Siren

by Tara Moss

  Why not?

  And then Bijou, the infamous scream queen, the assassinated woman, vanished into her trailer, leaving only the teasingly beautiful scent of L’Air du Temps, and the whirl of silk robe in her wake.

  CHAPTER 15

  First thing on Tuesday morning Makedde Vanderwall sprinted to the bathroom to avoid her accidental roommate, Bogey Mortimer.

  Thirty minutes later she emerged, composed, fresh and perfumed, wearing a blouse and pencil skirt, heels in hand, hair tamed and makeup applied, the slight puffiness of her eyes the only clue to the draining and near-sleepless twenty-four hours she had experienced. She wished she could have put her alarm forward by an hour or two, but she was eager to meet Tobias Murphy before he left for school. It was still too early in the morning to call Loulou, who would no doubt be sleeping off another night of holiday festivities in Byron. Mak would have a few choice words with her later.

  She padded quietly across the polished concrete floor of the hallway, unsure if Bogey would be awake. After only a few steps, her nostrils knew the answer.

  Coffee.

  Bogey was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast and working the coffee machine like a barista. He turned when she approached. ‘Hi,’ she watched his mouth say, mesmerised. He gave her a slow, friendly smile. ‘You obviously don’t need beauty sleep. You look great.’

  She felt herself grow a little taller with his compliment. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she replied, and immediately regretted the cliché. She still felt somewhat off guard in his presence. The couch was a little dishevelled, a doona thrown over one end. ‘I hope you slept okay.’

  ‘I slept just fine. Espresso or latte?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I’d love a latte. Thank you.’

  ‘I think there’s enough milk,’ he replied, tipping the carton. ‘I made you some toast and eggs. I hope you don’t mind scrambled?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Heaven. Is this heaven?

  Mak had not seen Drayson’s friend Bogey Mortimer in almost a year. Back then, she’d had rather a crush on him. He was attractive, artistic, sensitive, interesting. She had convinced herself that he had seemed appealing because she and Andy were having problems—and Bogey was so different to the jaded, stoic cop that was Detective Andy Flynn. In the time since she’d last seen Bogey she had wrestled with her relationship with Andy and finally moved to Canberra to make it work, only to watch everything between them dissolve into misery and petty bickering. That once promising future was gone. She knew the reality of the loneliness and frustration the relationship held for her. It was over.

  And here he is. Bogey. I can’t believe it.

  ‘You still hanging out in strip clubs for a living?’ he quipped, plating their breakfast.

  Mak laughed. ‘Not lately. But I’ll have to make a return.’

  Shortly after their first meeting in Melbourne, she had dragged Bogey along to a lap dancing club called Thunderballs when a case had led her to contact a particular dancer at the club. Bogey had agreed to be her fake boyfriend, so she wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion in the male-dominated environment. She recalled how he had sat nervously tapping his foot and wondering where to look while a dancer named Charlotte tried to wiggle her way around Mak’s probing questions, quite in the buff. Memories of that shared moment brought a slight grin to her lips.

  ‘You still designing coffins for bikie gangs?’ was her comeback. Once a coffin-maker in small-town Australia, Bogey had moved on to designing furniture, but not before his services had been enlisted by the Coffin Cheaters gang, who’d had him make coffin-shaped eskies and tables for their club-house when he was a teenager. In return, they had marked him with a number of wild tattoos.

  ‘No coffins this week,’ he replied good-naturedly.

  She sat on a stool and he served her, leaning over her for a moment to put her plate down. He smelled like honey and amber incense, and her attention lingered on his scent, before the lure of food drew her to her plate. The eggs looked perfect, and steamingly hot. Mak herself was domestically retarded. She could barely cook toast. ‘Thanks, Bogey. This looks fantastic.’

  ‘My pleasure. I thought you could use some caffeine and sustenance.’

  That I can.

  After breakfast she led Bogey into Loulou’s bedroom. ‘I really am sorry about the mix-up. I put your things over there.’ She pointed to one corner of the room.

  I touched his underwear. I folded goddamn Bogey Mortimer’s underwear without even knowing it.

  ‘It’s no problem, really. I’m the one who’s sorry. No one wants to wake up like that.’

