Blood Secret

by Jaye Ford

  ‘Amanda, hi.’

  The sound of Rennie’s voice made Amanda’s head snap up and a hand fly to her throat. ‘Oh God, Rennie. James said you still can’t find him. Oh.’ Her eyes flicked to the teenager following Rennie in. ‘Hayden. How’re you doing, mate?’

  He answered with a shrug. Amanda glanced at Rennie, worry and sympathy in her face. ‘Any news?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d take a look in his office, see if there’s . . . I don’t know, something that might make sense.’

  Amanda spoke as she rounded her desk. ‘James said he went through it yesterday and couldn’t find anything.’

  ‘It’s worth another try, just to tick that box. Has James left for the police station yet?’ She didn’t want him looking over her shoulder.

  Amanda shrugged. ‘I don’t know where he went. He dropped in a couple of hours ago and left again. Do you want me to call him?’

  Maybe he hadn’t needed to search for anything. Maybe the financial records were printed and collated and ready for the police after his argument with Max on Friday. Or maybe he was still driving around looking for Max. ‘No, I don’t need to speak to him. I’ll just take a look in Max’s office.’

  Amanda turned a smile on Hayden. ‘Hey, I just bought mud cake muffins. They’re out in the kitchen. You want one?’ It sounded like a ploy to keep him occupied. Rennie was grateful – she’d do better on her own – but he’d just had chips and a milkshake.

  ‘Those little ones with the swirly icing?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Sure. Can I make a hot chocolate from the coffee machine?’

  ‘If you like. Make me a cup of tea while you’re at it, huh?’

  He pointed at her, squinted an eye. ‘Milk and one sugar, right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Rennie raised surprised eyebrows – did he plan to take a doggy bag and when had he started making drinks for anyone but himself? As he disappeared into the hallway, she said, ‘He’s just eaten.’

  ‘He’s fourteen.’ Amanda had two boys in high school so Rennie guessed she knew all about teenage food intake. And she probably knew more about the three businesses here than anyone else.

  ‘How did Max seem last week?’

  ‘He seemed . . . fine.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It’s not my job to say anything.’

  ‘Sure, I understand, but Max is missing.’

  She clasped and unclasped her hands. ‘This is an old house, the walls are thin and noise travels. I don’t eavesdrop but sitting at my desk I hear stuff, you know?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well,’ she hesitated a second longer. ‘There was something going on between Max and James all week. They had some kind of row early on. Monday afternoon, I think. One of them must’ve shut the door before it started but I could hear them. No actual words, just angry, raised voices. And they were at it for ages. Not shouting all the time but there was obviously some serious discussion. Gerard left for the day while it was still going on and made a face as he walked past reception.’

  Naomi had said the argument was on Friday and James hadn’t corrected her. Was there more than one? ‘Did something happen on Friday?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had a half day and went home at lunchtime.’

  ‘You said “all week”. What else happened?’

  ‘There were a couple more closed-door conferences and they were both just really tense. James, in particular. I mean, he can be moody and a bit sharp when he decides to be but it wasn’t that. It was like he was trying hard to look normal, smiling and all, and underneath he was fuming. And Max, well, he’s always laid-back, as you know, and even he looked stressed.’

  Flashes of memory played through Rennie’s mind. The lovemaking before the party, the proposal and argument, Max’s snapped words the last time he spoke to her. She thought back to earlier in the week. She’d painted in the studio every evening, trying to finish the ‘wow factor’ commission. At least three nights, he was in bed and asleep by the time she got in. One night, Wednesday maybe, he had a drink with Pav. Once, possibly the early hours of Thursday, he’d flicked on all the lights in the living room and prowled the house. It’s what he did when the nightmares woke him. They usually roused her, too, when he gasped awake and she’d make a sleepy trip to the bathroom. Sometimes she’d make him a cup of tea before she went back to bed; sometimes she’d fold herself around him and try to soothe his memories with the heat and rhythm of her body. But she didn’t remember getting up last week, just his restless pacing. Had she been tired enough to sleep through his nightmare or had something else made him get up and walk the floor?

