Cold Deception (22 page)

She stood behind the grove of silver birches and peered at the house. Smoke drifted in a lazy spiral from the chimney and the windows were painted a cheery red, like something out of a children’s story book. Not the kind of house she expected a detective in the police force to live in. Not only was it cute, it was set off the road on a big piece of land. Isolated from neighbors or other potential annoyances. Said something about the man, she guessed. He liked his privacy.

She pulled her coat closer around her body and shivered. The day was overcast and windy; the sky looked bruised as if waiting to expel a load of toxins. Matched her state exactly. He whole body felt like she’d been hit by a car. She still felt nauseous.

Saint Julia, Blossom had called her. Idiot Julia. Insane Julia. Deluded Julia.

She’d been so sure she’d done the right thing, even after she got out, even after seeing the state Blossom was in. She’d reasoned if she hadn’t done what she’d done, Blossom could be worse or dead. At eight years old she’d been vulnerable and unstable. More so since Eleanor had relapsed. She’d needed protection. The kind of protection Julia didn’t have at the same age.

With long practice, Julia shut out what had happened to her all those years ago when she’d gone into temporary foster care after Eleanor’s last and catastrophic drug-fueled breakdown. Instead, a cavern of loss opened like a physical wound in her chest.

She gasped and bent over as grief pounded her again. She never knew a feeling could hurt so much. It was a fist gipping her heart and squeezing. The guilt, despair, and misery she’d felt when she was first locked up were nothing compared to the loss of ten years of her life.

Straightening, she took in a deep breath and let it out. She’d been doing a lot of that lately.

She needed some answers and Dylan had them.

Stepping out from behind the trees, she walked over the leaf litter, hearing it crunch under her boots, the sound like gun shots. He must be able to hear her. But the door remained closed. She lifted her fist and hesitated.

No. Don’t pike out now.

Holding her breath, she rapped lightly. A shuffling sound from inside as if someone had put down a newspaper. He opened the door and stood with a look of surprise on his face.

“Hi. Everything okay? Is Blossom alright?”

Julia nodded, trying to find the right words.

“Want some coffee?” he asked.

Julia nodded again and followed him in, feeling like an idiot.

She stood in the center of a big open plan lounge and dining room. Unlike the outside of the house, the space couldn’t be described as cute. Comfortable and thankfully warm, but a man’s space. Not much clutter, but not exactly tidy. Newspapers and what looked like a motorcycle magazine were scattered across the dining room table. Beyond the dining area, a step down, was a lounge area with a long, comfortable couch in front of a wide screen television. She could see him stretched out, watching the footy on the TV. Boys and their toys.

In the corner was a wood burning stove. She placed herself in front of it and watched him make the coffee, marveling that in such a prosaic domestic task he could still manage to look like something out of
GQ
. Most of the cops she had anything to do with were unfit slobs. No, not quite true. No one would say that of Angus O’Reardon. He was in a category of his own. Psychopathic charmer. She pushed O’Reardon out of her mind when Dylan glanced at her with a speculative look.

The heat from the stove worked its magic. As he crossed the room with big mugs in his hands, she took off her coat and draped it on the back of the couch. He handed her a mug and stood next to her warming himself.

She sipped her coffee. It was black, the way she liked it.

Silence. She could hear a clock ticking and a sudden gust of wind against the window.

“What’s up?”

She glanced at him, crossed to the couch and sat on the edge. She put her mug on the coffee table and took in a deep breath.

“I want to ask you some questions about what you read in my file.”

He sat near her and placed his coffee next to hers.

“And why is that?”

She hesitated. Not just because she had to choose her words carefully, but just like every other time she’d been near him, she wanted to touch him.

“I decided to opt for immediate sentencing because I didn’t want to put my family through the torture of a trial. I realize now there was some evidence I didn’t hear about. Evidence that would help Blossom understand why she couldn’t have murdered Father Pat.”

He stared at her with eyes full of doubt.

“Look, I had a breakdown after I was arrested,” she said quickly. “I was barely functional all through the committal hearing and sentencing. I can’t remember much about the trial.”

He frowned and looked past her, a look of abstraction on his face as if he was sorting through an internal filing cabinet. “It was all fairly straightforward. The evidence was clear cut and you pleaded guilty. But what doesn’t make sense is why your solicitor did such a piss-poor job in defending you. You could’ve got a greatly reduced sentence or even a suspended sentence if he’d done a better job.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “I just wanted it over with.” She couldn’t look at him. “So there was no doubt that an adult killed Father Pat? That’s what Blossom needs to know.”

“None at all. The forensic report was cut and dried. The angle of the knife, the force with which the killing stab was made. A child certainly couldn’t have done that damage.” He paused and frowned at her. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me isn’t there? Why is Blossom so convinced she killed Father Pat?”

She shrugged. “Douglas thinks it’s guilt about me. Something about being outside while I went to jail.”

“But she was only a child. Why would she feel guilty about something she had nothing to do with and no control over?”

Julia smiled grimly. “In my experience rationality has nothing to do with guilt.”

“Do you think Douglas will help her?”

“Maybe. He was pretty keen to get her back to hospital which none of us think is a good idea. But after we talked to him, he thinks if she sees him more often she should be okay. But if you could take her through the evidence, that might help.”

“Sure, sure.” He stopped and frowned at her. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

She glance at him quickly then away. “No,” she said in a small voice. She felt his gaze on her like a high powered microscope.

“Look. I know O’Reardon’s threatened you in some way. I get that. But there’s something else… Bloss didn’t kill him. But she’s involved in some way isn’t she?”

