by Kate Genet
Claire shook her head at the mother’s question. ‘No. He’s around somewhere though, because he called Zoe’s phone.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He was probably looking for it,’ Frank said. ‘Claire, make that call. I’ll organise the boat for you and give you a ride down to the wharf. Only other must-do thing today is I gotta go see Colin.’ He looked at his wife. ‘Okay?’
Gracie nodded. ‘Make sure you bring him back here. He shouldn’t be alone at the moment and it will do him good to remember he still has a granddaughter.’ Her eyes moved to Claire. ‘Go make sure that evil man can never come near Rose again.’
With a nod, Claire picked up Zoe’s phone, wondering who would have the care of the little girl if she lost both her parents, but deciding that was probably a stupid question. Without a doubt she was looking at them. Her parents would be more than happy to raise the child. And more than able, even at their age.
50
She’d helped top up the fuel tanks, then she was waving goodbye to her father and settling down in the cockpit while Jim steered the boat out of the harbour. They were the only one out on the water. Even the huge Navy ship was still in port, its crew helping with the disaster relief.
She hadn’t had time to pay attention to anything earthquake-related. Except to curse the timing of it. Without it, Zoe wouldn’t be dead.
Moana had asked to see the photos and Claire had forwarded them to her with only a few clicks. She’d stayed on the phone while Moana opened the media messages and listened to the silence when the police woman took in their content. Then they’d both talked at once.
She was due to meet her as soon as she arrived back at the ramp by the yacht club. Claire was determined she was going to help with whatever came next and Moana hadn’t objected. They both had information they needed to tell each other.
One thing Claire was certain of, she decided, shaking her hair out of her face and shrugging down deeper into her jacket, was that there would be no resting until she got to the bottom of this. She would retrace Zoe’s footsteps until she had it all figured out and knew everything that had gotten her friend so rattled the day before.
Even from the water, the Christchurch suburbs had a bedraggled look about them. Lyttelton had been devastated as they’d driven through it this morning and she knew she was in for more of the same. Her father’s face had been ashen when he’d told her it was suspected more than a hundred people were still trapped in fallen buildings throughout the city.
But, she decided, she couldn’t afford to dwell on that. She’d take what she could control and do what she needed to.
A dark blue Ford was waiting by the broken yacht club building. Leaning against it, arms hugged around her waist, was Moana Hodge. She’d been planning a party for the coming weekend, Claire remembered. Now her beautiful face was pale and drawn. No one would be celebrating much of anything this weekend.
Jim steered the boat close enough for Claire to get off and waved away her thanks. She hopped nimbly ashore and shook Moana’s hand.
‘It’s been a long time; Zoe’s wedding, I think.’ she said. ‘Wish we were meeting again under better circumstances.’
Moana’s hand was cold even while her smile showed her natural warmth. ‘It hurts that Zoe’s gone,’ she said.
Claire nodded. It had hurt to witness it too, but she wasn’t going to burden Zoe’s friend with that knowledge. Her mind skipped on past it even while she was glad Zoe’s death was a pain they were sharing.
‘Thanks for letting me be part of this,’ she said. ‘I know it can’t be part of the usual scheme of things.’
A short laugh from the police woman. ‘Nothing about the last day or so has been part of the usual scheme of things. And I don’t have a constable I can bring with me on this one, so you’re a decent stand in.’ She shrugged. ‘Since at this stage, there’s no formal investigation.’ Her eyes wandered back to her car. ‘That might well change after I’ve compared the photograph on the Fry home wall, and when we’ve spoken to Jeanette Woolsley.’
‘Jeanette Woolsley?’ They were walking towards the vehicle and Moana gestured her into the passenger’s seat.
‘She’s the mother of the little girl who drowned on the weekend,’ Moana said when she was sitting down. The car started, and they pulled out onto the road, heading towards the city. They passed Gracie’s little car and Claire was relieved to see it was still all right.
‘There’s a link, right?’ she asked, focusing back on the conversation. ‘That’s what the other photo on Zoe’s phone was about?’
