The Darkest Hour (32 page)

Or maybe
, she thought,
it’ll be me, working on Sal, with help from Wayne
.

The letter was folded up in Sal’s pocket and a corner poked him in the thigh with each step that he took past the little factories and workshops. He didn’t mind, like he didn’t mind people glancing his way or happening to raise their welder’s masks or pausing in their conversations to ash their smokes as he went by. Today was the last day he’d be walking down to Preston’s Plastics and the knowledge made him feel strong again. He’d give Thomas the letter, and Thomas would trash the place then go back to the house to plan his return to Austria. He’d be on the lounge, probably, watching crap afternoon TV and eating toast and dropping crumbs down his front when the cops came hammering on the door.

Sal crossed the Preston’s Plastics forecourt with a smile.

Inside, Colin Preston worked a machine that was doing something noisy and making a hell of a smell. He glanced up and nodded at Sal. Sal nodded back then knocked on the door at the back. ‘It’s me.’

Thomas opened the door. Suddenly a little nervous, Sal dug the letter from his pocket and held it out.

Thomas motioned for him to come in.

‘I have to go,’ Sal said. ‘Julio–’

‘Come in so I can shut the bloody door.’

Thomas yanked him in by the arm. The noise of Preston’s machine was cut by half as the door clanged shut, and Sal’s courage wavered. The heaters whirred. The room was hotter than ever, and Thomas’s bare chest ran with sweat.

Sal tried to slow his breathing. ‘A Chinese guy brought it to the house.’

‘It’s already been opened,’ Thomas said.

‘He asked for Mr Rios.’

Thomas took out the sheet and let the envelope drop to the floor. It seemed to Sal that the sound of the letter being unfolded was louder than Preston’s clanker outside. Thomas walked away from him as he read it, and Sal saw that he had a metallic blue handgun stuck in the back of his jeans.
Oh shit.

‘That little Chinese fuck.’ Thomas stuck a corner of the letter into the flame of one of the burners and held it up.

Sal saw the flames lick up towards his fingers.
Is he crazy as well?

But at the last second Thomas let the fragment of paper fall to the concrete floor where it smouldered and died. ‘There’s nothing else to do now,’ he said.

Relief washed through Sal.

‘I have to kill those paramedics.’ Thomas pulled the gun from his jeans.

Sal froze. ‘What?’

‘I have to kill them.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Sal said.

Thomas racked the slide. The sound chilled Sal’s blood. ‘Hey, no, wait,’ he said, as nervous sweat ran down his back. ‘Why don’t we, instead, find somebody else who knows how to cook, and we add in that step that we missed? We can still make that money.’

‘Stuff ’s fucked.’

Thomas aimed the gun at Sal’s head. Sal couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He thought of his mother, how she’d feel losing two sons in such a short time, though it made no sense to think that way because she was already dead.

The inside of the barrel was so black.

Thomas lowered the gun and stuck it back into his jeans. He looked at the mess on the benches.

Sal edged to the door. ‘Julio’s in, um, hospital.’ His voice was high and thin. ‘Nona’s waiting for me, so I better, um.’ He found the handle by feeling behind him. He slid the lock around, then eased the door open. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he croaked, and got the hell out of there.

L
auren stayed in bed till midday, trying to sleep ahead of her night shift, but mostly thinking about Joe. By the time she got dressed and went out to make lunch, she’d decided: that night she would tell him how she felt.

In the kitchen she could hear Kristi and Felise talking in the attic. ‘I’m up,’ she called. ‘You want lunch?’

‘We’ve eaten,’ Kristi said.

Lauren made herself a sandwich and sat at the table, thinking about what she’d say.
Joe, we need to talk.
That sounded too grim. Like a break-up conversation.

What about,
Joe, can you tell me how you feel?
Or perhaps,
Joe, I’d like to tell you how I feel.

She’d say it when they were driving, so they didn’t have to look at each other until they were ready. It was hard putting your heart out there and asking for a response.

Kristi came downstairs and busied herself at the sink.

‘Felise been on the swing yet?’ Lauren said.

‘No.’

‘Joe reckons it’s just the right height.’

‘So I believe.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Is this because Joe helped me do the swing yesterday after I told you I didn’t want help?’

‘How petty do you think I am?’

Lauren put down her sandwich. ‘He was just there, okay? I didn’t ask him, we were talking, I was putting the rope over the branch and he held the tyre up.’

‘I know.’

Lauren looked down at her plate.
Just because we didn’t see her at the window doesn’t mean she wasn’t there
.

