by Vicki Tyley
Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear Kerry call out. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“See you tomorrow.” Kerry gave a cheery wave and disappeared through the swing doors.
Jemma hitched her gym bag over her shoulder and headed in the opposite direction. Outside, the day was heating up, the sky a crisp blue. She skipped down the steps. Though she dreaded to think what her muscles were going to feel like the next morning, right then, she felt strong enough to take on Jeff Fenech. And win.
Her phone rang while she was waiting to cross at the lights. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Jemma Dalton?”
“Yes?” She still had no clue to the identity of the acid female voice on the other end.
“Well, Jemma Dalton, keep your fucking hands off my husband. Do you hear me?”
The lights changed. Jemma didn’t move. “Excuse me, who is this?”
“Excuse you? Exactly how many married men are you screwing?”
“Danielle?”
The woman gave a high-pitched cackle. “Give the lady a prize.”
“No, you have it all wrong. It’s not…” Jemma cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and pulled back from the curb, away from the gathering pedestrians. “Now listen to me: I am not – I repeat not – screwing or otherwise yours or anyone else’s husband. Got it?”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me. I know what I saw.”
Jemma flinched. Such genteel language for a society woman. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, but—”
“And he stank of perfume.”
Yes, but not mine, she could have said, but didn’t. “I was there on business and nothing else.”
“And what sort of business would someone like you have with Bartlett Developments?”
She ignored the obvious slur. “I can’t answer that. The person you should be talking to is Marcus. Goodbye.” She hit the End key before Danielle could retort.
Burying the phone in her gym bag, she rejoined the group waiting to cross. Fen had it wrong: Kerry wasn’t the unhinged one, Danielle was. Not that Jemma could exactly blame the wronged woman. The wife was always the last to know, as the saying went, but in Danielle’s case, she knew her husband was playing around, just not the who. She finished zipping the bag as the ‘Cross Now’ light flashed.
Once across the street, she picked up her pace, weaving through a centipede of camera-toting tourists. Cliques of smokers lurked in the shadows, no doubt escapees from the surrounding office blocks. Jemma felt for them. She had been there, done that. She kept moving. Danielle’s accusations followed.
She was wrong about Jemma, but not about her husband. Ash had laughed off his father’s alleged infidelities as the paranoid insecurities of a gold-digging wife. Either Ash was blind or he was covering up for his father. Which was it?
How far off the mark had Danielle been when she targeted Tanya as the other woman? Was it possible that in her grief Tanya had turned to her suave, long-time boss – someone whom she could trust – and one thing led to another? With nothing else to go on, Jemma couldn’t rule it out. Her head spun. After ten days in Melbourne, she was still no closer to ruling out anything. It was as if the pieces she had collected belonged to another puzzle.
Ignoring the muffled ringing sound coming from her gym bag, Jemma let herself into the apartment. Danielle could rant at her voicemail instead.
Jemma glanced at the mail still on the table from the day before. Sleeping on it hadn’t helped. She still had no idea what to make of the anonymous letter. And even less of the DVD recording of Sean and his male companion’s sexual encounter. She stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water, using her foot to propel her gym bag along the tiled floor as she drank.
Once in the laundry, she set the glass down and began to sort the contents of the bag. Sweaty clothes she tossed straight into the washing machine, followed by the two damp towels. She found her mobile phone lodged inside one of the sneakers. At least they were new.
Danielle hadn’t called, Chris had. No new messages.
She called him back.
“You still on for that coffee?” he asked.
“Sure. When and where?”
“I’m going to be in the city mid afternoon if that suits. The where you can choose.”
Jemma suggested an Italian café deli with outside tables she had passed on her trips to and from ShapeZone. “I have no idea what the food’s like, but it looks nice.”
“See you there, then.”
No sooner had she hung up, than her phone rang again. Ethan. She bit her lip. She had been waiting for him to call, but now that he had, she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him. She pressed the answer button. Everyone deserved a second chance.
“Really sorry about last night,” he said, leaping straight into an apology. “I was on my way to meet you when all hell let loose. Nic called to say Andrew – her husband – was bashing the door down, threatening to kill them all.”
“Shit. I mean are they all okay?”
“For now. Nic and the boys are on their way down to Apollo Bay to spend some time with a friend of Nic’s. Andrew’s in police custody, awaiting a bail hearing.”
“What happens when he gets out?”
“I’m hoping his brother can talk some sense into him. Enough of that,” he said, his tone lifting. “How are you fixed for tonight? Let me make it up to you.”
“There’s no need, really.”
“Need doesn’t come into it. An evening out with a beautiful woman? What more could a man ask for.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
He laughed. “Good to hear.”
She hung up, her faith restored. If it weren’t for her promise to Gail to be contactable at all times, she would have switched off her mobile. Instead, all she could hope for was that Danielle had got whatever it was out of her system and wouldn’t be calling back. She and anyone else out to ruin Jemma’s mood.
