Web of Deceit (29 page)
‘I don’t know for sure,’ he said.
Mia hesitated. ‘Will I see her again?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘I don’t know.’
He kissed the top of her head. He was angry
with Helen, furious, but didn’t want to forbid them having contact if that was what Mia decided she wanted. ‘Let’s talk about it another day.’
She nodded against his neck. ‘And Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think we can get a new charger on the way home?’
TWENTY-NINE
E
lla sat in the corridor outside the office, arms folded tight, legs crossed, gaze through the opposite wall. She could hear the murmur of Langley’s voice and the deeper tone of the superintendent in charge of the investigation through the closed door beside her. They were going over and over what happened, just as she’d have to do when she went in. She hadn’t
stopped doing the same thing in her head, not even when she’d stood in Chloe Meixner’s flat and told her that Canning had killed Marko – they had the detailed confession from Danny O’Hara to prove it, the man being sensible enough to do what he could to help himself – and then that Canning had himself been killed. She’d held Chloe while she sobbed – the shoulder of her shirt was still damp now
– then left her in the care of Audra, hoping that the news would eventually be some small salve.
She knew word had been sent to Grace Michaels and could only imagine the relief she felt. And tomorrow she’d call Michael Paterson, although if he’d watched the late news he would’ve seen the footage and probably worked it out for himself. Canning had been pixelated over but the rest was clear
as day, and Ella had stood in the main office and watched over peoples’ shoulders, seeing herself run up the dock then stopping to fire. At that point she’d turned and walked out of the room.
She shifted in the chair. She wanted to get out of there, but it would be hours before she was free. She wanted a hug. She wanted –
The door opened and Langley stepped out. Ella jumped to her
feet.
‘He’s ready for you,’ Langley said.
Ella nodded and went to move past but he stopped her. ‘I told him I supported your actions.’
So perhaps he wasn’t so bad. ‘Thank you.’
‘But next time, lose the stroppiness.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘In the meetings and so on,’ he said. ‘We solve cases as a team. Stroppy individuals don’t build team spirit.’
She stared at
him.
He
was lecturing her on team spirit?
‘It’s just a friendly word of advice.’ He smiled. ‘Go on in. You’ll do fine.’
She turned away, holding back a snort.
He thought that was stroppy? He had no idea.
*
It was close to ten when Jane let herself into her house and switched on all the lights. The place looked exactly the same, which felt strange considering everything
that’d happened. She walked into the kitchen and dropped her bag and the plastic bag of her wet clothes on the table, then went to the bench and turned on the jug. Cup, coffee, sugar. Milk out of the fridge. Then scrunched-up test kit out of her bag.
Do it. Now.
Her landline rang. It was Detective Rooney.
‘I heard about what happened,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Worn out,’
Jane said, turning her back on the pregnancy kit. ‘It was quite an evening. I’m still in the police overalls one of your colleagues lent me.’
‘I have some news,’ Rooney said. ‘Lucille Humphreys confessed to assaulting Deb.’
‘What?’
‘She stayed with the magistrate and Laird for a couple of drinks, then said she had a migraine and went to bed,’ Rooney said. ‘She waited until they
were half in the bag, then took Laird’s car. His GPS records where he’s been, and she worked out which was your place, drove round there, saw Deb outside in the dark and thought it was you.’
Jane had to sit down.
‘She said they argued, and Deb swung at her with the golf club,’ Rooney went on. ‘They wrestled, then suddenly she was holding the club and Deb was motionless on the ground.
She panicked and fled home. Laird and the magistrate were still drinking, and never noticed she’d been out.’
‘She just walked in and told you this?’ Jane said.
‘I was interviewing her again today, and her conscience got the better of her. It all came spilling out. She’s in the cells now, and will go before the magistrate in the morning. Not the one she’s friends with, obviously.’
‘How’s Laird?’
‘Appears quite upset,’ Rooney said.
‘When did you find out?’
‘Mid-afternoon.’
No wonder he’d been so keen to help find Mia.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ she said.
