Blood Secret

by Jaye Ford

  James nodded. ‘Twenty-odd hours.’

  ‘There was a fatality, wasn’t there?’

  ‘The other guy in Max’s team. Dallas Brownston.’

  ‘That’s tough. He obviously worked again, if you two are in business.’

  ‘Yeah, nothing much stops Max.’ James said it as though it was a breeze, as though he just got out of the hole and got over it. Maybe it was pride in Max’s accomplishment but Rennie knew it paid for a cop to understand history.

  ‘He worked at it,’ she said. ‘He’s still working at it. It hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ James added.

  ‘I’m sure,’ the detective said. ‘And it’s great you’re all here to help locate him. I’ve only got a few more things I’d like to go over and I’d prefer to do it with Renée and James separately, if that’s okay with everyone.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ James propped his hands on his hips, ready to go with his important information.

  Rennie crossed her arms. ‘Sure.’

  He took Rennie first, leading the way back to the sofas and smiling like they were buddies now. ‘Mr Tully . . . Max . . . Do you mind if I call him Max?’

  She shook her head, wishing he’d just get on with it.

  ‘Can you tell me what kind of mood Max was in before the party?’

  Finally new questions.

  Playful, she was going to say, remembering him grinning at the bedroom door. Hey, honey, let me help you with those pesky buckles on your overalls. Then she remem­bered it hadn’t stayed that way. By the time they’d got out of their clothes and reached the floor, he was intense and focused, making love as though nothing else mattered. Then there was the just-throwing-it-out-there Let’s get married. And the awkward, curt, joke-but-no-joke conversation that followed. She wanted to tell the detective Max didn’t have a care in the world but would that make the cops look in the wrong places? ‘He was tired. A little stressed, too, I guess.’

  ‘What was he stressed about?’

  ‘He’d had a long week and he’d brought work home. I assumed it was that.’

  ‘What about in the car? How did he react to the other driver’s aggression?’

  ‘He was ticked off.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Angry?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Did he drive faster to try to shake him off?’

  ‘Are you planning to send him a speeding ticket?’

  He laughed like she’d cracked a good one. ‘Actually, Renée, I’m trying to establish what state of mind Max was in before he disappeared. Did he speed up?’

  ‘No, he slowed down. Forced the kid to drive under the speed limit all the way to the main street.’

  ‘Nice tactic. And the conversation in the car park. A kid in my face like that would make me want to deck the guy. How did Max handle it?’

  ‘He was mad but he kept his cool. He did his best to stop it escalating.’

  ‘Uh-huh. What about at the party? How was he once you two got there?’

  Touchy. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Did he need a stiff drink?’

  ‘He had a glass of champagne. Not what I’d call stiff.’

  ‘Is that his usual choice of drink?’

  ‘No. Beer and red wine, mostly.’

  ‘Did he drink much at the party?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was busy. I work at the cafe and it was a birthday party for one of the owners. I was helping with the food.’

  His eyebrows slid upwards. ‘Oh, you work at Skiffs. Great toasted sandwiches.’

  She nodded, like she gave a toss what he thought of his lunch.

  ‘How much did you see Max drink?’

  ‘Only that first glass of champagne. That was the last I spoke to him.’

  ‘And how was he?’

  ‘Well, not drunk, obviously.’

  ‘Still angry?’

  ‘He wanted to check on the car. I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I thought the kid might be out there waiting for him. The fact he didn’t come back says I might’ve been right, don’t you think?’

  He tipped his head from side to side, as though un­decided. As he took a long, silent moment to sip at his water, Rennie glanced across the room at James and Naomi sitting quietly at the dining table. She got an encouraging smile from Naomi, a blank stare from James.

  ‘I don’t know what you and Max are like,’ Detective Duncan said, ‘but when my wife and I go out, I always get her to put my keys in her handbag. I know it annoys her but I can’t stand them jangling around in my pocket. Is that what you and Max do?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Did Max give you his keys last night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So he had his keys with him when he went out to the car?’

  ‘I assume he did.’

  ‘Does he carry just a car key or a bunch of keys, you know, house and office and whatever else?’

  ‘A bunch. Why?’

  ‘Just a thought.’

  Rennie saw the give-nothing-away flatness in his eyes, the cop expression every detective she’d ever met had perfected and knew it was more than an errant thought. If Max had his wallet and keys, it wasn’t a big leap for someone to find the doors they opened. ‘Do you think I should have the locks changed?’

  ‘If that would make you feel safer.’

  His noncommittal response told her something else. He was asking about keys and gauging state of mind. Max had been stressed, drinking champagne before he left for the car park. Detective Duncan was assessing whether Max had left of his own accord. She searched for words to convince him that Max wouldn’t leave but she had none – no promise not to, no deal struck between them. Only a rebuffed marriage proposal and resentful last words.

  ‘Does Max have other family here in Haven Bay?’

  Yes, there were other reasons Max wouldn’t pick up and leave. ‘It’s just James and Naomi now but he’s lived here his entire life. He’s a fixture at the sailing club and the soccer club.’ She smiled, hoping he understood what that meant.

