Sleight Malice Read online

  “It’s not something I would’ve thought I would’ve forgotten. I’m as perplexed as you are. What are you doing?” She could hear what sounded like drawers or cupboards being opened and closed.

  “Looking for Grant’s business card. He might be an arrogant bastard, but he’s good at his job.”

  “You can’t ring him now; it’s the middle of the night.”

  “So?”

  “So, it can wait until the morning. That man is surly enough without having his sleep disturbed. He needs all the beauty sleep he can get.”

  “All right,” Fergus said with a chuckle, “I won’t wake the dragon, but only if I can sleep on your couch. I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

  “What about your wife? Won’t she mind?”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, then, “Hold on. I’ll just ask her: Darling, do you mind if I sleep on another woman’s couch tonight?” He cleared his throat, obviously holding the phone away from him as he attempted to imitate a woman. “Of course not, dear.”

  Desley laughed. “That sounded like your granny.”

  “Are you insulting my wife now?”

  She laughed again, for one short moment forgetting…

  CHAPTER 22

  “Recognize this then?” The woman flung a photo at him. Another followed. “Or this?”

  Fergus stood, pushing his chair back, and picked up the two large color photographs from where they had landed on his desk. With one in each hand, he looked from them to the pinched face of the blonde woman standing hands on hips in front of him. He checked the photos again: amid all the naked skin, tangled limbs and blonde hair, he could just make out a woman’s face. Hers? He looked again.

  “You bastard, you ruined my marriage!”

  He turned the photo in his right hand over, the small blue watermark of his company logo barely visible in one corner. “I think you managed that on your own. I take it that’s not your husband.”

  “Bastard,” she screamed, her face turning ugly. “You’ll get yours.” She ripped the photos from his grip and stormed out.

  He heard the front door slam and exhaled. The deranged woman belonged in a psychiatric institution, but at least now he understood why she had targeted him that night at the pub. How long had she been stalking him, waiting for her opportunity to wreak revenge?

  Tim Davis, one of his more experienced operatives, filled the doorway. “Everything all right, boss?”

  Fergus glanced at his watch: 17:48. “Nothing a beer couldn’t fix. Did you recognize that woman by any chance?” he asked, shuffling through the case files on his desk.

  “Not sure. She looked sort of familiar.”

  Fergus opened the top drawer of his filing cabinet. “Try taking her clothes off,” he said, slotting the files in behind the Pending tab at the front.

  “Aha, that changes things.” Tim clicked his fingers. “Try looking under Lynas. If I remember rightly, we closed that file about six weeks ago.”

  “Nathan Lynas?”

  “That’s the one. Usual story: he suspected his wife of being less than faithful, but wanted to know for sure. Surveillance proved him right. Photos should be in the file. Don’t tell me her husband gave her the boot and she’s looking for someone to blame.”

  “Something like that.” Fergus removed the three sheets of thumbnails from their plastic sleeves and scanned them. He had the right person. “Anything unusual about this case that you remember?” he asked, replacing the thumbnails and flipping through the rest of the file.

  “No, open and shut as I recall.” Tim paused. “Except it ended up being a double whammy for the poor bugger. His lovely wife was cheating on him with his younger brother. Maybe that relationship went sour, too.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Fergus said under his breath. He closed the folder, dropped it back into the tabbed suspension file, locked the filing cabinet and turned to Tim. “Let’s hope that’s the last we see of Christine Lynas. Now about that beer.”

  “Sorry, boss, no can do. I promised the girls I would take them to a movie tonight. Have a good one. See you Monday.”

  Fergus moved to the window. With something akin to envy, he watched his operative stroll across the car park to his van and get in. Unlike Fergus, Tim had someone to go home to: a wife and young daughter – his girls – who adored him as much as he adored them.

  Checking windows and turning off light switches as he went, Fergus crossed through the main office area to the pokey kitchen. He was alone, every one of his small staff having already left for the weekend.

  He hadn’t planned to spend Friday evening on his own. At least a dozen times that afternoon he had picked up the phone to call Desley, but that was as far as it went. Since the debacle of the other night where Christine Lynas – the blonde vamp now had a name – had sabotaged his date, Desley had been more reserved, distant. He knew the anonymous menacing email had troubled her, probably more than she had let on. Nevertheless, he still wondered if her coolness had more to do with something he had or hadn’t said or done, than the threat.

  He heard the buzz of the front door sensor alarm and went out to see who it was.

  “So this is where you hide.”

  “Kim! I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “And it’s good to see you, too,” she said, eyebrows arched. “Who were you expecting?”

  He shook his head. “No one. It’s just been one of those weeks.”

  “In that case, it’s a good thing I turned up when I did. Fancy buying me that drink? Unless of course, you’ve made other arrangements.”

  “What other arrangements?” He knew she was referring to Desley.

  “You tell me,” she said as he ducked into his office to get his jacket from behind the door.

  “Nothing to tell. Now, about that drink you were going to buy me.”

  She gave an indignant huff. “Me buy you?”

