Not now.
The picture was one she didn’t recognise, but it was familiar. Six hours ago she’d stood in this very spot, dressed in her pre-soiled white tee and jeans, speaking to Will on her mobile, her expression animated.
The realisation came in stages, a gradual thud, thud, thud as comprehension unfurled, like a spool of carpet unrolling down a set of stairs, step by step.
Someone had snapped a photo, here, this very morning. Then they’d waltzed into her bedroom and slipped the print into her frame.
But it wasn’t the photo which made her reach for the gun in her purse before reaching for her mobile. A thousand needles pricked the back of her neck as her eyes flitted in every conceivable direction.
Words covered the glass in scrawled blood-red.
Peek-a-boo, I’m watching you.
31
Ten. Hidden. Cameras. Ten. Scattered throughout her apartment. Watching. Filming. Recording her every action.
Breakfast roiled, churning in her stomach.
Jayda jumped from the couch and ran for the bathroom, dodging the forensics officer dusting for prints he’d never find. She surrendered the remainder of her stomach contents to the toilet.
Sinking to her knees, she clung to the cold, ceramic bowl as if it might bring her some semblance of stability.
How long had they been watching?
Her body shook hot then cold. She wrapped her arms round her chest and closed her eyes. Her breathing came in sharp, shuddering gasps as she tightened her grip and rocked back and forth. But the thoughts refused to stop.
Every movement, every day; getting dressed, undressed, eating breakfast, taking a bath, kissing Seth . . . every single thing she’d done . . . for how long?
‘Jayda, are you okay?’
Her arms tensed, then dropped. Georgie’s voice was as soft and warm as the towel she pressed into her hands. She opened her eyes, the return of sight and her friend’s presence reestablishing a sense of time and place.
Wiping her mouth, she pushed herself up. Only then did she realise how shaky her legs were.
If not for her friend’s grip, she’d have tumbled headfirst into the toilet. And fatalistic or not, she wondered almost absently if that would have been a fitting end to the day.
Georgie peered at her with an overflow of worry and compassion. How did she answer?
Was she okay? No.
Would she ever be okay in this apartment? She very much doubted it.
Still, that wasn’t what Georgie wanted, or expected, to hear. Who asked the ‘are you okay?’ question with any real expectation of an honest answer?
Jayda nodded and tried to smile, the bend of her lips unnatural and forced. ‘I’m fine, now. It was my lunch that had the problem.’ Somehow the nonchalance in her words lent strength to her body, where pandering to her emotional turmoil hadn’t.
Straightening her shoulders, she grasped Georgie’s hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze before turning to the sink. Her top was still soaking, but she ran the water anyway, washing every bit of grime and emotion from her face, so that when she turned back to face her friend, she didn’t feel as if her entire world was tumbling before her eyes.
Work was her only solace.
‘Have they found anything to indicate who installed them?’
Georgie shook her head, her shiny brown bob dancing about her shoulders. ‘Nothing. But they’ve removed them all, and lab analysis might reveal something. Do you think it’s the Night Terror?’
‘It doesn’t fit his MO, but neither did Bec or my car.’ The thought of not one but two psychos gunning for her wasn’t an idea she relished. ‘What about the cameras themselves?’
‘High-tech. The same calibre used by the Australian army and secret services.’
For the second time that day, Seth’s words rapped purposefully against her convictions.
You can’t possibly be that naïve.
The man knows computers. He’s obsessed with you.
How do you know Eric didn’t steal your money?
‘There’s someone I think we should look at.’
Georgie stepped back, her perfectly-plucked brows drawn in tight. ‘Who?’
Vibrations in her pocket had her snatching her mobile out only to discover it wasn’t the call she’d been hoping for. She answered anyway. ‘This isn’t a good time, Dad.’
‘Then I’ll be quick. Buddy found your hacker.’
The lead in her heart faded. She raised her index finger to Georgie. ‘Who?’
‘Know an Eric Townsend?’
