Thin Blood

by Vicki Tyley

  Was Narelle playing with her, or did she really not know about the architect’s disappearance? Surely, though, thought Jacinta, when Chandra was first reported missing, the Edmondses would’ve been interviewed by the police, or at the very least heard about it. Wary of jumping to conclusions, she steered the conversation to furniture and colour schemes. She needed more time to think it through.

  Brett’s eyes glazed over. Talk about contemporary versus traditional, brights versus pastels, floor and window coverings wasn’t his scene. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he collected the other empty cups and carried them on the tray back to the kitchen.

  With Brett out of earshot, Jacinta hoped Narelle might be a little less reserved. The real issues had been skirted for long enough.

  “Narelle.” She paused. “What makes you so sure Grace is the one stalking you, the one breaking into your home? What reason would she have to do that?”

  Silence. Narelle studied her fingernails, polishing each in turn with her thumb.

  “Could it have anything to do with the affair she had with your sister?” Jacinta said, tossing out the words like a lighted firecracker.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  The detective constable recoiled, rubbing the side of his hand as he stumbled backwards. “Ow! The bitch bit me.”

  He glared at Margaret Kevron as if it was her fault that her daughter had sunk her teeth into his hand. Margaret flinched, powerless to do anything except watch helplessly as the scene unfolded.

  Detective Sergeant White scowled at her younger colleague, shoved him aside and dropped to her knee. “Ms Kevron… Grace,” she said, her voice softening, “we’re not here to hurt you; we only want to talk with you, but we’d rather you came out of there. Your mum and work colleagues have been very concerned about you.”

  No longer able to bear the sight of her daughter frightened and cowering amongst the shoes and hanging clothes in the wardrobe, Margaret moved sideways. She wanted to help, wanted to comfort her daughter, but experience told her that when Grace came off her medication, a mother’s love wasn’t enough.

  She’d had no choice but to call the police. When Grace didn’t return any of her phone calls, she had become increasingly frantic. She’d managed to get a standby flight from Sydney to Melbourne, arriving by taxi outside Grace’s home early that morning. But Grace refused to answer the door, even though Margaret was convinced she heard movement inside.

  The sergeant was doing her best to coax Grace out but, like a cornered feral cat, Grace hissed at her, steadfastly refusing to budge. The DS stood up, narrowly missing having her leg caught in the wardrobe door, Grace slamming it so hard it vibrated in its tracks.

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” continued DS White.

  Detective Inspector Lassiter entered the small, colourless bedroom, despatching the wounded DC with a sharp thrust of the thumb in the direction of the door. Margaret suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if the whiteness of the room was closing in on her. She took a deep breath and waited for the feeling to pass.

  “Don’t listen to them!” shrieked Grace from her bolthole. “Don’t believe them!”

  “Who, Grace? Don’t believe who?”

  “Them! They say things!”

  Margaret saw the arched eyebrows and sidelong glance DS White gave DI Lassiter. He responded with a weary shake of the head, but motioned for her to keep talking.

  “Grace, listen to me. Your mother is here. Wouldn’t you like to see her?”

  “Make them stop!”

  The DS looked at her DI again, just as the DC appeared in the doorway with what looked to be a packet of some kind in his hand. DI Lassiter put one hand up to stop him entering the room while making circular movements with the other, encouraging DS White to keep talking. Then, signalling for Margaret to follow, DI Lassiter crept from the bedroom into the hall.

  Margaret recognised the small, pale purple rectangular box with bold dark purple lettering in the DC’s hands as Grace’s Zyprexa medication. “They’re Grace’s,” she blurted as the DC handed them to his DI. “For her schizophrenia,” she added.

  DI Lassiter’s face remained impassive as he opened the box and slid the unopened foil blister sheets of tablets onto his palm. Margaret knew even before the DI checked the prescription label that Grace hadn’t been taking her medication.

  “If the date on the label is anything to go by, it would seem that your daughter probably stopped taking her medication at least a fortnight ago.”

  Margaret nodded.

  “Has she done this before?”

  Another nod. Margaret stared at the floor, a guilty flush enveloping her neck and face. She was Grace’s mother. How could she have allowed this to happen again?

  “Get on to CAT,” Daniel said to the DC. “Ask them to get someone here pronto. Not here, for God’s sake,” he added as the DC pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and started dialling. “Use your bloody head.”

  As the DC slunk off down the hall, DI Lassiter turned to Margaret, his voice warm and compassionate. “Mrs Kevron, Grace’s mental state has disintegrated to a point where she needs professional medical help. DC Fratta is calling Crisis Assessment and Treatment services now. They should be here shortly.”

  Margaret nodded again, tears welling in her eyes, grateful that Grace was getting the help she so desperately needed.

  From the bedroom behind her, Margaret could hear DS White’s low, calming tones empathising with Grace, not contradicting her in the least but uttering all the right assurances.

  “That Deller bitch!” Grace retorted. “She’s as bad as the rest of them.”

  Deller? Margaret frowned. It wasn’t a name she had ever heard Grace mention, but it certainly made the DI’s ears prick up. He turned, looking as if he were about to march back into the room, but then had second thoughts. He gave Margaret a weak smile.