  ‘Was there a problem on a job?’ Maybe there’d been something else going on before the argument on Friday.

  Amanda’s shoulders did a quick up and down. ‘Nothing that’s crossed my desk. But both of them were in and out of the office a lot after the argument so I suppose there could’ve been and they were trying to pacify a client.’

  Rennie remembered James had said he’d been trying to trace the missing money back through the accounts. Maybe there’d been an argument on Monday when he’d discovered the shortfall, some kind of dispute over how they were running the business, then another one on Friday when he’d accused Max of taking it. ‘Naomi said James worked late last week.’

  ‘Did he? He was gone most days when I left but that doesn’t mean he didn’t come back. Come to think of it, I cleared away a couple of empty wineglasses on the sink before Gerard’s conference on Thursday morning. They might have been his.’

  Drinking as he pored over the figures?

  From the other end of the cottage, the coffee maker gurgled. If Hayden’s earlier snack was anything to go by, he wouldn’t take long to down a hot chocolate and a couple of muffins. ‘Right, well, thanks, Amanda.’

  She headed down the hall, wondering about Amanda’s version of events. What did it mean? What did any of it mean? What could she draw from a second-hand account of an argument and a work schedule in an office she knew nothing about?

  32

  The waiting room between MineLease’s two small offices was a tiny space taken up with filing cabinets, a couple of chairs and magazines with glossy photos of extremely large machinery.

  It was months since Rennie had been in Max’s office and when she opened his door, the sight of his silent, cluttered space made her heart stop. He was everywhere – hard hat and earmuffs hanging on a rack, high-vis work trousers and shirt draped over a chair, steel-capped boots dropped carelessly under it. There was a pushbike and helmet, an orange kayak propped against a wall, a wetsuit draped over it like a blackened torso. A bookcase was stacked with folders and fat manuals and his desk looked like nothing had been filed since last Christmas. And there was his uniquely Max scent: fresh and salty, slightly woody, a little coffee and hot food mingled in. It filled her nostrils, making her chest tighten and her tear ducts tingle. Made her want to wail his name.

  Do something that will help, she told herself.

  She went to his desk, found Post-It notes everywhere: stuck to the sides of the computer screen, in lines down the tabletop, on the edges of the shelves. There were photos, too, taped and pinned and propped. Not duplicates of the ones at home but the same themes: family, friends, Hayden and Rennie. His monitor and keyboard were angled to one side, a blotter with large, tear-off sheets positioned in front of his chair. A thick diary lay closed next to it.

  Rennie opened it where a pen was stuck between the pages: Friday, three days ago. The hours were marked down the margin, Max’s shorthand on corresponding lines. At ten am: Teralba at Teralba. Midday said Simmo. Pete’s name was written across the bottom of the page with another name and mobile number underneath – the replacement crew for Sunday sailing, she guessed. At three pm, there was a single, underlined word: James. A meeting that’d turne
d into an argument?

  She flipped back through the week and found more of the same two- and three-word cryptic notes. She shut the book and moved onto the Post-Its. Three clinging to the monitor were curled at the edges and looked like they’d been there as long as Max had: his sister’s number in Perth, his parents’ address in Yamba, Hayden’s school details. On the desk, there was a reminder to pick up photos, to buy milk, to call Hayden for his birthday. There were dates that had passed and for weeks ahead. Four of them reminded him to ‘call Rennie’. It told her he knew he was forgetful, that he cared, that he tried to keep in touch, that he never cleaned his damn desk. And if he was having an affair or planning to leave, there was no trace of it here.

  ‘Did you find anything?’

  It was Hayden, licking the fingers of one hand, a frothy mug in the other. She almost suggested he wait with Amanda then remembered he’d spent a lot of time here over the years hanging out in the office during school holidays. And he wanted to search. ‘Why don’t you take a look?’

