Limbo (39 page)

She snapped it on, squinting against the sudden flare of light just as the ringing cut off and Dash said, ‘Baz?’

He was sitting in bed and Joy followed suit, pulling the sheet up around her shoulders, cool now that they’d stopped having hot, sweaty, monkey sex.

‘Okay, thanks. Let me know when it’s done.’

He hung up the phone and looked at her. ‘They have the house surrounded. They’re going in now.’

Joy expelled a heavy breath as a rush of relief, pure and sweet, bubbled through her veins. Unexpected tears pricked the backs of her eyes. ‘Thank god.’

He opened his arms and she went easily into them. He eased them back down to the mattress, bundling her close.

‘How long do you think it’ll take?’ she murmured, swirling her index finger through the salt and pepper hair of his chest.

‘It should be fairly quick. In and out,’ he said, his fingers stroking lightly up and down her arm. ‘Grab the child, neutralise any opposition. Make some arrests. As long as they don’t encounter any resistance, it should be ten minutes.’

Resistance. An image of the hole in Hailey Richardson’s head taunted her. She’d hate to think that any of the cops that were storming the house on Hutchins Road right now could end up the same way.

She didn’t want to have to be packing any of their heads with putty.

‘But it could take a little bit longer for Baz to get back to us.’

In the end it was half an hour before the phone rang. Joy had drifted back to sleep, what with the precious little sleep she’d already managed and the slow lazy drift of Dash’s finger up and down her arm. But the ring dragged her out of her slumber with a brutal yank.

‘Baz?’

Joy leaned up on her elbow as she looked down at Dash, who appeared to be listening intently.

‘I see,’ he finally said. ‘Is she okay?’ More listening. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

He hit the end button and grinned at her. ‘They have her.’

Joy was up and dressed and dipping toast soldiers into runny eggs a couple of hours later, watching news coverage of the police action around Hutchins Road. A blonde reporter in a suit was standing just outside the yellow police tape that had been slung across the driveway. In the background was the fibro shack she and Dash had watched for two hours yesterday.

Yesterday? She glanced at Dash, who was also dressed and eating. It seemed like an age ago now. A
lot
had happened since then.

‘We don’t know much yet. Police here at the scene are remaining very tight lipped but there is speculation that the raid that happened here at the crack of dawn today may involve the Isabella Richardson case. We are expecting a statement any minute now from Detective Inspector Bill Rasmussen.’

‘I don’t understand how they even got wind of it,’ Joy said, eyeballing the continual scroll of writing running along the bottom of the screen.
Statement from police about McAlester raid imminent
had been scrolling across for the last half hour.

‘Reporters have scanners that pick up chatter on police radios. After that it just snowballs.’

Joy concentrated on her eggs — they at least made sense. Thankfully, at some point during their sexual frenzy last night, Dash had thought to order off the breakfast menu and shove it on the door handle.

Not just a god among men in the bedroom department.

‘These are good,’ she said, nodding her head in approval at the plate. ‘I was starving.’

Dash chuckled. ‘Imagine my surprise.’

‘Crossing now to Basin Police HQ where Detective Inspector Bill Rasmussen has a statement.’

Joy saw Dash tense and she reached her hand across the table and gave his a squeeze. He gave her a small smile before returning his attention to the television screen.

The scene on the television switched to the outside view of the Basin cop station and a face that Joy recognised from her humiliating day at the station. Bill Rasmussen looked stiff and uncomfortable, stuffed into a too-small suit jacket, the buttons pulling taut.

What looked like a dozen microphones from a variety of different media outlets stood in front of him and behind stood several other men in full formal uniform. Joy recognised Baz.

Among the clicking of cameras there was some low murmuring as some kind of tech guy fiddled. Flashes flared across Bill’s face, emphasising his squinty eyes.

‘Ready?’ Bill asked. There was a pause for a few moments then he nodded and looked straight at the camera. ‘This morning at approximately oh-six-thirty, acting on a tip off from a member of the public —’

Joy blinked, surprised at the mention. She glanced at Dash, who was watching grimly, before she turned back to the screen.

