Tell the Truth (14 page)

‘But you still found your way back to your car?'

‘Fortunately.'

She took the CCTV picture of the cyclist out of her jacket pocket. ‘Does this person look familiar?'

He stared at it. ‘This is the same person who rode away from her car, right? I still don't recognise them, and I don't understand any of this. Why would anyone take her? Why would anyone keep saying I know why when I don't?' He looked up. ‘Do you think they've mistaken me for someone else?'

‘Unlikely,' Ella said. ‘They must know your name and Stacey's, and assuming she can talk to them, I'd imagine they would find out pretty quickly if she was the wrong person.'

‘Assuming,' he said.

‘I'm sure she can,' Ella said. ‘I'm sure she's doing fine. Going by what we've learned about her, she sounds like one tough lady.'

‘She is,' he said.

She studied him. He was calm now, the photo in his hand, his eyes on the camera guys filming the curious onlookers, the fence and the rocks below The Gap, while the uniformed constables looked on.

‘I'll be back in a minute,' she said to Murray.

The constables were both taller than her, and stood with their hands tucked into their utility belts.

‘Do you think he was seriously planning to jump?' Ella asked, looking up at them.

The senior constable shrugged. ‘Some would say if they're serious they just do it.'

His face was peeling from old sunburn, and he looked hot and annoyed. The journos came closer, trying to listen in.

‘He was back over the fence by the time we got here,' the younger officer said. She had a square face and a nice smile. ‘Couple of bystanders were talking to him. They've gone now, but they said he climbed over right in front of them and was sobbing loudly. They called out, begging him to come back, and he talked about his wife and how upset he was, and then maybe four, five minutes later he climbed back.'

‘Did he talk to you at all?' Ella asked. ‘Tell you where he's been for the last few hours, anything like that?'

‘Between bouts of sobbing he said he'd been driving around because she used to live near here,' the senior said. ‘Then the media turned up and he was all theirs.'

‘Thanks.' Ella headed back towards the car.

One of the journalists stepped into her path with a smile. ‘Detective Marconi, I'm Rachel Nisbet. Has there been any progress in finding Stacey Durham?'

‘No comment,' Ella said, moving past her.

Nisbet touched her arm. ‘I saw you go red when the death of the paramedic killer was mentioned. Being the cause of four deaths in five years must take a toll.'

Ella stopped and looked at her. She was all ready to be filmed, in a tight black skirt and jacket and with her blonde hair tied up in a smooth bun. She was young and didn't know when to stop talking.

‘I know they were all necessary,' Nisbet said hurriedly, ‘all justified. Investigated and ticked off. But I'm talking personally. How it feels. I've been following your career for some time and I know you'd make an excellent subject for a feature article. The girl behind the gun. Girl cop takes on all the bad guys. That sort of thing.'

‘Girl?' Ella said.

‘It carries a certain jaunty ring.'

‘I don't think so.' Ella turned to leave. Her phone rang and she answered. ‘Marconi.'

‘Perhaps you could think about it?' Nisbet called behind her.

‘This is Mike from the bike shop,' the male voice said. ‘I found Zaina's information. Have you a pen?'

Finally
. ‘Go ahead,' Ella said.

When she hung up she hurried back to the car. James sat slumped in the back seat and Murray stood by the open front door. ‘Anything?' he said over the roof.

‘Tell you in a minute. How about here?'

‘Nope.' Murray made a locking gesture over his lips.

She put out her hand for the keys, got behind the wheel and started the car. Murray got quickly in too.

‘Where are we going?' James said.

‘I thought we'd drop you back to your car,' she said. ‘Where is it?'

‘Back down the road a bit.'

She did a U-turn and started driving. ‘By the way, you didn't answer my question yesterday.'

‘Which one?'

‘About whether the business is in financial trouble.'

‘No, it's not, and I'm as offended by the suggestion today as I was yesterday.'

‘What suggestion is that?'

