by Jaye Ford
They had butter chicken and lamb korma, lots of naan bread and rice, delivered to the door. They finished the bottle of chardonnay she’d been working on, so she introduced him to her stash and they depleted it by another as they sat on the floor, knees bumping under the coffee table while they ate. He asked questions about her dad and she told long, rambling, alcohol-infused stories from the gym and the ring. She asked him what it was like to see someone die. He poured more wine before he answered, told her it hurt the living more than it did the dying. That he couldn’t recall most of the ones he’d saved but remembered every detail of the ones he’d lost. That he figured he’d had a preordained number of rescues in him and he’d gone four too many.
‘I had four in a row. I didn’t want to make it five so I left.’ He stood up then, put the kettle on and stared into the courtyard while he waited for it to boil.
He’d made tea, joined her in a half-hearted clean-up and a once-around the townhouse to check the locks. The next she knew, she was bedded down on a sofa again as if it was her second bedroom, one knee bent in the recovery position, the blanket tucked tight around her and her phone was ringing. She struggled to free an arm, reached it on the coffee table, noting the birdcage state of her mouth, the fact it was still night, Daniel was gone and her clothes were in place. At least she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself. She checked the caller ID, sat bolt upright.
‘Rachel, what is it?’
‘We got your guy.’
28
Liv squinted into the morning sun through the windscreen, feeling pain behind her eyes. Not the bruising this time but a hangover. She felt better than she should, though. Safety was the best painkiller she’d had all week.
‘He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,’ Rachel said through the phone speaker. She sounded different this morning, less sensibly cop-like, more upbeat and drywitted.
Last night’s call had been brief. A woman had phoned triple-0 after seeing someone lurking in a car park near Jamestown. Uniformed officers chased down a man dressed in black with a balaclava. He fitted the physical description Liv had given and Rachel had rung as soon as she heard.
Liv answered her follow-up call as she turned out of the driveway.
‘By the way, I apologise for not believing in your black eye theory,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s got a fading shiner and the remains of another big bruise on his upper right thigh from your car key. You pack a mean punch, Ms Prescott.’ She laughed and Liv joined her.
‘Actually, the bruises helped make him realise he wasn’t going home anytime soon so he admitted to the assault on you last Monday and another one three weeks ago in Newcastle. He’s been charged with those and other offences but we’ve still got questions about two more possible assaults and the stalking.’
Liv was stopped at lights and closed her eyes for a moment as relief swept through her. She hadn’t missed and it had helped get him.
‘I thought you’d also like to know that the woman who called triple-0 had seen your interview on the news last week and ran to a restaurant to phone. You probably saved her from being his next victim. You should be happy with that.’
‘I am. Something good out of something awful.’
It was a long time since she’d had anything positive to hold onto. It felt like hope, a promise that her life wouldn’t always be stuck in its deep and shitty hole and she needed that if she was going to survive what was on its way. She was about to lose the last of what she had left – her father and her business. It would be awful. There would be grief and pain and more that she couldn’t even think about yet. But she’d saved a woman from being beaten up, possibly raped – in a week when she thought she might not have survived herself, that Sheridan almost didn’t. There was a chance there was something else good out there waiting for her.
She went to work via the hospice. She wanted to tell her father about the stalking now it was over, let him know he’d taught her well, reassure him his girl could look after herself. The visit wasn’t just for him, though. She needed an injection of his grit before she faced Kelly again. She needed it bottled and preserved for when he wasn’t there to dole it out.
He did little more than watch her with concerned eyes as she talked. She guessed it was hard for him to hear it in the past tense, knowing he hadn’t been able to do anything, so she kept it short, tried to focus on the fact it was over.
When she was finished, he said, ‘What else is going on, luv?’
It wasn’t a casual inquiry. He knew there was more, so she told him about Kelly and the business.
‘Your eyes are bloodshot,’ he said.
She laughed a little. ‘What the hell does it matter what my eyes look like, Dad?’
‘Have you been drinking or crying?’
‘I had a few glasses of wine last night. A few too many.’
‘You been wallowing?’ He said it with a bewilderment, as though the concept of hanging your head was something only other people did.
Guilt made her lower her eyes. ‘A bit.’
‘You need to stay on your feet, girl.’
It was coaching, not comfort, but it felt like home and she swallowed against a tightening in her throat. ‘I think I’ve been knocked on my arse, Dad. I don’t want to work from home. It’s not a home. I don’t know what to do.’
‘You get back up again. No shame in a quick knockdown unless you decide not to get up.’ She started to shake her head but he stopped her with new volume to his gravelly voice. ‘You get up, give your head a shake, pull in some air and put your hands back where they should be. I never taught my daughter to throw in the towel.’
She left the hospice like she’d had smelling salts waved under her nose. There was a chance she had another round left before Kelly saw Toby Wright. She’d put her case again, ask her to wait the week out. The stalking was over – there was no reason for her to be distracted. She was in her standard straight skirt and three-inch heels, a signal she was back in business and ready to get stuck in.
