Sleight Malice

by Vicki Tyley

  “Whose vehicle is that?” She heard a beep as he pressed a remote.

  “It’s a rental. C’mon, get in. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there.”

  Yes, but where? She still had time to back out. He couldn’t force her to go. “This better not be one of your practical jokes,” she said, opening the passenger door and climbing in.

  Brandon reversed the bulky four-wheel-drive onto the street. Within minutes, the vehicle’s over-efficient heater had her wishing she had worn fewer layers. “Where’s the heater switch in this thing,” she said, squinting at the array of backlit buttons, knobs and switches in the dashboard.

  “In the middle, near the bottom, I think. Fan speed to the left.”

  She fumbled in the dark for a few moments, turning what she hoped were the right knobs. “Okay, Bro, time for some answers.”

  Brandon checked the rear view mirror and flicked on the left indicator. “Let me fill up first,” he said, pulling into a brightly lit 24-hour Shell service station. “Not sure when we’ll get another chance.”

  “What do you me…” His door slammed on her words. She slumped back in her seat, watching as her brother unhooked the hose from the pump and disappeared out of sight down the back of the vehicle. Where on earth was he taking her? Somewhere off the beaten track, clearly.

  She waited until they were on the Princes Highway to tackle him. He had no excuse to put her off again, the traffic of freight trucks and lighter vehicles sparse. “I’ve waited long enough. Either tell me what is going on or take me home.” Though she couldn’t read his expression in the darkness, she sensed his tension.

  She heard him take a deep breath. “It’s Laura,” he said. “She’s in danger, real danger. She’s safe for now, but all your digging around is not only putting her at risk, it’s endangering your life, too. Why do you think I’ve been doing my damnedest to get you to back off?”

  “How—”

  “No, let me finish. She didn’t want to involve you; she didn’t want to involve me either, but she had no one else to turn to. She thought – and I agree with her – it most likely her pursuers would be keeping an eye on you, being her best friend and all. She couldn’t chance that – as much for your sake as her own. And if you think I’m doing this for her, I’m not. I’m more concerned about you.”

  “But—”

  “Hold on.” He planted his foot, breaking all speed limits as he weaved from lane to lane.

  “God, Brandon,” she said, righting herself once he slowed down to a more sedate speed, “don’t you think it’s a matter for the police?” She half-expected to hear sirens.

  He scoffed. “Kettle and black are two words that come to mind. If the police were doing the job they were paid to, Ryan’s killers would be behind bars and we wouldn’t be on our way to Laura’s hideout.”

  “Ryan’s dead?” When she heard that Laura – or Nicole as she now knew her to be – was alive and well, she had just assumed he was with her.

  “Yes. Now do you see what I mean, when I say these people are not to be messed with?”

  “How…when…how…” Her head in a spin, she didn’t know what to ask first. “You did get my email about Laura not being who we thought she was, didn’t you?”

  “What do you think prompted this middle of the night dash? She wanted to talk to you, explain, but we couldn’t risk anyone else finding out where she was. This was the only way.”

  “Explain what? That all this time she’s been lying to me, pretending to be someone she’s not, deceiving us all and worse, shagging her own brother?”

  “He wasn’t her brother. It’s not what you think.”

  “I know how much you like her. We all did. But you were the one who told me that sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do.”

  “I think you should wait until you hear Laura’s side of the story.”

  “Her name isn’t Laura.”

  “All right, Nicole’s side of the story. Just so you know, Laura is her middle name and the name she prefers to go by. Noble is her mother’s maiden name.”

  Desley needed air. She lowered her side window a fraction, tipping her face to the gap to breathe in the fresh, wintry draught. It was all too bizarre for words. “Well, tell me this: how does Jeremy Stillson, the body in the fire, fit into the equation?”

  “He killed Ryan.”

  “But then how did Jeremy Stillson end up dead and where’s Ryan’s body?”

