Bitter Nothings (7 page)

His hand dropped to his hip, his weight shifting to the other foot. “At least I let the people I interrogate sit down.”

“Sorry.” She gave her head a quick shake and hit the button to unlock the back door. “I wasn’t thinking. But I’m not interrogating you.” She paused. “Am I?”

He slid into the back seat, his gaze meeting hers in the rear-view mirror. “Put it this way, if we were playing good cop, bad cop, I’d be the good cop.” His ebony eyes smiled.

She glanced down, the dashboard suddenly more interesting.

“We can’t discount anything at this stage,” he continued. “But the evidence doesn’t point to it being, as you put it, a burglary gone wrong. There’s no sign of a forced entry. And as far as we can tell, besides the camping equipment, there’s nothing missing.”

Somehow she’d known that. She only wished it weren’t true. Not that it would make any difference to the bodies now lying in the morgue. Dead was dead, no matter the reason.

Todd interrupted her thoughts. “So, is that it?”

“Not quite.” She twisted in her seat, talking to him over her shoulder. “Where did my father’s text message originate?”

“Central Melbourne. Why?”

Time stood still. “Are you sure?”

“You sound surprised. Why, Dervla? Where did you think he sent it from?”

“You said there had been a sighting of him in South Australia.”

“I also said there had been one in Frankston. Both unconfirmed.”

Oh God, what to do? Could she trust him? In the end she decided, she had no choice but to tell him about the potter’s cottage at Mt Remarkable. Even if her father was headed interstate, he hadn’t been when he texted her.

“I’ll get the South Australian guys to check it out,” he said, when she’d finished filling him in. “Anything else you’d care to tell me about? Since we’re being so open and honest with each other and all that.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He opened his door, the top of her backrest moving under the pressure of his hand as he climbed out. The next moment he was at her window, motioning for her to lower it.

She did. “I swear I wasn’t speeding, officer.”

For a second, his expression froze. Then he laughed, a deep, throaty guffaw. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, then.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

He rubbed his face, stroking an invisible beard. “Dervla, if you think you’re protecting your father, you’re not.”

Groaning, she banged her forehead against the steering wheel. “God, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know where he is?” Not waiting for a response, she started the car and threw the gear stick into reverse.

Todd grabbed the door strut. “Are you going to tell me where you’re going?”

“Excuse me? What happened to freedom of movement?” If he thought attaching himself to the car would stop her, he thought wrong. Her foot touched the accelerator.“If you must know,” she called, after he released his grip and stepped back, “I’m going to see Emmet.”

He saluted. She retorted with a honk from her horn.

Her younger brother lived one suburb over in leafy Hawthorn. In the few minutes it took to drive there, she spent more time watching the rear-view mirror than the road ahead. Was that silver Commodore following her? Or maybe that dark blue four-wheel-drive? What about the lighter blue station wagon? She wouldn’t put it past Todd to have her tailed. She wouldn’t put anything past him.

Turning into the next street, she nosed her car in behind a white ute, the first available park in the busy thoroughfare. She grabbed her handbag from the passenger-side footwell and was about to get out when she spied a familiar figure leaving the converted two-storey art deco mansion, four properties up on the other side of the street. Emmet rented one of the building’s two top floor apartments. What was Sophie doing there? At that time of the morning? With a suitcase?

Only one way to find out. Before Dervla could open her car door, a man emerged from the shadows of a neighboring brick wall and accosted Sophie. A burly man with a bandaged forearm. Martin. He caught his ex-wife’s elbow, wheeling her around. She yanked herself free and stumbled backward. He advanced. She yelled something at him, her arms held out in front of her.

Dervla fumbled with the door handle, dropping her keys in her haste to get out. She scrambled between her feet for them, cursing her ineptitude. Once upright again, her focus went straight back to the couple warring on the footpath. Except they’d both disappeared.

She heard a vehicle door slam. A white van took off from the curb and sped past her. She recognized the driver’s crew cut and breathed a sigh of relief. But what’d happened to Sophie?

