Thin Blood (15 page)

Instead, Jacinta
pushed the whole matter back into the dark recesses of her mind to deal with
later. She needed time to digest it. Time to come to terms with it. Time to let
go.

Like two chess
opponents, they sized each other up across the table. Daniel made the first
move, sliding one of the two glasses of wine toward her. In a show of bravado,
she picked it up, raising it in a quasi toast. Checkmate.

Narelle lounged on the bed, her
fingers laced over her abdomen as she watched her husband’s silhouette through
the adjoining en suite’s steam-obscured shower glass. In the middle of
shampooing his hair, he suddenly burst into song, his deep baritone voice
filling the bedroom.

Giggling, she
slid off the bed and, taking the phone from the bedside table, left Craig to
finish showering.

She dialled as
she walked. For some reason the call cut off after only two rings. She tried
again, not waiting for a greeting when it connected, her words coming out in a
breathless rush. “Great news! It’s definite. I’m pregnant.”

Nothing.

“Jacinta, are
you there?”

“Sorry.” Her
voice sounded edgy. “I mean, congratulations. I’m so pleased for you. How did
hubby take the news?”

“Brilliantly,”
she said, briefly wondering why she hadn’t referred to Craig by name. “Oh,
Jacinta, I really couldn’t have hoped for more. He’s thrilled to bits that he’s
going to be a daddy.” She laughed. “I don’t know why I was so concerned. It was
obviously meant to be. A new start.”

“We’ll talk
soon.”

Narelle frowned,
disappointed by her friend’s lack of exuberance. Then, in the background, she
heard the scramble of muffled voices, music and clatter that could only belong
to a bar or restaurant. So completely caught up in her own excitement, she had
blocked out all else.

“Oh, shit. I’ve
interrupted something, haven’t I?”

“Sorry.” Jacinta
sounded distracted. “Can I call you later?”

She hung up,
turning to see Craig towelling his hair dry as he padded half-naked down the
hall toward her. In the space of less than an hour, he had grown in stature,
exuding more confidence than she had seen in him in a long time.

“Who were you
talking to?”

A simple
question asked in a casual tone, yet instantly her guard went up. For a split
second, she thought about lying. He had made no secret of his disdain for
Jacinta, blaming her for all their current woes. Avoiding the issue wouldn’t solve
them, though.

“Just Jacinta.”
She watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction. “I’m so excited I want to
tell the whole world our news.” She beamed at him, hoping to catch him up in
her enthusiasm.

A flicker of
something she didn’t recognise passed over his features, disappearing almost
immediately. With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he traced the
outline of her face with his finger, brushing a wayward curl aside.

“My darling
Narelle, that probably wasn’t the wisest thing you could’ve done. I wish for
your sake you could see through that woman. She isn’t to be trusted. How many
lies and half-truths has she told you, I wonder? Remember, she’s a journalist
first and foremost.” He paused. “Don’t be surprised if you get your wish.
Although I doubt the news will be reported in the way you expect.”

Inwardly she
groaned, hoping her face didn’t betray her thoughts. “I’m not as naïve as you
seem to think. Yes, Jacinta was a reporter and yes, we were probably just a
story to her initially.” She hesitated, taking a deep breath. “But think about
it: if she hadn’t come along when she did, we’d still be hiding like criminals
behind closed doors. She did us a favour. I like Jacinta, and if you would just
give her a chance, I’m sure you would, too.”

He didn’t say
anything, but she could see his mind ticking over. At least it wasn’t the
short-fused, defensive reaction she had come to expect of late. She quickly
kissed him, stymieing any further debate. Then, with a cheeky smack on his bum,
she sent him to get dressed. An almost naked, towel-clad man with damp,
mussed-up hair just didn’t gel with deep and meaningful conversation.

A building
queasiness in the pit of her stomach interrupted her thoughts and sent her
scurrying to the kitchen in search of relief. Now she knew the reason for her
nausea, it didn’t seem half as bad. But why they called it morning sickness,
she’d never know. She’d had bouts morning, noon and night.

