Triple Threat

by AK Leigh

  Hmm.

  He couldn’t leave something like this to chance. He needed to take action and be in control. Know what was being discovered the moment it was discovered. That way he could anticipate their moves and arrange the evidence the way it needed to be.

  That meant one thing. He would need to start trailing at least one of the Farris sisters.

  But which one? It couldn’t be Nina. Her well-honed cop intuition was famous. And Carrie was known for her irregular schedule. That left Elizabeth. The university professor. He would be able to track down her schedule easily enough. All he needed to do was look up her classes online. He would have her timetable in minutes.

  What did people do before the convenience of the internet?

  He dragged himself from the comfort of his bed, taking the wine glass with the dregs from the bedside table with him, as he made his way to the computer.

  He swigged the remains from the glass as the hard drive started up.

  Once the screen flicked to life, he entered into the internet search engine: What university does Elizabeth Farris teach at?

  The answer popped up in a matter of seconds: Cairns University, Far North Queensland.

  He clicked on the URL for the university, and in a matter of seconds, he had her schedule. He printed it out and grinned to himself.

  Looked like he was about to catch a plane to the Sunshine State.

  Chapter 14

  For the first time in her life, Lizzie understood the meaning of the term ‘floating on clouds’. She felt dizzy and light as she strolled through the grounds of Cairns University the following day. Every man she passed reminded her of Gabe in some way: the dark colour of his hair, the angles on his face, the way he walked. He was everywhere, in everyone.

  Her smile widened with each step. When she passed the journalism building, it grew again. That was another first. Journalism in any form had never brought a smile to her face. Plenty of scowls, but never a smile. She had to laugh out loud.

  An abrupt understanding shot the laughter down.

  Last night she’d only kissed Gabe. In her teen years she would have called it ‘making out’—Carrie would still call it that—but he hadn’t presumed to ask to come in. She’d liked that, that wasn’t what was bothering her. The problem was she was having this reaction after a little kissing.

  What would happen to her once she and Gabe did sleep together? And what did this feeling even mean? She shook her head and moved as fast as she could past the journalism building. It was too soon to be worrying about any of this. She had to get him out of her head.

  She glanced down at the items in her arms. Her focus narrowed in on the folder of articles Gabe had given her. She sighed. It was as if her mind was putting him directly into her mind so she couldn’t forget him. What was she going to do about this?

  ***

  He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind. A glance out the window showed yet another woman who reminded him of her. He blinked. Then grinned. That was no mirage. That really was Elizabeth Farris. He had to make himself resist the urge to tap on the window and call out to her. What would the class of students behind him think? She wouldn’t hear through the glazed double-glass anyway. He stared until she disappeared around the front of the building.

  In her absence, a memory from the night before invaded. Elizabeth Farris’s lips pressed against his. When her tongue had knotted with his … he made himself push the thoughts away and refocused on his class.

  ‘As I was saying …’ He paused. What the hell was I saying?

  Muffled sniggers echoed through the classroom. His students had noticed his distracted state. No doubt they had heard by now about the infamous woman he was seeing. What rumours had been concocted up already? By the looks on the faces of the males in the room, he could guess.

  He frowned, ‘As I was saying, there are five principles of journalism. Who can name them for me?’

  A handful of people signalled with their hands, showing they knew the answer. He called on a jock-type teenager in the middle row.

  The boy—Gabe couldn’t call them men yet—smirked with pride as he answered, ‘Accuracy, independence, impartiality, humanity, and accountability.’

  Gabe nodded, ‘Yes. Now, the first principle, accuracy. Can someone elaborate on that, please?’

  This time he chose a blonde-haired, bespectacled, older female in the front row.

  She gave him a flirtatious smile when she spoke, ‘Accuracy means a journalist should check the facts of whatever they are reporting on and double-check all relevant information before bringing the news to the public.’

  He nodded, ‘Great. Anyone have anything else to add?’