  “Laura didn’t stay around long enough to find out. Would you’ve?”

  “Probably not, but the first place I think I would’ve headed for is the police station.”

  “She was running scared, Desley. She had just witnessed a brutal murder. She didn’t know who she could trust.”

  She shook her head. Why had Laura – or Nicole or whatever name she wanted to call herself – felt able to trust her supposed best friend’s little brother, over her best friend? Did she think Brandon would believe whatever story she fed him more than she would? Once a liar, always a liar?

  “She wanted to protect you,” Brandon said, as if reading her mind. “The less you were involved, the safer you would remain.”

  But how involved was her brother? “So, how did Ryan’s mobile phone end up in a rubbish bin in a men’s room at Melbourne airport?” she asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

  “Laura asked me to dispose of it somewhere, so it would throw anyone looking for her off her scent.”

  “And the flights booked from Sydney to Perth?”

  “Same. She just wanted enough time to get away, find a place to hide until the killers were caught and put behind bars, where they couldn’t get to her.”

  Closing her eyes, Desley rested her cheek against the cool glass of the side window. Who were the killers? What did they want with Laura? Was she simply a witness to a crime, a loose end that needed tying up, or was there more to it? She didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t think about it…

  The vibration from the road and the stuffy warmth inside the vehicle soon lulled her to sleep.

  When she awoke it was daylight, her mouth parched, her throat raspy. She swallowed and sat up, one hand on either side of her neck massaging out the kinks. “Where are we?” she croaked.

  “Cann River. Ready for a coffee and something to eat if I can find anywhere open?”

  She nodded, the mere thought of a strong espresso enough to kick-start her saliva glands.

  The tiny township of service stations, motels and hotels still seemed to be asleep as they cruised along the highway and pulled into an angle park in front of a green reserve. “Let me see what I can find. Back in five,” her brother said, leaping out of the four-wheel-drive and closing the door before she could say anything.

  She opened her door, the cold, misty air hitting her like a wet facecloth. Her bladder threatening to burst, she hunted for a public toilets sign, spotting it directly behind an arbor on the other side of the footpath. She climbed down from her seat, her stiff body protesting with each movement, and made a beeline for the women’s entrance.

  Once back outside and relieved to be out of the dank toilet block, she paused and breathed in lungfuls of the clean early morning eucalypt scent of the surrounding forest. Brandon wasn’t back yet, so she decided to stretch her legs. Wandering down the side of the building, she came across a playground, empty and forlorn. She stood on the outside looking in, imagining the squeals and laughter of children happy at play, their doting mothers sharing in their delight.

  A heavy hand landed on her shoulder from behind. She jumped, glad she had already been to the toilet. “Shit! Don’t do that!” She thumped her chest.

  “What the fuck do you think I felt when I came back and you were gone?”

  She flinched at his tone. “Easy. I didn’t mean to scare you.” What had he thought had happened to her? “Unless we were followed – and you said you were sure you weren’t – no one even knows where we are. God, I don’t know where we are,” she
added with a laugh, hoping to ease the situation.

  He grunted, shoving one of the steaming white-lidded disposable cups he was carrying at her, along with a plump brown paper bag. She followed him back to the vehicle. She wasn’t sure if her usually easy-going brother was being over-melodramatic or if he was just pissed off with her.

  Opening the passenger door, she set the brown paper bag on the seat and peeled the lid off the coffee. “Look, I’m really sorry,” she said, as Brandon did the same on his side. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  He studied her, chewing on a mouthful of toasted sandwich. “You might think this is a game, but it’s not. I’m not doing it for fun, you know.”

  “I know that. I’m sorry; it won’t happen again, okay?” She sipped her coffee, screwing her nose up at its thin and watery consistency. At least it was wet and hot.

  They finished their breakfast in silence and got on their way, refueling at the Caltex service station before turning off the Princes Highway onto the Monaro Highway. To where, Desley was still none the wiser. Nor did she think it smart to ask. She’d never known Brandon to be so moody. Maybe it was her.

