‘Nothing,’ she said, turning away.
Laura let it go. There was nothing Tara could tell her that could possibly change what was happening at this moment, in this hospital room.
But the cryptic expression in Tara’s eyes revisited Laura in her mind after they had left the hospital together and stepped out into the mild sunshine, and again while she was driving along the expressway towards home. But she dismissed it. All she could think about taking a walk on the beach to clear her head.
Once home, Laura changed into jeans and a chunky pullover and crossed through the narrow dunes onto the beach, a pair of tiny plovers scuttling like cotton balls across the sand ahead. She watched them run to the edge of the water and out across the sand again. Lamented as she always did that these tiny birds, with stick legs too tall for their bodies, were hurtling towards extinction because they invariably chose to lay their eggs in sandy indentations as shallow as footprints, only to be washed away by tides or scooped up by predatory birds.
She had walked for several minutes before glancing up and noticing a figure approach in the distance, a dog scampering at his side. Her pleasure at seeing Flynn again brought with it a stab of shame and a rush of confused thought, including that she should immediately turn and make her way home.
‘Hi,’ he said moments later as they faced each other, a frown creasing his tanned forehead. ‘I heard what happened to Simon. How is he?’
Laura bent to pat Callie. ‘He’s in an induced coma. We won’t know for several days, maybe weeks.’
Flynn swivelled one heel in the sand and shook his head. ‘I heard his injuries are quite bad,’ he said looking up at Laura and squinting against the sinking sun.
She nodded. ‘He has a severe brain injury. I don’t know exactly what that means, and I don’t want to know just yet,’ she said. ‘I’m taking it one step at a time.’
‘That’s wise, Laura.’ His expression was solemn. ‘He’s fit. I’m sure he’ll be OK. Give him my regards when he comes to, won’t you?’ He turned to watch a wave as it crashed against the rocks, exploding into a shower of sparkling drops.
She was about to say something trite and benign – something about thanks – when he continued.
‘Laura, now may not be the right time, but it’s been on my mind to let you know my intentions were honourable when you posed for me.’ His crooked smile carried a hint of embarrassment. ‘I can’t help thinking I did something to make you feel uncomfortable.’
How could she tell him the brush of his hand against her skin had felt like electricity, that she enjoyed being in his company more than with her own husband, that she had frozen on that ridiculous stool because she was seriously attracted to him. How could a sixty-year-old woman make such absurd claims and sound sensible? ‘It was my own fault, Flynn. I had a crisis of conscience,’ she said.
‘Don’t burden yourself with guilt, Laura. You have enough on your mind. There was nothing to it.’
It was not until they had parted and she had climbed the stairs to her deck, that she realised Flynn had been trying to tell her she had misinterpreted his request to have her pose for him. ‘He’s an artist, it’s what he does,’ she muttered as she pushed through her front door. That afternoon held no more intimacy for him than interviewing the victims of crime holds for me. In a way she felt relieved he saw her only as a friend. And even more relieved that she had followed her instincts and not told him how much that afternoon had really meant to her. It made her life far less complicated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Laura!’ Tom Baker called from behind his desk, despite that she had been attempting to sneak past him on her way in.
She stepped in to his office.
‘I got your message,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you should be at work after only one day off?’ He peered over the top of his glasses with something Laura sensed as empathy.
‘Yes, I’m very sure,’ she said, taking her first sip of the coffee she’d made in the staff room on her way in.
‘How’s Simon?’
Laura cleared her throat. She’d already told the story five times and had only been in the office for less than ten minutes. ‘I saw him this morning, on my way here,’ she said. ‘The doctors have placed him in an induced coma; they say not to expect any change for a couple of weeks.’
‘OK. Keep me posted. If you need time off I can arrange it on short notice. Just do whatever you need. Look after Simon – and yourself, OK? Oh, by the way, I asked Kevin to follow up on the Holt case. Get him to fill you in.’
