At the morgue the next morning Ella and Murray had to wait while one of the pathologists finished a post-mortem. They stood in the corridor, listening to water washing down the drains, the clatter of steel instruments, and someone whistling to a radio. Outside, it was a bright and sunny morning. Ella was always surprised when she left the morgue and found anything but rain and gloom.
‘I talked to Rowan Wylie last night,’ she told Murray, and filled him in about Rowan’s son and what Rowan had said about arguing with Stacey.
‘We should’ve been doing that together, this morning,’ Murray said.
‘I made an executive decision. Then I went home and tried to map it all out. There’s something we can’t see, I’m sure of it.’
‘There’s always something we can’t see. Once we see it, the case is solved. Seriously though, you should’ve waited for me.’
She shrugged. ‘How was the dinner?’
‘Excellent. Nat was thrilled. Made her cry.’
‘You two,’ Ella said. ‘And the forecast?’
‘Steady at five.’
They grinned at each other.
The pathologist came out, safety glasses still in place, drying his hands with a paper towel. ‘Right. You’re here about the toe, correct?’
Ella nodded. The doctor said something to a tech, who fetched it and handed it over.
‘Interesting.’ The pathologist took it back inside the room and they followed.
Two naked bodies, both male, lay on the steel tables, one about twenty, the other much older with a grizzled beard. Gowned and goggled staff were stitching up their chests.
The pathologist held the bagged toe under a bright light, turning it this way and that. ‘Hmm. Sent to you in the post, you said?’
‘By courier, but to me, yes,’ Ella said.
He looked at her over his glasses. ‘Lucky you.’
‘Yeah, you’d think it was her birthday,’ Murray said.
The pathologist said, ‘I’ll need to examine it more closely to be more specific, but I can tell you a couple of things right now. First, it looks to me like the fifth, or little, toe of the left foot of a white adult female. Secondly, the cut is through the middle of the joint and quite precise. No obvious hacking, a neat slice: probably done with a scalpel or similar, and by someone who hasn’t necessarily done it before but was reasonably confident about what they were doing. Third, see these puncture marks here? They’re caused by a fine-gauge needle, most likely a twenty-five, most likely for the purpose of delivering local anaesthetic. The spacing is slightly less than what a GP might use when preparing an area for an excision, so again, done by someone who hasn’t necessarily done this before but is fairly confident. And who also wanted to make sure the tissue was, as far as possible, anaesthetised.’
‘They’ll cut off her toe but they don’t want her to feel it?’ Murray said. ‘What sort of kidnappers are these?’
Ella was asking herself the same question.
*
Paris woke to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.
‘I’m sleeping,’ she shouted.
‘I need your help,’ Marie said.
‘I have nightshift tonight. I need to sleep.’
‘Five minutes.’
Paris glared at the ceiling. ‘For what?’
‘To help me.’
She threw back the quilt and got up. If she refused, there’d be noise all day, but it’d been nice being asleep and not thinking about Mr Leary. She’d been so exhausted last night she hadn’t even dreamed. Now she was awake, and it was all going around in her head again, and she’d be lucky to get back to sleep later at all, let alone into a deep and peaceful one.
She threw open the door. Her mother stood there, sipping coffee. Paris looked around. ‘So what is it?’
‘Lounge room.’
She went down to find one of the armchairs stuck in the doorway. ‘Where in god’s name are you moving it to now?’
‘My room,’ Marie said. ‘I need a space of my own.’
‘It’s not going to fit.’
‘I’ve already moved the bed over.’
‘I mean through here.’ Paris pushed at the chair. It didn’t budge.
‘It went in,’ Marie said. ‘It has to come out.’
‘Yeah, well, Dad probably took the door off and used a couple of hefty mates,’ Paris said.
Marie harrumphed. ‘So take the door off if you’re so smart.’
‘I can’t now you’ve jammed it in.’ Paris climbed over the chair and tried to tug it free. ‘Push, will you?’
Marie pushed while Paris pulled.
‘How the hell did you get it in so tight?’ Paris said, cheek on the upholstery.
‘Don’t damage the paint.’
Paris straightened. ‘This isn’t going to work. I’ll get Liam to come around sometime and he can help.’
‘It’s not staying stuck here until then.’
‘It’s going to have to.’
‘No,’ Marie said. ‘I got it this far on my own, so I can’t see why between us we can’t get it all the way.’
‘It doesn’t fit.’
‘We just have to find the right angle.’ Marie tugged. Her narrow hands looked as useless as paws on the chair’s big rolled arm.
