Ella and Murray followed Lawson across the road to a small office-supply company. Inside, a woman in a tight red skirt and blouse hurried to shake Ella’s and Murray’s hands.
‘Margo Grace, proprietor.’ Her palm was damp, her eyes bright. ‘That poor woman. I’m so glad to be able to help.’
‘Margo’s brother works for a security firm,’ Sid Lawson said. ‘He got her a top-of-the-line system and installed it himself.’
‘Fantastic,’ Ella said, her eyes on the monitor in front of Detective Marion Pilsiger. It showed a paused image of the front of the store, the street and some of Playland’s car park.
Pilsiger pressed buttons and the screen jumped to life. It was evening, six forty-two according to the timer in the corner, and Ella watched as Stacey’s car slowed and turned into the empty car park.
‘Sunday evening, so everything was closed,’ Margo Grace said.
Ella nodded. There looked to be only the driver onboard. The car parked in the position in which they’d seen it, the headlights went off, then there was a two-minute delay before the driver got out.
‘Wiping off prints?’ Murray murmured.
Ella didn’t answer.
The driver was thin, dressed in dark jeans and a dark shirt with long sleeves and a collar, and a dark cap pulled down low. The clothes were loose and Ella couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. They opened the boot and lifted out something that Ella didn’t initially recognise, then after a moment’s struggle by the driver she saw it was a folding bicycle. Once it was set up, the driver shut the boot, glanced around while clipping a dark helmet on over the cap, got on the bike and rode a little unsteadily towards the street. The cyclist looked both ways, then turned left, the direction they’d driven from. There was one false start when they wobbled into the gutter, then they seemed to get the hang of it and pedalled out of view.
Maybe not a good bike rider, Ella thought. Not their bike? Or a new bike bought for the occasion? They needed to find out about sales of those things.
‘Rewind,’ she said.
Pilsiger was already doing it. She slowed the footage and they watched once more from when the person got out of the car to the moment they disappeared off screen. The face wasn’t clear enough to see detail except to be sure there was no moustache or beard. The hair was either short or tucked up under the cap and helmet. Ella studied the arms, the build, the way the person moved.
‘It’s either a woman or a small slim man,’ Sid Lawson said happily.
Hey, state the obvious, Ella thought, but she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Margo Grace. ‘Bring James Durham over here for a look,’ she said to Murray.
When Durham arrived, Pilsiger pressed play. He stared at the screen intently. Ella watched his face.
‘I have no idea who that is,’ he said after the person had ridden out of view.
‘Watch it again,’ Ella said.
‘I don’t need to. If I thought that person was at all familiar I’d say so, but I’ve never seen them before.’
She studied his face, thinking about accomplices. Things could’ve been arranged so he could truthfully say he didn’t know the person. Didn’t mean he was innocent.
Murray took Durham back across to Playland, while Ella turned to Margo Grace. ‘May we take this footage?’
She beamed. ‘Of course.’
When they had it, and Pilsiger had handed her card to Margo with thanks, the three detectives went outside.
‘We’ll check what we can see at these other places.’ Pilsiger motioned along the street to the neighbouring businesses. ‘Even if we can’t spot the car itself, we might see where the cyclist went.’
‘Traffic cameras might show something too,’ Lawson said.
Ella nodded. ‘We need anything that shows their gender, gives us more of their face, any tattoos, hair colour, whatever, and any encounters with anyone – pedestrians, drivers, other cyclists. When you get back, make copies so we can show other witnesses too. Talk to Dennis, see about putting it out to the media as well.’
Lawson and Pilsiger departed to the next business, a pool supplies shop, and Ella crossed the road back to Playland. Stacey’s car was still being examined by the techs. Later it’d be taken on a flatbed truck to the lab where they’d search it in even more detail and try to work out if it’d been the scene of the incident or only used to transport a body. She felt determined, driven. These first few hours were so important, and as Murray came to meet her she nodded in the direction of James Durham.
‘Let’s go to the house.’
*
Rowan watched the detectives put James in the back of their car. They were going to search his and Stacey’s house. It was procedure, Rowan knew, but he still felt sick.
‘I’ll follow so he’s not alone,’ Simon said beside him. ‘You’ll take Em home?’
Emelia didn’t want to go, and was still yelling when Rowan fastened her car-seat harness. ‘Want Daddy!’
‘He has to work.’ Rowan kept seeing Stacey’s face the last time they’d talked, the tears in her eyes. Em’s screams didn’t usually bother him too much but he wished she’d shut up now. ‘Listen, I’m putting The Wiggles on. Just be quiet and listen.’
It took a while for the shouts to stop, but by the time they reached home she was singing along, though Rowan couldn’t muster his usual accompaniment.
Megan’s faded Hyundai was in the driveway when he pulled in, and she came out the front door before he’d turned off the engine.
‘Simon rang,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Mummy!’ Emelia called, bouncing in her harness.
Megan opened the back door and lifted her out but kept her eyes on Rowan. ‘Simon said James is shattered.’
‘He looked it too.’ Rowan got out. The sun was warm on his shoulders, the house appeared the same as ever. He’d left here so recently; how could the world have turned upside-down so quickly?
