Bitter Nothings (6 page)

By the time she filled Sophie in on what she knew, or at least remembered, she felt numb. How much of that was due to the half bottle of schnapps she’d downed, she wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, having her friend there helped. Sober or drunk.

As if reading her thoughts, Sophie leaned across and patted Dervla’s arm. Although her friend’s face and cleavage were flushed, her touch was cold. “I’m not going anywhere.” She paused, tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I still can’t get my head around it. It’s so hard to believe. And I saw Warren last week, too.”

“Did he seem troubled or unhappy or anything?” Dervla had first met Sophie Lombardi when her father had contracted the ambitious PR consultant to promote his print business.

“Not at all. Quite the opposite in fact. He said things were finally starting to come together.”

Dervla stiffened. “What things?”

“He didn’t say, and I didn’t like to pry.”

“Have you told the police?”

“Not yet. I came straight here. Not that I can see how it can help.”

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Sophie broke the silence. “You didn’t say who called it in. I mean, you said the neighbors didn’t see or hear a thing, so who discovered them?”

The question took Dervla aback. Why hadn’t she thought to ask the detectives that? Regardless, why hadn’t they told her? Was it important? She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Was anything taken?”

Dervla gave her a blank stare.

“C’mon, hon. I’m trying to help you here. If Warren didn’t do it, someone else did. Could it have been a burglary gone wrong? How did they get into the house?”

More questions that in her daze she’d neglected to ask. “All I’ve been told is that some camping gear is missing.”

Sophie scratched her head. “Camping gear? You mean like tents and stuff?”

“They think… they think Dad’s taken it and gone bush.”

“Oh.”

One word heavy with implication. Dervla knew what her friend was thinking. She picked up her mobile phone, toying with it as she debated whether to confide in Sophie about the SMS from her father. A secret shared?

She thrust the phone at Sophie. “Read this.”

Frowning, Sophie did as instructed. She blinked as if not quite believing her eyes and looked up. “And you seriously think he’s not somehow involved?”

Dervla lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “He hasn’t even had a chance to defend himself. Where’s the justice in that?”

“Oh my, it’s worse than I thought. You’re not just in denial; you’re in denial about being in denial. An innocent man doesn’t run.”

“He’s my father. I’m not going to condemn him before I’ve had a chance to talk to him and heard what he has to say.”

“Talk to him?” Sophie spluttered. “And how do you propose to do that if he’s not taking your calls?”

“I’m going to find him.” Even as she said it, she knew it was madness. “One of the reported sightings of him was on the Barrier Highway in South Australia. It’s the long way around, but it’s possible he’s headed to Mt Remarkable.”

Sophie studied Dervla’s face. “What if you can’t find him?”

“I have to at least try. It has to be better than sitting around here doing nothing.”

“Let the police try. Pass the information on to them. Let them do their job. They have the proper resources.”

Dervla bounded to her feet. “Forget I even mentioned it,” she said, scooping up the empty schnapps bottle and two shot glasses. Her head spun. She waited for the sensation to pass.

“Look, if you insist on going, at least let me come with you. We can share the driving.”

She breathed out. “You’ve just spent most of the day driving.”

“You’re not thinking about leaving this afternoon, are you?” Sophie followed her into the kitchen.

“No, tomorrow morning. But I would rather you be my eyes and ears here. Let me know if you hear anything.” The glasses clanked against each other as she dropped them into the sink. “Cover for me.”

“This is not a game, hon.”

Dervla turned on her friend. “Jesus Christ, Sophie, do you think I don’t know that?”

Sophie’s cheeks flamed, her mouth agape as if Dervla had physically slapped her.

“I need to pack.” The right words evading her, Dervla fled down the hall to her bedroom. Apologies would have to come later.

Hands pressed over her mouth, she slid her back down the closed bedroom door until her chin met her knees. Tears streamed down her face and over her fingers. Why did she always push away, lash out at those who tried to help her? She dropped her hands, crossing them over her chest like a shield. Sophie deserved better.

The doorbell rang, followed by the sound of footsteps, the click of the lock, then Emmet’s voice.

“Where’s Dervla? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Sophie said. “Just having a wee lie down.”

