Tell the Truth (5 page)

‘We're not certain it's her blood yet,' Ella said.

‘Do you have leads?'

‘We've got a lot of people working on it.'

The washing machine shuddered to a stop in the silence, then Esther said, ‘How is James?'

‘Upset and anxious,' Murray said.

‘I should go and see him.' She released the bonnet support and let it fall with a bang. ‘See Gomez too. They'll both be heartbroken.'

‘Please call us if you remember anything else, or if you see or hear anything that seems suspicious,' Ella said.

Esther took the card she held out. ‘You bet I will.'

*

They hadn't had a call from the office to say more messages had been sent from Stacey's phone to James's, but Ella knocked on James's door and asked him anyway. Letting him keep his phone meant the kidnappers could send him demands, and with the numbers being monitored and his records having been requested, they had both the past and future covered.

The neighbours on the Durhams' other side weren't home. Ella made a note to follow them up, then she and Murray crossed the street to number fourteen.

The topiary shivered in the wind as they stepped up to knock on the door. The man who opened it looked about sixty. His thin hand gripped the frame. ‘What's going on?'

Ella guessed he'd been watching since the second they'd pulled up. ‘I'm Detective Marconi, this is Detective Shakespeare. You're Bill Willetts?'

His pale eyes narrowed further. ‘I don't know what that old witch told you but I never did anything to anyone.'

‘Can we come in?' Murray said.

Willetts huffed through his nose then unlocked the screen. ‘If you must.'

He didn't invite them past the entryway, so they stood on the plastic mat that ran the length of the carpet. A hall table was bare except for a spotless glass vase containing a plastic rose, and the air smelled of chemical cleaners. Willetts wore neatly pressed brown trousers and a white shirt buttoned snugly at his wrists. His face was long, and his iron grey hair, moustache and goatee were all clipped short. The overall impression was narrow and uptight.

Ella said, ‘When did you last see James or Stacey Durham?'

‘I saw James just now, when you lot arrived, and I saw Stacey yesterday morning. She walked that mutt past and I watched to make sure he didn't pee on my trees. Why she can't walk on her own side of the street I don't know.'

‘You didn't see her later in the day, or this morning?' Murray asked.

‘If I had, I would've said so.'

‘Just checking,' Murray said. ‘So you've had words with Stacey in the past?'

‘Yes, but I've said the same thing to everyone who walks their filthy mutts past. They say they can't control where they pee, but they damn well can. Just drag the beast further along. It's about the worst thing for trees and grass both. I have to get the hose on it quickly or it burns.'

‘You're clearly a keen gardener,' Murray said. ‘The topiaries out there look good.'

‘Of course they look good,' Willetts said. ‘I spend a lot of time taking care of them. You know how much those things are worth when they look that good?'

Ella said, ‘Do you have words with James Durham too, or just Stacey?'

‘He doesn't walk the mutt,' Willetts said. ‘What reason do I have for words?'

‘Did you see anything unusual happening at the Durhams' house over the weekend?' Murray asked.

‘You think I have nothing better to do than watch what happens over there?'

Ella had heard enough. ‘Mind if I use your bathroom?'

She was already moving up the stairs when he said, ‘There's one down here,' and cut him off with ‘Thanks very much,' as she kept climbing, her shoes crackling the plastic runner on the stair carpet.

Upstairs smelled more strongly of cleaning products. Carpet deodoriser and air freshener, she thought. Pine. She glanced into a bathroom – towel hanging straight on the rack, shining mirror, no dust or hair on the tiled floor – then into the bedroom next to it. Neatly made-up double, pillows in clean crisp slips, matching lamps on matching bedside tables. The tops of both tables were dust-free and bare, except for a paperback that lay aligned to the corners. Ella went closer to read the cover.
Madame Bovary
.

The next bedroom was empty. The bare carpet showed vacuum marks and faint indentations where furniture had once stood.

