by Helene Young
‘Conor? What are you doing here?’
‘I was running. Saw him on the front step. Thought he’d had a heart attack.’
Miller nodded, but Conor saw his shrewd gaze take in the electric gate. ‘I’d better get Joyce to take your statement. This is going to ripple all the way down to Canberra.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Danny Parnell was supposed to be the next federal member for the Cook Shire.’
‘Bloody hell. Political?’
‘I sincerely hope not. Not in Cooktown,’ Miller replied. ‘Wait here.’ He walked towards Joyce. Nothing hasty, nothing rushed. It was a pleasure working with him at the PCYC. Even the kids who pushed the boundaries showed the sergeant grudging respect. ‘Constable, get a statement from Conor and see if he needs to talk to someone. Situations like this aren’t easy.’
‘Yes, Sarge,’ Joyce replied, scowling in Conor’s direction. One alpha male to another, Conor thought bleakly.
Fifteen minutes later his patience was wearing thin. Miller was still photographing the scene and the ambulance had departed with its load. The neighbours were starting to surface with curious glances at the two squad cars parked out front. Another car pulled up and a distraught woman slammed the door and headed over to Joyce.
‘Where’s Deb? Is it true? Danny’s dead? Really?’
‘You’re Debbie’s friend?’ Joyce asked.
The woman nodded. ‘Kristy called me. This is awful in my hometown. It’s like something out of TV show. The reporters will be here next.’
Joyce scowled. ‘Talking like that’s not going to help Debbie. She’s inside. Follow me.’
It silenced the woman. Conor was even more grateful for the understanding policeman who’d escorted him to the morgue three years ago. He’d seemed weary to the bone. ‘One day we’ll find the killer, Conor. He’ll slip up, leave enough evidence so we can hunt him down. I hope it’s in my lifetime.’
So did Conor. Justice had been only partially served. He’d helped put the man who’d ordered the killings behind bars, but the one who’d pulled the trigger had never been caught. A hit man with a distinctive pattern. One day his luck would run out.
‘Hey, you okay?’ Kristy said. He hadn’t heard her approach. Her colour had subsided and her hair was loose, skimming her shoulders. It made her softer, less aloof.
Conor shrugged. ‘Not the first time I’ve seen a dead body. Probably not the last either.’
‘But confronting nevertheless. Do you need anything?’
He looked directly at her. ‘A bath, a long, hot soak and preferably not alone, but that’s not going to happen any time soon.’
‘Oh.’
Was she blushing? ‘Sorry, that probably sounded inappropriate at a time like this.’
‘No,’ she reassured him. ‘We all cope with stress in different ways. I eat chocolate. Not very productive, but there you have it. Has Joyce finished with you?’
‘I hope so. He wants to know how I got through the gate. I don’t think he’s convinced it was closing when I caught sight of the guy. All I had to do was break the sensor beam and it opened again.’
Kristy snorted. ‘Some blokes, the badge goes to their head.’
Conor couldn’t agree more. ‘Did you see a charcoal-grey four-wheel drive? A city four-wheel drive, not a country one.’
‘No. You passed me and then a couple of work utes went by. Then I turned round and slogged back up the hill. I thought I was going to collapse. I’m not really made for running.’
‘Then why do it?’
She turned those brilliant blue eyes on him and despite everything, she almost smiled. ‘Because I can’t be bothered updating my wardrobe, and if I keep eating chocolate the way I do I will only have stretchy clothes left. Not quite the look I’m after.’
‘Stretchy looks just fine from where I’m standing.’
‘Well, thank goodness you’re not in charge of my wardrobe choices then.’
The flush was back in her cheeks and she looked away. He couldn’t help himself. Her skin was warm and soft as his fingers brushed it, tucked the strands of dark hair back behind her ear. It was the first time he’d touched her, and the timing was all wrong, but he didn’t regret it as he saw awareness flare in her eyes. She didn’t pull away, yet the tiniest of frowns bloomed between her brows, as if his actions puzzled her.
‘Conor?’ Miller called. ‘Any idea how far into the yard the car was parked?’