And she was going into the damn car park. The bastard had been caught, he was in police custody. She wasn’t going to let the memory of him stop her from parking wherever she wanted. She wound her way up to the second floor, found a spot near the pedestrian ramp, checked the mirror and windows before she got out. Habit now.
The light was on in Daniel’s office. She knocked on the door, pushed it open as he leaned out of the back room.
‘Hey, Slugger. How’s your head?’
‘Still on my shoulders but that’s about all it’s got going for it.’
‘Didn’t think you’d do what you said.’
‘What was that?’
‘Stay at home until the world got its shit together.’
‘I said that? Well, it may have made some progress. The police arrested my attacker last night. They found him in a car park with his balaclava on.’
He nodded, impressed, as he walked towards her. ‘Good to hear.’
‘I, ah, want to apologise for falling asleep last night. I’m hoping that’s all there is to apologise for.’
He quirked an eyebrow.
She winced.
‘Don’t worry. Nothing to apologise for. Not even the passing out. You were still breathing so I didn’t mind.’
‘You checked my breathing?’
‘Just something I like to do.’
‘Oka-ay. Then thanks for the recovery position.’
‘Anytime.’
Was that an invitation, she wondered as she closed the door. But it was the story he’d told her last night that she thought about as she made her way along the corridor to her office. He’d lost four victims in a row, left a twelve-year career because he thought his capacity to save people was past its use-by date. Did he worry about keeping people alive?
Teagan looked up qu
ickly as Liv pushed into Prescott and Weeks.
‘Oh, Liv. You’re here.’
The worried look on Teagan’s face made Liv pause. Had Kelly told her about Toby’s offer? Teagan was an office junior, not on top of the list of people to tell, but she was also Kelly’s niece and she’d lose her job if Kelly accepted. ‘Has Kelly talked to you already?’
She picked up a pink message slip from the counter and held it out. ‘She rang to say she was going straight to a meeting with Toby Wright.’
Liv took it, read it, scrunched it up in her fist. ‘Fuck.’
‘Do you need to get in touch with her?’
Oh, yeah. She needed to tie her down and make her understand. But there wasn’t going to be any more talking. There were no more rounds in this fight. Kelly had made a decision and Liv hadn’t had a say in it. It would be the end of Prescott and Weeks. It might be the end of more than just a business partnership. Friends were meant to stand by you, not take your life out of your hands. ‘No. I don’t. Not now.’ She pitched the pink slip along the counter and turned to leave.
‘Liv?’
‘What?’
‘You got another one of those letters.’
‘What?’
Teagan held a plastic file holder by the corner. A plain white envelope sat in the bottom. ‘I only touched it once. I got the washing-up gloves when I realised what it was.’
‘It’s okay. The police got the guy last night. He must have sent it before they caught him.’
‘It was under the door this morning.’
Liv eyed it for a second, thinking it through. ‘Ours or the street door?’
‘Well, I found it under ours but Ray said it was in the front entrance when he came in this morning and pushed it under our door.’
‘The guy must have delivered it over the weekend.’
‘Nuh-uh. Ray said it wasn’t there last night when he was vacuuming the hall.’
Liv’s stomach tightened. He vacuumed on Sunday evenings when people worked over the weekend. Liked the corridor to look schmick on Monday morning, he’d told her the first time he followed her out with the cleaner strapped to his back. ‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Teagan shrugged.
Liv wiped a hand on her skirt, took the plastic sleeve from Teagan, held it by a corner between pinched fingers, like it might explode with sudden movement. The bastard from the car park was caught near here, at night. Maybe he stopped off on the way to find his next victim. After Ray had finished the vacuuming, before he got caught. ‘Where’s Ray?’
‘He was going to help Mariella.’
Liv dumped her shoulder bag and the envelope on the counter and ran to the wigmaker’s.
‘Good morning, Livia.’ Mariella was standing by a filing cabinet with her hands on her hips.
‘Is Ray here?’
Lower down, at waist height, Ray stuck his head around the cabinet and smiled. ‘You’ve found me.’
‘It’s the bottom drawer. It’s stuck again,’ Mariella explained.
‘Right. Sorry to interrupt. What time did you vacuum the hallway last night, Ray?’
‘Well, it was after the football. Did you see the Knights beat the Cowboys?’
‘No, I didn’t. So you came down here right after that?’
‘Not straightaway. I’d say it was an hour or so after.’
‘Okay, so when did you finish?’
‘Well, I was back in time for a quick shower before the Sunday night movie.’
Liv fought an urge to grab him by the shirt front and shake him. ‘Eight o’clock?’
‘No, I remember it was eight-fifteen on my bedside clock. Can I help you with . . . ?’
‘No, it’s fine. That’s all I needed,’ she called on her way out the door. She broke into a brief jog as she headed back across reception to her office, heard the urgency in her voice as she spoke to Rachel on the phone. ‘What time did the woman call triple-0 last night?’
‘Why?’
‘You first.’
‘Hold on.’
