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Things got instantly busier. Rojas lost interest in Lexi like a dog spying a better stick to maul. He ran across the car park, his long legs carrying him in a pincer movement. The younger officer made a radio call. He swallowed and pursed his lips before addressing Lexi. “You’ll have to remain here, miss. We need to question you.”
She nodded, holding her blood-stained hands away from her clothing. The cool wind set about her, blowing through her jeans and attacking her bare arms. The sun slipped behind a fluffy grey cloud. Lexi craved the leather jacket she’d left in her vehicle.
Garima rose as the paramedics lifted Darlene’s stretcher. He whirled in the gravel and stepped to Lexi’s side. “I should ride in the ambulance with her.” His complexion mirrored the colour of ash. “Are you okay to wait here?”
Lexi clamped her teeth over her tongue before nodding. She’d rather paddle in shark-infested waters than remain within spitting distance of Harvey Rojas. But she recognised the conflict in her brother’s eyes. “I’m fine,” she lied. But her trembling lower lip made a liar of her.
“Lex?” He leaned down until his forehead almost touched hers. She clamped her lips closed to prevent the scream escaping from her chest. As though receiving a telepathic communication, Garima shot a glance at Rojas’ broad spine. The officer kept his hands behind his back as he peered into the depths of the skip. “You have history with that guy?”
Lexi blew out a breath. She didn’t know where to start. “He’s Tarant Leon’s brother-in-law,” she whispered. “He detests private investigators. And he hates my guts for other reasons, too.” She gulped as Darlene Barrymore released a sob of gargantuan proportions. Her stretcher slid into the bowels of the ambulance and her cries echoed. Lexi relented. “You go. She needs a priest.” Lexi flexed her shaking knees. “I just need a lawyer.”
But Rojas refused Garima’s polite request to accompany his parishioner in the ambulance. “No way!” he asserted. “You’re a witness. I’ll let you wait indoors, but Officer Smythe stays with you.” He jerked his chin towards the man’s radio. “Get them to send a unit to the hospital. They need that woman’s statement as soon as possible.”
Garima’s shoulders slumped. He stepped into the ambulance to break the news to a distraught Darlene. She wailed louder as the paramedics bore her away.
“Can I wash my hands?” Lexi addressed her question to Officer Smythe.
“Sorry.” He wrinkled his nose. “The forensics guys need a sample.”
“But it’s Darlene’s blood!” Lexi protested. “From the cuts on the back of her head.”
“Is she being difficult?” Rojas pushed his muscular shoulder between Lexi and his subordinate. “If she gives you even the smallest excuse, cuff her! Just wait for me before you interview her. She’s tricky.”
Garima’s elbow bumped Lexi’s spine. The tiny act of solidarity fortified her. She forced herself to ignore the metallic tang rising from her rigidified fingers. At Officer Smythe’s direction, they walked across the car park and into the corridor. Lexi stumbled, her eyes struggling with the darkness after the brightness of the day. Garima steadied her, skipping forward to lead the way. Smythe tangled with the abandoned vacuum cleaner, bouncing off the wall like a skittle. Lexi prayed Rojas met the same fate but broke his boxy neck in the process.
“She can’t stay like that.” Garima appealed to Smythe once in the vestry. He spun with his arms outstretched to take in the scruffy, but immaculate office.
“I won’t touch anything,” Lexi promised. Her voice emerged with the huskiness of stress. “I won’t, Gari.” She sank into the visitor’s battered armchair and balanced her elbows on her knees.
“Sorry, sir.” Smythe stationed himself just inside the vestry door like a jailer. Garima sank into his chair. He positioned himself sideways to avoid catching sight of Lexi’s hands. He withdrew his rosary from an inside pocket and ran his fingers over the smooth beads. His lashes fluttered and his lips moved in prayer. The blood turned a garish brown on Lexi’s fingers and palms.
Sirens, vehicles, and police personnel filled the church’s inadequate car park. Lexi fought to keep her aching arms raised while Smythe stared holes into her right cheek. A tiny woman wearing a white disposable jumpsuit scraped blood from Lexi’s palms with a long-stemmed cotton bud. She smiled from within the confines of her hood, offering wordless reassurance. Deft, capable movements captured both samples and photographs. Lexi thanked Garima’s God they didn’t search her. Lachlan’s wad of dirty money still nestled inside her bra.
“Who died?” Lexi asked her. “Who’s in the skip?”
But the woman didn’t answer.
“Can she wash them now?” Garima peered up from his rosary. His hair stood on end and rapid blinks betrayed his nearness to a meltdown.
“She can.” The woman smiled and backed towards the door.
Garima shot from his seat like a champagne cork. He set off at a clip along the corridor. Smythe ran to keep up with Lexi as she barrelled after him.
“Wait!” he cried. His voice echoed off the panelling. “We might need your clothing.”
Despite Garima’s horror, Smythe kept the ladies bathroom door open with his foot. He watched Lexi as she lathered soap over her fingers and washed them twice. A cursory sniff satisfied her she’d rid herself of the stain. A cheap floral gel had replaced the metallic tang. Lexi stared at her reflection in the mirror. She shifted her gaze to the cubicles behind her and considered asking to use the toilet. After imagining the panic it might cause, she relented. They trooped back to the vestry like naughty children.
“The Holy Father is the Pope, Lex.” Garima spoke into the awkward silence as Lexi settled into her armchair.
“What?” She wrinkled her nose and her lips pulled back from her teeth.
“You called me the holy father,” Garima replied. “I’m just a priest. The Holy Father is the Pope.”
Lexi dropped her chin. A dreadful urge to cackle with hysterical laughter burned in her chest. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. The blood stains had forced her to ignore the last eight calls. She tugged her device free after a cursory glance at Smythe. His lips parted, but he didn’t challenge her. Her shoulders slumped. “It’s my boss,” she said. “Please, can I answer him?”
Smythe pursed his lips, but didn’t seem to know the answer. Lexi capitalised on his confusion by answering Tarant’s next call. “Hey.” Her voice held an unfamiliar tightness. “I can’t talk now.”
“Put it on speaker.” Smythe regained enough control to issue the command.
Tarant’s voice gained a tinny quality against the polished clerical implements lining the shelf behind Lexi. “I’ve booked the client for ten o’clock tomorrow. He’s seen the photographs but demanded to speak to you.”
“You’re on speaker.” Lexi hoped he’d grasp the note of warning in her voice. “Before you say any names.”
“Where are you?” His tone softened.
Lexi swallowed. “I’m sitting in a Catholic church right now. It’s not a good time.” Her heart prickled. An image of Tarant’s powerful arms encircling her popped into her mind. A heady flush infused her cheeks. She wished she hadn’t batted away his overtures of reconciliation so fast. Straightening her spine, she reinforced her earlier decision. An inner voice told her she deserved more than to serve as a weak man’s stop-gap.
Tarant’s laugh barked from the speaker. “It’s a bit late to seek absolution, Lexi!” He snorted, adding insult to injury. As though a hidden hand passed him a note in a silent exam, he remembered. “Sorry. You’re seeing your brother.”
Smythe’s eyes widened as Tarant made the connection. He gave Lexi the side-eye and shot a glance at Garima. Lexi exhaled. “I don’t know if I can make that appointment. Not sure where I’ll be. Talk to you later. Please stop blowing up my phone.”
Tarant’s protest ended with the push of a button. Lexi knew he wanted to ask her about the Facebook inquiry. She rose enough to stuff her phone into her jeans pocket before sitting awkwardly on one butt cheek. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited.