‘I think so, yes. It’s definitely Sahara Woolsley in the photo, and Zoe said she was going to visit Jeanette yesterday.’ Moana took a left turn, driving slowly over the rippled road.
‘And the figure in it…’ Had looked like Danny.
Moana’s feature’s tightened. ‘Jeanette Woolsley believes it to be Danny Fry. And she says that Zoe agreed with her.’
Sitting back, Claire let that sink in. ‘We’re inferring from this that Danny had something to do with the child’s death?’
‘It’s a leap, but yes, that’s what Jeanette is convinced of, and she said that when Zoe saw who it was in the photograph, she went white as a sheet and came to the same conclusion.’
Claire gazed out the window, barely seeing the buildings lining the road, some of them sitting at odd and uncomfortable angles. ‘So, let me see if I’ve got this right.’ She dug short fingernails into the flesh of her thighs.
‘Zoe went to visit this Jeanette Woolsley – to offer her condolences?’
A nod of agreement. ‘Jeanette was one of Zoe’s clients when the child Sahara was born. She was very proud of Jeanette and was totally torn apart to hear Sahara had drowned.’
‘But it was a drowning, right? No one suspected anything else? No sign of anything else?’
‘I’ll be going over the post-mortem report again today, but no, nothing was found that contradicted a finding of death by misadventure – drowning, in this case.’ Moana sniffed. ‘She didn’t have any other marks on her, other than bruises from being in the river, and some scratches, likely from the brambles around the fence.’
‘Fence?’
‘Yep. One of the things Jeanette’s complaining about. She’s adamant that Sahara wouldn’t have climbed over the fence by the river. Said the child knew better than that.’
‘Sahara was how old?’
‘She died on her seventh birthday.’
‘Shit.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Old enough to climb a fence and think she’d be safe though.’ Claire was mulling it over. She didn’t necessarily believe it was an accident. Not if Zoe had decided otherwise. She must have had her reasons.
‘Yes,’ Moana said. ‘Do you want to see where it happened?’
Claire wasn’t sure. ‘We’re looking at this thinking that Danny had something to do with this child’s death? On the basis of the photograph on Zoe’s phone, and what else?’
The police woman’s sigh was deep. ‘That’s why we’re going to talk to Jeanette. We need to figure out exactly what spooked Zoe about it all.’
‘Because something sure did,’ Claire agreed. ‘She was definitely upset about something when she called me. She made me promise I’d come straight over.’
A sideways glance from Moana. ‘She must have trusted you implicitly.’
Claire answered it with a shrug. ‘We grew up like sisters,’ she said. ‘Zoe would have been able to count on me to have her back.’ She blinked at the view outside the passenger’s window. ‘I still have her back.’
‘And you have Rose?’
She knew her voice had softened when she answered. ‘Yes. My parents are looking after her. Mum and Dad aren’t going to let Danny anywhere near her, not until I’ve given them the go-ahead. I flat-out don’t trust him. Especially not after seeing the things he made his sister do.’
Moana was shooting her little glances, a curious expression o
n her face.
‘What?’
But the woman just shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You’re sure it’s his sister?’
‘You will be too, when you see the photograph he has on his study wall.’ Her fingers turned back to claws against her jeans. ‘And seen the way Zoe went through that room like a whirlwind. She was looking for something all right. Something put the wind up her, and I'm guessing she found what she was looking for. Going by the fact that she took a hatchet to a locked cupboard and turned it into splinters.’
Moana looked at her with arched brows, then turned back to the road with a grim expression.
They were driving up a winding residential road. Claire recognised it as where Zoe lived. Had lived.
Except when they stopped in front of the house she’d lived in, it was a twisted, blackened ruin.
51
‘What the fuck?’ Claire said, fighting the safety belt to get out of the car where Moana had rolled to a stop.
Moana was out of the car with her. They both stood for a moment, gazing aghast at the shell of the building. Then crossed the road to stare at it from closer quarters.
‘What the hell happened?’ Claire said. ‘This place is a ruin.’
