CHAPTER 43

Seb huddled over his computer at the station, ignoring the cup of tea by his side, which in protest cooled itself, unaware this would make it even less enticing.

He and Barb had agreed that he would investigate Dev’s property development and project management business, Inspire Property. It certainly looked prosperous. A website as glossy as coded pixels could create, crammed with pictures and videos of homes and commercial buildings, testimonials and attention-grabbing graphics trumpeting ‘extraordinary success’, ‘quality design’ and ‘our hard work creates your peace of mind’.

He spent the next hour ringing local builders, real estate agents and property developers, as well as a town planner at council he vaguely knew, and searching the Central Coast Council website. All in all, it revealed a less glossy reality. Dev’s company was three years old. In the first two years it had built an office building in Woy Woy, two water-view houses in Ettalong, and apartment blocks in McMasters and Ettalong. In the past year, however, its only two projects had been a granny flat in Kincumber and putting walls on a carport to make it a garage in Empire Bay. It seemed business was not brisk, an impression strengthened when the builder who’d done the garage told Seb he had had trouble getting paid. ‘She’d been good before, but this time I had to hassle her for weeks.’

Seb knew that Dev, like almost everyone in her industry, always projected a front of sunny optimism. But everyone needs someone to share their worries with, and Seb had a pretty good idea who that person was for Dev – her mother, Frieda. Dev and her mum had always been close. Frieda still lived in Bullford Point, and just a few months ago, Seb had helped her find her missing cat. He called her.

‘Hello, Seb, how nice to hear from you.’

Not many people said that when the cops called, but Frieda had known him since he was a kid, been very grateful when he found the cat and, being retired, perhaps didn’t get a lot of calls.

‘How’s Percy?’ Seb asked.

‘Good as gold. I think he got as big a scare as me when he went wandering.’

‘Goodo. I was just calling about Dev.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, yes. Part of my role is looking out for the community, and when I saw Dev recently, she seemed quite stressed. I might be imagining it, but I just wanted to check she’s okay. I should probably talk to her, but she always likes to look as if she has everything under control.

‘Aren’t you sweet, Seb.’

Pang of guilt.

‘It’s her work,’ Frieda continued. ‘She puts so much pressure on herself, and she wants to achieve so much …’ And off she went. Dev had overextended herself financially and was relying on the Bullford Point development to get her out of a hole. She had been concerned about council approval, but that seemed to be progressing smoothly. However, when Joe changed his mind about selling she had been devastated. Whilst the development could still go ahead, without Joe’s house, the retail element probably wouldn’t work, and her main investor had got cold feet, although Gary was still committed. Thankfully, Frieda continued, she had been a bit cheerier recently as there seemed to be new hope for the project.

Seb exhaled a relieved sigh for effect. ‘Thanks, Frieda. Good to know. I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Which he would, but not in the way Frieda imagined. ‘Probably best not to tell her we spoke. She’s so independent. I wouldn’t want her to think I was snooping.’

He hung up. What was it Barb had said about wants and needs? We want lots of things, but when we need something, we get desperate. Had Dev needed Joe to sell? She had always been super ambitious. Back when she’d started managing the band, she had said, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make this band a success.’ He guessed that attitude extended to her business, too.

She had been an excellent band manager. Super organised. Somehow she got them gigs he thought were way out of reach. When he asked her how she did it, she just smiled enigmatically. He suspected sex might have been involved.

Dev had pushed Joe and Sal’s songwriting to a new level, too. Sal brought the melody, Joe the rhythmic drive, and Dev the tough love. Whilst the rest of them were uncritically grateful for any new song, Dev wasn’t afraid to exercise quality control. ‘Nope. Too sappy. Not everyone’s in love, you know. Less kissy kissy, more smash down the walls.’

Seb had wished he was a songwriter. He’d tried, but produced only formulaic crap he was too embarrassed to play to anyone. It wasn’t so much that he had a desire to express himself creatively, more that it would have given him an excuse to spend time writing with Sal. Instead that fell to Joe. He had watched with increasing unease, and then almost panic, as Sal and Joe bonded as they wrote, usually in the apartment Sal and Seb shared. He could see where it was heading, possibly even before they did. The way Joe looked at her and smoothed his usual bluntness with a cover of politeness, the way she smiled back, how they were each willing to take on the other’s suggestions.

Seb had also realised how much he didn’t want anything to happen between the two. He and Sal would often stay up late chatting about all sorts of things, sharing hopes, fears and gossip. One would lean against a wall, the other against the back of the sofa, as if they were only briefly breaking their journey toward bed for a quick pleasantry, even when their conversation stretched to an hour. On several occasions, Seb had been dying for a piss but didn’t dare move, fearing it would break the spell and that would be it for the night. Those open, unguarded chats had turned his friendship with Sal into something much more. He wanted to do something to advance their relationship, but was terrified it would backfire and he would lose the ease they had.

He’d known the night it was going to happen between her and Joe. Joe was at their place songwriting, and when they finished the three of them sat around chatting. It had gradually dawned on Seb that they were waiting for him to go to bed. Bloody-mindedly, he had stayed up as long as he could, before eventually, begrudgingly, accepting it was futile. Thank God he had earplugs.

From then on, it was obvious they were together, despite their terrible attempts at keeping it secret. When Sal had eventually told him, with a forced casualness than made him wonder if she suspected his true feelings, he hoisted up a smile and somehow got out, ‘That’s great!’

Others his age seemed able to adopt a more free-market, supply-and-demand-based approach to relationships. If one person was unavailable, they would accept that any further emotional output in that direction was wasted, and re-focus elsewhere. It wasn’t like that for Seb. Every morning he saw Joe frying an egg in their tiny kitchen was a punch to the heart.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the past. Back to work.

On the night Joe died, they had all been at the bowling club and Seb had seen Dev leave about 7 p.m. She had told Barb she’d driven straight home. That meant she would have been crossing the Rip Bridge, where there was a police camera, at about 7.15 p.m. He filled out an internal online request for the footage from that night, 6.30 p.m. to 8.45 p.m., giving himself a margin for error wide enough for a horoscope writer to drive through.

Idly, he picked up his phone to see if anyone cared about him. Nope. Claire popped into his mind. Excitement and fear. Two sides of the same coin. He wished he only felt one.

He texted her.

How’s that yummy hospital food today?

Her reply came almost immediately.

Still too healthy

He found an online pic of a giant cheeseburger moated by chips.

My lunch

That’s just mean

He went to his tiny bar fridge, fished out a lone Snickers he had been keeping for a difficult time, took a pic and sent it.

My actual lunch

Feel better now. You always eat that terribly?

Working too hard for nutrition

Cracking a case?

Trying

Sounds exciting

Not yet. Got to do the boring bits first. How are you feeling?

Bit of rehab progress

Great!

Bit more memory coming back

Fear bit him.

Great. What?

Tell you when I see you

Despite his concerns, he smiled. She wanted to see him. His hand hovered over the screen. Could he push her for more information without looking suss? Better to visit in person.

I’ll come soon

Get that crim first!

He tried to get back to work but his guts were churning. He wanted to get out of the station. The good thing about not having a boss on site was that no one would know if he did.