Authors: Vicki Tyley
“What justice?
You said yourself there is no case.”
“Only because
the evidence isn’t there to support it. But if you have come across something
that does, you have a duty to report it.”
She crossed her
arms. “And then what? It gets filed away with all the other
inconclusive
evidence?”
“You don’t have
much faith in the police, do you?”
“Well, what
have your lot done so far?”
“Our job.” He
sighed. “We do the best we can with the limited resources we have. Look at it
from the police viewpoint. A pedophile is loose in the suburbs, two young
brothers have disappeared, and the community is threatening vigilante action.
Then we have a death with everything pointing to suicide. Caseloads have to be prioritized.
It’s a fact of life. What would you do?”
“Let the
community loose on the bastard.” She flicked her hand. “Yes, I know. Innocent
until proven guilty and all that. And I do get what you’re saying, but that
doesn’t mean I have to sit on my hands.”
He gave a somber
nod. “That’s your prerogative. What concerns me, however, is what you could be
getting yourself into.”
“If you’re that
concerned, help me lobby the powers-that-be to get the case re-investigated.
Then I’ll back off.”
He scratched
his jaw. “On what basis? What’s this new evidence you’re talking about? If you
have concrete proof, I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
“Really?”
“Really. I
don’t think your aunt would ever forgive me if anything happened to you.”
“Have you been
speaking to Gail?”
“Not for years.
Why?”
“Just that you
mentioned her. She thinks I should leave well enough alone, too.”
“Maybe you
should listen to her.”
Jemma wagged a
finger at him. “You promised.”
“I did.” He
folded the newspaper. “But you still haven’t told me what this new evidence
is.”
She sucked air
in between her teeth. Chris had already seen the torn bits of note she had
found under the washing machine, but by themselves they were meaningless. For
him to take her seriously, she would have to tell him about the new letter. “If
I do, you have to promise me you won’t ship me out on the first plane to
Perth.”
His eyes
narrowed. “Now you really have me worried.”
“Promise?”
He fixed her in
his gaze. “You’re an adult. I can’t force you do anything you don’t want to
do.”
Her chest
tightened. “It’s probably easier to show you.”
He checked his
watch.
She did the
same. “Tomorrow, though,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I don’t have time
today.” She didn’t want anything interfering with her night out with Ethan.
That, and it
gave her more time to decide how far she should take Chris into her confidence.
What the letter writer had planted, her paranoia was propagating.
Jemma checked the clock. Still
half an hour before Ethan was due. More than enough time to give Fen a call.
“Jemma,
darrrling.”
“Are you okay?”
“Splendid,
darrrling,” Fen said, slurring her words. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just that you
were a bit upset the last time we spoke.”
“Bloody
hormones. Get me every t—” Fen hiccupped. “Oops. Hey, want to come to a party?”
“Love to, but
not tonight.”
“Ohhh,” Fen
said, a child-like petulance to her voice.
“You’re not
going to ask me why?”
Fen squealed.
“A hot date?”
“I don’t know
about a hot date as such, but yes, I’m going out with a guy tonight. And before
you ask, it’s the property manager I told you about.”
“Party, party,
party.”
Jemma laughed.
“We’ll see.”
The line went
dead.
“Fen?” She
heard a thud. “Are you still there?”
“Nowhere else
to go. Hey, want to come to a party?”
“Can’t,
remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Are you sure
you’re okay?”
“Yep.” She
tittered. “Nothing that a hot man couldn’t fix.”
“Talking of
which,” Jemma said, “you wouldn’t happen to know of any with tattoos?”
“Tattoos? Men?”
She tittered again. “What bush you been hiding under, darrrling?”
“Humor me.”
“What, you want
me to list them?” Fen sounded confused.
“How about
those with a tattoo on the shoulder?”
“Umm… lots. Oh
God, my head hurts. Ask me something else.”
Jemma pushed
on. “What about tattoos of spiders.”
“Incy wincy
spider,” Fen said, breaking into song, “climbed up the spout… Hey, want to come
to a party?”
“Another night.
We’ll talk again tomorrow, okay?”
After she hung
up, she wondered if she ought to ring Fen back, find out where she was, but
more importantly find out if anyone was with her. What concerned her was that
Fen’s party might be a party for one. Jemma hadn’t heard any voices or sounds
in the background to suggest otherwise. But then again, it was only six-thirty:
too early for a party by anyone’s standards. Fen had just made a head start,
that’s all. Still…
Jemma gave her
head a sharp shake. Fen was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions.
She didn’t need her dead friend’s kid sister fussing over her.
The phone rang.
She answered it without looking at the caller display. If Ethan was canceling
again, she didn’t want time to think about it.
“What’s this I
hear about a tattoo?”
“Ash?” It
sounded like him, yet not like him.
“Yes. You were
asking Fen something about men with tattoos. What was it?”
“Boy, news
travels fast.”
“I was with her
when you called.”
Jemma released
her breath. “Where is she now? Are you still with her?”
“Passed out on
the couch in the next room, if you must know. So what was it you said to her
that got her singing about spiders?”
Jemma
hesitated. “Do you have a tattoo, Ash?”
“No.”
She didn’t
press him further. He either did or he didn’t. He was either telling the truth
or he wasn’t. “I asked Fen if she knew any men with a tattoo of a spider,” she
said, in the hope her honesty would be reciprocated.
“Hence the incy
wincy spider. Tell me,” he said, his tone measured, “what prompted the question
in the first place?”
