by Sandy Vaile
“No shit?” Luca pushed his chair back and paced the room. Surely this was the break he’d been waiting for.
“In another instance Spurious Enterprises was an animal welfare organisation. Guess who the woman making the bequest lived with before going into Rich Haven?” Old didn’t wait for a response. “Twenty-seven cats.”
“Wow.”
“You see where I’m going with this.”
“Did you link this bogus charity to Melanie Lane or Kevin Walker?”
“That’s where the good news ends. The director of Spurious Enterprises is Evan Smith We’re still working on an address.”
“I can tell you that,” Luca said. “I’ve seen Evan Smith’s house. Good work, Old.”
The constable levered himself out of the chair and passed the file over. He ducked under the doorframe on his way out.
Luca put his office phone on loudspeaker and rested the handset on the desk as he sorted mail. There was hardly any desk visible under the mound of paperwork.
“Your call is important to us. Please hold and the next available operator will be with you shortly.”
Luca shook his head. How could forensics be backlogged first thing in the morning? Hopefully it meant they’d found a match to the handwriting on the Sux order dockets.
While he waited, he made three piles of mail: urgent, vaguely interesting, handball, and the rest slid over the edge of the desktop into a bin. An invitation to the upcoming long service awards dinner went into the second pile.
Luca’s mobile chirped and he retrieved it from his top pocket with two fingers. “Patterson.”
“Eggles here. I have your toxicology results.”
“Good timing. I’m on the other line to your office. You could have faxed the information.” With the mobile pressed to his ear, Luca hung up the office phone.
“The results are being faxed as we speak, so you can look through them at your leisure, but I thought you might have some questions.”
Luca’s office chair squeaked as he sat forward. “What did you find?”
Eggles muffled the handset as he coughed violently. When he finally recovered, his voice was even rougher. “Sorry. Rosalie Jensen tested positive for succinylcholine and I could find no reason for it to be administered to her. Given the hidden injection site, I have to conclude that the elevated reading indicates intentional poisoning.”
“Shit!” Luca gulped the bitter saliva that pooled in his mouth. The hairs on his forearm stood on end. “Can you tell me exactly how this drug works?”
“Succinylcholine is difficult to detect, because it metabolizes quickly. In fact, reliable testing was only developed during the last decade and requires advanced high‐pressure liquid chromatography equipment.
“It’s a powerful paralytic drug and a large enough dose will cease respiration. It doesn’t cross the blood-brain barrier, so there is no alteration to consciousness or pain perception. The victim is unable to move or speak and is likely to experience extreme panic. Full paralysis occurs within thirty seconds, and then the heart races to keep the brain functioning, but fails within minutes.”
“The murderer would have time to torment the victim without them being able to respond,” Luca whispered.
“Yes. It’s not a nice way to die.” The pathologist paused. “If you have any more questions, feel free to call me.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Luca stared at a blob of red on a white canvas with a single yellow line running through it, hanging on the wall. He hated modern art and this piece reminded him of something piercing a heart. There was no way he was going to tell Mya what Rosalie went through during her last minutes.
Kate knocked lightly on the door, making him start. She had her mouth open, ready to tell him something, but he cut her off.
“We’re going to see Willy Mason right now.” He slapped the desktop with one palm.
• • •
Mya grabbed a towel and bottle of water as she eyed Natalie. The girl fidgeted on the couch.
“You know, it’s a good idea for women to learn how to protect themselves,” Mya started tentatively.
Natalie kept her eyes on the screen, but picked at the stitching on her jeans.
“I’m going to the gym if you want to join me.”
Natalie did a double take. “Um, Luca said we should stay here.”
She knew Natalie felt intimidated by her, but still, she ought to get brownie points for saving her from Willy Mason. “Sure. I just thought you might want to get out of the house for a while.”
With her head down, Natalie touched the almost healed wound above her eye and whispered, “I don’t know how to fight people.”
Mya perched on the arm of the couch. “It’s not so much about fighting as protecting. I can teach you. It won’t cost anything.”
Natalie smiled shyly and turned off the TV. “Sure.”
Kate had generously left her car for Mya to use again, and she contemplated swinging by her house on the way to the gym. Luca would think it was a lousy idea. The explosion was three days ago, but it felt like an eternity. She still saw the ragged door frame and small flames licking the ceiling in her nightmares. The same nightmares Rhonda starred in. The cops didn’t seem any closer to finding her, which was no surprise.
Damn, she felt so helpless.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to face the house just yet. Today she wanted to punch the shit out of something.
As she travelled along the main road, a black four-by-four pulled out of a side street and followed them. At the next intersection it ran the lights. Mya revved the Torana to 4,000 RPM, changed gears, and accelerated. The black vehicle kept pace. Holy shit. She didn’t have to find Rhonda; the redhead had found her. This was her chance to do what the cops were too incompetent to do, but not with Natalie in the car. The girl had gone through enough trauma.
Natalie had a white-knuckled grip on the door handle, so Mya eased off the accelerator. Still, there might not be another opportunity to find out for sure who was behind the wheel.
