Pieces of a Lie

by Rowena Holloway

  ‘I’ve been through the house,’ Drummond said, ‘and found signs of a break-in.’

  A break-in! Lord help him, Daley’s bombshell had almost pushed it from his thoughts. ‘Any prints?’

  ‘Forensics will tell us if there’s anything we can use.’

  ‘You’re not willing to speculate?’

  ‘I’m hopeful there are a couple of fresh prints that don’t belong to Mina. Or yourself.’

  There was a strange inflection to the statement, and it dawned on him what Drummond must have thought seeing Mina appear wearing just a towel when she assumed it was only Forbes at her door. Him making coffee in her kitchen must have clinched it. No wonder Drummond had gone as brittle as burnt toast.

  Drummond flipped open a slender notebook. ‘She phoned you last night. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did she tell you? Please be as precise as possible.’

  The only things missing from this interrogation were a mirrored observation window and bad coffee.

  The email trilled, and then trilled again. The debate was hotting up. Forbes closed his laptop. In the absence of information, rumours ran riot. They’d ascribe him far more devious actions than he could invent himself, and he could trawl through them later. Maybe one of them would invent something he could use.

  Drummond waited, slim gold pen poised above his notebook.

  ‘She called a bit after midnight,’ Forbes said. ‘Claimed she’d chased someone out of her house. I told her to call the police.’

  ‘She refused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t go to check on her until this morning.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Because you were with this woman Valerie?’

  It was clear Drummond thought he was a shit. And he was right. But there was nothing he could do about that now.

  ‘Mina told me not to bother, that she’d sorted it out.’ He didn’t add she’d only said that when she overheard Valerie’s sharp comments.

  Drummond made a short notation. ‘Tell me about her mother.’

  The question caught him like a slap. He should have expected it. Drummond had been in town long enough to hear the gossip, but surely he’d make up his own mind.

  ‘Jacko isn’t back in town,’ he said.

  Drummond waited.

  ‘All that rubbish about Jacko visiting Alyssa every night is just that.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better explain the situation.’

  Forbes tried to view it from Drummond’s perspective. He’d been told Mina could help him understand the antiques business. Instead she’d been rude and stubborn, and her anger when he asked about her mother must have seemed out of proportion. Mina wouldn’t thank him for it, but if it helped Drummond be a little more compassionate toward her, it couldn’t hurt.

  He gave Drummond a thumbnail version of events—how in the months before Alyssa finally succumbed to MS, she had fantasised that Jacko, the husband who’d vanished from her life all those years ago, had visited her every night; how the town wanted to believe she was right because it gave them a convenient scapegoat to explain the sudden burst of robberies in their quiet town; how hard it had all been on Mina.

  ‘The last thing she needed,’ he muttered, ‘was that wreath turning up on her doorstep.’

  ‘Wreath?’

  Forbes sighed. He’d removed the circle of white lilies as soon as he’d read the card pinned to them, but Mina had already seen it.

  ‘It was sent a day or two after Alyssa’s obituary was published,’ he said. ‘The card was signed ‘Jacko’.’

  ‘And yet you’re certain he’s not back in town.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I asked the florist. She said a Mrs Anderson ordered the wreath for a different funeral. Someone was playing silly buggers. Their idea of a joke. Because of all the rumours.’

  Drummond frowned. It made a change from the stony-faced interrogator he’d been so far. He asked for the dates and the florist’s details and wrote it all in his slender notebook.

  ‘I’d appreciate it,’ Drummond said, ‘if you could give me access to the property records for a Paul Carlson.’

  ‘Carlson?’ The change of topic wasn’t unwelcome, but it was a surprise. ‘Is he back on the suspect list?’

  A brief nod.

  ‘Why do you need property records?’

  ‘Because he’s not in the phone book.’

  ‘Can’t you get that info from your blokes? What about the Intelligence Unit?’

