to call triple-0,” Harry said.
She punched in the number.
“Emergency. What service do you require? Police, Fire, Ambulance?”
“Ambulance,” she said, causing some consternation when she couldn’t tell the operator the exact nature of the emergency. A supervisor took over the call, promising Dervla he’d dispatch an ambulance straight away.
Harry planted his foot, speeding through the light Monday night traffic as if it didn’t exist. The glow from the dash cast his face and hands in an eerie light. She remained silent, her fingers curled tight around the handgrip.
When they pulled into Sophie’s street, Dervla tensed even more, every nerve-ending alert. Except for a small rectangle of light shining from a window down the side, the house was in darkness. She had her hand on the door handle and her seat belt unbuckled before Harry drew to a stop.
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging deep. “He could still be in there.”
“I don’t care.” Sophie’s driveway was empty and there was no sign of Martin’s white van on the street. “I’m not staying out here. What if she’s lying inside unconscious or bleeding or…?”
“You’re not going in alone.” He leapt out of the car, catching up with her on the driveway.
Her pace slowed the closer she got to the house, her chest tightening with each step. Even in the gloom, she could see that the front door was ajar. She crept toward it.
“Sophie,” she called out. “It’s Dervla.”
No response.
She nudged the door wider. “Hello, anyone there?” Her ears straining for the slightest sound, she stepped inside. “Sophie?”
Harry reached over her shoulder and slid his hand down the wall to the switch. Light flooded the hallway. Sophie’s prized raku-fired ceramic wall sculpture lay in pieces on the hallway’s wooden floor.
Her heart thudding, Dervla took another step. She heard a muffled noise and stopped, exchanging glances with Harry. He pointed down the hall in the direction of the utility rooms. Staying close to the wall, he edged forward, arm out to keep her behind him.
The toilet light was on – the light she’d seen from the street – the seat up.
Next room.
She took in the dark shadow of a figure slumped on the white bathroom tiles and gasped. Without a second thought, she rushed in, dropping to her knees as light filled the room.
“Oh, God, Sophie, who did this to you?” Blood oozed from a gash on her friend’s forehead. She checked her pulse. Her skin felt cold and clammy. Where the hell was that ambulance?
Sophie’s eyes opened half-mast, flickered, then closed again.
“It’s okay.” Dervla squeezed Sophie’s fingers. “I’m here now.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Todd and two uniformed officers arrived at the same time as the ambulance. The small room was suddenly crowded. Hands lifted Dervla to her feet, hauling her out of the paramedics’ way.
Standing in the doorway, she started to shiver. Harry wrapped an arm around her and drew her in close. With his body heat seeping through the light fabric of his shirt, she shivered harder.
She caught the look Todd gave Harry and pulled away, at the same time stepping back to allow room for the stretcher to pass. She followed close behind, brushing a strand of hair from Sophie’s lips when they paused at the front door.
Sophie’s eyes stayed closed, her face as pale as the white gauze dressing her wound.
CHAPTER 40
Dervla rinsed the kitchen sink and glanced at the clock.
9:38AM
Almost time to collect Sophie from the hospital. Overnight she’d been treated for concussion, shock and bruising, her doctor only discharging her this morning on the condition she had someone staying with her. Confronted with the choice between a hospital ward and Dervla’s guest room, she’d opted for the latter.
Police had taken a statement from Sophie and issued a warrant for her ex-husband’s arrest. However, unless Martin had been apprehended in the last forty minutes, he remained at large. The sooner he was locked up, the better for all concerned. He belonged in a jail cell. Her brother didn’t.
After one last check of the guest room, Dervla headed out the door.
The closest available car park to the hospital was two and a half blocks away. Out of the car, the air was cool, low cloud blocking the sun’s rays. Although by the time she reached the main
entrance, she wished she’d worn fewer clothes.
Up the concrete steps and through the glass doors. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the artificial lighting. An elderly man in striped pajamas was headed toward the newsagency, IV stand in tow. Dervla wondered if he should even be out of bed but stopped worrying when a nurse appeared. Across the other side of the foyer, lift doors parted and people piled out, some more gingerly than others.
Breaking into a trot, she made it to the lift before the doors closed again. A man pushing a female patient in a wheelchair approached from the other direction. Dervla entered the lift, holding the doors open with her arm. The man nodded a thanks as he wheeled his companion over the threshold. Dervla’s nose twitched at the acrid tang of cigarette smoke accompanying them. The lift doors closed.
She emerged on the fourth floor, taking a moment to orientate herself. Down the corridor to her right, she glimpsed a recessed waiting area she didn’t recall from the previous night. Something about the hunched shoulders of the man seated at the end of one of the rows of seats caught her attention. She stared at the back of his head for a full minute before she realized it was Toxic. What was he doing there? Where was Alana? Had something happened to her?
Dervla took a step, then shrank back when Alana appeared carrying a small paper cup. Turning on her heel, Dervla hurried off in the other direction. If Alana had wanted Dervla to know she was on a methadone program, she would’ve told her.
She turned right at the next corner and found herself in another corridor. Nothing looked familiar, but then she hadn’t really taken much notice of her surroundings the night before. Was she even on the right floor? The pungent, almost cloying, antiseptic hospital smell gnawing at her stomach, she breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted a left-pointing arrow labeled “Wards 4A – 4D.”
When she finally found the right ward and room, she discovered Sophie seated on the edge of her hospital bed, her face as pale as the white sheets. With her head dressing, her one swollen eye, her cheekbone grazed, she would’ve made a suitable bride for Frankenstein.