by Fiona Brand
Murdoch snapped his notebook closed. “Or using you as a scapegoat. I’ve put some thought into it.”
Carter straightened from his position against the bonnet of the cruiser. “So far almost every fire has been a neighbour.”
Murdoch looked thoughtful. “Or a client.”
Dani went still inside. The moment she’d discovered Dora’s keys were missing replayed itself. She’d assumed the crime was aimed at harming Dora, but if Dora had a connection to the arsonist, it was a random one. Dani’s connection was direct in every case: she had been present at every fire. If the link forged by the arsonist was planned and not a coincidence, that could mean she had been the target, not Dora. “My appointment book.”
She was a creature of habit; her life usually ran like clockwork with little variation. The thought that someone was using that information when committing the crimes in order to implicate her didn’t make sense, but it was possible. Briefly, she explained about the keys and the locked doors.
Murdoch made a note. “How accessible is your office?”
“When I’m not there it’s locked.” Unlike the house, she always secured the clinic. The habit wasn’t logical in light of the fact that every other building was wide open, but the precaution was ingrained because she stored confidential medical records. It was second nature to lock up her workspace.
Carter’s expression was grim. “The doors may be secured, but the locks are old-fashioned and standard. You can buy the keys from almost any hardware store.”
“If a key was needed at all.” Most appointments were made at least a couple of weeks in advance, so the book was filled. All it would take was a glance from someone in her waiting room. “The theory has holes. Tom’s a client, but not on a regular basis, and I’ve never treated Nola.”
Murdoch shrugged. “At this point, any lead works for me.”
The now-familiar figure of O’Halloran standing watching the fire crew roll up hose registered. “O’Halloran was in for a treatment last week.”
Murdoch’s gaze was cold. “Don’t worry, I’m checking on him.”
Half an hour later, Murdoch was in Dani’s therapy rooms, studying her client list and the appointment book. “Mind if I borrow these? I’ll copy it and have it back to you tomorrow.”
Dani took a note of the week’s appointments then dug out her address book. “You might want this, too.”
Murdoch shook his head. “I had no idea you treated so many people out here.” His expression was unreadable as he bagged the books and placed them in his briefcase.
Her stomach tightened at the possibility that one of her clients was responsible for the fires, and for setting her up.
Murdoch straightened. “Made any enemies lately?”
“None that I can think of.” Jackson’s Ridge had always been a haven. People liked her, and she liked them.
But, chances were, someone on that list didn’t, and it wasn’t comforting to know that over the last month she had been busier than ever with the practice.
Dani watched as Murdoch drove away.
Carter pushed a hot drink into her hands.
“He’s still going to investigate me.”
Carter propped himself against the doorjamb and sipped his coffee. “It’s his job.”
The brevity of his reply and his rock-solid steadiness were oddly comforting.
“I notice Walter was on that list.”
Dani wrapped her fingers around the mug and breathed in the fragrance of the coffee. “Walter’s been coming to me for years. It’s no big deal. Chronic sciatica.”
Carter finished his drink in silence, straightened and walked to the small kitchenette.
She heard water running as he rinsed his mug. “It can’t be Walter.”
Carter reappeared. “He’s been in the Fire Service for years.”
Dani didn’t need a picture drawn. She’d watched the movies and read the newspaper articles. Criminals loved to revisit the scene of the crime, and firebugs got their thrills by watching the fire. What better way to observe than if you were actually on the fire crew? She shook her head. “It can’t be Walter.”
“Someone’s setting the fires. They’re skilled and elusive, and you’re at the centre of the pattern.”
The clear, cold blue of Carter’s gaze was unsettling. The word pattern didn’t make her feel any better.
She lifted the mug to her mouth and drank, forcing herself to shake off the jumpy feeling. “What do you know about patterns?”
“It’s part of what I do.”
The reply didn’t do a thing to settle her nerves. Dani had studied the SAS as much as a civilian and an outsider could, but the information available in books and documentaries only provided a glimpse of the world he moved in. “What exactly is it that you do?”
When he answered his voice was flat, his face expressionless. Some of his missions were peacekeeping ones, and some weren’t, because primarily he was an assault specialist. He wasn’t going to give her any specific details, because no one needed to know that much, but a lot of his work was undercover. His last mission, a peacekeeping detail in a relatively stable area, should have been a walk in the park—instead it had almost killed him. The one before that had been high-risk and covert. He had been inserted into a foreign country to hunt a terrorist. It had taken months, but he had found him.
The idea of Carter systematically hunting down a terrorist made her blood run cold. The fact that he had run the man to ground in home territory made the chill deepen. She had always been aware of Carter’s physical and mental competence—it permeated everything he did. Now she realized that the surface charm was almost a complete blind. It had fooled a lot of people, and it had fooled her. For years she’d been so busy coping with the persona he projected that she’d missed the real man beneath.
Her heart pounded and her chest felt constricted. “What are you going to do?” Because it was a certainty that Carter had something planned.
He stared at the sere brown hills and the benign glimpse of sea visible between trees. “Hunt him.”