  Mak left that one alone.

  ‘I had to drive back to St Kilda on Saturday for a couple of extra things from the shop.’ He had a boutique furniture shop showcasing his own designs.

  That would be why she hadn’t been disturbed the first night.

  ‘You must be exhausted from all that driving.’

  ‘I like driving,’ he said, and she remembered his beautiful vintage car. Who wouldn’t enjoy driving that?

  Standing so close to him, her heart sped up. Or maybe it was the fresh caffeine. She remembered watching him take his shirt off. Tattoos. Skin.

  Loulou, dammit. You could have prepared me.

  Bogey leaned down and picked up the folded pile of his things. Her eyes clapped on his form a touch too long—the curve of his muscles, the back of his neck—and when he stood up again, she looked down at her feet.

  Awkward. This is awkward.

  ‘Thanks again for breakfast. You are so thoughtful. I am so sorry to eat and run, but I have a case,’ she said abruptly. ‘Perhaps we can catch up later? I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.’

  She turned on her heel and headed out, still not quite believing the night she’d had.

  CHAPTER 16

  He’d only just finished breakfast, but Detective Jimmy Cassimatis was already keen for a snack.

  He fished around in the top drawer of his desk and found it littered with crumbs, balled paper, mangled staples and the Mars bar he sought. Again the thought came into his head.

  This place sucks since Andy left.

  To say that he missed having his partner around would be an understatement. Since Flynn left for his lofty new post at the serial crime unit, the department had gone down the tubes. He had no real partner in crime now. The losers he’d been paired with did not count, including the latest, Rhys. Drifting in a daily grind of violent arseholes and paperwork, Jimmy was not finding life rewarding. But it was worse to see Andy so listless. The sight of it somehow ruined a fantasy of Jimmy’s.

  Lamenting his life, and perturbed that he’d already eaten most of his daily ration of Mars bar before eight-thirty—his doctor had him on blood-thinning medication and rations of his favourite foods—he did not hear his superior, Detective Brad Hunt, until he was on him like some rabid dog.

  ‘You better tell Flynn to get that woman on a leash,’ came the snarl from over Jimmy’s shoulder.

  Jimmy was unprepared, and dropped the chocolate bar onto his bulging belly. It did not have far to fall.

  ‘Ah, woman?’ Jimmy mumbled.

  ‘Your mate’s girlfriend is back in town, isn’t she? Vanderwall?’

  Jimmy opened the top drawer of his desk, plonked the remains of his chocolate bar inside and closed it with a squeak. He couldn’t enjoy his snack in Hunt’s presence.

  Jimmy crossed his meaty arms. ‘Huh?’ he replied, purposely vague.

  Detective Senior Sergeant Bradley Hunt was a royal annoyance. He had an exaggerated chin like a hero in a Marvel comic, and at present he had that chin tilted high, looking down his nose at Senior Constable Cassimatis as if he were a rookie. Fuck you, I’ve been here longer than you, knob jockey. Despite having done much less time in the police force, Hunt had rapidly risen above Jimmy’s rank. Jimmy was not a fan of Hunt’s. And Andy’s departure had meant that Jimmy had to put up with the likes of Hunt on a more regular basis.

  ‘Macaylay Vande
rwall is back in town,’ Hunt stated.

  It’s Makedde, you idiot.

  Jimmy had no intention of confirming the fact. Mak and Jimmy had their differences, and she and his best friend had only just split, but he had a soft spot for her. Always had. The last thing he had any desire to do was feed information about her or Andy to this halfwit undeserving arselicker. For starters, it was none of his business where she was. But most important, the guy was a royal tool.

  He could feel Hunt’s eyes burning into the back of his head. He was waiting for a reply.

  ‘Yeah?’ Jimmy muttered. ‘Oh.’ He unfolded his arms and hunched over his small desk, pretending to take an interest in his paperwork again.

  ‘She better not try to pull any more stunts like last year.’

  Stunts? Like nearly getting your mates charged with murder? That kind of stunt, you arsehole?

  Jimmy said nothing. He was no good at office politics, but he knew enough not to say what he was thinking this time.