The last room faced the street. The sun streamed in on a dark leather armchair and matching footrest, and a small table with three books on gardening in a tidy stack. Ella moved past to look out the window and the top book fell from the pile with a thud.

‘What are you doing?' Willetts' footsteps started up the stairs.

Ella bent to retrieve the book and saw tucked under the footrest a pair of binoculars.

‘You were supposed to use the bathroom.' Willetts scowled in at her.

She dangled the binoculars by the strap. ‘Been keeping an eye on the neighbourhood?'

‘You have no right to look through my things.' He snatched them off her. ‘It's not illegal to use them.'

‘It is if you spy into people's houses.' Ella pointed out the window. ‘You think that's the Durhams' bedroom there at the front? You see much between those curtains?'

‘I watch birds in the trees. I look for dogs. That's all.'

Behind him Murray said, ‘If you've seen anything unusual, we need to know about it.'

‘I've seen nothing.'

Ella looked at Murray. ‘Perhaps we should all go to the station and discuss it further.'

‘Good idea,' he said.

‘This is stupid,' Willetts said. ‘You're going to arrest me for that?'

‘Just a chat,' Ella said, happy to let him believe otherwise.

‘This is supposed to be a free country.' Willetts' face turned red. ‘I never saw any sex or anything like that.'

‘What did you see?'

‘Stacey sitting in the window downstairs there, holding that dog. Sits for hours sometimes. Staring out at nothing. Ask me, she's touched in the head.'

‘So you admit to watching the Durhams in their home,' Ella said.

‘I keep an eye on the street. For security reasons.'

‘Did you see anything else odd or unusual recently, either at the Durhams' or somewhere else along the road?' Murray said.

‘That old woman has a man over sometimes,' Willetts said. ‘That the sort of thing you're after?'

‘We can still go down to the station,' Ella said.

‘I've seen nothing.' Willetts thrust the binoculars under the table.

‘Your house is exceedingly fresh and tidy,' Ella said.

‘I clean daily, like any normal person.'

‘Your garden too,' she said. ‘It must be frustrating when somebody messes that up.'

‘Like when a dog kills your grass,' Murray said.

Willetts narrowed his eyes. ‘And I might get so frustrated that I'd hurt someone? No sirree. Not me.'

‘Where were you last afternoon and evening?' Ella said.

‘Right here, watching the news and one of those talent shows, then
60 Minutes
.'

‘Can anybody confirm that?'

‘No. In case you haven't noticed, I live alone.'

‘Have you ever been in trouble with the police?' Ella said.

‘No,' he said. ‘Never. And I think it's time you left.'

He bustled them downstairs and out, then slammed the front door behind them.

‘Touchy,' Ella said.

‘He couldn't focus when you went upstairs,' Murray said. ‘Probably got OCD and hates having people in his house.'

Ella glanced back as they crossed the street and saw Willetts watching them from the window. ‘Neat freaks can snap.'

‘He's a prospect,' Murray agreed. ‘Look him up when we get back to the office.'

The Durhams' front door was open and Ella tapped on the frame. Simon let them in.

James sat on the lounge staring into space with the dog on his lap.

‘Have you had any more texts, or a call?' Ella asked him.

He shook his head dully. Simon hovered like an anxious mother.

‘No more thoughts about what might be going on?' Murray said.

James shook his head again.

‘He's been trying, though,' Simon put in.

‘Okay,' Ella said. ‘We'll be in touch.'

They got in the car and headed towards Padstow to talk to Stacey's sister, and Ella pondered. James had looked like a man who was thinking hard, but was he thinking about who might've taken his wife and where she might be, or something else?

FIVE

R
owan stood in front of his wardrobe in his underpants. He didn't know why it was so difficult to decide what to wear. He was only really going to the cafe to get Megan off his back, and he figured that after today he'd be safe from future set-ups for a good few months. So he wasn't trying to dress to impress anyone, but at the same time it felt important to dress normally. Act normally. Whatever that meant. Though in one respect it didn't matter – he hadn't been out with anyone in this sort of circumstance for twenty-five years, so nobody would expect him to be normal. Right?

