What’s with all that?
Ice. Wedged between her two friends, where before their friendship had been warm and fun.
Seth squeezed her hand one last time before following Georgie, as if he sensed she’d want information from Chase, and more, Chase wouldn’t cough up with a reporter present.
Her gaze shadowed Georgie. What had changed the past few days? Or had it started earlier, with those glances back in the van? As if she believed something was going on with Jayda and Chase. She should know better. Surely Chase would have set her straight?
She shook her head. She was being overly sensitive again.
Much as Georgie’s actions and their implications needled, her leaving was an opportunity she wouldn’t let pass. ‘Any progress on the case?’
Chase’s mouth opened, then clamped, his gaze darting beyond her left shoulder.
‘I wouldn’t catch you pumping the team for information, would I, Thomasz?’ Hackett stormed up and inserted himself between them.
He turned to Chase. ‘Liaise with the uniforms. I want statements from everyone—neighbours, shop owners, passers-by, security footage. No stone unturned, understand?’
An apologetic look was all she won before Hackett’s dictates saw Chase scuttle away to do his bidding.
‘How’re you going?’ The gruffness of her boss’s voice was the only give-away that veiled emotion might lurk below.
‘I’d be a darn sight better if I knew where you were at in the case.’
His shoulders stiffened. She’d never questioned him so openly before—no one dared. And if she hadn’t just suffered a loss, she didn’t doubt she’d be receiving a right royal chewing-out about now.
The idea bothered her a great deal less than it had in the past.
‘We’re following up on—’
‘Not the drivel you tell the public. I want the real stuff.’
The beady brown of his gaze narrowed. ‘And if I believed you wouldn’t rush off on your own private crusade, perhaps I’d consider it.’
Seth’s arm slid round her waist as he returned to her side, and the warmth of that gesture made her throat thicken.
‘She was my sister.’
‘I know.’ Hackett scrubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. ‘Regulations are regulations, and I won’t have you within a flea’s butt of anything to do with the Night Terror.’
‘What if I promised to stay away?’
‘What if I told you someone requested cold-case evidence be tested for DNA?’ His squint was probing, accusatory, leaving her with no room for retreat.
‘Anyone farts near my case and I know it. Remember that for future reference.’ The glare in his gaze lessened. ‘What makes you think they’ll find something?’
No sense denying what Hackett already knew. And maybe sharing would soften him enough to share back.
‘The hydrogen peroxide. Why change MO when you’ve been so meticulous in the past, unless it’s to mask something that never needed masking before?’
His nod was Hackett-speak for ‘well done’ and his expression was almost paternal before the lines on his face cut away any semblance of humanity.
‘Come by the station, give your statement, then go home and rest for the week and a half you have left. I don’t expect to see or hear from you until then.’
How could she get it so very wrong? There was no softening stone.
With an awkward pat to her arm, and a nod to Seth, Hackett turned and barked at a uniform leaning casually against the door of his car.
‘He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?’
‘He’s just doing his job.’ There was a snap to her voice she couldn’t define. She didn’t know why she was defending Hackett to Seth. All it achieved was the drop of his hand from her waist and a distance that made her body shiver.
Seth rubbed his hands together as if he too felt the cold. ‘How long until I get my car back?’
‘How long is a piece of string?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Thought you’d appreciate the irony.’
‘I’d appreciate a set of wheels more. What do we do now?’
‘My car’s still in evidence and nowhere near roadworthy.’ She swallowed against the constriction in her throat. ‘We’ll use Bec’s.’
The silence was almost as unbearable as the thought of sitting in the psychedelic pink Beetle without her sister beside her. But if using the car meant they were mobile enough to continue investigating . . .
‘We’ll pick it up on the way to the station.’
That stupid Godfather line barked from his back pocket and he extracted his phone. Eyes narrowed, he returned what must have been a text with one of his own, then replaced the mobile.
‘Think we can get a lift from one of your cronies?’
‘We’ll take a cab.’ Not that she didn’t trust her team. Rather, it wasn’t necessary they know her every move. ‘Can you call? My mobile’s in dire need of medical attention.’ She waved the shattered lump of plastic. Yes, it still worked, but the screen needed an intimate encounter with a roll of tape.
He extracted his mobile again and began to dial.
Spice filled her nostrils. She turned as Chase’s palm cupped her elbow to guide her away. ‘I thought you hated reporters.’
She edged her arm from his grasp. ‘The scum-sucking ones, yes.’
‘But not the macho, model-like ones.’ Her partner’s narrowed scrutiny flicked towards Seth whose keen, directed gaze was eating up the distance, and her.
She wouldn’t discuss Seth with Chase, or the fact they were working together. Not when there was no guarantee that what she said wouldn’t go further.
‘Seth’s a friend.’
‘A very close friend from the looks of it.’
Her heartbeat stumbled as she glanced again at the man whose gun-metal gaze even now was melting her knee ligaments. ‘I’m not sure that’s any of your business.’
‘Be careful, Jayda. You don’t know this guy from Adam. Who knows what he wants?’
