by Jaye Ford
Zoe had needed her mother at home, too. Jax had succeeded at keeping the gritty details of the incident with Brendan from her daughter, but it was a different story when Hugh was behind the gun. When Aiden realised Jax was missing, he sent uniformed police to the house in case they were needed, and there’d been frantic phone calls and frightened tears from Tilda and Deanne, both of them blaming themselves for letting Jax leave. She’d ended up in hospital looking like Frankenstein’s monster – and Zoe didn’t want to let her out of her sight.
Inside The Beach House, Kate pointed Jax out to Aiden, then held up a hand and made him wait while she walked to the door. ‘You okay out here, Jax?’
The connection Jax had felt for Kate wasn’t just about dead husbands and unexplained deaths. Brendan’s wife had her answers now and Jax still liked her. Kate had been to the house twice – once with Scotty, who’d taken one of Zoe’s dolls apart. The kids had milkshakes and played; Jax and Kate shared coffee, tears and a few laughs, and it felt like the friendship Jax had sensed developing a week and a half before. Today was the funeral and wake for Kate’s husband and they were looking out for each other.
‘Just enjoying the breeze,’ Jax told her.
‘Aiden has news for us.’
‘Tell him to bring a drink, I might have questions.’
He carried three onto the deck, passed one to Kate, held the other out to Jax and waited for her eyes to meet his before he released his hold.
‘I like the haircut,’ he said.
Jax ran a hand over her new, short crop. She’d been overdue for a trim before but the stitches in her hairline had forced a makeover. ‘It was the only way to disguise the bald patch in my fringe. I’m still getting used to it.’
‘I think it’s a keeper. How are the ribs?’
‘Getting there, like my face.’
He didn’t comment, just let his gaze decide for him – pale irises sliding across the jagged pink line where the stitches had been and the bruising that coloured her eye socket. Then the clear green of her untouched eye. The crease in her cheek from a small smile. Her mouth. Reading, seeing, the way he always did it. She wondered what he saw there this time: the healing or the horror that came before it. A victim or a survivor – or the peace that had arrived since she’d found some answers.
‘So, ah …’ Kate glanced back and forth between them as though she wasn’t sure if she should interrupt. ‘What’s your news, Aiden?’
He took another second to refocus. ‘I was at the hearing this morning. Hugh Talbotson was remanded in custody. His lawyer didn’t enter a plea.’
A day and a half after Jax shot him and while he was hooked to drips and oxygen, Hugh was officially charged with a string of offences in relation to the abduction and attempted murder of Miranda Jack. Other charges were being considered, involving the destruction of evidence and conspiracy to murder, but the police were holding off on that for the moment.
‘Bastard,’ Kate said.
‘Was he in court?’ Jax asked.
‘Yeah, he was there,’ Aiden said. ‘In a wheelchair and looking like he’d been dragged from a coffin, but the judge deemed him well enough to be transferred to the prison hospital.’
Jax’s first bullet shattered Hugh’s collarbone, the second nicked an artery in his thigh. He would’ve bled to death in the paddock if Aiden and a convoy of police hadn’t been two minutes down the road. Not bad considering she’d been aiming for Hugh’s torso, hadn’t fired a gun in years and had just driven into a tree. It helped that she’d waited until he was almost on top of her. Any further away and the bullets would’ve gone high or wide – and she’d be dead.
‘I hope he gets a staph infection and rots,’ Kate said.
Jax gave Kate’s shoulder a brief rub. Death and deception were a tough mix to deal with.
‘That’s not all.’ Aiden aimed a look in Jax’s direction. ‘And this is off the record. It’s just for the two of you.’
Jax mimed a zipper across her lips. ‘Done.’
‘I was informed today that a task force is being set up to investigate a connection between the Nina Torrence murder and Dominic Escott.’