He followed Megan into the house. She put Emelia down and she ran off to get her dinosaurs.
‘Tea?’ Megan said. ‘You sit. I’ll get it.’
He sat at the kitchen table and watched her move about, getting out milk and sugar and pouring the water, stepping over Emelia who was roaring T-rexes across the tiles.
Megan glanced at him over her cup. ‘Simon said it was bad.’
He nodded. ‘It was.’
He’d told plenty of stories before in this kitchen, stories about people who’d lived or died, stories about injuries that made everyone cringe and Jennifer punch his shoulder and tell him to stop. This was different.
Megan looked away, brushed hair out of her eyes. Emelia lay on her stomach and set up dino battle lines.
‘How was college?’ Rowan asked.
‘Great. I got ninety per cent on my assignment.’
‘That’s fantastic. Congratulations.’
Her smile was broad. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m really proud of you,’ Rowan said. ‘You and Simon both.’ It felt important to tell them what they meant to him. ‘You’re doing a remarkable job with Em, and I’m really glad you all live here.’
‘Thanks,’ she said again, but a cloud crossed her face.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Did Simon talk to you yet?’
‘About what?’
She brushed her hair back again. ‘We’ve been talking about moving out.’
‘But you can stay here for as long as you want.’
‘It’s not that we don’t want to be here with you, but we just want to do it on our own,’ she said. ‘A place of our very own. Simon was going to bring it up. He explains it better than me.’
‘I understand the feeling,’ Rowan said. ‘It’s perfectly natural. But rents being so high, and places so hard to get, it’ll –’
‘No, because James told Simon a few weeks ago he knows someone who has an apartment that’ll be empty soon. He said he can put in a good word and he can’t see any reason why we wouldn’t get it. We didn’t want to say anything to you until we worked out the money, but it looks like we’ll be able to do it. Simon told James on the weekend.’ Her face was bright, her eyes shining. Rowan remembered the first flat he and Jennifer lived in, the tiny rooms, the torn flyscreens, their excitement.
‘It sounds great,’ he said, but was glad to look down when Emelia stomped a stegosaur over his foot.
‘Doesn’t it?’ Megan took their empty cups to the sink. ‘We thought we’d go round the second-hand stores for furniture. I said to Simon it doesn’t matter what nick they’re in, because we can just paint them and they’ll be like new for us, as well as in the exact colours we want.’
The idea of them moving out made him sadder than he’d thought it would. Because you’d never imagined it happening so soon. But that wasn’t entirely it. For one thing, he’d never lived alone in this house. He and Jennifer had bought it when Angus was four and Simon one, and they’d painted, and done up the garden, and later renovated, putting in an ensuite and a bigger kitchen. They’d often talked about selling it when they retired, buying a unit on the beach and walking there every day at dawn and dusk. But privately he wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d stayed here in this house the rest of their lives. Well, Jennifer achieved that, he thought wryly.
For another thing, there was Angus.
‘But hey,’ Megan faced him, ‘you’re still going on your coffee date this arvo, right?’
That. He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But unless you know where to look for Stacey, there’s really nothing you can do.’
‘It just doesn’t feel right.’
‘But Imogen’s been looking forward to it so much. At college this morning she looked awesome, she’s had her hair like straightened or coloured or something.’
‘Plus I’d be terrible company.’
‘She was all like sparkly in the eyes when we said goodbye.’ Megan squeezed his arm. ‘Please go. It’ll help take your mind off things. And Stacey would want you to, wouldn’t she?’
‘Well,’ he said, knowing he was giving in just to get her off his case. ‘If she was sparkly in the eyes, I guess –’
‘Yay!’ Megan said.
‘Yay!’ Emelia echoed under the table.
Megan’s phone started ringing and she dashed out of the room to get it, leaving Rowan wondering if the set-up was part of their plan to move. Dad won’t be lonely if he’s not alone.
‘I’m not lonely,’ he said to Emelia, but Emelia was absorbed in her plastic menagerie and didn’t answer.
*
The Durhams’ two-storey house stood on the curve of a street in Haberfield, shaded by a massive gum that scattered flowers and leaves as the wind blew through it. Ella and Murray had tried to get conversation going with James Durham on the drive here, but he’d been silent, wiping his eyes now and then – Ella could never see if there were actual tears or not – and answering, monosyllabically, only when he had to.
She opened the car door and he climbed out, gripping the handle as if he felt shaky, then the three of them crossed the lawn to the porch. As they did so a marked car pulled up, the officers there to wait with James while Ella and Murray searched; then a white Camry, out of which stepped Simon Wylie.
‘We’ll get you to unlock the door then wait out here, thanks,’ Ella said to James.
‘I have to disarm the alarm,’ he said. ‘Assuming Stacey set it. It’s just inside the door.’
‘In then out,’ Ella said.
He unlocked the security screen and the solid timber door and a small wire-haired dog leapt barking into his arms. He carried the dog inside, where he pressed buttons on an alarm panel on the wall, then he came back out, the dog licking his neck.
