‘Sam, wake up. Sam…’
I startled awake with a big gasp of breath, and a twitch that near threw me off the bed. ‘Shit, what?’
‘You were moaning and yelling out in your sleep.’
‘Ugh, I was?’ I moved my arm out from under me and winced as the pins and needles from sleeping on it weird hit with a vengeance. I checked the time on my watch – 3.35pm – and then deposited the back of the hand on my forehead.
‘Well, you were sort of yelling. You were doing that muffled shouty thing that sounds like you have a pair of socks stuffed in your mouth.’
I smacked my tongue onto the roof of my mouth. It tasted like the said socks had spent a couple of days wrapped around wet feet stuffed in tramping boots. It wasn’t ideal. A remnant wave of the dream Maggie had just rescued me from washed through my mind, and the dread and repulsion it evoked made my eyes well with tears. I squeezed them shut.
‘Hey, you okay?’ I felt her hand rubbing my shoulder. I was but I wasn’t. Maggie was my flatmate, and my rock. Calling her my best friend didn’t even come close to summing up what she meant to me. It wasn’t often in the world you found people who just got you. She got me.
‘Ugh, tough case at work, no sleep, rampant hormones, impending popping, you about to bugger off and leave me, and the worst case of parrot mouth known to mankind, but other than that, I’m fine.’
‘So same old, same old, then?’
‘Yup.’ I managed a smile. I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, but courtesy of my rather changed centre of gravity I had to do a few rocks to get some momentum going. Finally got there. ‘I think tea is in order.’
‘No argument from me.’
We wandered out to the kitchen, and Maggie set about filling the kettle and finding the requisite packet of Toffee Pops biscuits. I stared out the window, trying to replace the tumultuous images in my head with something more calming. The backyard of our house was dense with trees, which as well as providing a sense of peace and solitude, attracted a multitude of native birds. The energetic flitting of a couple of wax-eyes feeding off the bright-yellow flowers of the kōwhai tree provided a welcome antidote to the deep-seated unease from my dreams. Torie the cat sat on the window ledge doing that odd jaw-clacking thing cats do when potential fodder is in their sights. Fortunately for the birds she was on this side of the glass.
‘I’ve caught a few snippets on the news about the woman found down the alley off Moray Place. I’m guessing that’s the case you’re referring to. It sounds pretty horrific.’
Maggie slid me over a mug, and I wrapped my hands around its warmth.
‘It’s the stuff of nightmares.’
She smiled while raiding the biscuit packet. ‘Well that much is obvious. Who the hell could commit an atrocity like that – and why?’
Why indeed? So far my brain had imagined everything from a desperate need to be a parent, to black-market baby snatchers to alien abductions. The last idea only went to prove how tired and distraught I was by the whole thing. I looked down at the rather large bump sitting on my lap. This case was shit timing.
Maggie noticed the direction of my gaze. ‘Do you think you’re up to being part of the investigation?’
If anyone else had asked that question of me I would have shouted them down with the indignance of someone who had an axe to grind and a mind of where to bury it. But because it came from Maggie, I had pause to honestly consider the question. Was I up to it? Could I be objective? There had been plenty of occasions in my professional career when I had needed to set aside my personal views and demons in order to get on with the job. Sometimes that had been successful, on others, spectacularly not. But even in those instances where I had followed my heart rather than my head, my instincts – or some would say my impulsiveness, inability to follow the prescribed rules and general pig-headedness – had provided the breakthrough that was needed, even if it came at a personal cost.
I knew there was no way in hell I would be able to keep emotion out of this investigation, but this wasn’t a case where being emotionally compromised would prevent me from fulfilling my duties. I wasn’t captaining the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, for heaven’s sake. I was trying to find justice for a family in mourning, and, more importantly, justice for a murdered woman, her and her children’s futures stolen. In a way, my unique perspective was a strength. I too was expectant, waiting to bring life into the world. I felt vulnerable, repulsed … and something else. What was it? As I cradled my hands around my belly I realised what I felt was anger. Deep-seated anger. Rage that someone could have committed such an atrocity against someone else – someone so vulnerable. It was that anger that would sustain me through this. It was that anger that would focus my mind, channel my critical thinking. I would find justice for Aleisha Newman. This felt personal.