The lead returned. How could she have got it so wrong? When her gut and her background check had indicated he was clean? Mind you, no flag on a check only meant he’d never been caught. It didn’t guarantee he wasn’t a crook. Or a killer.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very. Supposedly this Eric gave a real chase, rerouting his feed through a series of dummy IPs. And even though he gained root-level access to your account, he got sloppy, removed all but one log entry. That’s how Buddy located him.’ Air whooshed from her father’s lungs. The sound of relief. She wished she could do the same. He gave a throat-clearing cough. ‘Make sure you call the Feds.’
She met Georgie’s worried gaze. ‘I will.’ Her fingers dug into her forehead in an effort to ease the tension. A hopeless task. ‘Thanks.’
She dropped the phone back into her pocket. ‘The man we’re after is Eric Townsend. He’s a neighbour who lives in apartment twenty-one, two doors down.’
‘And we should look at him because . . .’
‘He’s ex-ASIS. Was head of their IT and technical division until he was injured in Afghanistan. And this morning he hacked into my bank account.’
Georgie knew better than to question Jayda’s sources, or intuition. She’d seen both in action before. ‘Let’s get a search warrant.’
They made for the living room and the bustle of activity that would yield nothing. The Night Terror didn’t leave clues unless they were deliberate and premeditated and fundamental to his demented plan. Forensics would find nothing he didn’t want them to find.
They’d found Eric—was he a smokescreen or a lead?
Where did he fit in? It was difficult to get her head around. Unless he was the killer? And that didn’t make sense, or seem even remotely possible.
But then, none of what had happened the past week did.
Georgie snapped closed the cover of her mobile. ‘It’ll be here within the hour.’
The waiting game wasn’t something she’d ever done well.
Sixty minutes. Every. Second. Dragged.
She sat. Waited. Talked with Georgie about the case. Got nothing she and Seth hadn’t already uncovered.
Georgie left to make a call.
She stared at her mobile, finger poised over Seth’s number, only to clear the screen and return the phone to her pocket. Much as she wanted to call, what could she say? Talking and bleeding hearts had never been her thing.
She bit her nail until there was no more to bite. Then she moved onto the next.
Knotted claws snatched at her chest and squeezed.
What was Eric’s connection to Madden? Were hacker and killer one and the same, or were there two offenders? Two distinct crimes, coincidental, unrelated? Had Eric trashed her car? Did he have access to methyl cellulose? Did he have some vendetta against her? Her family?
The warrant arrived, preventing the spiral of her thoughts from driving her deeper into craziness.
Chase was there, as was Sam, Georgie, the entire Pacu task force. Including Hackett, who instructed her to stay in the apartment. Reading the taciturn in her boss’s expression, she didn’t bother to argue. Nothing but delays would come from fighting him.
So, she remained on her couch—attacking that second nail to stem nerves she’d never known she had—on tenterhooks to discover whether the man she shared an apartment block with was Bec’s killer.
More waiting. It seemed eternal, when in reali
ty only ten minutes passed before Georgie returned.
Her friend’s palm felt cold and tense against the back of her hand as she spoke.
They’d knocked, but when there was no reply, they tried the handle only to find the door unlocked. Room by room, they’d cleared Eric’s apartment, until they reached the study.
Georgie’s voice trailed off. Then her friend blinked and swallowed, her hand tightening as she tore at yet another strand of Jayda’s gradually dwindling control.
‘Eric’s dead.’
Three stabs to the abdomen and one fatal slash to the throat. Juliana Madden’s death all over.
This was no coincidence. And she told Teddy so, before he packed up the body and transported it back to his lab.
‘You can’t stay here, Jayda.’
She stared at Chase. ‘Where else am I supposed to go?’
Her gaze swept over the room, empty but for the two of them and the storm of fingerprint powder over the once spotless surfaces of her furniture and window panes. Tumbles had long since fled with the influx of her team. He wasn’t one to stick around with strangers.
