Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn (15 page)

Naked, Troy stood with one foot inside the shower cubicle, the other on the bathmat. Fuck it, he thought, deciding to ignore the phone ringing. He stepped under the cool water and lathered off sweat. His run today had done nothing to free the tangle of thoughts in his mind.

His first idea had been to take the information about the methyl alcohol in Caine’s shed to the Fed, Delahunt, but he wasn’t even sure how to contact him. He knew he could ask around, seek Delahunt out, but he worried that word might get back to that fat fuck Eddie Calabrese. Why he should be worried about this he was increasingly unclear, but having a secret conversation with a federal agent while the man’s colleague was in the toilet had shaken him. Troy had had no chance to ask questions, to understand what was going to happen next – he’d just been left hanging. One thing he was sure about was that he didn’t want any of his actions to compromise whatever Delahunt was doing to nail the real killer.

Troy had briefly considered taking the chemicals information straight to Elvis himself – maybe the guy could look into something that mattered. But then Troy thought about how breaking into other people’s property would fly with his arson profile. Ludicrous as the possibility was, he didn’t need his actions to completely backfire right now and cost him a break-and-enter charge. And he knew that what he’d found in there wouldn’t put anything hard on Caine. Caine worked as a cleaner, and one of the first hits Troy had got when he Googled ‘methyl alcohol’ described its use as a solvent and cleaning agent.

Troy finished his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Thank Christ he had to go in to work today. It would keep his mind off all this shit. He hated having no control. On the way to his room, he saw the answering machine blinking.

It was Caesar, letting him know he’d arranged for James and Dominique to come in with him today, to get things sorted before they reopened. It was now one week exactly from Miriam Caine’s death, and Troy was as confused about the whole thing as ever. Troy entered the hotel lobby and spotted his sommelier, Dominique, by the elevators. Although they’d spoken twice by phone, he hadn’t seen her since the fire.

He moved across the foyer quickly. ‘Hold up,’ he called, when the lift light signalled. Dominique turned towards him and smiled, her long blonde hair slicked back in a bun.

‘Hey, Troy,’ she said.

‘Hi, Dominique,’ he said. ‘Back to it, then?’

‘Yep.’

‘How are you feeling about seeing the place again?’

Her bright eyes clouded for a moment. ‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘It was a terrible night, but we’ve got to get on with things now.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. I think so too. So, you’re ready to work?’ he asked.

‘Always,’ she said.

They entered the lift together.

‘They’re done up there, huh?’ she asked.

‘I can’t believe it took them this long.’

‘Caesar told me they haven’t even been near the place the last three days. Apparently they just needed to keep it untouched in case they found something in the lab.’

‘You know more about this than I do,’ said Troy.

‘Well, I’ve had to be in touch with Caesar,’ she said. ‘You know he asked me to call the guest list to cancel each night?’

‘Uh huh. That’s it, huh? That’s the only reason you’ve been in touch with the boss?’ He’d seen the way Caesar had watched Dominique.

Troy’s mouth twisted when Dominique smiled and dipped her head. Fuck it. Why did he think he’d even had a chance with a girl like this, anyway?

‘Well,’ said Troy. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ The fact that his boss was twenty years older and a whole lot more married than Dominique was none of his business. It’d never stopped Caesar before. He had to hand it to his boss. Caesar had a type: Bond-girl beautiful, intimately aware of the finer things in life, but unable to reach them on her salary. Caesar got into their panties and they got into the world they felt they belonged to.

Dominique blushed. Troy sighed.

‘Did Caesar tell you anything else about what the investigators found?’ he asked finally.

‘They haven’t told him anything about their findings,’ she said. ‘The whole thing is pretty bizarre, huh?’

‘You could say that,’ said Troy.

He followed Dominique out of the lifts. A cleaning crew waited at the locked glass doors. He let everyone into the restaurant. It seemed the cleaners wouldn’t have a lot more than their usual work to do. Troy wished he could say the same for himself. The kitchen would need an overhaul, he had so much ordering to do, and he needed to get Dominique onto the reservations – he had to get arses on seats for tomorrow night.

Everything else was way behind too. Troy knew he should be revamping the menu by now, getting the summer holiday vibe going. Whatever happened with the whole Miriam Caine thing, he was just going to have to let it go and trust that it would work out okay in the end. Frustrating as it was, there was nothing really he could do right now but wait and see how everything played out.

He found Dominique at his desk. She had the guest book open.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you – what did that woman’s son want with you that night, anyway?’ She looked up at him with big blue eyes.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said. ‘You mean David Caine? What do you mean, what did he want with me?’

‘You know, when he called you over. Just before his mother got, um, burned.’

‘He didn’t call me over, Dominique. I was already over there, talking to table fourteen.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Why did you think he called me over?’

‘Well, it’s just that he caught me when I walked past. Said he’d like a word with the manager. I was dealing with an order, so I told James to tell you.’

‘Well, James didn’t,’ said Troy. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense. Caine wasn’t even at the table when I went over there.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘The whole night was just weird.’

