Bitter Nothings (15 page)

“Shit, that’s the last thing you should be worrying about. Here,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist, “come and sit down.”

With Todd’s warning still ringing in her ears, she’d neither the strength nor the will to resist. What did he know about it, anyway?

“What else did your cop friend tell you?” Harry asked, releasing her into an armchair.

She frowned, her mind drawing a blank.

He dropped onto the couch. “Do they have any leads?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs.

“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I’m still trying to get my head around the fact Dad was murdered.”

“Of course. How insensitive of me. Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay.”

“You shouldn’t be on your own at a time like this. If you’d prefer I didn’t stay, at least let me call someone. One of your brothers? A friend?”

“Gabe and Emmet are probably on their way over as we speak, so no need to worry.” Truth be told, she’d rather be on her own. She needed time to digest the implication of Todd’s news.

The phone rang, making her heart skip a beat. She let it ring. If it was important they’d leave a message or call back. Harry didn’t say a word.

Her mobile rang in almost the same instant her landline stopped. John Bailey? She leapt to her feet. What if it was him returning one of the countless calls she’d left him over the last two days? With the compromising photos of Dervla’s father and the mystery woman in his possession, the reporter had the upper hand. And he knew it.

She rushed to her office and snatched up the ringing phone from her desk. “Hello?”

“This better be good. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

“John?”

“No, the Queen of Sheba.” Her caller gave a harsh laugh.

“You didn’t publish the photos.” More statement than question. Her Internet searches had thrown up nothing, and she would’ve certainly known if the television and print media had got their hands on them.

“Not yet. Been out of town. Back on deck now and raring to go.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you can convince me otherwise…”

She glanced up at the ceiling, groping for what she could say that wouldn’t sound desperate. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Harry loitering in the doorway. She wheeled around, her train of thought lost.

“That’s it then,” Bailey said. “Today it is.”

“No, wait!” Her hand tightened around the phone. “I do have something.”

“I’m listening.”

Pressing her fingertips against the tic under her right eye, she said, “My father didn’t kill himself.”

In the doorway, Harry’s back straightened, his eyes widening. She looked away. She didn’t have to justify her actions to anyone else, let alone him. Besides, she wasn’t telling the reporter anything that wasn’t going to be public knowledge soon enough.

“Are you saying he’s turned up? Is he there with you? Can I talk to him? You owe me that.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Let me talk to your father. Put him on.”

“You don’t understand…”

“Understand what? That your word counts for nothing?”

“No. He’s dead. My father is dead. Murdered.”

She was met with a stunned silence, then, “Tell me everything.”

“And you swear you’ll keep those photos private?”

He made a half-grunt, half-snort sound. “That was the deal.”

Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she asked Harry if he’d mind giving her a few minutes. “Make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”

He hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, then turned on his heel and left. She breathed out. It would be easier without an audience.

“I’m waiting,” Bailey said at the other end of the phone.

“Give me a bloody chance.” If it weren’t for the photos, she’d have hung up there and then. She drew her chair in toward the desk and sat down. “I assume you watch the news and not just report on it. The male body that was recovered in the Baw Baw National Park has just been identified as my father.”

Bailey listened without interruption, while she related her conversation with Todd to him. Minus the personal bits.

“So did your father murder his wife and children, or not?”

Tears pricked her eyes at his cold matter-of-fact tone. He was talking about them like they were strangers, nobodies. “How should I know? Someone’s at the door. I have to go.”

Right on cue, the doorbell chimed. She disconnected the call.

“Emmet’s not here, by any chance?” Gabe asked, as soon as she opened the door. Red-eyed and ashen-faced, he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week.

“No, I haven’t seen him today. Why?”

“The bugger’s not at home and he’s not answering his phone.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I take it Todd’s been around and told you the news.”

“I would rather have heard it from you.”

