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“You didn’t ask if she’d paid for Trent Barnard’s defence barrister in the wrongful imprisonment case or the second trial?” Trent’s voice rattled from the phone as Lexi steered her SUV onto the expressway. Dust coated her windscreen. It mingled with the screen wash and the wiper blades to create ugly rainbows of filth.
“I didn’t get the chance,” Lexi confessed. She wiped her sweating palms on her thighs, releasing one at a time while she clutched the steering wheel in white-knuckled fingers. “I told her how Father Donald died, and she lost the plot. She screamed like I’d attacked her, and her daughter charged in and yelled at me to leave. I got the heck out of there before they lynched me.”
“But she believed in Trent’s innocence, so it’s possible she paid the bill.”
The word ‘bill,’ jogged a memory into Lexi’s tired brain. She remembered the council envelope she’d left on the hall table. Tarant cleared his throat and pulled her back to their crackled conversation. “I don’t think Casey paid anything. They’re as poor as church mice up there. Not sure they could afford it. I have a notion Sam Barnard paid for the trial in 2020, but I’m not certain where I picked up that assumption. Grant is searching through the accounts, so he’ll let me know soon. I’m more curious about the wrongful imprisonment case he started in 2015. Trent had served most of his sentence.”
“You’re still stuck on the compensation idea?” Trent cleared his throat. “Who could pull off something like that? Lachlan Mortimer?”
Lexi snorted. More disgust than mirth. “He doesn’t have the patience. And he only returned to New Zealand eight years ago. The timeline is wrong. But I’m certain he knows who, and he’s desperate to keep me away from them.”
“Can you ask him?”
“I’d rather not. I’d like to explore other avenues first.”
“Bummer about losing the watch.” Tarant’s interest piqued. “I’d hoped to make use of it.”
“Yeah.” Lexi’s tone flattened. “Either Rojas or the motorbike guy stole it. My money is on the biker. Oh, and Rojas fled when he saw him. So bizarre.”
“What did the motorbike guy do?”
“Nothing. That’s the weird part. He hopped the fence and stood there. Rojas bolted. I’ve never seen the man move so fast.”
“Regarding the Barnard case, we need to go back to the photograph.”
Lexi sighed. “I’m sick of looking at it. Those children’s faces are etched into my retinas. We’ve named all but two of them. They’re scrawny little things, not powerful enough to follow a grown woman through the bush and garrote her. Unless they’re demon spawn and they look quite cute. Pigtails and pretty dresses. Like angels.”
“Are we sure Liza died around the time she disappeared? She went for a walk and met her killer that afternoon?”
“The original coroner believed so. She knew that bush area like her own garden. Despite eleven years of decay, a medical examination showed no broken bones or debilitating injuries which could explain her meeting her killer while incapacitated.”
“Just the wire around her neck.”
“Yes. Casey maintained Trent’s innocence. She’s his other secret alibi, but didn’t come forward during the trial. Guilt has driven everything she’s done since then. She believed Liza went for an angry stomp to clear her head, but she’d return and demand an explanation.”
Tarant sighed. “We just keep going around in ever decreasing circles. What about objects in the photograph? Have we overlooked those?”
“A car.” Lexi ached to close her eyes and picture the image in her mind. But the traffic built ahead of her and forced her to slow. Brake lights flashed on and she couldn’t allow herself the distraction. “There’s a car,” she repeated. “Do you think you could enhance the photo enough to see the model and registration number? It’s just a blurred outline in the bottom left corner. A smudge really. My software isn’t powerful enough to pick out the letters. It’s a saloon though. Black and quite sleek.” She shrugged and winced at the drying sweat causing her shirt to stick to her spine. “I assumed it belonged to a camp worker or volunteer. This thing has spiralled so fast. I meant to ask Casey for the names of anyone else present the day Liza disappeared. Perhaps a parent stayed to help.”
“So, a registration number might unlock that part? If the owner is still around, we could get any other names from them.”
“Or The People could locate the original police files? They’d have taken statements from anyone present, wouldn’t they? It should include the vehicles on site and any registration numbers.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Lexi sighed. “Seeing as I’m blacklisted.”
“I don’t believe that’s true,” Tarant countered. “They refused the request for the registration number of the motorbike. Nothing else.” His voice became muffled. “I just got an email from their administrator. Hang on. I’ll read it on my computer. The text on my phone is too small.” He shuffled around and the sound quality changed as he switched to speakerphone and set the device on a hard surface.
He swore. Lexi tensed. “Do they know who employed us to look at the photograph? Did you trace the account yet?”
“Yeah.” Tarant spoke in a rush, as though he’d swallowed the information and struggled to vomit it up. “Oh, wow. The People linked the phone number and email address to the bank account. There’s a reason the client isn’t responding.”
“Why?” Lexi concentrated on following a detour off the expressway. It trailed her through a tiny town to the unsettling vibration of roadworks. “Give me a second.” She squinted through the dirty windscreen as the vehicle in front of her made a right turn. The line of traffic trooped past a diversion sign, and she settled in to follow its meandering progress.
Tarant waited. But his shallow breathing conveyed his anxiety. “I know who the client is,” he stated, bursting to tell her.
“Okay, who?” Lexi braced herself.
“He hasn’t responded because he’s dead.”
Lexi clapped her left hand over her mouth. Her lashes fluttered against the sunlight sparkles hazed by her filthy windscreen. “Father Donald,” she breathed.
