by Vicki Tyley
“And the list of phone numbers?”
“From the White Pages: possible matches for Ted Ansell, the man Laura gave as her referee.”
“That’s if he’s still living in Western Australia,” Fergus said. “I get the impression Laura didn’t talk much about her past.”
“Neither of them did. Occasionally they would let something slip, but they had this philosophy about always looking forward and never back. Laura used to say the past is where it belonged: in the past.”
“Or maybe it was because their past held something they would rather forget.”
Crossing her arms, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back again. “Cynicism might well be a prerequisite for your line of work, but you forget they met less than four years ago. Laura and I had already been friends for two years by then.”
“Maybe so, but doesn’t it seem the least bit odd to you that they both heralded from Perth, had no family to speak of, and were secretive about their past?”
“No, not really. Just the same as I don’t think it’s odd you and Kim were both born in Victoria, became police officers and are secretive about your past.”
Fergus laughed. “Point taken. All the same, in my game you soon learn not to take everything at face value.” He picked up the notepad. “How many of these numbers have you tried?”
“None. Brandon turned up before I could get that far. And I certainly didn’t need him giving me the third degree about what I was up to after the day I had.”
“What are we waiting for? Perth’s two hours behind, so it’s not too late.” He tore the page with the phone numbers in half. “Here, you try those and I’ll phone these,” he said, already punching numbers into his mobile phone.
Her jaw dropped. One minute he seemed to be brick-walling her, the next he was helping her. As she left the room, taking her list of three numbers, she heard him ask if he was speaking to the Ted Ansell who used to work for MSRH Consulting. She paused, waiting for the outcome.
Silence then, “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
One down, Desley thought, continuing on through to the kitchen, four to go.
Her call to the first number on her list went straight to an answering machine: “Hi, this is Edwina. Sorry I can’t take your call right now. You know the drill.” Unless Ted had undergone a sex change operation, Edwina wasn’t her man. She waited for the beep anyway, leaving a message on the off chance Edwina knew of or was related to a Ted.
The next number rang out.
She rang the last number on her list: “You have reached Telstra home messages 101 service for a private number.” She hung up and, in case she had misdialed the first time, rekeyed the numbers.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
She disconnected her call and swung around. “Always the good news.”
“The good news,” Fergus said, “is I know where Ted Ansell is.” He must have read her face. “Don’t worry, he’s alive and well.”
She rocked forward on her elbows, her clenched fists pressed against her forehead. “So what’s the bad news then?”
“He’s trekking in the Himalayas. His sister says he’ll be out of contact for at least another fortnight, but she’s given me an email address.” He pulled out one the stools next to her and sat down. “Don’t look so glum; it could have been worse.”
“I know. It just seems we run into one dead end after another, as if the universe is conspiring against us…” She laughed. “Listen to me. I’m into conspiracy theories now. What will I be thinking of next? That aliens abducted Laura and Ryan, and torched their home to get rid of any evidence?”
“Works for me.”
She lifted her head to look at him. His body angled toward her, one forearm resting on the breakfast bar, the other in his lap. She caught a whiff of citrus and warm spice. He smiled, his green eyes twinkling, and all she could think of was how his naked body would feel against hers. That confirmed it: she was delirious. She gave her head a quick, sharp shake and stood up. “Caffeine, I need caffeine,” she said, stepping in a wide arc past Fergus.
“Make that two.” He stared at the notepad on the breakfast bar in front of him, the pen see-sawing between his right hand’s index and middle fingers. “You’re right: we are missing something, but what? You didn’t receive that anonymous email until after you started your search for the Howqua cottage’s owner – cause and effect. But what prompted the woman, whoever she is, to break into your home, go upstairs, plant the hidden camera, wait until you came home, steal your car, make the hoax call to me, dump the car and finally, email me footage of you in your bedroom?”
“I don’t think stealing my car was part of the original plan,” Desley said, locking the espresso machine’s filter into place. “The woman couldn’t have known I’d leave it in the driveway with the keys in it, or even what time I’d get home. In fact, I think she could’ve still been in the house when I arrived back, and that’s why the front door was ajar. She couldn’t go back out the way she came, so had to make her escape through the garage.”
“I agree, but it still doesn’t give us a motive. It could just be scare tactics, but it doesn’t feel like that. She, or whoever masterminded it, went to a lot of a trouble, not to mention the risks involved. Also, what did they-he-she gain by having me believe you had been involved in an horrific car accident, your life hanging by a thread? And why email me – not you – the video file? Stranger and stranger.”
“Maybe they think we’re in it together.”
“What’s it?”
She shrugged. “Whatever they perceive I’m doing. If they’re spying on me, they’ll know that we spend time together.”
“Guilty by association, you think?”
“Well, it’s better than the alien theory.” Setting the two cups of coffee she had made on the breakfast bar, she nudged the cappuccino his way. “Do you have any other ideas?”
