Tell the Truth (21 page)

TWENTY

E
lla and Murray sat in their car, doors closed and windows up, Ella's mobile on speaker, to consult with Dennis about Marie.

‘What did you say she does for work?' he asked when Ella had finished her summary.

‘She told us she's a physiotherapist, based in Bankstown,' Murray said.

‘Drop past on your way back here for the meeting,' Dennis said. ‘See what you can find out.'

Ella ended the call, then looked across the grass at where Marie leaned against her car, watching the Crime Scene officers pack up in the late afternoon sun.

‘What time do physios shut?' Murray said.

‘Get going,' she said, bringing Google up on her phone. ‘I'll find out where exactly in Bankstown it is.'

The physiotherapist clinic was fronted by glass sliding doors, the lower halves frosted, the upper bearing bright icons of enfolding arms and smiling faces as well as a list of staff's names, of which Marie's was the fourth. Both doors were locked and the clinic was dark.

‘Damn,' Murray said. ‘I told you we should've phoned.'

‘I want to see their faces when we say her name,' Ella said. Asking questions on the phone gave the callee a buffer, made them bolder. She didn't want anyone feeling bold when she talked to them. ‘They open at eight in the morning. We'll come back then.'

*

Abby opened the door, jiggling Lucy on her hip. ‘Paris, hi. Liam's not home.'

‘I know,' Paris said. It was his snooker night. ‘Can I talk to you?'

‘Sure. Come on in. You okay? You look like you've had a rough day.'

The sympathy in her voice made Paris want to cry. She ducked her head and blinked hard as she walked past her.

‘Have you had dinner?' Abby said. ‘I bet you haven't. I've got some quiche here. I'll go warm it up. Mind holding Lucy?'

She put the baby in Paris's lap and went into the kitchen. Lucy reached for a soft toy octopus and Paris walked it up her leg then dived it under her arm. Lucy laughed soundlessly, toothless mouth wide open. Paris put her face to the baby's fine hair. Abby hummed in the kitchen, and the house was warm and calm, and Paris missed Stacey with an ache like a tumour eating away her heart.

‘Here you go.' Abby brought in a plate of quiche and salad and exchanged it for the baby.

‘Thank you,' Paris said. ‘Thank you for letting me come in, too. It's been an awful day. Nobody's home at my place.' Not that that was a bad thing.

‘Something bad happened?'

‘A man died. My first one.' She looked down at her plate.

‘That would be terrible,' Abby said.

‘I feel like I should've done more. The others said that's normal, but I wish Stacey was here to talk to about it.'

Abby gave her a sympathetic look over Lucy's head. ‘I bet wherever she is she's wishing she could talk to you too.'

Paris had to turn her face to her plate again. She broke off a piece of quiche with her fork but didn't lift it to her mouth. ‘I'm scared for her.'

‘I know, sweetie,' Abby said. ‘I can see it in your eyes. It's a terrible thing. I saw your uncle on a news update, he looked just as upset. He said the dog's gone missing too.'

It felt like the last straw. Paris burst into tears.

Abby hugged her, and Paris pressed her face into her shoulder and cried.

‘It's okay,'
Abby murmured
. ‘Everything will be okay.'

*

Ella and Murray struggled through peak-hour traffic and reached the office to find the other detectives gathered watching the news. Ella saw James Durham, filmed earlier on his front lawn, talking about Stacey and how their beloved dog was missing too, ‘no doubt run away to try to find her'. Marie was visible in the background on the steps, then Ella and Murray came into view. A cheer went up, and Murray bowed.

Ella went to her desk, chewing the inside of her lip. A note stuck to her monitor asked her to call Anne Percy at Broken Hill again, and a small sealed cardboard box sat beside her keyboard. Her name and the office address were printed across the top.

‘Where'd this come from?' she asked.

Turnbull looked over. ‘Courier brought it.'

‘From who?'

‘Beats me.' Turnbull picked it up and shook it.

‘Don't. Jesus. It could be anything.'

‘You think someone wants to blow you up?'

‘You're sure someone doesn't?'

