It made sense to Ryder now. Her capability. Her practicality. The no-nonsense qualities he’d noticed in her from the beginning. She was natural and outdoorsy, and skied with a graceful athleticism that held him in awe. He had no doubt she would run the family farm with the same efficiency she applied to her job as a ski patroller. ‘I can see you on a farm. On a horse.’
‘We have horses, and quad bikes and motorbikes.’
She would handle a motorbike the way she’d handled that snowmobile a few days ago. ‘One day, when you finally do settle down, I’ll take a road trip to the country,’ he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you should wait for an invitation.’ He deserved that. He pulled her to him, consigning his thoughts to the far recesses of his mind. ‘You’re right, I should wait for you to invite me. No more talking. All we really have is now.’
In the morning, he had a killer to catch.
Thirty
Day 8
Ryder stood at the viewing window and took a gulp from the can of lemonade he’d grabbed from the vending machine. In the interview room, Bruno Lombardi looked drawn and tired, like he’d suffered a sleepless night in the cells. Slumped in the chair, his hands clasped together and resting on the table, he watched while Flowers fiddled with the recording equipment.
Ryder looked around as Senior Sergeant Henderson joined him in the narrow space.
‘How was the flight?’ Henderson asked, closing the door behind him.
‘Bumpy as hell. Stomach feels like a washing machine.’ Ryder took another mouthful of lemonade, cringing as the sweet liquid fizzed down his throat. ‘God, that’s awful.’ He put the can down beside Bruno’s scrapbook, which lay open on the small table next to him.
‘They’ve cancelled all flights in and out of Charlotte’s,’ Henderson said.
‘I heard.’ Vanessa would have to wait until the wind dropped and the clouds lifted before she could safely leave for Thredbo.
Ryder’s phone rang. ‘Harriet,’ he said, his heart rate picking up. ‘Any luck?’
‘No luck here, Ryder, only pure skill.’
‘What have you got?’
‘We found Libby’s skin cells on one of the orphan straps.’ Harriet paused briefly. ‘I’m sending you a photo of it now, it’s blue.’ Another pause. ‘It’s a perfect match with the DNA we took during her autopsy.’
Relief washed over Ryder’s body in waves. They had the murder weapon. ‘Great work, Harriet. I’ll get in touch with Benson.’
‘Hold on, you impatient bugger. There’s more good news. We found a hair on that rental suit. It was caught in the Velcro around the neck.’
Ryder began to pace, trying to wear off some of his nervous energy.
Henderson left the room.
‘The hair matches DNA we found under Libby’s fingernails. Whoever this person is, they have a scratch on them somewhere. And before you ask me, no they don’t have a record. We’ve already checked the database.’
‘Fantastic work, Harriet. Thank you.’ They had the killer’s DNA. Now they needed to find him.
‘You gave me the stuff. All I did was test it.’
‘You worked through the night on a young woman’s body. Go home and get some sleep.’
‘I will, Pierce. Good luck.’
Ryder forwarded the photograph to Benson, then called him and relayed Harriet’s findings. ‘Where did you find this blue strap? It could narrow down the killer’s location.’
There was a rustling sound, and Ryder could picture Benson consulting his cross-referenced list and the photographs the officers had taken. ‘Okay. This one … came from the ski room at the inn,’ Benson said.
The inn again. Just like the rental suit. Ryder saw the room in his mind’s eye; he’d walked past it numerous times. It was just before the swinging doors that led into the foyer. ‘Whereabouts was it?’
‘Umm,’ said Benson. ‘It was on a pair of skis in the back corner, wrapped around the tail end. According to the notes, you couldn’t see it until the skis were lifted out of the timber holder.’
Ryder’s mind raced, and he peered through the viewing window at Bruno. Was the DNA they had Bruno’s? Or was the killer at the inn? He swung away from the window. ‘Chances are he’s at the inn. Search the rooms. You’re looking for a man missing some skin, probably on his face or neck, and the matching blue strap.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘And take buccal swabs from everyone. Naturally you’ll be suspicious of anyone who refuses.’
