Cold Deception (16 page)

A sharp snap of a branch and a muffled curse came from behind her. She broke away from Dylan, her pulse pounding and her brain scrambled. His gaze switched from heated passion to sharp interrogation in a heartbeat. In one smooth movement, he pushed her behind him and faced the third person on the track.

“You’re early, John. We agreed I’d always meet you at the cave.”

Julia stepped from behind him, irritated and aroused in equal parts. Struggling to get her heartbeat under control, she peered at the man on the track. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the bush giving a sinister light to the figure in front of her. He could’ve been something out of a fantasy novel. A hermit or a troll. His clothes were dark and shapeless and if she wasn’t mistaken, filthy. His hair was matted and he had a patchy beard. A rank smell emanated from him.

“I couldn’t wait,” the figure said. “I need to get to the picnic ground before the rest rooms are locked. Time for my weekly wash.”

He laughed with a rusty wheeze.

“I’ve left some clothes up there from Vinnies. You look like you need them.”

“That I do,” the man muttered. “That I do. Who’s this?” He jerked his head toward Julia.

“No one. Forget her. Go on ahead and I’ll catch you up.”

The man stared at Dylan for a moment, uncertainty on his face as he gazed from Dylan to Julia. Finally, he shrugged and lumbered past them, up the track. As he passed Julia, he peered at her. Something in his eyes made her skin crawl. It wasn’t just the dirt and smell, it was his avid perusal of her body.

“John…” Dylan growled a warning.

He shuffled past and disappeared up the track.

“Who on earth was that?”

Julia turned to him, using curiosity to push out any other thoughts careering through her brain.

He hesitated. “Someone who can’t be around other people. He lives in the bush.”

“Why are you meeting him?”

He shrugged. “To keep an eye on him. He’s no longer under legal supervision but he and I came to an agreement that I’d check on him. Unlike a lot of other sex offenders, he knows he has to stay away from people.”

Julia stared at him, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue.

“Why you?”

His eyes were flat and hard as he regarded her. “I saw first-hand what could happen to someone the community hates. They become like wild animals, crazy and out of control. I couldn’t let that happen to someone else again.”

“Like Dale Rowe?”

He chopped his hand through the air as if cutting off all communication between them. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

The sun was almost gone. The light was purple and gray around them but she could still see the anger on his face.

“I’m sorry, Julia. That shouldn’t have happened. I don’t normally…” He broke off. “I need to go. Think about what I said. I’ll be in contact.”

He turned and bounded up the track, not looking back.

Julia stood for a minute and watched him disappear into the bush, wishing he could disappear from her mind as quickly. But the feel of his strong arms around her would stay with her for a long time.

An insidious thread of doubt snaked its way into her mind. Did he want her, with all her awkward need, or the information she had? As soon as she told him who’d arrested her all those years ago, he’d made it clear what he wanted from her. Information to put O’Reardon away.

She couldn’t sacrifice Blossom’s wellbeing and peace of mind to satisfy Dylan’s demands. Her sister’s mental health versus a drug distributor who no doubt would be easily replaced by someone else. That was the way of the drug world.

Turning, she made her way home, cursing all men and their seductive ways.

Julie woke suddenly and completely.

Not again.

It wasn’t a yell that roused her. She wasn’t sure what she’d heard.

The house was dark and quiet. Throwing back her quilt, she stood quickly, wobbling on still sleepy legs. Silence settled around her. She crossed to the window and looked. Nothing. The moon was a sliver in the sky providing minimal light.

There. Again.

She turned to the doorway.

A click as if someone was trying to not make a noise.

Probably just Dee or Ma going to the bathroom.

But that didn’t sound right. For a start, it sounded like the back door. She peered out the window again. There was nothing in the back garden. Crossing to the doorway, she opened it and stood hesitating. Everything was still.

Padding down the hallway to the top of the stairs, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as she realized someone had been in the house. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain someone other than her family had occupied the air around her only minutes ago. She scanned the hallway again.

