by Vicki Tyley
Mustering the courage to move, she lifted the corner of the blind and looked out. Her stomach lurched, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. She jumped back, dropping the blind as she ducked below the bench. Huddled against the kitchen cupboards, she tried to stem her panic. It was pitch-black out there, yet she was convinced she had sensed, if not seen, movement.
Scrambling on all fours in the dark, she managed to locate the cordless phone, breathing a little easier when she heard the dial tone. But who to call? Brett was too far away to be of any real help. Daniel and Wendy certainly wouldn’t appreciate being woken in the small hours for something that might turn out to be nothing more than her overactive imagination.
Was she being neurotic, or was someone prowling around outside her home? The tables had turned. Now she knew how Narelle must have felt. She hugged the phone to her chest, her whole body so hypersensitive to her surroundings that she felt sure she would have sensed the vibrations of a spider’s eight legs crawling up the wall.
For what seemed hours, she sat motionless, too petrified to move, until finally she plucked up the nerve to phone Brett. She needed to hear his voice, needed him to tell her nothing bad was going to happen, and needed to reassure herself he was in bed alone. She had forgiven him his indiscretion at a similar conference in Sydney, but she hadn’t forgotten. She almost laughed. If scaring herself witless hadn’t been enough, she had to torment herself with what Brett might or might not be up to.
You have to trust him, she thought, running her fingers over the phone’s raised buttons. She located the menu key, knowing Brett’s mobile was the first number listed. Before she could stop herself, she had pressed the talk button.
CHAPTER 46
Brett Rhodes woke with a start, the unfamiliar texture and scent of the heavy cotton sheets disorientating him. It took him a while to work out where the ringing sound was coming from. At the same time he realised it was his mobile phone, he remembered where he was, his pounding head adding to the picture building in his mind. Whose bright idea had it been to pub-crawl their way across Canberra?
Unwilling to open his eyes, he groped blindly for the phone, answering with a pained grunt.
“It’s me,” a woman’s voice whispered.
Groggy with sleep and the aftermath of countless beers, he grunted again, his parched mouth struggling to form words.
“Did I wake you?”
“Jacinta?” With a mammoth effort, he managed to open one eye and look at the alarm clock. Pain darted through the retina to his brain. Covering both eyes with his clammy palm, he groaned. “Do you know what time it is?” Still half-asleep, it hadn’t yet registered that Jacinta wouldn’t be calling him before dawn for no reason.
“No,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Brett, I don’t know what to do. I heard noises and I saw movement by the kitchen window. I think someone’s out there.”
“What noises?” She had his attention now.
“Like shuffling footsteps.”
“Could it have been a possum?” he asked, hoping that was all it was. Stress could wreak havoc on the mind and the amount of stress Jacinta had been under in the last few weeks, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had seen Martians. Perhaps he should have cancelled the Canberra trip after all.
“Bloody big possum,” she hissed.
“Just asking.” Opening his eyes slightly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Have you called the police?”
Silence.
“Jacinta, are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“For God’s sake, have you called the police? Yes or no?” His anxiety levels rising, he clamped the phone to his ear, his hangover all but forgotten. Narelle’s prowler had turned out to be her husband, but a bullet to the shoulder meant it couldn’t be Craig skulking around outside Jacinta’s house. However, his shooter was still on the loose.
“Not yet… Shush, I heard something.”
“Jacinta, don’t do anything stupid!” He jumped out of bed, feeling no pain as his thigh connected with the sharp corner of the narrow, wall-mounted ledge-cum-desk. “For God’s sake, call the police!”
So far away, he felt powerless. Useless. He paced back and forth between the tiny en suite and the bed, feeling like a caged dingo, the compact motel room providing everything except room to move.
He could hear her creeping around, her light tread hesitant, a sharp intake of breath before another step. “Call Daniel!” he yelled down the phone.
He held his breath, listening. Ragged breathing, a muffled jangle in the background, then Jacinta’s scream, a loud clunk the last thing he heard before the phone went dead.
CHAPTER 47
The doorbell rang again, its shrill peal jolting her body like an electric shock. Abandoning the phone where it had landed in two pieces on the hard floor, Jacinta crept toward the front door, her pulse surging with each shaky step.
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and looked through the peephole. She squinted, trying but failing to make out her visitor’s face in the shadowy dawn light. Although something about the silhouette was familiar, it wasn’t until the person turned that she recognised the profile. Jacinta fumbled with the door lock, wondering what had happened for Narelle to turn up on her doorstep so early. Still wary, she opened the door barely enough to talk to her unexpected caller.
Narelle’s tired eyes stared through the door crack at her. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said, wringing her hands and moving in so close that Jacinta could taste her sour breath. “I would’ve phoned but the damn thing’s flat. I haven’t had a chance to recharge it.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her narrowed eyes imploring Jacinta to understand.
Visions of her prowler danced through Jacinta’s mind. “How long have you been here?”
Narelle stopped moving, her eyebrows drawing together. “I’ve just arrived. I was on my way home from the hospital to have a shower and pick up some things for Craig. I saw you hanging around last night but I couldn’t face you or anyone else then.” She paused. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” she added, backing away.