By the time the
kettle boiled, her nausea was already waning of its own accord. She sweetened
the gingery herbal tea with a teaspoon of honey before carrying it down to the
living room.

Craig emerged
not long after, barefoot but fully clothed in jeans and a black T-shirt.
Stepping down into the room, he glanced over at the whisky bottle on the bar.
Narelle continued to sip the hot aromatic tea, doing her best to appear
nonchalant as she waited to see what he would do. He didn’t falter.

“Have the police
been in touch?” he asked, flopping down onto the couch next to her.

His question
caught her unawares. “What?”

“The police. Any
news on when the DNA results will be in?” He gazed at an invisible spot on the
floor, stroking his freshly shaven face.

“Not yet. They
did say it would be a week to ten days.” Setting her cup on the coffee table,
she then snuggled up to him. He smelt clean and fresh, the faint scent of soap
lingering. “I hope it is Kirsty.” She felt him stiffen. “I mean, it’s better
than not knowing, right? And the insurance company would have no more excuses
for not paying up,” she added, referring to the $1,000,000 insurance policy on
Kirsty’s life.

Sighing, he
draped his left arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. “If only it
were that simple,” he said, his lips brushing her forehead.

“Why can’t it
be? Think about it…”

“Believe me, I
have been. Every moment of every day. Don’t you understand? If the remains
prove to be Kirsty’s, they’ll have proof positive she was murdered. I’m going
to be back in the frame again. They had no problem charging me with murder when
they didn’t have a body. What do you think my chances would be
with
a
body?” He sighed, his voice dropping as he continued. “You wanted me to be
honest with you. Well, the truth is I’m shit-scared. I feel like there’s a huge
guillotine suspended over my neck and at any moment it could come down…”

His volatile
moods and heavy drinking started to make sense. “Oh, Craig, why didn’t you tell
me sooner?”

“What, and
burden you with it? Besides, what could you have done?”

“I’m your wife
and I love—” His arms tightened around her. She could barely breathe, let alone
speak. She felt a wetness on the side of her face and realised he was crying.
His chest heaved in silent sobs.

Pressing her
face hard against his chest, smothering her own tears, she silently berated
herself for not seeing the obvious. Blinded by her own wants and needs, she
hadn’t stopped to consider what the real ramifications of unearthing human
remains — that might or might not be Kirsty’s — would be.

Believing in her
husband’s innocence would no longer be enough.

Jacinta groaned and, unwilling to
open her sleep-leaden eyes, groped for the phone.

“Hello.”

“I need you out
on a job ASAP.”

“Anthea?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t
ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Ask what?” In
Jacinta’s half-comatose state, Anthea Sutton, her old boss and the editor of
The
Acacia Tribune
, wasn’t making any sense.

“I’ve had a
tip-off and I want you to check it out.”

Jacinta rubbed
her palm over her forehead and eyes. “But that’s not my job anymore.”

“Please,
Jacinta, I don’t have anyone else available.”

I told you so
,
thought Jacinta, biting her tongue. Cost-cutting measures had seen
The
Acacia Tribune
sack all but one of its salaried staff reporters, using
freelancers instead to fill the gap.

“You don’t start
with Alvico Media until Monday, do you?” Anthea added, in a less than subtle
reminder that she was calling in a favour. “Besides, I think it may be in your
interest to follow it up. From what I hear, it may have something to do with
the old Edmonds murder case.”

Jacinta’s eyes
sprung open. With the phone clamped against her ear, she scrambled to sit up.
“What exactly have you heard?”

“Human remains
found a week ago in the Toolangi State Forest are thought to be those of Kirsty
Edmonds, right? Well, something else must be going on as well, because
according to my sources, the area is literally swarming with police. My guess
is they’ve found something or someone else.”