‘It was on?’ Ella asked him.
He nodded.
Ella and Murray went inside, Murray easing the screen shut behind them. The house was quiet and felt calm. They checked the living room, dining room, the attached and empty garage, the toilet under the stairs. Nothing looked disturbed. No area of flooring looked like it’d been recently replaced, or lifted, or scrubbed to remove a bloodstain. There was sufficient dust that it looked lived in, not cleaned to pass police inspection.
Ella noticed motion detectors high up in the corners of the rooms and alarm stickers on the windows. In the kitchen, Murray tested the back door while Ella looked into the dishwasher.
‘Locked,’ he said. Another alarm panel on the wall flashed green lights.
‘One plate, one knife, one coffee cup,’ she said.
Simon tapped on the front door. ‘Any chance we can come in? James isn’t feeling well.’
Ella could see him sitting on the step behind Simon, his face in the dog’s fur. Beyond him the uniforms stood talking together.
‘Won’t be long,’ she said.
Murray gave her a look.
She pushed him up the stairs ahead of her, and on the landing she said, ‘Just because he was in Melbourne when it happened doesn’t mean he’s not involved.’
‘You could’ve let him get a glass of water.’
‘I’m sure there’s a tap out there somewhere.’
The master bedroom was on the left. Ella stood in the doorway and looked at the neatly made bed, the quilt and pillows in smart shades of grey. A dog-hair-covered folded blanket lay at the foot of the left side. Matching fringed lamps stood on the bedside tables, framed photos of James and the woman she assumed was Stacey lined the lace runner on the chest of drawers, and an open doorway led into the big walk-in robe and the bathroom beyond.
Murray slid back the wardrobe door and looked in.
Ella knelt by the left-hand bedside table. People tended to keep their most personal and private possessions close to where they slept; in the past she’d opened bedside drawers to find diaries, nasal spray, photos of lovers hidden inside books, haemorrhoid cream, lubricant, folded wads of cash, sex toys. People never thought the day would be their last, never imagined a cop looking through their stuff. It was poignant proof of people’s similarities.
Stacey Durham’s first drawer held none of these things. Instead Ella found a woman’s silver dress watch with engraving on the back that read With all my love, James. The strap was delicate, the face small and decorated with diamonds. Underneath were three paperbacks by Jeffrey Deaver and a clean folded white handkerchief. Ella shook the books by the spines and fanned the pages but nothing fell out. She pulled the drawer from the unit, turned it over, checked the sides and back for taped-on letters, notes, money or drugs – all things she’d found in previous searches. Nothing.
From the second drawer she took pink silk pyjamas that smelled like fabric softener, two more Deaver paperbacks, and then there, right at the bottom, saw a small hardcover notebook. She sat back and opened it, hoping for revelations about the miserable truth of Stacey’s marriage, her secret lover, her plans to leave or divorce.
The first few pages had been torn out and the rest were blank. She held it to the light and could just make out the slight indentations left by the writing on the missing pages. The lab could work on that, and she put the notebook in an evidence bag to take with them.
She checked the sides and bottom of the second drawer, found nothing, and replaced the drawers and items as they’d been before.
She looked across at Murray. ‘Find anything?’
‘Nope. They’re no hoarders.’
Ella went into the bathroom. A pink toothbrush stood alone in the holder, and she guessed James’s was still packed from his trip. She bagged the toothbrush and a red hairbrush for DNA, then searched the drawers and cabinet. Over-the-counter cold and flu medication, mouthwash, most of a packet of Valium a year out of date and in Stacey’s name, steroid cream with James’s name on the label and instructions about applying daily to the rash, a box of the contraceptive pill prescribed to Stacey. The last tablet had been popped out on Saturday.
She went through James’s bedside table, then together she and Murray searched the ornate chest of drawers. Nothing but clean folded clothes. They lifted the quilt and sheets, looked under the bed, felt along the frame, checked behind the chest. Murray found a stepladder in a cupboard along the hall and Ella stood on it to check the surfaces and depths of the high shelves in the wardrobe. No diaries, no photos of lovers, no drugs, no money, no hidden letters, nothing.
‘It feels a bit too tidy,’ Murray said.
She nodded. ‘Like someone knew we’d be looking.’
They went into the other rooms. One was a spare bedroom, the queen bed made up with a blue quilt and valance, the carpet clean and unmarked, the built-in and bedsides empty. The other was a home office with a computer on a desk in the middle of the room, a printer on a shelf underneath, a wheeled chair on a plastic mat, a bookshelf full of folders and manuals on one wall, and three four-drawer metal filing cabinets along the opposite wall by the window. Ella opened each drawer and looked in at files marked ‘Staff super’, ‘Invoices’, ‘Forms’. Murray moved the mouse and looked at the computer monitor.
‘Lots of work stuff,’ he said.
Ella went through the few papers in the desk’s in-tray. Invoices for orders of computer parts, shop electricity and phone bills. The bin by the chair was empty.
Murray pulled folders out of the bookcase and leafed through the contents. ‘Nothing of hers that I can see.’
‘Let’s bring him in and have a chat,’ Ella said.