Chase cleared his throat, the action dragging her gaze back to him. He seemed reluctant to leave her, and much as she dreaded being alone, she craved peace more.
‘How about your dad’s place?’
He seemed oblivious to what was going on there, and she wasn’t about to change that. She moved to stare out the window, wrapping her arms round her body to fight back the sudden wash of cold in the room. ‘It’s not possible right now.’
‘A friend, then?’
Most of her friends lived in the building. What was the point in moving when she’d be right next door?
‘Not really.’
‘You can stay with me.’
‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.’
A shiver took up residence inside that she doubted would ever leave. She felt dirty, violated in a way she’d never imagined could affect her so profoundly.
But leaving the apartment wouldn’t change that. If the Night Terror was sending her messages, she needed to stay and watch and wait for him to return. A game of cat and rat. And no way was she the rodent.
‘I can’t leave you here.’ He moved to stand beside her.
‘And you can’t stay. You’re lead on the case and your job doesn’t include babysitting me.’ She kept her voice soft, but unequivocal. The offer was appreciated, but unnecessary. She. Was. Fine. ‘Has anyone spoken to Madden yet?’
He turned to her, eyes gaping, but didn’t have the gall to question how she knew. Was that guilt veiled behind his expression, that he hadn’t been the one to fill her in?
‘An interview’s set for tomorrow, late morning. And before you ask, no.’
She almost smiled at Chase’s raised hand. Maybe the time would come when he surprised her and acted outside the box. Not letting her sit in on Madden’s interview demonstrated that time wasn’t today.
‘How’d you know that was my next question?’
‘Because when you get hold of a rope you won’t stop until you’ve tugged it all the way to the end. Anyway, you have the funeral tomorrow.’
As if the tear in her heart would let her forget. ‘What’s the length of the 464B application?’
‘The maximum.’
‘Four hours leaves time for me to come after.’
‘And Hackett will have both our asses on a platter.’
She returned his wry grin. It would have been easier with Chase’s help, but either way, she’d see Madden. The wheels were already in motion.
Both prisoner and prison had approved her visit application, and in record time. She couldn’t fathom Madden’s motivation or his speedy response, and didn’t care. Whatever perverted reasons he had for agreeing, it landed her face-to-face with the only man who could give her answers regarding Bec’s death. And that fact by far outweighed any guilt for going behind the task force’s back.
‘Make sure you get a list of all Madden’s visitors over the past twenty-five years.’
‘Already on it.’ His lips drew tight. ‘I’ve organised a couple of uniforms to watch outside the building and your apartment for the next day, possibly two if I can stretch resources that far. Their names are Phillip Brandon and Barry Knight. Here are their numbers.’
She stepped back, away from his outstretched hand. ‘It’s not necessary.’
Chase pressed a scrap of paper into her palm. ‘Humour me on this. Hackett insisted. So if you have a problem . . .’
She rolled her eyes and took the paper. ‘God forbid!’
Chase’s laughter was stilted as it joined hers, but the strain around his eyes eased. ‘It’s good to see you laugh.’
‘There hasn’t been much to laugh about lately.’
‘I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.’
His eyes held regrets she knew spanned more than the week. Giving a mental shake of her head, she grasped his hand and squeezed. His palm was warm and soft, and his fingers wrapped round hers to squeeze back. He still wore the bandage, but his grip was firm, even if it did shake a little.
Emotions were getting the better of them both. Jayda swallowed. Something was going on with Chase, but whatever it was, he was a detective first and foremost. ‘Just catch this bastard.’
He nodded. And for the first time in too long, she felt they were in sync. It was a feeling she hadn’t realised she’d missed.
Chase hesitated. ‘I asked tech to leave a spectrum analyser so you can scan the apartment for hidden cameras or bugs.’ He indicated towards what looked like a blue TV control on living room table. ‘Call me if you need anything.’
She held up her phone. ‘You’re on speed dial.’
He leaned in, their embrace awkward, when once it had been the most natural thing in the world. God, she hated that one night’s idiocy had ruined their friendship.