He put it down and slit the tape with a ballpoint.

‘At least put gloves on,' Ella said.

He lifted the flap with the point of the pen, then poked aside some crumpled newspaper. ‘Holy hell.'

‘What is it?' She leaned in close to see.

‘A toe,' Turnbull said.

‘Are you serious?' Murray said from across the room.

‘Come and look if you don't believe me,' Turnbull said.

Ella stared into the box as the other detectives crowded around. The toe lay in a nest of newspaper, the nail neat and polished light pink, the skin smooth and unblemished except for what looked like tiny needle marks along the incision. The cut end had been wiped clean of blood, and the whitish joint in the dark red flesh looked like a tiny version of something you might see in a butcher's shop.

‘Gross,' Murray said.

‘No way that's real,' Sid Lawson said.

‘Does it smell?' someone asked.

‘Is there a note?'

‘How about some elbow room?' Ella said.

She took gloves from her pocket and pulled them on, then bent back the flaps of the lid using only the corners. The newspaper was that morning's, and letters on the page directly under the toe were circled. They looked random but Ella felt sure that when the page was smoothed out the message would become clear. Clearer.

Photos were taken, the toe was lifted with tweezers onto a sterile sheet, and the page of newspaper underneath was carefully unfurled. The circled letters went down the page. Ella scribbled them out on a notepad.

‘
Now do you believe James is not telling the truth?
' she read out.

‘Okay,' Dennis said. ‘We need to check the box and paper for prints and any other evidence. I'll have the toe taken to the morgue tonight so it can be properly refrigerated, and Marconi and Shakespeare, tomorrow see what the doc says. Whatever there is to know from it, we need to know. Lawson and Pilsiger, you'll trace the box. Couriers keep records so go get them. Where was it lodged, when and who by. Everything.'

They nodded.

Dennis looked around at the group. ‘Let's get this meeting started.'

*

Abby left Paris to finish her cold quiche and stare at a cooking show on TV while she put Lucy to bed.

She came back twenty minutes later looking concerned, mobile in her hand. ‘A friend just texted. One of her kids is sick and she needs someone to watch the others while she takes him to the after-hours doctor. Would you mind babysitting until Liam or I get back? Please?'

‘Sure,' Paris said.

‘Lucy shouldn't wake up, but if she does just pat her like you did before,' Abby said. ‘I shouldn't be too late, but after the day you've had, feel free to lie down in Liam's room if you want. Or have a bath, whatever you like.'

‘Thanks.'
Being here was better than her own house, either empty or with her mother there.

Abby smiled at her. ‘I should be thanking you. Take it easy. Put your feet up. Have a rest.'

A few minutes later, she went out the door with her bag over her shoulder and her keys jangling in her hand. Silence crept over the house. Paris used the remote to change channels, then turned the TV off. She checked the locks on the doors, looked in on Lucy, who was sleeping adorably, then went into the bathroom.

The bathtub was big and white. She found some lavender bubble bath and soon lay deep in hot water and foam. Lucy's bath toys hung in a bag on the tiled wall and she took out a little yellow rubber boat and floated it on the surface. She didn't want to think about Mr Leary but she couldn't stop her mind going back to him. She nudged the boat with her fingertips and told herself again that it had been a good death, that going in your sleep was really the most that anyone could wish for, but still the thought that she should have realised earlier, that he somehow might have been saveable despite the terminal cancer, kept intruding. She'd been holding his hand, for god's sake. Shouldn't she have felt something? Or was it possible that he'd died at the exact second she'd let go? Or that he'd gone the instant she saw he wasn't breathing?

There was a creak in the hallway beyond the closed door. Paris froze. Another creak. She'd heard that before, when she'd been here on the loo and someone had walked past.

‘Liam?' she said. He must have come home and seen her car and worked out where she was. ‘Liam. Stop being funny and get in here.'

Silence, then another quiet creak.

Paris held her breath, her skin goosepimpling under the water.

‘Mr Leary?' she whispered.

No answer. No creaks. She had the strange sense of someone standing just outside the door, deciding whether or not to come in. She stared at the handle, her armpits prickling. It didn't turn, and after a minute there was another creak, further away this time, and then another even more distant.