At the next side street she turned suddenly. The four-by-four continued on the main road. False alarm. Mya took a calming breath.
“This is my local stomping ground.” She pulled into the gym car park. “Every girl should know how to defend herself.”
Natalie nodded.
They stepped through the glass front door and Mya yelled, “Oi! Tommy.”
“MJ, you decided to grace us with your presence.” He strutted over and wrapped her in a death grip until she threatened to knee him in the nuts. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after your mum … ”
“I’ve just come to hit something.” Now wasn’t the time to have a heart-to-heart with her old buddy. Besides, he’d make a big deal if he knew Rhonda might have something to do with her mum’s death. Later.
He took a step back and put his palms forward in surrender. “Who’s your sidekick?” He shook Natalie’s hand, and then flicked his eyebrows up and down suggestively at Mya. “Wanna go a few rounds?”
“Nope. I’m flying solo today, but you can give Natalie a starter lesson.”
Natalie’s eyelids flipped up to her brows and she squirmed in her tennis shoes.
Tommy turned off the charm and went into professional mode. “Come on, let’s get you kitted up and I’ll show you the basics.”
Mya waved to Natalie as she followed him.
It felt good to pull the boxing gloves on, familiar. She steadied the punching bag before landing her first blow. It barely moved.
“Crap, I’m outta shape.”
She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, but it didn’t clear the image of her mum’s lifeless body laid out on the bed. Anger seeped from the vault.
Thud. Thud. Thwack. Two punches followed by the top of her foot, and it felt great. Keeping her eyes on the swinging bag, she got into a rhythm. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.
“You want me to hold that still for you?”
The leat
her bag creaked as Mya’s rhythm broke. One of her regular sparring buddies slid behind the bag and grabbed it with two hands.
“Thanks.”
His mess of brown hair blurred as she focused on the bag. She put more force behind her next hit, letting the air grunt out of her lungs with every blow. Sweat trickled down her spine, out of her hair, and into her eyes. She wiped a forearm across her face and kept going. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.
After a while Mya swapped places with the bag holder, and then back again. She was soaked with sweat and puffing by the time she heard Natalie’s voice behind her.
“I guess I oughta be glad that ain’t me.”
She turned to see Natalie giggling. “How’d your first lesson go?”
Tommy tossed Mya a towel to swipe over her flushed face, neck, and arms.
“Tommy was cool.” Natalie blushed and stared at the worn blue carpet. “I can’t kickbox like you, but he showed me a few moves.”
“Great. We can come back tomorrow, if you like.”
“Sure.” Natalie’s eyes were alight with self-worth.
“Wet T-shirt competition?” Tommy stood at a distance as he pointed at Mya’s chest, smirk in place.
She looked down to see her nipples straining against the damp fabric, and lunged forward to plant a kick on Tommy’s knee. It buckled.
“And creeps like you are why girls like us learn to kick arse.” She grinned at Natalie.
“Hey, hey. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Lord knows you’d take my arm off if I tried to touch.” He shouldered her playfully. “See you tomorrow and, let me know if you need anything.”
A gentle nudge with her shoulder was all that was needed. Tommy wouldn’t push her for information, but he’d be there for her. He was better than any big brother she could have dreamed up for herself.
Come to think of it, he’d make a great bodyguard. Maybe she should have Natalie hang out here more, until things settled down.
Chapter 35
Luca dropped his personal effects and gun into a metal box and Kate followed suit. The guard on the other side of the bulletproof glass at the Adelaide Remand Centre, turned a critical gaze their way, checked their IDs, and then pulled the box to his side of the barrier. He put their belongings into a holding container and pressed a button.
A buzzer sounded and Luca pushed the door open.
There were black scuff marks along the lower half of the wall. Not everyone came willingly. Including Willy Mason, or so he’d heard from Davey.
Kate smoothed the front of her shirt. “Got a call from forensics. They matched the falsified purchase orders to Melanie Lane’s handwriting.”
Luca stopped walking. “He’s positive?”
“Not 100 percent, of course, but confident.”
“Finally, a link. When we’ve finished here I want you to order an APB and have her picked up. We’ve got enough to hold her for a few hours while we put this all together. I suspect Willy will be feeling a lot more compliant after a night in here.”
They went into the viewing room where they could watch Willy through the one-way glass. He balanced on a plastic chair in the interview room, making it look inadequate. Even the shapeless prison-issue orange jumpsuit did nothing to hide his size. The way he was studying the cream walls of the six-by-four interrogation room, you would have thought they were covered in graffiti art instead of scuffed paint.
“We need this,” Luca said.
“Good luck.” Kate switched on the microphone so she’d be able to hear the conversation.
Luca moved from the dark room into the bright hall. One deep breath to gather himself, and then he turned the handle to the interview room. He burst in and slammed the door shut. Keeping momentum, he stepped around the table and bent over Willy. The big man automatically sat back as Luca got in his face.
“I’ve got evidence now, Willy. They murdered someone with a family, and the autopsy confirmed it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The man crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Good, he was on the defensive.