“Yes, well, that was the plan and you would’ve if I’d been able to find little brother. What a fucking time for him to—” Gabe’s face hardened. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Dervla glanced over her shoulder at Harry silhouetted in the doorway at the end of the hall. “Waiting for me.”

“I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Dervla.”

CHAPTER 21

Dust mites danced in the late afternoon sunlight bathing the dining table. Dervla gazed at the vase of white lilies and yellow gerberas taking centre stage. What, if anything, did they mean? Why was she even worrying about it? They were just a compassionate gesture from an acquaintance. That’s all. Nothing more.

For a couple of minutes, she distracted herself with opening her mail. Bills, a bank statement, and more bills. Not distraction enough.

Needing to clear her head, she slung her bag over her shoulder and let herself out through the back gate, checking for reporters before making her escape.

The peak hour traffic crawled along Victoria Street in a start-stop rhythm. Leaving behind the traffic fumes and noise, she turned down to the Yarra River.

A warm breeze rippled the water. Close to the bank, a black coot dived under, bobbing up a few seconds later in a different spot. Peaceful. Unlike her brain. Thoughts of her father, death, life, Harry, crowded her mind, jostling for position.

Harry. Why did she get that fluttering sensation in her stomach every time he was near? Did he feel the same way? He’d sent her flowers, but then her father had just died. Whatever she felt for him, it was wrong.

A golden-haired retriever appeared on the trail ahead, towing a young Eurasian girl, her ponytail swinging from side to side with each step. Dervla returned her smile, stepping aside to let the pair past.

Somewhere in the depths of her bag, her mobile phone buzzed. She rushed to answer it, hesitating for the briefest moment when she didn’t recognize the number.

A slurred male voice greeted her. “Dervvvvv-la…”

“Em, is that you?”

“Looks like just you and me now, kid…”

“Where are you?”

“Pub.”

“Which one?”

“Granger.”

She wasn’t sure where that was, but she’d soon find out. “Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

She dashed home, avoiding a couple of reporters camped out on her front doorstep, and grabbed her car keys.

Twenty minutes later she pulled into the Granger Hotel’s near empty car park. She found her younger brother propping up the bar in the back.

“What are you doing here?” A few suburbs away from his home, the brick-interiored hotel wasn’t his usual watering hole.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Just having…” He let go of the bar, wobbled, and grabbed it again. “…a few beers. Barman,” he smacked his hand down, “a drink for my sister.”

“I didn’t come here for a drink. Do you know Gabe’s been looking for you all day? You haven’t been answering your calls either.”

Emmet screwed up his face. “Lost it.”

“Lost what?”

“My phone.” He waved a finger in the direction of a large-screen television on the other side of the room. “Look, our dear departed father. Just you and me now, kid.”

“You forgot Gabe.”

His elbow slipped on the bar. He righted himself. “Nah. Who cares about him?”

She signaled to the guy behind the bar that she needed help. A thickset Samoan guy appeared, and together they manhandled Emmet out of the pub and into her car.

By the time they reached her place, he was snoring open-mouthed in the passenger seat next to her. She drove around the block, checking for reporters, then pulled into her driveway. Shaking him earned her a few grunts, but didn’t wake him. Somehow she had to get him inside; she couldn’t leave him in the car to sleep it off. But she needed backup.

Gabe arrived within minutes. When he tried to drag his brother from the car, Emmet started throwing punches, none of which connected.

“Get off!” Emmet stumbled from the car in the direction of the front door.

Keys in hand, she skirted around him and opened the door before he crashed through it. Gabe came up the rear closing the door behind him.

Emmet bounced from wall to wall down the hall like an out of control bumper car. Cutting him off, she steered him toward her bedroom, where he promptly sprawled across her bed. Within seconds, he was snoring again. She removed his shoes and went to join Gabe.

“He’s going to have a sore head when he wakes up.”

“I hope so.” Gabe closed the newspaper on the coffee table and sat back.

“Why can’t you two get on?”

“Ask me a question I know the answer to.”