“Not at the moment.” He sipped his coffee, the tip of his tongue licking milk froth from the corner of his mouth.
She gulped her hot coffee, hoping to drown the flutter in her stomach. She looked up to find him contemplating her over the rim of his cup. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them and recrossed them again. “What if it’s not about me?”
One eyebrow rose, then the other, his eyes widening. He leapt from his stool, as if he had springs attached to his feet, his hands patting his pockets. Keys in hand, he backed toward the front door. “I need to check something out at the office. Be back as soon as I can. Make sure you set the alarm.”
CHAPTER 34
“Oi! Shut up for a minute, you lot. I’m on the phone here.” The locksmith’s booming voice cut through the cacophony of loud music, voices and laughter, echoing in Fergus’s darkened office. “Shit! Hang on a sec. A man can’t hear himself think in this racket.”
Fergus continued to type, creating a new email and attaching a series of images. The noise receded.
“Yow, Fergus. Don’t tell me I fucked up again.” Thomas Black roared with laughter. “One for the grandkids, that.”
Fergus didn’t bother to point out to his single and footloose friend that he had to become a father first. “Thomas, sorry to interrupt your drinking, mate, but this is important.”
“Important is my middle name.”
“Do you think you could still recognize the woman who sweet-talked you into breaking into my friend’s place?”
“Friend?” Thomas scoffed. “Come off it. Has to be more to it than that.”
Fergus sighed. “That’s not important right now. I need you to take a look at some photos. What email address should I use?”
“Shit, mate, can’t it wait? I’d have to go home. I’m at the pub.”
“Isn’t that your second home? They must know you well enough by now to let you use a computer.”
Thomas laughed. “Too well. Send them to my Hotmail address and I’ll see what I can do.”
“
Thanks, and remember, for your eyes only. I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than bloody one,” Thomas said and hung up.
Fergus clicked on Thomas’s Hotmail address, adding it to the email, and pressed Send. If his hunch proved right, then his friend would identify Christine Lynas as the woman who had manipulated him into breaking into Desley’s townhouse. His client’s wife certainly had motive: blaming him for the demise of her marriage after she had been captured in flagrante with her husband’s younger brother. She had sworn she would get even and what better way than to turn the tables – or rather the cameras – on him. It was so obvious, he couldn’t think why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
He stared at the screen, tapping his steepled fingers against his chin. Had that been the problem all along? Had they approached the mystery of Laura Noble and Ryan Moore’s disappearance from the wrong angle? Had they been looking too hard for something that wasn’t there?
CHAPTER 35
Desley pressed Play, not caring what CD was loaded. Anything to fill the silence left by Fergus’s abrupt departure. “Stupid girl, stupid girls, stupid girls…” Pink’s big, raspy voice followed her from the living room into her office.
Slumping into her chair in front of the computer, her gaze fell on the notepad with Fergus’s scrawl. She picked it up and studied it. He had drawn a diagonal line through the top phone number. The next number had lines fanning out from it, each leading to a scribbled notation: Barb - sister; trekking Himalayas; not contactable 2 wks; [email protected].
Giving some thought on what she should and shouldn’t include in an email to Laura’s ex-boss, Desley switched to her Inbox and skimmed the unread messages: a newsletter, a forwarded funny from one of her clients, an American Express alert advising her that her statement was ready for downloading, another newsletter—
The peal of the doorbell cut through the music. She tensed, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. All the extra security had catered to her fears, not subdued them. Focusing on slowing her breathing, she went to see who would be calling at such a late hour. Brandon had promised to phone when he was in the taxi on his way home, and Fergus hadn’t been gone long enough to make it to his office and back again. Or had he?
She crept to the front door and peered through the peephole. She jerked back. How had Fergus’s locksmith friend described her impersonator? The only details she could recall were: big boobs, vivid blue eyes and dark hair. She put her eye up against the peephole again.
Bright white light flooded the entrance but the person standing on her doorstep wore a large-brimmed floppy hat, obscuring her face in shadow. She couldn’t even be sure it was a woman, a bulky puff jacket hiding any evidence of breasts, large or small. As for the hair, the person could have been bald as far as she could tell.
“Who is it?” she called out, her voice stronger than she felt.
“It’s Selena. I… I…”
Desley breathed out and opened the door, leaving the security chains in place. “It’s a bit late for a social call, Selena.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.” Selena dropped her hand, revealing the side of her bloodied and bruised face.
“Oh my God, what’s happened?” Desley asked, wrestling with the security chains.
“A door,” Selena said, her voice still shaky. “I walked into a door. I am such a klutz at the moment.”
Desley let her in, guiding her straight into the bathroom. “Here,” she said, closing the toilet seat lid, “sit down while I look for the first aid kit.”
Selena did as she was told, perching on the edge of the lid, her eyes welling with tears. “I don’t mean to be any trouble.”