Sex. Even in thought the word sounded tawdry. It tainted, spoiling the most innocent of actions. And it destroyed, ruthlessly. Look at her parents. Her father’s affair. Alleged affair.
Best to stay clear of it. Not that she had much choice, even in the unlikely event that she’d change her mind.
She double-locked the door behind Chase, clicking the chain into place for the first time since she’d moved in three years ago. Then she grabbed her shoulder holster and slipped it on.
With systematic intent, she walked through the apartment, double-checking all window latches and closing the blinds. An unmarked police car sat on the opposite side of the road, as obvious as a flashing neon sign. Officer number two sat outside her door.
The gesture was solicitous, but if the Night Terror wanted to get to her, a couple of cops, wherever they sat, wouldn’t deter him.
Every bone in her body dragged as if iron-clad, but she was far from ready for bed. Even further from sleep. The room resembled the aftermath of a sandstorm and for lack of a better alternative, she felt an overwhelming desire to clean.
Over the next hour and a half she eradicated all signs that her apartment had been the scene of a crime. Surfaces were dusted and sponged and scrubbed, the floors swept and vacuumed and mopped. Sleep would have been impossible in an apartment that reeked of him. Not that cleaning guaranteed sleep. It just upped the odds.
When every visible speck of dust was banished, her face reflected in every furniture surface, she fell back onto the couch in a boneless heap and surveyed the area. Her muscles screamed, but the room looked as it always looked, on any normal, routine day of the week. An easy feeling seeped into her psyche. Not quite peace, but, hell, it felt good.
The one pay-off to come from the evening, apart from the pristine condition of her apartment, was that she’d be getting her money back. Important to focus on that.
‘Not That Kind of Girl’ crooned from her pocket in gutsy, rich tones. She snatched out her phone, sliding her finger across the screen, her mind mentally finishing the lyrics.
It was time for a new ringt
one. This one cut too close, too sharp.
She’d been so sure she knew who she was, where she was at, when she’d downloaded it. Now all she knew was that she hadn’t a clue.
‘Hello?’
‘Jayda.’
Thick emotion coated her throat. ‘Seth.’
‘Are you okay?’
The flippant reassurances she’d handed Georgie and the rest of her team wouldn’t resurface. Shaking her head, she inhaled deeply, knowing she should say something. ‘You left your computer.’
Even if it was lame.
Her voice sounded weird, even to herself. Seth had to pick it.
‘I know. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Here?’ Ignoring the very clear message on his reason for returning, she scrambled up from the couch and rushed to the door, peering through the security peephole. No one stared back. ‘Where, here?’
‘Downstairs. I don’t get to come up unless you okay it with security.’
Jayda moved the blinds to see the officer and Seth in a Mexican stand-off. ‘Put him on.’
A sudden rush of impatience sent her into a bout of pacing at the front door. What was up with her heart? It was racing, erratic, for what should be no apparent reason.
‘Officer Brandon here. I have orders to clear everyone entering the building.’
‘I understand. Mr Friedin’s a friend. Please let him up.’
‘Sure thing. Have a good night, Detective.’
‘What did you tell him?’ Seth’s voice again, puffy and short of breath, as if he was running a race.
‘That you were a friend and to let you past.’
‘Oh.’ A door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps as he scaled the stairs. ‘So, today must be Wednesday.’
Her thumb and forefinger kneaded the bridge of her nose as she stared at the closed front door. ‘What do you mean? It’s Thursday.’
‘Not by my calculations.’
Another door slammed. Seconds later there was a rap on her front door. This time flinted grey eyes stared back at her through the security peephole. She unlatched, unlocked and allowed the door to swing inward.
He still looked damn good. His clothes were the same, but rumpled, as though they’d been on his body longer than the twelve or so hours he’d sported them. His chin was shadowed, his hair dishevelled and in dire need of a comb. His hands were empty. No coffee or croissants this time.
Lethal in Love Page 23