Charlotte Pass

by Lee Christine

  ‘Unlikely. My guess is he was wearing gloves.’

  Beyond Harriet’s shoulder, Ryder could see a member of the forensics team kneeling on the floor using tweezers to collect fibres from the carpet, while a fingerprint specialist brushed the surfaces for prints.

  ‘I’ve taken scrapings from under her fingernails. More extensive tests will be done at the morgue.’

  ‘I need you to give this priority, Harriet. I’m relying on you. Without security cameras, it’s tough getting a lead here.’

  ‘There’s no CCTV footage in the village?’

  ‘Nope. Just a couple of snowcams.’

  Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘Like they’ll be of any use. So, do you think this murder is related to the Delaney cold case?’

  ‘That’s at the forefront of my mind.’

  When he didn’t elaborate, she ducked into the room and came back with her pathology bag. ‘I have that cigarette case for you, too.’

  Ryder took the small, plastic bag from her and held it up to the light. An officer from Newcastle command had shown a photograph of it to the Delaneys, but neither parent could remember Celia having had the case. He turned the item over, studying it closely. ‘Thanks, Harriet. I’ll log this into evidence and ask her husband about it.’

  Harriet gave a soft chuckle. ‘Careful it doesn’t give you nicotine withdrawals.’

  Ryder snorted and zipped the case into the pocket of his police jacket. ‘I’ll buy a ticket when you’re doing stand-up comedy.’ He hadn’t thought about lighting up in days. He nodded at the room. ‘Have you had a look inside the cupboard?’

  ‘It’s mainly clothes. All neatly folded. Whoever’s responsible for this, they weren’t searching for anything.’

  A sudden thought struck Ryder and he leaned around Harriet to speak to the fingerprint specialist. ‘Excuse me. Can you do the closet door first?’

  Harriet grasped his arm and attempted to drag him backwards. ‘Get away from the door, Pierce, you’ll contaminate my crime scene. God, you’re an impatient bugger.’

  Harriet disappeared inside Vanessa’s room shaking her head as Flowers reappeared in the corridor with Terry in tow.

  Ryder lowered his voice and spoke to both men. ‘Harriet said Libby was strangled with a piece of Velcro.’ He looked at Terry. ‘Where do you find Velcro down here?’

  ‘Velcro? Man, anywhere and everywhere.’ Terry turned around and went a little way back up the corridor and lifted a jacket off its hook. ‘Mine has Velcro around the neck to attach the hood.’ Coming back to Flowers and Ryder, he held the jacket open for them to see, pointing out the pieces of Velcro stitched into the garment. ‘There’s also a panel down the front covering the zipper, and it’s around the cuffs so you can pull the sleeves in tight.’

  ‘He would have needed a piece this long.’ Ryder held up his hands a little less than shoulder width.

  Flowers pointed to the front of the jacket. ‘That piece would be long enough, but who could be bothered unpicking it? Why not use something else?’

  Terry snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up. ‘Hang on.’ He strode back down the corridor, stopping about halfway along. Squatting, he took something from an open bag.

  When he joined them again, a piece of purple Velcro dangled from his fingers. ‘This is one of my ski straps.’

  ‘Harriet,’ Ryder called, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he took the material from Terry. He wound the ends around his hands then tested the tautness of it. As Harriet appeared in the doorway, he held his fists aloft.

  Dragging down her mask, she stared hard at the ski strap. Then her gaze met Ryder’s over the strip of purple Velcro. ‘That’d do it.’

  ‘We’re looking for one of these,’ Ryder told Benson a few minutes later. He demonstrated how they worked, winding the piece of Velcro around the top of Terry’s skis and showing Benson how it kept the tips together. ‘They always come in pairs. The second one goes around the tails,’ he said, pointing to the opposite end of the ski. ‘It prevents them from coming apart when you carry them.’ Ryder propped the skis against the wall. ‘Start here in Long Bay, then search the ski rooms at the inn and in the lodges. We’ll start with the public areas first then go room to room if we have to. Harriet will wait and take them back with her.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Oh, and Benson, you don’t have to worry about the hired skis. The rental shop doesn’t have straps.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘So, what’s your take on this?’ Flowers asked when Benson had left. ‘Do you think the murderer lives in the building?’