‘This is insane,’ Paris said. ‘I’m going back to bed.’
‘We can’t just leave it. I can’t live with this thing stuck here.’
‘Should’ve thought of that before you started yet another pointless rearrange.’ Paris climbed back over the chair. ‘I mean, why can’t you just sit on your bed?’
‘It’s called a parent’s retreat,’ Marie snapped. ‘And I need one.’
‘Retreat from what? The entire house is yours. You even come into my room whenever you like and without knocking.’
‘Pay half the mortgage and then you get your own space.’
‘I pay more than enough board for one little room.’
‘Just help me,’ Marie said.
‘No. I need to go back to bed.’
‘You just woke up.’
Paris laughed, a hollow sound. ‘It’s true what they told me when I joined the job. Only people who’ve worked nightshift understand not to disturb you in the day.’
‘The job,’ Marie said, mocking. ‘You’re all so precious.’
‘Yeah, we are,’ Paris sniped. ‘We’re family too. You know what they asked when I went to work yesterday morning? Whether I was okay. You haven’t asked me that once.’
‘You haven’t asked me, and she’s my sister,’ Marie snapped.
‘I have so. I asked you yesterday.’ Paris wasn’t certain she had. But she must have, surely.
‘Would you just help me move this thing?’ Marie said.
‘If Dad and his mates got it in there, it’s going to take more than you and me to get it out.’
‘Your father had nothing to do with it. Left me to deal with it all. Went off working.’
‘He did not,’ Paris said.
‘When we moved in here, you were seven and he was driving interstate,’ Marie said. ‘I packed the old house myself, moved it all over myself, and unpacked it, guess what, by myself.’
‘So it wasn’t Dad but a couple of removalists,’ Paris said. ‘Whatever.’
‘Yes,’ Marie went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘because your sainted father had other priorities.’
‘Oh, like paying the mortgage? Putting petrol in the car and food on the table?’
‘Paying for your private school, more like,’ Marie said. ‘He could’ve worked locally, could’ve been around more, but he had to do long-haul. Had to make that bit more money just for the damned school fees.’
‘Oh yeah, it’s all my fault,’ Paris said. ‘It all comes down to me. I made him go out driving, I made him crash and die. Yeah, I did it. Blame me.’
Marie tugged at the chair without answering.
Paris stared at her. ‘You do, don’t you? You do blame me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Marie said. ‘Talk about self-centred. Why’s it always have to be about you? Your sleep. Your job. You think there’s nobody else in the world? Only you, and what you think and feel?’ She let go of the chair. ‘Oh, forget it. Forget this whole thing. Don’t bother getting Liam over. I’ll deal with it, I’ll manage by myself, just as I always do. By myself. Talk about being your father’s daughter.’
Paris stormed into her room and slammed the door. She scowled at her bed. She’d never get to sleep now. Not here anyway.
She stuffed a clean uniform into a bag and stomped back out. ‘Enjoy your retreat.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘What do you care?’
She got in her car and drove away, glancing back once and seeing that her mother was nowhere in sight.
*
A woman in a white polo shirt with a navy Alice band in her hair looked up over the physiotherapy clinic’s desk and smiled. ‘Good morning. How can I help you?’
Ella held up her badge. ‘Detectives Marconi and Shakespeare, New South Wales Police. Is the owner or manager here?’
The woman’s smile wavered. ‘Just a moment.’
She disappeared down a corridor. Murray fiddled with a plastic spine on the desk and Ella tried to sort out her thoughts. The anaesthetised toe, the breaking down in tears, the text messages. She felt that they all added up to mean something, but she couldn’t see what.
The woman came back with a sandy-haired man of about forty-five, wearing an identical white polo and navy pants.
He put out his hand. ‘Gerald Bobbin, owner and physio. How can I help?’
His grip was firm, his skin soft. Behind his gold-framed glasses his eyes were nervous.
Ella said, ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Bobbin’s office was neat and small. He sat behind his desk and clasped his hands on the top. Ella and Murray sat in the ergonomic chairs across from him.
‘We have a couple of questions about Marie Kennedy,’ Ella said.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Ah. Because of what’s happened to her sister?’
Ella noticed his tone. ‘What is she like as an employee?’
‘Fine,’ he said, too quickly.
‘There’s some problem with her?’
‘No. Not really.’
She and Murray waited.
Bobbin sighed and glanced out the window. ‘Marie is an excellent physiotherapist, let me say that right upfront. But we did recently have an issue.’
‘Regarding?’ Murray said.
