by Vicki Tyley
But if-onlys wouldn’t bring her sister back.
Jemma touched the wineglass in her hands to her lips and downed the last of the velvety Cabernet Merlot. Her sister had good taste in wine, if not men.
Sean Mullins: the love of Tanya’s life and the root of the rift between the two sisters. Even now, Jemma couldn’t see what Tanya had seen in the chauffeur-cum-personal-trainer besides his buff body and blond good looks. Yet, for months, all Tanya could talk about was Sean this and Sean that. If there was ever a woman besotted, she was it. And Jemma couldn’t have been happier for her big sister. That is until she had the privilege of meeting her future brother-in-law in the flesh, so to speak.
She remembered it like it was yesterday. How could she forget?
When Tanya had offered to redeem some of her Frequent Flyer points for a return Perth-Melbourne ticket, Jemma had jumped at it. Not only would she be able to spend some quality time with her sister, but she would also finally get to know this wonderful man she had been hearing so much about.
It all started out civilly enough, even if Sean spent the first few minutes at the airport ogling his prospective sister-in-law’s breasts. Though Tanya made no comment, her pursed lips said it all. Jemma resolved to change into a looser fitting, less revealing top as soon as she had a chance. More for her own sake than his. The last thing she needed was for her sister to accuse her of leading him on.
On the drive into the city, Sean did most of the talking, big noting himself at every opportunity. Both he and Tanya worked for a multi-millionaire property developer – it was how they met – but listening to Sean, Jemma thought she could almost be forgiven for thinking it was the other way around. Nothing wrong with ambition, she assured herself.
Then at dinner that evening, she felt his foot rubbing the inside of her calf under the table. She jerked back, her chair almost toppling. He returned her baleful stare with a smug smile and continued to fork food into his mouth. “Cramp,” she said in answer to Tanya’s questioning look.
Back at the apartment, Tanya and Sean bade her goodnight. Her body still on Perth time, Jemma stayed up watching television in the living room. About an hour later, she heard someone moving around and looked up to see Sean parading stark naked across the room. She quickly averted her gaze, not wanting to see any more than necessary.
She held her breath, hoping he was sleepwalking or at the very least, it was an aberration. With any luck, he would come to his senses, go back to bed, and save them both from any further embarrassment.
She could still hear his voice. “What are you watching?” Low and husky. Then the weight of his body landing on the seat next to her. He smelled of sex. She gagged, leaping from the couch as she felt the heat of his damp skin brush against her arm.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” she hissed at him, her fists clenched so tightly her fingernails cut into her palms. “You’re engaged to my sister for God’s sake.”
“What?” His pale grey eyes widened in feigned innocence, his mouth spreading in a supercilious grin. “Just being hospitable.”
She backed away. “I’m warning you: stay away from me.”
In a flash he was standing, her right wrist in his steely grip. “Or what?” He yanked her off her feet, his mouth so close to hers, she could taste his winey breath. “Or what, little sister?”
“Or I’ll tell Tanya what you’re really like.”
With a snort, he released her. “What, and ruin your sister’s happiness?”
Why couldn’t she have just pretended it hadn’t happened? Why couldn’t she have disregarded the lecherous looks? Why couldn’t she have ignored the touching?
Because at the time, she thought she was saving her sister from a faithless marriage.
Another sob erupted from deep inside her. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t have foreseen that Tanya would take her fiancé’s word over her sister’s? It still hurt to think Tanya could have believed her own sister – her only real family – capable of fabricating such stories.
Jemma set the empty wineglass on the side table. Whoever said time heals all wounds, she thought as she slid down the leather couch, a pillow crushed to her chest, was wrong. So, so wrong…
She cried herself to sleep, the thought that she might never wake almost welcome. Except, unlike her sister, she hadn’t washed down countless Valium tablets and God knows what else with a bottle of bourbon first.
Sometime later, she woke, groaning as she stretched her cramped muscles.
Ambient light from the city night outside cast a ghostly pall over the room. Unsticking herself from the leather, she pushed up on one elbow. She could make out furniture shapes in the room, but no detail.
About to get up, she stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Someone was at the door. Her face pressed against the pillow, she hunched down, shutting her eyes the instant light from the corridor spilled into the apartment. She heard the lock snib, followed by hesitant footsteps. Adrenaline coursed through her body, triggering her fight-or-flight response. But she had no means of escape and her only weapon was surprise.
Desperate to blend with the couch, she lay rock still and forced her breathing to slow. Somewhere behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath. Her heartbeat ricocheted, her stomach knotting. She pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth to stop herself crying out.
The footsteps retreated. Her eyes remained jammed shut long after she heard the click of the door. Eventually the message from her brain got through. Without moving her head, she peered under lowered lids into the gloom. Her ears strained for the slightest sound.
Nothing.
She waited.
Still nothing.