  Her fingers snagged his wrist. “Who’s this Deller woman she’s talking about, then?” she whispered. “How does Grace know her? Do you know?” she added, her grip tightening.

  In the other room, Grace continued her rant. “They’re all going to burn in hell!” She erupted into loud, raucous laughter that suddenly stopped short. “Oh God, make them stop!”

  CHAPTER 39

  Narelle’s jaw dropped. She stared at Jacinta as though she was from another planet. “Did I hear you right? Did you say Kirsty had an affair,” she screwed up her nose, “with Grace?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  Narelle shook her head slowly from side to side, her eyes wide in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. They were girlfriends, but not in the way you’re suggesting. Kirsty was as straight as you and I.” The pitch of her voice rose as, uncurling her legs, she leaned forward. “And even if it was true, how would you know about it?”

  Behind her, Jacinta heard a sharp intake of breath and then the sound of a CD case clattering on the floor. She felt Brett’s gaze boring the same question into the back of her head, but didn’t turn around.

  “To be honest, Narelle, I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s what Grace told me. She said Craig knew all about it, and that Kirsty was leaving him for her.”

  Narelle chortled, her face relaxing. “That woman is more deluded than I thought. The only place she and my sister were having a lesbian relationship was in her head,” she said, tapping her temple with a finger. “And, anyway, if Craig knew all about it, as you say, he would’ve told me. God, if it had been true, nothing would’ve been standing in our way.”

  “According to Grace, Craig wanted both you and Kirsty.”

  Narelle pressed her lips together, her face turning pink before, unable to contain it any longer, she burst into laughter. “What a joke. Was that the punch line?”

  “No, there’s more,” Jacinta said, deciding to press on while Narelle was in her current mood. “She thinks that the night Kirsty disappeared, Craig and she argued about it…” Her voice trailed off
, deliberately leaving the words hanging.

  Narelle laughed even louder.

  Jacinta glanced behind her. Brett sat on his haunches in front of the Edmonds’ extensive CD collection, looking like he had been slapped in the face. She turned back to Narelle.

  “If it’s not that, what makes you think Grace is the one stalking you?”

  Narelle’s laughter came to an abrupt halt. Jacinta watched as Narelle’s gaze fell back to her hands, her mind working overtime to formulate answers.

  “In a funny way, knowing Grace had a crush on my sister makes more sense. We always knew, regardless of what the courts said, that she held both Craig and I responsible for Kirsty’s death. But continuing to harass us year after year… well, we could never quite fathom the intensity of her vendetta. Losing a friend can’t be in the same league as losing your wife or sister.” Pausing, she added, “Can it?” looking to Jacinta for confirmation.

  In Jacinta’s mind, the strength of the bond between two people didn’t depend on a blood or marital connection. How could it? Her own father had disowned her even before she was born. Her mother had then married a man who systematically destroyed her, demeaning her at every opportunity. Despite these feelings, she simply shook her head.

  “But that still doesn’t explain what she…” Jacinta paused before adding, “…or whoever it was who broke in was looking for.”

  Narelle threw her hands up in the air. “Who knows how that woman’s mind works… Oh my God,” she exclaimed suddenly, “what if she was looking for the gun? What if Kirsty rejected her advances?” The blood drained from her face, becoming paler with each what-if. “What if she’s the one? What if she decided that if she couldn’t have Kirsty, no one else could either? Oh my God, what if the gun is,” she stumbled over the next words, “the murder weapon?” She was trembling, her eyes large and round as saucers. “Oh my God, where is it? What have you done with it?”

  Not admitting that scenario had crossed her mind more than once, Jacinta opted to play devil’s advocate. “But if that’s the case, what about the two women victims found in the Toolangi State Forest? Grace has no known connection to them, but Craig has.”

  “What do you mean, he had links to both victims? I know Tamara Whitfield worked for the same stockbrokers as Craig, but they hardly knew each other. Have they identified the other body? Who is it?” The pitch of her voice started to rise again. “What connection does she have to Craig? Tell me,” she demanded, gulping air.

  Before Jacinta could open her mouth, a resounding crash down the side of the house had all three leaping to their feet.

  “Shit! What was that?” Like the two women, Brett stood stock-still, his gaze fixed in the direction from which the noise had come.

  An involuntary scream escaped Jacinta’s lips as a half-naked man, barefoot and dressed only in jeans, appeared at the sliding glass doors. Without his glasses, it took her a moment to recognise him.

  Jacinta’s gaze flitted between Narelle on the inside and Craig on the outside, her frown deepening. With each savage rattle of the door handle, Narelle shrunk back further, her face frozen in a rictus of shock. She had always been so loving and protective of Craig, so what was it about his sudden appearance now that she found so frightening? What had happened between them to turn her into a quivering mess at the sight of her own husband?

  “Shouldn’t he still be in hospital?” asked Brett, his voice a harsh whisper. “Do you think we should call the police?”

  No one made a move, the tension in the room palpable.

