by Diane Hester
‘Someone involved? Are you suggesting—?’ Ellen Cavenaugh pushed to her feet. ‘My daughter is not a murderer, detective.’
Warrick rose beside her, his look just as troubled. ‘We were under the impression you were Lindsay’s friend. Apparently we were mistaken.’
Mac hesitated. If he told them it was taking all his will to remain impartial where their daughter was concerned, that he damn well might be falling in love with her despite his efforts, would it make any difference?
He stood and faced them. ‘I’m sure you understand that, as a police—’
‘We have nothing more to say to you.’ Ellen pointed to the door. ‘Kindly get out.’
Chapter 29
Lindsay slid her hands from the keyboard and listened to her final chord echo about the empty hall. Only once it had died away into heavy silence did she open her eyes. It always took her a moment or two to return from where the music transported her. That peaceful, ordered realm of consciousness, much like the one she entered during meditation, where all her problems and fears receded.
She swivelled on the bench and gazed out over the row upon row of vacant seats. In three weeks’ time those seats would be filled—teachers, fellow students, the adjudicating panel, all come to hear her final-year assessment performance, an evaluation that would determine if she’d graduate or not.
Despite the present turmoil in her life, she was feeling pretty good about her chances of passing. She’d conquered all the technical challenges of her pieces and felt secure in her memorisation. And as for nerves … performing on stage before a hall full of people was going to feel like a walk in the park compared to what she’d been going through lately.
She closed her music and stared at the cover, yet in her mind’s eye a face appeared. The turmoil in her life had just as much to do, she knew, with the man investigating the recent murders as the case itself. For two days now she’d struggled to focus on anything else other than her near encounter with Macklyn.
Her actions and the feelings he’d stirred had totally stunned her. A cop, of all people. And not just any cop—one who suspected her involvement in murder. Good god, what was wrong with her? Next she’d be dating shrinks and doctors.
She slipped the volume of Bach Inventions into her case and pulled out the Beethoven Sonatas. With the music open to the appropriate page, she raised her hands to strike the first chord, then stilled at a noise from the back of the hall.
Frowning, she looked out over the rows. At least she’d thought it had come from the back. A scuffing sound like someone moving. But with the house lights on she could see clearly that no-one was there.
Unless they were hiding between the seats.
The thought sent a shiver skimming over her shoulders. Probably just a workman or cleaner, out of sight up on the balcony maybe. Still, when she got engrossed in her playing she lost all track of her surroundings. Suddenly she didn’t feel comfortable drifting off to that faraway place again all on her own.
She checked her watch. Nearly time to finish up anyway. She closed her music and got to her feet.
The entire auditorium plunged into darkness.
Lindsay’s gasp echoed to silence.
She stood, her nails dug into her music, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A power black-out? Not likely. She could just make out a thin line of light beneath the exit door at the foot of the stage stairs. Light that, at this time of night, could only be coming from campus walkways or other buildings.
The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. There was only one set of controls for the lights and they were backstage. Whoever had turned them off was on stage with her.
Settle. Don’t panic. A cleaner closing up for the night might simply have failed to notice you were here.
‘Hello?’ she croaked.
No-one answered. She held her breath, straining to hear. A sound came back, the breath-like ruffle of heavy fabric. Someone had just pushed through the stage-side curtains.
Dropping her music, Lindsay groped along the top of the piano. She followed its curved sweep towards the exit, never taking her eyes off the sliver of light.
At the Steinway’s end she let go and stepped into open space, felt with her foot for the edge of the stage. Beyond it, a five-foot drop to the floor of the hall—enough to break her neck if she landed wrong or on one of the seats.
She inched forward, secure in her footing. Till her heel caught in a recessed power point. Her ankle buckled, spilling her sideways. She stumbled. Someone grabbed her from behind.
Heavy arms closed around her. A rough hand slapped across her mouth, smothering her scream.
Lindsay bit down, drove herself back, slammed her assailant against the piano. A grunt, a curse, a tangle of feet and suddenly they were both on the floor. She rolled away from the presence beside her and went shoulder-first off the edge of the stage.
Bright stars exploded in the darkness. She pushed to all fours, groped for and found a front-row seat and pulled herself up.
Something skimmed the top of her head. A hand reaching down from the stage to grab her. She batted it away, ducked beneath it.
Hunched and panicked, she ran for the exit. Ploughed through the door and into the night.
***
Instinctively she ran for her flat. It wasn’t far and she could use Shaunwyn’s phone to call Mac once she got there. Her own phone—not to mention her music, her purse and everything in it—had all been left behind in the hall.
Along with the man who’d attacked her.
With the campus gates in sight, she continued full-pelt. A quick look back revealed no-one behind her. Luckily he hadn’t felt game to follow her.
Who had it been? The campus strangler? Jason Lars? Professor Collier bent on revenge? Face it girl, you’ve made a few enemies these last two weeks. If it had been the strangler, what was his motive? Had he chosen her at random, just another victim? Or because he thought she was helping police track him down?