Paris slid silently out of the water. She dragged her jeans and shirt on over her wet skin. She crept to the door. Listened. No sound, not even from the baby's room.

She eased it open and peered through the crack. The hallway was empty, the light burning overhead, no sound, no shadows. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone else in the house, holding their breath, waiting, and she looked back into the bathroom for something to use as a weapon.

TWENTY-ONE

W
ilson Turnbull was talking about the non-folding bike they'd dragged out of the river, and Ella was thinking about the toe, when her phone buzzed with a text.

‘It's from Stacey's phone,' she said.

The meeting fell silent.

‘
That was a warning
,' she read out. ‘
James still isn't telling you the truth.
'

‘Why do they always have to be so cryptic?' Murray said.

‘
How
.
About
.
You
.
Tell
.
Me
.
Then
.' Ella spoke the words one by one as she typed them out, then sent the message. The reply came back, and she read it to the group. ‘
Find the truth, or ask him which part of her he wants next.
'

‘Ugh,' someone said.

‘
What is the truth?
' Ella sent back.

They waited, but there was no reply.

Ella looked at Dennis, who was on his own phone checking the triangulation. He hung up. ‘Leichhardt, then it was turned off.'

‘They never give us any information except to insist that James is lying,' Murray said.

‘Maybe there isn't any to give,' Lawson said.

‘Or maybe there is but they don't know what it is,' Pilsiger put in.

‘Why kidnap a woman and say it's because of what her husband's done when you don't know it for sure?' Paul Li asked.

Dennis said, ‘Perhaps they don't know the details.'

Ella said, ‘Or perhaps the whole thing is just to jerk us around.'

She spent the remainder of the meeting with one eye on her phone, but nobody texted her. Afterwards, she went back to her desk, tired from the day and all the mental running around.

‘Going out tonight?' Murray asked, collecting his things.

‘Home to peace and quiet.' Her gaze kept wandering to the note stuck to her monitor. ‘You?'

‘Going over our vows and speeches and so on.' He pulled on his jacket. ‘Afterwards I'm taking her out for a fancy dinner. Our last as an engaged couple. It's a surprise.'

‘Sounds romantic,' she said.

He smiled. ‘See you in the morning.'

‘Bye.' She waited until he'd left, then dialled Percy's number.

‘Hey there,' Anne Percy said. ‘I found Angus Wylie.'

*

Paris whirled in fright at the sound of the key in the front door lock, then felt embarrassed when Abby stepped in and looked at her two-handed grip on the carving knife. ‘Problem?'

‘I was in the bath and thought I heard someone walking down the hall,' Paris said.

‘Really?' Abby put down her keys and her bag.

‘You know how the floor creaks there underfoot?' Paris went on. ‘I've checked all over – Lucy hasn't woken up – but I still have this weird feeling that someone's here.'

‘The resident ghost perhaps?'

‘I'm not joking,' Paris said.

‘Neither am I.' Abby headed for Lucy's room and peeked in. ‘I've heard and felt things too. Sometimes I think I hear a cough or a sneeze.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Seriously.'

Paris couldn't help glancing over her shoulder.

‘Nothing bad's ever happened,' Abby said. ‘It feels creepy, but I tell myself it's whoever lived here before just coming to say hello.'

‘That freaks me out.'

‘It did me too at first,' Abby said. She lifted the knife from Paris's hand with a smile. In the kitchen, she replaced it in the drawer, then looked at the toilet brush on the floor.

‘It was my first version of a weapon,' Paris said, and took it back to the bathroom.

‘Have you heard from Liam?' Abby asked.

‘I didn't call him. I thought I'd let him have a peaceful night without me hassling him.'

‘Don't think like that. He's your boyfriend. If he was upset, you'd want to know, right? You have to hold him to the same standard, expect the same response. A relationship has two parts.'

‘I know,' Paris said. ‘I guess I meant I didn't feel like it.'

Abby smiled. ‘Then that's fine.'

‘How's your friend and her kid?'