It seemed obvious to Jax that Escott was involved. Brendan had written the boss was getting paranoid and the boss had the cash. Her guess was that Nina never saw him after the party, that the decision to have her killed was already made when Brendan left her with Hugh. It had to be why Hugh was there for ‘the drop’. Jax’s photos of Brendan’s letter could be used as evidence – but Brendan hadn’t named him and conjecture didn’t hold up in court. A task force was good news.
‘Was it Nina’s sister’s claims?’ Jax asked.
Alison Meyers went public with Nina’s affair a week after the murder. She confirmed that Nina and Escott had been in a relationship for ten years, that he and Nina stayed with Alison and her family at their holiday home on numerous occasions, and he was the father of Nina’s ten-week foetus. None of which implicated Escott as a killer or conspirator. Except Alison also claimed that when she talked to her sister the morning before the murder, Nina told her she was meeting Escott later in the day to announce her pregnancy, and that this time he ‘wouldn’t dare’ not leave his wife. It wasn’t proof of Escott’s involvement but it raised questions about motive and what Nina had over him.
‘Not just Alison,’ Aiden said. ‘A certain state government MP allegedly made a couple of quiet calls to police headquarters suggesting his son was the victim of a vendetta and it might prove embarrassing for the police if it was taken seriously.’ He raised one eyebrow, smiled a little. ‘Cops don’t like being told what not to investigate.’
David Escott might have difficulty keeping anything quiet, Jax thought, if the rumours were right about an Independent Commission Against Corruption inquiry finally getting off the ground.
Hugh’s involvement in Nina’s murder was still under investigation. He was being as noncommittal with the cops as he’d been with Jax, but the police were building a case, some of which included Jax’s statement about her encounter with him and the photos of Brendan’s note. It might be a while before charges were laid but Hugh wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe a conviction for that murder would help to quell some of Kate’s anger – it was the reason Brendan was dead.
For Jax, there were pieces of the Brendan puzzle that would only ever be conjecture: the missiles and helicopter he’d worried about, the phone hang-ups to Kate, how he got the gun, why he was the last-minute choice of bodyguard for Nina that night. But just knowing the rest had been enough to calm the loud, compulsive circuit of questions in her head. Even the ones about Nick. The psychologist she was seeing suggested the obsessiveness was more about Jax than her husband, the theory being that her search for answers was a search for herself – the person she was without Nick. And not getting anywhere made her feel like a failure without him.
Okay, the theory had merit – but Jax still had questions. She was Miranda Jack: what was the point without them?
There were more people on the deck now and Kate was kissing cheeks and calling Jax over. Aiden caught her elbow as she started to move.
‘Are you staying long?’ he asked.
‘No. I promised Zoe I’d be home to say goodnight. Are you going back to work?’
‘I’m done for the day. Thought I could walk you to your car. I parked behind you.’
‘Think I might get lost?’
‘Can’t trust you walking the streets on your own.’
The last time she’d been out on her own, he’d needed a helicopter to find her. The last time he’d walked her to her car, it had been … complicated, messy. According to Tilda, it could be like that with handsome men. ‘I won’t leave without saying goodbye.’
She met more of Brendan’s army mates. Kate introduced her to Anna, the best friend who’d been in Wales, telling them she wanted to have them both over for lunch sometime soon. Suzanne May cornered Jax at the bar, wanting to know what her senior colleague
was like in his uni days. Jax still didn’t remember Aiden back then – either testament to his surveillance skills or evidence of his minimal partying – but she spun a yarn about smart girls lining up for the only hot guy on campus who could really, seriously discuss Freud. Aiden could untangle that one.
Half an hour later, she found him on the deck watching the surf. Joining him at the railing, she followed a crest of foam as it made its way to the shore. As soon as her ribs could handle it, she was taking a plunge out there – she wanted to, for herself and Zoe. ‘Time for that walk?’
‘Ready when you are.’ He smiled but there was something serious in his eyes.
It felt the same as it had both times before – hot, humid, Aiden at her side. Except she wasn’t frightened or neurotic this time. Maybe it would lead to better choices, or a smoother handling of the aftermath.
