Darkest Place (3 page)

‘There were no reports of that.'

‘What did he do?'

A small hesitation. ‘He probably searched for money and jewellery.'

Probably? ‘And what? He got away with it so now he's getting gamer?'

‘No, look' – another stop sign – ‘it's sporadic incidents. Eight or nine over the six years there've been apartments here. Which suggests, firstly, it's not one of your neighbours. And secondly, some of the victims described the intruder as a woman, which suggests it's not the same person. It's more likely different offenders getting access to the building. They're nice apartments, the thieves probably think there's something worth stealing.' She shifted to the edge of the sofa, picked up her handbag.

‘He didn't take anything last night,' Carly said.

‘No.'

‘He leaned over my bed and touched my face.'

‘Yes.' Anne stood.

That can't be it. Carly got to her feet too, speaking quickly. ‘Detective Quentin said something about CCTV and a canvass of my neighbours.'

Hoisting her bag to her shoulder as she spoke, Anne said, ‘As it turns out, there is no CCTV for the building and nothing nearby that's useful. And a doorknock for information about someone who might have been buzzed in isn't practical for an apartment complex of this size.'

Carly nodded reluctantly – it made sense, it just didn't make her feel any better.

‘All sorts of people get into the abandoned warehouses around here,' Anne continued. ‘Sometimes they break into people's homes. The best thing you can do, Carly, is keep your door locked.'

She didn't say the rest but Carly heard it anyway:
Like you should have done last night
.

On the way out, Anne took another glance around the high ceilings. ‘Is there a building supervisor here?'

‘Yes.' Though Carly hadn't met him yet.

‘You could have a chat to him about making sure the residents only let in people they know.'

‘Okay, I will.' Carly shook their hands like they'd been doing business. Had one last question. ‘In those other break-ins, did the intruder ever go back to the same apartment?'

‘Several victims did report repeat break-ins.' Anne held up a hand like a pre-emptory warning. ‘It's not clear if it was the same intruder.'

‘Several victims?' The detective could pat the air all she liked, the information had landed like a bomb in Carly's chest. ‘The ones who saw someone in their
bedroom
?'

‘There are discrepancies between your account and the old ones. I don't think it's something you need to worry about.'

‘What did the other people report?'

‘My advice, Carly, is to keep your doors locked and have a chat to your building supervisor.'

Carly watched their departing backs, wishing she knew more. Wishing she'd done a better job of the description. Wishing she'd shut the damn door in the first place.

A soft laugh travelled across the atrium as the two detectives waited for the lift. Possibly they were reliving Elliot's
mistaken for a man
crack. And possibly they were saying
Crap witness, stupid woman, deserves to have someone walk in
.

‘Yo.'

It was the first time Carly had heard anything but a voicemail message on the building supervisor's phone. ‘Howard Helyer?' she asked.

‘You got him.'

She'd imagined an old guy getting a few bucks off his rent to act as live-in supervisor. But
Yo
? ‘It's Charlotte Townsend. I moved into 419 on Monday.'

‘Yeah.'

‘I've been trying to get in touch with you.'

‘Yeah.'

She frowned. ‘About my garage pass not working properly?' That was three days ago. Then more messages, that she needed light bulbs replaced and a key for her mailbox and the garage pass still didn't work.

A pause. ‘Ah …'

‘Yeah,' she threw right back at him.

‘That. Right. Come see me and I'll sort it.'

‘And light bulbs?'

‘Hardware store in Baxter Street.'

‘That's not part of the service?'

‘What service?'

Yeah, exactly. ‘Replacing bulbs. Is that your job?'
Ten-metre ceilings? Broken necks? Building supervisor?

‘You can do it if you want.'

‘I'd need a ladder.'

‘Hardware store in Baxter Street.'

Amusement edged its way into her irritation. ‘I don't want to
buy
one.'

‘Right, right. There's a couple in the storage room.'

She held her breath, afraid to ask. ‘Where is the storeroom?'

Another round of absurd Q&A got her directions to a door on the ground floor. She wondered if it was pointless to talk to him about anything else, but … ‘About building security – I had a break-in the other night, and the police thought someone might have been buzzed in through the front door.'

There was some throat-clearing and phone-bumping. She hoped he was shaking off whatever his problem was, not falling over. ‘You okay?' he asked.

‘Fine. You didn't notice the sirens and flashing lights?'

‘I'm on the west wall, the east wall could be falling down and I wouldn't know. Wouldn't have checked anyway. The police are always dropping by the empty warehouses. People get in and make a mess and the cops like to make their presence felt. Most of us are pretty happy about that.'

Message received: don't expect the building supervisor to rush to your aid. ‘Glad my drama didn't wake the whole building,' Carly said. Actually, more than glad. No need for it to be the topic of discussion in the corridors. She hadn't come here to attract attention.

