Bitter Nothings (11 page)

“An exclusive to what?”

“Your story.”

“What’s to tell? Everything I know is already out there. Don’t you watch the news?”

He ignored her dig. “Yes or no?”

“You can interview me, but I reserve the right to not answer questions of a too personal nature.”

His lips thinned.

“Take it or leave it,” she said.

He regarded her for a moment, then extended a hand. “Done.”

“Okay, show me what you’ve got?”

“What about this interview?”

“I think I’d like to be dressed for it.” Understatement of the week.

“Fair enough. I can wait.”

“Now?” She needed all her wits about her first. “Wouldn’t it be to your advantage to wait until my father is found at least? I’m only answering your questions once.”

The reporter scratched his jaw. “I’ll keep you to that.” From the envelope, he removed a couple of photos and handed them to her.

The stocky, dark-haired man in the first photo might or might not be her father. She’d never seen her father naked – back or otherwise – nor did she have any desire to do so. The flame-haired woman caught in flagrante with the man was definitely not Lucinda.

Dervla flipped to the next photo. Her heart sank. No doubt about it, the heavy-browed eyes staring up at her belonged to her father. Another woman. Would it never end? Both photos were time-stamped the week before her father had disappeared. The week before the murder of his wife and children.

“Who is she?”

The reporter shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

She studied the photos again. The woman didn’t look even vaguely familiar. Nor did Dervla recognize the room, but an educated guess told her it had to be in one of Melbourne’s many hotels. Twelve-seventeen in the afternoon. The last time she’d seen her father, he’d had damp, freshly-combed hair. A post-workout shower, he’d said. Only now did she realize it probably wasn’t of the gym variety.

“How did you get these?”

When he didn’t answer, she looked up.

He tapped the side of his nose. “Sorry, can’t reveal my sources.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Semantics.”

“All right then, why you? What does this so-called source gain? Money?”

“That’s not what’s important here,” he said.

“What then?” She flapped the photos. “These? Is that all you have?”

He snorted. “You don’t think evidence of your father’s infidelity only days before the murder of your stepmother and their children is suspicious?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her voice rising an octave. “It proves nothing except that my father hasn’t changed.”

“The lady doth protest too much.”

Unable to meet his gaze for fear he would see the doubts creeping into her mind, she turned her back on him and stepped inside. “I assume you have copies,” she said, referring to the photos in her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’ll be needing this,” he said, presenting his business card. “Phone me anytime. I’ll be waiting for your call.” With that he walked off.

Dervla exhaled and was about to close the door when she spotted Emmet coming from the opposite direction.

“Who was that?” her brother asked, on reaching the front step. “He looks familiar”

“A reporter.”

“I hope you told him where to get off.”

“He had information about Dad.”

Emmet’s eyebrows arched.

“It’s complicated,” she said. “How much time do you have?”

“As long as it takes.”

“You better come in then. Have you had breakfast?”

He shook his head and followed her inside, closing the door after him. “I called you last night. Didn’t you get my message?”

“Not yet, sorry. Was it important?” She ducked into her bedroom and stowed the incriminating photos of their father with the unnamed woman, and John Bailey’s business card in her bedside table drawer. Emmet hated his father enough already without the visuals.

“No word from Alana, I suppose,” Dervla said, when she joined her brother in the living room. She gave a hollow laugh. “She must be Dad’s daughter. They share the same disappearing gene.” She rubbed her face. “God, doesn’t he know how worried we are?”

“Speak for yourself.” He peered at her. “Were you out on the piss last night?”

She poked her tongue out at him.“No, I always look like this first thing in the morning.”

“A girl’s night out, was it?”

“Something like that. Anyway,” she said, delving in the fridge, “what say I cook us a proper breakfast?”

He laughed. “Must’ve been a good night.”

“Glad you think it’s funny.” And she was glad. It was the first time since the murders that she’d heard her brother’s warm laugh.

While she poached eggs, grilled bacon, made toast and cut up tomatoes, she gave him a condensed version of Bailey’s visit, omitting the part about her still having the photos.