  “You have to go now,” said Narelle, in a tightly controlled monotone. “I need to talk to my husband alone.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Brett’s breath escaped in a loud huff, his eyes closing as he tilted his head back over the headrest. The whole situation felt so surreal he’d had to pinch himself to make sure it wasn’t some weird dream. If it hadn’t been for Jacinta’s obstinacy, they would have been on their way home, leaving the Edmondses to sort out their own domestic troubles.

  “I’m not going anywhere. If you want to go home, you’ll have to walk,” Jacinta snapped at him.

  He sighed. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you call Daniel? He’s trained for all this; we aren’t. Please, Jacinta,” he added, although he knew pleading was pointless.

  “Not yet.” She glanced down at the mobile phone in her lap. “You heard her. If she doesn’t answer the phone when I call in ten minutes, then we call the police.”

  “A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

  “At least they can’t shoot each other, can they? By the way, what did you do with the gun?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said, wishing he had never laid eyes on it. “For now it’s hidden away, but the sooner it’s in police hands, the better.”

  Jacinta visibly baulked, her head jerking back. “Have you even stopped to think it through? We still have no idea if the gun is implicated in any of the deaths or not, but whose fingerprints do you suppose are all over it? Besides yours, of course. Not to mention the matter of it not being registered.”

  “It’s a gun, Jacinta. Guns kill. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten hurling yourself at the floor when Narelle fired the so-called unloaded gun at the ceiling. We might not be so lucky next time,” he said, cocking his finger at her to emphasise his point.

  She batted his hand away. “I know that, but I don’t think it’s as clean-cut as you seem to think. We need to find out a lot more before we go dobbing people into the police.”

  “For a start, what’s this sudden ‘we’? Up to now, you’ve treated me like a mushroom.” Kept me in the dark and fed me bullshit, he added silently. “Am I the only one with any fucking common sense here?” he demanded, anger welling in his chest. “Leave the detective work to the professionals, for Chrissakes! Do you want to end up like those women in the forest?”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Answer me!”

  She swallowed, the corner of her mouth twitching in a small smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “Damn it, Jacinta, I’m being serious!”

  She squeezed his hand, her smile fading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant. I do understand what you’re saying, but let’s not,” her mouth twitched again, “jump the gun, so to speak.”

  He glowered at her, wrenching his hand from her grip. If she’d thought he would find her gun quip amusing, she’d thought wrong. “If Narelle and Craig are innocent of any wrongdoing, they have nothing to worry about. In fact, it could be the very thing that helps clear their names. And as far as it being an unregistered firearm, I’m sure you could talk Daniel into arranging an amnesty.”

  “Craig inherited that gun from his father. I still think surrendering it to the police at this stage would be premature, causing a whole lot of what might turn out to be unnecessary grief for Narelle and Craig. Daniel said himself that Narelle had survived all these years without incident. Anyway, you’ve confiscated it. Surely, that’s enough until we know more.”

  Brett felt his initial resolve faltering. Although his head told him he was right, his heart wasn’t listening. What’s another few days after all these years, he rationalised. Besides, he knew even a bulldozer couldn’t stop Jacinta in her tracks once she had decided on a course.

  “Okay, I’ll leave it for now—” He held up his hand in a stop motion as she leaned toward him. “But only on two conditions. You have to promise me, Jacinta, that if the ballistics tests in any way match that gun – calibre, age, brand, whatever — we surrender it to the police and you tell them everything. I don’t care how damning it is for Narelle.” He waited until she nodded, and then continued. “Second, stay away from Craig Edmonds. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

  “And you do?”

  “No, but that’s the whole point. We’re dealing with the unknown. Someone murdered his wife and two other women connected to him. And regardless of what you say, until
he’s ruled out, he has to be the prime suspect.”

  “But not the only one,” she said, glancing back down at her mobile phone.

  Sighing, he lifted her chin with two of his fingers, tilting her face toward him. “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, yes, I promise,” she said distractedly, staring past him to the house. “But,” she turned her head, looking him straight in the eye, “where is the gun?”

  “I shoved it inside the recycle bin as a temporary measure,” he said, pointing at the yellow-lidded blue wheelie bin next to the garage. “Don’t panic,” he added quickly. “No one saw me do it. What else was I supposed to do? You had the keys to the car.”

  He extended his arm through the gap between the two front seats, and groped for something in which he could conceal the gun. “Stay here and make sure no one comes out. I’ll go and get it.” His fingertips touched something fabric on the floor, almost under Jacinta’s seat. Grunting, he strained to hook what turned out to be a lightweight but durable green-printed calico shopping bag.

  Once out of the car, he skipped across the dew-laden grass verge to the footpath. He paused, inhaling the cool morning air, and looked around. The street was starting to wake, a magpie choir high in the trees heralding the new day. In the distance, he heard a car start up and drive away, a door slammed somewhere else, but most residents, it seemed, were enjoying a Sunday lie-in.

  For once, Jacinta did what she was told and stayed in the car. Trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, he sauntered up the Edmonds’ driveway, resisting the urge to keep checking over his shoulder. Although it was only a slight incline, by the time he reached the wheelie bins, he felt he had climbed a mountain, his legs shaking from the exertion.