Emelia came in and walked a dinosaur along the edge of the bed. ‘Where your pants?'

Jeans would be fine.

‘Right here,' he said, pulling them on. ‘This shirt, or this shirt?'

She studied them, then pointed to the blue and white checks. ‘That one.'

‘Done.'

He buttoned it up and looked himself in the eyes in the mirror. Not too nervous. More or less normal. Good.

*

The Merrylands cafe was busy. Rowan looked around and a woman at a small table by the window caught his eye. She half-stood, raising a hand. Megan had described her as forty-five but looking forty, with short red-brown hair and a face like a cherub. He went over.

‘Imogen?'

‘Rowan.' She smiled. ‘It's nice to meet you.'

‘And you.' He sat down and a waitress came over.

‘Chai tea latte, please,' Imogen said.

‘Mugaccino for me, thanks,' Rowan said.

When the waitress had left and they were sitting alone, he couldn't think of anything to say. His palms were damp and he pressed them to his jeans. He felt like he shouldn't have come. He kept thinking about the apology he should've made to Stacey, and the look on her face when he saw her last.

Imogen smiled brightly. ‘So Megan told me you're a paramedic.'

He nodded. Yes, work. Talk about work. ‘Twenty years, give or take,' he said. ‘And you were in accounts?'

‘For about the same length of time,' she said. ‘I took a redundancy and decided to do what I'd always loved, hence the graphic design course. Where I met Megan.'

They fell silent again. Around them people chattered. The air was cold and Rowan felt awkward and out of place. He missed Jen, and had a flash of her sitting opposite, smiling and swinging her crossed leg under the table to poke him in the knee with the toe of her shoe.

Imogen shifted in her chair. She seemed as uncomfortable, as stuck for conversation, as he felt.

He scratched around in his mind. ‘So, do you have kids?'

‘Three,' she said. ‘Chloe's twenty-two, and Trina and Mark have just turned eighteen. They're twins. Chloe's an architect, works for a big firm in the city, and the others are in Year Twelve. You?'

‘Two boys,' he said. ‘Simon, who's with Megan. He's twenty and works in a friend's computer business. And Angus, who's twenty-four now.'

Twenty-four and two weeks, to be precise. He never forgot, just like he never forgot the tiny things, like the baby ringlets of wet hair that would curl up his soft neck after a bath, or the same neck tanned and broader as he grew through his teen years.

‘And what does he do?' Imogen asked.

‘I don't know,' Rowan said. ‘He left home five years ago saying he was going to the country to work, and we've only had the odd postcard from him since. No return address, no real message except hello.'

‘That would be awful,' Imogen said.

It was, Rowan thought. Angus didn't know that his mother was dead, nor that he was an uncle.

The waitress brought their drinks and left. Imogen kept her gaze fixed on her tea as she stirred it. Rowan felt even more that he should've cancelled. So what if he couldn't have done anything to help find Stacey – he wouldn't be feeling like this.

‘So,' she said, ‘you live at Homebush?'

Enough, he thought. ‘I'm really sorry, but I think this might've been a bad idea.' At the look in her eyes he added quickly, ‘It's not you. A friend of mine is missing. I feel distracted. I shouldn't have come. Megan said I'd be fine, but I don't think I am.'

‘It's okay.' She looked interested. ‘What happened?'

He found himself telling her about it. ‘And so I really feel I should be doing something.'

‘But what could you do?'

‘I've been thinking about that. I could ask her friends if they've seen her or heard from her.'

‘Won't the cops do that?'

‘Yeah, but every little thing will help. Won't it?'

She looked at him for a moment. ‘Do you know where they live?'

‘More or less. With a bit of help from Google I can get there.'

‘So let's go.' She downed half her drink in a gulp.

‘Really?'

‘You said yourself, every little bit might help. And Megan wouldn't be happy with either of us if we'd only met for ten minutes.'

