by Vicki Tyley
“Yes… no…” She shook her head. “It’s—”
“It’s only complicated if you want it to be.”
“You’re my stepmother’s ex-husband.”
“And you’re my ex-wife’s stepdaughter. It’s not as if we’re related.”
“We live in different states.”
“That can change. In the last six months, I’ve spent more time here than at home, anyway.” He laughed. “Cindy said…”
Dervla’s head shot up, the sandwich forgotten. Hadn’t he told her that he’d had nothing to do with Lucinda since the divorce?
His gaze turned inward.
“Harry?” Dervla prompted.
“She said that I had no roots.”
Dervla sipped her coffee, weighing her next words. “We all feel rootless at times, but I imagine it isn’t easy going home to the house you once shared with the woman you loved. When did Lucinda tell you that?”
He nodded gravely. “A few months back. She’s right, of course, but then she was always right.”
“You stayed in touch after your divorce then?”
“The odd phone call, the occasional email, but that’s it.” He picked up his cup. “She called me more than I called her.”
“She called you?”
He frowned. “That surprises you?”
“A bit. Did my father know you kept in contact?”
Harry set his coffee down untouched. “Don’t forget Cindy left me for him, not the other way around.”
“She was pregnant with his child.”
“Mistakes happen.”
“Some bigger than others.” She should know.
CHAPTER 44
Dervla tossed and turned. Every time she closed her eyes, a kaleidoscope of her mother, her father, Lucinda, the kids, Cass Marek, Emmet, Gabe, Sophie, Martin and Nathan played in her head. All competed for her attention.
And then there was Harry. Her fingers touched her lips. She could still taste his mouth on hers. Sweet yet raw. She sensed he would’ve stayed if she’d asked him to. Instead, he’d disappeared into the night, leaving her alone to sift through her emotions.
With a sigh, she flipped onto her back and stared into the gloom, listening to the almost non-existent street traffic. She didn’t need a clock to tell her it was the wee small hours. Far too late to try calling Sophie again. According to Todd, Sophie had insisted on going home after leaving the police station.
Not that Dervla could blame her. It had to have taken a lot of courage to confide in your best friend that you’d been sleeping with her married father. A revelation that may have stayed a secret forever if Martin Lombardi hadn’t beaten Sophie so viciously and given her cause to think him capable of killing her lover and his family. Where was her ex-husband now? Was Sophie safe? Todd had said that he had officers keeping an eye on her, but what did that mean?
Untangling the sheets from around her legs, Dervla groped for the bedside light. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, blinking her eyes, and then headed for her office. She flicked on the halogen desk lamp, found the A3 sketchpad that she sometimes used to draft her design ideas on, grabbed a felt tip pen and sat down at the desk.
The blank page stared back at her. Starting with Harry, she wrote down the names spinning around her head, circling each as she went. Then she started connecting the dots. Harry to Lucinda to Warren. Martin to Sophie to Warren. Cass Marek to Warren. Emmet to Warren. Gabe to Warren…
All lines led to her father.
She heard a noise – a bump – outside the window and froze, all her senses alert. With one eye trained on the blinds, she stretched across the desk and switched off the light. For a long moment, she sat in the dark, listening and watching the window. Nothing. She breathed out. Talk about paranoid.
A thump on the roof directly above her almost sent her into orbit. A scurry of claws followed. She gave a nervous titter. Spooked by a possum.
Her relief was short-lived. Another bump, followed by the unmistakable crunch of footsteps on gravel. Light flashed across the office window and then disappeared. She forced herself to move. A strong metallic taste filled her mouth as she peered around the edge of the blinds, her pulse off the Richter scale. No dark foreign shapes jumped out at her.
Pulling away from the window, she crept into the hall, feeling her way to the front door. She pressed her ear against the door, her fingers edging toward the porch light switch, her heart hammering so hard it hurt. Click.
She heard what sounded like a muffled expletive, then footsteps. “Ms Johns, it’s Constable Irwin. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing skulking around my house in the middle of the night?” she shouted.
“Detective Gleeson requested we patrol the area, ma’am.”
Dervla opened the door to see a boyish-faced uniformed police officer holding a torch.
He averted his gaze. “My apologies again for disturbing you,” he said to the doorpost.
Realizing too late her state of undress, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did he request it? Has something happened?”
“Just a precaution, I understand.”
CHAPTER 45
After a restless night, Dervla woke to find herself curled in a semi-fetal position, daylight filtering through the bedroom blind. She straightened her back, unkinking one vertebra at a time, and rolled over. Her phone sat on the bedside table just out of reach. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright.
Yawning, she picked up her phone, checking she hadn’t missed any calls, and hit the speed dial for Sophie’s mobile. It diverted to voicemail.
“I’m really sorry. I know I probably overreacted but…” Dervla paused. “At least send me a text message to tell me you’re okay. Please.” She rang off and tried Sophie’s home number. No answer.
Next, she phoned Todd, the call diverting to his voicemail after five rings. She hung up without leaving a message and dashed to the bathroom. When she came out, she tried Gabe’s number. Twice, in case he was asleep the first time.
