Vanessa regretted the words immediately. It sounded so needy, and she’d never been that. Sure, she would love to meet that special someone, but she’d been happily single for years. Embarrassed heat flooded her face, and she pulled away. ‘Forget I said that. It must be the post-coital glow talking.’
He sat up slowly. She watched from the bed as he stepped into a pair of boxer shorts then turned to face her with a tight smile. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s not easy being involved with a detective.’
His words chilled her skin, as effectively as a cold shower would have. ‘Of course, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.’ She swung her feet onto the floor and looked around for her underwear. Gathering up her clothes, she headed for the bathroom. It was time to get dressed and do the walk of shame back to Long Bay. The least he could do was let her leave gracefully.
‘Vanessa. It’s not you, it’s—’
‘Oh, please. Really, the whole “It’s not you, it’s me” thing is totally unnecessary.’
‘Wait.’ Strong fingers closed around her forearm as she swung away. When she turned to look at him, he laid his other hand over his heart and gazed into her eyes. ‘I feel it. I do. For the first time in—’ he shook his head, the line between his eyebrows deepening ‘—I can’t tell you how long. But—’
‘You don’t owe me any explanations, Pierce,’ she said softly, aware that she’d never used his first name before. ‘Please, just let me get dressed.’
He gave a brief nod and let go of her arm. She hurried into the bathroom, tears stinging her eyes. Pulling on her underwear, she blinked them angrily away. What on earth was wrong with her? It had only been one night, for goodness sake.
Vanessa studied her face in the mirror as she stepped into her jeans then pulled her sweater over her head. She rolled her lips inwards, taking stock of the redness around her mouth and jaw. No big deal. Wind chaff could do worse.
She was running his brush through her hair when he tapped lightly on the door. ‘There’s something I want to tell you. Something you’re going to find … shocking.’
Vanessa lowered the brush to her side, her heart beating wildly. ‘Okay.’
He didn’t open the door, just started speaking. ‘Ten years ago, when I was twenty-eight, I was in a relationship with a woman. She fell pregnant, and we had a child. A little girl. Scarlett.’ His voice cracked, and Vanessa’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘In the Force, we get called out any time of the day or night. This day, I was at home when I was called out to a siege. A man had barricaded himself and his two children inside his house. He had a firearm, and was threatening to shoot the kids and himself. I ran to the car.’
He paused, and Vanessa stood stock still, terrified to move or speak lest he stopped talking. Even with the door between them she could hear the heartbreak in his voice.
‘When I left the house, Tania had hold of Scarlett’s hand, and they were inside. The truth is, I don’t know what happened. All I know is that my three-year-old daughter crawled through the doggy door and ran after me. I was already in the car. I didn’t see her. I was racing to save someone else’s children, when I … when I backed over my own daughter in the driveway.’
When Vanessa opened the door, he was standing at the window, one hand propped against the glass, the other on his hip as he gazed out at the shadowy mountain. He glanced at her, a depth of anguish in his eyes she’d only seen once before—in the eyes of her mother as she’d taken Vanessa from the arms of the rescue worker.
‘Don’t feel bad because you don’t know what to say,’ he said, his voice raw from the effort of putting his grief into words. ‘It’s horrific. It will always be horrific. But it’s my burden to carry. I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of my actions.’
Vanessa took an unsteady breath, wishing she could do something to help him, but knowing anything she did or said would be unwelcome.
He turned back to the window. ‘The accident led to the end of the relationship. Tania couldn’t forgive me, and I couldn’t forgive myself. I hope you understand that I don’t want to subject anyone else to my guilt and grief. It wouldn’t be fair on them.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ she said quietly. ‘And I respect your decision.’
A few moments of silence followed before he straightened. ‘Thank you. I like you, Vanessa. I know that because I keep thinking about you.’ He gave her a sad smile. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you.’
She shook her head, her heart aching for him. ‘You haven’t.’
He nodded.
‘Can I just say one thing?’ she asked.
He turned to look at her, a resigned expression in his eyes as though whatever she was about to say, he’d heard it all before. ‘Sure.’
