After ten rings the answering machine accepted the call. But it was Duncan Peyton’s voice that came through the speaker. ‘Hey mate, I can’t get you on your mobile. Are you there…’
He waited, as if he expected Evan to pick up.
Laila stood immobile, fury burning in her chest like dry ice.
‘Okay, no luck. Um, come over to the house around five. Meet us in the study. Mum’s having a lunch for twelve women in the dining room. It probably won’t wrap up until around then. We don’t want to get caught up in all that.’ He chuckled, an obvious warmth in his voice when he spoke of his mother.
Then Laila heard him sigh, and his tone turned serious. ‘We gotta get this sorted mate. Thirty million! Christ, Dad’s gone ballistic.’
Another pause.
‘Be sure and give me a ring. You must be out having fun. Hope it’s the best kind. Just remember, you’ve got a five percent stake in this development too. Anyway, cheers.’
As Duncan hung up, Laila moved back into the room, snatching up her things as she went. If she needed any more evidence that Evan was working in his own best interests, Duncan Peyton had just confirmed that for her.
Five percent interest in the hotel developments? No wonder he’d followed her into the park that day.
See what can be achieved by staying friendly?
Laila unzipped her suitcase and flung her clothes inside.
He’d used her!
Kept her close.
Manipulated the situation like the dealmaker he was.
Manipulated her!
She’d finally opened her heart, only to find he’d been moving her around like a piece on a chessboard.
And last night, she’d told him about her parents, and he’d been so wonderful. Surely, surely, he couldn’t be so duplicitous.
No, don’t make excuses. Don’t talk yourself out of it. The evidence is there.
Laila straightened, zipped up her suitcase and swiped at her eyes.
She could do this. She was good at detaching.
She’d done it with her family. She could do it with anyone.
Furious with herself for letting it happen, she wheeled her suitcase to the top of the stairs and stood looking around the apartment where only moments ago she’d been so happy.
A sob passed through her body like an earth tremor, and she wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward, nausea cramping her stomach as she fought against the pain of his betrayal.
Whatever he was doing over there, he could get the hell out of her house — get the fuck out of her life!
And so could Scarlett Peyton.
Chapter Twenty-nine
2:35 p.m. Friday
Evan waited for another ten minutes, thankful he’d lowered the blinds, secure in the knowledge the darkened room at his back obscured him from view.
The intruder came from the direction of the main bathroom, a shadow falling across the hallway as it interrupted the light shining through the square glass pane at the top of Laila’s front door.
A floorboard creaked, and suddenly he was there. The same man whose photograph now resided on his iPhone. Tall, lanky, salt-and-pepper hair.
Confusion clouded Evan’s mind. So this guy was military, not some local who’d refused to come forward because of unpaid parking fines or some other misdemeanour. This was the man who’d saved Laila from John Holt, and yet here he was, violating her home.
Warring emotions swept over Evan like sets of breakers crashing on the shore. He wanted to burst into the hallway and take the guy right now.
Moving with purpose, the man disappeared into the living room, only to emerge seconds later carrying one of the dining-room chairs.
Evan’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
He knew Laila wasn’t there.
So what was his plan? To wait? To prepare a chair so he could tie her up when she arrived home?
Fucking bastard!
Evan curled his fists into balls, cheekbone pressed hard against the doorframe as the man climbed onto the chair and raised his hands to the ceiling.
Breath suspended, Evan stared at the man’s back, too transfixed to even blink.
What the hell was going on?
The ceiling was high. To see, he’d have to open the door wider and squat on his haunches. But he didn’t trust the door not to squeak — or his knees not to creak.
Frustrated, he stayed where he was.
There was a soft grunt, followed by the sound of something being unscrewed.
A down light?
The man lowered his hands, dipping his head as he fiddled with whatever he’d taken from the ceiling. He appeared relaxed, not at all concerned Laila might be in the house.
Suddenly, Evan knew why.
He flung the door wide, body set at the correct angle, pushing off hard with his feet. He leaned forward, got down low and drove his shoulder into the back of the guy’s thigh. Momentum carried them forward, Evan’s arms wrapped around the man’s hips as he pitched forward from a substantial height.
Driving with his legs, Evan twisted, using the other man’s body to cushion his fall, even as he used his own weight to force the intruder harder into the floorboards.
A crack.
Wood on wood as the chair fell sideways.
The sickening sound of bone on wood.
The man groaned.
Evan pushed himself up and planted a foot on the guy’s neck. Then he leaned over and took his pistol.
Heart striking against his ribs, he sent the firearm skidding along the floor in the direction of the kitchen.
That evened things up.
He looked down at the dazed man. Dressed in army fatigues, he was tall and wiry with a craggy face and a buzz cut. Blood pooled on the floor near his mouth. Tangled around his wrist was a thin black cord with a tiny camera attached.
Increasing the pressure on the man’s neck, Evan looked up. The cover was off the smoke detector, the battery dangling in the air.
Checking that the man wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Evan went to get his phone. Back in the hallway, he righted the chair, positioned it over the man’s shoulders and sat down.
