Pip glanced up from her seat on the back verandah and watched as the big four-wheel drive approached. She slowly stood as the tall man climbed out and started towards the front door.
‘Detective,’ she said, greeting him. ‘You make house calls?’
‘Ms Davenport,’ he returned, nodding his head slightly.
‘Pip,’ she corrected him automatically.
He gave a brief smile and rested a foot on the first step, placing one hand on his hip and the other against the railing post. ‘I heard you were looking for me in at the station the other day.’
‘It wasn’t urgent,’ she said, feeling that weird sensation once more. She hadn’t been looking for him—she’d simply asked if he was in. Why did she feel like he was deliberately trying to put her off balance all the time? ‘You didn’t have to make a special trip all the way out here.’
‘I don’t like being stuck inside, so I was happy for an excuse to get out of the office.’
She found his deep, lazy drawl something of a curiosity. She was used to the detectives she’d worked with in the past; they were more … well, polished. Not quite as laid-back as Detective Jarrett. He wasn’t in a suit today—instead, he was dressed in blue jeans, tan boots and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
‘Do you want a coffee? I was just about to have one around the back.’
He hesitated for a second, holding her gaze before giving a nod. ‘Sure. If I’m not interrupting.’
‘No, I was just writing. Come around,’ she said, leading the way to the table and chairs under the shade of the verandah. She quickly cleared the table, pocketing her hard drive and dropping the open books and paperwork onto the bench seat under the window.
‘Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?’ she asked, pushing open the squeaky screen door to walk into the kitchen. To her surprise, he followed and she watched as he took a seat at the bench, picking up a pen and idly threading it back and forth through his fingers.
‘Do I smell something burning?’ he asked, sniffing the air.
Pip bit back a snippy reply, sending a disgusted glance at the burnt saucepan soaking in the sink after her attempt at making custard took a disastrous turn earlier that day. So much for vanilla slice …
‘So what was it you wanted to see me about?’ he asked as she took down cups.
‘I was just wondering if you’ve come up with anything new … on the case.’
‘I hear you’ve been researching?’ he countered, glancing up from his pen-fiddling.
Pip shrugged. ‘I recently came into possession of some interesting material.’
‘Would you be willing to share it with me?’ he asked.
‘That depends,’ she said, turning to put the coffee into the machine.
‘On what?’
‘If you share what you’ve got with me,’ she threw back.
He raised an eyebrow slightly as he considered her request. ‘You know that I can just get a court order and take whatever you’ve got if it relates to the case, right?’ he asked in that lazy drawl.
‘I know,’ she said lightly, ‘but I figure that since you have such a huge workload of cases that need to be dealt with right now, you might need someone to help you look into this cold case and take some of the load off your shoulders.’
‘I’ve got strong shoulders,’ he pointed out, and her gaze briefly went to them now.
He really did. They were quite broad as far as shoulders go. ‘I’m just offering some help. A lot of this case is research and that just happens to be my speciality.’
‘I thought you weren’t interested? Just … curious.’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘So you are doing a story on the Bigsby case?’
‘No. Not a story. I’ve just decided I really want to know what happened. And I don’t believe Bert has had a fair go over the years. This is probably the last chance we have to prove his innocence, and I’d like to try—for his sake.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly as he followed her outside once the coffee was done.
‘There’s no way you’re going to have time to go through everything I have from Bert, so I can do it for you—compile a list, weed out all the stuff that’s not important. And in return, you can maybe show me the old files on the Vernon Clements murder and Molly Bigsby’s missing persons record?’ she said, looking over at him hopefully. She figured she may as well ask—what was the worst that could happen? He could only say no.
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head.
Pip stared at him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. ‘Why not?’ she asked, feeling more than a little put out by his response.
‘Because technically you can’t work on the case. You’re not a cop,’ he pointed out, taking his coffee.
‘It’s a seventy-year-old cold case. It’s been ignored for decades!’
‘That doesn’t mean we don’t take it seriously.’
‘Really? Could have fooled me. Poor old Bert’s been living here and treated like a criminal all this time, and no one has even bothered to try to solve Vernon’s murder to prove Bert was innocent.’
‘They ran out of leads,’ he said with a helpless gesture.
‘Well, now you’ve got some.’
‘Exactly, and we’re looking into it, but there still isn’t much to go on. The evidence is pretty minimal—there are no witnesses left alive, and the focus of the investigation is in a nursing home and can’t speak.’
‘Which is why you need my help.’
‘What makes you think you can find out anything that we can’t?’
‘The same way I managed to expose a criminal enterprise that was operating right under the police force’s nose,’ she snapped. It still frustrated her that Lenny Knight had managed to get away with so much thanks to the corrupt police officials on his payroll and that no one else had done a thing about it.
‘Fair point,’ he finally said, watching her intently. ‘I followed that case while it was unfolding.’ He dropped his gaze and she sat back in her chair. ‘It took guts to go through with it the way you did. Most people would have let it go,’ he said, meeting her eyes once more.
‘I’m stubborn like that,’ she said.
She saw his eyes crinkle at the corners a little. ‘So I’m discovering. But seriously, that took a lot of courage.’