Bobbin blushed deep red. Ella could see the colour climb right up his scalp through his sandy hair.
‘Marie made, uh, advances towards me,’ he said.
‘Unwelcome, I presume?’ Murray said.
‘Of course. And very firmly rejected. My wife, Neroli, on reception out there, can attest to that.’
‘She saw it?’ Ella asked.
‘She walked in when Marie was, uh, touching my person.’ The blush grew more intense.
‘When was this?’
‘A fortnight ago. Things have been awkward since, so in a way I was pleased when she asked to take leave. Not that I’m pleased about her sister, I didn’t mean that. It’s terrible. I hope you find her.’
Ella said, ‘Did she say anything before you rebuffed her?’
‘She said that, uh, she thought I was very handsome, and that she had certain feelings towards me that she felt it was time she acted upon.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose. Ella thought she detected a slight sheen of sweat. ‘She said she was happy for it to be purely physical, that as physiotherapists we know the value of touch and that she was badly in need of some. She grabbed me by the, uh, in the region of my trousers, and that’s when Neroli – thankfully – walked in.’
‘Okay,’ Ella said. ‘And after?’
Bobbin shook his head. ‘She was very quiet. I said that it was unacceptable, that I’m her employer and a very happily married man. She mumbled an apology and left, then came in the next day as if nothing was wrong.’ He pushed his glasses up again.
‘Have there ever been complaints from other staff, or clients?’ Ella said.
‘No, nothing. Thank goodness. Is this relevant to your case?’
‘We were just after some background,’ Ella said. ‘Apart from that incident, have there been any other issues with Marie?’
‘Personality-wise she can be intense, but I’ve always been satisfied with her work.’ He blinked, owlish. ‘How is she managing?’
‘She’s managing all right,’ Ella said, thinking of how she was stroking James’s hair. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Outside, Murray said, ‘Do you think Marie has motive?’
‘She used to go out with James Durham, she’s keen for male company, she doesn’t seem a happy woman. But is that enough to want to hurt her sister? And then with all the texts and so on?’ The knot of thoughts in Ella’s mind was tighter than ever.
‘Being a physio she’d know enough about anatomy to cut the toe off,’ Murray said. ‘And there’s the weird bleach cleaning.’
‘The toe was anaesthetised before it was cut off. If Marie wanted to hurt Stacey, why not make her suffer?’
‘Maybe her target’s someone else,’ Murray said. ‘Maybe she wants to hurt James.’
‘Not judging by the look in her eyes when I interrupted them on the lounge.’ Her phone rang in her pocket. She saw the office number on the screen and answered. ‘Tell me you have something good.’
‘The Durhams’ other neighbours checked in,’ Dennis said. ‘They’ve been away, and called in this morning. They heard a loud argument Wednesday night last week in the Durham house. An argument bordering on screaming, and between two women.’
‘Stacey and Marie, surely,’ Ella said, excitement building. ‘Time to bring her in for a formal interview?’
Dennis said, ‘I’ve just sent someone to get her.’
*
Paris couldn’t think where she was when she woke up, then remembered she’d knocked timidly on Abby’s door to ask if she could sleep there for a couple of hours. She’d been welcomed and hugged, then got into Liam’s rumpled bed and snuggled down with her head sandwiched between two pillows.
She didn’t think she’d actually slept, dozed maybe, but not for long, and now she could smell baking. It could be good, helping out in the kitchen – it was easier to talk while your hands were busy, while your eyes were on a task.
‘Well, hello,’ Abby said, when Paris walked into the kitchen. ‘You sure you got enough sleep?’
‘I never sleep much before nights.’
The kitchen smelled of sweet biscuits and the oven warmed the air. Lucy kicked in a bouncer suspended from the doorway. Paris knelt by her and fingered her little hand. Lucy smiled, all gums. Abby rolled a wooden pin across a sheet of cinnamon-coloured dough, then pressed a star-shaped cutter into it.
‘Can I help?’ Paris asked.
‘Sure.’ She nodded to a bowl. ‘Roll out that next batch.’
Paris washed, dried and floured her hands, and got stuck in. There was so much that she wanted to say, about her mother, about Stacey, about Mr Leary. About work. It made her head hurt. She didn’t know where to begin.
‘Any news on your aunt?’ Abby said, as if sensing her problem.
‘Not that I’ve heard.’
‘How’s your mum going?’
‘Going’s the right word.’ The dough was warm and pliable in her hands. She pressed it down hard on the benchtop.
‘She’s out a lot?’