He felt better. Action was always the best way to go. ‘Okay then.'

*

Marie Kennedy, Stacey's sister, was a tense and angular woman of forty-three, dressed in white three-quarter pants, a silver and black top, black sandals, and large silver hoop earrings that swung against the ends of her black bob. The furniture in the room was in disarray, as if she'd been in the middle of rearranging it. She sat on a chair pushed into a corner, but within a minute was on her feet again, pacing about, wiping dust from the spines of shelved books with a fingertip, adjusting the position of ceramic ornaments and framed photos by millimetres.

‘I'm just glad Mum and Dad aren't here,' she said. ‘This anxiety would kill them.'

It'd taken twice as long as normal to get her date of birth and other details because she couldn't keep on track. Ella blinked hard against her growing headache, and said, ‘So you had coffee with Stacey at her place on Wednesday, and that was the last time you saw her, but you talked to her yesterday afternoon. What time was that?'

‘About three thirty,' Marie said.

‘How was she?'

‘She was absolutely fine. Cheerful and happy.' Marie looked with distaste at her fingertips, then rubbed them against her thumb.

‘Did she call for any particular reason?'

‘My daughter's twenty-first is coming up. We're trying to decide whether to have it here or at a restaurant. I went to see a couple of places last week and Stacey wanted to know what they were like. The birthday was what we talked about when I was there on Wednesday too. Because I'm on my own she helps me with things like that. You know? My husband, Paul, was killed in a work accident eleven years ago. He drove a truck, and hit another on the Hume Highway. The other driver died too. The police said they were burned. I hope they were unconscious at least. But anyway, times like this you wish more than ever he was still here.'

Her gaze couldn't stay in one place for more than an instant. Her hands trembled as she tweaked and retweaked the position of a framed photo.

Ella said, ‘How about you sit down?'

Marie perched on the edge of the chair, her hands pressed between her knees. Her shoulders were high, her breaths like little sips of air that hardly moved her chest. She bounced her heels on the carpet.

‘Are you all right?' Ella said. It felt like anything could happen, like Marie might burst out screaming, or suddenly confess.

‘My sister's missing,' Marie said. ‘How “all right” am I supposed to be?' She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

‘Would you like a glass of water?' Murray said.

Marie shook her head and held up a hand. ‘I'm okay,' she said, then her eyes rolled back and she slumped neatly to the floor.

Murray leapt to his feet. ‘I'll call an ambulance.'

‘Hold your horses.' Ella had seen people collapse in similar fashion and knew the real ones were never so cautious. She knelt by Marie and saw she was breathing fine. She squeezed her arm. ‘Marie.'

Marie didn't respond.

‘Now will I call?'

Ella shot him a look. She brushed Marie's hair off her face and saw her flinch. ‘Faking,' she mouthed at Murray.

‘What?' he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked back at Marie, thinking she was either trying to get away from the questions or hoping to garner sympathy. Ella plumped for the second. She said to Murray, ‘Pass me that cushion. She's obviously fainted from the stress, poor thing. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, having lost your husband and now with your sister missing.'

Murray handed her the cushion, looking confused. Ella tucked it gently under Marie's head. She saw Marie's eyes flicker, and laid it on thick. ‘The poor, poor thing. Murray, doesn't this job sometimes break your heart? It's just so terrible, what people have to go through.'

Marie whimpered and reached weakly for Ella's hand.

‘So sad,' Ella said, thinking
Bingo!

Marie blinked and looked around. ‘Did I pass out?'

‘Just for a second,' Ella said. ‘Are you feeling better?'

‘A little.'

They helped her sit up on the chair. Murray still looked puzzled. ‘You're sure you're all right?'

‘I'm fine,' Marie said. ‘It happens sometimes. I have hypotension. Low blood pressure. At times of great stress it drops even lower and down I go. Could I have a glass of water, please, and perhaps a damp cloth for my forehead?'