Laura bustled into the briefing room, scanning to see the entire team present. As usual Kevin sat at the opposite end of the table, studying a file spread out before him with exaggerated interest. ‘Morning, everyone,’ she said.
‘Welcome back, Laura,’ Mel said from Kevin’s side.
‘How’s Simon?’ Jenny said, her brow knitting as she sipped from a steaming mug of coffee.
Laura watched the doleful expressions of her team members as she described what had happened, and outlined Simon’s injuries and prognosis.
‘That’s such a terrible thing to happen just when you’re about to retire,’ Mel said, looking to the others, suddenly taken aback by their stony faces and the realisation of what she’d just said. A red rash crept up her neck.
‘Simon’s fit for his age. Let’s hope he makes a full recovery,’ Fiona said, her chin lifted in a determined effort to counter the awkward silence.
Laura nodded and smiled at Fiona. ‘I’ll take time off when Simon regains consciousness, but I’m staying flexible for now,’ she said. ‘I’ll be doing my best to keep things as normal as possible.’ She issued Kevin a lingering stare only he would have noticed before asking him to report on events that had occurred during her absence.
Kevin cleared his throat. ‘Tom asked me to return a call from Cynthia Holt, Alex’s mother,’ he said, holding Laura’s gaze. ‘Alex had another flashback. Apparently she saw her attacker this time. I have referred the matter to Noah Tamblyn.’ Kevin’s head dropped then as he continued to report from several files open before him, and Laura pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth in a yet another desperate attempt to hold back her anger.
Relieved there were no new cases for allocation and that the verbal reports all indicated good progress on the current cases, Laura called the meeting closed. ‘Kevin, can you wait, please? I’d like to discuss the Holt case further.’
Kevin’s lips tightened. As the team trickled from the room he moved towards Laura and pulled out a chair alongside, stretching to his full length with his hands behind his head.
‘Did you ask Cynthia Holt whether Alex identified the person she saw?’ Laura asked, her eyes wide with accusation.
‘That would be a negative,’ Kevin said, returning her glare. ‘I thought it best to refer the matter directly to Noah Tamblyn.’
‘Alex is this unit’s client, Kevin,’ she said with forced calm. ‘Any information her mother passes to us should be recorded.’
‘Correct. That’s why I passed the call onto Noah. He’s CIB, they will be following up,’ he said.
She leaned forward, undeterred by Kevin’s pursed lips, his persistent stare. ‘This is the victim support team. Alex is our client. Anything she says or does pertaining to her case must be recorded on our files. As a result of your action we now need to approach CIB for that information so that we can bring our files up to date.’ Several seconds passed in the face of Kevin’s icy stare, the seemingly uncontrollable curl of his top lip. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ Laura said.
‘Yes, I heard you,’ he said with the tone of an indignant teen.
‘Kevin, if we’re going to work well together, I think we need to acknowledge the tension that seems to be tightening between us. I’m prepared to—’
‘I don’t care what you’re prepared to do, Laura,’ he said, standing, shoving his chair back under the table. ‘When there’s no mutual r
espect, there’s no hope. I think for the sake of the team we should just concentrate on being civil to each other. Nothing more.’ He turned and loped from the room.
Laura knew she had the authority to call him back. That she could force him to stay and have the conversation or face disciplinary action. But it wasn’t her style. And she wasn’t in the mood.
‘Hi,’ Noah chimed, stepping into his workstation and sitting on the edge of his desk, a mug of coffee in one hand. ‘Are you after my job or what?’ he said, raising his eyebrows at Laura sitting in his chair, at his computer.
‘I’m writing you a note,’ she said.
Noah leaned over her shoulder and read. Noah, could we catch up, please? ‘How’s Simon?’ he added suddenly serious.
Sitting there on the edge of his desk, his head bowed, a concerned frown etched in his forehead, Noah listened as Laura spoke in hushed tones, realising that Tara, and now Noah, were the first people with whom she really wanted to share the details of Simon’s accident. And Noah was the first person she wanted to tell about the guilt that kept gnawing at her, because deep down all she felt was her own confusion, rather than concentrating on Simon and his recovery.