‘You know he’s engaged,’ Kristi said.

‘Der.’

‘So what were you doing kissing him?’

‘He kissed me.’
He kissed me!
Lauren couldn’t help the little shiver of excitement that ran through her.
He really did it.

‘I can’t believe you,’ Kristi said. ‘With all the stuff that’s going on, you start up this thing with him?’

‘Nothing’s been started.’ Lauren threw the rest of her sandwich in the bin. ‘Anyway, what do you want me to do? Sit here and worry all the time? Be so frightened I can’t leave the house?’

‘I’m doing the best I can,’ Kristi snapped.

‘I wasn’t having a go at you. I was just saying.’ Lauren put her plate in the sink. ‘Sometimes things happen at odd moments.’
You don’t get to choose when you fall in love.

‘Just tell me you’re going to sort it out.’

‘I am.’

Tonight.

Ella sat at her desk with the huge file of statements in her lap. Rereading these things was like digging an enormous pit for gold. A nugget might pop out at you any second – or it might not.

Across the office Lambert talked in a low voice on his mobile, Pilsiger frowned at her computer screen, and Murray laughed at something Strongy said.

Ella sighed and turned to the next statement. Jules Cartwright. Ah, yes.

Scanning the lines of text, she remembered sitting on the woman’s lounge as she described Thomas Werner arriving at her place and expecting to stay, and how she’d let him bunk down for a few days. She read,
We met on holiday in Spain.

Spain.

Hm.

‘Murray!’

He came over. ‘What?’

She held the folder out, her finger on the spot.

‘And?’

‘Sal Rios comes from Spain.’

‘His name comes from there,’ Murray said.

‘His family did at some point.’ She started to hear how absurd this idea was but forged on anyway. ‘Maybe Thomas knew him then. Or his family.’

‘Your family comes from Italy but that doesn’t mean you know all other Italians.’

Sal had almost told her something at the hospice; a bit more gentle persuasion and who knew what he’d cough up. Ella picked up the phone and checked her voicemail, then called switch to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls.

‘He’s probably with his brother,’ Murray said.

‘Let’s go and see.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes – no. Let me check something.’

She entered Sal’s name in the computer database and checked for registered cars. He owned a white 2005 Honda Accord. She jotted down the plate number, then entered Nona’s name. She owned a gold Toyota Avalon. Ella wrote down this number too. A search of their father Guillermo’s name produced nothing, then on a last-minute gamble she typed in Julio.

‘Blue Ford Falcon,’ she read. ‘Same car that’s been around my place.’

‘Same type of car,’ Murray said.

Ella wrote down the numberplate. It didn’t match any of the whole or partials noted by witnesses, but if Thomas was using this car to do dodgy stuff he might be switching plates regularly.

She turned off her computer. ‘Let’s go.’

Murray stood back from the Rioses’ house and watched the curtained upstairs windows. ‘Nothing.’

Ella banged on the door again. She resisted the urge to press her ear against the crack. ‘Now?’

‘Not so much as a twitch,’ he said.

Ella went slowly down the drive, periodically looking back. She’d thought that morning that Sal had been in the house and heard her warrant threat. What did it mean now that he wasn’t ringing her back? Perhaps he knew they didn’t have enough evidence to get one. Or perhaps they were all just focused on their brother.

Traffic was light and they were soon at the hospice. They shared the lift with a nun carrying a stack of
Who Weekly
magazines, then stepped out onto the third floor. Ella looked at the opposite wall.
Yup. Me again.

‘Which room?’

‘Third along.’

They walked slowly along the corridor, both glancing in as they passed Julio’s room. Ella caught a glimpse of Julio’s sunken and yellow face, Guillermo like a big bear hunched over his hand, Nona standing by the window.

They went into the waiting room. ‘Now what?’ Murray said.

Ella thought for a moment. ‘Let’s do a stake-out for a while. You stay here – comfy chair, nice cup of tea – and spy down the hallway. I’ll go back to the house and sit in the car. He’s bound to show up at one place or the other soon.’

Murray looked about the room. ‘Okay.’

Ella went via the chapel, finding only an old woman kneeling at the altar. She walked away silently and hurried out to the car.

Ella parked across the street and two houses up from the Rioses’. A couple of azalea bushes with patchy foliage let her see the front and garage doors while protecting her from being seen from most of the windows. She got out of the car and walked along the street and up the oh-so-familiar drive, watching the curtains as she went. Nothing. She knocked on the door. More nothing. She turned and went back to the street and climbed into the car. She checked her watch, got out her notebook and jotted down the time.