Jane hung up. She couldn’t help imagining what might’ve happened if she’d come straight home from Laird’s that night instead of parking by the ocean. Deb had brought the golf club
– what had she intended to do? Lucille had brought nothing but her fury. If Jane had been home, there might’ve been a complicated screaming match, cops would’ve been called, neighbours might think she was nuts, but Deb would more than likely be fine.
She took her water-damaged mobile out of her bag, and prised out the SIM. She dug an old mobile from the junk drawer in the kitchen, inserted
the SIM, and turned it on. The words ‘low battery’ appeared. She plugged in the charger then texted Steve.
Any news?
He replied a moment later.
Tube’s out, and she squeezed my hand when I talked to her. Good sign, right?
Great
, she sent back.
Excellent. Happy for you both.
And she was.
She picked up the kit and walked along the hall. In the bathroom, she sat on the toilet, unwrapped
the stick, then held it in place beneath herself.
Three minutes, the box said. She folded four squares of toilet paper and laid them on the floor, then placed the wet stick on top. She wiped herself, zipped up the police overalls, flushed and washed and went out.
In the kitchen she made the coffee, then stood in the doorway, holding the cup but unable to drink. She tried to imagine
seeing a plus sign, tried to prepare herself.
The seconds slowed. The house was silent around her. Jane stared into space, the heat of the coffee burning her hands. She thought of the tiny feet of babies, the bounding lankiness of a ten year old, the emotions stirring in an adolescent’s growing heart.
She put down the cup and went into the bathroom and knelt by the stick on the floor.
The sign was negative.
She took the second stick from the kit, unzipped, sat on the toilet and strained for a few more drops, then waited right there for another three minutes to see the same sign again.
She stood up. She wasn’t pregnant. Her life remained her own. There’d be no new varicose veins or haemorrhoids, no sleepless nights, no cracked nipples from breastfeeding, no toddler
tantrums, no first-day-of-school anxieties. No driving lessons and no groundings. No battles over clean rooms or skirt lengths. No anxious waiting up late when they first went out, no wiping tears from the first broken heart.
She placed her hand on her belly for a moment. Then she collected up the sticks and papers, dropped them in the bin and walked out.
She picked up the phone and
scrolled through the contacts. ‘Breanna, hi,’ she said when her daughter answered. ‘Were you able to get that time off? And Alice too? Because it’d be really nice to see you both.’
*
Ella lay against Callum, her hand on his chest over his still-pounding heart, his arm down her naked and perspiring back, his fingers stroking her skin.
She’d left the office after the interview
and come straight here, knocking on Callum’s door when the sky was turning light, and told him that she’d killed someone. He’d listened without judging, and she’d known then. Knew now.
‘Question,’ he said. ‘Is this going to be a frequent occurrence? You coming over and jumping on me like this?’
‘If I told you that it’d ruin the surprise.’ She propped herself on her elbow and looked
at his face in the glow of the morning sun coming through the curtains. He ran his fingers over her hip. She could feel her pulse in her throat, the blood under her skin. Her mind strayed for a moment to blood spreading like flowers but she pulled it back.
‘So does this happen every time you solve a case?’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ she said. ‘You don’t know our success rate.’
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grinned.
Sweat had pooled in the hollow at the base of his throat. She touched it with the tip of her finger, then drew a line up through the stubble on his neck to grasp and waggle his chin. ‘Life is short.’
This day, more than ever, it felt important to grab hold with both hands.
‘You don’t need to tell me,’ he said.
She touched
his lower lip, then leaned down and kissed him, slid her hands down his body and pulled him closer.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
T
hanks to my agent Selwa Anthony, publisher Cate Paterson, editors Natalie Braine, Bri Collins, Alex Lloyd, and especially Nicola O’Shea, publicist Caitlin Neville, and everyone else at Pan Macmillan.
For advice on various procedural questions, thanks to Neil Guy, Rhian Magrath, Moira Magrath, Karen Davis, Adam Asplin, Kathryn Fox, and Leah Giarratano.
All mistakes and inconsistencies are mine.
For friendship and support through all the ups and downs of the writer’s life, thanks to Phil Guy, Michelle Dicinoski, Edwina Shaw, Siboney Duff, Josephine Pennicott and Karen Brooks.
