“Jesus, Moore, wake up! It’s like getting a photo of the Loch Ness Monster.”
“And the scales are off… what?”
“Dunno. Maybe a symbiont that travels with the shark.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Something prehistoric?” he asked. “Something else from 25 million years ago?” Moore was starting to feel like he needed someone to wake him up. “What exactly is going on?” he asked.
She leant over the desk, her small breasts straining against her bikini top, to look him right in the eye. God help him, even at a moment like this, it turned him on. “With a bit of luck I’ll be receiving the Nobel prize for biology this year,” she said. “Guess I’ll be moving to a more prestigious research facility.”
Okay. He could see where her interests lay. “I meant whether the blue scale creature is a danger as well,” he asked, determined to keep his eyes on her face. “People are dying out there.”
“This is so much more important than one person’s death.”
“Seven now,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She pulled out a chair to sit opposite, and he’d been about to reprimand her cavalier attitude — she had to be autistic — when he noticed her hands were shaking. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” she added.
Moore looked at her incredulously. “We have to clear the beaches ASAP.”
“And cause panic? Not to mention drawing every trophy angler in a dingy within a hundred kilometers.” She shook her head. “Announcing that there’s a giant shark off the coastline will encourage more people out deep where it can get them. At the moment the majority of people in the water are in the shallows where it can’t go. The university team will get it if you leave them alone,” she said. “Two days, maybe three at the most.”
“You just want me to trust you on this?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Liam realised he wanted to. Badly.
“I know the risks,” she said calmly. “I can guess its patterns. This is the best way. That’s my professional opinion.”
He stared at her, trying to sort it out in his mind, and was surprised when she added, “Please. You have no idea how important this is.”
He softened his tone. “No I don’t. So tell me, the blue scale creature and the shark are what… a mutation? Result of a toxic waste spill?”
She frowned. “The Island of Doctor Moreau could be off our coastline, complete with a crazed genetic scientist…”
“Or?”
“It’s far more likely that marine species are evolving in a completely unpredicted way.”
“That’s your Nobel prize ticket.”
Traci nodded.
“And my suspect?” he asked. “The five foot ten girl? She had blue scales on her fingernails.”
Traci squirmed. “Could be an experimental subject, I suppose.”
“Which blows your Nobel Prize out of the water and means we need to start looking for a mad scientist.” Waikeri had to hear that, and soon. It was time to get the CIB involved. If fish women and giant sharks were being created, what was next? “Who have you told about this DNA thing?” he asked.
“No–one yet —”
Moore’s mobile rang and he said, “Let’s keep it that way for now.”
“But the university team —”
He held up a hand and moved away from the table. “Moore,” he snapped, and turned his back on Traci.
“Just making sure you’re not at Saltwood. Where are you?”
Moore filled Waikeri in on Traci’s findings.
“So the skinny–dipping housekeeper could be a mutant, and the shark’s a prehistoric monster?”
Moore ignored the sarcasm. “I want that girl.”
Waikeri sighed. “All right. Go.”
“Search warrant?”
“I’ll get it. You just make sure you get the sample this time. And tell your biologist girlfriend to be ready to test it.”
Moore turned back to Traci. “I’m getting a sample of scale off the girl. Don’t tell anyone about the DNA until I get back.”
If there was a mad scientist out there, Moore didn’t want to tip him off that they were onto him.
“Is this your big blond bully persona?” she asked. “I have to tell the QUT team what they’re dealing with or —”
“That’s not a request, Dr Knowles. It’s a police directive.”
Traci glared at him a moment then stood and walked away, reaching behind her back to untie her bikini. “I’ve got work to do,” she said. “You know where the door is.”
Liam knew he’d been rude, but damn it, he didn’t have time to argue. And besides there was no way he could stay inside that small building with her while she changed clothes without making a complete fool of himself. He had to go, but as he closed her sliding front door behind himself and walked over to his four wheel drive, he knew their date tonight was off, and probably any chance of the relationship he’d been fantasizing about.
She was such a difficult woman to read. And his charm, what there was of it, bounced off her like pebbles on Plexiglas. He could certainly pick ‘em.
No wonder he wasn’t married.
Chapter Thirty–Four
Two hours later he was back at Saltwood’s front door.
“Who are you, Miss?” Moore stared down the bottle blonde in front of him, wondering if Baz Wilson was running a harem. And what was with the outfit? Candy–apple pink leather pants with a matching zippered jacket and sunglasses. Indoors.
“None of your beeswax,” she replied pertly. “And you?”
At least she wasn’t autistic. Still, Moore had a sudden urge to pick her up and put her outside the front door, onto the veranda where he stood, so he could go inside and lock her out. But Waikeri hadn’t rung him yet to say that they had the search warrant, so he held onto his composure — it was all he had — and said, “Constable Liam Moore. I’m looking for Mr Wilson.”
“The old codger or the young spunk?” she asked, and reached to her side briefly. A background humming stopped and Liam glanced in to find an upright vacuum standing beside the door. She was vacuuming? In that outfit?
This was the cleaning lady?