Jill took a seat in her counsellor’s office. She reclined back into the green leather armchair. It was really very comfortable.

‘How are you today, Jill?’ asked Sam Barnard.

‘Three days to go,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘Do you know that a countdown of your days remaining has been your response to that question every time I’ve asked it?’

‘And what does that mean about me?’ she said.

‘It means that you want to go home. Has it been that bad here?’

Jill sat a little straighter in the chair, shook her head. ‘Look, Sam. It hasn’t been bad here. I think I’ve learned some helpful things, and the people have been great, but you’ve got to understand that it’s almost impossible for me to sit here doing nothing while ... that person is still walking around.’

‘The person who killed Scotty.’

She nodded.

‘You should say the words. You should try to speak about it as often as you can, Jill. In the long run, it will help you to process what’s happened if you don’t skip over the painful words, and don’t push away the painful memories.’

‘Yeah, well, sometimes that’s impossible for me,’ she said, flatly.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, like the memories of when I was twelve.’

‘You mean, when you were kidnapped and raped. You see, when you say “when I was twelve”, you’re glossing over what actually happened to you.’

Jill sat forwards in her chair, drilled her eyes into his. ‘You know, this is why I’ve always hated therapy,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Because some cleanskin dickhead tells me that I have to stop avoiding the memories.’ She felt hot tears in her eyes. ‘You just do not get it. When you say the words “kidnapped and raped”,’ she parodied his tone, ‘you don’t get flashes of two old men sticking things inside you, up your arse, in your mouth, burning you with cigarettes. You don’t feel the terror of knowing you’re gonna die, and then of praying that you actually would.’

Jill could feel her breathing ramping up; she coughed, gripping the arms of the chair. ‘How would you like to see and feel that every day for twenty years? Don’t you think you’d want to fucking
avoid
it?’

She stood and paced, coughing. She couldn’t catch her breath.

‘Use your breathing, Jill,’ said Sam calmly. He stood and walked next to her as she paced, counting quietly as she sucked in air, trying to slow her breathing with his measured voice.

Five minutes later, Jill returned to the chair, the tissue box on her lap.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘You don’t have to be sorry,’ he said. ‘You did great. You see, those memories, that bottled-up emotion, is toxic inside you. You just let some of the poison out. And you didn’t run. You didn’t die. Nobody got hurt.’

‘You think that didn’t fucking hurt?’

‘Now it’s my turn to say sorry, Jill. I know that hurt – I could feel it – but fairly quickly you were also able to reduce your distress using your techniques, and in the meantime you processed some of that pain.’

She wiped her nose.

‘And when you can express the pain and then regain control, you’re healing,’ he said.

She leaned back in the chair again, suddenly very tired.

‘Sometimes you have to let go of your control in the short term to regain it in the long term.’

‘How Zen,’ she said dryly, but with a small smile.

‘Speaking of which, how did you go with your homework?’ he asked.

‘Do you really have to call it that?’ she said. ‘That’s another reason I hate therapy.’

After the session, on her way back to the unit, Jill heard her name called from the nurses’ station. She made her way over.

‘Phone message for you,’ said a heavy-set woman, holding a slip of paper above her head as she bent over a file, continuing to write notes.

‘Thanks,’ said Jill, taking the paper and scanning it quickly. Shit. She’d missed Gabe’s call. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even five yet. He’d never called at the same time twice. She pulled out her mobile and scrolled for his number. Patients weren’t supposed to use mobiles in here, instead making and receiving calls via landlines to avoid phones going off during group and therapy sessions.

‘Damn!’ she said, when she got his answer service. She’d just have to keep trying.

The moment she woke each morning, Gabriel’s debrief call was the first thing on her mind.

By eight pm Jill was in a foul mood. She’d been quiet over dinner, and had avoided the veranda altogether. She’d tried running the shadowy three-kilometre hospital driveway, but had been sent back to the unit by a nurse leaving for the night.

She’d tried Gabe’s phone every half-hour. Nothing. The more she thought about it, the more she felt sure that Gabriel had called at a time he knew he’d miss her, in order to avoid the debrief. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to her? Maybe something had gone wrong with the case? Maybe they’d arrested someone but he didn’t want to get her hopes up?

She sat cross-legged on her bed, wondering what she could do. There was no way she could sleep tonight without talking to someone from the real world. For the first time since the first night, she seriously considered packing up and getting out of there. She could call a cab to get her to the airport. She didn’t think she’d have any trouble on a plane now.

She ripped at a thumbnail. What should she do? Who else could fill her in on what was going on? She wouldn’t dream of calling Andreessen – he wouldn’t speak about the case to her when she was non-operational – and she wasn’t quite up to speaking to him since her outburst last week. There was a remote chance that Lawrence Last might fill her in on what he knew, but he wouldn’t be as up-to-speed as the key investigators. She also thought that his most likely response to her call would be to tell her to ‘get some more rest’. She knew she’d smash her phone to pieces if she heard that tonight. Not a chance in hell she’d call Elvis. He wouldn’t give her the time of day, let alone a debrief. He’d be well-pissed by now anyway.