‘It burned completely down,’ a woman said, joining them on the path, her feet in slippers underneath the frayed hems of her jeans. ‘Was fine, then all of a sudden I hear a sort of whooshing noise and the whole place is lit up like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes night. Fire truck didn’t get here for quite a while – I thought my place would catch it too, and half of old Mrs. Hasting’s house did, and the poor old dear was taken away in an ambulance. She’s got that smoke inhalation. I'm going to go visit her in a minute. They say she’s very poorly.’ The woman stared at the blackened pile that used to be a house. ‘Haven’t seen any of the Fry family. You don’t know if they’re okay, do you?’
Neither Claire nor Moana answered for a moment. ‘Rose and Danny are fine,’ Claire said.
‘Oh,’ the neighbour said, lowering her head. ‘Like that is it?’
‘I'm afraid so.’
‘That’s a crying shame. Zoe was good people.’
‘Mrs?’ Moana asked.
‘McGuire. Sherryl McGuire. But no Mrs. It’s just me and Poodles my cat. He was terrified by the shake yesterday. Everyone on the street was. We’ve had quite a bit of damage, between us.’ She waved her hand at the remains of Zoe’s house. ‘Then this. Such a terrible day.’
‘Ms McGuire,’ Moana interrupted. ‘Have you seen Danny Fry?’
‘We’re worried about him,’ Claire said.
The woman who owned a cat called Poodles shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him at all. Is he all right? I thought you just said he was all right? He’ll be distraught over Zoe. Devoted he was, especially to his kiddie. She’s a real cutie. Never seen such red hair.’ The eyes widened. ‘Little Rose is safe, isn’t she?’
Claire nodded. ‘She’s with her grandparents. She’s fine.’
Sherryl McGuire clutched a hand to the tee shirt over her chest and nodded vigorously in relief. ‘That’s a good thing,’ she said. ‘A very good thing. I hope you find her daddy. A very kind man he is. Took a photo of my Poodles once, he did, and let me have a print at a very cheap rate. I’ve got it pride of place in the living room if you want to look.’
‘Thank you, Ms McGuire,’ Moana said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Don’t think anything of it,’ Zoe’s neighbour said. ‘You just find that man and make sure he’s all right. And give him my condolences about Zoe. She was a lovely lady.’
The woman disappeared as quickly as she’d materialised. Claire focused on Moana. ‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything in there,’ she said.
Moana was already shaking her head. ‘Nope.’ She pulled out her phone and pushed a bunch of buttons, Claire watching her. A minute later Moana was deep in conversation.
‘They don’t have any details on the cause of the fire,’ she said after disconnecting. ‘What with everything else going on, there’re just no investigators to spare. They were lucky to get a fire unit here at all.’
Claire stared back over the ruins. ‘I'm betting it was Danny,’ she said, the suspicion sinking deep into her gut and settling there with the feeling of certainty.
‘Why, though?’
‘Cover his tracks? Getting rid of whatever evidence he had hidden in there?’
‘It’s a pretty radical method.’
‘Yeah,’ Claire agreed. ‘It is that.’ There was something bothering her specifically about the fire, but she couldn’t place what it was. Something niggled at the back of her mind and she tried to retrieve it, but it wiggled away from her, a fish that wasn’t quite ready to take the bait. ‘Shall we head on?’ she asked. ‘We’re not going to find anything in that twisted mess.’
‘Nothing that won’t take an hour or two of looking, anyway,’ Moana agreed. ‘We’ll come back, perhaps. Right now though, I'm for going to see what Jeanette Woolsley has to say.’
‘Good plan,’ Claire said, giving the burnt-down house a last look and frowning. There was something she needed to remember. On a sigh she decided it would come to her when she’d turned her mind to something else. That was the way it usually worked.
In a few steps she’d caught up to Moana and was opening the car door, sliding into the seat and taking a deep breath. Things were just getting worse and worse for Rose. Thank goodness the little girl had Gracie and Frank.
The drive to Jeanette’s house took them only a few blocks. Claire checked her watch as they got out of the car and looked over the unassuming council flat. It was later in the day than she wanted it to be, but Claire shrugged off the thought. She wasn’t going to rest until she knew exactly what had happened to Zoe the day before, and what she now needed to do for Rose.
