His daughter had just told him she had lost her watch, the same kind of watch found near the second murder victim, Arturo Lee. He forced himself to stay calm.
‘What colour is the band, sweetie?’
‘Blue.’ There was a beat. ‘I think.’
Clement was pretty sure the watch they had found had a black band.
Marilyn said, ‘I’ll find it okay?’
Clement leaned in to his daughter. ‘When did you last have it?’
Phoebe thought hard. ‘I’m not sure.’
Marilyn tried to soothe. ‘Maybe you left it on the boat?’
The child screeched at her mother. ‘No I lost it before then. I told you. Because when I saw the turtle I went looking for my watch and I didn’t have it.’
‘That’s enough, off to bed.’
‘Just a second.’
Marilyn caught her husband’s tone and shot him a look. Clement’s gaze encouraged her to let him continue. ‘You had it before your trip?’
‘Yes, I remember I had it in the car the morning before when we went to get some bathers.’
Marilyn seemed to feel it necessary to explain. ‘Her old ones were falling apart.’
‘So you went to town?’
Marilyn answered. ‘Yes,’
‘And you haven’t see it since?’
Phoebe flubbed her lip and shook her head.
‘I’ll help Mum look for it, okay?’
Marilyn, uneasy he could tell, went off to put Phoebe to bed. As soon as they’d left the room he went outside to the car. He’d put the watch in the glove box meaning to hand it over to Lisa Keeble to secure in the evidence locker but the Osterlund business had derailed everything. He pulled it out and stared at it in its evidence bag. Was it the same watch? The wristband was black as he had thought. How many of these watches were there? Somebody said they sold them at servos. There could be lots. He hadn’t wanted to ask Phoebe if it were hers. That would lead to explaining why she couldn’t have it back. What if it was hers? Had she lost it and the killer simply found it by coincidence? Or did the killer know Phoebe was his daughter? How would he have got the watch, actually stolen it off her hand? Or had he been here, on these grounds, taken it from her room?
‘What’s going on?’
Marilyn was walking towards him. In the glow of the car’s interior lamp she seemed fragile now, and very scared.
‘Is this the watch?’
She looked at him, asking silently what it was doing in an evidence bag. While she put it under the light and examined it closely, Clement told her where it had been found, then prompted again, ‘You think that’s it?’
‘It looks just like it. I’m not sure about the band.’ Her mind was working fast over the same ground his had covered. ‘If it is, how did it wind up there?’
The awful possibility dawned. Her voice was a whisper. ‘Has he been here?’
Clement deflected. ‘Have you checked the car for her watch?’
‘Yes. But quickly.’
He followed her across to her car and they both searched thoroughly. There was no sign of a watch.
‘Do you have any photos of her wearing it?’ he asked.
Marilyn thought she might have some on her phone. They went back inside. Marilyn found her phone and began scrolling through photos. Snap after snap of Marilyn and Brian, or Brian and Phoebe, at dinner, on the beach, with horses. Every photo delivered its own vicious little sting. None of the photos showed Phoebe with the watch. Marilyn was starting to lose it now.
‘He could have been in her bedroom. He might want to hurt you.’
And his family to get at him; there it was, the inevitable accusation. Clement did not defend himself. After all he’d surmised as much. Instead he remained the policeman.
‘I don’t suppose there is any chance you or Phoebe were out near Blue Haze around that time?’
‘No. I don’t know if I’ve ever been there.’
Clement saw Geraldine drift past, copping a look. She would have wanted him out by now. ‘And you don’t remember being near a biker?’
Marilyn snorted.
Clement said, ‘Take me through the trip to town to get the bathers. Where did you park?’
Marilyn recounted their movements as best she remembered. They’d parked on Carnarvon Street close to the shop in Jimmy Chi Lane. They’d bought the bathers.
‘Did she try them on?’
‘No. I know her size. We just bought off the rack. Phoebe was pestering me for a milkshake so we strolled down to the Honky Nut.’
She saw Clement’s reaction. ‘What?’ she demanded.
‘One of the victims used that café.’
Marilyn’s hand flew to her face. Clement pushed. ‘What then? Where did you sit? Who served you?’
They’d sat outside. Marilyn couldn’t recall who’d served them.
‘After the milkshake, did you go anywhere?’
‘We went back to the car. There’s an exhibition of photographs at the Boab Gallery I wanted to see. We parked out front, did a quick look. I stopped at the fruit shop bought some fruit and veggies and we came back here.’
They hadn’t gone out again. The next morning they’d got up at six and Marilyn had driven to the private jetty Ashleigh’s parents used. Clement was thinking there were not that many places the watch could have gone missing. And one of them was the Honky Nut.
Geraldine had begun pointedly lingering.
Clement said, ‘Could you ask the Porters if they happened to find it? Is Brian here tonight?’
‘He’s in Queensland for a couple of days.’
The silence swung between them.
‘I could come back, stay the night.’
Her glare hit him between the eyes. ‘And if he’s after you?’
Clement hadn’t told her about how he’d been hit over the head. He would not reveal that now, petrol on flame.
‘I can get a uniform,’ he said.
Marilyn thought about the offer. ‘I don’t want to scare Phoebe more.’
‘Better she’s scared than harmed. You too. I’ll organise it.’
‘I’ll have to tell Mum.’
There was that. Unfortunately it was inevitable. Clement dialled the station. Mal Gross was still on. He told Mal what he wanted. Mal knew better than to ask why.
‘I’ll send Parker.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
He turned back to her. She looked vulnerable but determined. He said, ‘Keep your doors locked, don’t go wandering outside.’
He hung there waiting for the touch of her hand on his arm, a sign that said ‘we’re still intimate even if we don’t have sex’. It never came.
As he left the porch he watched her silhouette in the doorway behind a screen door. Then the main door closed. He was barely back in the car when lightning split the sky, much closer now. Tonight there had been so much of the old chemistry between them he could almost think it could work again. He killed the idea. No, tonight was just like that last flash of lightning, a moment of brilliance before everything returns to black.
By the time he made it back the TV crews had settled in for the night. A camera even filmed him entering the carpark, part of some stock footage he guessed. The whole way he’d been thinking about the potential danger his job brought Phoebe and Marilyn. You were dealing with desperate demented people, people who would hurt you given half a chance. It had been wrong for him to come up here, selfish. Marilyn hadn’t quite accused him of that, hadn’t said that their lives would be simpler and better if he’d just quit, stayed with Skype, but both knew it was true.
The incident room was wilting. Earle’s progress on compiling his list of Germans was glacial. The others were each methodically following their instructions. Almost every case Clement could remember went in rushes and lulls. Now, after a brief spurt they had been becalmed. Clement knew this was typical but that was cold comfort. A man’s life was at stake and it was sickening to think he was at the mercy of anything other than his own wits. Mal Gross intercepted him.
‘Parker called, he’s at the house now.’
Gross did not ask why the request had been made. Clement felt obliged to offer something.
‘The watch we found at Lee’s murder … my daughter had one just like that, went missing on the weekend.’
Gross got it. ‘You can rely on Parker but I can send another?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I’ve arranged for the last few Dingos to be interviewed starting at eight tomorrow morning.’
Gross moved off. Clement’s brain felt clouded, his head was still sore, somewhere dimly his tooth ached, Marilyn’s presence still lingered. Clement girded himself. He had to put any question of Phoebe’s safety on hold, tell himself she would be fine.
He had to locate Osterlund.