Carrying the phone with her, she prowled the house. Where the hell was everyone? She scrolled through her phone’s address book. Her finger hovered over Harry’s number. She needed to hear a real voice. She pressed call.
“Good morning,” he answered. “I hope you slept well.”
“I wish. I thought I had a prowler.”
“What happened?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing a double-shot espresso couldn’t fix. It turned out to be just a cop on patrol.”
“Good,” he said, his relief evident. “I take it this means Martin Lombardi is still at large. Have you heard from your friend since we spoke?”
“No, and it worries me. It could be that she’s avoiding me, but I think I’ll take a run over to her place.
“I should come with you.”
“Not a good idea. If she thinks I’ve been talking about her behind her back that’ll just make it ten times worse. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve seen her.” She said her goodbyes and headed for the shower.
Forty minutes later, Dervla pulled into Sophie’s driveway. All the curtains were drawn and there was no sign of life. She scrambled out of the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and marched up to the villa’s front door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked and waited.
And waited.
When the door didn’t open, she started tipping terracotta pots of gardenia, hoping Sophie hadn’t found another hiding place for her spare key. She discovered it under the second last pot. After wiping the dirt off the key, she unlocked the door and nudged it open. The shattered ceramic wall sculpture had been cleaned up.
“Sophie,” she called out, “it’s Dervla. I just need to know you’re okay and then I’ll go.”
Hearing no response, she stepped over the threshold. “Sophie!”
Feeling like a burglar, she crept through the
house checking each room in turn. No sign of a struggle in the living room or kitchen. Sophie wasn’t lying unconscious on the floor of her bathroom.
Next room, the home office. She flicked on the light switch and was about to turn it off again when her eye caught a flash of fuchsia-pink. Leaning down, she extracted what looked to be a crumpled brochure wedged between the back of the desk and the wall. She smoothed it out. It was a Pregnancy Advisory Service brochure titled “Information for Women Considering Abortion.”
Her father’s handwriting leapt out at her: Must have GP referral – Medicare – $287. Dervla stifled a gasp. Was that what had pushed Martin over the edge? That his ex-wife was pregnant with another man’s baby? Especially when doctors had told him and Sophie they would probably never conceive a child. Dervla shoved the brochure in her bag and moved on.
After checking the laundry and toilet, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and opened the door through to the garage. A slight oiliness overlaid the smell of concrete. Daylight spilled through the garage’s one window, highlighting Sophie’s empty car.
Dervla’s gaze roamed to the far wall, taking in metal shelves of paint cans, brushes and car wax. Further down, two hooks held a fishing rod in place. She glanced to her right, toward the old chest freezer Martin used to use for his bait and catch, noticing for the first time dark smears down the side of it. Blood?
For a second, she stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. The only sounds came from outside, distant traffic, a magpie calling. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she willed herself forward. Even if it were blood, it didn’t mean it was Sophie’s. Fish bled.
She opened the lid. A silent scream blocked her throat. She couldn’t breathe in; she couldn’t breathe out. Staring back at her through frost-encrusted eyelashes was Martin. He lay on his back, his legs bent to his chest, one foot bare. The black-rimmed, bloodied hole above his right eyebrow left her in no doubt that he was dead.
A noise startled her. The freezer lid slipped from her grasp, smacking shut. She heard the back door close, then footsteps.
Sophie appeared in the doorway, her expression almost as shocked as Martin’s. “What are you doing here?” While the swelling around her eye had reduced, the bruising was more evident.
Dervla tried to smile. “I was worried about you. When you didn’t return my calls, I thought I’d better come around and check you were okay.”
Sophie glanced at the freezer, then back at Dervla. Her eyes narrowed. “I had no choice.”
“Of course not. No one would doubt that it was self-defense.”
Sophie scratched the side of her neck. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
“What difference would it have made? Your father didn’t care. He was more concerned with making sure his precious,” Sophie’s lip curled, “Lucinda didn’t find out.”
“Did Lucinda know about your relationship?” Dervla edged away.
“Don’t be ridiculous. When it came to her darling Warren she was blind,” Sophie said, almost spitting the words.
“But she found out about Cass Marek.”
“I doubt it.”
“But I don’t understand.” Then it dawned on Dervla. The photos. Why Sophie didn’t want to meet Cass Marek. “You had Warren followed. You impersonated Lucinda and warned off Cass Marek. You were the one who sent those photos to John Bailey.”
“And the bastard didn’t publish them.”
“Why?” Dervla took another half step backward.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I mean why did you send him the photos in the first place? Why didn’t you just confront Warren?”
“You don’t think I tried? I told him I loved him, that I wanted to be his wife,” Sophie said. “I even had a special getaway planned. Found the perfect place, too. Do you know what he said? Told me it was never meant to get serious, that it was just supposed to be a bit of harmless fun. That it was over. That he never wanted to see me again.”
Another step backwards. Then without warning, Sophie kicked the door closed, shutting them in the garage. All three of them. Not that Martin’s frozen corpse was going anywhere. Why hadn’t Dervla agreed to let Harry come with her?