Dervla breathed out, waiting until she was sure her brother and her friend were gone before rising from the floor and going to the bathroom. Dunking her face in a basin of cold water helped reduce the puffiness around her eyes but did nothing for her red nose. A capful of Listerine masked the sour taste in her mouth. Time to face her visitors.

Emmet and Sophie were standing together near the breakfast bar. Dervla couldn’t hear what they were saying, but as soon as they realized she was there, they leapt apart. “Should my ears be burning?”

Sophie gave a light, tinkly laugh. “Not at all. We were just getting better acquainted, weren’t we, Emmet darling?”

Emmet’s face turned pink. Her brother had always had a thing for Sophie, flirting with her whenever the chance arose, but now he seemed embarrassed by her attentions. What had changed?

No sooner had she walked past them, into the kitchen, than the doorbell rang. Again. She was about ready to disconnect the damned thing. More so when the ding-dong didn’t let up.

“I’ll get it,” Emmet said.

“No, stay put. I’ll go.” She flapped a hand in the direction of the coffee machine. “But if you want to make yourself useful…”

The din continued. She stomped up the hall, shoulders squared, prepared to amputate, if necessary, whoever’s finger it was stuck to her doorbell.

“Enough already!” She unsnibbed the lock and turned the doorknob.

The door burst inwards, the force throwing her against the wall. By the time, she’d regained her balance, Martin Lombardi, Sophie’s ex-husband, was already halfway down the hall.

She scurried after him. “Get out! Now, or I’ll call the police.”

He ignored her. Emmet blocked the doorway between the hall and the living area. With shoulders befitting a bricklayer, Martin bulldozed straight through. What he lacked in height, he made up for in bulk.

Sophie squealed.

Dervla panicked, grabbing the closest thing she had to a weapon, the jasper paperweight from next to the answering machine. It was too late to phone the police.

She advanced, adrenaline and fear for her friend’s welfare fuelling her bravado. Martin already had Sophie and Emmet bailed up in the kitchen. Sophie clung to Emmet’s back, her face hidden in his shirt. His arms up in half-surrender, half-protective mode, Emmet sidled toward the knife block.

Martin charged. Sophie shrieked. The knife-block toppled sideways. Emmet grasped a black-handled butcher’s knife.

“Back off, buster.” Emmet jabbed at the air with the knife. “I’m warning you, just back off.”

“I’d do as he says, Martin.” Dervla took half a step backward, the jasper heavy in her hand. “You’re not welcome here. Please go.”

Martin whirled on her, his pale eyes flashing. “Butt out, bitch. This is between me and my wife. It has fuckin’—” Spittle flew from his mouth. “—nothing to do with you.”

“It has when you’re in my house.”

His biceps bulged, his top lip curling. “Oh yeah?” He feinted at Emmet with his left hand, latching onto Sophie’s long hair with his right.

She screamed. Emmet lunged, the knife slicing into Martin’s forearm. Both men froze, as if someone had hit the pause button.

Bewilderment clouded Martin’s tanned face, play resuming. In slow motion, he released Sophie and pressed his hand over the wound. Blood seeped from between his thick fingers and dripped onto the tiled floor.

“Oh God, Emmet, what have you done?” Dervla rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a clean tea towel from the drawer. When she tried to wrap it around Martin’s arm, he shook her off but kept the makeshift bandage.

He barged past her. “You’re going to fuckin’ pay for this.”

CHAPTER 8

Wednesday dawned cool but bright. Breathing in the damp morning air, Dervla deposited her suitcase in the boot of her Holden Epica. If nothing else, the twelve-hour drive to South Australia would be an opportunity to put the car through its paces.
If nothing else?
God, what was she thinking?

“Going somewhere?”

She spun around, coming face to face with Todd Gleeson, the detective’s expression as steely as his tone.

“What if I am?”

He glanced at her luggage and raised an eyebrow. “Strange time to be taking a holiday.”

“Who said anything about a holiday?” She slammed the boot closed.

“Where are you going, Dervla?”

“Excuse me? This isn’t a police state. Unless I’m under arrest, I don’t have to tell you a damned thing.”