  The narrow farmland strip on either side of the highway soon gave way to dense forest. After they crossed the border into New South Wales, pine plantation began to dominate the hinterland. At some stage, they turned off the highway, ending up on a rutted gravel road only just wide enough for the four-wheel-drive.

  Then in the middle of nowhere, Brandon pulled the car to a stop outside a padlocked steel farm gate. Leaving the four-wheel-drive running, he got out, unlocked and opened the gate, got back in, drove through and repeated the process in reverse. She couldn’t see any buildings where a person could stay, only a narrow dirt track, winding through the large boulders clustering the tussocky moonscape. On either side of the property, uniform rows of tall pines stood sentry.

  The reason for renting a four-wheel-drive over a standard car became clear. The ride was a bumpy one and at times, she thought they would bottom out. That or she would be catapulted through the roof.

  Over the crest of the next hill, she spotted the corrugated iron roof of a shed or a house. “Who would’ve even known this was here?”

  “What was that?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” She hadn’t realized she had voiced her thoughts out loud.

  “When we get down there, I want you to stay in the car until I’ve had a chance to see Laura.” He took his gaze off the track for a moment. “Okay?”

  “Whatever you say.” She almost saluted, but thought better of it.

  As they got closer, she saw the iron roof belonged to a small, weathered timber and iron cottage, its faded surfaces blending with the environment. She watched the windows, expecting to see movement, but saw none.

  Brandon drove around the back. “Stay,” he said, wagging a finger at her as if she were a dog in need of discipline.

  She almost barked, her growing trepidation making her defiant. “Yes, master.”

  He scowled and stomped off toward the cottage. The door opened and a thin woman with short, black hair appeared on the doorstep. Though she had lost weight, and colored and cut her hair, there was no mistaking those dusky-blue eyes – even from a distance.

  Desley gasped. Her brother had Laura circled in his arms, and if she wasn’t mistaken, kissing her in a most unplatonic manner. What’s more, Laura was responding, her hand snaking up the back of his neck.

  CHAPTER 44

  The phone on Fergus’s desk rang. He leapt for it and in the process, sent the contents of his overflowing in-tray careering onto the floor. “Desley?”

  “No, although I was hoping you would be able to tell me how I could get hold of her,” answered a gravelly voice. Grant.

  “You and I both.” At least now, he knew it wasn’t only his calls she wasn’t returning. “Why do you need to contact her?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a few more questions she might be able to help us out with.”

  “To do with Laura Noble not being who we thought she was?” Fergus swapped hands and leaned down to scoop up the papers and files strewn across the carpet.

  “In a sense. Can you tell me where she is or not?”

  “Not. And frankly, I’m worried.”

  “How long since you’ve heard from her?” Grant asked.

  “I spoke to her on the phone around eight-ish last night.”

  “And she sounded okay? Not distressed or anything?”

  “No, she was fine.”

  “So what makes you think there’s a problem? As an adult, she isn’t exactly beholden to you or anyone else. Who’s to say she isn’t off somewhere doing her own thing?”

  Fergus gritted his teeth. “Suit yourself, Grant, but I’m going to drive over to her place now to see if there’s any sign of her. Any message?”

  “We’ll meet you there.” Click.

  Fergus blinked. What was Grant so keen to talk to Desley about to drop everything and rush over to her place? He hung up the phone, grabbed his keys and headed for the rear exit, on the way, letting his receptionist know he could be contacted on his mobile.

  For once, the traffic lights didn’t work against him, and he made the trip between his office and Desley’s home in record time. Not prepared to wait for the detectives to arrive, he left his car parked on the street, walked to the front door and rang the bell.

  He stepped backwards, his hand shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun as he peered up at her bedroom window. The curtains were closed, as were those in the other windows he could see. He went back and rang the doorbell again, before using his mobile to call her landline. He heard a muffled ringing inside the house; it stopped when he hung up.