‘And how are you?’ he said as if he’d read her mind.
‘I’m taking it a day at a time,’ she told him, willing back tears.
‘Laura, the next few weeks, even months, will be incredibly tough for you – emotionally and physically. You must let Mia or me know if there’s anything you need, even if it’s as simple as a chat over coffee or a glass of wine,’ he said, his hazel eyes boring into hers.
‘Thanks, Noah,’ she said huskily. She pulled back her shoulders. Cleared her throat. ‘Kevin said you spoke to Cynthia Holt yesterday . . .’
‘Yes, I did speak with her,’ he said, pulling up a chair. ‘Alex had another flashback and saw her attacker, who she said was standing over her. The balaclava was dangling from his hand.’
‘Was it anyone she knows?’ Laura said.
Noah lifted his chin. ‘It was Roger Grenfell.’
Laura stared down at the pale timber surface of Noah’s desk, shaking her head slowly. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, instantly doubting her well-honed instincts, that until now had set her apart from others. She was certain Roger had been telling the truth, convinced he was incapable of such an act.
‘Is she absolutely certain?’ she said.
‘Yes. Or at least she thinks it was him. We need to interview him – and soon. I could do with your help again,’ Noah said. ‘The patrol guys told me this morning that the night before last, Roger’s house was bombarded with eggs and he was assaulted, left to lie bloody and beaten on his verandah, only to be discovered by a neighbour who promptly called the ambos. Apparently he was released from emergency a few hours later with abrasions but no serious injuries.
‘Thank goodness,’ Laura muttered.
Noah lifted a finger. ‘But, the latest update is that there was another attack last night – this time on his house. Someone sprayed ‘Kid Fucker’ across the front.’ He clenched his lips. ‘It seems there are some members of the community who have firm opinions about the identity of Alex’s attacker. Roger trusts you Laura. I think he’ll be more likely to give over information if you’re present. I’ll ask him to come in this morning if you’re available.’
‘Have a heart, Noah,’ Laura said. ‘The poor guy has only just come out of hospital after being assaulted, his house has been violated and he has no idea who did it. There’s no way he’ll be able to muster the strength to hop on a bus and travel into the city for a formal interview with us. Besides, you said Alex only thinks it was Roger.’
Noah leaned forward and spoke with deliberate calm. ‘Laura, Roger fits the description, and the victim thinks she saw him standing over her with a balaclava in his hand after the attack. Like it or not, he’s now our key suspect. We have no choice but to formally interview him – and we won’t be doing it over cups of tea.’
‘No. But Roger has been assaulted. He is a victim of crime as well. It would be more humane to formally interview him in his home. You could record it on a hand-held.’
Noah took a deep breath. ‘OK. It’s far from ideal but let’s do it.’
‘I do feel sorry for him,’ Laura said later, as they waited for a break in the traffic coming out of the underground car park.
Noah pressed his foot to the accelerator and they shot out into the traffic. ‘Paedophiles come in all shapes and sizes, Laura,’ he said. ‘Roger may seem more vulnerable than some, but he’s just as wily. A rock-spider is a rock-spider, special needs or no special needs. Oh, that reminds me,’ he continued, preventing Laura from making the point that in the eyes of the law Roger was still innocent. ‘The day before yesterday I visited Kings College, spoke to Mr Clive Fuller in his spick and span science lab.’ He turned to her with a wry smile. ‘Of course I had to seek permission from the principal in order to enter the school and meet with a member of her staff, which meant I was forced to pass on the information we received from Child Welfare. I only hope I haven’t jeopardised Mr Fuller’s chances for promotion.’ He smirked, his eyes scanning the traffic, his foot hitting the break as a motorist suddenly pulled out from the kerb.
‘How did the principal react to the news?’ Laura said, regaining her calm.