  He laughed. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. We can haggle over the details later.” Ushering her through the door, he armed the security system and followed her out onto the footpath.

  Few pedestrians remained on the dully-lit street. Half a block away, the lights of Halley’s Hotel beckoned. They didn’t loiter, their pace brisk against the cutting wind, the lure of an open fire, a restorative drink or three and Friday night revelry strong.

  Within minutes they were inside the busy bar, the noise threefold that of outside, the burble of glass clinking, voices and laughter muffling the background music. While Kim looked for a table, Fergus went to buy drinks.

  His stomach knotted at the sight of a blonde-haired woman waiting to be served at the bar. She turned around and he breathed out. For one awful moment, he thought the vengeful ex Mrs Lynas had been tailing him.

  Carrying a lager in one hand and a Riesling in the other, he squeezed his way around people and tables until he reached Kim. It wasn’t until he was sitting next to her that he noticed she was wearing pink lipstick and a hint of blush. She had even made an effort to tame her hair, clips pinning it back at the sides. He caught a whiff of a light florally perfume, the converse of the exotic and more sensual ones Desley wore.

  Something flashed across his vision. Kim’s hand.

  He blinked.

  “Did you hear one word of what I just said?”

  “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

  “I did.”

  Tiny lines puckered Kim’s forehead. “And she turned you down?”

  “Worse.” He took a deep breath and recounted the whole sorry saga, starting with the blonde woman making eyes at him and ending with Desley thinking he had a wife and children. “My own stupid fault really. I was too smart for my own good. I shouldn’t have invented a wife and twins in the first place.” He looked at Kim, expecting understanding if not sympathy for his plight.

  Her mouth twitched, her lips pressed hard together, until no longer able to hold it in, she let out a deep belly l
augh. The conversation at the next table ceased, heads turning. Kim laughed harder. “Sorry, Fergus,” she said in between giggles, “but you have to admit it is funny.” She batted tears away from under her eyes and picked up her wine glass. “God, I needed that. Cheers.”

  Looking back, he had to concede the way it had played out had been comical, just not so at the time. He suppressed a smile. “One good turn deserves another, right?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  CHAPTER 23

  “…A man has died after the Nissan Patrol he was driving plunged into the Murray River near the New South Wales-Victoria border. Police say the four-wheel-drive lost control on the gravel road before careering over the bank into the river. Crime scene officers from Wagga Wagga and detectives from Deniliquin local area command are investigating…”

  Desley watched in dismay as a crane hoisted the black four-wheel-drive from the river, water pouring from the suspended vehicle’s open windows. With her nose almost touching the television screen, she tried to read the license plate. She couldn’t. Nor could she see anything else that would distinguish it from the hundreds of other black Nissan Patrols out there.

  Telling herself not to be so ridiculous, but needing to know for sure, she scrambled to her feet and went to check the online news reports. What were the odds of it being Ryan’s vehicle? And if it was, why wasn’t she hearing the news from Fergus? And if it was, who was the man? Ryan? And if it was, where was Laura?

  Her head full of ‘ifs’, she clicked from news site to news site. None added to what she had seen on the television.

  She rang Fergus, trying first his mobile, then his office and finally his home phone number, before repeating the cycle, leaving messages only the second time round. Where was he? Was he deliberately avoiding her? Things hadn’t been the same between them since their first 'official' date, if it could be called that. Desley was convinced she had jinxed it from the start by being late. Unintentional or subconscious self-sabotage, she wondered. Then she had used the blonde bimbo’s announcement that Fergus was married with children to bolt. She hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough to hear Fergus’s side of the story.

  That came later, but the creepy email she had received at the same time had eclipsed everything else. How must Fergus feel? Chewed up and spat out were the words that came to mind. So consumed by what was happening in her life, she had been locked inside her own bubble. What man in his right mind would want to be with her?

  She didn’t have time to dwell on the what-could-have-beens. If Fergus couldn’t help her, she would go to the top. Unpinning Detective Inspector Grant Buchanan’s business card from the corkboard behind her desk, she dialed his direct line. It rang twice before an electronic female voice cut in to announce the call was being diverted to an operator. She hung up.

  She hesitated, reluctant to call his mobile in case he was off duty. What was the worst he could do? Yell at her? She punched the numbers into her phone.

  “Buchanan.”

  Not sure whether she should address him as DI Buchanan or simply Grant, she dived straight in. “It’s Desley James here. Sorry to call you like this, but I’ve just seen on the news a black Nissan Patrol being pulled out of the Murray River. I have to know, is it Ryan’s?”

  “That information hasn’t been made public yet…”

  She bit her lip.

  “…but yes, the vehicle is registered to one Ryan Andrew Moore. And before you ask, no, he wasn’t the man in the vehicle.”

  “Laura…?”

  “Sorry, Desley,” he said, his tone subdued as if he actually meant it, “but there was no sign of Laura Noble or Ryan Moore. I won’t be able to tell you anything more until forensics have done their bit. The vehicle’s on its way to Macleod now.”

  “The driver, the dead man, who was he? Why would he have been driving Ryan’s four-wheel-drive?”