Liv listened to tapping on a keyboard and the hiss of her lungs trying to drag in air.
‘Eight-o-three.’
‘He’s not the stalker.’
29
The loaded silence on the other end of the phone lasted longer than it had taken Liv to read the words to Rachel.
‘Tell me again,’ she said at last.
Sitting at her bare, damaged desk, Liv explained Ray’s story a second time. Then she confirmed the handwriting on the note that had been in the plain, white envelope Teagan had just given her. ‘I want it to be the man who was caught last night but it can’t be, can it?’
‘Okay,’ was all Rachel said at first. It wasn’t the answer to Liv’s question, more like the by-product of the sorting and sifting of the information and notations in her head. ‘I think you’re right. We have two offenders now. The man who assaulted you in the car park and a second person who’s communicating with you. The question is, do they know each other or are they acting independently?’
‘What, you mean two people working together?’
‘I don’t honestly know, Liv. The whole situation is wide open now. There are any number of possibilities.’
‘Such as?’
‘Someone organising the assault for an excuse to stalk you or someone paying to scare you and not happy that you fought the guy off. Or maybe they’re unrelated, one thing setting off the other. The point is that whoever’s sending the notes knows you. They know where you work, what you do, where you live and how you spend your time. There’s no guarantee this is a man, either. Women stalk as well and both the break-in and Sheridan Marr’s accident could have been carried out by a woman.’
Liv ignored the hot pulse in her throat and thought about the message she’d received on Friday night. ‘I’ll show you!! was written on the card the night Sheridan was hurt. This one says, I’ll show you AGAIN! Maybe Sheridan’s still in danger. Maybe he . . . she . . . plans to go after her again.’
‘It’s a possibility. I’ll notify the hospital.’
Liv closed her eyes. ‘Or it could be someone else that gets hurt, right?’
There was a pause. ‘Anything is possible. The best thing you can do at this point is to think. It could be anyone, Liv. My guess is you know this person, that you see them regularly somewhere, probably talk to them. So think about that. Hard. And get back to me if something comes to you.’
Liv hung up and dialled Cameron’s school, left instructions for him to wait with the others being picked up this afternoon instead of catching the bus. Then she sat and stared at the letter, fear whirring in her chest. She’d been looking for someone with bruises. What the hell should she look for now?
Out in the corridor, a group of people walked past the door, heading towards the car park. A couple of girls from the travel agency, Scott from the mortgage brokers’. Nausea slithered through her belly. It could be anyone, Liv. She’d been thinking of shop staff along Park Street, cafe regulars, office workers, people she passed, maybe smiled at. Not friends, not even acquaintances. Someone who could watch her secretly from afar. And she’d been thinking ‘man’. But maybe the person was closer than that, maybe they were in her building, maybe it was someone she called a colleague. Or a friend.
Liv stiffened as the front door opened and Teagan lifted her voice in a singsong, ‘Hi-i!’ The teen had been unsure and self-conscious when she’d started with them and it’d taken weeks of encouragement to get her to loosen up and welcome visitors with her lovely smile and happy voice. Now it seemed out of place, not cautious enough. Liv wanted to call her in, warn her, then she saw Kelly at reception.
It was done. Kelly’s quick, furtive flick towards Liv’s office told her that. Now it wasn’t just fear
that drummed at the back of her head.
Their friendship had been a constant in her life for as long as she could remember. For more than thirty years, they’d played and studied and worked together. Turning to each other had been as natural as breathing. She should be going to her now, sharing the news – the good and the bad of it – like they’d always done but she was angry and hurt and disappointed. She wanted to slam the door in her face, couldn’t even do that without it looking like not coping or justification for taking the decision out of Liv’s hands – and she wasn’t going to give her that.
As Kelly stopped in the doorway to Liv’s office, Liv pushed her anxiety down and left her anger right where it was.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’ Liv clenched her teeth as Kelly sat in the visitor’s chair.
‘I saw Toby.’
‘And?’
‘I took the job.’
Blood pounded in her head. ‘Well, it’s done then.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not enough to give me a say. So when do we pack up and leave?’
‘Come on, Liv. It doesn’t have to be . . .’
‘It already is.’
Kelly looked down at her hands. When she lifted her eyes again, it wasn’t shame that was in them but pity.
Liv stood up in a rush, the chair clattering behind her. ‘I can’t talk to you now. Just let me know what date you start so I can make plans to close the office.’
‘It’ll be in about a month. Toby was open to a bit more time in case I’m needed here.’
‘Considerate.’
‘Are you okay?’
No. No. ‘I’ll cope.’ She sat down again, clasped her hands on the desk, finished with the discussion. ‘Can you shut the door on your way out?’
When she was gone, Liv dropped her head and didn’t move for a long time. There were things she could do, accounts to call in, clients that might stay with her if she kept something small going. But she had no energy for it, wasn’t sure if sitting still in a chair and breathing was what her father would consider staying on her feet. Maybe he would if the alternative was curling up in a ball on the floor.