Her sunglasses camouflaged her eyes so he had no idea what she was thinking, but eventually his lack of conversation motivated her to add, “Well, the spunk’s gone off for the day with his girlfriend. One of his girlfriends. I think the old guy is —”
“Balthazar Wilson has two women here?” Moore felt adrenalin jolt through his veins. If Dalrymple was still at Saltwood…
“Yeah, a feisty little minx with bottle burgundy hair —”
That would be the obnoxious Wynne Malone.
“ —who he’s gone on a picnic with. And a tall bikini girl —”
“Golden hair? Blue eyes?”
The little blonde smiled and looked over the top of her pink–lensed glasses at him, “Your girl?” she asked, misinterpreting his sudden interest.
“No, she’s a suspect in a crime,” Moore snapped.
“Oh right.”
“Just tell me, where is she?”
A couple of seconds passed and Moore tried to rein in his impatience. Finally the blonde said, “Where is who?” blinking at him as if she’d just come out of suspended animation.
“The bikini girl.”
“What bikini girl?”
“Look, I’m here on official business, Miss. Don’t …” fuck with me “… play games.”
“Look, yourself, Mr Policeman. This is my first day on the job. Maybe my last if I don’t finish on time. And you’re holding me up.”
“Just tell me what you know about Venus Dalrymple.”
“Never heard of her.”
“The tall girl with the golden hair and the blue eyes. You told me she was Balthazar Wilson’s girlfriend.”
“Did I?” The blonde frowned, her freckled nose wrinkling. “How would I know that? It’s my first day here.”
Moore stared her down but she didn’t wilt. She simply
gazed back at him, the beginnings of a smile lurking beside those bright pink lips.
“How old are you, Miss?” he asked.
“Seventeen,” she replied with a flick of her blonde ponytail. “And it’s not Miss. It’s Ms Betty Brigalow.”
“Well, Ms Brigalow —” He glanced away from her knowing eyes to think about what he should demand next, and found his attention snagged on a backpack just inside the door that had a candlestick poking out of its open top. He frowned. “Is that your bag?” he asked.
Her gaze flicked right and he saw her body tense. Fuck, was she a thief?
He looked her over again: peroxide blonde, 160 centimeters, slim build. She wasn’t just a thief. She was the thief.
“I assumed you were cleaning the house, Ms Brigalow,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were moving the candlesticks as well.” He had no compunction about stepping past her now, although he had to tussle the bag away from her when she lunged at it. “Candlesticks and vases and silverware.” He looked back up at her. “Were you taking these into the kitchen to clean them?”
“Yep, that’s it,” she said, trying to tug the bag back. “The rucksack’s padded so it’s perfect to carry the precious —”
“And no doubt very expensive items. Your first day here, you said? Don’t suppose you’ve been shopping for wallets recently?”
She let go of the bag. “Okay, I’ll give you the bikini girl.”
Liam felt his pulse jump again. So she was still at Saltwood! “You’re not keeping this stuff,” he told Betty and glanced back into the rucksack. “And whose car is this rotor off?”
“Mine,” she said. “So no–one can steal it.”
“In the middle of nowhere? You’re worried about someone stealing your car?”
“Call it paranoia,” she said, “Just let me off with a warning. I’ll finish cleaning and go. I promise.”
“You’ll put everything back where it was?”
“And I’ll show you where the girl is hiding.”
“Without anyone else knowing I was here,” Moore added. If the district supervisor got wind of this, he most definitely would chew Waikeri’s considerable ass. But no way was Moore waiting for a search warrant now. The girl would run and they’d have nothing.
Betty moved her sunglasses up onto her head, looked him up and down and then gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You’re pretty hot for an old guy,” she said.
“I’m actually a big blond bully,” he said. “Just show me the girl.” He kept the rotor but handed the rucksack back, muttering, “And thirty–four isn’t old.”
“When you’re seventeen, twenty–five is middle–aged,” she told him, then she put the rucksack down and pushed it into a dark corner beside the door. Moore got to see more than he wanted of her pink leather–clad backside before she turned and pulled the sunglasses back onto her nose. “She’s outside.”
“Lead on.”
Betty did, taking Liam out the front door and around the house towards the pool. “So when do I get my rotor back?” she asked.
“When I find the girl,” he lied. “Where is she?”
“In the cabana,” Betty said, and pointed. “I saw her come out of it this morning, then later she took food from the kitchen, and after she spoke to Baz she headed out the back door. I think she’s hiding out there.”
She nodded for Moore to go–get–her, but he wasn’t letting Miss Sticky Fingers out of his sight until her side of the bargain was delivered. Then he’d take both women in for questioning. “You’re coming with me,” he said, and she shrugged.
“Okay, but I’m not up for threesomes. You’re too old for me.”
“Investigation, remember?” he said and gave her hard glance as they set off for the cabana.
She just grinned. “Oh right. And you’re after her for a … crime. Give me a break?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re avoiding the Wilsons. Letting me off the hook …”
That’s what you think.
“ … This isn’t on the up–and–up. You’re after a bit of nasty, I can tell. So is she a prostitute? Is that how you got onto her?”
“Listen, Betty, “ Liam said, but she cut him off.
