Ryder found Flowers and Lewicki in the inn’s Blue Lake Restaurant. The maître d’ had been reserving the same table for them every night. It was through an archway in the rear wall that led to a narrow, enclosed annex. Separated from the main restaurant, the annex was a quiet space with a maximum of six small tables. Flowers and Lewicki were at the far end surrounded by walls on three sides.
Lewicki looked up and saw him first. ‘Here he is.’
Flowers glanced over his shoulder and laid down his cutlery. ‘Evening, Sarge.’
‘Daisy, Lew,’ Ryder said with a subtle nod, pleased at how these two were getting along. He dragged out a chair. ‘Carry on with your dinner, I ordered something on my way in.’
As a waitress filled his water glass, Ryder stretched out the kinks in his neck and relayed his conversation with Burt Crofts.
‘Makes sense Bruno’s mum left him the house in Cooma,’ said Lewicki, mopping up his sauce with a piece of damper. ‘He probably kept up the mortgage payments after his father died.’
‘What interests me most is that Lombardi made a point of telling him twice about the ski patroller ordering him to shut down the lift at four-thirty. Like he wanted Crofts to remember it.’
Flowers raised an eyebrow. ‘Constructing an alibi for himself?’
Ryder nodded. ‘I think so. Crofts should be back here tomorrow. It’ll be interesting to see if he turns up with anything from that storage unit in Jindabyne.’
Flowers pulled a small notepad from his pocket and relayed what he’d learned that day talking to Nigel Miller’s bandmates.
‘Jimmy (Jimbo) Reynolds. He’s the drummer holding up his sticks in that photograph,’ Flowers began. ‘He admitted he was not too fond of Celia because he thought she held the band back. In his opinion she was risk averse. She wouldn’t let Nigel extend their mortgage on a one-bedroom unit they owned in Kings Cross. The band were trying to raise funds to cut an LP at the time. Jimbo said, looking back now, she was only a kid, but they did have more success after she died.’
‘What about the others?’ asked Ryder, leaning back as the waitress put his marinara in front of him.
‘Brandon Wilson (Willo). He’s the bass guitarist. Back then he was a concreter. He hated his job. He admitted to being ambitious to earn a living from the band. He said he was always careful to stay on Celia’s good side, because he didn’t want her breaking them up.’
Flowers flipped over a page in his notebook. ‘Gary (Gazza) Bennett. The guitarist.’ Flowers shook his head and exchanged glances with Lewicki. ‘This guy. He admitted to sleeping with Celia a couple of times.’
‘Jesus.’ Ryder lowered his fork onto his plate. ‘Who in this joint wasn’t sleeping around back then?’
‘According to Gaz, Nigel was a womaniser who couldn’t resist the groupies. Gaz felt sorry for Celia, so he gave her a bit of attention. But … he ended the affair because ultimately the band was more important. He’s always been terrified that Nigel would find out and kick him out of the band.’
‘How did Celia take Gazza’s decision to end it?’
‘He said she was okay about it and told him that their secret would be safe with her.’
Ryder looked from Flowers to Lewicki and back again. ‘Give me your gut feelings on this.’
Flowers leaned back in his chair and stretched out his shoulders. ‘I think she was this band’s Yoko Ono.’
Lewicki laughed, the first real laugh Ryder had heard from him since all this had begun.
Flowers’ eyes widened. ‘Seriously, that’s what I think. They knew this band had a shot at the big time. I don’t think any of them would have actually harmed Celia Delaney, though. Nigel was the John Lennon of this band, and they were desperate to stay on his good side.’
‘What about you, Lew?’ Ryder asked.
‘I agree with Daisy. And they were playing their set around the time she was thought to have disappeared.’
‘So, you still suspect Miller?’
Lew gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘I’m in two minds. Bruno’s a worry.’
Ryder sighed and pushed his plate away. He was done for the day. ‘How about a beer downstairs before we hit the hay?’
Flowers shook his head. ‘I’ve already had one, so I’ll leave you to it. I want to get these reports typed up.’
‘I’ll be in that,’ said Lewicki, getting to his feet. ‘I get a kick out of spoiling people’s evenings.’
‘I like the young bloke,’ Lewicki said as they sipped their beer. ‘He’s smart.’
Ryder nodded. ‘I had my reservations, but he’s shown good instincts. He’s ambitious. Loves being on the big cases like this one, and Hutton. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s got the makings of a decent police prosecutor. He’s a pain if he’s bored, though. Need to keep him busy.’
‘He makes you feel old. That’s the reason you don’t like him.’
