by Vicki Tyley
“Desley, can we please talk?”
Her gaze didn’t waver from the computer screen. “Isn’t that what we’re doing,” she said, her fingers continuing to tap the keyboard.
“No.” He couldn’t care less if the hyperlink colors were green, blue or pink with purple spots. His hand hovered for a moment over her shoulder. Withdrawing it, he moved to the side of the desk. “Please let me explain.”
“Explain what? Why I must’ve been out of my mind to think I could trust you in the first place? Forget about it; we all learn from our mistakes.”
Her curt tone didn’t sound like forgiveness. Did she mean she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice?
He squatted down to her level. “Yes, we do. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew DS Mitchell, but it wasn’t because I was trying to deceive you. When Kim rocked up here with Grant that first day, she made out she didn’t know me. I knew she must’ve had her reasons, so I just played along.” He shifted position, redistributing his weight. If only she would look at him. “It was Grant, not you, who she wanted kept in the dark. Grant and I have history. Kim’s worked hard to get to where she has. She saw no need to bring our association into the mix. You’ve seen what he’s like.”
Desley’s dark eyelashes flickered.
“About Kim and I—”
“Please don’t,” Desley said, holding up a hand, glossy crimson fingernails flashing. “It’s really none of my business.”
“I want to tell you,” he said, bouncing back on his heels as he felt the bite of his hamstrings cramping. If he didn’t move soon, he might never stand straight again. “It’s not what you think. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”
One long blink later, Desley met his gaze, her hazel eyes guarded. For a second, he thought she was going to refuse, but then her head moved in a slow nod.
“But I need caffeine first,” she said, abandoning what to him looked to be a screen crammed with indecipherable code. She paused at the door. “Are you coming?”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. He would’ve spun on his head singing Waltzing Matilda if that’s what it took to make it right again. His good intentions had backfired. Had he stopped long enough to think it through, he would’ve seen betraying Desley’s confidences could never be acceptable. Under any circumstances.
Fergus loitered near the kitchen entrance, keeping out of Desley’s way, while mentally rehearsing what he wanted to say. The hiss of the espresso machine helped cut the awkward silence, the familiar aroma of superheated coffee almost lulling him into believing nothing had changed.
In the living room, she sat at the farthest end of the couch, her feet together on the floor and not curled under her, as was her habit. She held herself ramrod straight, eyeing him over the rim of her coffee cup. She wouldn’t be an easy audience.
“First,” he said, “I am truly sorry if I have let you down. Regardless of what my reasons were, it won’t happen again.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“I’m not making excuses… just trying to explain…” he said, groping for words, his rehearsed spiel all but forgotten. “Kim’s a good mate, nothing more. We met at a Police Association Christmas function years ago. Sure, we had a bit of a thing for a while, but it didn’t last. She’s a great girl, but I felt as if I was dating my sister. The chemistry, for want of a better word, just wasn’t there. Kim agreed and we parted amicably. No dramas. We’ve stayed in touch. From time to time, she’s asked me for a favor and vice versa. Friends.”
“Your relationships – personal or otherwise – aren’t the point here, Fergus. Do you get a buzz out of playing both sides? What did you hope to achieve? Are you trying to get me locked up?”
“Far from it! As difficult as you may find this is to believe, I was actually trying to help you. And to a point, it’s worked—”
She cut him off. “How? By throwing suspicion on my ex-husband?”
“No, you’ve got it all wrong. When Kim started sharing – begrudgingly, mind you – information about the case with me, it was on the proviso that I never revealed my source.”
Desley bowed her head, breaking eye contact.
He blundered on, needing to finish. “Of course the information had to be quid pro quo. Friend or not, she wasn’t prepared to put her career on the line without something in return. I know you aren’t involved in Laura and Ryan’s disappearance. I know you didn’t belt Selena over the head. But sometimes, it’s the smallest detail that breaks a case. Nothing I passed on implicates you.”
Desley stretched forward, setting her empty cup on the dice coffee table. Her dragonfly tattoo peeped out from under the edge of her purple scoop-neck top, retreating again as she sat back.
He took a swig of his now lukewarm coffee, hoping Desley would take the opportunity to say something. Anything. Only women could use silence as a weapon.
“So that makes it okay, then?”
What did he have to do? Get down on his knees and beg forgiveness? He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, it doesn’t, but we can’t change the past. All I can do,” he said, laying a hand over his heart, “is promise you it won’t happen again.”
Her chest rose and fell in an inaudible sigh, her shoulders sagging. He saw the scars of past hurts welling in her eyes. She blinked and stood up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her mask back in place. “Now, I have work to do; your website isn’t going to design itself.”
But before she could leave, Fergus caught her by the wrist. She started, glanced down at the fingers holding her captive and then at him, questioning.
“Does this mean you don’t want me passing on what I learn about the police investigation?”
Her fingers bunched beneath his grip, but she didn’t try to pull away. Her skin felt cool under his hot palm, and though he could feel a faint pulse, he couldn’t be sure it was hers.