“Someone should castrate the bastard.” Emmet paced. “And you say you didn’t recognize the woman?”

“No.” Dervla dished an egg onto her brother’s plate. “Quite young. Probably younger than Lucinda.”

“Probably married, too.”

She tensed. “What makes you think that?”

“Aren’t they always? No challenge if they’re available.”

“Are you saying you knew Lucinda was married?”

He shook his head. “I’m as surprised as everyone else. I actually thought she might’ve been an exception to the rule. He doesn’t marry all his tarts.”

“Sit down, will you? You’re making me exhausted.” Dervla rescued the bacon from under the griller before it burned to a crisp. “Have you met Lucinda’s ex?”

“Like when?” He hovered around her. “Do you need a hand?”

“Here,” she said, handing him the more laden of the two plates, “sit and eat.”

The instant she sat down at the table, the doorbell rang. She looked down at her food and then at Emmet. He smiled but continued chewing, the next mouthful already on his fork. With a sigh, she pushed her chair back and went to answer the door. It better be good.

Stern faces greeted her when she opened the door. DSS Todd Gleeson’s and DSC Brooke Stewart’s. Behind the detectives stood Gabe, his face an ashen-grey hue. Dervla felt the blood drain from her own.

“Can we come in?”

She held the door open, unable to speak.

The detectives and her brother filed past her, like soldiers on parade, stiff and erect, eyes forward. She closed the door, her dread deepening, and followed.

In the living room, Emmet was on his feet, looking wildly in all directions, his half-eaten breakfast abandoned on the table behind him. “What is this?”

Todd touched her arm. “I suggest you sit down,” he said in a low voice. “You, too, Emmet.”

She collapsed into the nearest armchair, her body needing no convincing. Emmet sank in slow motion onto the couch next to her.

With everyone else seated on the lounge suite, Todd borrowed one of the dining chairs and sat facing them. Gabe fidgeted with his watch. For Dervla though, time stood still, frozen in that moment of silence.

Todd drew a deep breath. “A male body has been discovered in a vehicle on a track on the outskirts of the Baw Baw National Park. We believe the dead man could be your father.”

CHAPTER 16

A sob blocked Dervla’s throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if somehow that would make it all disappear. Make everything right again.

Emmet was the first to speak. “What do you mean, you believe it could be him? Is it or isn’t it?”

Her eyes sprang open. She held her breath, waiting.

Todd ran a hand over his tight black curls and leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, the body is too decomposed to make a positive visual ID.” He exhaled. “However, the vehicle is registered to your father, and a driver’s license and credit cards in the name of Warren Johns were found with the body.”

Emmet hung his head, wringing his hands. “How?”

“Two men spotlighting in the area came across the vehicle at around 11 p.m. last night.”

Her brother shook his head. “I mean, how did he die?”

“Cause of death can’t be confirmed until—”

“Cut the bureaucratic crap. Give it to us straight.”

Todd glanced at Gabe, who gave an almost imperceptible nod in return.

“This is completely off the record,” the detective said. “Preliminary indications suggest the man died from a gunshot wound to the head.”

The sharp intake of breath Dervla heard was her own. “Like Lucinda and the kids?”

He looked at her with something akin to pity. “Not exactly. In this case, a gun was found with the body.”

It took a few moments for what he’d said to sink in. “Suicide,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Her father was the last person she’d expected would take his own life – no matter the circumstances. He was stronger than that. Her mother no, but her father… “What about a note? Did you find one?”

“Not at this stage, but that doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.”

Gabe left his chair and crouched on one knee next to her. “Suicides don’t always leave a note,” he said, his voice cracking. “We can’t know what his state of mind was.”

You mean after murdering his wife and children in their beds, she wanted to say but didn’t. Her fingernails cut into her palms. “You really think it’s him?”

He nodded, his eyes damp. She blinked back tears of her own.

The doorbell rang.

“Expecting someone?” Gabe asked.