‘He’s growing on me,’ Ryder said with chuckle. ‘The piccolo lattes give me the shits. Makes me miss Macca’s rotating diet of fish and chips and steak sandwiches.’
‘What happened to Macca?’
‘He’s back in uniform. Wants to become detective sergeant.’
‘Huh. Good on him.’
For a while, they sipped their drinks and, to his surprise, Ryder found himself enjoying the music. The place was hopping, the band breaking into a version of Val Halen’s ‘Jump’ that had both guests and staff hitting the dance floor. Aidan Smythe moved from group to group, chatting to the guests. Henry and Di Gordon were sitting at their usual table with Smythe’s wife, Carmel, a slim, well-groomed woman who looked to be in her early seventies.
‘Di Gordon’s doing all the talking,’ Ryder commented.
‘The women usually do.’
‘Henry looks like he can’t wait to get back to monitoring China.’
Lewicki shook his head. ‘Jesus. What a weird mob this lot turned out to be.’
The outer door near the stage opened and two women came in. Even from across the room Ryder recognised Libby from the childcare centre. She was chatting to the taller one who had turned her back to them and was searching for a spare hook on which to hang their jackets.
Ryder straightened, watching as the woman reached up and draped both jackets over a brass hook, her long, dark hair falling in waves to the middle of her back. She turned around and Ryder’s breath hitched. He’d only ever seen Vanessa in her loose-fitting ski patrol suit, apart from the morning she’d opened the door to him and Flowers wearing long thermals and thick socks. Tonight, she wore a long silver jumper over stretch denim jeans that moulded to her shapely legs. Her cherry-red lipstick was a perfect match for the Doc Martens on her feet.
A young woman sitting at a table called out, and Vanessa waved and made her way towards the group with Libby. Ryder leaned back into the shadow of a square column close to their table.
‘I’m happy for you.’
‘What?’ Ryder glanced at his friend over the rim of his glass. ‘I think you’re getting sentimental in your old age, Lew.’ This is how it was between them. The verbal sparring was how they showed they cared. ‘There’s nothing between Vanessa and me. She’s a ski patroller and I live in Sydney. I’d be nuts to start something with her.’
So why did you agree to meet her for coffee or a drink?
‘Didn’t look that way to me the other day. I like the way she stood up to you. You can be a stubborn bastard.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you.’
Lew shook his head, his expression turning pensive. ‘Why don’t you give yourself permission to be happy?’ he asked softly.
‘You know why. And I am happy, sort of. She’s talking to a group of ski instructors. What do you want me to do?’
Lewicki slid off the stool with a sigh. ‘I’m getting us another drink.’
With Lewicki gone, Ryder watched Vanessa talk to the people at the table. Terry had moved over so she could sit beside him. An image of the two of them eating lunch in the cafe came to mind. He had sensed they had been discussing something serious. Terry had been stressing a point, his index finger jabbing the tabletop as he spoke. Vanessa had been nodding, and then she’d looked up and caught Ryder’s eye for a moment.
Ryder continued to watch them now, wondering if they’d been discussing work, or if there was something personal between them. And it bothered him that he hoped they weren’t involved. Surely, she wouldn’t have asked him out if she had some kind of relationship with Terry?
‘This’ll help you sleep,’ said Lewicki, putting a tumbler of whiskey on the table.
‘You think I need sleep?’
‘Are you getting any?’
‘Not much,’ he admitted, dragging his gaze away from Vanessa back to Lew. ‘Tell me something. Of all the horrific cases you’ve worked on, why did this one get to you?’
Lew took a mouthful of whiskey, held it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. ‘It was a bit too close to home.’
Ryder frowned. ‘Close to home?’
Lewicki sighed. ‘Did you ever wonder why Annie and I didn’t have kids?’
‘Sure. You don’t ask those kinds of questions, though.’
Lew paused as though he were having trouble knowing where to start. ‘Annie had a baby before I met her. She was eighteen when she got pregnant, around Eunice Delaney’s age. There were parallels. Both girls came from devoutly Catholic families.’
Of all the things Ryder had expected Lew to say, this wasn’t it. Unsure of the best way to respond, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Lew.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Annie’s not religious.’
‘Right.’ Unlike Eunice Delaney. Ryder thought about the holy water fonts and religious pictures on the walls. Of the way Eunice had crossed herself before entering Celia’s bedroom. ‘Eunice told me her parents believed God took Celia away as punishment for marrying a Protestant. Can you believe that?’
‘Jesus bloody Christ!’ Lew gave an angry shake of his head. ‘Annie’s parents made her give her baby away. They sent her to a convent as soon as she started to show, and she was forced to stay there till the birth.’ He took a breath, then added with unveiled bitterness: ‘And then the nuns took her baby girl away.’
