The confirmation on the blood changes everything and nothing. We go over the possible scenarios for a few minutes, but we’re only slightly less in the dark than we were before. I call the Clarks and endure a ten-minute rant from Daniel about my incompetence while Dot cries in the background.
As I leave the station, I realise I didn’t try to contact Janet Rixon again and decide I’ll call her from the car. But when I hit the bottom of the ramp I see Simon Charleston waiting for me. He looks like a uni student in faded jeans and a T-shirt that reads, OUT OF OFFICE. LEAVE A MESSAGE. A pen sticks out of his unruly hair and there’s a smudge of blue ink on his face.
‘I can’t talk now, Simon,’ I say wearily.
‘Did you speak to Vanessa about the accident?’
‘It all checks out.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. Something stinks and it all comes back to Tommy.’ Lowering his voice, he steps closer. ‘I know you’ve just landed here but I’ve been sniffing around for a long time. I think something happened with the suspected homicides from years ago. Witnesses were dropping like flies, retracting their statements left, right and centre, and refusing interviews with me. And then suddenly Tommy was promoted and no one could explain it to me. And now there’s the bizarre behaviour at the car accident scene.’ He tenses his jaw and grips it with his hand. ‘Come on, Gemma. I need your help with this. I know you don’t just toe the standard line. Don’t let me down.’
He’s aimed where it hurts and landed the shot. ‘Look, I don’t need your guilt trip. I’m here to do two things: solve Rick Fletcher’s homicide and find Abbey Clark. I suggest if you have something concrete and it’s bothering you then you take it to the minister. There’s no way I’m doing your job for you.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ he says, stalking off.
Shaking slightly, I get in the car and stare blankly at the steering wheel. If I wasn’t so angry I could fall asleep right here. I blink a few times and rub my eyes, trying to wake up before I start the car and head toward the Gordons’.
My phone rings, a number I don’t recognise. I answer on the hands free and the sound of a woman crying fills the car.
‘Hello?’
‘Detective, he called—Aiden called.’
‘That’s good news, Georgina,’ I say, guiding the car off the road and stopping it under a giant gum tree. ‘At least we know he’s okay.’
‘But something’s wrong! He was being so strange. Oh my god, I don’t understand. He wants us to leave the house and stay somewhere else! What’s going on?’
‘Okay, Georgina, I’m really glad you called me. Tell me exactly what happened.’
Her loud breathing becomes more even.
‘Did he call your mobile?’ I ask.
‘Um, yes, but not on his phone. It came up as a private number.’
‘Okay, and what exactly did he say?’
Her voice lifts an octave and veers out of control again. ‘He was so upset! He didn’t sound like himself—he kept saying he’s sorry and this is all his fault. He said he’s worried that Ian and I are in danger, and that we should take Belinda and go. He’s worried that what happened to Rick might happen to us. I really just don’t understand.’
‘Okay, Georgina, it’s okay. That must have been really frightening. Listen to me, where are you right now?’
She emits a long shuddery breath, and I think I can hear her teeth chatter. ‘At home. The cops were here all day but they’ve left. I’m with our lawyer.’
‘Where’s Ian?’
‘He took Belinda to see his mother at the nursing home. She’s not well.’
‘Alright. This is what I’m going to do—I’m going to organise a constable to come to your house now and stay with you for a while.’
‘Do you think Aiden is right? Does someone want to hurt us?’
‘I don’t think so, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.’
‘We were going to stay with my sister in Sydney next week.’ Georgina sniffs. ‘They’re not letting us . . . have Rick until next week anyway, and she is going to help us arrange the funeral . . . Maybe we can go earlier?’
‘I think that’s a good idea.’
‘What about Aiden? What if he’s not safe?’ Her loud sob pierces my ear.
‘Georgina, did anything about the call give you an idea of where he might be?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘And you’re sure you can’t think of anyone Aiden would trust enough to stay with?’
‘Maybe his ex-girlfriend,’ she murmurs. ‘They are still close. She lives in Sydney somewhere.’
‘Do you know her name?’
‘Um, yes. Elise Craven. I think she lives in Newtown.’
‘Okay. Georgina, I’ll arrange for someone to come to your house now, okay? And we’re going to keep looking for Aiden.’
I call Tran and talk her through my call with Georgina.
‘I can get someone from my team to go up there for a few hours,’ she says distractedly. ‘But I can’t spare them for very long. Our overtime is through the roof.’
‘Is everything alright?’
‘Yes and no. We’ve spent all day interviewing the family of Dale Marx but we’re not really getting anywhere. All his mates said he’d gone to ground in the few months before he disappeared. His parents haven’t got a clue what he was up to. His father is very unwell and I think they’ve been pretty consumed by that.’
‘But you’re thinking drugs.’
‘I’m not thinking drugs. The team found a decent haul in his bedroom—a whole cupboard of pharmacy grade stuff. And his car is gone. I’d say whoever knocked him off took it and whatever was in it.’
‘Does he have any links to Aiden or Rick?’
‘We’re checking, obviously, but nothing has turned up yet. They weren’t in contact and didn’t go to the same school.’
‘What did this guy do?’
‘He worked at a vet clinic—cleaning and helping to manage the kennels.’
‘Kind of like Aiden at the hospital,’ I say.
Tran sighs. ‘I know.’
I update her on our leads then steer the car back onto the road as I try to think. Are we looking at a love triangle or a drug triangle or both? If it was drugs, maybe Abbey dumping Rick prompted him to threaten dobbing her in. Would that be reason enough for her to fake her disappearance and attack him? For the hundredth time I try to imagine her creeping up behind Rick and striking him, but my brain struggles, desperately searching for other scenarios.
A long email from Jodie lands in my personal inbox with a sharp ping just as I pull up at the Gordons’. She has bolded certain words for emphasis and divided the text into sections. I feel exhausted as I scroll through sentence after sentence. Ben has a school camp in four weeks’ time—does he want to go? What should we do about his birthday this year? Will he want to have a party? Is it okay with me if Jodie takes him to her sister’s fortieth birthday in late June? Does he want to keep playing soccer next term? Do I want my name added to his emergency contacts? Do I want to transfer him onto my health insurance policy now?
When are we coming home?
Anxiety grabs at me in exactly the same way it does every time I speak to Mac. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat where it clips the corner of my laptop.
It immediately starts to ring: Mac.
My temple throbs and I moan, pushing my fingers into my hair and gripping my head.
I can’t do this.
My phone stops ringing and buzzes with his voice message.
Less than a minute later, it rings again. This time it’s Cam.
I take a deep breath and answer, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Hi, Cam. I’m glad you called. I need to ask you more questions about Rick. Do you know if him leaving the pub was a sudden thing or something he’d been thinking about for a while?’
‘Whoa, whoa, Gemma.’ Cam laughs nervously and I can tell he’s running a hand through his thick hair. ‘Um, I actually have someone here at the hotel who’s been trying to get onto you. I’ll just put him on.’
‘Gemma, it’s me.’ Mac’s voice simmers before it erupts. ‘What the hell is going on?’