Dervla jumped out of her car, shielding her eyes against the sun as she scanned the area. In the same instant she spotted Sophie’s sporty red Volkswagen Eos parked across the street from Emmet’s place, her friend’s car pulled out and roared off in the opposite direction.

Within seconds, Dervla had snatched her handbag from inside the car, found her mobile phone and called Sophie. It went straight to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message and dropped the phone back in her bag.

Pressing the lock button on her car remote, she waited for a gap in the traffic then darted across the street.

A lemon-scented gum the height of the two-storey brick residence, its canopy overhanging the footpath, stood sentry at the entrance to number 16. She cut across under the tree, her feet kicking up leaves and flakes of bark. Any other day and she would’ve slowed for the fragrance alone.

She took the concrete steps leading up to Emmet’s apartment two at a time and rapped on his door. From inside, she heard the faint strains of music and approaching footsteps. The door opened, her brother peering at her through slitted eyes.

“God, Em, some clothes would be nice.”

He looked down at his bare, almost hairless chest to his Australian-flag boxer shorts and shrugged. “What do you expect when you drag me out of bed? Come in if you’re coming in.” He threw the door open and padded off in the direction of his bedroom.

Out of bed?
Sophie had just left. Dervla only hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it meant. She stepped into the stark white entrance, shutting the door behind her.

Her brother’s bedroom door closed, cutting off Keith Urban’s love laments mid lyric.

While she waited for Emmet to reappear, she prowled the rented apartment. With the exception of the mushroom-pink plush carpet, the all-white theme carried right through, from the walls and ceilings to the kitchen bench and cupboards. Cheap oriental rice-paper light shades clashed with molded art deco ceilings. What had the landlord been thinking?

An empty wine bottle sat next to the kitchen’s pedal bin. She checked for wine glasses. Two in the sink, one with lipstick. Her heart sank.

“Want one?”

She whirled around.

“Juice. Do you want one?” Emmet, now in jeans and a blue Foster’s T-shirt, stood at the open refrigerator door, holding aloft a carton of orange juice.

She shook her head.

“Good.” He swigged straight from the carton. “More for me.”

“I saw Sophie.”

He took another swig and smacked his lips. “Good for you.”

“Leaving here.”

“So?”

“So, why was she here?”

Sighing, he set the juice carton on the bench. “After what happened with her ex, she didn’t want to be alone. I suggested she stay here. Simple.”

“She could’ve stayed at my place.”

“And if her jerk of an ex turned up again?” He puffed out his chest. Sophie’s hero.

Dervla dragged her fingers down her face, sucking in a breath. If her brother believed he could protect Sophie – and himself – against her deranged ex-husband, he was deluding himself. On the contrary, the knife stunt had probably made it worse. “Madder than a cut tiger snake,” she said, voicing her thoughts aloud.

“What?”

“You know Martin is not a man to be messed with.”

“What do you take me for? An idiot?”

“It’s not that.” Turning her back on him, she filled the kettle from the tap. “If he thinks you’re sleeping with Sophie, God knows what he’s capable of.”

“Well, I’m not.”

She set the kettle to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Was that disappointment she’d heard?

His gaze met hers, his pale eyes narrowed. “I slept on the couch, okay? Not that who I sleep with is any of your damned business.”

“You’re right, it’s not. I just don’t want to see my brother getting hurt.”

“I’m not thirteen anymore, Dervla. I don’t need looking after.”

Her hands up in surrender, she backed off. “Okay, okay, say no more.” Now probably wasn’t a good time to ask how he was off for money either.

Emmet busied himself spooning instant coffee into two mugs.

“I’m worried about Alana,” Dervla said. “Are you doing anything this morning? We could check out some of her old haunts.” Not something she relished doing on her own.

His eyebrows knitting together, he screwed the coffee jar lid back on. “Do you really think—”

A knock sounded at the door. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he went to answer it.

Dervla heard Gabe before she saw him, his voice reverberating through the apartment. “No worries. I’ll have that proposal to you before the end of the day. Thanks for the call.”

Flipping his phone closed, he stepped into the kitchen, dressed in a grey Armani suit and polished black shoes. His work garb. His phone rang.