He was pulling up Dickson Cross’s number when the sound of the front door opening made him look up. Thoughts crowded Evan’s mind as he launched himself off the chair and flattened his body behind the door. Had the guy unlocked it for an accomplice?
As if in slow motion, the door swung open with a creak.
***
Laila stepped over the threshold.
She gasped at the sight of a man lying on her floor, drew in another sharp breath as Evan stepped out from behind the door.
‘You have an unexpected visitor.’ He looked her up and down and then looked at the suitcase, but he didn’t ask why she was there, just turned and sat on the chair and put the phone to his ear.
‘Cross, get someone over to Laila’s house. I’ve got the second guy.’
Without waiting for an answer, he killed the call, keeping his phone in his hand as he pointed towards the kitchen.
‘Laila, the gun’s on the floor down there. Wrap it in a hand towel or something — and be careful.’
Shocked into action, Laila did as he asked, isolating her emotions in order to deal with what was happening now.
She hurried into the kitchen, took a clean tea towel from the drawer and returned to where the gun lay on the floor near the laundry. She bent down and covered it with the towel, careful not to touch any part of it with her fingers as she quickly wrapped it up.
Evan had been worried about Holt, but from what she could see, the man sprawled in her hallway looked like the one who’d come to her aid in the park.
Eager to be rid of the firearm, she looked around for a place to stow it. In the end, she put it inside the washing machine and hurried back into the hallway.
Evan pointed at the ceiling. ‘This dirtbag’s been watching you on camera.’
A slow creep inched its way up Laila’s
neck as she looked up at the disassembled smoke detector. It was dangling from the ceiling, like an activated oxygen mask in an airliner.
She shifted her attention to the man lying half obscured under the chair. How many times had he been in her home? How many times had he watched her interacting with people — interacting with Evan?
She pushed back her hair with a shaky hand and watched as Evan leaned over and spoke to the guy.
‘You?’
The man turned his head and peered at Evan through one eye. Then he spat two teeth from his bloodied mouth.
Evan jerked back from the spray and Laila let out a cry. No matter what he’d done, she couldn’t help caring for him, just as she still cared for her parents.
He looked at her, a question in his eyes, not understanding. When she looked away, he turned his attention to the man on the floor again, jaw tight, voice low, eyes a steelier shade of grey.
‘If there’s a camera in the bedroom — your fucking nuts are next. And your dentist won’t be able to reattach them.’
Laila bit down on her lip and tried to slow her rapid breathing. There was a resoluteness in the depths of Evan’s eyes, a strength forged in steel, as if he wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. As angry as he’d been in the Peyton mediation, as angry as she’d been only moments ago — it was nothing compared to this.
A car screeched to a halt outside, and thirty seconds later, Dickson Cross walked through the door. The detective assessed the scene with a sweep of his eyes, a none-too-pleased expression on his face.
Evan sat straighter in the chair. ‘You’re early, detective. I would have liked a little more time with this man.’
Laila’s shoulders relaxed, and she breathed a little easier. This time, Evan’s tone had resembled his regular courtroom voice.
‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you want Barclay, just tell me what happened.’
Evan stood. ‘He came down through the ceiling. Laila has the pistol. He had a camera hidden in the smoke detector.’
The detective grabbed hold of the chair and lifted it off the man’s body. ‘Get up.’
Still badly dazed, the man moved with slow, excruciating movements, groaning as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.
Neither Evan nor the detective made a move to help. Both stood watching, hands on hips.
The man moved from all fours onto his haunches, then finally managed to stand. One side of his face was swollen, and blood dripped from his mouth and nose. He wiped it with the back of his hand and peered at them through his good eye.
Shifting the chair closer to the intruder, Dickson held up his I.D. ‘Detective Inspector Dickson Cross, Sydney Gang Squad. Sit down.’
For the first time Laila got a good look at the intruder’s face. ‘It’s him. He’s the one who helped me in the park.’
She’d seen him somewhere too, though it wasn’t from her time on the base. Tall, thin, short cropped grey hair, around forty-five. He’d been standing somewhere, looking up.
The Archibald Prize.
‘He was in the art gallery the other day too.’
Dickson’s eyebrows raised in a query.
Laila explained the arrangement she had with the pilot. The detective listened, lips pursed, gaze fixed to the floor.
‘This is the case you wouldn’t discuss?’
‘Yes.’
Dickson turned to the intruder. ‘What’s your name, military man?’
The man moved his mouth, but no sound came out.
‘Louder.’
‘Lance — Corporal — Jason — Moulder.’
‘How’d you get in the ceiling?’ asked Dickson.
‘Kid’s place next door.’ The guy spat saliva and blood as he lisped out the words. ‘Laundry window has a broken catch.’
Bloody Grind! She’d kill him!
Dickson’s eyes cut to hers. ‘Who’s your neighbour?’
‘A musician. He rents the place. Nice kid — bit of space cadet.’
Her answer seemed to satisfy the detective. He leaned over and shot the next question at Moulder. ‘How long’s the camera been in?’
‘Four weeks.’
Suddenly Evan stepped forward, jerking off the restraining hand Dickson laid on his arm. ‘Are there any more?’
‘No.’ The guy gave a weird lopsided grin, more confident now he had the police there to protect him. ‘I have no interest in your night-time exercise.’