‘Was anything taken?'

Carly gave him a potted version: intruder comes in, she calls triple-O, no sign of the bad guy. And the police
theory – he buzzes apartments, someone lets him in, he finds her door. Howard was the building supervisor, he should probably know it all. ‘I, ah, might not have shut my door properly.'

‘Easy done,' he said. ‘I've gotten up in the morning once or twice and found mine wide open.'

No surprise in that, if this conversation was anything to go on. ‘Is there some way you can contact the residents? I thought maybe you could send a reminder not to buzz in strangers.'

‘Yeah, yeah, good idea. There's an email list. I haven't used it in a while, I don't know how up to date it is but I can get something out.'

How long would that take? ‘Can you put me on the list too?'

 

Howard Helyer's directions were as bad as his supervision skills. The storeroom wasn't where he'd said it was and Carly walked around the shadows and hush of the ground floor, trying her key at any door that didn't look like an apartment.

The storeroom was in the corner of the east and south walls, crammed with hand tools and cleaning products and, well, a lot of stuff, including several ladders. Carly half-dragged one across the foyer to the lift, had several goes at getting it into the cab before deciding it was never going to fit. Looked up at the stacked levels above her and groaned.

Her heart was pounding by the time she reached the first floor. At the turn on the way on the second, she had to stop for a breather. Halfway to the third she put the ladder down and leaned on the railing, sucking at the air in the atrium.

A door opened and closed somewhere above. The echo of heavy footfalls rolled down through the great hollow space beside her. Then they were vibrating around her, coming down the stairs – and the ladder took up all the space on the landing. She wiped the sweat from her lip, tried to shove the unwieldy hunk of metal to one side and prepared to apologise.

Nate, her neighbour, swung around the end of the staircase and pulled up short. The grim, tight mood she'd seen on him before seemed to shimmer around him for half a second before he reined it in.

Carly smiled cautiously. ‘Sorry, just taking a breather. I hope you can get around.'

He started towards her, stopping a couple of stairs from the landing. ‘Need a hand?'

God, yes
, but she saw the taut set of his face. This guy didn't need the hassle of someone else's ladder in his day. ‘I'm almost there. And you sound like you're in a hurry.'

‘I've got time.'

And it'd take her twenty minutes to drag it up there. ‘The feminist in me wants to tell you I've got it all under control but that would be a lie,' she laughed, trying to inject a little neighbourly humour into it.

‘You going up or down?'

Right, no humour. ‘Up.' She shuffled backwards, picked up the legs. ‘Ready when you are.'

Nate hesitated a second before taking up the other end. It was a bit clumsy but they manoeuvred it around the turn and bumped unevenly to the third-floor corridor. He lowered his section and waited for her to follow suit. He must have thought she needed a rest.

‘I'm fine,' she told him.

Something stirred behind his eyes. ‘I think I can manage on my own.'

‘You sure? It's pretty unwieldy.'

‘How about I give it a go?'

She stepped out of the way and Nate picked it up. The whole thing, with one hand. Oh, right. Tucking it under an arm like it was made of cardboard, he made the turn on the landing as though he negotiated it every day and leaned the ladder against the wall outside Carly's apartment.

‘Changing light bulbs?' he asked as she unlocked the door.

‘Yes. I guess it's why most people need a ladder around here.'

‘The building supervisor usually helps out with that.'

‘I wondered about that.'

She pushed the door, turned for the ladder, but he already had it for her under his arm and was heading down the hallway. Uneasiness beat in her chest as he disappeared into her living room. She left the door open, hoping he'd set it down and leave, wondering if he'd invited himself in to take a look around – or if he'd been there before, in the dark. When she reached him, he had set the ladder up under the empty socket by the French windows.

‘You want to do the climbing or passing?' he asked.

He wanted to change the bulbs too? ‘Thanks, but I can do that bit myself.'

‘Never thought you couldn't but if we get it done now, I can take the ladder back on my way out.'

Oh.

‘Or you can take it down later when you're done. Up to you.'

‘Gee, it's a tough call,' she gave an uncertain laugh.
Not one of your neighbours
, Anne Long said. And that ladder
was heavy. ‘Okay, I'll do the passing. Thanks.' He couldn't do anything too daunting up a ladder.

He was at the top and waiting by the time she'd fetched the bag of replacements. ‘I was planning to change them all,' she said.

‘Okay.' He reached down for a bulb.

Carly stretched up with a new one. ‘If you've got the time.'

‘Uh-huh.' Arms overhead, then pointing at the wall. ‘Flick the switch.' He paused long enough for the globe to light up then moved the ladder and started climbing again.

‘Only two worked when I moved in,' Carly said as she passed up another one. ‘I was starting to feel nocturnal.'

‘Uh-huh.' He pointed at the switch.

