Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) (11 page)

Waikeri was in his cubicle off to the side of the front counter. He was hunched over his laptop, looking like Buddha with a crew cut. Moore came in and sat on the guest chair. “Is that the draft media release?” he asked.

Waikeri kept typing. “And if it was?”

“The shark didn’t kill him.”

Waikeri glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “Since when does being chewed in half not kill you?”

Moore gave his superior a patient look. “The victim was already dead when the shark got him.
Lungs saturated with water at the time of amputation,
“ he quoted.

“So he drowned and then the shark — “

“Not as simple as that,” Moore said.

Waikeri raised an eyebrow. “It gets
more
complicated?”

“The victim’s chest has tiny blue–green fragments imbedded in it. Pathologist thinks they’re fish scales.” Moore held up the sample in its plastic Ziploc case.

“Sharks don’t have scales –” Waikeri said, taking the piece of evidence and tilting it to the light.

“I know. The pathologist’s sending a sample to the Marine Park Authority for identification.”

Waikeri frowned, as if trying to get his head around this new development. “Maybe the shark had something in his teeth.”

Moore shook his head. “The scales were higher up, near his shoulders.” Then after a heartbeat of indecision he decided to lay out his suspicions. “That girl at the Wilson place had blue–green nail polish. The naked housekeeper they pulled out of the water.”

Waikeri looked up from frowning at the evidence. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. And she had … strange eyelids as well.”

“Blue green eye–shadow?”

“No,” Moore said, ignoring the teasing. “Like a lizard. Like an extra eyelid that closes …” He brought a finger up to his own eye to demonstrate the vertical closure he was sure he’d seen.

Now Waikeri was grinning. “Attest to that in a court of law?”

Moore dropped his arm and was glad they were a two–man station. He could imagine colleagues teasing him if he was still be in Brisbane.

“Course you wouldn’t,” Waikeri went on. “Darkened room. She’s lying down. Could have been anything. Reflection from the window or —”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But there’s something odd about Venus Dalrymple.”

“Apart from her name?” Waikeri pulled a chocolate from the packet on his desk and, ignoring Moore’s frown of disapproval as he slipped it into his mouth. When it was demolished he said, “The victim allegedly tried to save the Dalrymple girl from drowning. Isn’t it possible that some of her nail–polish got on his chest then? Prior to the shark attack?”

“Possibly,” Moore said, still not ready to let Dalrymple off the hook. “But there’s more to her than meets the eye. Young Wilson is lying —”

“Of course he is!” Waikeri cut in. “He’s shagging her and doesn’t want anyone to know. That’s not police business. If she was the pickpocket that would be different. But she’s not.”

“No she’s not,” Moore agreed, wishing Dalrymple was six inches shorter so they could bring her in on suspicion.

“You heard about the one last night?”

Moore shook his head.

“She’s indoors now,” Waikeri told him. “Cracked on to a tourist in the Royal Arms. All over each other a witness said, then she excused herself to go to the toilet —”

“And did a Houdini,” Moore guessed, “After which the tourist discovered his wallet was missing? She’s good,” Moore admitted. But a shark killing people had to have a higher priority than a petty thief, so he said, “Getting back to what’s happening at
Saltwood
…”

Waikeri rolled his eyes and reached for the chocolates.

“I want to go back.” Moore knew he was being belligerent, but there was definitely something suspicious about Dalrymple and he was bloody well going to find out what it was. “I want a sample of her nail polish.”

Waikeri waved his chocolate at Moore. “The Wilson boy will pop an artery if you drool over his girlfriend again. We’d have to have a reason.”

“Speaking of arteries …” Moore said, gazing at the chocolate.

Waikeri deliberately put it in his mouth and chewed slowly. “You were saying?” he asked when he’d swallowed and licked his fat fingers.

Let it go,
Moore told himself,
Focus on the case.
“I could tell them there was something in the water apart from the shark, possibly two dangerous creatures out there, and I need to know if she saw it.”

“Mmm.” Waikeri frowned but Moore wasn’t sure if he’d snagged his interest with the
two dangerous creatures
line. “And the reason you need a sample of her nail polish?”

