by Diane Wood
Alex had meant what she said. Nathalie was becoming more important to her than she ever thought someone could, but Nat was complicated and proud, and Alex’s biggest fear was that she might walk away rather than risk being hurt. Even so, she couldn’t just sit back and let Nathalie suffer without trying to help.
Sighing, she acknowledged that it could be a no-win situation.
* * *
When Nathalie arrived for work on Friday afternoon, there was a fax from Bella waiting on the desk she shared with Lorna, and Josh was waiting to brief them.
“I want you to do the rougher clubs in the early part of the evening, before the drugs and alcohol get too much of a hold,” he said, ticking off the ones he was talking about. “Concentrate mainly on the bar staff and regulars. See if you can find any connection between these three women. Did they frequent the same clubs, were they seen with any of the same people? If we can establish even the most tenuous connection it will give us something to work on.”
* * *
It was only seven thirty when they started club hopping. The first few were sparsely populated, but that gave them a chance to catch bar and door staff before they got too busy.
As a young person, Nathalie had frequented lesbian clubs, usually when she was stoned and in the company of clients who wanted the experience. That had stopped when she left home, and nothing she saw in most of them now would inspire her attendance in the future.
She was glad to be working with Lorna. She looked more like a spinster librarian, Nat thought, than an experienced police officer, but she appeared completely unfazed by the task ahead of them. It gave Nathalie confidence.
The reception was mixed, with some staff and patrons antagonistic and some keen to help. Most of the clubs were predominantly male, a few having a specific night put aside for lesbian patrons and these ranged between the rougher pub-style club to trendy bars. Only two were exclusively female. Both of these were well appointed with an air of exclusivity and executive-level clientele.
Several people recognized the photo of Renee Young—the first woman who had been killed—and could confirm that she was a frequent club user. There were descriptions of people Renee was seen with, but nobody had seen her the night she was killed or at least so they said. On the night of the killing, uniformed police had interviewed numerous people at the club near where Renee had been killed and had drawn a blank. Apparently nobody saw or heard anything.
By ten thirty the clubs were much busier and conversation was almost impossible. Lorna was excellent. She did the first couple of inquiries, allowing Nat to watch and listen. Her manner was quiet, respectful and unobtrusive, and she blended well in her jeans, T-shirt and black leather vest. It occurred to Nat that she knew nothing about Lorna. Was she straight, lesbian, married? Did she have kids? Not that it mattered. She was just a work colleague and Nat sensed they’d never really be friends.
The last club they visited was a cluster of rooms above a shopping mall. It was exclusively female, plush and well appointed. At first security refused them entry, but after the tough-looking woman at the door consulted with someone on a mobile phone, they were shown through to a small office.
Rising to greet them was a tall slim woman in an expensive business suit.
“Police officers?” she stated cautiously, indicating for them to have a seat. “We’ve never had any trouble here.”
“It’s in relation to the murders of three lesbians recently,” Nathalie replied. “We have photos and we want to ask if any of your patrons knew the victims, if they’d ever seen them together, that sort of thing.”
Extending her hand to take the photos, the woman laid them on her desk, rummaged in a drawer for glasses and examined them carefully.
“Renee something or other,” she murmured, tapping the photo of the first woman killed.
“Young…Renee Young,” clarified Lorna quietly. “You know her?”
“She is a member,” she said carefully. “But I didn’t know her well myself. She was a bit younger than many of our clientele.”
“Did she have a friend or friends here?” asked Nathalie quickly.
“She would mix, but I don’t remember seeing her with someone regularly. I’ll introduce you to a couple of the women who seemed to talk to her, but you must be discreet. I don’t want you upsetting people.”
As the woman led them out of her office, Lorna promised that they weren’t out to compromise anyone.
The first room was smaller and expensively furnished with a mixture of lounges and tables and chairs. It was obviously a retreat for people to have a quiet drink and socialize. The music here was subtle and relaxing. The room was nearly full and Nat noticed that everyone was very well dressed.
Taking Lorna and Nathalie over to a small group of thirty-plus women, the hostess quietly introduced them as police officers and explained their purpose. A couple of the women looked alarmed, but Lorna assured them of discretion and showed them the photos.
“Renee Young,” said an older woman. “I know her from here. But I don’t know anything about her.”
“Is there anyone here who does know her well?” asked Nat quietly.
The woman looked embarrassed for having spoken out and started to shake her head.
“We all know her,” said another woman, causing the others to look at her accusingly. “She provided a discreet service for members. Consequently she would often leave with someone when she was here.”
“Unattached women?” queried Lorna.
“Mostly,” the woman replied. “Married women who needed discretion, professionals who couldn’t risk being outed. Sometimes she worked with couples as well. She was intelligent and attractive and, most importantly, very discreet. She would sometimes organize private parties.”
“Did anyone ever see her with either of the other dead women?” asked Lorna.
The women looked at the pictures.