  Drummond could convey a lot with a barely lifted eyebrow. His terse demeanour made sense now. Though Forbes had fought for his secondment to Criminal Investigations, which would have maintained Drummond’s rank, it hadn’t worked that way. Politics was everywhere. It might only be temporary, but Probationary Constable would be a big come down for a detective of his stature and the constraints of the role would be a major frustration. Baldwin’s big-noting of the Sydneysider had also set a lot of the local cops against Drummond before he’d arrived. They wouldn’t want to make the ring-in’s life any easier by coughing up Carlson’s details.

  ‘Strictly speaking, I can’t hand over that information. You’d need a warrant.’

  ‘Only if you refuse. I thought you wanted me to wrap this case up before the election.’

  True, he had brought the detective in to solve the robberies as soon as possible. Not least because the rumours about Jacko raised a spectre for Mina. Yet a big part of his motivation was needing to be seen doing something about cases that were going nowhere, to show that he cared about the electorate in a way no other politician ever had. No one had been more surprised than him when Drummond identified the antiques robbery angle. He just hoped to Heaven the man wasn’t grandstanding to raise the profile of the cases and get himself back to Sydney and his former rank.

  It’s what he would have done.

  ‘Do I need a warrant?’ Drummond’s close-lipped smile gave little away.

  ‘Let me think about it.’

  It was in his best interests to help in any way he could, but he wasn’t going to give in to Drummond that easily. A man had his pride.

  ‘This crime her father is alleged to have committed,’ Drummond said, ‘it happened thirteen years ago?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So why is it still so raw around the town?’

  Forbes sat back in his chair and scratched his head. He hadn’t expected Drummond to give up on getting Carlson’s information so easily. Hopefully, it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  ‘The loss of the development fund put an end to the proposed rejuvenation of the docks,’ he said. ‘Those who owned surrounding land and businesses had raised money on the strength of it, and when it didn’t go ahead many of them lost everything.’

  ‘Still, that’s a long time to hold a grudge.’

  What could he say to that? Mina’s teenage years had been a whirl of anger and acting out, and though she’d reined it in once she’d dropped out of university, her anger toward the townspeople hadn’t mellowed. When poor Alyssa finally passed, and the contrite locals offered the hand of friendship, Mina had given them a dead-eyed stare until they left her alone.

  ‘People never acknowledge their own greed,’ Forbes said. ‘And Mina was never backwards in saying what she thought.’

  ‘She seems a little high-strung.’

  He wanted to deny it, but since the spectre of Jacko had reappeared in her life, her emotions had been spewing out at the slightest provocation.

  ‘Do you know what the biggest irony is in all of this, Drummond?’

  He indicated the EPA report: four hundred-odd pages of supportive evidence that Failie’s ecology would benefit from a clean-up of the docks, boatyards and abandoned factories earmarked for development.

  ‘If the original plans for that area had gone ahead, the current redevelopment would not be viable. Now, that land is about to be worth a
fortune.’

  He wished his father was still around to hear that. That would show the old man what the ‘blight on the family name’ could do given half a chance. When everyone else had settled into uneasy acceptance the docklands would remain a virtual wasteland, he had courted the developers, the greenies, the Local Government Authority and anyone with a vested interest in the site. He—Forbes Monroe—had made this multi-million-dollar deal possible.

  ‘Why didn’t Mina and her mother sell up and move? Why stay in Failie if they were such pariahs?’

  There was no easy answer. For years, he’d been telling her she needed a place without so many ghosts, but she refused to listen. And lately, her behaviour had begun to alarm him.

  ‘Have you seen the dog she’s been talking about?’ he asked. ‘The one she calls Spirit.’

  Drummond’s blink was the only sign of his surprise at the question. ‘Why?’

  ‘It worries me.’

  ‘After what you’ve told me, attachment to a stray dog might be a good sign.’