He blocked her. “I could charge you with obstructing a police investigation.”

Hands on hips, she stood her ground, the distance between them less than a hand’s width. So close she could smell his woody aftershave. Her gaze fixed on the hollow at the base of his throat. “Why are you here again?”

The muscles in his neck flexed. “Just passing and thought I’d check to see how you were holding up.”

“You mean like a friend?”

His chin moved up and down in what she assumed was a nod.

“Friends don’t usually threaten to arrest you.” She stepped back and breathed out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He moved aside. “Don’t forget that we’re supposed to be on the same side. And despite what you may think, Dervla, I really am one of the good guys.”

He was still there a minute or so later, watching as she backed her car into the street. She waved and accelerated away, turning right at the next intersection. There, she slowed, already having second thoughts. South Australia was a vast state. If her father wasn’t holed up in the cottage at Mt Remarkable, what hope did she have of finding him in almost a million square kilometers? If he was there at all.

A car horn sounded behind her. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel. Flicking on the right indicator, she swung over to the centre line and taking the first turn, drove around the block.

Outside on the footpath, facing her place, stood Todd, one hand on the back of his neck, the other clamped to his ear. He hadn’t seen her. For a split-second, she thought about driving straight past, but damned if she was about to let him scare her off.

She pulled into her driveway and unbuckled her seatbelt. He strode toward her, closing his mobile phone just as he reached the car. He tapped on her window. With a sigh, she lowered it halfway. “Yes?”

“Forget something?”

“My mind.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Does that include your memory?”

“I’m glad you find it funny.”

“No, I’m serious. Is there something that you’ve forgotten to tell me?”

“Like what?” She raised the window and removed the key from the ignition, all the while avoiding eye contact.

He waited until she opened the door. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Not that I can think of.”

“You won’t mind me having a look at your mobile phone, then?”

Her head shot up. “Sophie told you?”

Unlike hers, his frown looked genuine. “Sophie?”

She smacked her forehead and sank back in her seat. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you be monitoring Dad’s mobile?”

“And if we hadn’t, would you have told us? What happened to telling us everything you know? What else are you withholding?”

“Nothing.” She re-buckled her seatbelt and tried to close the car door. Todd’s hand on the top edge stopped it. “It goes both ways, you know. You’ve told me hardly anything.”

“I’ve answered all your questions,” he said. “You know as much as I do.”

“Yeah, right.” She yanked on the door; Todd held fast. “Like you were going to tell me about tapping Dad’s phone.”

“You know very well I can’t discuss police operational matters with you.”

“As I said, it goes both ways.” She peered up at him. “How do you expect me to trust you when you only tell me the bits that you think I should know?”

He scratched his eyebrow. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

“Alzheimer’s now, is it? Sure, you told me you were releasing details of Dad to the media.” Her voice rose an octave. “Just not that he was at the top of your most-wanted list.”

Todd blew out a breath. “You’re right: it was a wrong call. I misjudged the situation. It won’t happen again.” He stuck his hand through the open door. “Truce?”

His grip was firm, his hand solid but surprisingly smooth.

“There’s something else you neglected to tell me. You said the neighbors didn’t see or hear a thing, but if that’s the case, who called it in? Who found their…” She coughed. “…them?”

He propped his elbow on the top of the car door. “You didn’t ask.” With her eye level to his navel, he had the upper hand. And he knew it.

“Well, I’m asking now.” She inserted the key in the ignition and sat back.

“We received an anonymous triple-0 call Monday around 3.30 a.m. We managed to trace it back to a mobile phone and prepaid SIM card sold by Dick Smith. Cash sale. Not much more that I can tell you.”

“What about the voice?”

“Electronically distorted.”

A thought struck her. She almost gave herself whiplash when she jerked her head up. “What about the other numbers called from that…” She shook her head, sighing. “Sorry, ignore me.”

He chuckled. “That’s easier said than done. But just so you know, the triple-0 call was the only call logged. The phone is switched off and has probably been trashed by now.”

For a long moment, she said nothing, the fingers of her left hand, kneading the back of her right. “How did they get in?” She looked up. “Is there any possibility it was a burglary gone wrong?”