‘That I did something to her for money.'

‘I was only asking about the business,' Ella said blandly.

‘And only an idiot wouldn't be able to see the subtext.' His voice rose. ‘I'm a victim here. My wife's missing.'

‘We know.' She pulled up beside his car, put on her hazard lights and looked at him in the mirror. ‘Please don't turn your phone off again.'

He got out without another word and slammed the door.

‘Right,' she said to Murray, when James was in his car and they were moving off, ‘if you were serious about jumping, would you climb the fence right in front of a couple of bystanders and started sobbing loudly?'

‘That's what he did?'

‘A better way to draw attention to yourself does not exist.' Ella braked at a light. ‘So whether he did or didn't send this morning's texts himself, which we can't really know because he conveniently turned his own phone off, he could've been doing anything in the past couple of hours. Disposing of the body. Dealing with the accomplice, whoever was on the bike, seeing as he knew we got their picture yesterday and would soon be finding out more.'

Murray frowned. ‘Then even the anonymous complaint could be a fake. Making it look like he has some rival out there, someone who wants to hurt him. Trying to throw us off his scent for when his wife eventually disappeared.'

‘Trying,' Ella said darkly. Her phone rang. It was the office, and she put it on speaker. ‘Marconi.'

‘It's Elizabeth Libke. I'm still working on James's computers, but I did find something on Stacey's Facebook page. She has a hundred and thirty friends, and I went through her profile to check for people who'd asked to be her friends but she hadn't allowed, or who'd sent her odd messages, or who'd she defriended or blocked – anything that might suggest either stalkerish behaviour or a falling out. There were no abusive messages, but I found three people who had been her friends in the past year but aren't any longer. Got a pen?'

‘Certainly do,' Murray said.

‘Christine Lamarr is a paramedic based in the inner west, and her boyfriend, George Tsu, also a paramedic, works with Stacey. Stacey defriended her six weeks ago. Neither Lamarr nor Tsu have a record, and they live in Lilyfield.'

She gave them the address. Ella recognised the street, just off Lilyfield Road.

‘The second is Abby Watmough,' Libke went on. ‘She friended Stacey after their high school reunion last year. Abby doesn't post often, just a pic now and again of her baby, but Stacey defriended her about four months ago. No record, lives in Lidcombe.'

Murray scribbled down the street and number.

Libke said, ‘The third and final person is Steve Lynch, who Stacey friended after some posts about the reunion, but who she defriended a couple of weeks ago. They'd liked and commented on a few of each other's posts – he runs a dog training school at Dural and the posts were dog-related – then she deleted him.'

‘She wasn't just having some sort of friend cull?' Ella said.

‘Nope. That's all there's been in the last year, and they're spaced out. A cull tends to take out lots of people at once.'

‘Is James on Facebook?' Murray asked.

‘Yes, in a manner of speaking,' Libke said. ‘He has a personal page, because you need one in order to set up a business page, but it's got no photo, no details except the link to the shop page, no friends, nothing. The posts on the shop page are all about computers: warnings about the latest viruses, software deals, the odd customer testimonial. That's all I've got for now.'

‘Thanks,' Ella said.

Libke hung up, and Ella told Murray about the information she got from Mike about the dentist's receptionist.

‘Excellent,' he said. ‘Berala's near Lidcombe. We can go Lilyfield, Berala, Lidcombe, then Dural. Roadtrip it.'

Ella didn't answer, thinking about the pieces of the puzzle and how they fitted together.

THIRTEEN

A
young woman was washing her car in the driveway of the house where Lamarr and Tsu lived. Ella glanced at her as she and Murray walked past, then saw an ambulance sticker through the suds on the back window.

‘Are you Christine Lamarr?' she said.

The woman was about twenty-five, lean and tense, with skull earrings, black hair in a looped ponytail, and veins standing out on her arms. Water and suds had splashed across her black T-shirt and jeans, and her feet were bare on the wet concrete. ‘Who's asking?'