She lifted her chin. ‘I do. And I’m absolutely fine with it.’
His jaw clenched. ‘He’s not right for you.’
‘You have no idea what’s right for me.’
Damn. She should have bit her tongue. She bit it now. Or was it more a case of eating humble pie? No good could come from severing her already tenuous link to the case. Unfortunately Chase was it.
‘Congrats on snagging lead on the case.’
His smile was distant and not as steadfast as it had been in the past. ‘Thanks, but you know I’d rather have you back than the promotion.’
What made her doubt his sincerity? The tone in his voice? The way he avoided her gaze when he said the words? The same way Liam had never looked her in the eye when he said he cared. A mark of untruths.
Rubbing his wrist, Chase glanced over her shoulder, then inclined towards her, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. ‘We found nothing of interest in your car, but we’re following some leads in relation to your—to the last death.’
He cleared his throat, dropped his hand to his side when he noticed her watching. ‘We sent the letter to forensics. Seems the paper is of the home-made variety, constructed from a mix of bleached newspaper and toilet paper. And the glue used to affix the letters is a methyl cellulose derivative. A chemical powder, which, when mixed with water, is most often used in repairing delicate artwork or the spines of antique books.’
‘Durant!’
Chase’s entire body jolted. He winced, glanced over her shoulder again, before reaching out to shakily squeeze her arm. ‘I’ll see you at the station. We’re going to catch this guy, I promise.’
Her gaze dipped to his bandage. ‘How’s your hand?’
Snatching it back, he shoved it into his pocket, his eyes darting to her left ear. ‘It’s mending.’
Shakespeare’s words resonated through her mind as she watched a man she no longer knew walk away.
The man
doth protest too much, methinks.
She needed the hike up the stairs like she needed the headache that accompanied it. But the ‘out of order’ sign taped securely over the lift doors left her with little choice.
If she’d wanted exercise, she would have hit the gym.
Pain sliced through her chest at the thought of gymming alone.
Or maybe not.
Head down, she trudged behind Seth, craving the solitude of her apartment and a long, hot bath to soak away the stench of the past hour. More than that, she wished for a re-enactment of Groundhog Day, to wake up to a fresh start—Bec alive, her parents living happily ever after and no OPI investigation. A perfect world.
If only dreams really could come true.
She didn’t notice the wall of muscle in front had stopped until it was too late. She jumped backwards before temptation took over and she lost herself in a way she shouldn’t. ‘What—’
‘Who’s that?’
She side-stepped in time to see a tall man in a dark grey suit push himself away from the wall outside her apartment and start walking towards them.
‘I have no idea.’
Not entirely true. She had some, she just hoped she was wrong.
‘Detective Thomasz?’
The voice rang bells. Loud. Clear. Resonating. But she asked the question anyway. ‘And you are?’
‘Detective Symonds.’ He flashed a badge. Her heart did that sinking thing again—something it was doing a lot lately. ‘From the OPI.’
‘This isn’t a good time, Detective.’
‘It very rarely is.’ His jaw was set, uncompromising, a perfect match to the grit in his brown, almost black eyes as they narrowed on her. ‘I’ve left several messages on your mobile.’
‘And as you can tell, it’s seen better days.’ She held the shattered, less than healthy piece of metal up for him to see.
The man barely glanced at her phone. Instead, he indicated at her door. ‘Can we go inside?’
When she hesitated, the grit in his eyes turned to steel. ‘Or if you prefer, we can do this at headquarters.’
She traded stare for stare, but his was invincible. And she had no strength left to draw on.
Avoiding the question in Seth’s eyes, she brushed past the other man and jabbed her key into the lock. ‘You’d better come in then.’
The door swung open. Before she could form the words to tell Seth it was time he left, he’d slipped past, cutting across her living room floor. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
She closed the front door and dumped her bag and jacket on the dining room table. Symonds didn’t wait for an invitation. He walked straight into her living room and sank into her high-backed armchair.
He opened his black briefcase and glanced up. ‘Not for me. This won’t take long.’
Seth disappeared into her kitchen, a place he’d pretty much made his own. He should be gone. She wanted him gone. And yet she didn’t. Because his presence meant she wouldn’t have to face this interview alone. Not that she needed Seth. That wasn’t the case at all. But living in each other’s pockets over the past few days meant that he’d already seen and learned so much. This was just one more gem to add to his growing stash. And news this juicy, well, he’d be bound to find out sooner or later.
Her gut clenched.
He seemed determined to stay, come hell or high water, so why not make the best of it? And trust he’d remain true to his word, that whatever was discussed wouldn’t find its way to print.
She perched on the edge of the couch opposite Symonds.
He withdrew a mini recorder and placed it on the coffee table between them. ‘Before we start, I must warn you, Detective Thomasz, I intend to interview you in relation to your father, former Detective Dean Thomasz. You are not obliged to say or do anything, but anything you say or do may be recorded and given in evidence. Consider yourself sworn in and think very carefully before you reply with anything other than the truth.’
Her jaw stiffened. ‘You haven’t done your homework, Detective. If you had, you’d know I never tell anything but the truth.’
