‘You ever heard of this modern concept called knocking on the door, Vern?’
‘I did knock. You didn’t answer. I tried three times. I was worried about you.’ He groaned, cradling his head.
I put down my star picket. Tried to get my breathing back to somewhere approaching normal.
‘I don’t need people breaking in to check up on me.’
He stood, wobbling on the carpet. A nasty bruise was forming on the side of his head. He rubbed his ear; winced. Sat down on the side of my bed, looking a little too settled-in for my liking.
‘I had a phone call. From Jo.’
I stared at him.
‘Yep, I’d know her voice anywhere.’
‘What did she say?’
‘The line was shit. But she’s alive, Cass. For the moment.’ His voice broke.
‘Where is she?’
‘She wouldn’t say.’ Deep lines around Vern’s bloodshot blue eyes.
‘She say anything about Vivian? Or Patterson?’
‘She didn’t kill them, Cass.’
‘Joanne actually said that?’
‘She didn’t need to. Jo knows I believe in her.’
‘Vern.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘The murders of Vivian and Patterson—these are very bad things that have happened. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘Jo’s the love of my life. And she’s hiding out somewhere, from someone.’
‘Quite possibly from the police.’
‘She didn’t bloody well do it, OK?’
‘Yes, yes, all right.’ Although, really, this was a long way from all right. Vern, despite his loyalty, had no way of verifying that Joanne hadn’t killed those people. Poor Vern. You had to hope he wasn’t up for the full-scale heartbreak. ‘Why wouldn’t she say where she is?’
‘Dunno. She just said I’m safe. I kept asking her to tell me where she was. Begged her. But she said it’s better if you don’t know.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. Then: ‘You still got that photo, haven’t you?’
I nodded. It was in my handbag last time I looked. ‘Why?’
‘She said don’t show Peluso the photos. Or maybe it was show Peluso the photos.’
‘Well, which one was it?’
He put his head in his hands. ‘That’s the trouble. I dunno.’
‘How can you not bloody know? Simple enough matter. She either said don’t or she didn’t.’
‘The line was really bad. Hard to make out anything she was saying, so much crackling and distortion.’ A note of panic in his voice.
I kept my voice patient. ‘Just tell me exactly what you heard.’
‘I heard don’t—crackle crackle—show Peluso the photos.’
I sat down beside him. ‘OK, I need you to concentrate, Vern. Was the show at the beginning of a new sentence or connected to the don’t? How much time was there between don’t and show? Maybe you missed a couple of words in the crackle?’
‘I dunno,’ he wailed. ‘We have to find her, Cass.’
‘Stay with me, Vern. Let’s think. No point rushing around everywhere looking for her, all over again. You saw where that got us last time. Joanne must be holed up somewhere not at all obvious. Did you hear any background noises? Something that might help us work out where she is? Rain, wind, traffic, dogs, a kid crying, vehicles, anything?’
He shook his head.
‘Take it slow, think about what she said, and what you heard.’
A moment while he thought. ‘I heard a truck starting up. But there was so much bloody crackling, I can’t even be sure of that.’
A truck was something. Hardly narrowed it down, though.
Sometimes you can’t do anything except provide a little comfort. I patted his shoulder. ‘She’s alive, that’s the main thing. We’ll sort this out in the morning. Now you go home and get some sleep, all right?’
‘You’re kidding. We gotta get out there and find her.’ Vern’s voice was loud, so loud half of Best Street could probably hear him.
‘The most valuable thing we can do for Jo is to stay focused, Vern. And calm. Did she say anything else?’
‘Just that…she loves me.’ His voice broke.
‘Listen, it’s gunna be OK,’ I said, trying hard to reassure myself.
Three cups of camomile and a whole lot of Panadol later, Vern finally agreed to go home. And—a miracle—he promised to get on the blower to Paula.
I spent a good long while worrying in bed. The facts: we must either show or not show the photos to Peluso. Whatever that meant. It sounded like that was pretty much the reason Joanne had phoned Vern, so it must be important.
Two o’clock. Three. Sleep clearly not happening, I got out of bed and phoned Dean. No way Vern would actually call Paula, I was sure of that.
‘Jesus, Mum. You know what time it is?’ Dean paused. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ I explained about Vern’s surprise visit.
‘Right.’
‘So you should probably get on the blower to Stephens, son.’
‘Stephens isn’t interested in what you or I think.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be interested in the fact that Joanne has called Vern.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I expect a little more from you than “mmm”. You’re a police officer.’
‘Ex-police officer.’
‘Stephens didn’t say that.’
‘Not yet.’
How in hell I ended up with such defeatist kids beats me. Piero, I’d bet. Probably down to something genetic, carried solely by him, like one of those awful inherited chronic illnesses they blame on the mother. Well, sue my X chromosomes, but I refuse to take responsibility for this one.
‘Joanne’s call might help Homicide locate her. Vern reckons he heard a truck start up in the background.’
‘Right. Anything more specific? Did he know what kind of truck?’
At least I had Dean’s interest. ‘Not sure. He said there was a lot of distortion on the line. You can track people down with their mobiles, can’t you?’
‘Yeah, but Joanne’s mobile is out of action. We haven’t had anything from it since she disappeared.’
‘So maybe she used a land line to call Vern? Or some other mobile? Bought a new SIM?’
‘Possibly.’
‘The cops are actually looking for Joanne?’
‘Of course. Not that anyone’s telling me anything.’
‘She must be holed up somewhere. A very discreet and unobvious somewhere. Where there’s a truck,’ I said.
‘Pretty much every property in the Mallee, then.’
‘She told Vern to not show the photos to Peluso. Or show them. One or the other.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
I explained about Joanne’s photo. The man in the Iceland hat. ‘What do you know about Peluso, Dean?’ Had Peluso ever been to Iceland?
‘Well, he’s known to police, of course. Given his dubious business practices. A lot of phoenixing.’
A pause.
‘You do know what phoenixing is, Mum?’
‘No. But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘The intentional transfer of assets from an indebted company to a new one. To avoid paying creditors, tax or employees.’
‘Right.’
‘Peluso’s owned various construction companies over the years. The first one went bust and none of his employees or creditors were paid. Six months later, he started up a new business, exactly the same. Surprise: that one failed too. And on the cycle goes. It’s called phoenixing and there’s not much we can do about it. Especially when we’re dealing with someone with good lawyers and accountants.’
‘So he’s one of these uncatchable bastards?’
‘No one’s uncatchable forever.’
Yes. Dean might shake off Piero’s defeatism yet.
‘ASIC are investigating him, finally. Might lead to something,’ he said.
‘ASIC…?’
‘Australian Securities and Investments Commission.’
‘I’m not really seeing how any of this involves Joanne. I’m wondering about something though—it must have cost her a bit to set up that bookshop in Sheep Dip. Could Peluso have had anything to do with it?’
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I might swing by the station in the morning. I’ve got a box of things to pick up anyway. I’ll see if I can get an update on Homicide’s progress.’
Excellent. ‘But I don’t want you in any more trouble, Dean.’
‘Ha. How about we do a deal. I’ll avoid getting in trouble if you avoid it too.’