‘Would you have a problem being included in a story about Brendan Walsh?’ she asked.
‘I thought your article was about PTSD.’
‘It is. I’m not talking about that. I got a call from a publisher yesterday – she asked if I was interested in writing a book.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
It was no surprise the publisher had been able to track her down. The media had gone nuts with rumour and theories on what had actually happened to put Jax in a car with two different gunmen in less than a week. The only upside was that she’d lost her previous title and was now referred to as ‘motorway carjack victim, Miranda Jack’.
She’d made a start on the feature she’d pitched to Russell – a long piece about soldiers and the invisible injuries many bring home, and the far-reaching cost of their pain. It felt like the right thing to do for Brendan: information instead of another replay. The idea of a book, though, had lit a flame she thought was extinguished. A desire to write, really write; to bury herself in words and meaning, to bring some depth and truth to Brendan.
‘Can I quote you?’ she asked Aiden as she stopped beside her car.
He made like he was thinking about it. ‘Only the good stuff.’
‘That’ll limit me to a couple of lines.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ He shucked her on the shoulder.
It felt nice, fun, relaxed. She needed more of that. ‘About the last time we did this beside my car …’
‘Hmm?’
‘Who did you call as I was leaving?’
He thought for a second. ‘Suzanne May.’
‘You told your detective constable you kissed me?’
‘No, I told her to run Hugh Talbotson’s name through the computer.’
‘Oh. Good call.’ He’d told her the rest while he was sitting beside her hospital bed late on the night she was admitted – and how assumptions and separate investigations had kept the connections hidden between Brendan and Nina and Hugh.
Aiden hadn’t known about Brendan’s job as Nina’s bodyguard until Kate told him and he’d called the Homicide unit in Sydney afterwards with the information. There was a discussion about the dates of Christmas parties he’d attended with her and the more recent timeframes and crime scenes. There’d been nothing to link Brendan’s event to Nina’s murder: she was killed in the early hours of Sunday and the carjacking was a day and a half later on the other side of the city. And Kate said Brendan had only done a few shifts for Nina Torrence; a doctor claimed he suffered a psychotic break, and Brendan never mentioned the names Nina or Hugh. There’d been no reason to assume his ‘guns and missiles’ and people wanting to pick him off had anything to do with the death of a socialite solicitor.
Other pieces of the puzzle also misled detectives on both cases. The extra shift Brendan mentioned to Kate was presumed to be with Secure Force, which had been trying to crack down on assignment-swapping between staff. The Homicide unit looked in other directions for the man who drove Nina to the party. The indistinct image of Brendan taken that night hadn’t been singled out by police or shown to Aiden, who might have recognised him.
Hugh Talbotson was one of a list Aiden had slated for interview as part of the coroner’s inquiry into Brendan’s death. When Hugh was initially unavailable, there was no urgency to chase him down. It was Jax’s account of meeting him at the Walsh house and their discussion over coffee that piqued Aiden’s curiosity. Suzanne May’s computer check led to a connection with the Nina Torrence investigation: Hugh was listed as ‘personal security advisor’ for Dominic Escott. He’d never been a bodyguard or driver for either Nina or Escott.
A hit on the fingerprinting from Jax’s car and Tilda’s house raised questions – one set was at both scenes and was ex-military. It didn’t directly connect Hugh, but Aiden wondered about Jax’s Afghanistan theory. His first phone calls to her that Friday morning were to warn her off talking to Hugh.
Then a link: Talbotson, Brendan and the man with the fingerprints had fought in the desert together. Aiden didn’t know what that meant, but when he couldn’t reach Jax, he thought she might’ve figured it out and asked the wrong person the right questions.
It was Kate who told him about Brendan’s phone. She’d been anxious and upset thinking about what Jax might have found; Hugh persuaded her it would be better if he collected it and screened it first. That piece of information made Aiden hit the alarm. It wasn’t until Deanne explained what they’d found inside the mobile cover that he started to put it together. Too late to stop Hugh getting in Jax’s car – not too late to realise what was happening.
