Evidence of Love

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘Thanks. Wait right here. It’s a white Holden.’

  Nick unfurled the umbrella and hurried through the downpour to the car, which was actually a block away. That was a breakthrough, first accepting a lift home and second offering her umbrella. His legs and shoes were soaked by the time he dived into the car and swung back to collect her from the hospital entrance. Would she still be there? He half expected her to have given him the slip and hailed a taxi as soon as he was out of sight but no, she waited under the overhang, a slim dark-haired figure hunched in her green coat with that gigantic bag over one shoulder. Waiting for him. He smiled. Who are you Lara Moore? Beautiful, enigmatic and prickly. A fascinating creature.

  She bundled in beside him bringing with her a scent of flowers and rain. ‘What a cloudburst.’

  ‘We’ve had enough of those lately. Bring on summer.’

  She didn’t reply, as though her one sociable remark was enough for the time being. Nick craned his neck to see round an ambulance then edged into Missenden Road. Visibility was almost zero, the roads were awash but some clowns drove as though they had X-ray vision and divine protection.

  ‘Lara, I wasn’t using you,’ he said when they were safely across busy Parramatta Road and heading for Birchgrove. ‘If Brooke hadn’t asked to see you I wouldn’t have suggested you visit.’ He added when there was no response, ‘And you called me, remember?’

  He risked a glance. Her head was turned away from him, staring out the window. This silence was becoming a tiny bit tiresome. He’d passed on Brooke’s message, Lara had accepted of her own free will. He had no spare time for playing games. ‘I wanted to help the girl and I assume you do too. If that offends your sense of…whatever it is you’re upset about, I’m sorry.’

  He stared out the windscreen, concentrating on getting them to her house in one piece. Not allowing the disappointment at her lack of receptiveness to seep into his body. She’d accepted the ride home because it was too wet to wait for the bus. She wasn’t interested in him. Fine.

  He really should be back at the station. Brooke’s case wasn’t the only one they had. An elderly woman had been mugged on her way home from the shops, her handbag stolen and her arm broken when the thug knocked her down. It was the third similar attack in ten days. Initially petty crimes but escalating in violence and bravado. And there was the home invasion where a family had been terrorised by a group of masked intruders. A mistaken address involving drugs and the perps had left once that became clear, but not before the husband had been beaten, had two fingers broken and the wife threatened and scared witless. Add five other burglaries and his small team was awash with work.

  His irritation increased the more he contemplated the case load. Did he want to become involved with a woman who had a bias against police? It was hard enough keeping any sort of relationship alive for an overworked detective even when both parties were willing. The whole thing was doomed and he was out of his mind to have contemplated any sort of connection. He’d drop Lara home and forget about her.

  He swung into her street, up her driveway and as close to the house as he could. She didn’t open the door. He waited, engine running, wipers patiently swishing rainwater from side to side.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Her head was bowed, voice subdued, but she turned suddenly and big brown eyes met his startled gaze full on. Every logical reason for immediately reversing out of the driveway fizzled into vapour.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  He switched off the engine. She was already out and running to the shelter of the porch.

  Inside she ditched her wet shoes and the umbrella in the small tiled entry foyer and padded in two-tone blue striped socks to the kitchen. Nick removed his damp jacket and hung it on the coat stand, hesitated then slipped off his own soaked loafers. To the right, double doors opened into the living room where he’d talked to her that first day. No little boy, no blocks, just a black leather lounge suite, music system, coffee table, a bookcase and a television. Stylish and comfortable.

  The door to the left was closed but was probably a bedroom, her bedroom. Stairs went up on his right but she’d placed a childproof gate at the bottom. Another door opened on the left and as he passed he glanced in to see the baby’s room, all bright colours with a basket of toys overflowing and big pictures on the walls. Opposite, the door under the stairs would be the bathroom. The whole rear of the house had been renovated to open into a family room and kitchen. Glass doors led onto the spacious garden, gloomy and grey today. The dark rectangle of earth where he’d dug for her had turned to mud.

  How could she afford this place? Did she own or rent? Won the lottery? Stop it!