A noise from Blossom’s room made her move quickly to her sister’s door. It was slightly ajar. She pushed it further open to see Blossom tossing and turning in her bed, a low muttering coming from her mouth.

Julia crossed to the bed and placed her hand on her sister’s arm. Blossom jumped as if scalded.

“What? What?”

“It’s okay. You were having a bad dream.” She sat on the bed and smoothed Blossom’s hair off her face. Her skin was hot and clammy. “Are you feeling all right? You’re hot.”

Blossom shook off her hand.

“I’m fine.” She rubbed her wrist over her forehead. “Did I make a lot of noise?”

Julia shook her head. “Not you. I thought I heard something else and got up to investigate. Your door was ajar so I could hear you muttering something in your sleep.”

Blossom frowned. “My door was open?”

Julia shrugged. “Maybe Ma looked in on you.” She paused. “What were you dreaming about?”

Blossom glared at her. “The usual. Blood and mayhem. I don’t dream about anything else.”

Julia stared at her sister, worry knifing through her gut. “How’s it going with Douglas?”

Blossom shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“And Rez?”

“What do you mean?”

“How are you feeling about him? About what happened?”

Blossom scowled. “What do you want me to say? That I’ve reformed, realized what a bad girl I’ve been and turned over a new leaf? Yeah, he’s a jerk and I’m an idiot. But I don’t like being lied to.”

“I’m not lying to you.” Even to her ears the words sounded hollow and unconvincing.

“Sure,” Blossom said. “Look, I’m tired. I need to sleep. She pulled up her quilt and lay back down, her back to Julia.

This couldn’t go on. What the hell was she going to do?

Her mind was full of holes like an old cloth fraying in the wind. She made her way back to her bed wondering if Rez hadn’t been visiting, who had?

*

Dylan needed more information. There had to be something in the evidence files about the computers. But search as he did, there was nothing. He threw the last file on his desk then pressed his fingers against his tired eyes. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he stretched, heard his back click with protest, then slumped back into his chair.

Why the hell had he kissed Julia? Now all he could think about was the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her mouth. He had to be out of his mind. He wanted more. And that couldn’t happen. It was bad enough she was a parolee. Having a known drug dealer as her sister’s boyfriend was as bad, maybe even worse. Sure, she was nothing like most people who’d been to jail and Dee was always going to be important to him, but he had to stay away from the Taylors. Too complicated.

His gaze rested on the file of witness statements. Frowning, he pulled it toward him for another look.

The housekeeper.

Father Pat lived in a remote house on Mort Street, past the RSPCA, right on the edge of the bush. Even though a house next to the church was provided for him, he apparently told his superiors he loved the bush and preferred to rent his own house. The church hierarchy didn’t mind, they were able to use the house for other purposes. After the priest’s criminal activities were revealed, they insisted that all their parish priests must live in the house provided for them, where they were under more scrutiny. As if that would stop someone who abused children. Dylan had seen enough of the devious grooming of pedophiles to know they always found a way.

He flipped open the file and scanned the statement of Colleen McKenzie. She found the body at ten a.m. in the morning, after the priest had been dead for between eighteen and twenty-four hours. It was a straightforward enough account of what must have been one of the most traumatic events of her life.

If anyone knew about the computers, she would.

His decision made, he grabbed his keys and phone then made his way out to his car. He needed to have another talk with Mrs. McKenzie.

After a lot of run around, he found her at the place he should have first looked. The church. Finding the body of a murdered, pedophile priest had not affected her dedication to her faith. She was doing the flowers.

He stood in the doorway of the church and peered in. The amber glass of the northerly facing windows cast a strange, ethereal gloom over the space. This congregation still held onto some of the old traditions. Instead of a restrained Cross representing the crucified Christ, this parish preferred the real thing. As real as they could get it at least. The pale, blood-splattered statue with his crown of thorns hung suspended against the far wall. Dylan had a sudden memory of his own Catholic childhood, doing the Stations of the Cross at Easter and listening for the high, sweet voice of his mother in the choir. On Easter Sunday, flower girls had strewn the aisle with rose petals in honour of the risen Christ.