She turned back a page to where she’d written the Rioses’ plate numbers and left it open on the passenger seat, then texted Murray.
Nothing here.

The reply arrived quickly.
Nor here.

She settled down into the seat. If worst came to worst, school would be out in a couple of hours, and the kids Nona had referred to would arrive home at some point after that. Ella thought of the blonde girl at the chapel door.
Somebody
would either be here for them, or come to get them and take them to visit their uncle.

Surely.

On the screen, somebody shot somebody else, and the popcorn stuck in Sal’s throat. He took a gulp of Sprite but it seemed like it couldn’t get past and foamed back up into his mouth, making him cough. The man three rows ahead looked back with a frown. Sal’s eyes watered and he gasped for breath. The popcorn was still there. He thought he could feel it when he pressed on the spot in his throat. He took smaller sips this time, and slowly and painfully the lump worked its way down.

It was no good. The movie was shit, the seat was uncomfortable, and why did people have to sit so close to him? He couldn’t stop thinking about the round eye of Thomas’s gun and the look on his face when he said he was going to get the paramedics. Let’s not colour it, he thought. Kill. He said he’s going to kill them.

He felt sick. The soundtrack was too loud, but even above that he could hear the woman along his row rustling plastic constantly. He stared at her for a long moment but she didn’t even notice, just kept shovelling whatever it was into her mouth.

Finally he got up and pushed past her and left.

The afternoon sunlight was bright after the gloom of the cinema. It was after two already. He wondered if the cops had been yet, if it was all over. He walked a lap of the mall, trying to occupy his mind looking into windows, watching a kid play a video game in a computer shop. He walked a lap going back the other way. The place was huge but too soon he was back where he’d started.

He thought of the paramedics.

He felt sicker than ever.

Murray texted again:
Nothing.

Same,
Ella replied.

Meeting’s on soon.

I know.

She sat holding the phone and staring out through the shrubs. This wasn’t how it was meant to go.

A car came slowly past and she slid lower in the seat. It was a red Corolla and it turned into the next driveway along from the Rioses’. Ella recognised the driver as the woman who’d told them the Rioses had all gone to the hospital with Julio. She grabbed up her notebook, shoved it and her phone into her bag, and got out of the car.

The woman was just about to go into her house, hands full of green enviro shopping bags.

‘Excuse me,’ Ella called. ‘May I speak with you?’

The woman shouldered the screen door away so she could see her. ‘Oh, hello. Let me just put these down inside.’

Ella waited by the step, looking across at the Rios house. She could see some of the side from here, and noticed a window in the garage.

‘Sorry about that,’ the woman said.

Ella got out her badge. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Detective Ella Marconi.’

‘Lottie Tuxworth.’ The woman’s hand was soft. ‘Did you find the Rioses at the hospice?’

‘We did, thanks,’ Ella said. ‘I was wondering what you could tell me about Sal?’

‘He’s a nice young man, very polite. Took it very hard when his mum died, you know.’

‘Do you see him coming and going much? Does he have friends dropping by a lot?’

‘He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends,’ Lottie said. ‘There was a Chinese man talking to him this morning, but he might have been selling something. Although he didn’t come to my door.’

‘What did Sal do after that?’

‘Well, a little while later I heard him go out in his car, and then Nona went out in hers.’

‘Sal’s still got the white Honda?’

‘Is that what it is?’ Lottie said. ‘It’s the same white car he’s had since he moved back, that’s all I know.’

‘And Nona was in her gold Toyota?’

Lottie nodded. ‘She carts Mr Rios around a lot, because he doesn’t drive any more. Between him and her kids, she spends half her life in the car. Have you seen those bumper stickers?
If a woman’s place is in the home, why am I always in the car?
’

‘I’ve seen them,’ Ella said. ‘What about Julio? Do they still have his car?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘They take it out pretty regular. I guess to keep the battery in good shape. Nona’s boyfriend takes it out a bit.’

‘Who?’

‘The other man who’s there at the moment,’ Lottie said. ‘I assume he’s Nona’s man friend.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You know what these divorcees are like.’

‘Hm,’ Ella said.

‘Not a real friendly chappie though, if you ask me. I said hello to him once and he just put his head down and walked away. I don’t know that he’d make a good dad to those girls. He never spends time playing with them in the yard.’

Something stirred deep in Ella’s chest. ‘What does he look like?’