Vanessa took a shaky breath. She’d taken a risk and been honest with him about her feelings—she saw no reason to change that now, especially when he’d opened up and shared his pain the way he just had.
‘I just want to say that you’re the kind of man I’d make room for in my life. So, don’t forget me, in case you decide to make room for someone in yours.’
Don’t forget me.
As if he could forget Vanessa Bell.
In the half light, Ryder watched her cross the bridge as she headed home to Long Bay. Her coat was wrapped tightly around her, as if to ward off the icy wind and the chill of his revelation. Ryder swallowed the growing lump in his throat. She wasn’t like the other one-night stands he’d had over the years. She was the first woman to have touched his heart since Scarlett’s death.
I respect your decision.
She was also the only person who had said that to him. And it meant more than she would ever know. Most people, including his family, had gone to great lengths to reassure him that Scarlett’s death wasn’t his fault, that it was a tragic accident.
But he would have none of it.
Learning to live with what had happened had been his only choice, other than dying. For months, drinking himself into oblivion and hoping death would claim him on the job had been his preferred option. Until, in a rare moment of sobriety, he’d seen the fear etched into the faces of his family, and realised his behaviour was compounding their grief. His parents had lost a precious grandchild, his sisters a beloved niece. Now, they were living in fear of losing their son and brother.
Ryder had tipped the booze down the sink and applied for a transfer to Sydney.
Away from the pitying looks and the tender care, he’d healed his body in the anonymity of the fast-paced city. And he’d worked under Roman Lewicki, a tough bugger from Cooma whose Polish father was the only member of his family to have survived the Holocaust. He’d set Ryder straight a few times, and they’d been firm friends ever since.
Ryder turned away from the window as Vanessa disappeared inside Long Bay. It was better this way.
So why did he feel so sick in the guts?
He wasn’t feeling any better ten minutes later as he stood in the hot shower, nor when he dried off and slung his towel around his waist. In the bedroom, he checked his phone and saw an email from Harriet with the subject line DELANEY. Ryder opened the attachment and saw a photograph of the Tiffany cigarette case found with Celia’s body. According to Harriet’s notes, it was a slim-line, sterling-silver case with a tiny sapphire set into the clasp. Definitely Tiffany. No identification number found.
Ryder toyed with the idea of calling Celia’s parents and asking if they remembered where she had acquired the cigarette case but decided instead to send an email to Newcastle station. He didn’t know anyone there now, but one of the detectives could enlarge the photograph and take it over to the house. An image might help prompt their memories.
Ryder stared at the tangle of bed sheets, and closed his eyes against the memory of Vanessa’s warmth. He hadn’t felt like exercising before his shower, and now the thought of breakfast was enough to churn his stomach.
Three harsh raps on the doo
r made him open his eyes.
‘Sarge, are you there?’ Flowers’ voice held an urgency Ryder hadn’t heard before.
He yanked the bed covers up, secured the towel more firmly at his waist and was halfway to the door when Flowers knocked again, louder, his voice more insistent. ‘Sarge!’
Ryder flung open the door and looked into Flowers’ worried eyes. ‘What’s up?’
‘Someone’s been found dead in Long Bay.’
Twenty-one
The scene inside Long Bay was heart-rending. The resort staff, usually so upbeat and happy in their efforts to make sure the guests enjoyed their snow holiday, were congregated in small groups, whispering quietly. Some held each other, and wept openly. Others were half-awake, looking around in stunned confusion.
‘This never gets easier,’ Ryder said in a low voice as he and Flowers made their way down a hallway towards the kitchen. Three members of staff, still in their pyjamas, were standing around an island bench and speaking in hushed tones. Ryder recognised the surf grommet who’d been dancing with Vanessa last night. A kettle puffed steam into the air, almost at the boil.
Heart beating so hard it was making his legs weak, Ryder scanned every face. Where was she? She’d only left his room half an hour ago, so there was no reason for his heart to be going haywire the way it was. Every police instinct told him this was likely to be a drug overdose.