Sensing her dilemma, he made it easy for her. “Another person of interest has surfaced—”
“A suspect? Who?”
“If you sit down, I’ll tell you.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” She perched on the front edge of the couch. “No, don’t answer that,” she added, in response to his raised eyebrows.
“Anything I tell you has to stay in this room.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, her circling hand urging him on. “I know how to keep secrets.”
A pointed dig at him, he knew. But how far would she go to protect a secret? Did she know more about what was going on with Laura than she had let on? Wasn’t it what women did, confide in their best friend?
“How much do you know about Ryan’s background?”
Desley frowned. “You said the police had a new suspect—”
“Not suspect, person of interest. This man had business dealings with Ryan in the past. I was just curious to how well you knew him, that’s all.”
“Not as well as I wish I did. If you’ve been digging into his past, you probably know more than I do. Tell me about this sus… person of interest.”
“I will after you answer my question.”
Her mouth twitched. “Seriously, Fergus, don’t you think that if I knew anything, I would’ve already told you?”
He waited.
Sighing, she closed her eyes. “Okay. The life and times of Ryan Moore as I know it. Never married.” She ticked off a finger. “No children that I’m aware of. Spent some time in his early twenties traipsing around the world – don’t know for how long.” Three fingers up. “Settled in Melbourne on his return. Started up a graphic design and print business, which obviously didn’t pan out. Worked his way up through the ranks at Geary and Associates. Met Laura about four years ago, fell in love and well, you can fill in the blanks.”
“That’s it? That’s all you know about your best friend’s partner?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said, an apologetic undertone to her voice. “Ryan should’ve been in politics. He’s a past master at saying a lot without reveali
ng anything. It frustrated the hell out of me initially, but Laura didn’t seem bothered. She assured me that he was like that with everyone and just a really private person. Opposites attract, they say. She loved him, so what did it matter what I thought?”
If Desley had been a man, he might have believed that, but experience told him females didn’t let go that easily.
She read his expression. “Don’t look at me like that. At least I checked him out on the Internet – unbeknownst to Laura, of course. Do you know how many Ryan Moores are out there? Thousands. I didn’t find any mention of him on datingpsychos.com or the like, though. Besides, in all the time Laura and Ryan have been together, she’s never complained about anything more serious than him leaving his clothes on the floor.”
“Some women I know think that’s a mortal sin,” he said, managing to raise a weak smile from Desley. “My mother mainly.”
“Sounds like my mother.” Her voice distracted, she touched the back of her left wrist as if checking for a watch.
“We can talk later, if you have somewhere you have to be.”
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, her focus back on him.
He repeated himself. Where had her mind been? Close to home or further afield? he mused.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Now spill. A promise is a promise, after all.”
Fergus leaned forward, his folded arms resting across his knees. “You were right about the graphic design business, if you call going into liquidation not panning out. But it’s not quite as simple as that. Far from it. Ryan lost his initial capital, but his business partner lost everything: the business, his marriage, his children, his home, his self-worth – the lot. What’s worse he didn’t read the fine print properly and unwittingly indemnified Ryan against all debts.”
Desley’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly.
“He blamed Ryan for ruining his life,” he continued, “but of course, there wasn’t a damned thing he or anyone else could do about it. From everything the guy’s ex-wife says, he started drinking himself into a stupor every day, wouldn’t leave the house and generally cut himself off from the rest of the world, including his wife and two young sons.”
“Revenge…” Desley said, half-question half-statement.
He shrugged. “It’s one theory.”
“Well, could he have done it? Could he have been involved in setting fire to Laura and Ryan’s home? Could he have then abducted them and used Ryan’s four-wheel-drive to flee? He would’ve had to have an accomplice, though,” she said, sounding more like she was thinking out loud than talking to him. “How else would he have been able to overpower two adults? But then perhaps something went wrong and his accomplice was killed.”
“Anything’s possible, but they still don’t have a lot to go on. Ryan’s old business partner hasn’t been sighted for more than a month, way before the fire,” he said as he watched Desley doodle figure-eights on the coffee table with her index finger. “Until the body can be identified or they come up with fresh leads, it’s all speculation.”
She paused and looked up. “And the dead man couldn’t be Ryan’s missing ex-partner?”
He shook his head. “No. His ex-wife assured Kim that he’s never been in hospital, let alone had a hip replacement. DNA tests will no doubt confirm her statement.”
“How soon before they have the details of the hip replacement? You did say they could track the recipient from the serial number, didn’t you?”
“That’s the bad news,” he said, sitting back up. “The serial number relates back to a batch manufactured in 1988. Unfortunately, details on that particular batch have gone walkabout. The company is sifting through its data now. They feel confident the records haven’t been destroyed, just misplaced.”
Desley stared at the floorboards beyond her boot-clad feet, clicking her manicured fingernails. “Trent was right when he said he wasn’t the only one with a grudge against Ryan.”
Fergus didn't say anything.