  While Hayden read the Post-Its, she hovered over the blotter, trying to make sense of the scrawls and doodles. A line had been drawn from top to bottom dividing the page in two. On one side were squares and loops and odd shapes, on the other, notes were jotted in columns. It looked like company names and there were dates and other groups of numbers.

  ‘You see anything?’ she asked Hayden.

  ‘A lot of sticky notes.’

  ‘Gee, I missed that.’ She caught his brief grin in profile.

  ‘Did you look on his computer?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet. You want to fire it up?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Mention of the computer seemed to inject some enthus­iasm into him. He ducked around her, flicked the monitor on, rolled the chair into place. She let him at it as she pulled open the desk drawers: in the top one there were pens, rulers, paperclips, electrical leads and a thousand multicoloured, sticky Post-It pads. His stockpile. Spare notebooks were stacked in the next one, with a cardboard file sitting on the top. There was a single sheet of paper inside, lists of numbers running down one side. Some of them were calendar dates for this year. Others were long groups of numbers like she’d seen on the blotter. She pulled the page and checked them against the ones on the desk. All six were the same.

  ‘It wants a password,’ Hayden said.

  Rennie glanced at the screen and back to the numbers on the page. Passwords? ‘Try this.’

  Hayden typed as she read out a series of numbers.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Try it with these spaces.’ She read it again.

  ‘No.’

  They went through them all, in case Max was changing his password and writing it down so he wouldn’t forget. Nothing. She pushed a hand through her hair and let out a gust of air. Maybe the numbers weren’t anything to do with the computer. Maybe they were code numbers and service dates for machinery. Maybe he’d bought lottery tickets. Maybe she was grasping at straws.

  ‘Okay, we’re getting nowhere here.’ She went to drop the page into the folder again, changed her mind, folded it and pushed it into her back pocket. She had no idea what it was but she was sick of leaving empty-handed.

  On the way out, she eyed James’s closed door. She knew his office was identical to Max’s, minus the clutter, but he’d pulled together the financial records in there. Maybe there was a copy, maybe his computer wasn’t password protected. She tried the knob. Locked. There was no deadlock, just a handle and strike plate. She could open it without damaging it. It’d barely leave a scratch.

  ‘Take your mug out to the kitchen,’ she told Hayden quietly.

  As he turned, Amanda appeared in the hallway. ‘How’re you guys doing down here? Found anything?’

  Rennie stepped away from James’s door. ‘It’s hard to tell.’

  ‘Anything I can help you with?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know if Max and James always use passwords on their computers?’

  ‘I don’t know about James. I’ve never used his computer. He either emails me with work or drops off hard copies at the desk. Max doesn’t. Anything he forgets to drop off, I go into his office and look it up on his computer.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  Amanda waited as though there might be more. There wasn’t, just Rennie’s burning desire to help herself to the contents of James’s office.

  Hayden followed her to the car in silence, which she was more than grateful for. She wanted to ask Max what the hell it all meant. The argument, the numbers, the passwords, the blood. The only thing she knew was that the answers weren’t going to be good news.

  She pulled on her belt, started the engine, then just sat.

  ‘What?’ Hayden asked.

  ‘I’m running out of ideas.’

  ‘Now can we check his fishing spots?’

  Yeah, there were still places to look. ‘Okay, let’s do that.’

  Taking the highway back to Haven Bay, Hayden directed her to a small, rocky cove further south than the curve of Winsweep Bay she’d run this morning. She stood at the edge of the road and knew they wouldn’t find anything. It made no sense for Max to be here – dumped, stumbled or otherwise. Too close to houses, too far from Skiffs, in the opposite direction to home. She let Hayden wander around the rocks anyway, understanding the need to keep looking, tilting her face and squinting in the bright sunlight, the promise of a hot summer filling her with apprehension. Was Max seeing this, too? Was he somewhere exposed, sunburnt and dehydrated? Injured and disoriented? Or were his eyes closed and his body cold?