They showed their badges. ‘Detectives Marconi and Shakespeare,' Ella said. ‘Got a minute to talk?'

Lamarr shrugged. ‘Sure.' She
dunked a sponge into a bucket, then
stood on her toes and scrubbed at the car's roof.

‘You know Stacey Durham?' Ella said.

‘I do.'

‘How well?' Murray asked.

‘Well enough.'

Ella said, ‘How about you face us when you're speaking to us?'

Lamarr threw the sponge in the bucket with a splash. ‘I have to get this done. I've got a hair appointment in half an hour.'

‘Did you and Stacey have a falling out recently?' Ella said.

Lamarr rolled her eyes. ‘A falling out? How quaint. She's a bitch and I hate her. So I'd say it's more than a falling out.'

‘And yet you were once friends on Facebook,' Ella said.

‘Yeah well, live and learn.'

‘What happened?' Murray asked.

‘She couldn't keep her hands to herself, that's what happened. She worked a nightshift with George and came onto him. A married older woman. It's disgusting.'

‘When was that?'

‘Three weeks ago, give or take.'

‘How did you find out?' Murray asked. ‘Did George tell you?'

‘He didn't have to. I saw it myself. I dropped into the station and there she was, grabbing hold of him. I walked in and she leapt up, all red in the face, and rushed into the bathroom. I yelled and said she'd better come out and face me, but she wouldn't. Then they got a job and George said I had to leave so they could go to work.'

‘What did he say about it?'

‘That she was upset, and he'd hugged her to comfort her. That's not what it looked like though, and if that's all it was why'd she run away?'

‘Did she look upset?' Ella asked.

‘All I saw was the bright red. In my book, there's only one thing that means.' She picked up the sponge and slapped it on the car's boot. Suds flew.

‘Did you try to talk to her about it any time later?' Murray asked.

‘I would if I'd seen her, and I will when I do.'

‘You know she's missing?' Ella said.

‘Yep.'

‘Any idea about what might've happened?'

‘Nope, and you must be hard up for leads if you're asking me.'

Murray said, ‘Is George home?'

‘Nope. He's working. Overtime shift at Penrith.'

‘So he'll be back tonight,' Ella said. ‘Thanks for the chat.'

They were pulling away from the kerb when her mobile rang. She didn't recognise the number. ‘Marconi.'

‘Vicky Page, nurse and psychic,' the voice boomed. ‘I saw something.'

Ella put her on speaker. ‘What did you see?'

‘Stacey's in a small room. There's no door. It's been built specially for her. She's weak, and she's crying.'

‘She's still alive then,' Murray said to the phone.

‘Oh yes, and she's determined to stay that way,' Vicky said.

‘Any idea where this room is?' Ella asked.

‘Not yet.'

‘Well, is it in this city?'

‘I can't tell.'

Useless
, Ella thought. ‘Let us know when you can, won't you?'

‘Of course,' Vicky said. ‘I hope you're looking after yourself?'

Ella rolled her eyes at Murray. ‘Thanks for your call,' she said, and hung up.

*

The Berala house of Zaina Khan, dentist's receptionist, was small and built of fibro with a low porch railing and sagging gutters. Two narrow paths of concrete formed a driveway on which sat a primer-patched white Holden Gemini. Pots along the porch wall held clumps of bright green aloe vera plants, and inside a screen door with the same metal scrolling as the porch railing the front door was open. Someone in the house was whistling.

Ella tapped on the screen's frame.

‘Come on in, ya scrag,' a voice called.

‘Ms Khan? New South Wales Police.'

‘Oh, shit.' A young woman hurried up the hallway, her cheeks red. ‘Sorry. I thought you were my friend.'

‘It's no problem.' Ella showed her badge. ‘Detectives Marconi and Shakespeare. Can we come in for a moment, please?'

The woman opened the door. ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened?'

‘We just need to ask you a few questions,' Murray said. ‘Can you tell us where you work?'