Pip felt herself shift in her seat at the compliment. She didn’t like to dwell on the personal side of the story. It had taken a lot to go through with it all. The exposé was only the beginning. Her testimony and the tedious hours of investigating and following a seemly endless paper trail to uncover Knight’s dirty dealings had been the biggest sacrifice she’d made—her time, her social life, her personal safety. Those were the things that had been taken away from her in order to get to the truth—things she would never get back.
‘I was just doing my job,’ she said, trying to shrug it off.
‘Hell of a way to earn a living, lady,’ he shot back.
‘Well, in comparison, this would be a walk in the park,’ she said, trying for the best puppy dog look she could summon and finding, to her surprise, that it seemed to work.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he finally said, and inside she gave herself a high five.
Pip glanced around at the lengthening shadows.
‘I guess I should let you get back to your Friday evening,’ he said, standing up.
‘It’s just another day of the week at the moment,’ she shrugged, reaching for their empty cups. She turned and found they were standing almost chest to chest. Pip breathed in and caught the clean linen smell of his shirt and a masculine, bergamot-citrus scent sent her pulse into immediate overdrive. God, he smells delicious.
‘That’s a bit sad.’
Pip gave a small, nervous laugh as she stepped around him. Story of her life. ‘I’m afraid my party days are over. I’m not even sure I could stay up past nine pm nowadays.’
‘Yeah, I’ve got to admit, I try to find any excuse to get out of actually going out on the weekends now. It sucks getting old.’
She would have toasted the remark if she had a drink. Speaking of which … ‘If you don’t have anything to hurry home for, I was about to open a bottle of wine?’ Is this really a good idea? a little voice asked inside her head. What are you doing?
When he hesitated, she worried the offer might be out of line and he would look at her strangely, but he didn’t. ‘Sounds great.’
Pip led the way inside and grabbed two glasses, and then it seemed normal to heat up the oven and put in the pizza she was planning to have for dinner, to share.
It should have felt weird to have a man in her house, but it didn’t. If she’d been alone right now maybe she would have examined it a little closer, but right now, it just felt … her first thought was nice, but she quickly erased that; there was nothing nice about Detective Jarrett. Nice was more how she would describe Erik, and yet that didn’t fit either. Erik had definitely rekindled a spark of interest, and he was a handsome man—in a masculine, manly kind of way. He gave the impression of a typical good-natured, all-Aussie bloke who liked football and barbecues and weekends with his mates.
Chris, on the other hand … Chris was … she found herself looking at him across the kitchen and realised with a start that he was watching her with a curious expression. She felt a blush creep up her throat. He made her nervous, but not in a bad way. In a way that she also found a little exciting.
‘Have you always been drawn to stories on corruption?’ he asked, breaking the charged silence they had fallen into while she’d been busy thinking about things she probably shouldn’t.
‘No,’ she said, taking out two plates from the cupboard. ‘I like telling people’s stories.’
‘Like this one, about Bert and Molly,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s been a while since I’ve written something that didn’t involve a politician,’ she said with a faint smile.
‘What do you love writing about? If you could write about anything, what would it be?’
Pip thought about his question for a moment, realising she’d never been asked that before. ‘Stories about bravery,’ she said finally, bracing her hands on the edge of the bench as she looked over at him. ‘Some of the most inspiring people I’ve met have been men and women caught up in the horror of war, who have managed to overcome some of the worst experiences imaginable.’
‘Like Bert?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And others,’ she said, thinking about the eleven-year-old boy executed by the Japanese army. ‘Not all of them overcame the horrors of war,’ she amended sadly. ‘The stories stayed with me.’
‘What is it that drew you to this one?’
She glanced at him to see if he was genuinely interested or just making conversation. ‘Besides the fact that a woman’s remains were found in the bottom of a dam on my uncle’s property?’
‘Besides that,’ he smiled, and she realised she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he did.
‘I don’t know, I guess Bert. Once I met him, I felt like …’ She paused.
‘Like what?’ he prompted.
‘You’re going to think it’s weird,’ she cautioned.
‘Try me.’
She sighed. ‘The thing is, as a journalist, I’m usually wary of taking anyone at their word. You know, I have to back things up, corroborate their story with facts. Like you, I guess,’ she added with a small wave towards him. ‘But with Bert … I believe he’s innocent. Like, I know there’s still some doubt surrounding all this, but I just know he didn’t kill Molly.’
‘I don’t think that’s weird.’
‘But you don’t necessarily think the same?’ she concluded when she saw hesitation in his expression.
‘I like to make sure all the i’s are dotted and t’s are crossed.’ That was a good thing, she thought. If a cop, and a detective at that, wasn’t thorough, then he wasn’t doing his job.
‘Erik Nielsen mentioned you were new to Coopers Creek. How long have you been there?’
‘Not long at all,’ he replied. ‘Still settling in. You talk to Nielsen often?’ he asked, and her eyes were drawn to the way his hands were steepled in front of him as he sat at the bench. She looked up and noticed the careful way he seemed to be watching her.
‘Not really. I’ve bumped into him a few times around town.’ Although he still wore that easygoing smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it normally did. Now she felt stupid for bringing up his name. She’d noticed Erik’s annoyance at the mention of Chris in a previous exchange—or rather, that the case was being handled by Chris in Coopers Creek. She watched him for a moment, wondering: was this mutual disquiet she was picking up on simply work-related, or was it personal?