  ‘That was my first thought. That why I wanted the hunt for the murder weapon to start here. How would an outsider know which room was Vanessa’s?’

  ‘They wouldn’t. There aren’t any names on the doors.’

  ‘I thought that too, but check out these jackets.’ Ryder reached up and touched the sleeve of Vanessa’s ski-patrol jacket. ‘Here’s Vanessa’s. And hanging on the same hook are the rimless mirrored goggles she wears.’ He pointed further along the hallway. ‘Now look down there. There’s only one other patroller apart from Vanessa, and his jacket’s right there. See how much bigger it is?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And down here,’ Ryder nudged Vanessa’s boots with his foot. ‘These badarse-looking ski boots with the orange flame on the side? They’re hers. Any observant person with half a brain could work out that this was her room.’

  ‘And the exterior doors have no locks.’

  ‘Right. The place is wide open.’

  Flowers blew out a breath. ‘That makes our job a hell of a lot harder.’

  Ryder nodded. ‘I still think it’s more likely that the person who murdered Libby lives in this building, but we can’t rule out anyone in the village.’

  ‘Including Libby’s former boyfriend?’

  ‘Well, I think he’s probably in the clear.’

  A whir of helicopter rotors cut through the quiet then steadily grew faster and louder as it rose from the helipad behind the inn. Ryder hoped Vanessa hadn’t been standing at the windows when Libby’s body was carried out.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Flowers said as the noise receded. ‘You just don’t know when your number’s up, do you? Vanessa was so lucky she was with you last night, Sarge. But … not Libby.’

  Ryder nodded. ‘Libby was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s nothing more to it than that.’

  ‘I have to admit, Pierce, you’re good,’ Harriet said, emerging from Vanessa’s room again. ‘There’s a well-defined print on the cupboard door. Looks man-sized, too. We would have got to it, but,’ she frowned, ‘what made you ask for the closet to be done first?’

  ‘It’s a shot in the dark that he might have taken off his gloves, so don’t get too excited. There’s barely room to put your feet on the floor with the trundle pulled out like that. I nearly overbalanced when I was in there this morning. If the killer did the same, there’s a chance he could have thrown out a hand to save himself.’

  ‘Well, we have the best in the business lifting it off with tape right now. And, when we’re done, can we please have the room taped up again?’

  ‘You want to keep it as a crime scene?’

  ‘For now. Just in case I have to come back and take bits and pieces of furniture to the lab. Shouldn’t be a problem. No one will be in a hurry to move in.’ Without another word Harriet disappeared back inside the room.

  Ryder looked up at the ceiling, trying to imagine what the building was like when it was bottom station for the old chairlift. ‘That print could be anybody’s,’ he said to Flowers. ‘It might be months since that cupboard was wiped over or polished.’

  ‘Why would someone want to hurt Vanessa?’ Flowers mused.

  Ryder told him about her run-in with Bruno, and the irresponsible skier she chased down the mountain. ‘I don’t know, but I’m convinced it’s linked to the Delaney case.’ Ryder unbuttoned the pocket of his jacket and pulled o
ut the Tiffany cigarette case. ‘Log this in, then ask Nigel Miller about it. I want to know whether Celia bought it for herself, or if it was a gift from him. Remember, she’d asked Nigel for a divorce. Maybe it was a gift from her new lover.’

  ‘Will do, Sarge.’

  ‘If you don’t make any headway, contact Tiffany. A company like that—who knows how far their records go back.’

  ‘Too easy.’

  ‘Detective Ryder.’

  Ryder turned at the urgency in Terry’s voice. He was hurrying towards them, a two-way radio in his hand. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Perisher terminal just called. One of our grooming machines is parked down there.’

  ‘What!’ He’d shut down the resort the minute Inspector Gray had given him the go ahead. ‘How on earth? Why am I only hearing about this now?’