She and Emmet exchanged glances over Gabe’s shoulder, waiting while he answered it, gave the caller instructions about some underwriting policy, then hung up.

Emmet pushed past his brother. “Good to see you have your priorities sorted.”

“Some of us have responsibilities. At least I still have a job.”

“Screw you.”

Fists clenched, Dervla covered her head with her arms. “Enough! Will you two just listen to yourselves?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Coffee, Gabe?” She grabbed another mug.

“I’m not staying.”

“The door’s that way,” Emmet said, with a sharp thrust of his thumb.

“So it is.”

Brother glared at brother.

“You came here for a reason. What was it?” Her brothers weren’t in the habit of dropping in on one another. Not in recent times.

“When was the last time you saw Dad?” Gabe asked.

“I don’t know. Six…” Emmet shrugged. “Seven months ago, maybe. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Nothing to me. But then I’m not the police.”

“Is that it? Are we finished?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Gabe’s mouth. “So, you weren’t the tall, ginger-haired man seen arguing with Dad in the print shop’s car park last Thursday? Six-thirtyish?”

CHAPTER 9

Dervla couldn’t speak, Gabe’s revelation a lead weight on her chest.

Emmet flipped two fingers in the direction of the closing door. “Prick.”

She found her voice. “Why? Because he caught you out?” Or because he’d cut and run, leaving her to contend with the fallout?

Her brother ran a hand through his ginger hair and let out a loud sigh. “It was stupid, I know, but what else was I supposed to do? I had Gabe’s detective lackey breathing down my neck.”

“You can’t seriously think that Gabe has any sway over Todd Gleeson. He’s a trained professional,” she said, more to convince herself. “I’m sure whatever Gabe told him, he didn’t just accept at face value. But blatantly lying to the police?” She shook her head. “God, Em, what were you thinking?”

He shrugged, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

“What were you and Dad arguing about?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s me you’re talking to, not Gabe. Not the police. Me.”

Another sigh. “Money, if you must know.”

“And?” she prompted.

“And nothing. I asked our sperm donor for some cash to tide me over until I get another job. You’d think it’d be the least he could do.”

“Did he?”

“Nope. Apparently, I’m big enough and ugly enough to stand on my own two feet.”

“Why didn’t you ask me? How much do you need?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s sorted.”

“How?” As far as she knew, Emmet hadn’t worked since the travel agency he’d been with had slashed its staffing in half six weeks earlier.

“Like I said, forget it.”

Easier said than done, but she let it go. For now. “So why didn’t you just tell the police what you’ve told me?”

“It’s bad enough that I couldn’t give them an alibi.”

“An alibi?”

He snorted. “That would be right. I’m expected to have an alibi for the time of the murders, but you don’t. Why is that?”

“I’m sure it’s just routine,” she said, her mind suddenly in overdrive. Why would her brother even need an alibi? “They’ll get around to me soon enough.”

“If you say so.”

Biting her tongue, she replaced the coffee mug she’d got out for Gabe and reboiled the kettle. When her brother was in one of his moods, talking was pointless.

“I’m going for a shower,” Emmet said, walking off.

Dervla took it as her cue and let herself out. He knew where to find her.

Outside the temperature was climbing, the still air doing little to reduce either the heat or the street noise. A taste of the summer to come. She headed for home.

Her mobile phone rang as she pulled into her driveway. She put the car in park and checked the caller ID. Sophie. “Is everything okay?’

“And hello to you, too.”

“Sorry, you weren’t answering your phone.”

“That’s because this dimwit forgot to recharge her phone last night,” Sophie said. “More importantly, hon, are you okay?”

“I could say as well as can be expected, but that—”

“Would be lying. Hey, what do you say to some company?”

Dervla sucked in a deep breath.

“Too late,” Sophie said.

A car door slammed close by. Dervla glanced in her side mirror to see Sophie, the jeans she’d been wearing when she’d left Emmet’s swapped for a bright mango-orange ruffled skirt, sashaying down the driveway.

By the time Sophie drew level with the car, Dervla was lifting her suitcase from the boot.