Ella fetched them from the kitchen, and Marie smiled weakly as Ella put the glass on the coffee table. ‘On the coaster, please. Save the timber.'

Ella lifted the glass and slid the tile coaster underneath without a word, and handed her the tea towel. Marie leaned back and placed it over her forehead and eyes.
Covering up
? Ella thought.
Because she
doesn't want to see us?
Perhaps the ‘faint' wasn't only about attention after all.

Murray seemed sucked in. ‘Would you prefer to do this later?'

‘No, no. I can go on. She's my sister.'

Ella re-opened her notebook and got stuck in. ‘Stacey's younger than you, correct?'

‘Four years. I'm her big sister. Always looked out for her when we were kids.' She pressed the tea towel to her face with one hand.

‘There are no other siblings?' Murray asked.

‘No.'

‘Any cousins or such that she's close to?' Ella said.

‘We only have four, and they all live in Hobart. We haven't seen or spoken to them for years.' Marie put down the towel. ‘I feel much better now. Thank you.'

‘What about her friends?' Ella said. ‘Have you met any of them? Do you know who she's closest to?'

‘The three she talks about most are Aimee, Claire and Vicky. They're either nurses or paramedics – I can't keep track. I've met them all at one time or another. They're all lovely.' She took a sip of water.

‘Do you happen to have their phone numbers or addresses?' Murray asked.

‘I don't, I'm sorry. They'd all be in her phone.'

Ella nodded. ‘Did Stacey confide in you about any problems she was having?'

‘We talked about work issues sometimes,' Marie said. ‘Sometimes she'd have an upsetting case, or a bystander would cause problems. She can be easily frustrated and sometimes she stews on these things. A few times she had to work with paramedics she didn't get on with, and that annoys her as well. But she's been pretty happy the last year or so.'

‘What about personal things, like her marriage?' Ella said.

‘From what I've seen, there's nothing to confide. They hardly argue. They always look happy. And he's often holding her hand. Paul never wanted to hold mine, I can tell you. James is a nice guy. Ask me, she's lucky.'

‘You sound envious,' Ella said.

‘No, I just think she's lucky. How's James doing? I tried to call him a little while ago but he didn't answer.'

‘He's upset,' Murray said.

‘You and he were in a relationship in your teens, is that right?' Ella said.

‘Of a sort.' Marie smiled. ‘Like any sixteen-year-old girl, I thought it was much more than it was. Like any sixteen-year-old boy, he thought it was much less.'

‘So . . .' Ella said.

‘So to me it was serious and to him it was a bit of fun,' she said. ‘And fun could be had in many places.'

‘Who broke it off?' Murray asked.

‘It was never really enough of a thing to be broken off.'

Ella felt she was taking them in circles. ‘So he was seeing other people and you thought he shouldn't, then he kept seeing those other people and stopped seeing you.'

‘Yes,' Marie said. ‘That about sums it up.'

‘Did he and Stacey know each other well back then?' Murray said.

‘Not particularly. She was only twelve. Still a child. She would've barely been on his radar.'

‘So what was it like when they met up again at Rowan Wylie's place?' Ella asked.

Marie shrugged. ‘I wasn't there.'

‘What did Stacey tell you?'

‘She was laughing, she thought it was funny. After so many years, and who'd've thought. They started going out pretty much straight away. Next thing they were engaged, then married. Paris, my daughter, was a bridesmaid.'

‘How did that make you feel?' Ella said.

‘Happy and proud,' Marie said with a big smile. ‘For all of them.'

‘So Stacey's good friends with Rowan?' Ella asked.

‘They get along well at work, Stacey's told me that much.'

‘Do they spend time together outside the job?'

‘Sometimes at that kiddies' playground,' Marie said. ‘I don't remember her talking about any other time.'

Ella nodded. ‘Have you ever felt that Stacey or James might be seeing someone else?'

‘Having an affair?' Marie looked horrified. ‘No, a million times no. They're the most loving happy couple I've ever seen. It's wrong to even suggest such a thing.'