  Before another student could be called on, there was a tentative knock on his door.

  He turned to the door. Through the window in the door, he spied her. Elizabeth Farris. He blinked to make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Nope, it was definitely her. She’d come around the front of the building because she was coming to visit him.

  The realisation made his stomach knot with anticipation.

  With his eyes locked on her, he muttered to his class, ‘Write down your explanations for the other four principles. Quietly, please. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’

  He didn’t bother to look back at the class before striding across the room to the door.

  He ducked outside, and closed the door behind him. ‘Hi.’

  She smiled, a nervous one, ‘Hi.’ There was a brief pause. Then she peered down and continued, ‘I, uh, brought this back. Thought you might need it.’

  He saw the folder he’d given her two days earlier, ‘Oh, you can keep it if you still need it?’

  She shook her head, ‘It’s fine. I’ve made copies and taken notes already.’

  His eyes lingered on her lips. She pressed them together. Another anxious gesture by her. Why was she nervous? He was the one who was hiding something from her. The visible anxiety reached her eyes.

  An impulse overtook him. He stepped closer and reached out to touch her arm. ‘Thank you for last night. I’d like to do it again. Soon.’

  Should he give her a specific date? He didn’t want to seem too eager.

  She smiled. Again, it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. What was going on? Had his decision to remain aloof caused her to doubt his feelings?

  He couldn’t ask before she responded to his previous comment. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  After a few seconds of a silence, Elizabeth pointed behind him. ‘I’d better let you go. Your class is getting restless.’

  He looked over his shoulder and frowned. Who would have thought a group of unsupervised teenagers would descend into the sight he spotted: out of their seats, chatting with each other and others on their electronic devices.

  He turned back to Elizabeth, ‘Thanks for dropping in.’ Before leaving her, he couldn’t resist adding, ‘In case it isn’t obvious, I enjoy your company very much, Elizabeth.’

  She beamed, confirming for him that she had indeed been uncertain about his feelings. ‘Thank you.’

  To emphasise his intentions toward her, he said, ‘That’s your cue to say you enjoy my company too.’

  She chuckled, ‘I enjoy your company too.’

  He grinned. Then, feeling buoyed, he dared to say, ‘Hey … are you free tomorrow night?’

  ‘I am.’ She thought for a moment. ‘How about you come over to my unit and I’ll make dinner for us? I have some afternoon classes, but I should be able to have everything ready around seven-thirty?’

  He swallowed hard. Elizabeth had invited him to her place—which didn’t mean anything sexual was going to happen, but the possibility was higher than if they’d gone out somewhere. Visions of his hands caressing her naked body swarmed through his mind. Somehow, he managed to nod his consent.

  She grinned, ‘Is that a yes?’

  He cleared his throat to make sure he could speak. The images went. ‘Yes.’

 
; She flashed an open-mouthed smile at him. It seemed like she could tell he was nervous at the prospect of being in her unit … and it delighted her. Was she thinking about him too? The idea sent a thrill of electricity up the centre of his body.

  Elizabeth interrupted, ‘You should go.’

  Or he was going to book her for dates for the next ten years, and he was supposed to be avoiding coming on too strong!

  He nodded, ‘I know.’

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  As much as he wanted to stay out in the hall with Elizabeth Farris, he ordered his feet to move back inside the classroom.

  The instant the door was closed again, the jock who’d answered his question about the five principles of journalism piped up, ‘Eye witness accounts are accepted as credible right, sir?’

  Gabe walked to the front of his desk, ‘Well, it depends on whether the witness is credible.’

  ‘What if the witness is, say, myself and everyone in this classroom?’ A mischievous smirk crept across the boy’s face, ‘And there is photographic proof of the claims being made?’

  A sudden heaviness filled Gabe’s stomach. Instinct was warning him something was off. The amused expressions on his students’ faces—not counting the scowl of the older, flirty, blonde in the front row—told him there was something he was missing.