Conor took the distraction in good grace. He was playing with fire and he wasn’t sure he was ready to be incinerated.
‘By the speed it reversed out, I’d say a fair way. It shot out on an angle, heading to the right, then took off down the hill. I’m sorry, I didn’t get a numberplate or even a model. It all happened so fast. My mind was elsewhere.’
‘Understandable.’ Miller cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, but I will need you to attend the police station for further questioning.’
Conor shrugged before Kristy cut in. ‘Hang on. I passed him jogging up the street a couple of minutes before all this unfolded. He wasn’t carrying a gun.’
‘And you know because . . .?’ Miller asked.
Kristy’s snort was almost a laugh. ‘Have you seen what he’s wearing? Abby wears more clothes when she’s swimming. There’s nowhere to hide a gun.’
Conor’s cheeks tingled with unfamiliar embarrassment. He held up his arms. ‘Search me if you like, but Kristy’s right. I have a pocket that’s big enough for a credit card to get a taxi if I end up lost in Cooktown.’ His poor attempt at humour helped to steady him.
‘Yeah, right,’ Miller said, hands on his hips. ‘You’re free to go for now. Just don’t leave town, eh?’
‘Remember, you persuaded me to play Santa at the Christmas bash on Sunday?’
Miller’s tired face creased into a smile. ‘You’re going to need more than a pillow to fatten you up.’ He turned to the doctor. ‘Kristy, do you need to do anything else here? How’s Deb?’
‘She’s not good. Her friend’s going to stay with her, but I’ll prescribe some sedatives as soon as I get to work.’
‘Of course. You’ll organise the autopsy?’
‘Sure.’ She walked over to Miller, her voice dropping, and Conor turned away. None of his business from here on in. He walked back to the footpath, remembering the trajectory of the car. He was sure he’d be able to identify the make if he saw something similar again. It had stayed on the sealed surface, so no chance of tyre prints. He hoped the cameras were set up right.
The footsteps behind him could only belong to one person. He waited until she spoke before he turned around.
‘It’s not easy dealing with something like this. You have family or friends you can talk to?’
If only she knew. ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine. And you? Holding up okay?’
She shrugged and ignored his question. ‘I live up the road. If you need a lift, I can get my car.’
‘Thanks, I’m down on the river. It won’t take me long.’
‘On the river?’
‘I live on a yacht.’
‘Oh, wow. That’s different. I’ve never been on anything smaller than the Brisbane ferries.’
‘You should come for a sail some time. It’s a special part of the world. Lizard Island’s just out there.’ He waved an arm to the east.
She pulled a face. ‘I’d probably end up seasick. I’m more of an outback girl.’
‘Really?’
‘Grew up on a property south-west of here. Abby and I are heading home for Christmas.’
‘You’ll miss my lousy impersonation of Santa Claus?’ Irrationally, it mattered enormously that he made her smile before she left. He patted his stomach. ‘I’ve been practising my ho-ho-hos. Do you think the kids will pick it’s me?’
Her fleeting grin was all the reward he needed. ‘I think they’ll be onto you, but I’m sure they’ll love you for it.’ She half turned then, looked up through impossibly long, dark lashes. ‘And thanks. I
appreciate you taking the time to make sure I’m all right too.’
He watched her walk away. Those crystal-blue eyes always seemed to see right to the centre of his soul. It was liberating and terrifying all at once. He couldn’t risk loving a woman again. He just couldn’t.
2
Kristy stood under the now cold shower. She’d treated gunshot wounds and dealt with dead bodies before, but she’d never been at a crime scene with police and paramedics. And with Conor there as well? It wasn’t just the senseless death and Debbie’s grief that was unsettling her. That crooked grin of his annoyed and attracted her in equal measure. How could someone be so damn sure of themselves when their claim to fame was coaching the kids at the PCYC and hauling nets on a fishing trawler? He had no right to have such a compelling smile, and the short ponytail should have made him look like a wannabe. Yet, with his good looks and wry humour, Conor had a magnetism she rebelled against. And like a rich chocolate dessert, even the smallest taste left her wanting more.