CHAPTER 27
The headline leapt out at her.
‘AUTOPSIES REVIEWED AFTER FORENSIC DOUBTS’
Jemma read on, her pulse quickening. A senior forensic pathologist had been found guilty of unsatisfactory professional conduct after he wrongly ruled a double murder was an accident. The killer had drugged, strangled and suffocated his adoptive parents, before propping their bodies in their car and pushing it over an embankment south of Sydney. The injuries they sustained weren’t from an accident, but from fighting for their lives.
‘…invited families concerned about the handling of a case by the institute to approach the HCCC, which can conduct an independent review.’
“Sorry, I’m late—”
She spun the open newspaper around, sliding it across the table before Chris had a chance to sit. “Do you realize what this means?
He frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, taking a seat.
She tapped the news article. “This. Proof that the authorities don’t always get it right. Read it.”
“This is in New South Wales,” Chris said, running his finger down the type, “not here.”
“That’s not the point. No one’s infallible. Who’s to say that similar mistakes haven’t happened in Victoria?”
“I’m sure they have, but maybe not to that extent.” He signaled a waiter. “Dare I ask where you’re heading with this?”
“That perhaps Tanya really wasn’t in denial when she said Sean didn’t kill himself. That we owe it to her to leave no stone unturned.”
Chris reached across and patted her hand as if she were a young child in need of reassuring. “In my job I see it a lot. Families never want to admit their loved one could have committed suicide, or in Sean’s case, engaged in deadly sexual acts.”
She yanked her hands away, hiding them in her lap. “So what are you suggesting? That people should just take what they’re told at face value, and not question anything?”
“No,” Chris said, hunching forward and lowering his voice. “That’s
not what I’m saying, but don’t forget I was part of the investigating team into Sean’s death. Nothing unusual was observed on the building surveillance tapes, there was no evidence of a crime and the autopsy was inconclusive. I don’t know what more could have been done.” He paused long enough to give the waiter his order for a double-shot espresso, waiting for him to leave before continuing. “You have to give this up, Jemma. It’s not doing anyone any good, least of all you. It won’t bring Tanya back.”
“What if I told you I had evidence that Tanya had been threatened?”
“What evidence?”
“That’s not important right now.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Not important? You must know that withholding evidence is a criminal offence. Not to mention perverting the course of justice.”
“What justice? You said yourself there is no case.”
“Only because the evidence isn’t there to support it. But if you have come across something that does, you have a duty to report it.”
She crossed her arms. “And then what? It gets filed away with all the other inconclusive evidence?”
“You don’t have much faith in the police, do you?”
“Well, what have your lot done so far?”
“Our job.” He sighed. “We do the best we can with the limited resources we have. Look at it from the police viewpoint. A pedophile is loose in the suburbs, two young brothers have disappeared, and the community is threatening vigilante action. Then we have a death with everything pointing to suicide. Caseloads have to be prioritized. It’s a fact of life. What would you do?”
“Let the community loose on the bastard.” She flicked her hand. “Yes, I know. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. And I do get what you’re saying, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit on my hands.”
He gave a somber nod. “That’s your prerogative. What concerns me, however, is what you could be getting yourself into.”
“If you’re that concerned, help me lobby the powers-that-be to get the case re-investigated. Then I’ll back off.”
He scratched his jaw. “On what basis? What’s this new evidence you’re talking about? If you have concrete proof, I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
“Really?”
“Really. I don’t think your aunt would ever forgive me if anything happened to you.”
“Have you been speaking to Gail?”
“Not for years. Why?”
“Just that you mentioned her. She thinks I should leave well enough alone, too.”
“Maybe you should listen to her.”
Jemma wagged a finger at him. “You promised.”
“I did.” He folded the newspaper. “But you still haven’t told me what this new evidence is.”
She sucked air in between her teeth. Chris had already seen the torn bits of note she had found under the washing machine, but by themselves they were meaningless. For him to take her seriously, she would have to tell him about the new letter. “If I do, you have to promise me you won’t ship me out on the first plane to Perth.”
His eyes narrowed. “Now you really have me worried.”
“Promise?”
He fixed her in his gaze. “You’re an adult. I can’t force you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Her chest tightened. “It’s probably easier to show you.”
He checked his watch.
She did the same. “Tomorrow, though,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I don’t have time today.” She didn’t want anything interfering with her night out with Ethan.
That, and it gave her more time to decide how far she should take Chris into her confidence. What the letter writer had planted, her paranoia was propagating.
CHAPTER 28
Jemma checked the clock. Still half an hour before Ethan was due. More than enough time to give Fen a call.
“Jemma, darrrling.”
“Are you okay?”
“Splendid, darrrling,” Fen said, slurring her words. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just that you were a bit upset the last time we spoke.”
“Bloody hormones. Get me every t—” Fen hiccupped. “Oops. Hey, want to come to a party?”
“Love to, but not tonight.”
“Ohhh,” Fen said, a child-like petulance to her voice.