  ‘They’ve been flat out at the desk turning people away and explaining why the village is shut down. They only just noticed it.’ Terry jiggled the two-way nervously in his hand. ‘There’s more bad news. I’ve done the roll-call. Bruno’s gone.’

  Twenty-four

  Vanessa walked into the sitting room, dressed in a pair of track pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Lew asked from behind the novel he’d borrowed from the bookcase downstairs.

  ‘Yes. It feels good to be in fresh clothes.’ She walked around behind him and peered over his shoulder. ‘Good book?’

  ‘Hmm. Pretty good.’

  ‘You’re on the same page.’

  Lew half-turned to look at her.

  ‘You were on that page when I went to have a shower.’

  ‘Well, I’m a slow reader.’

  ‘You’re only pretending to read,’ she said, straightening up. ‘I know you’re watching me, even though the front door’s locked.’

  Lewicki closed the book and slid it onto the coffee table. ‘It’s dead boring anyway, pages and pages describing scenery. I looked for a sports magazine in the shop downstairs, but they didn’t have any.’

  Vanessa chuckled, then quietened as a wave of guilt swamped her. It felt so wrong to be laughing when poor Libby was dead.

  ‘I’ll be honest,’ he said, his eyes on her as she came around the sofa. ‘I’d rather watch you than read that book. I’m curious about you. And I don’t mean that in a creepy-old-man kind of way.’

  ‘How do you mean it—in a straight-up old-cop kind of way?’

  ‘I’m not getting involved in your personal life, but I know you spent the night with him. And thank God you did, because we would have had two dead women here this morning if you’d gone back to your room.’

  Vanessa picked some lint off the sleeve of her borrowed T-shirt. ‘I feel like I let her down. I know it doesn’t make sense to go back and wish you’d made a different decision, but maybe if there’d been two of us in that room, we both might have stood a chance.’

  Lewicki shook his head. ‘Look, there will always be the what-ifs. It’s part of coming to terms with what’s happened. So, I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve been trying to tell Ryder for ten years: Things go wrong in life, even when you’re trying to do the right thing.’

  An image of her mother wrapping gifts for the school’s Mother’s Day stall came to mind. She’d been busy doing the right thing when her youngest had gone missing for an entire day and night. People had judged her for it. People always judged. And Ryder, rushing to save two innocent children caught up in their father’s psychotic episode. Doing the right thing when his own tragedy had struck.

  ‘I’m not sure me chasing after Ryder last night was “trying to do the right thing”. It was impulsive and a bit selfish. I didn’t even think of Libby.’

  ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  Heat crept into Vanessa’s cheeks at the blunt question. ‘Of course I like him.’

  ‘Then it was the right thing, for you, and maybe for Ryder, too, but he doesn’t know it yet. And, if he does, he’s not admitting it.’

  Vanessa studied Ryder’s older friend. Perhaps his decades of police work had enabled him to drill down to the crux of the matter, or perhaps he had an innate knack for summing people up. After all, managing people was one of the most challenging parts of any job.

  He didn’t hold back either.

  She cleared her throat. ‘You know Ryder a lot better than I do. He did tell me … about Scarlett.’

  ‘Did he?’ Lewicki’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I think only a handful of people know the full story. It’s not something he can usually talk about.’

  When she didn’t say anything, he got up off the sofa. ‘I tell you what. I could do with a cup of tea. What about you?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  ‘Stay there,’ he said, when she went to follow him. On the other side of the room he switched on the kettle and began sorting through the tea and coffee packets. ‘Does a breakfast tea take your fancy?’

  ‘A breakfast tea would be perfect.’

  ‘Good. There’ll be hell to pay if we drink Flowers’ chamomile.’

  When the tea was made, Lewicki joined her at the window and handed her a mug.

  ‘Thank you. I don’t know why, but there’s something comforting about tea that coffee just can’t pull off.’

  ‘My wife would agree. If Annie’s sick, or upset, she can’t stomach coffee.’ Lewicki took a sip of tea, his gaze roaming over the front valley.