“I’ll think of something,” Moore promised. “The pathologist’s sending his report, so I can get a search warrant in case Wilson turns uncooperative.”

Waikeri said nothing, he just looked at Moore with an unnerving stare, as if the big bastard knew something Moore didn’t.

“What?” Moore demanded.

Waikeri put the scales sample down on his desk, then he was silent a moment before saying, “Do you have any idea who paid for this new police station?”

“The state government,” Moore said, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything.

“Old man Wilson paid for it,” Waikeri said, and Moore felt his frustration with his superior morph into cold shock.

“That’s… illegal,” he said. “Private citizens can’t fund government buildings, especially law enforcement facilities.”

Waikeri nodded. “It was channeled through a donation to the historical restoration project which was then slid sideways into regional development. The District Supervisor — old man Wilson’s very good friend — told me on the QT last year, along with a
look after them
discussion.”

Moore shook his head, incredulous.

“So,” Waikeri went on, “You may have a problem getting one of his cronies to sign a search warrant for
Saltwood.”

“Fuck.”

Waikeri shrugged. The two policeman looked at each other, then Waikeri added, “Nothing stopping you calling in on the way past to add to your report. Two creatures now. She might have remembered more.”

“But don’t upset the Wilsons,” Moore said. It wasn’t a question.

Waikeri didn’t bother to reply to that. It was obvious. “Leave it till this afternoon,” he said. “We’ve got a press conference to deal with first.” Then he turned back to his computer. “Vigo bloody Skeyne and his showmanship.”

“He’ll be worth it,” Moore said. “He does the job.”

Waikeri grunted, then said, “Timetables and passenger lists on the bus lines?”

Moore shook his head. “No one has a Venus Dalrymple coming into Bundaberg within the last week, and drivers of local buses travelling near the beach where Wilson found her don’t remember a passenger of that description yesterday.”

“She’s been at Saltwood for a while,” Waikeri surmised. “I knew there was a history between her and young Wilson.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Moore said, then added, “And listen, can I take the new four wheel drive? The winch on mine is broken and if it rains and I get bogged…”

Waikeri picked up another chocolate and gave Moore a smarmy smile. “My pride and joy? Not a chance, cun–stable.”

Chapter Twelve

B
az sat on a banana lounge watching Venus doing laps of the pool. When she executed a turn he saw a flash of what was beneath the thin cotton T–shirt she wore and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he’d been able to distract his father with an old Gene Kelly movie.

Ted and their new housekeeper hadn’t met. Which meant all was well.

So far.

But that was the thing. Having Venus at Saltwood felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. A sensation of impending doom was never far from the pit of Baz’s stomach. Yet coupled with that was a sense of challenge and satisfaction that won out every time. She might come from some strange religious cult, or be the forerunner of a secret baby trade, but while she was at
Saltwood
he had a chance to change things for her, to make a difference. In all the time he’d taught science he’d never felt he’d made a difference in anyone’s life beyond their report card. But this was personal. He was going to stop one person from wrecking their life. And for reasons he wasn’t clear on, that thrilled him even before it had happened.

Of course it would be risky. She was so alien, so completely unpredictable she might get him into any sort of trouble. He’d already perjured himself to the police, which had been stupid. But despite the fact that she was stranger than strange, he found her endearing and he was looking forward to helping her, whether she liked it or not.

She reached his end of the pool and turned while Baz held his breath. It wasn’t a regulation swimming turn. It was curving sort of flip that used hands more than feet. And she never pushed off from the side, just struck out with those beautiful long arms. From time to time she remembered to wiggle her legs, but she clearly wasn’t relying on them for propulsion. No wonder she’d nearly drowned. Although, he could see from watching her that she rarely pulled her head up for air. Baz had never met anyone who could hold their breath as long as she could.

Another weird fact. Among many.

He shivered, then slung the towel he’d brought for her around his shoulders. Every time the sun went behind the clouds a chilly wind appeared, snaking over the grass, making him wish he’d worn joggers instead of sandals. Venus would be warm in the water, but outside the pool the air was rapidly cooling and it wasn’t even lunch time.