“The younger one was here once,” said the same woman eventually. “She came as Renee’s guest. We were introduced, but they spent the rest of the evening together.”
“Would she have been a client?” asked Nathalie.
“Possibly…although they did a lot of talking and their body language was more that of friends than lovers. They danced together once or twice, but not particularly closely.”
The woman with Renee had been Stephanie Cameron, but nobody remembered ever seeing Linda Djanski at the club. It wasn’t much, but it was the first real lead they had.
Later the team met back at the office to go over what they knew. After discussion, Josh decided that he and a younger male detective would cover the mixed clubs tomorrow, while Lorna and Nat continued to ask questions at the female clubs. Different nights might provide different patrons, which might elicit different information. In the meantime they continued sifting through the phone and bank records of the dead women looking for any other connections.
“Fancy a drink after work, Duncan?” Josh asked quietly, as they packed up to go home. “I want to know about your latest squeeze.”
They met at an out-of-the-way bar where no one from work would see them.
“So how are you finding the task force?” he asked when they were seated at a secluded table with their drinks.
“Good,” she answered honestly. “A lot more interesting than prosecutions.” Then, wanting to leave work behind, she asked, “How are you and Grace getting along?”
“The best,” he grinned, his face lighting up. “I think I’m going to marry that woman and have lots of babies. Now, what about your love life? I know something’s going on.”
“Well, I’ve met someone, but you know me and relationships,” she replied cryptically.
“Come off it, Nat. I usually know about them after the first date…which of course is usually the last date,” he finished with a grin. “So, ’fess up—who is he?”
“Well, first of all, it’s not a he, it’s a she.”
His head jerked back as if he’d been hit. �
�Shit, Nat,” he muttered before he could stop himself. “A woman…bloody hell, what are you doing?”
Stunned, she flared back, “Why would you be surprised? I told you I’d slept with women when I was young.”
“Sure, but…” he shook his head. “So who is she? Do I know her?”
His attitude stung. “Someone I met through the crisis center,” she said coolly. “She’s a psychologist…she’s intelligent and gentle and sexy and I like being with her.”
His sense of hurt and betrayal couldn’t be hidden.
“I assume you’re not happy for me,” she said, her heart sinking at the thought of losing his friendship. “I never took you for a homophobe.”
“You know better than that,” he growled. “But you have to admit it’s weird. When exactly did you decide you preferred women? Before or after we split?”
“Fuck you, Josh Dawson,” she muttered, rising to leave. “I don’t need this from you.”
He wanted to apologize. Wanted to talk to her about the new person in her life, but his sense of betrayal ran deep and instead he watched her walk from the bar, her back straight and her head held high. The years had taken away much of the hurt and he was used to her occasionally dating other men, but even without her telling him, he knew this was different. And he hated it—hated that someone might get closer to her than he could. That it might be a woman had never occurred to him, and now, illogically, it felt like a huge threat.
It was only when she reached the car that Nathalie’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t expected his response, but then she’d never before been aware on an emotional level of the depth of his feelings for her or the depth of his anguish when it hadn’t worked out.
At home she poured another drink. She was tempted to ring Alex, but it was nearly midnight and she resisted. It wasn’t really Josh she was mad at, it was herself. Her life was a graveyard of broken friendships and destructive relationships. Why would she think it would be different with Josh?
It took a long time to go to sleep, but at least the nightmares stayed away.
* * *
Saturday morning she drove to Alex’s. There was another car in the driveway and for a moment she considered driving away. But Alex was expecting her for lunch.
“I’ve been digging in the garden,” Alex beamed, answering the door in old jeans and a T-shirt. “Mum’s here. She brought me over a beautiful rose bush that I just had to plant.”
The older woman was small and neat and slightly round, with Alex’s warm green eyes, and Nathalie knew from the moment she stepped into the room that she was being assessed.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” her mother said warmly, taking Nat’s hand and squeezing it gently. “You’re the woman who makes Alex blush when she talks about you.”
Laughing, Alex said, “Thanks, Mum. That’ll make Nat feel nice and comfortable.”
“Give your mum a kiss and I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she said, reaching up to plant one on Alex’s cheek. “And it really is lovely to meet you, Nathalie. Don’t let my daughter bully you. She bullies me all the time.”
The warmth and openness between the two women took Nat’s breath away and brought home how different her own family life was. But she wasn’t sad for herself, only happy for Alex.
“Sorry about that,” Alex laughed on her return from watching her mother drive off. “I didn’t know she was coming, but I’m glad you got to meet.”
“So am I,” replied Nathalie, unsure if she really was. Then they were in each other’s arms, holding and kissing and simply enjoying the warmth of physical contact.
Later, when they were eating the pasta Alex had prepared, they spoke of their evenings apart. Alex told Nat about a young woman at the center who’d just been diagnosed HIV positive and wasn’t coping. It hit home that the girl was so young.
Nathalie told her about her tour of the lesbian clubs and later about Josh’s unexpected response to their relationship.