‘Lucky,’ Evan snarled. ‘Otherwise I’d rip your fuckin head off.’
‘Barclay!’
Evan ignored Dickson and leaned closer to Moulder. ‘You’re speaking better now. Getting used to your rearranged teeth?’
‘I’m warning you, Barclay.’
Evan stepped back, shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered off down the hallway. He didn’t get far before Dickson was calling him back, asking how Moulder had sustained the injuries.
Laila listened as Evan recounted how he’d surprised Moulder while he was in a vulnerable position. It was clear Evan had gone about the process in a smart way, aware that tackling an armed man could never be seen as using excessive force.
Watching him now, it dawned on her that she was seeing the real Evan Barclay for the first time. It was as if the layers of his personality had peeled away and left him raw, angry and exposed. And yet he was tuned in to her feelings enough to know something was terribly wrong. And he wasn’t impressed. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the tightness of his jaw, in his searching gaze.
Evan Barclay was no longer an enigma, but he was many other things. He was the sharp lawyer capable of keeping all the balls in the air while he salvaged a deal written off by everyone else. He was the handsome lover who believed sexual enjoyment was pivotal to every human being. He was the private man who could charm crusty old judges and operate effortlessly on numerous platforms.
But to her, now, he was an exposed tough guy who wore a well-cut suit Monday to Friday like a uniform. And he was blessed with enough smarts to only use his impressive brawn when necessary.
She could see it all, and she wondered at its origin, wished she knew. Because maybe it would explain why he’d manipulated her, despite saving Mike, despite enlisting Luke Neilson’s help, despite coming here today.
Suddenly Dickson addressed Moulder again.
‘You want to give me your version of what happened in the park? Because I’m a little confused. And I suggest you start talking, if you want to save those pretty teeth of yours.’
When the man didn’t answer, Dickson tried a different tack. ‘Okay. We will contact your superior when we get to the station. The three of us can have a nice conversation.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Moulder said. ‘They’ll give you a blanket denial.’
Dickson leaned in closer. ‘Who? Who gave you orders to watch her?’
Moulder hesitated, then said ‘Reuben Lawrence.’
Laila looked up. ‘I know him. He was the commander involved in the Blackhawk enquiry. A man with a very big ego.’
‘Luke Neilson visited Lawrence at Holsworthy this morning.’ Evan held up his phone and pointed to a photograph. ‘Fifteen minutes after he left, Moulder showed up.’
‘What’s Lawrence after?’ Dickson asked.
‘Names.’
‘Go on.’
‘Someone put the word around she was taking a class action on behalf of some of the guys who’d died. It’s hard to keep secrets on the base. Everyone finds out everything in the end. He wanted to know who was giving her information, and details of the case, who was taking part, how much money, that kind of thing.’
‘Were you in her office last Saturday?’
‘I was snooping. Had nothing to do with that fire though.’ He looked at Evan. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt her. I know she’s a good person.’
‘But you hurt John Holt?’ Dickson jumped in, as if fearing Evan was going to have another go.
‘That his name?’
‘Where’d you dump th
e body?’
Moulder’s one eye widened. ‘I didn’t kill him. He was out cold, that’s all.’
‘Come on Moulder, don’t dick me around. Laila’s a witness. She says you killed him.’
Laila closed her eyes and turned away.
‘She’s wrong. I checked his vitals.’
‘So why was Holt watching her?’
‘I don’t know. I noticed him a week ago. I think he started the fire.’
‘See anyone else with him?’
‘Nope, but he’s no good.’
‘I know he’s no good, he’s a bikie on my “most wanted” list.’
Cross got behind Moulder this time, leaning down and speaking in his ear. ‘What piece was he carrying?’
‘A Ruger LCP .38.’
Dickson straightened up. ‘Where is it?’
‘Parramatta River, off Silverwater Bridge.’
‘I’ll send in the divers. You better not be jerking me around, Moulder.’
‘Laila?’ Evan cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘You too, Cross.’
Dickson rolled his eyes, but he joined them at the end of the hallway. ‘This better be good, Barclay. I’ve just about had it with you.’
‘The Parramatta River’s tidal. That piece could be in Sydney Harbour by now. Bikies trade in illegal firearms, you know it won’t be registered in his name. Wouldn’t your resources be better spent looking for Holt?’
‘Listen.’ Cross poked a finger at Evan. ‘Stick to football and the law and leave the detective work to me. I might be searching for a weapon, but I’m hoping for a body.’
Laila turned and looked at Moulder. The man had his fingers in his mouth, checking for more loose teeth. ‘You really think Holt’s dead?’
‘He hasn’t turned up.’ Dickson fished in his pocket as his phone started playing the Beatles’ ‘Drive my Car’. ‘We’re watching his home, and the Altar Boys compound, plus a stack of businesses they’re involved in.’
***
While Dickson took the call, Evan studied Laila, heart pumping fear through his veins. She was aloof, her body angled away from him, eyes focused elsewhere. And there was a coldness in her eyes he didn’t like, as if she didn’t know him, as if he was the bad guy here.
What had happened?
Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection Page 61