‘Do you want me to send the skis for fingerprint analysis?’
‘You can, but I’m not hopeful. I think he would have worn gloves.’
‘The skis are pretty old and crappy. It looks like someone left them there years ago.’
‘That’s why he chose them, Benson.’ Ryder looked up as Henderson came back into the room, trying not to think about Vanessa and Lew back at the inn.
‘Sir, I need to get Bruno’s swab to Canberra.’
With Bruno’s mouth swab on its way to forensics, they were finally ready for Flowers to start the interview. Henderson reached up and turned on the speaker. Bruno Lombardi was gazing in their direction as though trying to see through the dark-tinted glass.
‘Mr Lombardi, who is Mrs Beverley Roach?’ Flowers asked in a conversational manner.
Bruno shifted his gaze to Flowers. ‘She’s my neighbour.’
‘How would you describe your relationship with your neighbour?’
‘Our relationship? Like any good neighbourly relationship. Why?’
Flowers nodded. ‘I spoke to her this morning. Her garden is her pride and joy.’
‘Where’s he going with this?’ murmured Henderson.
‘You’ll see.’
‘The garden’s not at its best now, in the middle of winter,’ Flowers was saying, ‘but it would be beautiful in spring and summer.’
‘Wouldn’t have picked you for a green thumb,’ Bruno said with a sneer. ‘Then again, with a name like Flowers …’
‘She puts some serious hours into it,’ Flowers continued, unperturbed. ‘Bev told me she’d see you every now and then, leaning over the fence and picking a few of her flowers. She told me she didn’t mind. Apparently, she used to give your mother flowers. Thought a lot of your mum, she did.’
Ryder smiled a little. He’d given Flowers the opportunity to open the interview, at least until Ryder’s stomach had calmed down a bit. So far, his younger partner was doing a pretty good job. Bruno was already looking harried.
‘Who were the flowers for, Bruno?’ Flowers asked.
‘I … I think I gave some to my sister.’
‘I spoke to Angela. She said you’ve been good to her and the kids over the years, but she said you’d never given her flowers.’
He shrugged. ‘I gave some to a few people after they’d lost a husband or a wife, I can’t remember exactly who. And a couple of young blokes from Cooma died in a car accident a few years back. I left some flowers at their roadside memorial.’
‘Did you hold them together with wire ties?’
No answer.
‘The wire ties we found hidden in your kitchen cupboard?’
Silence.
‘Did you pick flowers from your neighbour’s garden and leave them on Celia Delaney’s grave up at Charlotte Pass?’
Flowers was silent then, waiting for Bruno to answer.
Bruno shook his head and mumbled a quiet, ‘No.’
‘No? Could you speak up for the benefit of the recording, Mr Lombardi?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you. Did you know Libby Marken?’ Flowers asked.
‘I didn’t know her personally.’
‘You never spoke to her when she was with Vanessa Bell, in the bar, or elsewhere in the village? You know she ran the kids’ club?’
‘I know who she was, but I never spoke to her.’ Bruno unclasped his hands and leaned forward. ‘Look, we have
different staff at Charlotte’s every year. I’m not going to waste my time getting friendly with them when they’ll be gone by the end of the season.’
‘Libby didn’t live in Long Bay,’ Ryder murmured. ‘It’s plausible Bruno had never spoken to her.’
‘Then why did he run? Come on, Flowers,’ Henderson said in a low voice. ‘Go a bit harder.’
‘I’m looking for a connection between these three women,’ Flowers went on. ‘Vanessa found Celia’s bones up on the mountain, and then Libby Marken was sleeping in Vanessa’s room when she was murdered, so we’re pretty sure it was Vanessa Bell who was meant to die in the early hours of yesterday morning.’
Flowers’ blunt words sent a chill fizzing down Ryder’s spine, and for the first time in days he craved a cigarette. Rubbing a hand around the back of his neck where the tension had gathered, he reached for the lemonade instead and took another swig. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he grimaced. ‘How can anybody drink this stuff?’