Stretching her arm up behind her, she groped on the side table for her mobile phone. In the process, she clipped the empty wineglass, sending it flying. She gasped as it bounced off her forehead and landed between her legs. She grabbed it by the stem and sat upright, braver now she had a weapon of sorts in her hands.
She shuffled along the couch, her eyes trained on the door, her free hand feeling for her phone. Her fingers touched the square edges of a business card. She exhaled, a faint sigh escaping her lips.
With the card clamped between her teeth, she hooked her phone. She only hoped the light from the mobile phone’s display would be enough to read the numbers on DS Sykes’ business card.
Resting the wineglass against her thigh, she dialed Chris Sykes’ mobile number. She winced at the tiny beep each time she touched the keypad, her gaze flicking back and forth between the door and her phone.
After what felt like an eternity, she heard a soft click, followed by a grunt, then nothing.
“Chris?” she asked in a strained whisper.
“Yeah.” He sounded groggy, as if just woken from a deep sleep.
“Oh God, I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Jemma, is that you?” His voice sounded stronger, his concern evident.
“Yes. Someone broke in…” She took a breath. “Someone with a key.”
“Into the apartment? When?”
“Tonight. A few minutes ago. I think they’ve gone now.” Or so she hoped. The idea that the intruder might still be there, lurking in the dark, scared her more than she wanted to admit.
Clonk. “I’m on my way,” he said, his voice suddenly hollow, echoey. A zipping sound and then what she assumed was him moving about. “But if they come back or you think you’re in any danger at all dial triple-0 straight away. Got that?” She heard a jangle of keys. “Jemma, have you got that?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip, the urgency in his voice not helping.
The call disconnected, leaving her alone in the dark, waiting. She tried to recall where the light switches were. It wasn’t the dark she feared so much, as what it could be harboring. Her heart rapping, she stood up, her phone clutched in her left hand, the wineglass relinquished. Each step took her deeper into shadows. Extendi
ng her right hand, she felt along the wall until she found a switch.
Bright white light flooded the room. She blinked, her eyes slow to adjust to the sudden glare. Her breathing steadied. As far as she could see, nothing looked out of place. She crept through the apartment, flicking on every light switch she came across. Only the master bedroom and en suite remained. She hesitated for a second, then grabbed for the door handle, slamming the door closed on the darkness within. Her breath escaped in a whoosh.
She stationed herself on the intercom’s kitchen side, the raised counter acting as a barrier between her and the door. With swipe keys only giving access to programmed floors, cameras in the common areas, and regular security patrols, she had thought she couldn’t be safer. Yet in the middle of the night, someone with a key had let themselves into her dead sister’s apartment. Someone who hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
Although anticipating it, the buzz from the intercom made her jump. Sucking in air between her teeth, she checked the video monitor and pressed the door release button. It wasn’t until she opened the door to let in a sleep-creased Detective Sykes that her heart rate began to drop again.
She pulled him in and locked the door.
Casually dressed in stonewash jeans and a XXXX grey marl T-shirt, he looked more like one of her mates than a police officer. But then he would. He was off-duty and she had just dragged him out of his bed.
“Sorry—”
He cut her off. “Don’t be. You did the right thing. First, are you all right?”
She nodded. Much better now that you’re here, she thought but didn’t say.
“You’re sure that whoever it was has gone?”
She glanced in the direction of the bedrooms. “Not unless there was more than one,” she whispered.
“Okay, stay put while I check.” He disappeared down the hall, leaving her standing at the door.
A couple of minutes later, he returned. “All clear. Now tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”
“I need to sit down,” she said, heading for the living area.
He followed, taking up position in one of the two boxy armchairs as she scooped up the empty wineglass from the couch. She set it upright on the side table, ignoring his sidelong glance, and sat down.
Taking a deep breath, she proceeded to fill him in on everything she remembered: from waking disorientated, to the light coming through the door, to the realization someone was in the apartment, to the intruder’s hurried departure.
When she had finished, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but is it possible you dreamed it? Grief can do funny things to people.”
She leapt to her feet. “You think I’m crazy?”
He ran a hand through his thick black hair and remained seated. “That’s not what I meant. You’re in a strange apartment in a strange city, having not long buried your sister. You said it yourself, you didn’t know where you were when you first woke up. Is it just possible that the light and the footsteps were an extension of a nightmare you were having and that’s what woke you?”
She cocked her head. For a fleeting moment, he had her doubting herself. “No,” she said, glaring down at him. “No, I did not imagine it.”
“I had to ask. Okay then,” he said, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket, “you need to report it.”
She grimaced. “I thought that’s what I was doing.” The idea of having to go through it all again, especially if they were to doubt her story, was too much.
“Sorry, Jemma,” he said, with a semi-apologetic smile. “I’m not actually here in any official capacity. That could be construed as a possible conflict of interest, my knowing you and your sister and all.”
“That’s that then,” she said, flopping back down onto the couch.
“What’s stopping you reporting it? It won’t take long and I can assure you my colleagues don’t bite. Not much, anyway.” He bared his teeth and snapped them together.