  Vanessa glanced sideways at him. ‘I know you were the original detective on the Delaney case. Wouldn’t you be more help to Ryder if you were working on the investigation rather than babysitting me?’

  ‘Yep. You want to tell Ryder that?’

  ‘It’s not my place. He’d listen to you, though.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. I had to risk our friendship to convince him to take this case. Now he’s here, he’ll stop at nothing to get his man.’

  ‘Why would you risk your friendship, if it’s so important to both of you?’

  ‘I didn’t do it lightly.’ Lewicki shook his head and swirled the mug of brown liquid in his hand. ‘There are reasons I can’t go into, but I needed him on this case. He’s a stubborn bastard once he gets the bit between his teeth. That’s why he’s the best there is.’

  A pool of warmth spread throughout Vanessa’s body. He was a great lover, too, but she wasn’t going to add that to his list of accomplishments. ‘Is he really the best?’

  One side of Lewicki mouth curved as he brought the mug to his mouth again. ‘Well, after me he is.’

  There was the sound of a key sliding into the door lock and then the man they’d been talking about came in, a preoccupied expression on his face. He shot them a quick glance and strode towards the main bedroom. ‘Bruno drove a grooming machine into Perisher.’

  ‘He’s done a runner?’ exclaimed Lewicki.

  ‘Looks like it.’ There was the sound of drawers being opened and closed, and then Ryder appeared in the doorway, a wallet in his hand. ‘He left it parked at the terminal. We’ve already turned his room upside down—found nothing.’

  ‘Where are you headed?’ asked Lewicki.

  ‘Cooma. I got a warrant from the court to search his house. A police car is going to meet us.’ His eyes slid to Vanessa then, and his dark eyes softened. ‘Do you know where my coat is?’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ She moved towards him. ‘I hung it in the cupboard by the door.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll get it.’ Everything about his movements showed how impatient he was to get going.

  Vanessa hesitated, unsure if she should leave the two men alone, but they didn’t seem bothered that she was privy to their conversation. And, even in the bedroom, she’d be able to hear what they were saying. Cradling the mug between her hands, she moved closer to the window, watching as Ryder shrugged on his overcoat. It was crazy, but she wanted to tell him to be careful and to come back safely. Unable to say the words aloud, she bit down on her lip and glanced towards Long Bay.

  ‘Vanessa?’


  She swung around. ‘Yes.’

  He was coming towards her, frowning and patting his pockets like he was checking that he had everything. Wallet, badge, gun—probably.

  He stopped an arm’s length away, his eyes studying her face. ‘Those lights we saw this morning, the ones from the grooming machine that flashed across the windows? What time do you reckon that was?’

  ‘Somewhere around five.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘I noticed that the lights were close, but I figured it was because I was here, and not in Long Bay.’

  ‘Do you think it was Bruno on his way into Perisher?’ Lewicki asked from the other side of the room.

  ‘I don’t know, Lew.’

  ‘What was Libby’s time of death?’

  ‘Somewhere between four and four-thirty.’

  A fresh wave of outrage slammed into Vanessa’s body, the mug almost slipping from her shaking fingers.

  Ryder reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his hand warm through the cotton material of her borrowed T-shirt. ‘Are you okay?’

  She wanted to say no. How could she be okay when some monster had taken Libby’s life and left her cold, contorted body sprawled across an old trundle. And it was supposed to have been her lying there. And yet here she was, safe and sound with two concerned detectives watching her every move—alive and well and breathing air into her lungs.

  She moved out of Ryder’s grasp and sat on the sofa. Outside, the familiar sound of a helicopter grew louder as it approached Charlotte Pass. ‘So, it was Bruno?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What do I know that would make Bruno think his only option was to get rid of me? I don’t get it.’

  ‘I don’t either,’ agreed Lewicki, ‘and my gut tells me Bruno’s no serial killer.’

  Ryder spun around. ‘Sometimes our gut feelings are wrong, Lew. We know serial killers can leave years, even decades, between their victims. Who knows how their screwed-up minds work, or why they suddenly have the urge to kill again?’