  ‘Spirit the dog. It’s a story Jacko used to tell her as a kid. When he took off, I told her to think of the dog as real, like he was following her around and protecting her.’ Forbes stared at his hands and sighed. He’d thought it was the right thing to do, and for a while it had banished that haunted look in her eyes. ‘When she started acting out and getting into trouble, she’d throw that in my face. Even though she was too old to believe such nonsense, she always claimed that Spirit was protecting her.’

  ‘You think she’s making it up now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s just a name she picked because of the story.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  And he did hope that, because the alternative didn’t bear thinking.

  Mina’s face had gone grey when she’d seen that wreath. She hadn’t said so, but she must wonder if the rumours about Jacko are true. Poor kid must be worried sick her dad might turn up on her doorstep.

  Christ! Why hadn’t he considered that before?

  It all made sense now—her refusal to talk to the police, why she’d turned to him and why she’d denied there was any break-in—she must think it was Jacko.

  ‘Something worrying you?’ With that calm voice and penetrating gaze, Drummond could have been a counsellor.

  ‘I’ll be a lot less worried once we sort out these robberies. You know, they did over my house a little while ago.’

  ‘That’s not in the report.’

  ‘It was just after I’d arranged for you to help out. They took nothing of value, and certain factions in this council would have had a field day. So I saw it as a lesson not to be complacent and upgraded my security.’ From the bottom drawer of his desk, he withdrew a file and spun it across the rosewood. ‘At the time, I had Roberta collate this. It’s every property remotely associated with Carlson.’

  Drummond picked up the file but didn’t open it. ‘Why was Carlson of interest to you?’

  ‘Local council may be grassroots, but the politics here get just as dirty as higher up. Dirtier, perhaps, because there is less external scrutiny. I own quite a few buildings in this council area. When Carlson looked good for the break-ins I didn’t want to be the last to find out he was operating something illegal out of one of them.’

  Chapter 15

  THEY’D TRIED TO RUN HER DOWN, in broad daylight! But why? Because she’d seen their stupid hoard? Had going to Schmidt’s place told them she’d seen the medal, something that tied them to his murder? Or was it the watch they wanted?

  Mina turned her car onto the Esplanade, a tense grip on her steering wheel. The ocean curled against the shore in a white flurry, the sound magnified by the stillness of the day. She breathed in the tang of salt and seaweed and tried to slow the tumult in her chest.

  She never should have pilfered that stupid watch. Or better yet, never touched it, never looked at that inscription. After years of torment, she had finally reconciled herself to what her father had done. She’d finally started to build a life for herself, a life on her own terms, one built on the foundations of all that she was, no pretence, no hiding from gossip, finally certain she was not her father’s daughter. Yet one glance at that inscription and it was all for nothing. Twenty-four hours ago, her biggest problem had been how to pay the rent on her shop if the town snubbed her business. Now she had a couple of criminals on her trail who were somehow tied to Schmidt’s murder. It was more than twelve years since her dad walked out of her life, and she was still letting him ruin it.

  Mina tried to slow her breathing and let the tension dissipate. She looked toward the sea. A black and white spaniel snuffled along the seaweed while its master retrieved a tennis ball from knee-deep water. If only she could turn her back on everything and walk the beach. Give herself over to the gentle lap of water at her ankles, the sun on her face. Or she could swim. Swim until her arms ached, until she got caught in the deep azure swell, Failie forgotten and her past washed away.

  On the street, a lime green flag drifted in the lazy breeze. Another property for sale. Hers was one of the few original villas left along this strip, and soon she’d be surrounded by double storey McMansions. In principle she understood the need for re-development, for self-sufficient homes powered by solar panels, for grey water recycled through tanks housed beneath the foundations. Old villas didn’t make the most of the Australian climate or the view, and they certainly didn’t disappear into the landscape, as the current crop of city planners demanded. They had charm. It was hard to see how a soulless double storey could replace the character of a house that had been a home for more than a century. Old homes had history. For better or worse, that history was important. Forbes never tired of pointing out the irony in that belief.