Chapter 10
An hour later, showered and dressed, Carter stepped out on his veranda and studied the vehicles parked at Dani’s clinic.
Murdoch had his theories, and he had his, but their approaches were distinctly different. Murdoch was concerned with evidence and motivation—the lawful apprehension of the perpetrator. Carter just wanted to nail the guy.
Strolling back inside, he grabbed a pair of high-resolution binoculars then headed down to the beach road.
A few minutes later, he went down on his haunches to study the road surface where it petered out into a large, flat area of grass and scrub. If anyone had parked a vehicle down here recently, he should be able to find some trace.
Rising to his feet, he circled the open area and discovered a set of tracks that disappeared behind a thick patch of manuka. He followed the tracks and found a flattened area beneath the shady overhang of one of the gnarled pohutukawa trees that dotted the edge of the bush line. From the depth of the tire indentations, and the trampled area, it had been used several times. It was possible that whoever had parked here had just come for the fishing, but not likely. Having to carry fishing gear and bait through the scrub would be a major pain, and there was plenty of secluded parking closer to the beach.
Reaching into his pocket he extracted his cell phone and put through a call to Murdoch.
Gabriel West stared at the view of the sea from Carter’s kitchen. “Nice spot to settle down.”
“Don’t start.”
West stared critically at Carter’s leg. “Wound’s healed up nicely, but you’re still stiff. You should think about getting yourself some physio.”
Carter filled the kettle at the sink and plugged it in. “I’ve tried to get an appointment. She can’t fit me in.”
“She?”
Carter jerked his head toward Dani’s place.
West studied the graceful colonial lines of the adjace
nt house as Carter made tea, and caught a glimpse of red hair as a tall, lean woman walked from the house to a set of outbuildings and disappeared from view. Suddenly a lot of things about Carter began to make sense. The reason his hometown and the farm had become so important over the last couple of years, for example. “Your next-door neighbour, huh?”
“You make that sound significant.”
“It depends. How long has she been your neighbour?”
“Forever.”
West gave Carter a look that could have been termed inscrutable if Carter didn’t know what was going on behind the bland facade. West had a sixth sense when it came to combat situations, and an uncanny luck—until he’d gotten shot after he’d left the SAS. He also had a quiet knack for getting to the truth of things in civilian life…eventually.
Carter set steaming mugs in front of West and his wife, Tyler, grabbed the sugar bowl on the way back to the table, hooked out a chair with his foot and sat down. He didn’t miss the speculative silence. Slow seconds ticked by while he stirred sugar into his tea. When he lifted his head, West was once again examining the view. Resigned, Carter set his mug down. “And?”
West’s expression didn’t change. “And what?”
Carter’s jaw tightened, a nerve in his cheek began to twitch. Ever since he’d gotten home, he’d had to keep a tight rein on his temper; right now, on a scale of one to ten he was at about eight and he was deteriorating fast. As far as he was concerned, talking about relationship problems was about as pleasurable as pulling teeth. It was also a known fact that West as a confidant was close to useless. On the other hand Dani had been his neighbour for eighteen years and he’d been dangling on a string for just about that long. He shrugged. “Any suggestions?”
“Nope.”
Carter let out a breath.
Tyler lifted an eyebrow. “What did you expect? If he’s a love doctor then so is the sphinx.”
The silence that followed Tyler’s statement was profound. Carter kept his expression carefully blank as he settled back in his chair. Time for a change of subject. West’s lack of relationship skills had always been a sore point with Tyler. The couple were happy now, but it had taken West eight years to admit he had a problem with emotion, let alone make a start on patching up his marriage. Carter eyed West’s briefcase. “So, what have you got for me?”
“A whole lot I didn’t expect to find.” West flipped the locks and pulled out a sheet of paper. He slid the page across to Carter. “Do those names mean anything to you?”
Amongst the list, Carter recognized the name of a prominent New Zealand businessman, Alex Bainbridge—a big hitter on the local stock market—and the name of a local farmer, Dave, who managed a large station on the other side of town. A third name, Jordan Carlisle, tantalized.
West sat back in his chair. “It’s a complicated trail, but I eventually found the links. Bainbridge is a director of Jackson’s Bay Holdings—the company that owns the large station McLean manages. Jackson’s Bay Holdings, through a subsidiary company, is also the major shareholder in the ostrich facility. Carlisle is a financier who’s been tied up with Bainbridge for years. The ostrich farm itself is a lemon—and the largest beneficiary of the losses are Bainbridge and Carlisle. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they own the other company that has a small holding in it, because the facility is operated purely as a taxable write-off—not nice, but legitimate. The interesting thing is that the ostrich facility is on a prime piece of real estate—close to the beach and the town. I pulled a few strings and got a look at the syndicate’s first-stage development plans for the Jackson’s Bay resort. The main resort buildings are sited on the land presently occupied by the ostrich facility. To complicate matters, Bainbridge is on the board of directors of the bank the syndicate are using to finance their development. As it happens, that’s Jackson’s Ridge’s only bank.”
Carter sat back in his chair. He was beginning to feel happier. “And they’ve been folding on mortgages.”