‘Oh, they're fine. It was no big deal in the end.' She stopped, tilting her head. ‘Did you hear that?'

‘No,' Paris said. The house was silent.

‘There it was again.'

Paris couldn't hear a thing. She shook her head.

‘The floor creaking again,' Abby said. ‘Whoever it is just checking us out.'

The hair on the back of Paris's neck stood up. ‘I think I'd better go home.'

‘It's nothing to be scared of, but I understand.' Abby followed her to the door. ‘You'll be okay? After your bad day, I mean?'

‘I probably just need a good sleep,' Paris said. ‘Thanks for dinner and everything.'

‘Any time.' Abby hesitated. ‘Your aunt's tough, you know. I'm sure she's fine.'

Paris nodded, then got in her car and headed home, apprehensive of what she'd find there but too unnerved to stay.

What she found was her mother watching herself on television. ‘You're just in time, they're playing it again,' Marie said.

Paris saw footage of James standing outside his house, of her mother in the background looking serious.

‘Have they found her?'

‘No,' her mother said, eyes still on the screen.

Paris knew it was silly to think Marie might've asked her where she'd been, but she couldn't help it, and couldn't help be disappointed when she didn't.
When will I learn?
‘I'm going to bed.'

‘Huh?' her mother said in a distracted way, but Paris shut her door and didn't reply.

*

Megan and Simon had gone for dinner at the local club, so Rowan was putting Emelia to bed. She fought the covers, screeched in his face, and tried to climb out of the cot.

‘Bed time,' he said.

‘No!'

‘Yes. Lie down. Close your eyes.'

‘Another story!'

‘I told you we'd have three, and that's what we've had. It's time for sleep.'

Emelia shrieked. She was overtired. She'd almost dozed off while eating dinner, and now had dark circles under her eyes and a fevered wildness to her thrashing. She threw herself down in the cot with a wail. When she pressed her face into the pillow, he heard someone knocking at the front door.

‘Go to sleep,' he said, and patted Emelia's heaving back. ‘Close your eyes, go to sleep.'

She sat up and glared at him. ‘No!'

The knock at the door came again. He looked down at Emelia, wild-eyed and furious, then kissed her on the head and walked away. ‘Good night,' he said, and closed the door against her screams.

The noise followed him to the front door. It was dark outside now, and he switched on the porch light, then looked through the peephole to see the female detective standing there alone.

*

‘Have you found her?'

‘Sorry, no.' Ella looked past Rowan into the lamplit house. A child was screaming upstairs. ‘Emelia?'

He nodded. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘I'd like to talk to you about a couple of things,' she said.

By the time they were sitting in the lounge, Emelia's cries had slowed and quietened. Rowan looked anxious. Nervy. Ella took note.

‘So,' she said. ‘Two things. Number one, this is Angus's phone number.'

She put a piece of paper on the coffee table between them. Rowan stared at it.

‘He's currently living in a caravan park near Broken Hill. He's been moving around, doing labouring work, fruit-picking, whatever's happening. I found a police officer out there who recognised his name, and she tracked him down.'

Rowan moistened his lips. ‘He's okay?'

‘Apparently. The officer said he asked if you'd call him.'

Rowan looked away, his eyes shiny with tears.

‘The second thing,' Ella said, ‘is that I need you to tell me the truth. There's something we're missing in this case, and I can't put it together until I know the facts about what's going on.'

He didn't answer, but she saw his eyes go back to the piece of paper.

She said, ‘At the hospital today you almost let something slip. I know you know something about what's going on, and I need to know what that is.'

He pressed his hands on his knees as if trying to dry damp palms. ‘I don't know anything about what's going on now.'

She sensed a
but.
‘What did you almost say at the hospital?'

‘You asked me why I noticed her car,' he said. ‘I said I thought we could have coffee, but it wasn't just that.'

Now we're getting somewhere.

‘I told you that I last saw her on Thursday morning, when I was finishing a shift and she was coming on.' He looked at the ceiling for a moment before going on. ‘I didn't tell you that she and I had an argument then, and I made her cry.'

‘What was the argument about?'

