Thin Blood (25 page)

Not being privy
to the police investigation didn’t mean she had no reason to be there. “What
about Narelle?”

“What about
her?”

“Police are
crawling all over her home. Isn’t she at least entitled to have someone with
her? You’ve already carted her husband off.”

A look of
exasperation passed between the two detectives. Jacinta waited, confident in
the knowledge they couldn’t reasonably refuse her request. But before that
could happen, a young uniformed officer flew out the front door and down the
steps toward them.

“Mrs Edmonds has
collapsed.” He slowed to a trot, gulping air. “We’ve called an ambulance,” he
added, as Daniel strode past him back into the house.

Angry that
Narelle had been pushed to the point of collapse, Jacinta tried to go her
friend’s aid, but DS White barred her way.

“She is being
looked after. Please wait outside.”

Jacinta wanted
to tell her where to shove it, but thought better of it. Although Narelle was
ill and alone with a bunch of strangers, the same strangers who had been
systematically ransacking her home, causing a scene could only further distress
her.

It was still dark when Detective
Inspector Daniel Lassiter arrived at work on Monday morning. Unable to sleep,
he had tossed and turned for the best part of the night, mumbled groans from
Wendy’s side of the bed finally prompting him to get up. He dressed in the
dark, and by the time he leaned over to kiss his wife goodbye, she was snoring
gently.

Once under the
station’s fluorescent lights, he used the mirror in the men’s toilets to check
his appearance. He ran a hand over his unshaven face, wondering briefly if he
could get away with it. Then he glanced at his feet, lifting the legs of his
trousers to reveal matching black socks. Relieved he had that right at least,
he went to get his toilet bag.

Having finished
his ablutions, he spent the next half-hour restlessly roaming the deserted
corridors, a mug of double-strength instant coffee clutched in his hands. No
phones rang, the low hum of the air-conditioners the only sound. A faint hint
of curry — someone’s takeaway dinner from the night before, no doubt — lingered
in the air.

He walked past
the Major Incident room’s closed door twice before deciding that was where he
should be. Stepping into the windowless room, he flicked the light switch on
the wall just inside the door. The resulting burst of light reflecting off the
shiny surface of the large mobile whiteboard acted like an exploding flashbulb,
temporarily blinding him. He blinked, bringing the room into focus.

An eclectic mix
of office chairs lined one side of the long trestle table positioned parallel
to the whiteboard. Except for one empty glass and two coffee cups clustered
together at one end, the table was empty. Setting his own cup beside the
others, he straddled one of the chairs and, with his arms folded across the
chair back, studied the whiteboard and adjacent wall.

Enlarged copies
of both the photograph and the driver’s licence seized from the Edmonds’ house
drew his attention. While not enough to convict Craig Edmonds, their discovery
had been a significant breakthrough. The photograph, picturing an obviously
inebriated Tamara Whitfield hanging off Craig Edmonds at a staff Christmas
party, her arms looped around his neck, clearly showed he had been on more
intimate terms with the murdered woman than he had let on. Even supposing the
photograph was nothing more than the result of festive frivolity, it didn’t
explain finding architect Chandra Pinder’s driver’s licence tucked inside the
flap of one of Craig’s old diaries.

Something
bothered him, though. Although he hadn’t been involved with the original
investigation, he had no doubt the initial search would have been as thorough,
if not more so, than the one that had uncovered the photograph and driver’s
licence. One of the items could have been missed, but not both. It all seemed
too convenient.

Daniel also
wasn’t one for coincidences. Acting on anonymous information, he and his team
had been granted a warrant to search for firearms at the Edmonds’ property.
Yet, when they arrived to execute the warrant, the mystery gun had vanished,
the only evidence of its existence a bullet in the ceiling. Gut instinct told
him they had been meant to find the photograph and driver’s licence.