  He must stop instinctively querying everything, put his detective hat away while he talked to her. She’d throw him out if he so much as hinted at an interrogation.

  Lara filled the electric jug. Nick drew out a stool and sat at a mahogany-topped bench which separated the kitchen from the family area. She set out mugs, sugar and milk, then produced a plate of homemade oatmeal biscuits.

  ‘Anzacs,’ he said with genuine delight. ‘My mum makes these.’

  ‘I don’t use the traditional recipe. Mine don’t have coconut,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it.’

  Nick bit into one. ‘Delicious. I haven’t had a proper homemade Anzac biscuit for years.’

  ‘You could bake them yourself.’ A half-smile accompanied her remark.

  Nick nodded and swallowed the remainder of the biscuit. ‘If I had the time, no doubt I could.’

  ‘Do you cook?’ She said it as though a man who could cook was a rare and endangered species.

  ‘I do. My mother said she wasn’t raising helpless boys who couldn’t look after themselves. I can also sew on a button and iron a shirt.’

  That brought the first real smile and the transformation was staggering. Just as he’d imagined, when she smiled the world glowed brighter. But as quickly as it appeared, the sunshine faded.

  ‘Will all this rain ruin my vegetables?’

  He shook his head. ‘The sun will be out tomorrow and they’ll forge ahead. The tomatoes won’t do well if we get a wet summer, though.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that kind of thing.’

  ‘City girl,’ he said covering the subtle question with a smile.

  Lara brought the teapot to the bench and poured. ‘Yes. Through and through.’ It wasn’t so hard, this chatting. If she forgot he was a cop and thought of him as an ordinary man. A friend. She didn’t have any. The realisation came like a little pinprick. Tony had made sure she didn’t cultivate friendships — not even with her girlfriends and certainly not with men. She’d got out of the habit of being ordinary, being sociable for no other reason than friendliness and innocent pleasure in someone else’s company, male or female. Ellie was the closest to a friend she had now and she was about forty years older, with John even more.

  ‘Brooke had a rough introduction to the city.’ He took another biscuit.

  ‘I wonder why she ran away.’ Similar reasons to her own, no doubt. Freedom. Salvation. Saving herself from what she saw as a slow death by boredom or suffocation by what sounded like an impossibly strict and unforgiving father.

  ‘She’s a teenager. Her mother dying may have been the trigger.’

  Lara caught Nick’s eye. A little jolt of awareness flashed and was gone. She looked away, down into her mug of tea. ‘How could her father say that — she’s dead as far as he’s concerned? ’

  Her own family may not care much about her and she never wanted to see any of them again but deep down she knew none of them wished each other dead.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ve come across all sorts.’

  ‘But she’s his child.’ She frowned trying to comprehend such hatred for your own flesh and blood. ‘Since I’ve had Petey I’ve changed my views on parents and children.’ She ran a finger along the smooth handle of the mug.

  ‘I don’t have any kids but I understand.’ Nick spoke casually
but his pulse raced. Skittish Lara was starting to relax, to accept him. She’d offered tea and biscuits, smiled, admittedly only the once, but that had opened up a world of possibilities a few minutes earlier in the car he’d deemed unattainable.

  ‘You’re good with them. With Petey.’ She closed her mouth abruptly as if she’d confided too much, had realised the conversation was veering into the personal.

  ‘I have nieces and nephews,’ he said smoothly. ‘They’re enough for me.’

  ‘In Sydney?’

  ‘Some are, some aren’t. Where’s your boy?’

  ‘Next door. Ellie’s probably stuffing him full of chocolate.’ She picked up her tea but put it down without drinking. ‘Will you catch whoever attacked her?’

  ‘We don’t have much to go on. We don’t know where she was that night or who with. If you can talk to her some more we may get some clues.’ He waited for the inevitable explosion but he had to try. Brooke may not be the only girl in danger from this vicious bastard. A date-raper who probably couldn’t get it up so preferred to punch his dates.

  She rubbed her lips together. ‘Can’t you track where she was that night?’