Baz turned to look over his shoulder and saw thunder–heads forming out over the ocean.

Big storm.

He turned back to Venus and watched her execute a turn at the far end of the pool – a slower turn. He decided she’d probably had enough anyway. It was time to go back in. As she approached his end he knelt at the side of the pool and prepared to reached down and tap her. Her body twisted at the start of a turn, and in that moment the sun came out from behind the clouds and reflected off the water. The sudden dazzle momentarily blinded Baz and he had to squint against it while he reached forward to touch her shoulder.

Venus’s head came up, plastered with hair. Beneath it her eyeballs were silver.

“
Shit!
“ Baz snapped his hand back and stared at her in horror.

“Baz,” she replied, and blinked. When her eyes reopened the blue irises and black pupils were back.

As if … he’d imagined it.

“Your eyes,” he said, and pointed a wavering finger. Damn it. He couldn’t have imagined it three times. Could he?

She pushed the sodden hair off her face and in the process, tilted her head slightly as she blinked again. The sun was still hitting the water, and now it sparkled off the droplets on her long, dark eyelashes, confusing him. Was that what he’d seen? A reflection?

He blinked, trying to refocus, to be sure. But of course, there was nothing to be sure of. The sun had blinded him. She’d had her eyes closed and he’d seen the sun reflecting off her eyelids. They’d just
looked
silver because …

Because that’s what he’d thought he’d seen in her bedroom?

Well, she was weird. He’d already established that. She was weird and he was tired. What else could be happening? She was a robot in disguise?

Baz shivered again and decided he should have another coffee. “Time to get out,” he told her and stood. “There’s weather coming.”

She looked over the edge of the pool and across the lawn to the cliff top and the storm–front building in the distance. “The clouds are dark. That indicates a possibility of strong winds and torrential rain.”

Again with sounding like an encyclopedia, but he just said, “Bingo. So it’s time to go inside and batten down the hatches.” He nodded towards the pool steps a couple of meters away.

Venus frowned and stayed where she was, holding onto the side of the pool at his feet, her head tilted up so she could gaze up at him anxiously. “Will it be dangerous?”

“Nah. We’re exposed on the cliff top,” he admitted, “but we’ve had cyclones before and Saltwood has survived. Forest fires are more of a problem than storms,” he added, jerking a thumb at the scrubland a hundred meters away on the other side of a stone garden fence.

She frowned at the thunder–heads. “Wouldn’t we be safer in the water?”

“Not when there’s lightning,” he said and started walking toward the pool steps to encourage her to move.

She didn’t. “The electrical charge from lightning dissipates in water,” she said.

“Maybe in the ocean,” he replied, “But swimming pools are smaller. Lightning turns them into a stewpot.” He stopped at the steps and tilted his head, thinking it odd that she knew about lightning but not toothbrush packaging. But before he could comment on it she let go the pool edge and swam to the steps. He helped her out and handed her the towel, glancing away politely as she stripped off her sodden T–shirt and shorts and handed them to him.

No modesty. The girl had no modesty whatsoever. Finally she was wrapped in the towel, trailing him back inside.

“I’m hungry again,” she said, leaving wet footprints across the veranda. “I need to eat.”

Baz glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly one. What about you have a quick shower and then we’ll eat.” He opened the back door and led her through the kitchen. When they reached the hallway he heard crunching and turned to find her with her hand inside a cereal packet she was carrying.

“
Srack,
“ she said around a mouthful.

“Snack,” he agreed as he led her down the hallway to her guest suite. The cereal was actually a good idea. If she wasn’t starving he might be able to buy himself an hour to get his father organized for the afternoon, because that movie would be finishing shortly. Baz let her into her rooms to hustle her into action. He had lots to do himself. “You have a shower and wash your hair and I’ll come back with some lunch. We’ll eat here.” He pointed to the sitting room. “Then maybe you’ll want another nap.” Surely all that swimming had tired her out. Either that or he’d set her up in front of her television. Baz needed to keep both her and his father occupied so he could download the Power of Attorney paperwork and read it before getting Ted to sign it. Then Baz planned to ring Rand back to tell him that the new documents were signed, and he was officially out of the picture.