Ryder shook his head, his heart sore for the gentle, compassionate Annie. She had understood his anguish. Now he understood hers.
‘So much for the good old days, hey?’ Lew swirled the spirit around in his glass, staring into the depths of the amber liquid. ‘After Annie and I got married, we tried for a baby. It didn’t happen.’ He glanced sideways at Ryder. ‘It was me—obviously. I suggested we adopt a baby, but Annie said no. She couldn’t bear the thought of loving someone else’s child when she’d given her own away.’
‘Oh, God, Lew. I’m sorry.’ Ryder lifted the tumbler to his lips with a shaky hand.
‘I had a hard time coming to terms with Annie’s decision. I was angry with her. It put pressure on our marriage. Then, Celia went missing. I threw myself into the case, determined to find Celia for the grief-stricken Delaneys.’
‘It’s the worst thing on earth, losing a child,’ Ryder said. ‘If it wasn’t for you and Annie, and my family, I wouldn’t have come out the other side.’
‘Perspectives change over time, too. Annie now regrets not adopting, but after all the shit I’ve seen in this job, I’m kind of glad we didn’t.’
Ryder knocked back the rest of his whiskey and set his glass on the table. ‘Thanks for telling me, Lew. I appreciate it wasn’t easy.’
‘Yeah, well, we’re getting morose tonight.’ Lewicki smiled one of his rare smiles. ‘Next time we’ll keep Daisy with us.’
‘Take it easy,’ Ryder said with a chuckle. ‘He’d probably order a Long Island Iced Tea.’
On stage, the rhythm guitarist began to play the intro to Pat Benatar’s ‘All Fired Up’, and Ryder couldn’t stop himself from looking around at Vanessa’s table. A young bloke with surf-grommet hair was trying to coax her out of her seat and onto the dance floor. She protested, much to Ryder’s pleasure, before going reluctantly. Others crowded around her. She began to move, half-heartedly at first, but it didn’t take long for her to get into the spirit of things. She was the kind of dancer who gave herself over to the music. Hands raised above her head, and with her hair falling about her face, she twirled and gyrated with the best of them.
Ryder wanted to knock the drooling grommet out.
‘Well, that’s it for me,’ he said, sliding off his stool and hooking his coat over his shoulder. He hadn’t had time to change before dinner but at least he’d managed to lose the tie. ‘Are you coming?’
‘No, I’ll have one more before turning in. You go. You’re on duty tomorrow.’
Ryder clapped his friend on the shoulder and, without looking at Vanessa again, turned away.
On the dance floor, Vanessa saw Ryder stand up.
She caught her breath, excitement seeping into every molecule of her body, her racing heart now beating triple time.
How long had he been there?
Wasn’t he supposed to be in Sydney?
She kept moving, watching as he stood talking to Lewicki, his suit coat casually hooked over one shoulder. The two of them had been sitting in the shadows.
As she watched, he turned and walked away. Hoping he was heading for the bar, she stopped dancing and tracked him as he shouldered his way through the crowd.
‘Hey, what’s the matter?’
Sam’s hands landed on her waist and he spun her around.
‘Sam.’ Vanessa pushed his hands away. ‘Thanks for the dance but I have to go.’
‘Hey! What’s up?’
Ryder was leaving—that’s what was up. She ducked around a jiving couple and grabbed her jacket off the hook. Without bothering to put it on, she opened the door and stepped out into the sub-zero night.
The wind whipped her hair about her face, and she impatiently brushed it out of her eyes, determined to intercept him before he reached his suite. She struggled up the short slope towards the main entrance, her Doc Martens slipping more than once on the windblown ice. He needed to walk the length of the corridor then climb two flights of stairs to his suite.
With no idea of what she was going to say to him, she tramped past the ski racks outside the main entrance then pushed her way inside through the swinging double doors. At the metal grate, she stamped her feet to get the snow off her boots, then opened an internal door that led into the normally busy foyer. Tonight, it was deserted, the shop and cafe closed for the evening, the only sound the low frequency of the bass guitar reverberating through the floor.
Vanessa hurried across the foyer and swung left into the corridor.
He was about three metres away, head down, deep in thought, his suit coat still hooked over his shoulder.
He looked up and stopped, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. ‘Vanessa. Weren’t you just in the bar?’
So, he had seen her, dancing with Sam.
She nodded, breathless from her impromptu sprint up the hill. Now that she’d bailed him up, she had no idea what she was going to do next. ‘I didn’t see you until you stood up. Libby told me you were in Sydney.’