  ‘Only if she was seen in a nightclub or a bar. The work colleagues have no idea what she did after hours. We have her address from her employer but she lives alone in a bedsit in Annandale and the neighbours are less than useless. Only one even recognised her photo.’

  Lara didn’t respond. Nick paused. She was a decent woman. He knew instinctively she wanted to help but something was preventing her from getting too involved. It wasn’t lack of compassion, he was certain. The expression in those big brown eyes told him that much. He said, ‘If she went with this man to his apartment someone may have seen her but that could be anywhere. We have to wait for someone to come forward.’

  She raised her head. ‘That could take forever. Years.’

  ‘Yes. Unless it happens again with another girl.’

  ‘Do you think it will? The same man?’

  ‘It’s possible. He used the date rape drug on her and that usually indicates a guy who won’t stop at one. She may not be the first.’

  She hissed in air while her face grew stony. ‘He didn’t rape her though.’

  ‘Could be any number of reasons. Could be why he turns to violence. Impotence. Or he was interrupted.’

  ‘What about DNA?’

  ‘We have traces but they’re no use without someone to match it to.’

  Lara picked up the teapot but Nick shook his head. He slid off the stool. ‘I’d better go. Thanks for the tea and Anzacs.’

  A tiny smile flicked on and off. ‘Thanks for the ride home.’

  ‘No worries.’

  She followed him to the front door, slipped on her shoes and took her coat and the umbrella from the hallstand.

  ‘I have to collect Petey from next door.’

  Nick crammed his feet into damp loafers. ‘Say hello to him for me. He’s quite a character.’

  Another tiny smile.

  He stepped out onto the porch, drawing his coat around him, keys in hand ready to run for the car. Just as he was about to launch himself into the waterfall, Lara said, ‘I’ll call you if Brooke says anything useful.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘How is the poor girl?’ Ellie stepped back to allow Lara entry.

  ‘She’s all black and blue and she can’t remember anything.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘She remembered me but I’m about the only thing. She couldn’t even remember her name. She had a whack on the head.’

  Petey appeared at the other end of the hallway with a large grin. He ran to her, arms outstretched. ‘Mumumum.’

  ‘Hello darling. Time to go home.’ She squeezed the little bundle of boy.

  ‘What sort of vicious animal does that to a young girl?’ Ellie closed the door against the swirl of damp air. She took Petey’s raincoat from the hallstand.

  ‘Some men like to beat up women.’

  ‘Men!’ Ellie snorted. ‘They’re not men, they’re cowardly thugs.’

  ‘Cowdy tugs,’ crowed Petey as Lara wrestled him into his jacket. The last thing she wanted was a discussion about wife beaters.

  ‘Thanks for minding him, Ellie.’

  ‘No problem. We had fun didn’t we, sweetheart?’ Ellie bent and held his face between her palms for a kiss.

  ‘You didn’t give him chocolate, did you?’

  ‘No. Well, maybe a tiny bit.’

  ‘I love chocit,’ said Petey.

  ‘Oh Ellie!’

  ‘That’s what grandma’s are for. I don’t have my own here so Petey fills in.’

  Lara shook her head, defeated. Petey didn’t have grandparents either so who was she to deprive either of them of this pleasure? ‘I think I’ll visit her again.’

  ‘You’re a very kind person.’ Ellie placed her hand on Lara’s arm and squeezed.

  ‘Oh…I…’ Heat prickled her neck. ‘Not really. I don’t think I’m any kinder than anyone else.’

  ‘You spend time with an old chook like me, love, when you could be out with your own friends.’ Shrewd grey eyes studied her.

  Now the heat had risen to her cheeks. ‘But I like spending time with you,’ she said helplessly. Did Ellie guess the truth? There were no other friends.

  ‘Likewise. Any time you want him minded just yell.’ Ellie opened the front door and the chill damp air sashayed in and caressed their ankles. ‘I wish this rain would stop.’

  ‘Me too. Thanks, Ellie. We’ll have to run,’ Lara said to Petey. She scooted him out to the porch and pulled up his rain hood, tucking stray curls under so just his smiling chubby-cheeked face was exposed. ‘Bye-bye, Ellie.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Ellie,’ said Petey and waved.