“You’re not, but I’m not a doctor. I really think you should be checked out at the hospital, especially since it wasn’t that long ago you had concussion. Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, remembering that on top of everything else, Selena was pregnant.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, her voice croaky, her bottom lip quivering.
“That’s something,” Desley said, opening the first aid kit’s red plastic case. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and opened a pack of antiseptic swabs. She dabbed at the darkening blood on Selena’s cheek, grimacing each time her patient winced. Cleaned up, the gash over her cheekbone didn’t look quite as bad, but still serious enough to need sutures. “It must have been some door.”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said, peeling off a butterfly closure and laying it across the cut, making sure the edges of the wound met. “But I think you’re going to need stitches.” She peeled off another strip.
Selena’s eyes brimmed, the pain evident.
“Sorry, I’m trying really hard not to hurt you. Nearly there.”
“It’s not that.” Selena sniffed, blinking rapidly before bursting into sobs, the warm tears spilling over the wound and Desley’s fingers.
Desley yanked a handful of tissues from the box on the vanity unit and handed them to Selena. She waited for the sobs to subside and then asked, her tone gentle, “So what is it? Did someone do this to you? Is that why you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
Selena burst into tears all over again. At a loss for what to do, Desley pressed more tissues into Selena’s hands. If it had been Laura, she would have been hugging her, cajoling her into seeing a doctor and bawling along with her. But she barely knew Selena, except as the woman who seduced and stole her husband. Why go to your fiancé’s ex-wife for help? Desley wondered. Why not turn to Trent? Unless…
Her stomach churned. “Did Trent do this to you?” She didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, but though her ex-husband had never been physically violent with her, in recent months she had witnessed his moods deteriorate. His excessive drinking only fuelled his aggression, making his temper even more volatile.
Selena hung her head, her fingers grazing the cleaned wound on her cheekbone. “I told you, I ran into a door.”
“Does he know you’ve been hurt? Do you want me to phone him?”
Selena’s hand darted out, encircling Desley’s wrist, her fingernails digging deep. “No, please don’t. He doesn’t need to know. He’ll just worry. I’ll be fine, really.”
“I still think you should get checked out—”
The doorbell rang.
Selena’s face blanched, her expression counter to her words. She stumbled to her feet, her eyes fearful.
“Who’s done this to you, Selena? Is it Trent? You have to tell me…” The doorbell rang again. “I’m sure it’s only Fergus, but stay here and I’ll go and check.”
She stepped into the hall, hearing the bathroom door lock behind her. “I'm not scared at all,” Pink sang, “underneath the cuts and bruises.” Desley doubted Selena felt the same way.
She knew it wasn’t Fergus when her visitor started pounding on the door. She sidled up to the door and looked through the peephole, jumping back with a yelp when an eyeball confronted her.
“Des, it’s me, Trent,” he yelled through the door. “I know you’re in there.”
“What do you want, Trent?”
“I just need to know if Selena’s called you tonight?”
“And why would she do that?”
“Shit, Des, I don’t know. I’m really worried about her. She left a garbled message on my voicemail earlier, but she’s not answering her phone and her parents haven’t heard from her.” A pause. “Why won’t you open the door?”
“What, so you can hit her again?”
Silence then, “Hit her? How can you say that? I would never hit her. Has something happened? Is she in there with you? Please let me see her. Please. Is she all right? Why won’t you let me see her? Why—”
“Trent!”
“What?”
“Take it easy.” She didn’t want her neighbors calling the police.
“Why? You’ve just accused me of being a wife-beater,” he screamed out.
Jesus! S
he checked the security chains were secure and opened the door a smidgen. “Go away,” she hissed through the narrow gap. “Selena doesn’t want to see you.”
“I just need to know she’s all right. Please, Des, just let me see her for a minute. I love her.”
Selena appeared at Desley’s side, pushing past her to get to the door. Her hand snaked through the opening. “Oh, tiger, do you really?”
“With all my heart, babe. What happened? Are you all right?”
“I just had a little accident with a door,” she said, unlatching one of the security chains and giving Desley an I-told-you-so look. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Wait,” Desley said, putting her hand over Selena’s, “are you sure this is what you want?”
“Of course it’s what she wants,” Trent said, pushing against the door. “Why can’t you leave things alone and mind your own business for once.”
Desley gasped, lost for words.
Within seconds, Selena and Trent were outside together, pawing at each other like two love-struck teenagers. Selena eyed Desley as she nuzzled Trent’s neck, her smug expression saying it all.
With a horrible sense of déjà vu, a sense of yet again being a pawn in their warped games, Desley retreated inside. They deserved each other.
CHAPTER 36
Fergus studied Desley's face. “Does the name Jeremy Stillson mean anything to you?”
Her gaze dropped. “No, I don’t think so,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “Why? Should it?”
“If the manufacturer and hospital records are to be believed, he’s our body in the fire. Are you sure you never heard Ryan or Laura refer to anyone by that name?”
“He’s been identified?” she asked, her voice tightening. “Really?”