“It was probably a bit of a shock,” Alex said realistically. “You were together six months, and he’s only ever known you to date men. Most people don’t expect their ex-partner to suddenly start a same-sex relationship out of the blue.”
“God, you sound like you believe he has a right to be shitty about it. He’s supposed to be a friend.”
“So friends can’t be taken by surprise? He’s probably concerned about you.”
“Or homophobic,” she growled angrily.
“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” she asked gently. “If he’s the man you thought he was, then it’s not homophobia talking, more like a good case of his nose being out of joint. Perhaps you just have to give him time to adjust.”
Shaking her head, Nat left it at that. She wanted to believe Alex was right, but her tainted view of human nature wouldn’t let her.
“What time do you have to be at work?” Alex asked with a twinkle in her eye.
The answer was a long passionate kiss.
Making love with Alex was wonderful. For the first time in her life it was something she looked forward to, something she could actually enjoy, physically and emotionally.
Afterward, as they showered together, Alex chatted happily about a new man in her mother’s life. Nathalie listened, absorbing Alex’s passion and happiness like a sponge, hoping that one day she could feel the sort of emotions that Alex experienced every day.
Chapter Seven
Seeking Help
Nat arrived for work that afternoon with only a minute to spare, and Josh made sure she knew of his disapproval. After the briefing she and Lorna discussed their own plan of action. Today, because they had the two men making inquiries, they decided to concentrate on the predominantly female clubs and spend more time mingling and less time asking formal questions. Perhaps someone would remember something about these three women.
It was obvious to Nathalie that Josh was sulking, but he was a professional and on the surface it would have appeared to colleagues that nothing had changed. Nathalie longed to talk to him, but work was not the appropriate place, and possibly Alex was right, perhaps all he needed was time to come to terms with the change.
The clubs were even busier when they returned, and their reappearance wasn’t welcomed. A police presence in any drinking establishment could only be bad for business, but in a lesbian club it was considered even more intrusive. Consequently they got even less information than the day before.
The men did better, finding out that Renee Young had been seen at a mixed club shortly before she was killed. According to a male couple, Young had been dancing with someone they identified as Cameron when another woman had approached them. A few moments later an argument broke out between this woman and Young. Cameron tried to intervene, but the woman had stormed off and Young and Cameron had stayed.
Neither man could describe the woman, other than that she was an average-looking blonde in her mid-twenties and she’d been at the club before. Both men confirmed, though, that the third woman was not Linda Djanski.
This gave them new leads and added new headings to the whiteboard, so that by the end of shift they had a sense of something constructive having been gained.
* * *
Sunday and Monday were Nat’s days off. Alex and Nathalie spent Sunday on the Central Coast. It was sunny and clear and magical as they chatted and laughed and watched the antics of the pelicans at feeding time. Every so often Alex would reach out and they’d wander hand in hand, not even noticing the curious glances from passersby. It all seemed so totally normal to Nathalie.
“The two women who sponsor the Crisis Center own the penthouse apartment overlooking the water here,” pointed out Nathalie as they sat under a tree tucking into ice cream. “I think I could live here if I had to. Actually it would be a great place to bring my niece and nephew,” she finished a little sadly.
“Do you see them often?”
“No. I’ve only met Samantha once and Jeremy twice, and now that my brother’s angry with me, I
don’t suppose I’ll have much future contact.”
“Would you ever consider having a child?” Alex asked tentatively, not sure how she felt about it herself.
“No,” she replied emphatically. “As you said a while ago, some people should never have children. I’m one, and George is another.” Nathalie’s shoulders were straight and rigid and her face almost blank.
“Why?” Alex asked gently, squeezing her hand.
“Because we’re both too much like our mother,” she responded quietly, her voice tinged with anger.
While Alex had a million questions, she knew better than to pursue the issue. “So what happened between you and your brother?” she asked.
For a moment there was silence.
“It’s ongoing,” she replied quietly. “I’m the black sheep because I pulled away from Mother. George sees her very differently than I do and the subject arises every time we meet.” She shrugged. “It always ends badly.” Her manner brooked no further discussion.
Whatever Nathalie decided to tell her about her past it had to be at her own pace. Push too far and she would close the door completely.
They stayed until dusk, wandering the shops and cafés at will, exploring the rocks, watching the ocean and sucking in the sunshine. Alex hadn’t felt as at peace since before Lou received her fatal diagnosis.
Returning to Nathalie’s, they made love before curling into each other and drifting into a dreamless sleep.
The doorbell woke Alex first and she glanced at the clock. It was one twenty-five and it was obvious that Nathalie hadn’t heard it. A few seconds later the bell went again, this time more insistently, and Nathalie stirred.
“It’s your door,” mumbled Alex, trying to get a better response from Nat. “Do you want me to get it?”
“No,” she mumbled, struggling into a pajama top. “Who the hell could it be at this hour?”
This time they knocked, strongly and loudly.
“Who is it?” growled Nat, fumbling with the door chain and trying to peer through the spy hole.