The bullet he
wasn’t too sure about. Could that have been staged, too? Preliminary ballistics
results had identified the bullet recovered from the ceiling and those found
with the human remains in the Toolangi State Forest as coming from a
.38-calibre revolver. Every gun left distinctive marks on a bullet. However,
the bullet fired inside the house had hit a steel coach bolt, mangling it and
greatly diminishing the odds of matching its striations with those of the
others. Without the gun, they had nothing.

His gaze moved
to the Toolangi crime scene photos grouped together on the wall. In less than a
two-year period, two young women had been murdered, their bodies dumped in
bushland, and another had disappeared, assumedly under the same circumstances.
Then the killings had stopped. Kirsty Edmonds had been the last known victim,
but where was her body? He needed to expand the search area even further. She
had to be there somewhere.

But what had
been the murderer’s motive? Daniel now knew all three women had links to Craig
Edmonds, but what reason would he have had to kill them? The discovery of the
first two victims’ remains, rather than strengthening the case against him,
weakened it. When he had been charged with his wife’s murder, the prosecution
had argued the age-old motives of sex and money. Not only had Kirsty stood in
his way of a life with her younger sister, Narelle, but her death meant he also
stood to gain $1,000,000 from the life insurance policy he had conveniently
taken out less than six months prior. Motive, opportunity, means. He had it
all, but without the body, it still hadn’t been enough.

Now they had two
bodies, but no motive. Maybe the answers lay with the victims themselves. What
common characteristics did they share? What sort of lifestyles had each led?
What were the relationships in their lives? Who were their friends? Did they
have any enemies? Standing up, he selected a green whiteboard marker and added
a series of question marks after each of the women’s names. By the end of the
day, he hoped to know everything there was to know about Tamara Whitfield and
Chandra Pinder.

Jacinta opened the shower door to
find a naked, bleary-eyed Brett holding out the phone. “Daniel for you.”

Stepping onto
the cotton bath mat, she pulled a towel from the rail. “Tell him I’ll call him
back in a couple of minutes,” she said, bending forward and wrapping the towel
around her head. Brett hadn’t seriously expected her to talk to anyone – let
alone her stepbrother – nude and dripping wet, had he?

Already running
late for work, she quickly dried herself off, sprayed her underarms with
deodorant, and missing the toner step, smeared moisturiser over her face. Then,
with one eye on the clock, she dialled Daniel, dressing one-handedly while she
waited for him to answer. She didn’t even have time to wonder why he had
called.

“Make it quick,
Daniel. Being late on my second week on the job is not a good look.” Her new
copywriter position wasn’t as stimulating as journalism, but it paid the bills.
She couldn’t afford to jeopardise that.

“Are you free
for lunch, then?”

“God, I haven’t
even thought that far ahead,” she replied, rummaging through her shoes, looking
for the mate of the wedge-heeled sandal on her right foot. “Can I call you when
I get to work?”

“Sure, but I
thought you ought to know Craig Edmonds is expected to be discharged some time
today. I imagine the news would be better coming from you — not that the
hospital would let me near your friend, anyway.”

Jacinta stopped
still. “Are they insane?” she exclaimed, not realising the irony of her words
but provoking a chuckle from Daniel.

“I sincerely
hope not.” He cleared his throat, serious again. “Call me as soon as you have a
few free minutes.”

Dumping the
phone on the floor beside her, she used both hands in her hunt for the missing
shoe. Precious seconds ticked by before she found it. Brushing her teeth took
another minute.

Brett, taking
full advantage of a late start, had gone back to bed. He lay flat on his back,
sounding like a chainsaw. With no time to spare, she grabbed her satchel and,
blowing him a kiss, ran out the door.

Hearing the
clang of tram bells in the distance, she sprinted for the corner, almost
spraining her ankle in the process. Only when she was seated and the tram had
moved off did she take stock. Feeling half-dressed, she wouldn’t have been
surprised to discover she had forgotten to put on her bra — or, worse, her
knickers. She ran a finger across her shoulder, feeling for the strap,
reassuring herself she wasn’t about to turn up at work braless.