That left one person. She had the number stored. She scrolled for it.

‘Damn it! Sorry, Cecily, I have to take this.’ Emma Gibson let the easy racquetball shot glance by her and pulled her mobile phone from her gym shorts.

‘That’s okay,’ said her friend, walking to her corner and picking up her towel. ‘We’ve only got the court for another five minutes, anyway. We’ll call this a win for me.’

Emma laughed and answered the phone.

‘Hello,’ she said, walking back to her corner.

‘Ah, hi, Emma, this is Jill Jackson.’

Emma stood still. She saw Cecily watching her and waved to her friend to go on without her. ‘Jill?’

‘Yeah, look, I hope you don’t mind me calling you. Are you busy right now?’

‘No. Not really. No, it’s fine. Are you okay? Where are you?’

A pause. ‘Um, my parents’ house out west. Just taking some time, you know.’

‘Yeah, of course. I mean, that’s good that you’re looking after yourself and you’ve got family around.’

‘How are you going, Emma? I know you cared a lot about ... about Scotty too.’

Emma was surprised to find her tears welling so quickly. She hadn’t cried since that first night. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. ‘I’m okay.’ She sounded choked. Keep it together, she told herself. Jill doesn’t need you blubbering right now. ‘What about you?’

‘Well, I’m a lot better than the last time you saw me,’ said Jill.

‘Well, that ... that was a bad day.’

‘A really bad day.’ Jill cleared her throat. ‘Listen, I don’t know whether you’ve heard, Emma, but I’m coming back on the job on Monday. I’ll be back on the team trying to find this fucker. Anyway, I just really need to know what’s happening at the moment. I’ve tried calling Gabriel Delahunt but he’s not answering his phone.’

Emma paced the racquetball court, her thoughts racing. What should I do here? Am I supposed to tell Jill about the case? How can I not – I mean why wouldn’t I? But can she handle this right now – she completely flipped out during the briefing.

A knock sounded at the door to the court, and a balding man wearing a headband poked his head through.

‘Oh, shit. Can I call you back, Jill? I’m on a racquetball court and I’ve got to pack up my stuff for the next players.’

‘Sure, okay. Emma?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Will you call me right back?’

Emma skipped the changerooms and headed straight to her car. She locked the doors and called Cecily, letting her know she was heading home to shower. She then stared at her phone. Jill had sounded okay, but so desperate for news. Emma hit the return call button.

Jill answered on the first ring.

‘So, can you fill me in, Emma?’ she said.

‘To be honest, Jill, I wish I could give you better news. This has just been the most frustrating case. Nothing seems to make sense at all.’

‘Are you still running with the theory that the murders are linked?’

‘Well, we are, technically. But I just don’t know. I mean, there’s prelim evidence that there were similar types of fuel used, but most arsonists use the same sorts of materials. Troy Berrigan was at the Incendie scene and had contact with Scotty afterwards, and he has a history of arson.’

‘You are shitting me!’

‘I know. But it’s a juvie record, Jill, and I just don’t know. David Caine seems like much more of a squirrel to me, but we really have nothing solid on either of them. And if they’re telling the truth about where they were on Saturday, it’s almost impossible either one of them did it.’

‘How come?’ said Jill.

‘Apparently, Berrigan dropped his kid sister around to study at Caine’s house on Saturday. They had a drink together.’

‘They’re friends?’

‘No. They just met the night of the Incendie fire, but Caine’s kid goes to the same school as Berrigan’s little sister.’

‘So they’ve got alibis for when Scotty was killed.’

‘Almost. Elvis still thinks Berrigan’s the one. He’s done a timeline and figures Berrigan could have killed Scotty, picked his sister up and gone around to drink beer with the man whose mother he murdered. He’d have to be a hell of a hardarse to do that.’ There was silence on the other end of the phone. ‘Jill?’ Emma said.

‘Sorry. I just don’t know what the fuck’s happening. It’s so frustrating being here.’

‘Why don’t you come back?’ God knows, we could use the help.

‘I kinda promised I’d wait until after the ... funeral.’

Emma heard the pain in the words. She felt it too. ‘So, anyway,’ she continued, ‘we’ve also been interviewing the public who were anywhere near the scene on Saturday. Everyone saw the accident, of course, but no one saw what happened just before it. That’s another similarity with Incendie, I guess.’ She paused. ‘And that’s pretty much where we’re at.’

‘Thanks, Emma,’ said Jill. ‘It’s really helped to talk to you.’

‘Of course,’ said Emma. ‘No worries. While I’ve got you, can you think of any of Scotty’s past busts who might have wanted to do this? I mean, supposing that this didn’t have anything to do with Miriam Caine’s murder.’

‘I’ve been thinking that through too. But no one I can think of jumps up as some psychopath arsonist. Have you gone back through his cases?’

‘Yeah, a couple of times. No reason to call anyone in.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll be great to have you back here, Jill.’

‘Thanks, Emma. I also wanted to say that I’m sorry–’

‘Don’t be sorry for anything. Just feel better, Jill. And I’ll see you Monday.’