  He crossed his arms, ‘What are you talking about, Morris?’

  The boy flipped the phone in his hand around, and declared with a victorious grin, ‘This.’

  Gabe stared down at the screen of the boy’s phone. On it was a photo. Of him and Elizabeth. It was the exact moment he’d placed a comforting hand on her arm. It looked as intimate as the moment had been.

  Anger raged within his stomach. How dare they invade his privacy; Elizabeth’s privacy. And for what? Some gossip.

  He drew in a deep breath, and tried to sound calm when he responded, ‘No comment.’

  Everyone around the boy laughed.

  The deflated look on Morris’s face made Gabe chuckle. He scanned his class and joked, ‘There is only one response you need when speaking to a journalist about something that is none of their business.’ He eyed Morris as he said the last part, paused for effect, then added, ‘And that is …’

  His students answered with obvious humour together, ‘No comment.’

  He grinned, ‘That’s right.’

  The class laughed again. Morris frowned. But there was something behind it that unsettled Gabe’s stomach once more.

  He forced the sensation away, ‘Okay, where were we …?’

  Chapter 15

  Don Silkstone

  He exhaled as he sat down at the end of the room’s luxurious king-sized bed. Thank goodness for the luxury hotels lining Cairns esplanade. At least he would have a decent place to rest at the end of each day he was here.

  The hotel also had the added benefit of being close to Elizabeth Farris’s unit: five minutes. He’d driven past it in his hired Mercedes before making his way to the hotel. At least he wouldn’t be wasting a lot of driving time.

  He smoothed a hand over the bed’s silky quilt covering. His mind filled with memories with the action. At one time, there’d been many quality quilts like this one he felt underneath his palms.

  That was all over now.

  An unpleasant recollection tried to intrude. He screwed up his face and pulled his hand away. He could not focus on that. Would not.

  He was here to do a job: keep an eye on Elizabeth Farris. It was the only way to protect Maryann’s memory and give her the justice she never received when she was alive. His stomach twisted at the thought of the man who had put her through so much pain. Clay Baronie would pay once and for all.

  An unexpected stab hit him in the temple. He hissed through his teeth. As he rose, he rubbed a hand over his forehead. He reached the minibar fridge and opened the door. Mini bottles of champagne and other drinks were stocked inside. Once his headache was gone, he could think over his plan once more.

  Chapter 16

  The following day, they’d been driving in the direction of Port Douglas for about half an hour when Nina blurted, ‘I think we’re being followed …’

  ‘What?’ Being in the back seat, Lizzie whipped her head around and peered through the tinted back window.

  Sure enough, a dark-coloured Mercedes was trailing a short distance behind them.

  She heard Carrie ask, ‘Can you make out the number plate?’

  Lizzie squinted. ‘It’s 793, or 5 or 8, and MBK or X.’

  Shuffling sounds from the front reached her ears, then Carrie said, ‘Got it.’

  A crackling sound filtered toward the back seat. Nina had activated the police radio she had in her car.

  Nina’s voice came next, ‘This is Senior Constable—’

  ‘Wait. False alarm, they’ve just turned off.’

  Lizzie turned back in her seat in time to see Nina replace the police radio.

  Carrie exhaled, ‘That’s a relief. I’m not really in the mood for any nonsense today.’

  It wasn’t the first time they’d been trailed by an overeager news reporter. They didn’t know when to back off sometimes. Or seem to care that they might be hindering an investigation. It was all about the news ratings and headlines.

  A short time later, they were in Port Douglas.

  Nina glanced at her through the rear-view mirror, ‘Are we good?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘We haven’t been followed.’

  As was their protocol, she’d carried out random checks through the window behind her for the remaining trip.