  ‘Okay, all I need now is the contact details of a few friends.’

  Rennie felt the smile falter. ‘Sure.’ Trish and Pav were Max’s closest friends. They were the first people he would turn to. But as James took her place on the sofa, she wondered what kind of help they’d offer. So far, Trish had sown seeds of doubt and Pav was party to Max’s earlier indiscretions.

  15

  ‘It’s a gorgeous afternoon. Let’s sit on the deck,’ Naomi said.

  Rennie pulled her face away from the other end of the room and eyed the view through the windows as though she’d forgotten it was there. The lake was still and flat, the calm after a breezy afternoon. She knew nothing about sailing, didn’t like the vulnerability she felt on the water, but Max would know with a glance the wind direction, the knots, the best tacking tactics. At this point, though, the only thing she wanted him to tell her was, ‘Hey, babe. I’m home.’

  Naomi hooked an arm through hers. ‘Come on. You’re doing everything you can. Some fresh air will help.’

  Naomi sat at the barbecue table, while Rennie stood with a coffee mug, watching the talking heads through the windows. ‘What should James tell me?’

  Naomi squinted up at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Earlier, when the cop rang, you said, “You should tell her, James.” Tell me what?’

  She sipped tea with her eyes on the lake. ‘I love the view from here.’

  ‘Please, Naomi.’

  Curling her hands around her mug as though the day was cold and she needed the warmth, she said, ‘Something happened at work. I don’t know the details.’

  ‘What kind of something?’

  ‘They had a big argument on F
riday. I didn’t know anything about it until this morning. James wasn’t going to tell me but he’s so worried about Max.’

  ‘What were they arguing about?’

  Her small smile was apologetic, anxious. ‘Work stuff. I don’t know the details.’

  Inside, Detective Duncan’s mouth was moving and James was nodding.

  ‘Did something go wrong on a job?’ There’d been stuff-ups before – wrong deliveries, billing mistakes – and cross words.

  ‘James should explain it to you. I don’t like to get involved in the business side of things.’

  ‘I don’t either but . . . is James worried about Max because of the argument?’

  Naomi ran a hand down her throat, dropped it to her belly. ‘I can’t, Rennie. It’s not for me to say. Please.’

  Rennie lifted her eyes to the windows again, alarm growing in her gut. What the hell had happened? And why hadn’t Max mentioned it?

  She didn’t press Naomi further, figured anything she told her would be a watered-down version of whatever it was she didn’t want to tell. Thinking back to Friday night, Rennie remembered Max was distracted. So was she, working on a huge canvas out in the studio. He was tired, said he planned to veg in front of the telly and he was asleep in bed when she came back in at midnight.

  Rennie checked her watch, uneasy that James was taking longer with the cop than she had. When the two men finally stood, she walked back inside, looking expectantly from one to the other. James looked right back and said nothing.

  ‘All I need now are those phones numbers and that DNA sample,’ Detective Duncan told her. Okay, so he wasn’t sharing. She’d tackle James when he was gone.

  In the bathroom, she grabbed Max’s toothbrush from the cup on the basin, held it for a second like it might send her a message. Christ, she was collecting DNA. She didn’t want to give it to the cops. She wanted Max to come home and use it.

  Detective Duncan had a plastic zip lock bag ready when she came back, held it open and asked her to drop the brush in. It was all nice and friendly, no crime scene gloves, no drama, no grave respect for the evidence. Just a friendly smile and a ‘Ta.’ He gave her his business card on the way out. ‘Don’t hesitate to call,’ he said. ‘And make sure you let me know if you hear from Max.’

  She found James and Naomi on the deck. ‘What took so long with the detective, James?’

  He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and gazed at the water.

  ‘I told her about the argument on Friday,’ Naomi said. ‘I thought you should be the one to explain it.’

  ‘We should sit down,’ he said.

  Oh, Christ, it was bad.

  They sat around the small, scuffed table in their usual places – Rennie facing Naomi, James in between. One empty seat.

  ‘We’ve had some financial issues in the business,’ James started. ‘There’s some money missing. A considerable amount.’

  Rennie frowned. ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to trace it back through our accounts.’

  ‘Is that what you were looking for on Max’s computer?’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I spoke to Max about it and he couldn’t explain it.’

  ‘So he was trying to trace it, too.’

  James paused, took a breath. ‘I’m concerned he had something to do with it.’

  It took a couple of seconds for his meaning to sink in. ‘You think Max took it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s possible.’

  ‘Possible?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Naomi put a hand on her arm.

  ‘How much money is missing?’ Rennie asked.

  ‘Several hundred thousand.’

  Her eyebrows rose as though they were on strings. ‘How does someone take several hundred thousand without anyone noticing?’

  James’s smile was laced with amusement. ‘We’re not running a cafe, Renée. We deal with invoices for that kind of money all the time.’

  She pressed her lips together, embarrassed by her ignorance, irritated at his condescension. ‘Did you ask him if he took it?’