‘Police,’ he called, holding open his suit coat to display his badge. ‘What do we have here?’
‘Detective Ryder!’
He spun around to see Terry standing at the end of a passageway that ran at right angles to the one Ryder and Flowers had just walked down. It was narrow, made more so by the ski and snowboard boots lined up against the wall, and the multitude of uniform jackets hanging from hooks.
The bedrooms were on Ryder’s left, a darkened TV lounge and bathrooms on his right. Stopping briefly, he kicked aside a stray boot that was lying in his path. A door opened and a young woman wearing flannelette pyjamas, her hair tousled from sleep, leaned out and looked up and down the corridor. Someone inside asked, ‘Whose room is it?’
The girl turned and said in a hushed voice. ‘Vanessa’s.’
A flash cut across Ryder’s eyes, and the voices around him receded. Dread seeped into every cell of his being, weighing down his muscles and sending his stomach into a sickening spin. Time slowed down, and he glanced at the jackets lining the left wall. A ski-patrol parka, and the black quilted jacket Vanessa had worn last night, were hanging from the same hook. On the floor, her cherry Doc Martens sat neatly beside her ski boots, the black ones with the bright orange flame on the side.
‘Thank God you’re here.’ Terry’s face was chalk white, his hands trembling as he pointed to the door. ‘I had to close it. I’ve sent someone to fetch the doctor, but …’ He shook his head, and stared hard at the carpet.
Ryder’s heart got out of rhythm and his hands felt clammy. Flowers handed him a pair of latex gloves and Ryder worked his shaky fingers inside, all the while bargaining with a God he didn’t believe in. Then steeling himself against whatever horror awaited, he snapped the gloves over his wrists and went inside.
A woman was sprawled face down on the floor, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. Too short and fair to be Vanessa; Ryder knew the instant he dropped to his haunches that it was Libby.
Waves of emotion washed over him, swamping him like a close set of breakers. Relief. Guilt. Rage. They pulled him beneath the surface, tossed him into the air then drove him into the sand before he could suck in a breath.
He scanned the room, taking in Vanessa’s neatly made bed, testament to the fact she hadn’t slept there last night. Shards of glass lay scattered on the floor from the broken moon lamp she’d only just been telling him about.
Bracing himself, Ryder reached out and gently brushed aside Libby’s tangled hair. Tinges of blue bracketed her mouth, her sightless eyes fixed on a spot somewhere on the opposite wall. She wasn’t lying on the carpet as he’d first thought, but on a trundle that had been pulled out from under the single bed.
He ran a gentle hand down her face to close her eyes, his jaw clenched so tightly his back teeth ached. Fury drove strength into his legs, and he straightened up, his eyes on the angry abrasions circling her throat. This was no OD. This was murder.
Gavin Hutton’s face materialised in his mind. Could Libby be the latest victim of the fugitive they suspected of being in the area? Ryder frowned. It didn’t fit with Hutton’s MO. He was antisocial and slept rough, his kills impulsive, his murder scenes dangerous alleyways and secluded parks. Ryder shook his head. For Hutton to walk into this building would go against everything Ryder had learned about the former soldier. ‘Who found her?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ said Terry. ‘A couple of staff are down with the flu. I needed Vanessa to work. When she didn’t answer my knock, I opened the door and stuck my head in.’
Ryder spun around. ‘You did what?’
Terry blinked. ‘What?’
‘Wasn’t the door locked?’
‘We don’t have locks on the doors. People come and go all night. Some are three to a room. Not the patrollers, though. They get a room to themselves.’
‘Is that standard practice? Poking your head inside a woman’s room if she doesn’t answer?’
Terry’s mouth fell open. ‘I don’t just barge in. I knock and call out a couple of times first. Everyone sleeps pretty soundly. We’re all doing physical work.’
‘Did you touch anything other than the door handle?’
‘I don’t think so.’ His face turned red with indignation. ‘Look, I know our procedures are old-school, but that’s how it works around here. We can’t rely on the phone reception. And as for locks—have you noticed how old this building is? We’re always worried about fire.’