“I know you don’t believe me, Dervla. You can stop pretending.”
“I do. He attacked you. You had to defend yourself.”
Sophie gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”
“The police knew he beat you.”
A smug smile played on Sophie’s lips. She touched her cheek.
“Why don’t we call the police now? We can explain it to them together.” Making no sudden movements, Dervla eased her bag from her shoulder.
Sophie lunged, snatching the bag before Dervla had a chance to find her phone. “No police. As far as they’re concerned, Martin is on the run. Let it stay that way.”
“Why don’t I make up a pot of chamomile tea and we talk about it some more?”
“Oh, you are funny.”
Dervla felt anything but.
“Put your hands behind your back and turn around,” Sophie said.
“What for?”
“Just do it.” Sophie grabbed a hank of plastic-coated cord hanging from a nail on the wall. “I need time to think.”
“I’m your friend, Sophie. Please don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“Regret? I regret my whole fucking life. What’s left?” She advanced. “Now turn around.”
Dervla made as if to comply, but then swung around, hand fisted. The punch connected with Sophie’s side. Sophie gasped and doubled over. Dervla pushed past and yanked on the door handle. Locked. Frantic, she yanked harder.
“Tut, tut. Now that was really stupid,” Sophie said from behind her.
Her heart pounding, Dervla released her grip on the door handle and turned, recoiling at the sight of the gun pointed at her.
Sophie’s hand shook. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you—”
“Wait!” Dervla held up her hands. “If you’re going to shoot me, at least tell me why…” Her mouth went dry.
“Dear, dear Dervla, there are so many whys. You can’t say you weren’t warned.”
It took her a second to realize what Sophie was talking about. “You sent that email?”
“And you had to run straight to the police with it. Took me ages to find an Internet café where the cameras weren’t operating.” Sophie kept advancing.
Dervla pressed her back up harder against the door. “Where did Martin fit into your grand plan?”
“Martin did whatever I told him to do.”
Sophie’s puppet. Why didn’t that surprise her? “So what went wrong? Why did you kill him?”
“He was stupid. Threatened to go to the cops if I didn’t take him back.” Sophie’s face contorted. “Fool.”
“Even though you were pregnant with another man’s baby?” Anything to buy time.
“What baby?” Sophie sneered.
“You made it all up?”
Sophie jabbed the gun in Dervla’s ribs and nodded toward the left. “Move!”
This time Dervla did as instructed. “Is anything you told me real?”
“I’m fine, really,” Sophie whimpered. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Dervla stiffened. “You beat yourself up just to frame someone else?”
“Needs must.”
“On dear God,” Dervla said, the horror hitting home, “that night you stayed at Emmet’s. It wasn’t because you were too scared to stay on your own. You used it as a pretext to get inside his apartment so you could plant evidence. You murdered them. All of them.”
“But hon, I was hundreds of kilometers away,” Sophie said, in her sweetest voice. “Don’t you remember? I called you.”
“Very convenient. I bet when the police check, they’ll find you weren’t there the whole time.”
“Believe me, they won’t be checking. They have no need to.”
�
��I don’t get it. Why not kill my father at the same time you slaughtered his family?”
“Slaughter?” Sophie snorted. “You make it sound barbaric. Don’t worry, they didn’t feel a thing. It’s called getting rid of the competition. Unfortunately, Warren didn’t quite see it that way. I knew he would eventually, though.”
“Except you didn’t know him as well as you thought, did you?”
“Shut up.” Sophie prodded her with the gun. “Keep moving.”
“Where to?” They were nearing the garage’s roller door.
The boot of Sophie’s car popped open. “Get in.”
“No.” Dervla’s defiance was all bluster, but it was all she had.
“Do as I say.”
“And if I don’t?” Dervla turned to face Sophie, her eyes widening as she glanced over Sophie’s shoulder.
When Sophie whirled to see what she was looking at, Dervla grabbed her chance and jerked the gun from Sophie’s grip. Sophie screamed, her face one of fury. She lashed out, knocking the gun from Dervla’s hand.
Adrenaline surged through Dervla’s body. Using all the strength she could muster, she punched Sophie in the chest, knocking her off balance. Dervla shoved her toward the open boot. She fell in, arms and legs going in all directions. Grabbing an escaping foot, Dervla forced it inside just as Sophie struggled to right herself. A sharp smack in the face pushed her back. Dervla slammed the lid down.
Sophie let out a bloodcurdling howl, more animal than human. The boot lid bounced. Dervla threw her body across it, her abdomen taking the full force of Sophie’s rage. Another howl.
“Shut up!” Dervla pounded the car boot with her fists. “Just shut up!”
“Bitch!” More thumping. “You wait!”
“Waiting for you to rot in hell.”
The pressure of the lid against Dervla’s body eased. She heard a rustling. Then nothing. Gulping air, she lowered her ear to the cold metal.
Click.
Dervla froze, the split-second it took for the message to reach her brain an eternity.
She felt the gunshot before she heard it, the vibration as the bullet pierced the boot lid next to her head firing every nerve cell in her body.