Whatever their reason, it was clear someone was definitely after her. Which meant the sounds she’d heard the other night returning from the practice rooms could well have been that same person following her then, her stalker’s first attempt to grab her. And here she was thinking it had just been Macklyn.
She burst out the gates and across North Terrace, dodging traffic. As she started up Pultney, her building in sight, she slowed to a walk, catching her breath. Only then did she notice the taste on her lips. Salty, metallic. She swiped at her mouth, looked at her hand and stumbled to a halt.
Blood.
Not hers.
Blood from the hand that had smothered her face. Flesh into which she’d sunk her teeth with all the strength panic engendered.
Revulsion swamped her. Clutching the rail at the foot of the stairs, she bent double, spitting and gagging.
When the worst had passed she straightened slowly, forcing herself to take several deep breaths. Get inside. Call Mac, tell him what happened. Darkness. Feeling those arms tight around her …
She raced up the steps and through the doors.
Halfway across the foyer she froze. A figure was rising from a chair in the corner. Silhouetted by the lamp behind it, it started towards her.
Lindsay shrank back. But the face that materialised out of the shadows startled her more than the killer could have done. ‘Mum?’
‘Hello, sweetheart.’
Lindsay stood gaping. Not once in four years had her mother come to her flat to see her. Why now? Why tonight of all nights?
‘I’m sorry, I should’ve called first, I know,’ Ellen said. ‘But I was in town, doing some shopping and I just thought …’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. A couple of hours.’
‘A couple of hours?’ In her current state, worst-case scenarios leaped into mind. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. I thought you might be at a study session or maybe practising. I had the time so I thought I’d wait
for you.’
Lindsay fought to regain control. The instant her fears for her parents were allayed her own rushed back. And with them the urge to stumble forward, fall into this woman’s arms and sob her heart out. If ever she needed her mother’s support …
She shoved at the thought as ruthlessly as she’d shoved her attacker. It couldn’t happen. Her mother mustn’t see her like this. She couldn’t let her family know what was going on.
When she’d entered uni her plan had been simple—take four years to gain control of her ‘gift’, control of her life. Then, when and if she finally returned to them, it would be as a competent normal adult. A woman fully in charge of her destiny. Not like this. Not as some pitiful trembling rabbit.
She cleared her throat. ‘You were shopping and …?’
Ellen looked down, brushing non-existent lint from her coat. ‘I thought we could grab a bite to eat. Just you and me. Some place nice. Like we used to do.’
At once Lindsay was in the Palace Hotel, her family seated with her around a table overlooking the harbour—the occasion, Pamela’s thirteenth birthday. And in the middle of entrees the dog had appeared, shown her a particularly alarming vision and they’d all had to leave before the main course arrived. Was that the kind of ‘used to do’ her mother was talking about?
‘I…I’m sorry Mum, I’ve eaten already.’
‘Yes, of course; it’s late, isn’t it? Silly of me. What was I thinking?’ Her expression brightened. ‘The mall’s still open. We could go shopping. Maybe get some dessert.’
Even stunned and recovering from shock, she could still recognise when her mother was hedging. ‘Mum really, why are you here?’
‘Well, you paid us a visit, didn’t you? It made me realise how long it’s been. I just thought …’ Ellen stepped forward, clutching her hands. ‘It’s just that we’ve been so worried about you.’
‘Worried? Why?’
Ellen smiled sadly. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend anymore. We know all about what’s been happening. That detective came to see us again.’
‘What? Macklyn—?’
‘He called in this morning. Asked your father and me all sorts of questions about your spells—when they started, when they stopped, why they stopped, how they’d affected you.’ Her gaze grew stricken. ‘He asked specifically about Adelle.’
Lindsay reeled. The magnitude of Mac’s betrayal struck like a blow. Yes, it was his job to get the facts, but using her wasn’t. Neither was pretending he cared or suggesting there might be a future between them. Perhaps he’d not said that in so many words but he’d certainly implied … And all the while …
She choked down a sob. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I can’t talk right now.’ Her arms were around the woman’s neck before she even realised. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, then she pulled back and raced up the hall to the lift.
Chapter 30
Lindsay sat ramrod straight in her chair, hands clenched on the desk top before her. The last day of class before term break. She could do this. She’d go through the motions, hand in her paper and then no-one would see her for dust. She didn’t care what Macklyn said, she was getting out of town for a couple of days.
A burst of laughter from the front of the room made her wince. The students, already in holiday mode, were getting restless. She glanced at the clock above the door. Collier was late. Unusual for the anal professor. Was there some significance to the fact?
Her stomach clenched as she pondered the question. Had it been him in the hall the night before? Would he still show up for class today, if only to give the impression of innocence? Would she be able to detect some tell-tale sign in his behaviour? A glint of knowing or frustration in his gaze?
Incredibly, she almost didn’t care about the answer. The incident had paled in her mind compared to what she had learned afterwards. Macklyn had gone behind her back, questioning her parents without her knowledge, leaving her feeling as battered emotionally as any physical assault on her body would have left her.