Thanks to Deb Bodinnar, winner of the 2011 Davitt Award prize draw.
Thanks to all the paramedics, current and ex, who’ve written to tell me how the books
have touched them.
And thanks to my family, especially Benette.
ABOUT KATHERINE HOWELL
Katherine Howell is a former paramedic. Her award-winning and critically acclaimed Detective Ella Marconi series is published in multiple countries and languages. She lives in Queensland with her partner and is currently working on the seventh Marconi book.
ALSO BY KATHERINE HOWELL
Frantic
The Darkest Hour
Cold Justice
Violent Exposure
Silent Fear
More best-selling fiction by Katherine Howell
Frantic
In one terrible moment, paramedic Sophie Phillips’ life is ripped apart – her police officer husband, Chris, is shot on their doorstep and her ten-month-old son, Lachlan, is abducted from his bed.
Suspicion surrounds Chris as he is tainted with police corruption, but Sophie believes the attack is much more
personal, a consequence of her own actions.
While Chris is in hospital and the police, led by Detective Ella Marconi, mobilise to find their colleague’s child, Sophie’s desperation compels her to search for Lachlan herself. She enlists her husband’s partner, Angus Anderson, in the hunt for her son, but will the history they share and her raw maternal instinct lead to an even greater tragedy?
The Darkest Hour
Paramedic Lauren Yates stumbles into a world of trouble the night she discovers a dead man in an inner city alley – the killer still lurks nearby. When the murderer threatens to make her life hell if she tells the police, she believes him – he’s Thomas Werner, her sister’s ex and father to Lauren’s niece… and not a man to mess with.
But when
a stabbing victim tells her with his dying breath that Werner attacked him too, she finds herself with blood on her hands and Detective Ella Marconi on her back.
Ella knows Lauren is the perfect witness, but when Lauren tries to change her statement, Ella realises that Lauren is hiding something. The harder she digs into the paramedic’s past, the more Lauren resists, and the worse the threat
from Werner becomes.
Will Ella’s investigation put her career on the line? Can Lauren keep her family safe? Or will they all – Ella included – pay the ultimate price?
Cold Justice
The past haunts the present…
Nineteen years ago teenager Georgie Daniels stumbled across the body of her classmate, Tim Pieters, hidden amongst bushes. His family was devastated and the killer never found.
Now political pressure sees the murder investigation reopened and Detective Ella Marconi assigned to the case. She tracks down Georgie
who is now a paramedic. She seems to be telling the truth, so then why does Ella receive an anonymous phone call insisting that Georgie knows more? And is it mere coincidence that her ambulance partner, Freya, also went to the same high school?
Meanwhile, Tim’s mother suddenly turns her back on the investigation yet his cousin, the MP whose influence reopened the case, can’t seem to do enough
to help.
The more Ella digs into the past, the more the buried secrets and lies are brought to light. Can she track down the killer before more people are hurt?
Violent Exposure
A woman has been stabbed to death in her home, the husband is missing. A tragic case of domestic homicide is Detective Ella Marconi’s initial theory.
But as the investigation progresses, it also gets more complicated. Why is there no record of the absent suspect beyond a few years ago? Why has a teenager who worked for the pair disappeared too?
Is trainee paramedic Aidan Simpson telling the truth about his involvement?
As Ella begins to build a picture of the couples fractured, deceit-laden past, her personal life is deteriorating. But Ella knows she only has time for the job she loves, which in this case is taking her down a treacherous path…
Silent Fear
On a searing summer’s day paramedic Holly Garland rushes to an emergency to find a man collapsed with a bullet wound in the back of his head and her long-estranged brother Seth watching it all unfold.
Seth claims to be the dying man’s best friend, but Holly knows better than to believe anything he says and fears that his reappearance will reveal the
bleak secrets of her past – secrets which if exposed could cause her to lose everything.
Detective Ella Marconi suspects Seth too, but she’s also sure the dead man’s wife is lying, and the deceased’s boss seems just too helpful. Then a shocking double homicide makes Ella realise that her investigations are getting closer to the killer, increasing the risk of an even higher body count.