“The same buddies who cut you loose over this jewelry scam have murdered an old lady at Rich Haven. They’re going to leave you rotting in here, Willy. They’re going to let you do the time for this, too.”
“Hey, hey. I don’t know nothin’ about murdering anyone—”
“Then you’d better start giving me something I can use to find your buddies.” Spittle sprayed from between Luca’s lips as he shouted, inches from Willy’s stubbled face.
The man’s eye twitched at the corner and his shoulders slumped the tiniest bit.
“If you’ve got nothing to say to me, the guard can take you back to your cell.” Luca rotated, the rubber heel of his black sandshoe squeaking against the linoleum.
“Wait!”
He paused, one hand on the handle, his back to Willy.
“I heard Melanie talking to Kevin once. They were in another room, and I heard her moan about some chick she wanted dead.”
Luca held his breath and turned around. “And?”
“I dunno. She was talking about tormenting some woman and how she was gonna get what she deserved.”
Rosalie Jensen. Did the murderer know her? Is that why her profile broke from the others?
“Did she use a name, suburb, any detail that’s going to make this useful to me?”
“I told you they didn’t tell me nothin’ about who was running the show, or how they got the old ladies to sign over their wills—Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. You knew they were knocking off old ladies, didn’t you, Willy?”
“I’m not stupid.” He curled his fingers into fists on the wood-laminate table. “The only way you get money from a will is when the person dies, but I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
Luca stood with his feet apart, hands unnaturally straight by his sides as he tried to keep his temper reined in. “We’re going around in circles here. Are you going to tell me anything useful, or are you just pissing in my ear?”
“I heard Melanie say the letters were working and the bitch was shittin’ herself.”
“We’re done.” Luca threw the door open, stepped through, and locked it before Willy had a chance to wrap those pancake-sized hands around his neck.
His heart was racing as he stood in the hall, edgy, trying to put one and four together to get two.
Kate stuck her head out of the observation room. “What was that?”
“Mya told me she was getting threatening letters.”
“That makes sense. Maybe they send letters before they kill the old ladies.”
“No, it doesn’t make sense. Before—at Happy Vale Nursing Home—they only selected women with no surviving family. Rosalie Jensen had Mya. Besides, Mya told me it was someone called Rhonda sending the letters.”
“She was mistaken.”
“I’m going to her house to get a look at one of those letters. See if it matches any of the handwriting samples from Rich Haven personnel.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Kate rested tight fists on her hips.
“Throw Willy back in the lock-up.” He strode down the fluoro-lit hall. “And tell Mya I’m coming to see her in the next hour.”
• • •
Mya wasn’t answering her mobile phone. If she was doing it deliberately, he’d—
Luca took a deep breath and turned the key in her new front door. It was only fitted yesterday, and he forgot to hand over the keys when she was upset last night. He’d better tell her soon, or she’d accuse him of trying to con her out of a house—or worse, trying to move in.
He screwed up his nose at the lingering stale smoke smell—better leave the door open to let some fresh air in. It looked like grey and black cloud patterns had been airbrushed across the top of the walls and ceiling. She’d need to get a painter in.
Luca smiled at the rickety hall table, bare since he’d stashed the bowl of weapons in her wardrobe while
his colleague inspected the damage. No point in bringing something to their attention that had nothing to do with the case.
The lounge room looked the same as it did when he last sat in it, with bills and promotional material on the dining table, but no sign of Rhonda’s letters. He checked the bin, but it was almost empty. There were a few sheets of paper on the side table by the recliner chair, so he flicked through them. Jotted words, phrases, and page numbers from the book she’d been reading. She sure was an enigma.
On the coffee table, he lifted a couple of books, a bowl of mints, and a menu for the local fish-and-chip shop. He found a flattened mint wrapper and flopped onto the faded red leather lounge to think. He dialed her mobile again, but it went to voicemail.
With hands behind his head, he scanned the room. Where would he stash a threatening letter if he were Mya? The crammed-full bookshelf looked orderly and he wasn’t keen on going in her bedroom, but where else could he look?
As he pushed off the couch, his foot slipped. A piece of paper protruded from under it and he reached to slide it out with one finger. It had been torn from a spiral notepad. Probably more book annotations. He turned it over and read.
As he did, the hairs on his arms stood higher with each word.
Did you miss me, Mya? Living it up in that nice house, with that big motorbike you ride. I’ll bet it cost a small fortune.
Can you feel me breathing down your neck yet? It won’t be long before it’s time to pay up.
He put the sample of Melanie’s handwriting next to it and his throat constricted. The backward-slanting script was the same. A tingle crawled up his nostrils, as though he was about to sneeze, but he wasn’t. It continued across his scalp and down the back of his neck.
He had it all wrong. Melanie Lane and Rhonda Morten weren’t in cahoots. Melanie was Rhonda, and she’d been watching Mya.
“Shit!”
Two paces and he was across the lounge room. He stuffed the letter into his back pocket and stepped onto the front porch. He locked the door and dialed Kate as he crossed the yard.
“Const—”
“Kate. Did you reach Mya?”
“And hello to you, too. I tried the apartment several times and no one answered. I guess she’s not back from the gym y—”