With a stifled groan, she leaned forward and massaged her temples, feeling a sickening pounding behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop seeing her mother’s face as she’d turned to run up the hall away from her. The woman’s look of disappointment had knifed her heart. Yet there was no way she could’ve explained.
Lindsay lowered her face into her hands. How had it all come to this? For four years she’d managed to hold things together. She’d stopped her spells, aced her studies, maintained the appearance of normality. There’d been an undeniable emptiness, yes, but at least it had been an orderly life. A sane one. Now everything was falling apart again.
At the front of the room Everett Collier strode through the door. Head down, scowling, he marched to his desk and set down his briefcase.
Lindsay watched him remove his coat. She studied his face, the side turned towards her. In her muddled recollection of the previous night she believed she had scratched her assailant’s face. But there were no marks visible on Collier’s right cheek. Nor were there any on the other side when he turned his head.
She let out her breath and slumped back in her chair.
Collier began to drone to the class, his usual spiel about their poor performance throughout the term and threats of what they must now achieve if they had any hopes of passing the year. Lindsay’s apprehension had all but faded when he took out a handkerchief to blow his nose.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the bandage encircling his palm. Her memory of scratching her attacker might be vague, but she knew she had bitten the hand he’d clamped over her mouth. God help her, she could still taste the blood on her lips.
Fighting the urge to jump up and run, she rose calmly, gathered her books and started forward.
Collier glared as she approached his desk and laid her term paper before him.
Like dry crumbs, the words threatened to lodge in her throat. Lindsay swallowed and held his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, I have to leave early today.’
***
Mac pushed through the refectory doors and stood scanning the crowded room. Students rushed everywhere, blocking his view of its further reaches. He finally spotted Lindsay at a table in the corner and hurried towards her.
Rounding the table next to hers, he stopped when a woman approached to speak with her. Slim tight shoulders, corded neck, copper hair. Jennifer Dawson.
‘Looking a little rough around the edges there, Cavenaugh. What’s up, still not sleeping well?’
Mac’s chest tightened. Though spoken in jest, Jen’s words rang true. Hunched in another oversized jumper, Lindsay looked drawn and decidedly fragile. ‘What do you want?’ she said.
‘Nothing much,’ her antagonist taunted. Clearly neither had noticed him yet. ‘Just wondered how you liked that article in the Bulletin last Monday.’
‘What article?’
‘Oh, come on. You and that foxy detective hunting for bodies in Botanic Park. You must’ve seen it.’
Mac watched the missile impact on its target. Lindsay’s wary gaze turned to one of shock. ‘You told that reporter about me?’
‘I know how you love being the centre of attention. Too bad that’s the only way you can get any. And I’m not just talking about the case.’
‘But … My god, why?’
‘Kids on campus have a right to know what’s been happening. And who to watch out for.’ Jen smiled sweetly and waved a hand. ‘You look after yourself now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.’
Lindsay tracked the woman’s departure in mute disbelief, then shifted her gaze when Mac stepped forward. She straightened and swallowed. ‘Detective. I see you got my message.’
‘Yeah, I got it.’ He threw himself into the chair across from her.
Despite his concern, or perhaps because of it, he couldn’t manage to smother his anger. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you call me last night when it happened?’
‘The attack in the hall?’ She shrugged. ‘There wasn’
t much point. By the time I made it back to my flat the guy was long gone.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You should’ve reported it at the time, and you damn well know it.’
She flinched at his tone. ‘Yes, all right, I was going to but … I fell asleep.’
‘You what?’
‘I was upset so I had a brandy. Actually two. They hit me harder than I expected.’
He tightened his grip on his waning control. Remembering the items he’d brought to give her, he pushed them across to her. ‘Your stuff from the hall.’
‘You’ve been there already, you’ve checked it out? What did you find?’
‘Apart from your belongings right where you left them, nothing, but we’re still going over it. All right, so what happened?’
She waited, finally cocking her head. ‘No notebook today? Surely you want to write all this down.’
Something was up. Her words were clipped and decidedly frosty. Eyeing her with mounting suspicion, he pulled out his notepad and started to write.
‘Then this morning when I got to class, Collier showed up with a bandaged hand. That’s when I called you.’
With her statement complete, Mac paused to take a deep breath. The thought of what could have happened to her had released a flood of acid in his stomach.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said.
‘You do.’
‘You’re wondering if I’m making the whole thing up. I never liked Collier, I told you that. This would be one way to get even with him.’
‘I was going to ask if you were hurt in the attack.’
‘No. Sorry. No marks to prove I’m telling the truth.’
That tone again. Yes, something was definitely up. Mac closed the notebook and pushed to his feet. ‘Walk with me. I have to meet Sam.’
***
Outside, Lindsay fought to keep pace with the man at her side. Clearly Mac was still angry with her for failing to report what had happened the night before. Well, too bloody bad. He might be justified in that anger but she was struggling with some issues of her own.
She’d given him details about the attack but nothing about what had taken place afterwards—her mother’s visit and the bombshell she’d dropped. Hoping Mac would come clean on his own; she was still reluctant to broach the subject. Like a pill without water, it was proving difficult to swallow.