‘Sure. I do reception and admin at a dental surgery in Strathfield.' She stood in the hallway, hands clasped at her waist, her face anxious. She wore a short denim skirt and a pink collared shirt, and pink slippers with kawaii kittens on the toes.

‘Who else works there with you?' Ella asked.

‘Just the dentist, Jon Dimitri. He's the owner as well.'

‘Is he supposed to be working today?'

She shook her head. ‘He took a few days off. We're open again tomorrow.'

Ella said, ‘Do you know where he's gone?'

‘Not exactly, but he mentioned camping.'

‘Do you know if he was going alone or with someone?'

She grinned. ‘He's got a new girlfriend, so I'm guessing he's not out there alone.'

‘Do you know her name?'

‘Her first name's Cynthia, but I don't know her last. He's talked about her and she's rung, but I've never met her.'

‘When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?' Ella said.

‘Last Friday. He finished with a patient about four, then we cleaned up, and he told me to put the sign on the door about him being sick. He said that was better than just saying the place was closed.' She looked at them. ‘Has something happened to him?'

‘Not as far as we know,' Ella said. ‘Have you met the people who work in the neighbouring businesses?'

‘I know Mike, at the bike shop. And I met another a week ago, Stacey Durham. I remember because I had to ask how to spell her last name. She was from the computer place.'

Ella resisted the urge to glance at Murray.
She remembered without prompting
. ‘What happened?'

‘She came in asking if the dentist was busy, if she could get an appointment straight away,' she said. ‘I told her he was available, and then this guy came in from outside and said something to her like “How'd you go?” and she said she was going in now. The guy looked a bit surprised. Jon took her through – I think she only got a cleaning. Jon said something afterwards like she didn't even really need that.'

‘Who was the guy?' Murray asked.

‘I assumed he was her husband or whatever from the way they talked to each other. He left when she went in the back.'

‘Did they seem cheerful, or stressed, or angry or annoyed?' Ella asked.

‘The woman seemed a bit uptight, but lots of people are dental-phobic,' Zaina said. ‘The guy was a bit gruff, I suppose. I had to answer the phone, so I didn't focus on them too much.'

‘What day was that?' Ella asked.

‘Monday last week.'

‘Had you ever seen either of them before, or since?'

‘No,' Zaina said.

‘Do you watch the news?'

‘Sometimes. Not regularly or anything.'

Ella took out the picture of Stacey Durham. ‘Was this the woman you talked to?'

‘That's her. Definitely. I remember because she has nice teeth and really nice hair.'

Ella looked at Murray. ‘Get Dennis to email over one of James.'

He nodded and stepped outside.

‘What's this all about?'
Zaina
asked.

‘Stacey's missing,' Ella said. ‘Her husband, James, owns the computer store.'

‘Holy crap. What happened?'

‘We don't know. Has there ever been any trouble along the shops there? Anyone hanging around, vandalism, anything out of the usual?'

‘Not since I've been there. Far as I know, the only excitement was when some guy held up the aquarium for turtles, yonks ago.'

Outside, Murray's phone beeped, and he came in and showed the screen to Zaina.

She nodded. ‘That's the guy who came in after the woman. They look like they matched. Both so nice-looking.'

Ella tried to think it through. Stacey had come in about seeing the dentist immediately, quickly followed by James. Was she trying to get away from him? ‘Did it seem like Jon and Stacey knew each other?' she asked.

‘No. He came out and introduced himself and shook her hand. That's when she mentioned the computer shop. I think the guy introduced himself too, but the phone rang again and I had to answer it so I didn't hear what he said.'

‘And afterwards, did Jon say anything about her?'

‘Only about her not really needing a clean. Then another patient came in, and we didn't talk about her again.'

Ella heard a car stop out the front.

Zaina looked out the door. ‘It's my friend.'

‘Do you have Jon's mobile number?' Ella asked.