“Narelle, stop!”
Narelle faltered, half-turning.
“You haven’t disturbed me. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,” Jacinta said, opening the door wider.
The slam of car doors and muffled voices diverted both women’s attention toward the street.
Narelle’s already ashen face blanched further. “You called the cops on me?” she stammered, her eyes wide in disbelief.
Slowly shaking her head, Jacinta watched as two male, uniformed officers, one much taller and stockier than the other, opened the front gate and walked up the short path toward them. What were they doing there? Then she remembered her phone call to Brett.
She stepped forward to greet them. “I’m sorry, officers, I think you’ve been called out unnecessarily.”
“Jacinta Deller?” asked the short, wiry one, surprising her with the deepness of his voice.
She nodded, opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a false alarm, when she spotted Daniel pulling up at the kerb. What next? The fire brigade?
Narelle started edging away from the house, her gaze flitting between the police officers and the street, as if looking for an escape route. Jacinta caught her by the elbow, gently drawing her back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, positioning herself between Narelle and the men, “to have wasted your time, but as you can see, I’m perfectly all right.”
The police officers exchanged glances, but said nothing. Wrapping her arms around herself, Jacinta shivered, suddenly conscious of her half-dressed state. Daniel came to her rescue, sending the two uniformed men on their way.
“After you,” he said, extending an arm in the direction of the door.
“I should be going,” Narelle said, backing away again.
Daniel blocked her way. “A couple of extra minutes won’t hurt. You look like you could do with a sit-d
own and a good strong cup of tea. Herbal, of course,” he said, as he corralled the two women into the house.
“I should call Brett,” Jacinta said, scooping up the two pieces of the phone from the floor and slotting them back together. “I dropped it,” she added in response to Daniel’s raised eyebrows, before making a beeline for her bedroom. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a minute.” Long enough to call Brett and put some clothes on.
Closing the bedroom door behind her, she let out a loud huff, taking a few moments to get her thoughts in order. As much as she wanted to suppress them, little doubts were starting to niggle at her. Had she been blinkered into thinking what Narelle wanted her to think? Or was she letting other people’s perceptions – and that was all they were – sway her beliefs? Although they had nothing to back it up, Grace Kevron, Daniel and even Brett had all intimated that there was more to Narelle than Jacinta was seeing.
Narelle claimed she had just come from the hospital, but was it possible she had been outside the house for a lot longer? What conceivable reason could Narelle – pregnant, her husband lying seriously injured in hospital – have to want to spend a chilly night stalking the only person trying to help her? No, decided Jacinta, pulling on a denim skirt, something isn’t right, but it’s not Narelle.
Talking to Brett, reassuring him she was still in one piece and that cutting short his trip wouldn’t achieve anything, took longer than expected. “Love you, too. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll call you tonight.” Hanging up, she heard cupboard doors banging in the kitchen. Hoping Daniel wasn’t searching for the non-existent herbal tea he had offered Narelle, she went to join them.
Daniel was alone in the kitchen, systematically opening and closing cupboards and drawers. On the bench top, he had amassed three mugs, the large coffee plunger, the tin of ground Arabica coffee, the sugar bag from the pantry and the crystallised remains of a jar of honey. “Where do you hide the tea?” asked Daniel, checking the cupboard under the sink.
“Ordinary tea, I have,” she said, presenting him with a green, hinged-lid tin that used to house mint chocolates. “Herbal, I don’t. Where’s Narelle?”
“Other room.”
Jacinta rolled her eyes. Ask a stupid question, she thought, heading for the living room. But Narelle wasn’t there. Nor was there any sign of her in the dining room, bedroom, laundry, bathroom or toilet. Some minder Daniel made. Although, to give him some credit, it wasn’t the first time Narelle had slipped away unnoticed.
“She’s gone.”
Daniel stopped pouring, the kettle suspended mid-air. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Not here, AWOL, absent, missing, gone!” she said, her pitch escalating with each word.
Shrugging, he finished filling the coffee plunger. “She won’t have gone far. Not with her husband in hospital.”
“Why do I seem to be the only one concerned about her? Have you forgotten that the man — ” Daniel cocked an eyebrow at her “ — or woman who shot her husband is still at large? Not to mention she’s pregnant and probably not thinking straight.”
“Hormonal, you reckon?” He chuckled. “You might be able to get away with saying that, but if I even hinted at it, I’d be ducking for cover. Ask Wendy.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Forget I said anything.” Stress, fatigue, illness, or hormones: whatever the cause, the result was the same. Jacinta felt close to the edge herself. “Black, thanks,” she said, counting on the coffee to revive her enough to get her act together. Her job required her to be a functioning human being.
As Daniel concentrated on pressing the plunger down and filling two of the mugs, she studied his face, the tightness of his lips and the deep V above the bridge of his nose evidence of his stress levels.
“Any news on Craig’s shooter or the missing gun yet?”
Daniel continued stirring his coffee, not looking up. “No.”