  Taking out the spare key Desley had given him, he hesitated for only a second or two. He unlocked the door, his eyes scanning the security panel as he removed the key from the lock. All zones were armed; no one was in the house. Praying she hadn’t changed the security code, he punched in the four digits to disarm the system, breathing a sigh of relief when the red LEDs changed to green.

  He headed straight to the internal door that led to the garage and opened it. Desley’s brilliant-blue Peugeot stared back at him. The doorbell rang and knowing who it would be, he went to answer it.

  “You took your time.”

  Grant looked past him, one eyebrow flickering. “So is the lady of the house at home then?”

  “No. And before you ask, I have a key.”

  “Like that is it?”

  Standing behind him, Kim’s eyes widened, her lips pressed together in a disappointed smile. Damn, thought Fergus. He hadn’t wanted her finding out like this. He had owed her that at least.

  “That’s not important. Wherever she is, she isn’t driving. Her car’s still in the garage. So she must have left the house either on foot or by taxi.”

  Grant barged through the door. “Your deductive powers are amazing, Sherlock.” Before Fergus could retort, he added, “Have you thought there might have been a family emergency of some sort and she’s been called away?”

  “I’ve left messages on her brother’s mobile, but I didn’t want to call her parents and worry them unnecessarily. What did you want to ask Desley? Could it have any bearing on where she might have gone?”

  “The information she gave us about the Moore siblings proved fruitful. The West Australian police have uncovered some interesting facts about an old case file. We don’t yet know how it impacts on the current investigation, but it’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to Ms James.”

  “So are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”

  “Patience, my dear boy, patience,” Grant said, walking away from him, checking in each room he passed.

  Fergus trailed him, irked not only with the way Grant was stringing him along, but also with the DI’s lack of respect for Desley’s privacy. They entered the kitchen, Grant dragging his knuckles along the polished granite benchtop.

>   “It seems,” Grant said, “that this isn’t the first time Ryan Moore has gone missing. The day after his twentieth birthday, our Mr Moore boarded a plane for Singapore. He had no plans, no itinerary and not much money. You know the young: they think they’re invincible.”

  It’s called being adventurous, Fergus thought.

  “Anyway,” Grant continued, “according to the missing person’s report, the last his mother and sister heard from him, he had signed up as a deckhand on a yacht sailing from Antigua in the Caribbean across the Atlantic Ocean to Dartmouth in the UK. The trip should have taken approximately six weeks, but as he hadn’t been the most regular of correspondents, they didn’t become unduly concerned until four months had passed with no word from him.

  “The local Antiguan police could find no trace of him. Ditto the Salvation Army. They didn’t know the name of the boat or anything about the owner – except he was an Australian expatriate – or even the port they had sailed from. There were fears the yacht may have sunk or fallen victim to pirates.

  “However, later investigations in the UK showed Ryan Moore entering the country as planned. And to cut a long story short, our missing person eventually came forward, identified himself to the English authorities and had himself removed from the register. His family were notified he had been found safe and well, but he requested they not be told of his whereabouts.

  “Immigration records show he returned to Australia five years later, where we have to presume he hooked back up with his loving – in more ways than one – sister. Could even be the reason he left in the first place.”

  Fergus scratched his jaw. “So why didn't this information come to light sooner?”

  Kim answered. “There was no centralized national missing persons’ register back then. And since the case was closed, there was no reason for it to be entered into the computer database.”

  “But what does it all mean? Why would he have wanted to cut himself off from his family like that?”

  “You know as much as we do.”

  “Right now I have no idea how it all fits together, but I do know we need to find Desley. She knows Laura-slash-Nicole and her brother as well as anyone, which doesn’t say much, but what if she’s somehow worked out where they’re hiding and gone after them? I wouldn't put it past her. We know they’re desperate; one man is already dead.”