“Let’s just say,” she continued, her gaze still fixed on the floor, “if it's Ryan’s ex-partner who’s out to get him, why go after Laura? What has she done to him? She wasn’t even part of Ryan’s life at the time.”
“Nothing probably, but it’s unlikely this guy is thinking rationally. Think about it: thanks to Ryan, he lost his wife and everything else he held dear. Or at least that’s how he saw it. He’s had years to stew on the injustice of it all. Maybe he wanted Ryan to know what it felt like.”
Desley jumped up. “None of this makes any sense.” She crossed the room to the sliding glass doors, turned and faced him. “Why would he take both Ryan and Laura? If he wanted to get back at Ryan, wouldn’t the guy just abduct Laura, leaving Ryan not knowing what’d happened to his beloved? Wouldn’t that hurt more? Or if his intention was to kill Ryan, why the need to drag an innocent person into it?” She paused. “What did you say his name was?”
“I didn’t.” Naming names didn’t sit comfortably with him, especially when the way he’d come about the information hadn’t been above board. “Is it important?”
“We could talk to his ex-wife, find out what sort of man he is, find out what he’s capable of. See if he had a favorite spot: some place that meant something to him, maybe from his childhood. Anything’s worth a try isn’t it?”
“You don’t think—” His mobile phone rang. “It’s Kim,” he said, answering it.
“Fergus, can’t talk long. Just thought you ought to know Ryan Moore’s mobile phone has just been used to book flights for two adults from Sydney to Perth for tonight.”
CHAPTER 14
Unable to stay put for more than a few seconds, Desley roamed from room to room. The police were staking out Sydney Airport’s domestic terminal, waiting for the couple calling themselves Ray and Cathy Nimbus to show. Though she longed for it to be Laura and Ryan traveling under assumed names, Desley didn’t want to get her hopes up.
What could Ryan have over Laura that would convince her to get on a plane with him and travel to the other side of Australia? Desley refused to entertain the idea that her best friend might be a willing party. If Laura had left of her own accord, she would’ve got word to her. Somehow. She wouldn’t just up and go, leaving Desley thinking something terrible had befallen her.
But then where did Ryan’s disgruntled ex business partner fit in? The flight booking had been for a man and a woman. Was it possible he was the male traveler? Where was Ryan then? Was he even alive?
She thought about calling Fergus, but he had promised her he would let her know as soon as he knew anything. God, I hope it’s soon, she thought, flopping on her stomach across her bed.
Rolling onto her back, she stared at the white ceiling. Fergus had passed on everything she had confided to Kim Mitchell: a police detective and his friend. If Desley were to believe Fergus, it was all about trading information. But why? What was in it for him? Who was he trying to impress? The rosy-cheeked Kim Mitchell? Was his story about dating Kim being like dating his sister a cover-up?
Desley sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. If Fergus had any respect for her, he wouldn’t have gone behind her back. Forgiving was easy, forgetting not so. The only person she could trust was herself; experience ought to have taught her that by now.
She was halfway down the stairs when her doorbell rang. For a second she froze. She had expected Fergus to phone. Leaping down the stairs two at a time, she rushed to answer the door.
“Hi, Sis.”
Her mouth dropped. “Brandon! What are you doing here?”
Rolling his shoulders back, her younger brother shrugged off his battered backpack, dumping it on the doorstep. “And I love you, too,” he said, his arms wide as his grin.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he lifted her off her feet and enveloped her in a bear hug. Until then, she hadn’t realized just how cut off and alone she had been feeling.
He put her dow
n and held her at arm’s length. Staring into her brother’s eyes was like looking into her own: the same dark-lash framed hazel eyes they shared with their mother.
“It looks like Mum had every reason to be concerned,” he said. “You’re fading away to nothing, girl.”
“She worries too much,” Desley said, silently thanking her mother. Unable to make the trip herself, her mother had sent Brandon in her place.
Her brother, laughing at her attempts to lug his backpack into the hallway, reached around her and relieved her of the lead weight. As his wavy black hair, softer and finer than her own, brushed past her face, she caught the clean scent of shampoo and soap. Not even a hint of his usual eau de mechanic.
“How long are you over for?” she asked, closing the door behind them.
“Trying to get rid of me already?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I was joking, Des. Remember it’s your adorable, but ever so slightly loopy, baby brother you’re talking to here. Sorry,” he said, flashing a Cheshire grin, “you’re stuck with me for a week at least.”
“Only a week?”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Her madcap brother’s frivolity was exactly the tonic she needed. God, how she missed her family. Tasmania was little more than an hour’s flying time across Bass Strait, but it might’ve well have been on the other side of the world for all the times she managed to make it home.
“I want you to fill me in on everything, and I mean everything, that’s been happening, but let’s do it over dinner. My treat. Quick,” Brandon said, sensing her hesitation, “say yes, before I change my mind.”
The idea of time away from the house with her brother as company, not to mention real food and if she were lucky, a glass or two of a good Shiraz, was temptation enough. “At least let me get changed into something decent,” she said, heading for the stairs.