“I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, and I know you told me Grace Kevron couldn’t have done it, but have you considered she could have an accomplice?”
“You really have it in for Grace, don’t you?”
“She’s hiding something, I’m sure of it. And you have to admit, she’s made no secret about her feelings for Craig and Narelle.”
Daniel nodded. “Sure, she blames them, but if you were in her position you might have, too. It’s a natural reaction to seek out a scapegoat when there are no definitive answers. Grace might be a bit screwed up, but that doesn’t automatically label her a psychopathic killer. In fact, the psych report suggests she’s more likely to harm herself than anyone else.”
Jacinta still wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts. “But you haven’t completely ruled out her involvement, right?”
The corners of his eyes creased, his mouth twitching in barely suppressed amusement. “Have you thought about changing career? Doggedness is one of the prerequisites to being a good cop.”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” But it wasn’t. She knew her strength lay in her tenacity. Without it, she couldn’t have survived. “You’re such a comedian. Have you thought about changing jobs?”
“Frequently.” The smile faded from his face. “But in answer to your question, until we have evidence to prove otherwise, we won’t be eliminating anyone from our enquiries. Shuffled down the list perhaps, but not ruled out.” He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Don’t worry; we’ll be talking with Grace in the next day or two. She was released into her mother’s care late yesterday, but even though she’s responded well to treatment and is considered stable, I’m told she’s still a little on the fragile side. Don’t, whatever you do, go bothering her. You’ll just make my job twice as hard.
“Now,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I have to be somewhere else. Are you going to be all right on your own? I could always have someone come and sit with you.”
“Thank you for caring,” she replied, his concern tempering her indignation, “but I don’t need babysitting.” She forced a smile. “Besides, having a police officer tagging along with me to work wouldn’t be a good look.”
After Daniel left, she hurried from room to room, opening blinds and curtains, the early morning light diluting the emptiness and heavy silence.
In the bathroom, she turned the shower taps to full, undressing while she waited for the water to warm up. She tested the temperature and was about to step in, when a flash of movement through the bathroom’s frosted glass window caught her eye. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t imagined it that time. Over the noise of the shower, she heard a scraping sound, like one of the wooden outdoor chairs being dragged across the brick paving. Then nothing.
Leaving the shower running, she wrapped a towel around herself and tiptoed into the bedroom. She was careful to avoid the windows. The phone lay less than a metre away on the bedside table. It rang. She jumped, letting out an involuntary squawk.
She snatched up the ringing phone, wanting it to be Daniel. “Hello?” she whispered, her hand cupped around the phone’s mouthpiece.
“Jacinta?”
“Shit, Narelle, why did…” She stopped, convinced she had heard voices. “Can’t talk now. Someone’s creeping around outside.”
“It’s—”
“Call Daniel.” Jacinta paused, listening. “Call the police. Call anyone—”
“Jacinta, listen to me. It’s me. I’m outside your house. I’m at the door now.”
Struck dumb, Jacinta stared at the phone. If Narelle was at the front door, why was she phoning?
“Jacinta?”
“Jesus, Narelle,” she hissed, her voice no longer a whisper. “What the hell are you playing at? Do you realise you scared me half to death?” She took a breath. “But hang on, when I answered the door earlier, you told me you had just arrived.”
“I had.”
“But that means…”
“This is silly. How a
bout letting me in so we can talk face to face?”
For a split second, Jacinta considered leaving Narelle out there and calling Daniel. But if she couldn’t trust her own instincts, whose could she trust?
With the phone still in her hand, she went to let Narelle in, checking she was on her own before opening the door.
Narelle's sunken eyes widened slightly. “Oh God, I’ve done it again, interrupted you.”
Following Narelle’s gaze, Jacinta looked down; the navy-blue towel barely covered her torso. “Not this month’s fashion, then?” she said, hoping to inject a touch of levity into the situation. For her own sake, if not Narelle’s.
Narelle didn’t smile.
“Please don’t worry about it. Come in,” Jacinta said, ushering her inside. “I can have a shower any time.” That wasn’t quite true. If she didn’t have a shower within the next half hour, she would be late for work. Again. “Just give me a minute to put something a bit more respectable on.” And don’t disappear this time, she added silently.
She entered her bedroom, cursing as she saw steam billowing from the bathroom and heard the sound of water running. She’d be lucky if there was enough hot water left to have a shower. Managing to turn off the taps without getting too wet, she dumped her towel on the floor, replacing it with the white cotton waffle robe from behind the door.
She found Narelle on the daybed, her back against the wall with her knees drawn up, staring blankly out the window. Jacinta joined her, sitting on the opposite end. Seconds ticked by.
“How’s Craig?”
Narelle’s gaze didn’t flicker. “Off the critical list.”
“That’s good news.”
Silence.
“Narelle, I know you’re scared.” Of what or whom, Jacinta wasn’t sure. “I’m here for you, but I sense you’re not telling me something. Whatever it is, I can help you deal with it.” Anything except a confession to murder, added a small voice in her head. Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, she said, “But if we’re not honest with each other, it can’t work.”