  ‘Of course I asked him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s what the argument was about.’

  ‘He denied it, right?’

  James nodded.

  ‘Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘It doesn’t tell me where the money went.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You can’t seriously think Max stole money from MineLease? It’s his business.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, James. He’s your cousin. You grew up together. You know he wouldn’t do something like that. Couldn’t.’

  James didn’t answer, just let his eyes fall to his hands on the table.

  She glanced at Naomi and saw only distress. What the hell? Was James feeling guilty for suspecting him or because he actually thought Max was capable of it? Rennie pushed her chair back, unnerved by James, unnerved by the whole damn day. Then completely thrown by the next thought that went through her mind. ‘You think Max’s disappearance has something to do with the money going missing, don’t you?’

  James’s eyes were dark when he looked up.

  ‘Oh Jesus. You think he took the money and ran.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said again.

  She stood. ‘Yeah, James, you do. This is Max we’re talking about.’

  ‘And he’s a complicated man.’

  ‘Max is complicated?’

  ‘How long have you known him, Renée? Four, five years?’

  She took a breath, ready with a rejoinder but swung away. What did it take to know a person? What did she know about making an assessment? She’d never trusted anyone but her sister before Max.

  Rattled and edgy, she stalked away from them across the deck, leaning against a corner post as the clump of her footfall on the timber brought memories of Max – breakfasts out here and drinks in the evening. He’d carry bowls of food and icy glasses to the table, lounge on a chair with his feet propped on another and say, ‘Wonder what the peasants are doing?’

  She watched James across the lengthening afternoon shadows, wishing she could read what he was thinking. ‘How much did you tell the cop?’ she asked.

  ‘I answered his questions.’

  ‘Did you say there was money missing?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He’s asked to see my documentation.’

  ‘Did you tell him you think Max took it?’

  ‘I said it appeared that way.’

  She clenched her teeth. ‘Did he have anything to say about that?’

  James seemed to bristle at her tone. ‘He asked if I thought Max had . . .’ he made quote marks in the air ‘. . . done a runner. I said, yes, I thought it was possible.’

  For someone who claimed to be smart, he was a goddamn fool. Her voice was loud with exasperation. ‘What if he hasn’t, James? There was blood in the car park. It might be his. He might be hurt somewhere but the cops aren’t going to be in a hurry to follow it up now. Not when they think it’s more than likely he’s taken a bunch of money and . . .’ fingers in the air ‘. . . done a runner.’

  James lifted his chin. ‘I wasn’t going to lie.’

  Was he worried about the money or Max? ‘You could’ve given Max the benefit of the doubt so they might look more places than your paper trail.’

  ‘It’s the police, Renée. I’m sure they know what they’re doing.’

  Her scoff did nothing to win his approval. He didn’t speak for a long time, just stared at her with the same unreadable, impassive expression he always wore. Naomi glanced anxiously between them.

  ‘We should go,’ he said as he stood.

  As Naomi braced herself for the upwards push of her belly, he strode ahe
ad to the door and passed Rennie without meeting her eye. Naomi stopped to hug her, whispering in her hair, ‘It’ll be okay. They’ve just got their wires tangled. I’m sure that’s all it is.’

  Rennie followed them through the house, anger and uncertainty and dread loud and pulsing inside her. She closed the front door before they were on the driveway, took long resolute paces to the bedroom, filled with memories of other times in a different life when the same emotions had surged through her.

  Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, she reacted with her own brand of learned behaviour. She threw open the wardrobe, hauled the stepladder from under the hanging space, climbed high enough to reach the rear of the top shelf and dragged a backpack over the edge.

  Unzipping, working fast, she found with her fingers the items she knew were in there: the change of clothes, the rolls of money, the rigid coldness of the weapon, the phone. That was what she wanted. She pulled it out, the charger still attached, plugged it into a socket by the bed and stood by the window as she waited for it to come to life, watching James’s car disappear at the end of the street. She scrolled through the stored numbers. There were only a handful, just the names she wanted to keep with her – for speed dialling, for comfort, for police notification – but there were only three she needed to see right now: ‘Jo’ and ‘Evan Delaney’ and ‘Max’.

  She checked the driveway again and thought about running. Leaving and not looking back, the way she’d done it all her life. Never staying to finish anything, leaving when time was up. She’d learned it at her mother’s side. Her father’s existence, even in prison, kept the training close. Sometimes, lots of times, it’d been more excuse than reason. Sometimes she and Jo had left because they’d never learned how to stay.

  The urge was pressing hard on her mind but she didn’t want to run. Not yet. Not with a chance Max would be back. But she left the phone by the bed to charge and placed the backpack on the floor inside the wardrobe. They were just in case. In case she needed the numbers. In case she needed to run. And because she felt calmer knowing she was ready to go.

  16

  It was well after six-thirty now and the sun wouldn’t set for an hour or so but the end of the day was already in the light that hung over the house. Long shadows stretched across the drive at the front and the edges had softened the shade around the lawn in the yard.