  “We don’t have those answers yet. Contrary to popular belief, we’re not miracle workers.”

  She was about to retort but thought better of it. “What about the Howqua property’s owner? Are you any closer to locating Maureen McKeown?” Granted, traveling via Mansfield and Howqua wasn’t the most direct route to the New South Wales-Victoria border, but it was still feasible that the cottage had been a staging-point.

  “Why don’t you let us worry about that.” Statement not question. “That’s our job; your job is to keep your head down and stay out of trouble like we discussed.”

  You mean like you discussed, she thought. It was easy for him to say, but she had more at stake. To the already overworked police force, Laura and Ryan’s case was just that, another case, one of many. “Please don’t patronize me. The short answer to my question is obviously no. I want to help. Why won’t you let—”

  He sighed. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

  “No, not nearly.”

  “Let me rephrase that: How much do you value your life?”

  “I'm not going to let some anonymous email scare me off trying to uncover what happened to Laura.” Who was she trying to kid? Deep down she was terrified.

  “You haven’t had any more threats, have you?”

  “No…”

  “That’s something at least. Actually, there is one thing you could help me with. Just bear with me for a minute.”

  She heard a series of blips, only then realizing the DI had been talking to her while driving.

  “What do you know about the five insurance policies totaling more than $1,125,000 – double indemnity for accidental death – Ryan Moore had on Laura Noble’s life?”

  Winded by the invisible punch, Desley couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.

  “Didn’t you know?”

  He damn well knew she hadn’t. If putting her in her place had been his objective, he had succeeded.

  CHAPTER 24

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You asking me for relationship advice. In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t had much luck in that area myself. You’ve seen the jerks I’ve hooked up with in the past. I always attract the wrong sort, and the men whose shoes I wouldn’t mind having under my bed don’t even know I exist. Why do you think I’m still single?”

  “Married to the job?”

  “That too.”

  “I just thought being a woman and all… never mind.” Fergus downed his drink. “Another?”

  “Why not? It’s not like I have anything to rush home for?” Kim delved into her handbag. “I’ll get this one.” As she unclipped her wallet, her mobile phone rang. “Kim Mitchell.” She listened for a moment and then passed it to Fergus. “It’s for you.”

  Frowning, he took the phone. “Fergus Coleman?”

  For a moment nothing, then, “Fergus?”

  “Desley, hi…”

  “I left a message on your phone. I didn’t realize you were with Kim.”

  He swapped Kim’s mobile to his left hand and fished in his jacket pocket with his right for his own phone. Dead. “We were just having a drink.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you join us?” He cringed, knowing what it must have sounded like.

  “Another time perhaps. There’s been some developments, but I’m sure Kim can fill—”

  Fergus heard a chime.

  “Hang on, there’s someone at the door.”

  He listened to the clop of her footsteps on the wooden floor, and then it went quiet – Desley walking on the rug Fergus assumed.

  “Selena…” Desley’s voice trailed off.

  A woman’s voice replied, but he couldn’t make out the words. “Desley, don’t whatever—”

  She cut him off. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  He thrust the phone at Kim and stood.

  She took it, her eyes widening. “You’re not going are you?”

  “Selena’s turned up at Desley’s.”

  “Your point being?”

  “Later, okay?”

  “No.” Kim barred his way.
“Tell me what’s going on, Fergus.”

  He checked for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. “You told me yourself Selena hasn’t been ruled out. How can we know for sure that she’s the innocent victim she claims, in the wrong place at the wrong time? As far-fetched as it might sound, have you considered she might have been in Howqua to meet up with her partner in crime?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. Come on if you’re coming.”

  Kim caught up with him at the door. “Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?”

  “Probably, but we’re not the ones who have received death threats.” The door swung shut behind them. “And since we have no idea who’s behind it, I’m not prepared to take any chances. You’re a cop, you know the drill.”

  “Fergus, wait!”

  He faltered, pausing long enough for her to reach him. Puffing, she grabbed his arm. “Jesus, give a girl a break; I’m not as fit as I used to be.”

  He set off again. Kim scurried alongside him, clutching his arm for support.

  “Don’t you want to know,” she said in between gasps, “why Desley was calling you?”

  “Tell me in the car.”

  Yanking him to a stop, she said, “Hold on a minute. If you think I’m leaving my car here, you can think again. We go in separate cars.”

  “Fine.” He pulled his keys from his pocket in readiness, his finger over the remote. “I’ll see you there.”

  “Ryan Moore’s four-wheel-drive has been pulled from the Murray River.”

  He stopped and turned around. “Say that again.”

  Kim kept walking, closing the gap between them. “That’s why Desley was calling in the first place. She saw it on the news and Grant confirmed it for her. A body was also recovered, but we haven’t yet managed to ID him.”

  “And when were you going to tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything until it was confirmed.”

  “So you let Desley see it on TV instead?”

  “How was I to know the media would be onto it so quickly? I couldn’t say anything before. You know the score. Put yourself in my shoes. What if it had turned out to be another vehicle altogether? All that angst for nothing.”