  Thoughts of Forbes resurrected the spectre of Linc Drummond.

  What if he was still at her house, waiting for her statement? The morning had worn at her resources. Now her body ached. A headache gripped the back of her neck. She pictured Linc with his inquisitive gaze and his perfectly tailored suit. It might be a relief to lay her burden on his broad shoulders, to wrap her arms around his trim waist and let him soothe away the hurt. Or she could lure him into her bed. Get him naked. Her sheets tangled and sweaty due to passion instead of nightmares.

  Heat flushed from her toe tips to her scalp. What the hell was she thinking? He was a cop. Worse. He was a cop with a career plan. He’d use her to get what he wanted then forget her.

  She wound down her window as far as it would go, but the furnace blast of heat from the road was worse than the heat inside her car. What she needed was a long bath, a glass of wine and the reassuring comfort of Spirit curled nearby. With any luck, the husky had chased Drummond off the property and she wouldn’t have to face any of it.

  At the entrance to her driveway, she slowed to turn.

  What the hell?

  A white four-wheel-drive blocked her way. She jerked on her handbrake. A couple of officers in navy blue stood at her door, one dusted the doorframe with a small brush while the other leaned against the wall, chewing gum and looking bored. There were two station wagons in her driveway, each with the chequered striping that announced their official business. It was bad enough that Drummond had rifled through her home, but to find her house invaded by cops, everything dusted for prints—

  Mina slammed her car door and marched across the gravel driveway.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ She stepped into her veranda.

  The gum-chewing cop shifted his bulk to block her way. ‘Can’t let you through, lady.’

  ‘You can’t keep me out of my own place.’

  He leered and let his gaze rest on her cleavage.

  She clenched her fists. ‘Look buster—’ that got his attention back on her face ‘—this is my house.’

  ‘It’s Senior Constable Wainright,’ he said. ‘You better remember that.’

  ‘What I’ll remember is you’ve no cause to be h
ere. So pack up and get lost.’

  Their crime scene equipment blocked the entrance to her flat, so she tried to shove past him and enter through her mother’s apartment.

  He planted his feet and poked a finger at her. ‘Watch yourself, sweetheart. We’re just doing our job.’

  ‘That so, Senior Constable? Do you always take orders from a probationary officer? Or is this some weird hero worship thing for the Sydney bloke?’

  Wainright pulled himself up, his small eyes narrowing. Then his gaze shifted. He grinned and spoke to someone behind her. ‘Wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes, Hollywood.’

  Mina turned. Drummond stood so close she could have buried her face in his fine cotton shirt. The image she’d conjured in her car returned. Her cheeks burned. Thankfully, Drummond was too busy staring down the forensics cop. If he’d heard their exchange, he gave no sign of it.

  ‘Let her through, Frank.’ He said it in that quiet way that was all threat.

  Whatever was between the two men was strong enough for the crime scene officer dusting her doorframe to pack up in a hurry. She took her chance, stepped over the threshold and let the two men get on with their pissing contest.

  The hall doors had been left wide open. Charcoal powder dirtied the glossy paintwork and marked the handles and locks. The glass scattered across the floor last night had been cleared away. Behind her, Drummond and the fat cop were having a low-key argument. Mina moved deeper into the hallway, drawn to the open door of her mother’s bedroom. She chewed on a knuckle to quell the swell of grief.

  A blue-clad officer exited her mother’s room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was pitched too high. ‘You’ve no right to enter that room. No reason to be in there.’

  This couldn’t be happening. Why did they need three people to dust for prints? There wouldn’t be any prints. The guy had worn gloves. But she hadn’t told Drummond that. Instead, she’d told an obvious lie that made him certain she was hiding something. But this? It was way over the top. He was throwing his weight around to show her how powerful he was, how he could disrupt her life because it suited him.

  ‘What did you do?’ Drummond snapped at Wainright. ‘Bully the whole shift?’