She slumped into an armchair. “Okay, then. You knew Dad better than any of us. Did he have any enemies?”

“Enough to want him dead? I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“I guess Todd already asked you that.”

“That and a myriad other questions. You know he wants to reinterview each of us individually?” He gave a loud sigh. “It’s no longer a simple murder-suicide case.”

“Simple?”

“You know what I mean.” Gabe swung his legs up onto the couch and lay back with his head against the armrest.

The phone rang in the hall. She pulled her feet up onto the seat and waited for it to stop.

The answering machine clicked in. “Hi, hon. Only me.” Sophie’s voice sounded strained, tired. “Just wanted to check you’re okay. I’m off to bed now but I’ll leave my phone switched on. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

“She does know about Dad,” Gabe said, “doesn’t she?”

Dervla nodded. “But she has her own problems to contend with.”

“Not her ex again?”

“Afraid so. But she won’t do anything about it. I think she feels that if she reports him to the police, it’ll just make it ten times worse.”

“Silly woman.”

They drifted into silence after that, each alone with his or her thoughts.

Did Emmet have it right? Was the woman in the photo with their father married? Had her husband suspected and hired a private investigator? But motive for murder? It didn’t make sense. Why would a jealous husband want to harm Lucinda and the kids? They were as much victims of the affair as he was. And what did he gain from wanting it made public?

“Gabe?”

His eyelids flickered. “Hmmn.”

“Did you know Dad was having an affair?”

Gabe sat up. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“So you didn’t know?”

“Stop talking in riddles. Know what?”

She shifted in her seat. “Dad was cheating on Lucinda.”

Her brother’s shoulders sagged, his expression more one of resignation than surprise. But then, their father’s penchant for married women was no secret. “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen photos.”

His back stiffened. “What photos? From where? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

She recounted John Bailey’s visit and his offer to exchange the photos for an exclusive. All the while her brother’s face remained deadpan.

“Show me,” he said, when she finished. He patted his pocket and stood.

“I will but after Emmet gets up. The photos are in my bedroom.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. Then, cigarette pack in hand, he crossed to the glass doors and stepped outside into the courtyard.

For a while she watched him, her mind a vacuum. No thoughts, no emotion, no nothing. Just a hollow emptiness. Uncurling her body, she rested her head against the back of the armchair and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, darkness had fallen, the only illumination in the room, a halo of light from the reading lamp above Gabe’s head. Groaning, she stretched her cramped muscles. “What time is it?”

Her brother looked up from his magazine, then checked his watch. “Ten past nine.”

“Oh, very cozy,” Emmet said, from behind her. His hand caught the back of her chair as he shambled past. He threw himself into the armchair opposite and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Talking about me, I bet.”

Gabe grunted. “Get over yourself. We have better things to talk about than you.”

“Whatever.” Emmet got to his feet again and headed toward the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for one day?” Gabe said.

“Juice, you moron.”

She threw Gabe a warning look.

He ignored her. “The police want to reinterview you tomorrow.”

Emmet stopped, the orange juice bottle poised midair. “Me?”

“Not just you,” she said. “All of us.”

He visibly relaxed. “I’ve already told them all I know.”

“I don’t make the rules,” Gabe said. “Just make sure you’re available.”

“Whatever.” Emmet poured a juice, downed it in one gulp, then refilled his glass. “Do you realize we’re orphans now.”

Gabe glowered at his brother.

“Just saying,” Emmet said.

Dervla put her head in her hands. “Em’s right, you know. We are orphans. All the more reason to stick together.”

Emmet lolled against the kitchen counter. “How do we know one of us isn’t next on the killer’s hit list?”

“Fuck, Emmy-boy, where do you come up with these crazy ideas? Next you’ll be telling us aliens abducted you.”

“Not so crazy if you think about it,” she said. “There’s a killer at large out there. Who knows what his motives are or if he’s even mentally stable. What sane person could put a gun to two innocent children’s heads and pull the trigger?”