The brown of his eyes contained a coldness she’d never before attributed to such a warm colour. ‘That seems a good enough place to start.’
The aroma of freshly perked coffee entered the room. Seth passed her one of two inspirational mugs—part of a gift set from Bec. She wrapped her fingers round it, allowing the heat to work at thawing the frost.
The yellow smiley face on the ceramic seemed to mock her, along with the black printed words of Oscar Wilde, ‘be yourself; everyone else is already taken’.
She would have laughed if she wasn’t so damn nervous and angry and scared. Her father’s future and reputation were in her hands, and those of the man before her. And she doubted Symonds cared a tick about destroying a venerated career over a bout of unsubstantiated slander and supposition. A witch hunt. Because that’s exactly what this had to be.
Unthinkable that her father would act outside of the law he regarded so highly. The cushions dipped as Seth dropped onto the couch. Her body tilted towards him, his thigh firm against hers, radiating heat along the length of her body.
Symonds flipped the cover of a notebook, pen poised. The man was determined not to miss a thing. Although what he thought she knew, or should know, she hadn’t a clue.
Her father had been vague about the accusations. Almost deliberately so. She’d assumed it was to protect her.
Tentative doubts nudged at her thoughts. Was it her father who needed protection?
Symonds checked the recorder, angling the microphone her way. ‘Shall we start?’ He didn’t wait for agreement, and she gave none.
With a nod, he launched straight to the crux of his presence in her tiny, tidy apartment. ‘Detective Thomasz, tell me what you know about the Highbury Case.’
25
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The lock clicked beneath Seth’s fingers as he closed the door behind the sourest man he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Jayda was still slumped against the couch cushions, the awry halo of curls framing an expression that said she’d had enough.
‘It wasn’t something you needed to know.’ A weary hand pushed a twist of red back from her face.
Much as he knew he shouldn’t push, the irritation which had grown and ballooned throughout the interview spurred him to press on. ‘Your father wasn’t spring cleaning, was he?’ He scrubbed a hand through his hair. ‘You must think I’m a damn fool.’
‘This has nothing to do with you.’
‘Really? Claims of evidence-tampering by a previous key investigator in the Night Terror case isn’t something I should know about?’
She reddened. ‘Those allegations are phony and have no bearing on this case, now or back then.’
‘And you know that, how?’
‘My father is innocent.’
‘You should have told me. If for no other reason than perhaps I could have helped. We’re working together, remember?’
‘Not on this.’ She stood and grabbed the two empty mugs from the coffee table. ‘I think you should go, Seth.’
‘This conversation’s not finished.’
‘It is from my end.’
He fought against the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake. Instead, he gritted his teeth. ‘Tomorrow we re-examine all the testimonies and evidence for anything that could have deluded the investigation.’
‘If you want to chase red herrings, that’s your deal.’
His phone chimed and he glanced at the reminder on the screen. Damn. That was the last thing he needed right now.
He looked up, and encountered Jayda’s razer-tipped glare. Then again, perhaps distraction was exactly what he needed. ‘I’d stay and argue the point, but I’ve got a drinks date in half an hour.’
He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed for the door. ‘Just for the record, I don’t believe your father did it either. But where there’s smoke, you’re bound to find some
guy holding a match. So, if he didn’t, who did?’
He twisted the handle and pulled, not waiting to see if any of his bait had caught. ‘I’ll be back at nine sharp tomorrow. Make sure you’re ready.’
Her focus should have been on Symonds’ interview or Seth’s belief in her father’s innocence, but all she could think was he has a date.
She wasn’t stupid enough to believe Seth had mentioned it for any reason other than to bug her. And she hated that his plan had worked.
Her hands gripped the empty mugs as she made her way to the kitchen.
He’d never mentioned a girlfriend—in fact, had specifically told her he didn’t have one—and he wasn’t married. At least, he’d never mentioned a wife. He had no ring or ring-line on any of his fingers, but that wasn’t a sure-fire indicator. Not all married men wore rings.
Nothing in his background check had flagged a partner or wife. She shook her head and dumped the mugs into the sink.
What did it matter who his date was? Who he was seeing and how he felt about them? Seth seeing another woman only served to make things between them less complex. He wasn’t available to her, even if she changed her mind.
The grumble from her stomach had nothing to do with hunger. How dare he pursue her when he was already taken?
Hands operating on autopilot, she readied the percolator and set it on the stove. Next the milk went into the microwave to heat.
Her fist pressed hard against the cold bench tiles. How dare he kiss her! And call himself ‘a friend’, when all the while he was lying and cheating, not only to her, but the other woman. Or was she ‘the other woman’?
She would not be the other woman.
Thank heavens for her rules. She’d nearly given in. Had wanted him to kiss her again, and more. Lucky for Seth he hadn’t, or there’d be even more fuel for her anger right now.
And this time she had her gun.
The thought almost made her smile. She pushed it back, along with any thoughts of him, before she let loose, tossed her mug at the wall and screamed.
Lethal in Love Page 18