So much for
confidentiality
, thought Jacinta as, still listening to Anthea, she threw
back the bedclothes and made a beeline for the walk-in-robe. Against her better
judgment, she had stayed on at the bar, not only to prove to herself how tough
she could be, but also in the hope of obtaining the information Daniel had
baited her with earlier in the day. Speculation or not, it seemed that the
snippets Daniel had divulged were far from secret. Anthea knew more than she
did. “I’m on my way,” she said, taking the top pair of jeans from the shelf.
“I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.”

She dressed
quickly and then, checking first that she had her mobile phone, Dictaphone, a
notepad and pens, she gathered up her satchel and car keys. Closing the front
door behind her, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt over how easily
Anthea had talked her around.
But this is it
, she told herself.
No
more
.

Once in her car,
she hauled the UBD street directory from the backseat on to her lap. Although
she knew the general direction in which she should be travelling, the last
thing she needed was to get lost. However, on checking the map on the inside
cover, she realised that was still an option. The UBD would get her to
Healesville but not beyond.

She checked the
pocket behind her seat and found a slim and much dated book of country road
maps, but they didn’t prove to be of much assistance either. While the maps
named the main roads, the secondary roads and tracks, marked by solid and
dotted orange lines respectively, remained unidentified.

With the UBD
directory open on the passenger seat, she backed her car out onto the street,
deciding her best bet was to get to Healesville first and then take it from
there.

Driving against
the peak-hour traffic, it took her just over an hour to reach the small
township of Healesville, on the outskirts of Melbourne. She cruised down the
tree-lined main street and pulled into a parking space outside the historical
Grand Hotel.

She removed the
keys from the ignition, turning her head to check for traffic before opening
the car door. A Channel 7 News van sped past, bringing her plans to buy maps, a
drink and a belated breakfast to an abrupt halt. In her panic to follow the TV
crew, she dropped her car keys on the floor, losing precious time. Unless some
major catastrophe she didn’t know about had happened in the area, she was
betting that Channel 7 would lead her to where she wanted to go.

Ignoring her
parched throat and the gnawing in her stomach, she pulled out onto the roadway.
Hunched over the steering wheel, she pushed her little Nissan Pulsar hard, only
easing off the accelerator when she was virtually tailgating the other vehicle.

Paddocks
replaced housing as they left the township. Jacinta opened her window and
breathed deeply, savouring the taste of the clean, green country air lingering
like a mouth-freshener. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her missed
breakfast.

Open farmland
eventually gave way to majestic Mountain Ash. She followed the news van deeper
and deeper into the dense forest, hoping she would be able to find her way out
again. Signposts were few and far between, and with her sense of direction, she
could see herself driving around and around in circles.

According to
Anthea, she should be looking for an old, overgrown logging road not marked on
the map. So far she had passed at least seven dirt tracks fitting that
description. She sincerely hoped the TV news crew had been given better
directions.

She needn’t have
worried. Up ahead, police, media and civilian vehicles packed both sides of the
road, slowing traffic to a crawl. Flashing neon lights couldn’t have been more
effective. The Channel 7 van braked suddenly and pulled onto the gravel verge,
leaving Jacinta with no option except to continue driving through the tunnel of
cars, 4-wheel drives and vans. At the end, she did a U-turn, her passenger side
wheels sinking into the road’s soft shoulder as she parked behind a black
Toyota Prado with tinted windows.

Once out of the
car, she walked with long, purposeful strides. Loud-mouthed reporters vying for
attention jarred the forest’s natural calm. Cameras and microphones jostled for
position as young, uniformed constables standing sentry behind blue and white
police tape struggled to keep them at bay.

“How many more
skeletons have been found?”

“Are they male
or female?”

“Is it true that
one of the victims is Kirsty Edmonds?”

“What’s been
done to identify the remains?”

“Are you
investigating missing person’s files?”

“Who made the
gruesome discovery?”

“Who is the
officer in charge of the investigation?”

“What can you
tell us about how the victims were killed?”

Unfazed, the
police officers stood their ground, deftly deflecting the media’s endless
questions. Jacinta smiled to herself. She had seen the same scene played out
countless times before.