With nothing
left to do except watch the traffic, her thoughts turned to Daniel’s phone
call. It was the first time she had heard from him since he stopped her
accompanying Narelle in the ambulance. There had only been room for one
additional person, and he had wanted that person to be a police officer. For
Narelle’s own protection, he had said.

Still in
hospital under observation, Narelle had yet to speak to the police. Her
obstetrician had insisted she was not fit to be interviewed, putting the cause
of her collapse down to undue stress. That had restricted Daniel’s access to
her, but not Jacinta’s. The first night she had gone to visit, Narelle had been
sleeping. The following evening, she was sitting up in bed, looking the most
rested Jacinta had seen her in a while. Narelle didn’t mention the police
search or the items they had uncovered, and as much as Jacinta wanted to ask,
she managed to limit the conversation to small talk.

And now, Daniel
had just informed her that Craig was about to be let loose on an unsuspecting
public again. Did he know about the search warrant? Did he know his wife had
been hospitalised? Did he know his father’s gun had disappeared? If he didn’t,
Jacinta didn’t want to be around when he found out.

Sighing, she
gathered up her satchel, slid past the petite Asian lady and her wheeled
shopping bag in the seat beside her, and waited at the back door for the next
stop. The tram trip had been a brief respite, but once her feet hit the
footpath, she was off again.

She arrived at
Alvico Media’s offices gasping for breath, but only ten minutes past her
scheduled starting time. Normally ten minutes would be neither here nor there
to her, but she had only just started in the job and first impressions counted.
Thumping her chest, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and then opened the door.
She slunk through the empty reception area, not encountering anyone on the way
to her office.

Grateful she
hadn’t had to use any one of the feeble excuses she had formulated on the way
in, she turned on her Apple Mac, using the time it took to power up to phone
Daniel. They arranged to meet at midday at Café Face, the same café where she
had first thought she was seeing things.

Preparing copy
for a new day spa’s brochure consumed most of her morning, her cramped muscles
hankering to take advantage of its services. She stood up, her intertwined
fingers stretching up over her head as she leaned first left and then right.
Collecting her satchel from the floor behind her, she made a detour via the
toilets, screwing her nose up at the makeup-free face in the mirror. Her
sunglasses and a touch of lipgloss didn’t remedy the situation, but helped.

By the time she
had battled the heat and lunchtime crowds and made it to Café Face, Daniel was
already waiting for her. He waved her over. Looking longingly at the chilled
drinks cabinet, she weaved her way through the tables to him.

“We can’t
exactly talk privately here,” she noted, taking in the packed tables as she
pulled out a chair and sat down. “Anyway, food first, talk second,” she said,
picking up the acrylic menu holder from the centre of the table. “I’m
famished.”

Daniel ordered a
healthy rare roast beef salad. Jacinta opted for a rocket, goat’s cheese and
crispy pancetta focaccia, making up for the breakfast she had missed.

Waiting for the
meals to arrive, Daniel casually asked after Narelle.

“She’s fine, but
you have to tell me what it was that got her so stressed out. What did you
find?”

Daniel folded
his arms, pressing his back against the seat.

“Come on,
Daniel, I’m going to find out eventually.”

He leaned
forward, his arms still firmly crossed over his chest. “As you said before,
this isn’t the right place to be talking about this.”

Jacinta frowned.
“So why are we here?”

“Can’t a man buy
his sister lunch?” he asked, fixing her with a smile.

She caught his
omission of ‘step’ and wondered if it had been intentional, or simply a slip of
the tongue. “That’s not what it sounded like when you rang this morning.”

He dropped his
arms, resting his large, square hands on the table, one covering the other.
“I’m not good at eating humble pie,” he said, his gaze and voice dropping.
“Sunday, I told you to stay away from the investigation. Officially, that’s
still the stance; unofficially, I think you could be in a position to help.”

Jacinta hunched
forward, keen to hear more.

“There’s one
proviso, though.” He held up a finger. “If, at any stage, I consider you might
be at risk, you are to do exactly what I tell you and withdraw. No arguments.
I’m putting my job on the line here.”

“Anything you
say, boss. Why the sudden change of heart?”