‘So, about the last time we were here,’ Jax said.
Aiden smiled. ‘Hmm?’
‘I didn’t explain it properly.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
Her fingers inched towards him, found the warmth of his palm. ‘I was thinking we could try again.’
His hand closed around hers but he didn’t take the cue. Instead, his eyes moved over her face and seemed to stall: undecided, maybe unconvinced.
Jax wasn’t that girl from uni and she wasn’t the one from two weeks ago. She was somewhere in between, still learning where exactly, only knowing she wanted to move forward, not stand in one spot. So she closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his.
For half a second, he didn’t move, then his arm slid around her waist, his mouth softened, deepened, kissed her back. But there was hesitance in it – and in his eyes when she stepped back.
‘See, I didn’t fall apart,’ she tried.
He took a breath, held it as though he didn’t know how to say it.
She did it for him. ‘It’s okay. I understand. I’ll just –’
‘No.’ His grip tightened on her hand when she tried to pull away. ‘I want this. I wanted it fifteen years ago. But …’ He ran his teeth over his bottom lip. ‘I’ve got something for you. You should see it before …’ He cocked his head at the car parked behind hers.
What would make her say, Whoa, buddy, I’m not going there? ‘You got a body in there?’
‘No, it’s …’ He kept hold of her hand as he took her to the back of his car and lifted the lid. Three document boxes, side-by-side, unlabelled.
A pulse pumped in her throat. ‘What are they?’ Not waiting for the go-ahead, she lifted the top on the closest one. It was full of files, stacked upright, front to back. ‘What are they?’ she asked again, her voice tight, fingers already tugging at the first folder.
‘Your husband’s documents. Everything of Nick Westing’s that Homicide kept. His phone and computer have to stay in evidence but whatever was downloaded is there. You can’t have the originals or notes from the investigation but I thought you could do something with this.’
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t take her eyes off the boxes. She reached out and squeezed Aiden’s hand, hoped he understood it was heart-tearing gratitude. Tears filled her eyes as she threw the lids off the other boxes, running her palms over hundreds of pages as though she might sense Nick in them. Aiden waited silently while she perched on the edge of the boot, pulled random folders, flipped
through their contents. Stories and research, photocopies of Nick’s diary and handwritten notes. She swatted at free-flowing tears so they didn’t drop and smudge the words – and for the moment, she had no questions. Just a hunger to read it all.
‘You okay?’ Aiden finally asked.
Jax pushed a folder back into its box, stood and hugged him. Five minutes ago, she’d kissed him, had allowed herself to think about where it might lead. Now Nick was here with them. She stepped away. ‘Thank you.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I … I’m …’ She shook her head. ‘It’s Nick.’
‘That’s why I wanted you to see it first.’
She nodded, grateful for much more than just the documents. He understood her need to find out – maybe he had boxes like this of his own. And he knew it would be like this, that she’d need to back away, and he did it anyway. ‘Thank you.’
‘Give me a call when you’ve got some questions.’
‘About Nick?’
‘About anything.’
She smiled. ‘Drinks and questions?’
‘We could mix it up, make it food and conversation sometimes. When you’re ready.’
‘There’s a lot to read. It might be a while.’
‘Try not to make it fifteen years.’
‘It’s like police work, you’ll need patience. But you’re good at that. Give it a while.’
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to everyone in the team at Random House Australia, and especially my publisher Bev Cousins for listening to my garbled, half-formed ideas on this one and trusting that I’d find a way to the end.
Thanks also to my agent Clare Forster, and to Kate Cooper, Rebecca Ritchie and Anoukh Foerg, for championing my words.
Sam Findley once again provided much appreciated research assistance, time and discussion – thanks, Sam. Thanks also to Michele Oshan and Wendy James for reading drafts, helping me sift through ideas and sharing their experience – and for the coffee and wine that went with it. And to Cath Every-Burns for using her holiday time to read in stereo and compare notes across our bows – it made all the difference to Jax.