  ***

  Nick drove back to the station house oblivious to the rain, his head filled with Lara. She’d blindsided him again. He couldn’t predict what she’d do or say and he had to admit that was part of the attraction. That and how utterly sexy she was. Even bundled in rain gear she oozed sensuality and when she smiled… Wow! A blinder.

  He parked the car. When he got out was mildly surprised to realise the rain had stopped to the point the sun was struggling to show its face between banks of thick grey cloud. He stepped straight into a puddle of course, further drenching his shoes and socks. Cursing under his breath he turned his mind to work.

  If Lara could get something of use out of Brooke it would be a terrific help. Circulating her name and photo to people living in the area hadn’t produced results so far but they wouldn’t give up. Officers were visiting every bar and club in the surrounding suburbs too. Footslogging brought results unexpectedly sometimes, but the girl herself would be the fastest way to solving the crime and nailing the bastard before he went for another innocent.

  He hoped Lara didn’t wait too long before visiting again but standing in the pouring rain wasn’t a good place to query her after her surprising statement, and given the slightest provocation she’d most likely shut down the offer. What made her so prickly? She was like an animal circling a watering hole, wary but thirsty, knowing it had to drink but unwilling to make the commitment. She’d taken a few tentative steps closer each time he’d seen her.

  He pushed through the door to the squad room, conscious of his shoes squelching on the lino.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Rob, standing with a sheaf of papers clutched against his midsection, gave him a slow up and down assessment, from his sodden feet to his wet jacket and hair. ‘Heard of raincoats? Or umbrellas?’

  Nick ignored him and the sniggers from Marie at her desk by the window and went to his own overcrowded desk. He slung his jacket over the back of his chair. Wet feet had to wait until he got home, whenever that would be. ‘Lara Moore is going to talk to Brooke again. The girl trusts her and regards her as her saviour.’

  ‘Here, Boss.’ A pair of dry sports socks landed on his desk. Marie, whippet-thin gym junkie smiled. ‘Don’t want you t
o get pneumonia.’

  She had a sports bag stuffed with spare clothes in her locker. Spent any spare hours running on a treadmill, lifting weights or doing exercise classes. Mad. All that exercise can’t be good for a person. Lara kept herself trim running a few times a week. Plus that toddler would keep her on her toes.

  ‘Thanks.’ He kicked of his shoes and peeled off the socks. Marie’s socks were a size too small and had pink trim but his feet were clammy and cold so who cared? He wiggled his toes trying to encourage blood flow. Much better and she was right, he couldn’t afford to go down sick. ‘Anything turn up yet from the house to house?’

  ‘Zip so far.’ Rob, by contrast, shunned any and every form of exercise and would drop dead from a heart attack one day, going by the rubbish food he shovelled into his long suffering body on a daily basis. Strangely, though, he didn’t put on much weight. A fact which annoyed Marie no end. Rob was rotting from the inside, she reckoned, and one day he’d implode. His mind was sharp though, and that was all that interested Nick.

  ‘What’s this Lara Moore like?’ Marie lounged in her chair, arms folded across negligible breasts. She dressed in no-nonsense slacks and predominantly pale blue shirts which did nothing for her figure. He’d never really noticed before.

  An image of Lara’s beautifully rounded body flashed into his mind. Perfectly proportioned breasts shown off by a neat waist which flared into full hips and long legs. Nick kept his tone professionally neutral. ‘Single mother, mid twenties, intelligent. Good neighbourhood. Kid is about two or three. Seems to want to help if she can.’

  ‘Nice of her to bother, plenty of people wouldn’t want to be involved.’

  ‘It’s lucky she does because she’s the only person Brooke remembers from close to the attack.’

  ‘She’s not a weirdo, is she?’ asked Rob. Nick bit back a harsh reply because he knew what Rob meant. Lara wasn’t some ghoulish voyeur getting vicarious thrills from being close to a crime and victim, an attention seeker. Quite the opposite.

  ‘No. She’s an average sort of woman.’ He silently apologised to Lara for the biggest lie he’d ever told. Lara wasn’t average. Lara was extraordinary.