“Oh God! She’s a bank robber! That’s why her hands are purple. One of those dye bombs.”
Liam stopped in his tracks. “She has purple hands now?”
Betty held out her own. “Up to the wrists,” she said. “Looks like dye soaked into them.”
Liam frowned. “They were clean two days ago.” Then he remembered the state of the room she’s been in, with the purple stains everywhere. She was up to something, but he said, “We’ll work that out later,” and lowered his voice as they reached the pool. “Venus Dalrymple is a suspect in a murder case. That has priority.”
“And the Wilsons?” Betty asked, whispering now as well.
“Using their influence to protect her.”
“Tres cool.” Betty was all wide–eyed intrigue. “But I’ll bet Baz is bonking her. She’s a babe.”
“Probably,” Moore allowed, eyeing up the rectangular timber cabana. “Looks like there’s only one door in.”
“I’ll wait here,” Betty whispered.
“You’ll come with me,” he said.
She shrugged again, as though it didn’t matter, but he suspected she was keen to get away from him. Maybe she was wondering if he was really going to let her off the hook.
She was in for disappointment.
The door creaked as Liam pushed it slowly open, then he nodded for Betty to precede him. She stepped in, her low–heeled pink cowboy boots moving silently across the blue tiled floor. She stopped in front of a mirror and pointed behind it, then proceeded to fuss over her peroxide fringe.
He stepped in and closed the door behind himself, then skirted the mirror to confront Dalrymple. After opening and closing doors on a shower and a toilet cubicle, he realised she’d flown the proverbial.
“She was here,” Betty said when he came back to her.
“I believe you,” he replied, and could see that surprised her.
“She had food. Maybe she was going on a picnic too.”
Moore took a deep breath and tried to regroup. “Who else is at the house today?”
“How would I know?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were casing the joint to rip it off,” he replied and she stopped fussing with her hair. “You would have checked out everyone, and made sure you knew where they were.”
She turned to face him. “You are going to turn me in.”
“Not if I get Dalrymple,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“Okay.” Betty sighed. “There’s a seriously cute young guy in a suit who left a blue convertible around the back of the garage where Baz wouldn’t see it. The gardener took this young dude to see old man Wilson in the study not long ago. I think that’s why they’ve gotten rid of Baz for the day. The old guy’s got some secret business with the suit. Maybe it’s illegal.”
Another urban professional? Liam hoped to give him a wide berth, especially if he was a solicitor. “Okay,” Moore said, impressed with Betty. She would have made a fine policewoman if she hadn’t turned to the dark side. He’d definitely come on the right day. “So, Theodore Wilson and the mystery young man are in the study. The gardener is …”
“Carlos lives over the garage, but he’s just left to do a dump run, which takes four hours apparently.”
“So Dalrymple could be anywhere,” Liam said.
Betty turned back to the mirror, pouting to check her lipstick. “Anything’s possible in this creepy old place.”
Liam grunted and turned the overhead light on.
“Thanks,” she said, but he shook his head and went around to the back of the cabana to look for clues as to where his mystery girl could have gone. Nothing on the couch. He opened the toilet door again and looked in there. Nothing. Then he went into the shower where he found an opened toiletries bag and two towels
.
Two.
“Why would a woman use two towels?” he asked himself aloud.
“Washing her hair,” Betty replied from the other side of the partial wall.
Okay, that made sense. He heaved a deep sigh, then felt the first tendrils of just give up lurking in his mind. Maybe Waikeri was right. Without any evidence …
His train of thought suddenly halted, and he stared in surprise at the floor in the corner of the shower. Then he shoved the cubicle door wide and stepped through to the wet tiles where he crouched to pick up the tiny … shimmering … scale!
“Bingo!” he shouted.
Two seconds later Betty was behind him. “What is it? A pubic hair?”
Smart arse.
“A vital clue,” he replied, feeling pretty damned proud of himself. “And now I need to get out without anyone discovering I was here — “
“Done,” she replied smartly, jumping back to give him room.
He stepped out of the cubicle, held his finger up to the light to confirm that it was what he’d been after, and felt that thrill of satisfaction only cops understand.
It was definitely one of Dalrymple’s nail scales. Exactly what he’d been looking for. Betty was frowning at the tiny sliver of blue, and Moore had insatiable urge to crow. But he resisted.
Instead he used his free hand to pull a plastic Ziploc bag from his shirt pocket. He put the scale carefully inside and snapped it shut. “Okay,” he said, putting the pouch back into his pocket. “Now for the unseen exit.”
“You don’t want the girl?”
“Not until I have this analyzed.”
Betty shook her head. “Whatever,” and followed him back out of the cabana and around to the front of the house. “My rotor please?” she asked.
“You get the rotor when I get the girl.” He took his mobile phone out and snapped a quick digital photo of her. “And I’ll come after you if you steal those candlesticks.”
The photograph had unnerved her, Liam was sure, but she reacted with typical bolshiness. “Then you don’t mind if I take the silverware?”
“Don’t push me.” He took a business card out of his jacket and handed it to her. “I want a phone call as soon as the bikini girl comes back.” That was the only reason Moore wasn’t taking her back with him.
Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) Page 22