“You’re not going to ask me why?”
Fen squealed. “A hot date?”
“I don’t know about a hot date as such, but yes, I’m going out with a guy tonight. And before you ask, it’s the property manager I told you about.”
“Party, party, party.”
Jemma laughed. “We’ll see.”
The line went dead.
“Fen?” She heard a thud. “Are you still there?”
“Nowhere else to go. Hey, want to come to a party?”
“Can’t, remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.” She tittered. “Nothing that a hot man couldn’t fix.”
“Talking of which,” Jemma said, “you wouldn’t happen to know of any with tattoos?”
“Tattoos? Men?” She tittered again. “What bush you been hiding under, darrrling?”
“Humor me.”
“What, you want me to list them?” Fen sounded confused.
“How about those with a tattoo on the shoulder?”
“Umm… lots. Oh God, my head hurts. Ask me something else.”
Jemma pushed on. “What about tattoos of spiders.”
“Incy wincy spider,” Fen said, breaking into song, “climbed up the spout… Hey, want to come to a party?”
“Another night. We’ll talk again tomorrow, okay?”
After she hung up, she wondered if she ought to ring Fen back, find out where she was, but more importantly find out if anyone was with her. What concerned her was that Fen’s party might be a party for one. Jemma hadn’t heard any voices or sounds in the background to suggest otherwise. But then again, it was only six-thirty: too early for a party by anyone’s standards. Fen had just made a head start, that’s all. Still…
Jemma gave her head a sharp shake. Fen was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. She didn’t need her dead friend’s kid sister fussing over her.
The phone rang. She answered it without looking at the caller display. If Ethan was canceling again, she didn’t want time to think about it.
“What’s this I hear about a tattoo?”
“Ash?” It sounded like him, yet not like him.
“Yes. You were asking Fen something about men with tattoos. What was it?”
“Boy, news travels fast.”
“I was with her when you called.”
Jemma released her breath. “Where is she now? Are you still with her?”
“Passed out on the couch in the next room, if you must know. So what was it you said to her that got her singing about spiders?”
Jemma hesitated. “Do you have a tattoo, Ash?”
“No.”
She didn’t press him further. He either did or he didn’t. He was either telling the truth or he wasn’t. “I asked Fen if she knew any men with a tattoo of a spider,” she said, in the hope her honesty would be reciprocated.
“Hence the incy wincy spider. Tell me,” he said, his tone measured, “what prompted the question in the first place?”
The intercom buzzed. She moved toward it. “Sorry, Ash, I have to go. Let’s talk more tomorrow, okay? Bye.”
She swapped the mobile phone for the intercom handset. “I’ll be right down,” she said to Ethan.
Thirty seconds later, she was out the door, an uncharacteristic bounce to her step. The lift couldn’t come fast enough. Anyone would think she had never been out on a date before.
A pang of guilt broke through her feel-good moment. Had she forgotten her sister was dead? Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the open lift. Tanya wouldn’t want her to stop living, quite the opposite. “You go, girl,” said a voice inside
Jemma’s head, Tanya’s voice. But the moment was gone.
The lift doors opened. She shrank back. Out on the footpath, Ethan was chatting with a woman who looked suspiciously like Kerry Mullins. Before Jemma could sneak another look, the doors closed, and the lift began to descend. A young, professional couple laden with bags of groceries got in at the basement. She rode the lift with them up to the third floor, and then pressed the button for the ground floor.
Ethan stood facing the traffic, hands in pockets. He was alone. She breathed out. He turned as she pushed through the outer doors, his smile widening when he saw her. Casually dressed in a tailored, white pin-tucked detail shirt and dark jeans, it was the first time she had seen him without a tie.
He greeted her with a peck on the cheek, the unexpected tingle of his lips on her skin leaving her speechless for a moment.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said, pointing at a yellow taxi double-parked three cars down the street.
“Where are we going?” For some reason, she had expected to be walking, or at least tramming it.
He smiled. “Wait and see.” His hand in the small of her back, he guided her to the waiting taxi.
Alone in the backseat with him, she found his nearness unsettling. The citrus and spice overtones of his cologne made him smell good enough to eat. She concentrated on the squareness of his hands, the manicured nails, the compulsion to touch him overwhelming. What was wrong with her?
“The woman you were talking to when I came down the first time looked familiar. Who was she?”
Ethan gave Jemma a sideways look.
She smiled. “I remembered when I reached the foyer that I had forgotten my phone and went back for it.” The lie tripped off her tongue too easily.
“Oh, you mean, Kerry. She’s a friend of Nic’s. She was just on her way to some work function and stopped to say hello. Do you know her?”
The inside of the vehicle suddenly felt claustrophobic. Jemma clasped her throat. She knew she had to come clean. That or risk being caught in a lie. “Sort of. It’s complicated. I’ll fill you in later.”
He touched her knee, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Don’t feel you have to tell me. From what Nic says, everything in Kerry’s life is complicated.”