‘You told us you wanted to warn Vanessa Bell to take care,’ Flowers was saying. ‘That’s why you waited for her in the dark the night of the flare run and called her name out in the hallway. You told us that. It seems you were right to try to warn her. Who posed a threat to her and killed Libby Marken instead?’
A blank look from Bruno.
Flowers waited.
Seconds ticked by.
‘This is bullshit,’ Ryder said. ‘He can’t remember the name of the patroller, and he can’t remember, or won’t tell us, who Vanessa needed to be careful of. That DNA test can’t come back quick enough.’
Flowers leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. ‘We found a rental suit. Someone took it from the ground floor drying room at the inn but returned it to the upstairs one.’
Bruno narrowed his eyes.
‘Vanessa chased a skier who was wearing a rental suit. You were in the area at the time, clearing the snow fences. Vanessa said you saw the person ski past. Can you identify the person who disobeyed the patroller’s signage and her instructions?’
Nothing from Bruno.
‘Do you think the skier in the rental suit wanted to talk to you? What other reason would he have for being in that area?’
‘Stop!’
Ryder stilled.
Bruno had closed his eyes. His hands came up to cover his ears as though he were trying to shut out Flowers’ voice.
‘There hasn’t been a murder in Charlotte Pass for decades,’ Flowers pressed on, his tone turning ominous.
Moments of silence followed.
Beside Ryder, Henderson could have been made of stone. Flowers shot a glance their way then carried on. ‘We believe the murders of Celia Delaney and Libby Marken are linked. You live in Long Bay, don’t you, Bruno? You’re on the floor above Vanessa Bell. You knew exactly which room was hers.’
‘Stop it!’
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Henderson murmured.
Bruno moaned.
Flowers glanced at the window again, then stood up slowly. ‘Would you like some water, Mr Lombardi?’
‘Bugger,’ said Ryder. ‘He should have kept going.’
Bruno lowered his hands but didn’t open his eyes. ‘Yes. I need a break.’
‘For the purposes of the recording, Mr Lombardi has indicated that he needs a break and has requested water.’ Flowers shut off the recording equipment.
‘What do you think?’ asked Henderson.
Ryder shook his head and studied Bruno. The groomer’s eyes were open now. He was staring at the tabletop, his lips moving like he was talking to himself, or maybe he was praying.
Flowers stuck his head in the door. ‘Not sure what’s going on but he’s as white as a sheet.’
‘I have a phone call to make,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ll go now while he’s having a break.’
‘How’s the nausea, Sarge? Are you ready to take over?’ asked Flowers.
Ryder told him they had the killer’s DNA, and had sent Bruno’s sample to forensics for a possible match. ‘You’re doing a good job, Detective. Stick with it for now.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
While Flowers went to fetch the water, Ryder sat down and pulled Bruno’s scrapbook towards him. They were missing something. He could feel it in his gut, the one he’d left behind in the Polair chopper somewhere between here and Charlotte Pass. While Celia Delaney had plastered her bedroom wall with posters of her favourite bands, Bruno’s scrapbook bulged with magazine and newspaper clippings of his sporting hero. Ryder turned the pages, the facts of both cases forming a maze in his head. Right turns. Left turns. Dead ends.
Flowers looked in again on his way back to the interview room. ‘I’ll give him five minutes.’
Ryder nodded and placed another call to Benson.
‘Listen, has Burt Crofts got back to you?’
‘Just now. He’s looked at the slides. No one’s jumped out at him, well no one he remembers being on patrol that day. Apparently, his projector’s up here in his room.’
‘Yeah, he told me that. He said he’s been doing some work on it.’ Ryder rubbed a hand down his face and thought for a minute. ‘Call him back. See if he can confirm what Aidan Smythe told me last night, that ski patrol were volunteers back when Celia was killed. Tell him the guy we’re looking for could be anyone.’
‘Will do.’
‘What’s the weather like now?’
‘Better. Trying to clear.’
Ryder wound up the call, and while Bruno sipped his water in the interview room, and Flowers made notes on his pad, Ryder went back to thumbing through the scrapbook.