  ‘She’s been hanging round outside their house. The Cavanaghs. On her motorbike. I can’t imagine what she’s trying to prove.’

  Oh, Mak. Mak, Mak, Mak…

  Makedde had attracted trouble for as long as Jimmy had known her, but she had really put herself in it when she had decided to set herself in the sights of one of the most powerful families in Australia. Why she would be baiting them now, he could not imagine either. It had been Jimmy himself whom she had called in a whisper from inside the Cavanaghs’ palatial Darling Point mansion during Damien Cavanagh’s lavish thirtieth-birthday celebrations the previous year, to say that she had ‘happened across’ the room where a hapless Jane Doe had been killed some days earlier. Sure, Makedde had all the right answers in the subsequent interrogation—how she had come to the A-list party as a guest, and it was only when she happened across the room with a particular Brett Whiteley painting on the wall that she realised it was the same room that matched video footage of the crime scene. But all her cleverness wasn’t going to keep her safe if she kept making trouble for herself.

  Mak had not been on the guest list. She had known exactly what she was doing. But all that was over last year. What did she think she was doing now?

  ‘If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll go right back to the States where she came from.’

  ‘Detective Cunt, she’s Canadian, actually,’ Jimmy corrected him quietly, under his breath.

  ‘Did you say something?’

  Jimmy stood, pushing his chair out with a scraping sound across the floor. He walked off with his paperwork. ‘I said I need another coffee.’

  Hunt watched him go. He didn’t bother to congratulate him on his breakthrough in the Macleay St burglary he’d been so keen for them to solve.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mak turned onto the road to St Ives, distracted, her hands gripping the wheel too tightly. She was thinking about Andy. He had saved her life once, years before. She had really believed in him then. And now? Now it was over. There was much hostility and hurt between them.

  Horrible.

  And then there was Bogey.

  He was in town for a week for meetings to sell his new furniture range. After getting over the shock of their initial reacquaintance, she was starting to quite like the idea of him being there. Who wouldn’t like a home-cooked breakfast? A compliment? A handsome face to wake up to? She hoped he didn’t leave, now that he knew that Loulou and Drayson had double-booked them at Loulou’s little apartment. Would he stay on the couch?

  Don’t rebound.

  Humphrey—or Bogey as he preferred to be called—had been the focus of some considerable romantic thought for a spell the previous year. He was unlike any man she had met. In addition to his previous life as a coffin-maker, he had played guitar in Drayson’s band, Electric Possum, and even worked as a masseur. He had a small shop in Melbourne where he designed and sold his own handmade custom furniture, and was getting his hands into more than just pine. In fact, he’d got his hands onto her, too. It had only been a platonic massage, of course. She had complained of a backache, and he had graciously offered to help. But those hands had been memorable. Never mind that she had touched herself that night with a private lust coursing through her, and had taken mere minutes to shudder to guilty orgasm with the thought of those hands of his. She was still living with Andy at the time, so there had been no room to explore that particular romantic possibility.

  Things were different now.

  Here it is.

  Mak slowed down. She found herself feeling uncharacteristically anxious as she eyed the Murphy family’s stucco home. She passed the Hart household not eight doors down. Glenise Hart didn’t appear to be at home, and the street was quiet except for a man in a cap pulling up to the kerb half a block away, and a little kid running around a yard with a puppy.

  Try to keep it about Adam. For now…

  She genuinely wanted to do the best possible job with Adam’s case. She wanted to find him quickly and safely. The rest was another issue. That she hoped to be dealing with soon…

  Mak got out of the car, adjusted her jacket—and ‘button’—and looked over her shoulder. She walked towards the house, feeling all the moisture evaporate from her mouth. She knocked, and stood gripping her briefcase in a trembling hand. She swallowed hard.

  He’s just a kid. Like any other.

  An attractive woman of about forty opened the door, blonde and smiling pleasantly.

  ‘Hi. I’m sorry to bother you. Is Mr Murphy in?’

  ‘Kevin isn’t in at the moment. I am his wife, Linda,’ she said, still smiling, only now there was a flash of curiosity there, concern even.