The intercom
buzzed. She moved toward it. “Sorry, Ash, I have to go. Let’s talk more
tomorrow, okay? Bye.”
She swapped the
mobile phone for the intercom handset. “I’ll be right down,” she said to Ethan.
Thirty seconds
later, she was out the door, an uncharacteristic bounce to her step. The lift
couldn’t come fast enough. Anyone would think she had never been out on a date
before.
A pang of guilt
broke through her feel-good moment. Had she forgotten her sister was dead?
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the open lift. Tanya wouldn’t want her
to stop living, quite the opposite. “You go, girl,” said a voice inside Jemma’s
head, Tanya’s voice. But the moment was gone.
The lift doors
opened. She shrank back. Out on the footpath, Ethan was chatting with a woman
who looked suspiciously like Kerry Mullins. Before Jemma could sneak another
look, the doors closed, and the lift began to descend. A young, professional
couple laden with bags of groceries got in at the basement. She rode the lift
with them up to the third floor, and then pressed the button for the ground
floor.
Ethan stood
facing the traffic, hands in pockets. He was alone. She breathed out. He turned
as she pushed through the outer doors, his smile widening when he saw her.
Casually dressed in a tailored, white pin-tucked detail shirt and dark jeans,
it was the first time she had seen him without a tie.
He greeted her
with a peck on the cheek, the unexpected tingle of his lips on her skin leaving
her speechless for a moment.
“Your chariot
awaits,” he said, pointing at a yellow taxi double-parked three cars down the
street.
“Where are we
going?” For some reason, she had expected to be walking, or at least tramming
it.
He smiled.
“Wait and see.” His hand in the small of her back, he guided her to the waiting
taxi.
Alone in the
backseat with him, she found his nearness unsettling. The citrus and spice
overtones of his cologne made him smell good enough to eat. She concentrated on
the squareness of his hands, the manicured nails, the compulsion to touch him
overwhelming. What was wrong with her?
“The woman you
were talking to when I came down the first time looked familiar. Who was she?”
Ethan gave
Jemma a sideways look.
She smiled. “I
remembered when I reached the foyer that I had forgotten my phone and went back
for it.” The lie tripped off her tongue too easily.
“Oh, you mean,
Kerry. She’s a friend of Nic’s. She was just on her way to some work function
and stopped to say hello. Do you know her?”
The inside of
the vehicle suddenly felt claustrophobic. Jemma clasped her throat. She knew
she had to come clean. That or risk being caught in a lie. “Sort of. It’s
complicated. I’ll fill you in later.”
He touched her
knee, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Don’t feel you have to tell me. From
what Nic says, everything in Kerry’s life is complicated.”
“Kerry is the
ex-wife of my sister’s – the one whose apartment I’m staying in – fiancé,”
Jemma blurted. “I know how bizarre that must sound.”
Ethan stared at
her. “You’re saying that Sean Mullins – the same Sean Mullins who died last
year – was engaged to be married to your sister, the one whose affairs you’re
wrapping up?”
“I only have
one sister, but yes, that’s basically the guts of it.”
He scratched
under his eye. “Small world.”
“It gets
worse.” She gnawed her lip.
“I can’t wait.”
“Oh, what the
hell. Kerry is my personal trainer. Well, since yesterday, anyway. Trouble is
she knows me as Karen Wheatley.”
Confusion
flashed across his face. “You’ve lost me.”
“It’s all
right, I’ve lost myself.” Her attempt at frivolity fell flat.
“Sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t be landing all this on you before we’ve even had our first drink.”
He laughed, his
face relaxing. “Yes, it sounds like a story that might need to be accompanied
by a vino or two. But I do want to hear the rest of it. Here we are,” he said,
as the taxi pulled up in front of a steep-roofed, terracotta-colored roughcast
building.
After Ethan
paid the driver, they walked through an archway, into a timber-floored
entrance. A balding, thickset man in a grey paisley shirt trotted out to greet
them. “Welcome, welcome.” He plucked a red rose from the vase on the table next
to him. “A flower for a flower,” he said, presenting it to Jemma with a
flourish.
She blanched,
rocking back against Ethan.
He whispered in
her ear. “Corny, I know, but just take it.”
“Thank you,
it’s beautiful,” she said, accepting it and holding it up to her nose.
The maître d'
beamed. “Right this way, Mr Kelly,” he said, ushering them toward a carpeted
staircase.
A pretty,
dark-skinned girl in a white, floaty creation met them at the top of the stairs
and led them down a corridor and around a corner. Jemma gasped, taken aback by
the sheer opulence of the tented cavern in front of them.
Ethan smiled
and took her arm. “Something a bit different?”
She nodded,
taking in the rich reds, golds and turquoises of the Persian carpets, silk
drapery and plush seating. She swallowed. “It’s beautiful,” she said, this time
meaning it.
Stepping across
the threshold, she entered another world. Away from the doorway, the cool
darkness, lit with only candles and hanging wrought iron lanterns, closed
around her. The sensual scent of frankincense permeated the air. Soft lute
music played in the background, blending with the low hum of multiple
conversations. She could hide there forever.
Jemma let Chris into the apartment
and checked the corridor. “No sidekick today?”
“He had
something he needed to attend to,” Chris said.
“Actually
that’s good. It’s best that as few a people as possible know about this.”
“I left my
cloak and dagger in the car.”
She gave him a
playful punch. “Coffee?”
His gaze raked
her face. “You look different somehow. Happier.”