Ryder gave a curt nod to show he understood. ‘Round up everyone who lives here. Tell them to assemble in the TV room and kitchen. No one’s to come down this way. Oh, and Terry, how many entrances to this place?’
‘Five. And those doors don’t have locks either. We—’
‘What’s going on?’
Ryder swung around at the sound of Vanessa’s voice. She was dressed in the jeans and jumper she’d worn last night, but it was obvious she’d come from the shower. She stared at him, a hairbrush in her right hand, her freshly washed hair hanging over one shoulder.
Emotion stole Ryder’s voice. He couldn’t trust himself to speak.
‘Terry?’ she asked, looking away when he didn’t answer. All Ryder could do was watch as Terry reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. ‘Vee, I’m sorry but, boy, am I pleased to see you.’
She watched him go, then turned to Ryder again, an uncomprehending expression in her eyes.
Flowers came to the rescue. ‘We have some distressing news, Vanessa. It’s about Libby.’
For a few moments she said nothing. Then she gave a tiny shake of her head, her eyes growing wide and fearful. ‘What’s happened to Libby? You’re scaring me.’
She looked younger than she had last night, and Ryder wished he could protect her from what she was about to learn. She must have hung her coat on the hook outside her room, and left her boots on the floor before going into the bathroom—that decision had spared her the trauma of discovering Libby’s body. He cleared his throat and closed the gap between them.
‘I’m sorry, Vanessa. Libby has been found dead. She was in your room—’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He nodded.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Stricken, she stared at him for a few moments then dissolved into tears, raising one hand to shield her eyes. Ryder moved closer as her shoulders began to shake, but he didn’t touch her. After a while, she sucked in a few uneven breaths and lowered her hand. ‘How?’
There was no easy way to say this, no words that would dilute the impact. He stared into her shocked eyes, awash with shattered tears. ‘I … she was murdered.
Strangled.’
Her legs gave way.
Ryder lunged, grasping her under the arms. She swayed, let out a strangled sob as he hauled her against his chest.
He tipped his head at Flowers. ‘Get Lewicki. And the crime tape.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She raised her hands and pushed him in the chest, but Ryder continued to hold her, fearful her legs would give way again.
‘I don’t believe you.’ She struggled, her hands full of strength and purpose. ‘I want to see.’
‘Vanessa—’
She twisted in his grip until he let her go. ‘She’s my friend and it’s my room.’
‘All right. We’ll look from the door, that’s all.’ Sometimes, it was better this way. As far as crime scenes went this one was pretty clean. The imagination could be so much worse. Ryder kept hold of her arm and together they walked the few steps along the hallway to her room. Ryder opened the door.
‘Oh. Libby.’ Vanessa began to cry again, calling out to her friend as though she might wake up at any moment. ‘Libby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
It was enough. Steeling himself against Vanessa’s mournful cries, he steered her away, a hum of muted conversation drifting down the hallway where more and more people were gathering.
‘I think I’m going to faint.’
Ryder put his arm around her waist. ‘It’s low blood pressure from the shock.’ He scanned the doors along the corridor, searching for somewhere private. ‘Hang on.’
She didn’t answer, just leaned more heavily on him.
He headed for the women’s bathroom, not wanting her to pass out in the corridor.
‘Police!’ He shouldered his way through the door, scanning the room. Steam swirled in the air, fragrant with the same coconut aroma as Vanessa’s hair. Three empty shower cubicles lined one wall, a row of multi-coloured bath towels hanging from wooden pegs were lined along another. A lone wooden chair stood in a corner, and Ryder helped Vanessa towards it, passing the wash basins and the fogged-up mirrors. Whipping off his overcoat, he draped it around her shoulders as she bent her head to her knees. Crouching in front of her, he peeled off his latex gloves and took hold of her clammy hand. He turned it over. Using the tips of his third and index finger, he felt for her pulse. For the next few minutes he counted along, until eventually his own heart rate settled as hers grew stronger.
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