Moana knocked on the door, smoothed down her jacket and gave Claire a wan smile. ‘I should be used to this sort of thing by now,’ she said.
‘It’s the sort of thing you can get used to?’ Claire asked.
Moana shook her head and turned toward the sound of footsteps behind the door. Claire took a deep breath of her own, banishing the thought of her own demon memories, the rescue in the artic Southern Ocean, the deck, her hands and face frozen, the winds pegged at one hundred, waves reaching fifteen meters, a dangerously delirious man, the protesting groans of her boat as she fought her way towards him.
She shook herself and swallowed. That was over and done with. And had nothing to do with what was happening here. She’d dealt with that, she could manage this too.
52
The plain white door was wrenched open and a lined and frantic face opened its mouth.
‘Jeanette!’ the woman cried, and Claire watched her face fall when she realised it wasn’t Jeanette Woolsley on the other side of the door.
‘I'm afraid not,’ Moana said. ‘I'm Detective Sergeant Moana Hodge with the Child Protection Unit.’ She gestured to Claire. ‘This is my associate Claire Wilde. I'm hoping to speak to Jeanette Woolsley – I called earlier, and she should be expecting us.’
Claire held her breath through Moana’s introduction, looking at the woman on the other side of the door, watching as her head nodded violently.
‘I'm Jeanette’s mum, Margaret,’ she said as soon as Moana had finished speaking and shot out a hand that latched onto the police woman and pulled her inside. ‘Jeanette’s gone,’ she said, leading them past the door and into the tiny flat.
‘Gone?’ Claire asked and exchanged a look with Moana. ‘Gone as in...?’
‘Vanished,’ Jeanette’s mother said. ‘I had a shower then shouted to Jeanette that I was going up the road to get some milk – I didn’t know if they’d have any on account of yesterday, but they did. We were lucky getting the electricity on again so quickly.’ She paused as if realising she was getting off track and sniffed, tugging a tissue out of a pocket and holding it to her nose. ‘When I got back, Jeanette was gone. She was o
utside having a smoke when I went to the shop – she’s started again since Sahara passed – but I checked and there’s no sign of her. I took longer than I should have – had a little wander around the neighbourhood, looking at the damage; I didn’t think anything of it.’ Her eyes watered, and she blinked them several times in a row.
Moana slipped a hand under the woman’s elbow and led her gently to the sofa. ‘Please sit down, Mrs. Woolsley?’
She nodded. ‘Woolsley’s right. Jeanette hasn’t married. Too devoted to little Sahara to rush into anything.’ The tissue made a dab at the eyes. ‘But you can call me Margaret. Please.’
A gentle nod from Moana. ‘Margaret. Let’s just sit a moment and go over everything, shall we?’ She looked quickly at Claire and winced. ‘I don’t suppose you could make Margaret a cup of tea?’
Claire gave an easy nod and walked the four steps into the little kitchenette. Everything was clean and tidy, and it took only moments to find the cups and teabags. She added milk and when the jug boiled, carried the sugar bowl and spoon over with the mug of tea.
‘She wouldn’t do anything stupid, not my Jeanette.’ Claire got an automatic smile from the woman, who picked up the mug and wrapped her hands around it as if its warmth was lifesaving. She shook her head again. ‘Not my Jeanette.’ When she looked over at Moana, Claire saw the anguish in the eyes. ‘Not even with everything that’s happened.’
‘Are you suggesting that Jeanette left the house with the intention of hurting herself?’ Moana spoke slowly, carefully.
‘No! I'm saying Jeanette wouldn’t do something like that. She was cut up over Sahara’s death, but I'm sure she wouldn’t…’ Her voice trailed off and she dipped her head to the tea, the steam beading her forehead.
Claire glanced around the small living room then sidled off into the hallway. She pushed the closest door open and found a child’s room, stood for a moment staring at the bright posters on the wall, the smiley face rug on the floor and the assortment of stuffed animals lined up against the wall on the bed. The bed showed signs of being slept in, but she didn’t know if it was the way Sahara had left it or if her mother had sought comfort there.
