13

Once again I had to pay a visit to Lockie, although this time it was at the less than homely Angler’s Lodge. There was no sign of Leonore’s vehicle, but it was only a small consolation. I thought my heart couldn’t feel any heavier after having to tell him of Gaby’s death. I had been wrong. It took several moments to work up the courage to knock. A brief reprieve – it was Cole who answered the door.

‘Sam.’

‘Cole. Is Lockie in?’

‘No. They’ve gone to the funeral director’s.’

Relief was immediate, and breathing a lot more comfortable.

‘You’re holding the fort?’

He nodded. ‘Angel’s asleep, so I’m babysitting – kind of.’ He didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the idea, and no doubt desperately hoped Angel stayed asleep. Still, he occupied the doorway and showed no sign of vacating it. I was unsure as to my next move.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

What wasn’t wrong? ‘No. Well, yes actually.’

How much did I tell him? I figured he was the family’s advocate, so to speak; he was certainly Lockie’s rock. Unlike a few others in the town, I didn’t really give a toss about privacy issues. As far as I was concerned, a bit of freedom of information, within reason, was to everyone’s benefit.

‘Well, you know how Lockie and Leonore have always maintained this was not of Gaby’s doing?’

A slow nod was as far as his response went.

‘And I’m sure they told you why they’ve been moved to a motel. Well, there’s more now I’ve had the interim post-mortem report.’

‘You’d better come in then,’ he said.

I’d chosen the Angler’s Lodge because it was a little more spacious than most. The luxury stopped there. Its eighties’ décor and mass-produced pastel artworks would have been welcoming once. Now, it just looked tired. There was an abundance of floral tributes occupying every available surface, a sure sign of a household in mourning. It always seemed a bit absurd to me – killing flowers to acknowledge a death – but to some it was a form of comfort. Leonore must have thought so: she’d rescued them from the house.

‘Cuppa?’

‘Thanks, that’d be great.’ I pulled out a chair and plonked myself down at the Formica-topped table.

‘Tea, isn’t it. Milk, no sugar?’

‘That’s right, thanks.’ I was very impressed he too remembered.

I thought back to earlier conversations, particularly my unfortunate talk with Leonore. Somehow that one affected me more than the others. The thought that she viewed me as jealous and incompetent bothered me. But how could you explain to someone so aggrieved that you’d done everything right? I’d replayed the order of events over and over, and there wasn’t any other way I could have called it. The murderer had gone to great lengths to make Gaby’s death look like suicide. This investigation was far from over and I’d be seeing Leonore again, and often. So how could I repair the damage? I needed to.

‘Here you go.’ Cole pushed across a coaster and sat the tea down on it. ‘So, what’s happened?’

I was just about to launch into a summary of Alistair’s report when a hearty wail erupted from one of the bedrooms. A look of abject panic crossed Cole’s face. Who would have thought ten kilograms of baby could cause such terror in what must have been one hundred kilograms of male?

‘Shit,’ he muttered, leaping up from his chair as if stung on the arse by a bee. I doubt the child had a chance to draw a second breath before Cole had dived into her room.

‘Shit,’ I heard him say again. I couldn’t help but let out a snort, and then realised that he did mean shit, and plenty of it, judging by the aroma that wafted in my direction. He came out with a very grumpy-looking Angel, dangling her by the armpits, held out at arm’s length. I didn’t even bother trying to disguise my mirth now, and erupted into laughter at the sight of his obvious discomfort.

‘You couldn’t, could you?’ he begged.

I love the way men assume women know how to deal with babies. And although I generally enjoy the sight of a grovelling male, compassion kicked in – for Angel. It must have been hard on her armpits.

‘Hand her over,’ I said, and stood up to take her. Cole thrust her into my arms as if she was an unexploded mortar. The fact she had already ‘gone off’ was lost on him.

‘Where do they keep the doings?’ I had attended to the business end of my nieces on occasion, so at least I knew what was required.

He inclined his head towards a nappy bag in the corner of the lounge area, next to the sofa. This wasn’t in my job description, though I did have a vague recollection of a clause concerning chemical and biological contamination in the health-and-safety section. I pulled out the changing mat and accoutrements and spread them out on the floor. Thankfully, Angel decided to cooperate and lay pretty much still for me. As I dealt with what could only be described as DEFCON 1, I outlined the day’s events and my conversations with Dr Arnold and Alistair. I left out Gaby’s pregnancy – that was a bit too sensitive to share with a third party and I still didn’t know exactly how I’d broach that one with Lockie.

Cole stood at a discreet distance, his face unreadable as I related what I knew. He didn’t offer any comment or question; only an occasional twitch and a severely glum expression gave any sense of the depth of his feelings.

I fastened the last dome on Angel’s pants and let her loose on the world. She immediately crawled over and pulled herself up against Cole’s legs. The sheepish expression that crossed his face was rather endearing. He picked her up by the armpits again and took her over to some toys in the corner.

‘Why would someone want to kill Gaby?’ he finally asked.

‘Well, that is the million-dollar question. If we could answer that, we’d find her killer.’

I was about to find a place to dispose of the nappy bomb when a vehicle pulled up outside the motel room. My innards gripped. The little interlude with Angel’s nether regions had momentarily eased my trepidation. It came back with a vengeance. I looked up at Cole; it was my turn to plead.

‘Cole, I need you to stick around. I’ve got something bloody awful to tell Lockie, and it’s not going to be good.’