Then the priest was all powerful and never to be questioned. All that had changed with revelation after revelation of the extent of sexual abuse among the clergy. He wondered how women like Colleen McKenzie continued to serve a church after a litany of such hypocrisy. Particularly after her experience.

He watched her place the vases on the altar, step back to study her work, then make a few minor adjustments. Satisfied, she turned and started to walk down the aisle, not forgetting to turn and genuflect before the Cross. As she walked toward him, her eyes widened in surprise.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

She was in her seventies he judged, with short red hair threaded with white. Her back was ramrod straight and she looked capable of hiking through the bush for hours without breaking a sweat. Sensible shoes, sensible skirt, and a no-nonsense manner.

“Mrs. McKenzie? I’m Detective Inspector Andrews. Do you have a moment? I wanted to ask you some questions about Father Patrick O’Donnell.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Can’t imagine why. I said all I knew years ago.”

“Some other matters have come up and I need to ask you about what you saw in his house.”

“What I saw? What I saw I’ve tried to forget. Slaughtered in his own house. A man of God.” She shook her head. “It was a bad time for this parish and best forgotten.”

She still had a slight Scottish brogue to her voice.

“You were his housekeeper.”

“I was. For twenty years I served the priests of this parish. Now they travel up from Springwood. Say there isn’t enough of a congregation for a parish priest for Katoomba. They won’t get any more coming to Mass unless we have a priest here full time.”

“I need to find out something about Father Pat’s computer equipment. He was known to have a bit of experience in that area.”

She nodded. “He was always mucking about with this and that. He liked to show the youngsters. He was a good man and he did a lot of good in this community.” She glared at him as if daring him to contradict her.

“You didn’t think he was guilty of child abuse?”

“I did not,” she said. “A lot of young layabouts with nothing better to do than accuse a dead man when he couldn’t defend himself. What evidence did the police have except the word of drug users and wastrels?”

Dylan couldn’t help it. He was fascinated. How on earth could she have maintained such a belief in the face of such overwhelming evidence?

“And that Julia Taylor claiming she stabbed him because he ‘interfered’ with her friend. Poppycock. Look at the family she comes from. Deviants. I even saw one of them the day before at Father Pat’s. She was probably in on it too. Come to find the lay of the land.”

Dylan’s head spun trying to decipher her words.

“I’m sorry, what? Who did you see?”

“That nursery person. Dee. She came to Father Pat’s house the day before I found him wanting to see him. I sent her off with a flea in her ear.”

“You saw her the day before? What time?”

“I finished at the house at about one p.m. Father Pat was on his way back from Bundanoon. I was just leaving when she knocked on the door.”

Dylan’s stomach lurched. There’d been nothing in the files about this. Dee had told the investigating police she and Eleanor were out camping on Mount Solitary.

“When you found Father Pat, do you remember seeing his computer?”

She thought for a second.

“Sure. He had one in his office and a laptop. I remember it was on the floor.”

“The laptop?”

She nodded and stared past him, back to her memories. “I thought it odd. It looked like it’d fallen. But everything went out of my mind when I saw Father Pat’s body.”

“What about later when you cleaned up?”

She shuddered. “I didn’t clean up. The church sent someone in especially to clean. Said they didn’t want me to have to do it. And as much as I liked Father Pat, I was glad not to. But later when I helped to pack up his things there were no computers. I assumed the police had taken them.”

Dylan smiled trying to hide his triumph. This could be enough to question O’Reardon.

“Thanks Mrs. McKenzie. You’ve been a great help.”

“It was a tragedy, you know. A great tragedy. That man shouldn’t have had his reputation besmirched like that.”

He gazed at her, sad at her desperate need to hang onto what she thought was right in the face of so much evidence to the contrary. “People are capable of good and bad, Mrs. McKenzie,” he said gently. “Those children didn’t lie.”

Her face crumpled. “They must have.” She turned to face the Cross. “They must have. Or else how could He let it happen?”

Dylan left her clutching the back of a pew, not knowing the answer.