  They found Clay Baronie’s new residence without any problem. Thank goodness for a decent GPS. The three of them stepped from the car and made their way to his door. Nina knocked. They waited a few minutes. The door opened. He was shorter than Lizzie had anticipated. The three of them towered over him by at least a head. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. The files she’d read had said he was only 165 centimetres. His frame was average, not bulky and not stick-thin.

  Lizzie could tell by his facial expression that he knew who they were and why they’d come. One of the benefits of being well known was not having to waste time on explanations and introductions.

  Nina always went to the trouble anyway. ‘Mr Baronie. My name is Nina Farris. This is Elizabeth and Carrie, my sisters. We are—’

  ‘I know who you are and why you’re here.’

  Lizzie finished assessing him. His facial features were round and soft. Didn’t give her the murderer vibe—a cheating, lying sleazebag vibe, yes, but definitely not a murderer. Her instincts when it came to suspects were usually right. Carrie would be disappointed. She half-smiled at the thought.

  Baronie spoke again, ‘I’ve already been through this with the other detectives.’

  ‘It won’t take long.’

  ‘There’s nothing new I can tell you.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Nina offered a sweet smile. ‘It’ll be half an hour at most. I promise. We drove a long way to come speak to you. And seeing as you know who we are, you probably know our reputation. If anyone can prove someone’s innocence, it’s us.’

  Lizzie admired Nina’s diplomatic way of speaking. She hadn’t told the man she thought he was innocent, but the way she’d worded it could be taken that way.

  He took the bait. Sighing, he waved inside the house, ‘Okay. Come in.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Baronie.’

  Lizzie smiled to herself at her big sister’s ability to get information and compliance. Her skill with other humans was what made her a brilliant police officer. Carrie was too outspoken with her opinions. As for herself, her tendency toward idealism sometimes got in the way. Why Nina took the lead most of the time.

  They were shown to a living room about the size of half of Lizzie’s unit. Long grape-purple crushed-velvet sofas were the centrepieces. Dark wood furnishings gave the room a relaxing and homey feel despite the obvious expense. Lizzie glanced at her sisters. Carri
e wrinkled her nose. The style would be too fancy for her. Nina’s face gave nothing away. The three of them sat on one sofa. Baronie on one to Nina’s right.

  Nina spoke first, ‘Mr Baronie, what can you tell us about the night Maryann went missing?’

  ***

  The moment they were all ensconced in Lizzie’s car, Carrie, who was sitting in the front passenger seat beside her, blurted, ‘He did it.’

  Lizzie snorted, ‘I understand why you say that. But I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why? He fits the profile.’

  ‘What profile? I haven’t finished it yet.’

  ‘You’re always telling us that eighty per cent of the time it’s the husband.’

  ‘No. Eighty per cent of the time it’s somebody the victim knows. That includes acquaintances. And that still leaves a twenty per cent margin for stranger-enacted violence. Let’s not jump to conclusions yet.’

  ‘D’accord. What was it that Sherlock Holmes said? “It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data”?’

  Carrie grumbled at the two of them, ‘Well, he’s lying about something.’

  Nina nodded, ‘There’s definitely something he’s not saying.’

  Lizzie said, ‘Yes, but lying doesn’t make him a murderer, it just makes him … a liar.’

  ‘Well, he’s still … un cochon tricheur!’

  Lizzie wrapped an arm around her little sister’s shoulders, and agreed with her, ‘Yes, he is a cheating pig too.’

  Would her little sister ever be able to heal and forgive?

  In a sympathetic tone, Nina asked, ‘Do you feel up to talking to the mistress today?’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Right around the corner.’

  Lizzie saw Carrie buck up, and asked the question she knew was on her little sister’s mind, ‘Are they still together?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why I’m asking if this is going to be okay for you, Carrie?’

  Carrie shrugged, ‘I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.’

  Lizzie frowned. Her sister was not fine. She seemed to be distracted and gloomy. Yes, cheating was a touchy subject for her in general, but it seemed to be at a zenith today. As she worked out the dates in her head, Lizzie suddenly realised why.