She skipped across the room, amused now by his sign language. He shifted to the next light fitting without a word. Not a weird, tense silence, he just seemed short on words. And more at ease now he was working. She didn't mind his brevity, no room for bullshit in brevity.

‘Any suggestions for a good pub?' she asked, interested in the kind of answer she'd get.

He reached down with a dusty bulb. ‘Beer's cold at the one around the corner. That's about all I can say for it.'

Two sentences, not bad. ‘Where do you drink?'

‘Pub round the corner.'

Wasn't after company then. ‘Restaurants?'

‘Couldn't answer that.'

‘Library? I need a book.'

‘Nah, sorry.' He started down again. ‘I haven't spent much time here.'

‘You're new, too?'

‘No.' He picked up the ladder, talked as he walked with it. ‘Had the apartment four years but I work offshore. Don't get back too often.'

‘Offshore as in overseas?'

‘As in an oil rig. Technically it's still in the country.'

Carly raised her eyebrows as he resettled the ladder, adding the information to the sun-bleached hair and the lines in his tanned face. The furthest she'd been on the ocean was a ferry ride across Sydney Harbour as a kid. She'd heaved over the side. ‘Sounds …' she had no idea ‘… amazing.'

His eyes caught hers through the metalwork. ‘Long hours, hard work and cramped quarters. Not that amazing.'

Right. ‘How long are you here this time?'

‘Not sure. A while. Maybe permanently. I'm waiting on a medical.' There was a little more force in his steps as he went up, a muscle at the side of his jaw pumping as he reached for the next bulb.

Carly couldn't tell if going back or staying was the problem, wondered if that's what his limp and grimness were about. ‘I hope it's good news.'

He didn't answer, clearly finished with the subject.

‘What's the story with the building supervisor?' she asked.

‘Howard Helyer?' His voice was muffled behind outstretched arms.

‘Yeah. What does he actually do here?'

‘Supervise stuff.'

Not that she'd seen. ‘Is he … the full quid?'

Nate paused, one foot on the floor. ‘Howard?'

‘Yes.'

‘His IQ wouldn't fit in my head.'

‘Howard? The supervisor?'

‘He's been at uni for about ten years.'

Carly had done three semesters at uni, had met professional students. ‘Doing a PhD in partying?'

Nate huffed a quiet chuckle as he picked up the ladder again. ‘No. He's already got a PhD in physics, now he's finishing a double degree in engineering and biomedical science.'

Huh. ‘Well, I had a really weird conversation with him just now. He sounded … hung-over.'

‘He doesn't drink. Must have exams.'

Out of questions for the moment, Carly just watched. She had no idea what someone might do on an oil rig but she pictured him with a hard hat, under a burning sun, buffeted by stiff wind off the ocean. Maybe his curtness was the result – or maybe his disposition suited the lifestyle.

‘Loft?' he asked.

Carly glanced at the stairs, remembering her blind panic, unsure about Nate going up there. He stood at the bottom, waiting for her decision. Don't be neurotic. There was only one working globe in the bedroom.

‘Yeah, sure.'

She went up ahead of him, hoping she hadn't left underwear lying about, chucking her pyjamas into the ensuite as he appeared at the top of the stairs. Another man might have made a joke, some kind of
Well, here we are then
, but Nate avoided her eyes, opened out the ladder beside the bed and climbed. Maybe he was as happy to ignore the loaded bedroom moment as she was.

‘At least it'll be a soft landing if you fall,' Carly said when he leaned out over the mattress.

‘I don't plan to fall.'

It was meant to be banter but his words felt like a swift slap, the thought making her heart pound.
No one does.

Maybe Nate had noticed the way she'd grabbed for the handrail at the top of the stairs as though she was the one
at risk, because he was the one to change the subject this time. ‘Got any more of those questions I can't answer?'

She smiled, glad to be moved on. ‘See if you can't answer this. Do you know where the cinema is?'

‘Nope.'

‘Fresh fish?' Out west, fresh meant eight hours in a refrigerated truck.

‘Co-op near the marina.'

Ten minutes' walk. ‘Excellent. Nearest takeaway?'

‘Indian, around the corner in Baxter Street. Butter chicken is good, vindaloo will burn your throat out.'

‘Good to know. Do you know who my neighbour on the other side is?'

‘Big guy, walking stick. District court judge, only here three nights a week.'

Then he was back on the floor beside her, no bulbs left.

‘We done?' he asked.

‘I think that's it.' She followed him down the stairs. ‘What have I made you late for?'

‘Not late. The pub.'

‘The one with cold beer and nothing else to recommend it?'

‘That's it.'

‘Then I hope the fridges aren't broken.'

He paused at the door and huffed a quiet laugh. He looked better for it, his face a little less rigid.

‘Have a good afternoon, Nate,' she said.

‘You too, Carly.'