She shook her head.

Emmet got to his feet.

“Whoever it is, get rid of them,” Gabe said.

Dervla sucked in a deep breath and looked to Todd. “Promise me you’ll keep Dad’s name out of the news until at least Alana can be notified.”

“We won’t be releasing any names until the body can be positively identified. DNA tests might take a while.”

No promise but some time. She nodded a thanks, turning her head at Emmet’s return.

“I thought that arsehole ex of yours was long gone,” he said, flumping on the couch. “I didn’t even think he knew where you lived now.”

“He didn’t. Not until he saw the news and had a female colleague ring Gabe on the pretence she wanted to send me flowers. Was that him at the door?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I sent the loser packing. Told him in no uncertain terms what would happen to him if he didn’t leave you alone.”

Dervla buried her face in her hands. Brothers, who’d have them?

Todd stood, DSC Stewart following suit. “We’ll keep you posted on any developments. I’d appreciate it if you could let me know as soon as you’ve notified your half-sister about what’s happened. Gabe, can I speak with you for a moment, please?”

Her older brother followed the detectives out, leaving Emmet and herself in a dazed void. A reality where nothing was as it seemed.

After a long silence, she said, “It might not be him.”

“What?”

Raising her voice, she repeated what she’d said, the words as hollow as the sentiment.

Emmet scowled. “Who else would it be? Another of his murder victims?”

She flinched, false hope giving way to what deep down she already knew. Her father was dead.

Silence descended again.

The front door banged. Moments later, she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and Gabe appeared. “Everything okay here?” he asked, producing his car keys from his pocket. He looked at Emmet. “Can you stay with Dervla? I have something I need to do.”

“Like I don’t?”

Gabe’s expression hardened. “Don’t let me stop you. If you have somewhere you’d rather be, go. I’ll—”

She interrupted. “Please stop talking about me like I’m not here. Why don’t you both go? I’d like to be left on my own for a while.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean…” Emmet dropped his gaze.

After dismissing his apology with a quick flick of the wrist and waving Gabe off, she rose and started to clear the table. She couldn’t have faced breakfast, even if the bacon and eggs had still been hot. Emmet went to pick up his plate.

“Leave it. If you want to do something useful, go and see if Alana’s turned up back home yet.”

Her brother looked almost relieved. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around and keep you company?”

“Positive.”

“Do you want me to call Sophie?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.

Dervla shook her head. “I’ll phone her later.”

“Well, only if you’re sure you’re okay.”

Okay was a relative term. Right then she felt nothing, just a heavy numbness. She nodded. “It’s more important that we find Alana.”

“Come with me,” Emmet said. “United front and all that.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Alana would see it that way. More likely that she’d think we were ganging up on her. One of us will be more than enough for her, and as I’m not her most favorite person at the moment, you’re it.”

Emmet arched his eyebrows.

“The last time I saw her, she told me to fuck off or something to that effect.” She pushed her brother in the direction of the front door. “Now go before I tell you to do the same.”

She followed him up the hall.

“What if she’s not there?” he asked, as he unsnibbed the lock.

“Someone must know where she is. Use your charm, bribery, threats – whatever it takes.”

He opened the door and paused. “Do you suppose she’ll want to contest the will?”

Dervla gasped, momentarily winded. “Pardon?”

A blush crept over his cheeks. “Just asking.”

“Jesus Christ, Em, we don’t even know for sure that Dad’s dead and you’re on about the will?”

He shrugged. “Forget it, okay. I have things to do.” Then with a backward flap of his hand, he was off.

In slow motion, she closed the door. Her feet too leaden to move, she stood there, waiting for the message from her brain to connect with her legs. Somehow, while her back had been turned, the hall had stretched in length. Warped like her world.

The telephone rang, snapping her back. She let it ring. Unless it was her father calling from his slab at the morgue, she didn’t want to know. In his text message he’d said he could explain, that he’d had to go away for a while. A moan erupted deep from inside her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Another broken promise.

CHAPTER 17