“You’ve got it.” West slotted the pages in his suitcase with the same casual precision Carter knew he would use to bury Bainbridge and Carlisle and possibly Wells. “The links I’ve uncovered are enough to stop the resort project.”
“On another level entirely.” Carter pulled a device that looked like a remote control from his pocket and placed it on the table. He pressed a button; the liquid-crystal screen glowed. “I borrowed it from the local vet. It’s a microchip scanner. A lot of pedigree dog owners are using them, but apparently that’s also how you identify your bird, by the number encoded into the microchip embedded in its neck.”
West set his mug down. “Should be interesting.”
West held the rear passenger door of Carter’s truck open for Tyler and the dog that had adopted them—a lean streak of huntaway called Zoom. Zoom settled in beside Tyler, head erect, gaze focused on the windscreen, almost more human than dog. As West closed the door, he caught another glimpse of red hair and long tanned legs through the trees that separated the Galbraith and Rawlings houses. “How long did you say you’ve been living next door to Dani?”
“Like I said, forever. Eighteen years.”
West shook his head. “And you gave me a hard time.”
Dani slid into the driver’s seat of the truck and turned the key in the ignition. The motor turned over then died. Muttering a brief prayer, she held her breath, pumped the accelerator and turned the key again. This time the only sound was a click.
Gritting her teeth, she slid out of the driver’s seat. Like the tractor, she’d been babying the truck for weeks. It was due for a service and its six-monthly warrant of fitness. She could do without the service, because she’d changed the oil and the filters herself, but at present it was in no state to pass the warrant. One of the rear brake lights was gone and two of the tires were close to bald, although in this case neither of those things was the problem. The dead little click indicated the battery had probably died.
She searched for the catch of the bonnet and heaved upward. “If it turns out to be the starter motor, I’ll probably shoot the truck.”
“I’ll lend you the gun,” Carter murmured. “It should have been put down years ago.”
Dani almost dropped the bonnet as Carter walked out of bright sunshine into the dimness of the garage. “Careful. In vehicle terms this is close to antique. It could be worth a lot of money.”
“In an alternate universe where baling twine and rust mean something, maybe…”
Latching the bonnet, Dani picked up a screwdriver and began chiselling a thick layer of bluish crystals off the battery terminals.
“If you pour boiling water over the oxide it’ll take it right off.”
Dani let out a breath and counted and tried not to notice Carter looking certifiably gorgeous in a dazzling white T-shirt and butt-hugging jeans. “What do you want, Carter? As you can see, I’m busy.”
“Then it’s time you had an afternoon off. Want to go and see your new bird?”
“Not really.” Pulling fingernails out would be a more pleasurable pastime.
She was acutely aware of him watching her as she continued to work at the terminals.
“How old is that battery?”
Setting the screwdriver down on the bench, she grabbed a rag, wiped her hands, then dropped the bonnet. “Five years. I’m in denial.” She’d already done the calculation and figured it was ready for the scrap heap. Leaning in the driver’s-side door, she tried the key. The dead click confirmed what she already knew.
“Either way, you’re going to need a ride into town.”
“You could offer to pick up a battery for me.”
“Trust me, you need to check out the bird.”
“I know what they look like.” And how much they cost.
With a shrug, Carter slid a pair of dark glasses on the bridge of his nose and strolled toward his truck, which was parked beneath a shady tree.
Reluctantly, Dani slid the key out of the ignition and
followed him. Ostriches or not, Carter was right, she needed that battery.
One of the rear windows of Carter’s truck slid down as she approached. A glossy strand of tawny hair shivered in the breeze and Dani’s stomach tightened. For the second time in two days there was a woman in his truck—and this one was pregnant.
Carter’s gaze connected with hers, and she wondered if he’d read her mind. “They’re a couple of friends from Auckland. Gabe and Tyler West.”
Dani registered the dark-haired man sitting next to Tyler as she gripped the handle of the passenger-side door. She’d heard Carter talk about the Wests, she’d even seen their wedding portrait in Carter’s lounge, but this was the first time Carter had ever introduced her to any of his SAS friends.
As she fastened her seat belt, a dog’s narrow head popped over one shoulder and the woman’s inquisitive stare in the rear view mirror immediately gave way to a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Tyler, and this is Zoom. You must be Dani. Carter’s told me all about you.”
Dani forced a smile and made a polite rejoinder. “Are you staying?”
“Only until Gabe can book a motel.” She patted her stomach. “We don’t want to be too far out from town with this little guy on the way.”
Several vehicles were parked at the ostrich facility. Dani was surprised to recognize Walter Douglas’s truck slotted beside Roger Wells’s gleaming new car, which now had a bank slogan emblazoned on the side.
West helped Tyler out. His gaze fixed on the glimpse of beach between a straggly line of windblown trees. “Million-dollar view.”
Carter climbed out from behind the wheel. “Not exactly prime ostrich country.”
Dani snapped her door closed. “What is?”
A sporty hatchback pulled into the car park, slotting next to Carter’s truck. Tony Flynn’s thin smile flashed as he climbed out. “What a surprise.”