It was insane. She was a 34-year-old single mum with a foolish craving for the simple intimacy of a hug. From the moment she’d met Conor at training with Abby, she’d seen the interest in those dark eyes. He was older by a few years, she guessed, but age didn’t faze her. Tyler had been twenty years her senior. She hadn’t thought of him as an older man in the beginning. It was only as the marriage changed that she’d realised he had an older mindset, not to mention a controlling one.
She sighed and turned off the taps. This morning’s events had brought home so many devastating memories. She knew how it felt to be the disbelieving wife. She’d known grief that had made her crazy, understood how it felt to be isolated, adrift. As the anniversary of her baby’s death loomed again, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And the twisted guilt of her husband’s death added a layer that might never dissipate.
Had Conor lost someone he loved? Was that why he was hanging out in Cooktown, teaching schoolkids to toss a ball? In the three months he’d been the coach, the teams had all steadily climbed from the bottom rung. He’d started too late in the season and they’d finished in the middle of the ladder, but the way Conor talked to the kids after a loss you could have been forgiven for thinking they were the winners. If he stuck around, anything was possible.
Today the distress she’d sensed behind his red-rimmed eyes seemed misplaced. Debbie said she’d never seen him before, that he wasn’t part of whatever mess Danny had got himself into, as far as she knew. Conor was the accidental bystander. Wrong time, wrong place. She’d seen the overbearing way Joyce had treated him. Conor was entitled to be rankled. Instead he’d taken it in his stride. She’d been rigid with the effort it took not to respond when he’d touched her, but she was the doctor and with that came the professional obligation to be strong, steadfast and composed.
And yet?
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined feeling those sculpted arms around her. Tyler had been an academic, so different from the boys she’d grown up with from the surrounding cattle stations. Conor was somewhere between the two. His fitness came from training rather than from working on a station and riding horses. For all his easy charm there was a sharp mind behind those velvety eyes. She’d heard him talk finance with one of the footy fathers. Clearly he’d done something other than coach kids and fish. She was surprised she hadn’t already heard that he lived on a boat. It explained the way his skin glowed like polished teak. And with the wink of a tiny stud in his left ear, he looked like a pirate. Johnny Depp with maturity and strength.
‘Mum?’ Abby banged on the door. ‘I’m busting.’
‘Coming.’ Kristy dragged a comb through her hair and tied a sarong around her body.
Her daughter was leaning against the wall, legs crossed. ‘Really? And you tell me off for taking too long?’
Kristy held the door open. ‘All yours, sweetheart.’
Abby had been asleep when Kristy let herself into their cool, quiet house. Holidays were for recharging the batteries and Abby could sleep all day if she liked, although she rarely stayed in bed late when she was at Ruby Downs.
Kristy’s parents lived on the family cattle property, two and a half hours away over a juddering red-earth road. Times were tough in the cattle industry and their job demanded long hours, but they always found time to dote on their granddaughter. Abby had pleaded to be allowed to remain with them after Christmas when Kristy planned to return to Cooktown for work. In Kristy’s opinion there was no safer place for her daughter than Ruby Downs, but it would be the first time she and Abby had been apart since Tyler . . .
Kristy still faltered at the memory, even two years on. Abby missed her father and it showed in the way she adopted every man who crossed their path, which was where Conor fitted in. Abby had rushed in the door after training, incoherent in her haste to tell Kristy about the new coach in town. Allowing for teenage exaggerations, Kristy had been surprised to find he was everything her daughter had said. And then some.
In a place with more men than women, Conor still stood out from the crowd. And Kristy wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Apparently the barmaid at the Cooktown Hotel may have made some headway, but no one could confirm it.
Kristy walked through to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were almost bare. They were leaving the following day and Kristy figured it was far better to come home to an empty fridge than one full of rotting food because the erratic power had gone off while they were away.
She scrambled some eggs, popped frozen bread in the toaster and looked at the clock. When she’d phoned the hospital to advise there was a body heading their way she’d told them she’d be late, but she needed to get going.