‘Libby did?’
‘She spoke to Detective Flowers.’
‘Oh.’ He let the suit coat slide off his shoulder. Holding it by the collar, he jigged it up and down a bit. ‘I’m glad you got the message.’
Oh shit! What now? She took an unsteady breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
He took two steps closer to her, a concerned expression on his face. ‘What is it?’
She knew what he was thinking, that she was going to tell him something important about Celia Delaney.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Before she lost her nerve completely, she let her jacket slide to the floor and closed the gap between them. Stuff Henry Gordon and his stupid warning. He could sack her for all she cared.
Taking Ryder by the shoulders, Vanessa stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. For a few heady moments she stayed like that, her eyes closed to the world, her mouth on his as she breathed in his woodsy aftershave.
She broke the kiss and stepped back, licking the taste of whiskey from her lips.
He looked shocked, then pleased, a flush staining his neck above his collared shirt. He smiled, his white, even teeth a sharp contrast to the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. ‘I’m listening.’
Vanessa’s legs turned to water beneath her—from relief, or desire, or both.
He moved quickly, taking her hand and shouldering open the door of the nearby drying room. Tugging her inside, he threw his suit coat on the bench and turned to her.
‘My jacket,’ Vanessa gasped. ‘It’s outside.’
He caught the door before it swung closed, retrieved her jacket then threw it on top of his. He swore as a censor light began to flicker on, revealing rows of ski jackets hanging from hooks and boots lined up along the floor.
Vanessa laughed as he thumped the light switch, plunging the humid room into near darkness save for the filtered light from the corridor that shone through a small glass panel in the door.
They stood in the darkened room, breathing heavily, moments of blissful anticipation stretching between them. And then he was there, towering over her, warm hands cupping her face, the pads of his thumbs stroking across her cheeks. He lowered his head, blocking out the light before his lips claimed hers in a kiss so unhurriedly seductive Vanessa’s body shook in a top-to-toe tremble.
She brought her hands to his chest, running her palms over the hard wall of muscle, the steady strike of his heart pulsing beneath her fingertips. She moaned softly, and he drew her closer, deepening the kiss, his jaw rough like sandpaper against her cheek.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured when they broke for air, ‘and so soft.’ He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, shifting aside the neckline of her jumper so he could access the tender skin of her collarbone.
Vanessa clung to him, pressing against him in an effort to get closer. He growled low in his throat, his hands sliding downwards before splaying across her bottom and pulling her flush up against him.
‘Oh …’
He set her away from him, breathing hard. ‘We’re not staying here.’
He left her to peer through the glass square, then opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. Satisfied there was no one out there, he pointed a finger at her. ‘You stay here.’
She smiled. ‘You just said we weren’t staying here.’
‘I have to get rid of Flowers. He’s working in my rooms.’
‘Oh.’
Her disappointment must have shown on her face, because he waved a hand in the air and said, ‘Stuff it. Come on.’
Out in the corridor, he told her to go ahead. ‘I’ll follow. It’ll look like I’m going to interview you.’
‘That sounds like a fun game.’ Vanessa headed towards the staircase on legs wobbly with excitement. ‘Try and act naturally,’ she whispered over her shoulder.
‘Yeah, that’ll be easy.’
She stifled a giggle, schooling her face into a serious expression as they passed a group of guests who were playing cards at a table close to the bottom of the stairs. Most people were in the cocktail bar or sitting on the lounge close to the open fire.
When they finally reached the door of Ryder’s suite, Vanessa let out a sigh of relief.
‘I’ll speak to Flowers,’ he said, going in ahead of her.
Vanessa followed him inside, suddenly nervous Detective Flowers would see through Ryder’s explanation for her being there. Hopefully, he’d already thought of a convincing one.
She watched as he stuck his head around the doorway of the makeshift office. ‘Beat it, Flowers.’
Vanessa’s mouth fell open and she looked around for somewhere to hide.
‘What did you say, Sarge?’ came Flowers’ confused reply.
‘Beat it. You’re off duty for the night.’
‘I’m nearly finished.’
‘Goddammit. How many times do you want me to—’
‘All right.’ The typist chair squeaked.
Vanessa glared at Ryder as he came towards her. Then Flowers appeared in the doorway, his confused expression clearing as he caught sight of Vanessa.
‘Oh, hello, Vanessa.’
‘Hello,’ she said, trying to look serious, as though she might be there on police business.
Flowers didn’t buy it for a second. He fought off a smile as he looked from her to Ryder and back again.
‘Nice one, Sarge,’ she heard him murmur as Ryder shut the door behind him and locked it.