Smythe hailed from South Cronulla Beach and had shown promise as a surfer from an early age. A black-and-white photograph showed him standing on the Cronulla sand, proudly holding a state-of-the-art fibreglass surfboard. At fifteen, he’d been forced to choose between surfing and skiing. He chose skiing.
Scenic photographs of Charlotte Pass came next, the village huddled at the foot of the mountains, testament to man’s victory over the inhospitable landscape. There were yellowed action shots of Smythe winning junior events at Thredbo and Perisher, fledging resorts at the time. Further on were analyses of his natural athleticism and balance.
I’ll prove the critics wrong, he told one journalist, the doubters, who said I’d fail on the continent.
You don’t think you’ll have a problem with the vertical and the unfamiliar snow conditions? the journo asked.
There are disadvantages, for sure. We don’t have the formalised training that they have in Europe. That’s a disadvantage. But conditions in Australia are challenging. We get some good snow, but we get lots of ice and crud as well. That’s where I have an advantage. If I can ski that, I can ski anything. If the snow gets chopped up and things get rough on the piste, then I say, watch me.
And your blocking pole plant? What about the criticism that you’re weaker on one side?
Ryder’s stomach lurched as Vanessa’s voice rang in his head. This guy didn’t have an open stance, and when he got out of balance, he used a blocking pole plant.
Ryder jumped up, his heart a ticking bomb in his chest.
It was Smythe who’d gone beyond the CLOSED sign. Why?
Ryder snatched up his phone, punching in the quick code for Benson. He wrenched open the door and ran straight into Henderson. ‘It’s Smythe. Get Flowers. I want to talk to Bruno.’
As Henderson jogged towards the interview room, Ryder paced the corridor listening to the repetitive ring of Benson’s sat phone. Smythe knew which patroller had chased him, and he was staying at the inn, which gave him easy access to the drying rooms. And it wouldn’t have been hard for him to work out which room was Vanessa’s.
‘Pick up,’ he hissed, watching as Flowers and Henderson came running towards him.
‘Why do you think it’s Smythe?’ Flowers asked.
Ryder held up a hand for silence. ‘Benson, pick up the goddamn phone.’
Thirty-one
A loud thump came at the door and an unfamiliar voice called, ‘Police!’
Lewicki sprang from the sofa with the agility of a man half his age. Vanessa looked up from where she’d been packing her possessions into the blue-and-red striped carry bag.
‘Who’s there?’ Lewicki drew his firearm and stood to one side of the door.
‘Detective Benson. I have Terry, er, the mountain manager, with me.’
Lewicki unlocked the door, all the while keeping his firearm at the ready. Vanessa lowered the bag onto the floor, watching as a thick-set detective swept into the room, rain clinging to his shoulders. He was shorter than Ryder, and carrying more kilos. Everything in his urgent movements told her that whatever was happening wasn’t good.
‘One of our boys got knocked for six off a skidoo while he was parking it,’ Benson began. ‘He said it was Aidan Smythe.’
‘Smythe?’
‘That’s right. He’s taken off. We’ve already put a call in to Thredbo and Perisher.’
‘He’s gone into the back country,’ Terry said, his eyes on Vanessa. Only then did she notice his arms were full of ski gear, including a ski-patrol suit and a pair of fur-lined mountain boots.
‘The weather’s too bad to get the choppers in,’ Benson said. ‘We need people who are fast on a skidoo. People like Terry … and Vanessa.’
‘Vanessa?’ Lewicki glanced at her.
‘I’m not bad,’ Terry said, ‘but she’s the best.’
Vanessa held out her hands. ‘Give me the clothes, Terry.’
‘Just a minute.’ Lewicki shot out an arm, blocking her way. ‘I have strict orders from Detective Ryder that you’re to remain here.’ He looked at Terry. ‘Can’t the other patroller go?’
‘Vanessa’s the quickest of the two, and I need Johan here to cover for me.’
‘Terry’s right, Lew. I’m the fastest. Let me past.’
‘Jesus! I’m calling Ryder.’
Charlotte Pass Page 26