‘— officers from the Queensland Special Emergency Response Team and homicide officers from Brisbane as well as local Gympie police raided a house at McAlester, ten kilometres south west of Gympie. There we found a one-year-old female child who we are reasonably certain is the missing Isabella Richardson. She is well and healthy and currently being taken care of by the department while DNA testing is carried out. One arrest was made and three people are helping us with our enquiries. There will be a full press conference as we have more details to hand. I will take a few questions now.’

The gathered press erupted, all hurling questions at once, but Bill Rasmussen was clearly a seasoned professional, rocking on his feet a little as he ignored the melée and calmly pointed to someone and said, ‘You.’

‘Is this where they think Hailey Richardson was held too?’

‘I’m not going to speculate. Forensic officers are still at the McAlester place and will be for some time.’ He flicked his eyes to the right and pointed again. ‘You.’

‘How long will it take to get the DNA testing back?’

‘We’ll know within hours. It has the utmost priority.’ Rasmussen took a question from the left this time. ‘You.’

‘Can you tell us the name of the man who was arrested?’ a female voice asked.

‘No names are being released at this point.’

‘Is he known to police?’ the voice pressed.

A quick nod. ‘Yes.’ Another imperious finger. ‘You.’

‘Is Martin Richardson being released from prison?’

‘His release is contingent on the interrogation of the suspect arrested on scene.’

‘Are you willing to concede you had the wrong guy all along?’ another voice called out from somewhere at the side.

Dash snorted as Rasmussen ignored that and nodded his head at another journo. ‘You.’

‘Can you reveal the name of the member of public or the nature of their information that led you to Isabella Richardson?’

‘No.’

‘Will they be eligible for the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar reward?’

A curt nod. ‘Yes.’ More questions were hurled at him but Rasmussen had clearly had enough. He raised his hand. ‘That will be all for now.’

Then he and the men behind him turned and withdrew into the building.

The television flicked off and Joy looked over to see Dash with the remote in his hand. ‘Congratulations,’ he smiled. ‘You’re rich.’

Joy rolled her eyes. ‘I told you, I don’t want the damn money.’

He shook his head at her. ‘You cracked this case. Your information led to Isabella being found. You should take the money.’

‘No.’

Joy couldn’t deny that a quarter of a million dollars would be very nice in her bank account. She could pay off all maxed-out cards and the people she owed and be debt free. But it seemed wrong, like
bad-karma wrong,
to take money for this, for doing what any decent human being should do. She had a roof over her head, food in her belly and could pay her bills — even if she was going to still be paying them at eighty.

She didn’t
need
that kind of money.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘
you
cracked this case. You should take the money.’

He snorted. ‘Wouldn’t Bill just love that?’

‘Fuck Bill.’

Dash grinned. ‘No thanks.’

Joy shuddered. ‘Me neither.’

They smiled at each other for long moments. Ordinarily after a night like last night, Joy wouldn’t be opposed to a little morning-after action. Looking at Dash now she could tell he wouldn’t be either.

But waking up to the news of Isabella being freed and watching the television for the last two hours seemed to have drawn some kind of a line under their nocturnal activities. The case was solved. Isabella was free. The night was over. The sexy times were finished.

‘We should head back,’ she said, standing to gather the few belongings she had with her — mostly food, ironically. An unopened packet of Chupa Chups, the half-eaten packet of fudge, the almost empty bottle of honey.

She opened the cupboard under the sink and tossed it in the bin.

What happened in Gympie, stayed in Gympie.

***

Joy looked out the window at her crappy little apartment block as Dash pulled up at the curb two hours later. After the grand adventure she’d just been on it seemed rather dreary.

She turned to him. It was hard to know what to say now. Knowing that there was no reason to ever see him again. And a couple of good ones not to.

He watched her, his eyes serious, his mouth all full and brooding, his hair in its usual finger-combed disarray. She reached across and traced her finger along the narrow white scar that ran from his nostril to his lip, interrupting its otherwise perfect fullness, like she had that first night at the Purple Parrot. His whiskers prickled at the pad.

‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

He shook his head, watching her intently. ‘No.’

‘Did it?’

‘I don’t remember…I was a baby when it was repaired.’

Joy nodded. Then she leaned forward, slid her hands either side of his face and kissed him very gently where her finger had just been. She let her lips linger and when she drew back it was only fractionally, enough to press her forehead against his.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘For everything.’

His hand slid to the back of her neck. ‘It was my pleasure, Joy Valentine.’

Long seconds ticked by as they stayed locked in their embrace until Joy eventually withdrew.

‘I’ll give you a ring in a couple of days,’ he said, ‘once the dust settles. See what I can find out from Baz about the details of the case. The real ones. Not the ones that’ll be getting around in the press.’

‘Will he tell you?’

‘We just made him a fucking hero. I think it’s the least he can do.’

Joy smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

Another silence developed and Joy had the insane urge to fill it up with things other than words. She suddenly didn’t want it to be over. She didn’t want their last kiss to be a peck on his upper lip. She dropped her gaze to his mouth. His gaze fell to hers. His head angled closer. Hers did too.

The warm fan of his breath caressed her cheek.

Then the loud blare of One Direction crashed into their intimate circle and both of them pulled apart.

Real life had intruded.

Dash reached for his phone. ‘It’s Katie,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry…I have to take it.’

Joy nodded. ‘Of course.’
Saved by the bell
. Nothing like
that
kind of reminder to put a dampener on things. Dash had responsibilities that she didn’t want to screw with.

She leaned in and pecked his cheek. ‘Ring me when you know the details.’

And she climbed out of the car and didn’t look back.

***

Dash looked up from his desk two days later to find Baz walking in his door. It was four in the afternoon. ‘So this is it, huh?’

‘This is it.’

‘Not exactly a plush inner-city office.’

Dash let that one run right off his back. He didn’t give a flying fuck for his old partner’s opinion of his work environment. ‘Nope. Got beer though, want one?’

Baz grunted and Dash pulled out two frosty bottles, handing one across the desk. Once upon a time they would have tapped their bottles together in solidarity, but not now. Not even with the Richardson case all tied up with a bow.

The door opened again and Joy stepped inside. She was wearing her usual black skinny jeans and a Fire In The Hole t-shirt with her jumper tied at her waist and hanging down the backs of her thighs. Much to his surprise her chestnut hair was sporting scattered bright blue chunky highlights, and Dash’s pulse took a little trip.

After two nights of erotic dreams, he’d resigned himself to the fact it probably always would where Joy was concerned. She’d been encoded into his DNA somehow and that was just something he had to live with.

‘What’s she doing here?’ Baz asked as he took a pull of his beer.

Dash smiled as she frowned at Baz, the little v prominent between her brows. ‘
She
is Joy. And without her Isabella Richardson would still be residing in McAlester with her kidnappers.’

Seeing the footage on the news last night of Martin Richardson being released from jail and reunited with his daughter had been heartening but they both needed more than that. ‘I think
she
deserves to hear this too, don’t you?’

Baz’s grunt was hardly very gracious but Dash doubted Joy gave a flying fuck about Baz’s opinions either. ‘Beer?’ he asked her.

She nodded and he reached to the bar fridge behind him, pulled out another one and passed it over. He noticed her black fingernails as she cracked the lid and sat down on the corner of the desk.

‘So,’ she said, looking down at Baz, who’d taken the chair opposite Dash. ‘What gives?’

Baz gave a good impression of looking like he resented having to be here at all and tell this story, not only to a disgraced cop but to a wacky psycho chick with blue stripes in her hair. But Dash knew that under it all, Baz was a decent honest cop who understood that he and Joy had earned a little information.

Baz took another swallow of his beer, glancing at Joy then back at Dash. ‘Ronald gave it all up. Mostly I think because he didn’t want anyone in his family going down for it. It happened pretty much like you said. Him and Devon, that’s his son-in-law, had been doing some stick-up jobs because he’d heard in prison that you could buy a baby on the black market for a hundred grand.’