She gave a half-laugh-half-sigh. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I’m so tired, I think I’m past the point of thinking straight.”
“Well, the boys in blue can’t investigate what they’re not told about.”
“But you can.”
“Can what?”
“Investigate. There are cameras all over the place in this building. Whoever it was couldn’t have got all the way up here without getting their photo snapped at least once. If we could see that, then at least you would know I wasn’t making it up.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No matter,” she said with a quick shake of the head, “the security guy is going to be more inclined to talk to you – especially if you flash your badge – isn’t he?” She gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile.
He studied her, his hazel eyes narrowed. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Then his face relaxed, a hint of a smile tweaking the corners of his mouth.
“You have the same eyes.”
“Pardon?”
He leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “You and Tanya; you have the same green eyes.”
She frowned at him. While Tanya had been blessed with their mother’s long legs and strawberry blonde locks, she had inherited more of the Italian genes from her father’s side. But what bearing did the color of her eyes have on anything? “So? We are… were sisters.”
“Just an observation, that’s all.” He stood. “Okay, where’s the security office? I can’t promise anything, but I’ll give it a go.”
“I think I saw a magnet on the fridge with the phone number,” she said, already moving toward the kitchen.
As she reached around the side of the refrigerator, he opened its door. “There’s empty and then there’s empty. You have to eat, Jemma. You can’t live on air alone. Even if it is chilled,” he added.
She stepped between him and the open fridge, elbowing the door shut again. “Here,” she said, handing him the body corporate’s magnetized business card. “You worry about this. I’ll worry about me.” Grocery shopping was the least of her concerns.
One eyebrow arched, but he said nothing, taking the magnet from her fingers.
“Don’t mind me.” She forced a smile. “I’m not always this grumpy.”
His expression didn’t change. “No, you’re right: it isn’t any of my business. I’ll call this number and see what I can find out,” he said over his shoulder, walking away from her.
Her hand on her head, she stood like a dummy in the middle of the kitchen. If there was one thing she was good at, it was pushing people away. She was still standing there when Chris returned.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply.
“The good news,” he continued, “is I was able to sweet-talk the bloke into reviewing the security footage.”
She brightened.
“The bad news is, according to him, the only person who’s come or gone in the last hour is me.”
CHAPTER 3
First thing in the morning, she would be on the property manager’s doorstep waiting to see about changing the locks. But until then, Jemma was on her own, having convinced Chris – if not herself – that the intruder wouldn’t risk coming back while she was there. Even then, Chris wouldn’t leave until he had watched her program all his contact numbers into her mobile phone.
Now alone, a broom jammed under the door handle and every light in the apartment on, Jemma felt safe enough. Though not safe enough to sleep.
She wandered into the kitchen and filled the kettle. While she waited for it to boil, she checked out the contents of the cupboards and drawers. Everything perishable had been removed. No milk of any description. All that remained were the canisters of coffee, tea, sugar and an unopened box of Jatz crackers.
Armed with a mug of sweetened black coffee, she headed for the study. Dropping into the leather executive chair adrift in
the middle of the room, she sipped her drink and surveyed the stack of sealed moving boxes. Each was labeled in thick black writing with a room and numbered. Her sister’s personal possessions – all that was left of Tanya – had been condensed into nine measly cartons.
Her coffee half-drunk, Jemma wheeled the chair across to the desk and set down her mug. With a grunt, she heaved the box labeled OFFICE off the top row onto first the chair and then the floor. Snagging the end of a strip of packing tape, she peeled it back. She continued with the rest, the ripping sound overloud in the night stillness.
Perched on the chair, she began to unpack the open carton, laying the contents on the desk beside her: rubber-banded envelopes of what appeared to be EFTPOS and other receipts, files of bank and credit card statements, a metal-cornered shoebox size case of cards and other correspondence, a partly used ream of photocopy paper, a spindle of blank DVDs, an imitation-leather CD/DVD wallet, pens and paperclips galore, and a grey vinyl desk pad amongst other things. Right at the bottom, nestled amongst a tangle of cables, she found a Compaq Presario notebook.
She hauled it up onto the desk and opened it. Hoping it was at least partially charged, she pressed the power button, before going back to gather up the cables and anything else that was floating around in the bottom of the box. Unjumbling it all, she soon realized she had Ethernet cables and AC power adapters for two laptops. The lanyards of two silver-cased memory sticks had also managed to get themselves impossibly entwined and she set those aside to deal with later.
The notebook was asking for a password. This was one of those times when her expertise as an information systems auditor should have come in handy. Unfortunately, the software she normally used for hacking into password-protected systems, she had left in Perth. She frowned at the screen as if expecting the password to miraculously appear.
She tried the obvious ones like Tanya’s date of birth and her initials – both forwards and backwards. Her sister wasn’t that foolish, though. Clicking her fingers, Jemma jumped up and hurried to get her laptop from the other room.