‘Sure.'
Zaina
fetched her mobile and read out the number.

Ella wrote it down, then got out her card. ‘If you remember anything else, can you give us a call? Anything odd about that day, or something strange you noticed around the shops there.'

‘Homicide,'
Zaina
read from the card. ‘You think the woman's dead?'

Ella said, ‘We really hope not.'

*

Ella called Jonathon Dimitri's mobile while Murray drove them to Lidcombe to see Stacey's old schoolfriend Abby Watmough. Dimitri didn't answer, and Ella left a message asking him to call as soon as he could.

Watmough lived in a shambling house set back from the road, with cream cladding on the walls and a huge frangipani tree that was just starting to drop its leaves into the front gutters.

Ella knocked. The woman who answered looked about forty, with brown hair in a short ponytail and a slender build in a Sydney Swans T-shirt and denim shorts. She held a screeching baby in a green Bonds suit and wore an annoyed expression.

‘Didn't you see the sticker? It says do not knock.' She started to push the door shut with her bare foot, but Ella held up her badge.

‘Abby Watmough? Can we come in and talk?'

‘Has something happened?'

‘We just need to ask you a few questions,' Murray said.

The living room furniture was practical and homely, like Ikea but one rung down. Abby Watmough sat on the edge of the lounge and patted the crying baby's back.

‘Sorry if I was rude there. We get the religions here constantly. They just ignore the sticker. It's insane.'

‘It's all right.' Murray nodded at the baby. ‘Girl or boy?'

‘Girl,' she said. ‘Lucy. Silly Lucy to be crying, aren't you, huh? It's okay. It's all right.' She dotted kisses over the baby's head.

Ella watched, thinking of the woman on the bike in the CCTV images. Abby Watmough looked similar – as much as any woman with lightish-brown hair and a slim build would.

She cleared her throat. ‘Do you know Stacey Durham?'

‘Yes,' Abby said. ‘A little. I know she's been missing too. I saw it on the news. Have you found her?'

‘Not yet,' Ella said. ‘How do you know her?'

‘We went to the same high school. We weren't friends then, and only met at a school reunion late last year, where we realised that my son, Liam, is going out with her niece, Paris.'

‘What?' Ella said.

‘I was surprised too,' Abby said. ‘Small world, isn't it?'

Discomfitingly small, Ella thought. ‘How did that come up?'

‘She said she was a paramedic, and I said my son's girlfriend Paris had been accepted to start training as one too. Stacey's ears pricked up at the name, and bingo.'

Murray said, ‘You were friends with her on Facebook.'

‘Were?' Abby said.

‘She unfriended you a couple of months ago,' he said.

‘Huh. Shows how much attention I pay to it.'

‘Was there some reason she did that?' Ella asked.

‘Not that I know of. As I said, I wasn't even aware that she had.'

‘No argument or anything?'

She shook her head. ‘At the reunion, everyone was saying they were going to friend everyone and keep in touch properly. Those sort of good intentions never last long in my experience. I hardly ever get on Facebook, and she probably decided to delete people like me who never post.'

‘Do you own a bike?' Ella asked.

Abby looked puzzled. ‘A motorbike?'

‘Pushbike.'

‘No. Why?'

Ella didn't answer that. ‘Where do you work?'

‘In the public service. Department of Health admin. But I'm on maternity leave right now.'

‘Is your husband home?'

‘Partner. We split up. He thought he was up for being a daddy, but after the birth he changed his mind. He's working in the mines in WA. Liam moved back home to help out.'

‘Sounds like a good kid,' Murray said.

Abby nodded. ‘He is.'

Ella took out the CCTV photo of the cyclist and unfolded it. ‘Do you recognise this person?'

She studied it. ‘No. Should I?'

‘You don't think it looks a little like you?'

‘I suppose so, a bit. But as I said I don't own a bike. Or helmet, or clothes like that, for that matter.'

‘Where were you on Sunday evening?' Ella asked.