‘Either that or giving me a hard time,’ Paris said. ‘She’s constantly zipping off to James and Stacey’s. I don’t even know if he’s home half the time she goes there. Then she comes back and hassles me about every little thing.’
‘I guess she’s worried about her,’ Abby said.
Paris pressed the pin onto the dough and started rolling it out. ‘We all are.’
Abby slid a tray of biscuits into the oven. ‘I’m sure it’ll all work out.’
Paris was surprised by the platitude, but before she could say anything the doorbell rang. Abby wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to answer.
Paris listened, and heard a familiar voice. She went to the doorway. ‘Uncle James?’
‘Oh, hi,’ James said. He looked exhausted, dark stubble on his cheeks, his eyes tired. ‘How are you, Paris?’
‘Is there any news?’
‘No. I’m just following up with the people Stacey knows, seeing if I can find out anything more.’
‘Come on in,’ Abby said.
He sat at the kitchen table. Abby made him a hot sweet tea and served it up with a plate of warm biscuits. Paris finished rolling and cutting her dough, then sat opposite him.
‘How do I look?’ he asked her. ‘Like a zombie, right?’
‘Not that bad.’
‘I can’t sleep,’ he said. ‘Your wife’s missing, you can’t sleep, this is how you look.’
‘It must be terrible,’ Abby said.
‘It is. Horrendous.’ He curled his hands around his cup. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t made an effort to meet you before now. You and Stacey went to school together, right?’
‘Many years ago.’
‘And met up at the reunion last year,’ James said. ‘I remember her coming home and saying what a small world it is, that the son of one of her old schoolfriends ends up with our niece.’ He smiled at Paris.
Abby nodded. ‘We had good intentions of staying in touch. I don’t know what happened.’
‘Time goes by, life goes on,’ James said. He paused and stared at her. ‘Huh. You looked really familiar there for a second.’
‘Did I?’ she said.
He nodded, wrinkling his forehead. ‘I can’t think from where though. Paris, we haven’t all been at one of your mother’s barbecues, have we?’
‘No,’ Paris said, confused.
‘Wait,’ James said, ‘I know. I know where I’ve seen someone who looks like you. You’re not going to believe it, and it’s the strangest thing, but the cops showed me this picture of this person on CCTV, riding a pushbike, and it really could be you. Or you could be it, or whatever I’m trying to say.’ He smiled. ‘Like I said, strange, huh?’
‘They showed me the same picture and asked me the same thing,’ Abby said. ‘I said sure we’re alike, if you count two people who are white and of average height and build as being alike.’
Paris looked at James, puzzled. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Just how it’s odd that this person looked like her,’ he said. ‘I mean, to the degree that I had this kind of deja vu moment sitting here.’
‘Deja vu’s an odd thing all right,’ Abby said, and raised her cup to her lips.
‘I guess so,’ James said. ‘May I use your bathroom?’
‘It’s along the hall,’ Abby said.
He went out of the room.
‘That was weird,’ Paris said.
‘Desperate people clutch at straws,’ Abby said. ‘They see things where there’s nothing to be seen.’
‘But it doesn’t bother you, him saying that?’
Abby shrugged. ‘Why would it?’
‘Because he’s sort of suggesting you had something to do with it, isn’t he?’
‘You’re Stacey’s niece. Does it bother you?’
‘No, because I don’t think it’s true.’
‘And that’s why it doesn’t bother me.’
Paris heard the toilet flush, then James came back in. He crouched in front of Lucy in her bouncer.
‘Now here’s a cheeky-looking youngster,’ he said. ‘I love babies. Any chance of a cuddle?’
‘She’s due for her nap soon,’ Abby said. ‘Cuddles from strangers get her too wound up to sleep.’
James reached out and tickled Lucy’s chin. ‘Well, maybe one day I won’t be a stranger any more, will I, little darlin’?’
‘Maybe you won’t,’ Abby said.
Paris looked from one to the other. She felt like there was a subtext here she couldn’t read. She watched James say he better be going, and followed as Abby walked him to the door. There was a strange moment when they looked at each other, Abby inside the house and James out, then James walked off down the driveway without even saying goodbye to her.
Abby shut the door. She looked distracted.
‘That was weird,’ Paris said.
‘Hm?’ Abby didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I have to go out. I just remembered.’
‘Do you want me to stay and mind Lucy? While she has her sleep?’
Abby focused on her. ‘No, I’ll take Lucy with me. She can nap in the car.’
Paris hesitated, then said, ‘Can I come?’
A thought flashed behind Abby’s eyes, then she said, ‘Sure. Yes. Yes, of course you can come.’