‘Paris. I'd yelled at her for stuffing things up earlier in the week, and I guess she was upset but thought she was hiding it. That Thursday was the first time I'd seen Stacey since, and she waited until Paris had signed off and gone home, then pulled me aside for a chat.'

‘What did she say?'

‘That I was too hard on Paris, that everyone makes mistakes and I should encourage her instead of shouting at her. I said I encouraged her all the time, that was practically all I did. I said maybe she needed shouting at as a bit of a wake-up call. Stacey was defensive and protective. I tried to point that out, but she denied it and got angrier. I said she wouldn't feel that way if Paris was just some trainee and not her niece, and she denied that too. In the end I said she should be more professional, she was acting more like Paris's mother than someone senior in the job, and she should think twice before coming to me about that sort of thing again.'

His eyes were distant and he looked like he was reliving the moment. Ella didn't speak.

‘She burst into tears and ran into the women's locker room,' he said. ‘I didn't try to talk to her or get her to come out. I was too angry. So I left, and we had no contact over the weekend. I thought about texting her, but to be honest I felt she should approach me. But by Monday I was regretting it all, and when I saw her car I thought we could have coffee together and talk, and I could say sorry.'

‘Why didn't you tell us this before?'

‘I was embarrassed and I couldn't see how it was relevant,' he said, looking ashamed.

‘Why do you think she reacted that way?' Ella asked. ‘Was it because you were arguing?'

He shook his head. ‘I've seen her blue with the best of them. She's strong, she doesn't cry, she doesn't take a backward step if she thinks she's in the right. She thought that on Thursday too, I could see it in her eyes, so when she started crying I was completely stunned.'

Ella sat back. Stacey fell apart over Paris being reprimanded, over a young couple's miscarriage, and came close for no apparent reason at the dentist, yet she never mentioned any problem to her friends.

What was going on?

*

Rowan paced the lounge room, his mobile and the scrap of paper in his hand. Marconi had left five minutes before. Emelia was sound asleep, Simon and Megan were still out, and the house was quiet. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs. Five years. Almost six. He tried to picture Angus's face with a few lines, skin tanned from the sun, a laconic smile. Five years.

His mobile buzzed and he jumped. Imogen, inviting him to brunch in the morning. He'd reply later. He picked up the paper, tapped out the numbers, and pressed to call. The phone rang in his ear.

‘Hello?'

‘Angus?'

‘Dad, hey.'

Rowan squeezed his eyes shut. ‘How are you?'

‘Pretty good. How're you? And Mum?'

‘I'm okay,' Rowan said. ‘I'm good. I'm glad to hear your voice. We've missed you a lot.'

‘I've missed you guys too. How's Simey?'

‘He's great,' Rowan said. ‘But, Angus, mate, listen. Your mum –'

‘Is she there? Can you go on speaker? I've got some news to tell you both.'

‘Your mum died,' Rowan said. ‘She had cancer. It happened two years ago.'

Silence.

‘I'm so sorry,' Rowan said. ‘I wanted to tell you. I sent letters to the post offices in the places where your postcards came from, but they got returned.'

‘I should've rung,' Angus said in a cracked voice.

‘I'm sorry to tell you like this.' He heard a key in the front door, then Simon's and Megan's voices. He wiped his eyes quickly. ‘Listen, Simon's just come home. Hold on.'

He switched the phone to speaker and motioned for them to join him.

‘Sime?' Angus said.

‘Angus? Holy shit!' Simon grabbed the phone. ‘Where you been, man? I was afraid you were dead.'

‘Yeah, right, and sending postcards from the grave.' Rowan could hear that he was pushing down the grief.

‘Well, between each one,' Simon said. ‘Hey, guess what? I'm a daddy.'

‘Me too,' Angus said. ‘A boy. Eight months. Toby.'

‘Mine's two. Emelia. And this is my girlfriend, Megan.'

‘Hi,' Megan said.

Rowan had to leave the room. His longing for Jen at that moment was as bad as it had ever been, and as his sons' happy voices rang out he stood in the kitchen wet-eyed and alone.