  ‘Hi, Linda. It’s lovely to meet you.’ She extended a hand, and Linda took it. ‘My name is Makedde Vanderwall. I’m a private investigator.’ She braced herself for whatever response this introduction brought.

  The woman’s jaw dropped. ‘You are…her? Wow! Makedde!’ She said Mak’s name perfectly. ‘It’s my pleasure to meet you. Please, please come in.’

  Mak stepped inside and followed Linda down a hallway of plush carpet to a cream-and-brown kitchen.

  ‘I’ll get you some tea.’

  ‘No, thank you. Just water.’ Mak had already decided she wasn’t interested in tea any more. If she hadn’t had so much of Glenise Hart’s tea, she might have just gone to bed, instead of feeling wired and emotional and coming dangerously close to sleeping with her ex.

  Linda handed her a glass. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. Kevin is so grateful. Really. What you did for Tobias was incredible. You gave him a new life.’

  Mak smiled. She found herself feeling proud. ‘I was wondering if I could possibly meet him. Is Tobias here?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to finally meet you.’

  It was, in some ways, extraordinary that the two had not already met. She had been instrumental in his release from custody, and in clearing his name. He had been a street kid, and he had a chance at a normal life now, in part thanks to her investigative efforts. Mak shook her head. She had been back in Sydney only a few days, and already she had a job and she was finally meeting Tobias. She was doing fine, even if things were tough in her personal life.

  There was movement in the hall. Eventually a figure emerged. Tobias. Mak was pleasantly shocked by his appearance. By her calculation, a year had passed since he was put on the path to rehabilitation, but already Tobias looked nothing like the photographs she had seen in his file. He had put on weight. He had got a haircut. And underneath all that long greasy hair that used to obscure his face, there was a normal, if fragile-looking, seventeen-year-old.

  ‘Hi,’ the boy said.

  Tobias wore grey school trousers and a white shirt, so different from his ragged, dirty street clothes. His hands were dug deep into the trouser pockets. He looked at Makedde for only a moment, and then stared down at his bare toes, as if they held some great interest.

  ‘Tobias. It is really nice to finally m
eet you.’

  ‘Please sit down and talk with Makedde, Tobias,’ Linda said, gesturing to a chair.

  ‘Could I perhaps speak to him alone for a few minutes?’ Mak said to his stepmother in a low voice. Linda nodded and smiled. ‘Just don’t make him late for school.’

  Tobias and Makedde sat side by side in the colour-coordinated kitchen. It would be somewhat of a contrast to the soup kitchen he would have eaten in at the city mission. When he used to eat. Heroin did not do much for the appetite.

  ‘How is it here, Tobias? Do you like it?’

  He nodded. ‘Okay. Good. Yeah.’

  ‘You look pretty happy.’

  ‘Yeah.’ This seemed an honest response. Perhaps it was the shy version of jumping up and down and screaming with joy because you are no longer locked away for murder.

  ‘That’s really good,’ Mak said gently.

  He looked up at her and searched her face for a moment. ‘They said that you went away.’

  ‘I did. Just to Canberra for a while, but it didn’t work out, so I’m back to work here in Sydney again,’ she replied.

  Although he was seventeen, Tobias seemed, in some ways, younger. His heavy drug use and the problems of street life, and no doubt his emotional traumas as well, seemed to have slowed his social development subtly. He was introverted, but there was something more as well, a kind of hesitation and bewilderment in his manner.

  ‘Did you miss your mum?’ he asked her.

  Makedde’s throat tightened. Her mother had died of cancer when she was a teenager. Why would Tobias know anything about that?

  ‘Is that why you came back?’ he continued, when she failed to reply.

  The penny dropped. ‘I’m from Canada, actually, which is why I have this funny accent. I get back to Canada to visit my dad every year, but my mother passed away when I was about your age. A bit younger, actually.’

  Her hands were so swollen and puffy. Warm, puffy hands, and the sound of the respirator…

  Tobias frowned, as if he might have said the wrong thing.

  ‘It’s okay. It was a long time ago for me.’ Like yesterday. ‘I’m sorry about your mum.’ She knew that Tobias’s mother had suffered with severe, debilitating depression for a number of years, and had killed herself a couple of years earlier. ‘It must have been incredibly hard to lose her.’