‘Abby, breakfast’s ready!’
Kristy heard a muffled reply and the thud of a shoe hitting the floor. She poured the egg mix into the pan, and it sizzled in the hot butter.
Abby appeared and plonked herself down on the chair. ‘What happened this morning?’
‘I went for a run.’ Kristy gave her daughter a puzzled look.
‘You can’t run for that long.’
‘There was an accident. A man was injured. He’s not in a good way.’ She’d explain later.
‘Derek said the cops were everywhere.’
‘Derek?’
‘It’s all over Facebook. He said he saw you and Conor talking?’ Her voice rose on the last word.
‘Show me.’ Kristy flicked her fingers at her daughter. ‘Can you butter the toast, please?’
Abby stood up and handed over her phone.
Kristy thumbed the screen and scrolled down the Facebook page. ‘Oh.’ Derek, a boy with acne and shorts on the permanent slide, had posted a photo of the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance. He must have been one of the neighbours. In the background of the photo Joyce was talking to Conor. The body language wasn’t friendly.
‘Why was Conor there?’
‘He was out running too.’
‘Really?’ Abby looked hopeful. ‘Tell me you weren’t wearing those grandma shorts.’
‘They’re comfortable.’
‘They’re gross, Mum. Why can’t you try and look nice?’
Kristy frowned. ‘I do. But I can’t see the point when I’m going for a run. Especially at this time of year.’
‘Couldn’t you go to the gym? Or buy something a bit more, you know?’ Abby slapped the buttered toast on two plates. ‘Sissy’s mum always looks hot.’
‘Sissy’s mum doesn’t work.’
‘Good for her then.’
Kristy felt a dart of hurt. She knew it was hormones, the raging angry hormones of a thirteen-year-old girl, but Abby’s words still had the power to wound. ‘You know I need to work and you know that even if Dad was still alive, I would work. I love my job.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I know, but really?’ Abby waved an airy hand at the sarong. It was threadbare and had definitely seen better days. ‘You should talk to Freya. She does all her shopping online and her clothes
are way cool.’
Kristy piled fluffy golden-yellow eggs on the toast, dumped the pan in the sink and carried the plates to the table. Abby had reclaimed her phone. ‘Oh my God, they’re saying someone was murdered. Mum?’ She turned stricken eyes on her mother. ‘What’s Conor got to do with this?’
‘Conor’s alive and well, Abby. Your breakfast’s going cold.’
‘Mu-um. Did Conor kill someone?’
‘No! Of course not.’
‘So who did?’
‘Abby, I have no idea and I’m already late for work. Eat.’
Abby pulled a face and pushed the food around a little.
‘Eat!’ Kristy commanded again.
‘All right, all right. When are we leaving tomorrow?’
‘Have you packed?’
‘Kind of . . .’
‘Which means no?’
‘I’ve got my riding boots and jeans.’
‘Your helmet.’
‘Grandpa doesn’t wear a helmet.’
‘Grandpa hasn’t come off a horse in fifty years and neither is he thirteen. And I wear a helmet.’ At thirteen the only thing on Kristy’s head had been a dusty, battered akubra, but times had changed and as a doctor she’d seen too many brain injuries from falls.
‘And Sissy doesn’t.’ Abby spoke through a mouthful of food.
‘Sissy should.’
Abby shrugged and thumbed down her phone again.
Kristy finished her breakfast in silence. Some days she felt like howling. Had she failed as a mother? Should she limit the time her daughter had access to her phone? She did confiscate it at night until homework was done, but now Abby was on holidays it was harder to set the boundaries and stick to them. On the station, her parents had a satellite phone for emergencies, but otherwise they were at the mercy of the telco and intermittent internet.
Abby was on her feet now, breakfast half eaten. ‘So we’re definitely going tomorrow, not tonight?’
‘Yep, I thought you wanted to go to the final coaching session for basketball?’
‘I did, but I thought you said no.’ Abby’s hands were on her hips now.