  Or was he lying in a soft bed with another woman, ordering room service with stolen money?

  They stopped at two more fishing spots and Rennie watched Hayden clamber about, feeling the jitters and short temper of too much coffee and not enough food.

  ‘Let’s go to Skiffs. I need to eat,’ she finally told him.

  It was after two when they got there and the lunchtime crowd had been and gone. Pav had probably started to close down the kitchen but maybe he’d fix her a sandwich. Maybe she’d beat him around the head if he didn’t.

  ‘He’s not here,’ Eliza told her, a couple of cappuccinos in hand as she passed them on the way to a table.

  Trish appeared from the kitchen, embracing Hayden first then whispering in Rennie’s ear as she hugged her. ‘You look shattered.’

  Rennie wondered how much Trish knew – whether Naomi had revealed her secrets over the phone or the counter, whether Detective Duncan had asked incriminating questions. She was tired of keeping up the mystery now, of pretending to be someone else. ‘You’re probably going to hear some things about me. They’re not pleasant but . . .’

  Trish held up a hand. ‘Don’t. It’s okay. Naomi called.’

  She nodded. ‘Have you spoken to the police yet?’

  ‘Detective Duncan was in this morning.’

  ‘You’re probably wishing you’d asked for a resume five years ago.’

  ‘I’m wishing I’d been a better friend. You might’ve had someone you could talk to.’

  There were good reasons Rennie loved her. ‘You’re the first friend I ever had. I didn’t want to scare you off.’

  ‘I don’t scare easily.’ She said it firmly, a message – and more than a hint of the resilience that must have kept her safe around the world. ‘Now, fill me in on Max.’

  ‘I’ve got to eat first. Is the kitchen closed already?’

  Trish waved Rennie and Hayden to stools at the counter. ‘No, Shannon’s here. She should have enough to throw a sandwich together. What about you, Hayden?’

  ‘He’s already eaten. A lot,’ Rennie said.

  ‘Have you got any ravioli?’ he asked, leaning over the counter as he hoisted himself into the tall seat beside her.

  ‘No, but you can have a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich.
’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rennie corrected him. He rolled his eyes. Trish ruffled his hair before calling the order into the kitchen. Shannon worked alternate weekends for Pav and three nights a week at a restaurant in Newcastle. Rennie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in during the week. ‘Why is Shannon here?’ she asked Trish.

  ‘Pav had to go out.’

  Rennie raised her eyebrows. Was he searching for Max, too? ‘In the middle of the day? Did he swap bodies with someone who takes a break?’

  Trish laughed a little. ‘He’s been having problems with a supplier. He’s trying to sort something out.’

  ‘The Serbian guy?’

  Trish cocked her head, pulled a face that said she wasn’t impressed.

  The lean, heavily accented sales rep had started dropping by to see Pav a couple of months ago. Pav would come out of the kitchen, sit at a table with him, drink coffee and talk in one of the eight or so languages that could roll off his tongue. He’d told Rennie the guy sold good condiments but whenever he’d been in, Pav would launch into one of his stressed cooking frenzies. He was in on Saturday morning when he was prepping food for the party and his cook-off got the job done faster. ‘What’s the problem with him?’

  ‘Pav knows him. It’s a long story. Let me see how your lunch is going.’

  Eliza slipped into Trish’s place behind the counter. ‘You’re probably too preoccupied for inquiries about paintings but a man rang a couple of times asking about you.’

  Caution stiffened her spine. ‘What man? Did he leave a name?’

  Eliza flicked a startled glance at the hand Rennie had clasped around her wrist. ‘He didn’t want to leave a name. He said something about admiring your work and wanted to talk to you.’

  Anthony had shown photos of his daughters at shops and real estate agents and caravan parks, played the concerned, desperate father looking for his kids. Sounding convincing about her paintings wasn’t a stretch. ‘What did you tell him?’