‘She knew nothing about his previous shenanigans in Victoria. So we have yet another example of state authorities failing to share important information.’ He clucked and shook his head. ‘Anyway, of course Mr Fuller was outraged by my suggestion that he could be seen as acting inappropriately towards Alex. He bent my ear about the fine line that exists between breaking the rules and showing genuine care and concern for students. According to Mr Fuller the rules prevent teachers from exercising their duty of care towards kids. He was outraged that the police would dare criticise any teacher who was trying to support a student during times of trauma.’
They sat in silence for several minutes. ‘How are you, anyway’ he said. ‘You didn’t really answer me when I asked earlier.’
Laura shrugged and swallowed hard. Tears seemed to come to her with intolerable frequency when she was with Noah.
He glanced at her. ‘Tell me to naff off if I’m being too personal, but I get the impression you’re not as certain as Simon about the benefits of being back together again.’
Laura sighed, finding Noah’s directness refreshing and confronting at the same time. ‘Before I met Simon I was a single mum, and a cop and a totally independent woman. And even though things were tough I liked myself. After Simon left I was surprised by how easily I slipped back into being that way again.’
‘It’s a big call to throw away eight years of marriage in favour of being alone. But you sound pretty certain.’
Noah’s words caused a stab of discomfort – as though he had prematurely foreclosed on her feelings, pushed her to a conclusion she was not yet ready to face. ‘A physical presence is always comforting,’ she said. ‘And Simon was that. But I realised once he had gone that he was never an emotional presence in my life. Except of course when we . . .’
Noah gave a sage nod. ‘You mean the sex was good but there was no emotional connection,’ he said.
She laughed lightly. ‘I’m glad you understand. My daughter seems to think sex shouldn’t be on the agenda at my age. But it was always important to me, and it still is. The only difference is that when I was younger a raging libido seemed enough. At my age sexual satisfaction is more about emotional connection and less about raging libidos,’ she said, only mildly concerned she may be saying too much. Sex and sexuality were normal discussions in their profession; personalising it seemed only a tiny step beyond.
‘Yeah, I get that,’ Noah said ‘But it’s complicated by Simon’s terrible accident happening at a time when the relationship is at a crossroads anyway.’
Laura wondered how different their marriage would be if she and Simon were able to speak at this
level. ‘I found the tip of a stiletto heel in his car,’ she blurted. ‘Not only that, but in all the time I’ve known him Simon’s car has never been as clean as it is now. He told me, with his hand on his heart, that he hadn’t had another woman in that car while he’d been away, even on business. But that tiny chunk of resin has really got me wondering,’ she said, turning to face the side window.
‘Did you ask Simon about it?’ Noah said.
‘I was about to bring it up the night of his accident. Now I’ll may never know.’
‘Is it relevant now? Do you really want to know?’
‘For some reason, it’s more important now than it was before.’ She swallowed hard.
Noah pulled into the kerb in front of Mrs Quarterman’s bungalow. ‘The patrol guys must have called in the council,’ he said, nodding towards two figures wearing high-vis overalls, faceless in head covers and goggles as they attacked the giant red letters scrawled across the front of Roger’s house, the hiss of their high pressure hoses ruining the street’s peaceful ambience. Tinted water flooded Roger’s verandah and fell in sheets onto the gravel path below.
‘Did you hear about the attacks?’ Mrs Quarterman called to Noah as he and Laura climbed from the car.
Clasping his iPad and hand-held video recorder, Noah wandered towards Mrs Quarterman and her bamboo rake, both standing to attention on the front lawn. ‘We heard a bit,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you know.’
‘Well,’ she said, coming closer to the fence, clenching her lips to form a tight line of concentration. ‘Yesterday morning I found him sprawled out on his verandah, covered in smashed eggs and blood and gawd knows what else. I was the one who called the ambulance,’ she said puffing out her sagging chest. ‘Then this morning . . . well, this is what I woke up to.’ She gave a careless toss of the hand towards Roger’s house.
‘Why do you think they sprayed that word on his house?’ Noah said.
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