Julia closed her eyes and cursed herself for thinking she could waltz into his house and not expect any questions.

Maybe it was time. Time to come clean and to hell with the consequences.

Dylan watched her take a sip of her coffee then set down her cup.

“What did you read about me in my file?” she asked.

“Exactly what you said. You pleaded guilty immediately and opted for sentencing.”

She nodded. “What else? Anything about the past?”

“Sure. There was a detailed pre-sentence report. You were placed in foster care when you were seven years old.”

She winced as if even now the memory was still a raw wound.

“I suppose it all started then. Eleanor was the worst she’d ever been. We were living in a commune near Byron Bay. She was just starting to make a name for herself through her artwork. By some miracle her agent was a sensible person who realized she was unstable and managed her money properly. But she couldn’t manage away Eleanor’s craziness. The child protection authorities in the Department of Community Services got involved after she locked me out one night then let me go to school starving and filthy. I was removed and placed into temporary care until my grandmother from Leura came and got me.”

*

Dylan’s heart sank. He had a bad feeling about where this story was going.

“It took DOCS a while to find and contact her, then more time before she could pick me up. Two weeks.” She picked up her cup and took another sip. “The family I was placed with had a teenage son.” She slid a quick glance toward Dylan. “You can guess the rest.”

He could indeed and his heart ached for her. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head. “I was seven. I thought the whole thing was my fault for bringing DOCS into our lives. And in the end, everything changed for the better. Eleanor went into rehab and saw a good psychiatrist. When she got out, she moved to Katoomba near Gran and after six months, I went home to her. Gran was around and life was a lot better. She still had the occasional lapse, but never as bad. I thought if I told anyone about the abuse I’d experienced in foster care, I’d be taken away again. And then I just got older and wanted to forget it.”

She stood suddenly and started pacing around the room.

“When I was eleven Eleanor got pregnant again. Blossom’s father is as unknown as mine, although I think she knows but won’t tell. We were incredibly lucky when Dee came into our lives. For eight years everything was fine. Gran died when I was fifteen and left Eleanor a lot of money. By then she was doing well anyway. She was clean and stable for a long time. Then something happened.”

She dragged her hands through her hair and kept pacing.

“I don’t know what it was, but she relapsed big time. Starting drinking and using pills. She and Dee fought in a way they never had before. That’s why they were away. They went bush to sort themselves out.”

She was talking feverishly now, as if she had to vomit it all out in one toxic burst. Dylan watched and tried to quiet his pounding heart. She was going to tell him something that would change everything.

“Blossom had gone on a school camp down the south coast. Sally had told me about Father Pat, but I didn’t believe her, thought she was making it up. I knew he’d gone with the school on the camp. Then I got a phone call from one of the teachers telling me he’d left early to bring back Blossom because she was sick. She was just ringing to find out if they got back all right. From what she said they should’ve been back hours ago. I was furious. And terrified. I realized everything Sally said was true.

“I raced up there and banged on the door, screaming at him to let me in. I couldn’t hear anything and the curtains were drawn. I ran round the backdoor and found it unlocked.”

“What?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Dylan was silent as she resumed her story, but his mind refused to let that fact go. Why would a man like Father Pat, set on abusing a young child, not secure the house?

“He… he…”

She swallowed and turned away from him. Crossing to the window she stared out as if lost in memories. Lost described her exactly.

“Take it slow,” he said.

She turned and smiled at him, a smile full of despair. Shaking her head she started pacing again.

“When I got inside, it was dark except for one blinding light coming from a floor lamp. All the curtains were drawn. I couldn’t work out what I was seeing at first. On the floor was Father Pat face down. Under… under him was Blossom. She… she was unconscious and… and… naked and she had a knife in her hand.”

Dylan’s heart lurched into his throat. “Are you telling me he was already dead?”

She jerked as if shot, then nodded.

“For Christ’s sake Julia!” He stood and crossed to her, grabbing her upper arms and peered into her face. “What the hell did you do?”

“Both of them were covered in blood. So much blood…”

She pulled away from him and covered her face with her hands then looked directly at him.

“It was everywhere. I’d never seen anything like it. I knew immediately what had happened. At least I thought I did… Are you sure? Are you sure she couldn’t have done it?”

He nodded. “She was eight. And from what you say it sounds as though she was drugged. The depth of the wounds would’ve had to be made by someone both relatively strong and at an angle where the murder was at least as tall or taller than the priest. She possibly could’ve managed it if she stood on a chair.”

Julia shook her head. “There was nothing like that. Just a couch and the blinding light.”

“Where was the light?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was it pointed to anything?”

She thought for a moment. “The couch. It was pointed to the couch.”

“Did you see a computer or a camera?”

“Yeah, there was a laptop. It looked like it had fallen off the table. It’s just as you assumed. O’Reardon took them. He was first on the scene and he took them.”

“How do you know?”

She avoided his eyes. “When I got out he threatened me. Told me I had to shut up about his drug dealing in prison or take the consequences. He… he said he has a DVD showing Bloss being assaulted by Father Pat and her killing him. If I said anything about his dealing he’d release it on the internet.”

She took in a deep breath as if trying to stop herself from throwing up. “I believed him. I believed him because that’s what I thought happened. It all comes back to him doesn’t it?”

Dylan frowned trying to piece it together.

“O’Reardon was medically retired a few weeks after you were arrested. We’ve always assumed he arranged it because he was feeling the heat. The PIC was making noises about an inquiry. But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he had something to do with the priest’s death.”

“If the DVD he says he’s got doesn’t show Blossom murdering Father Pat then what does it show? Maybe he’s lying about everything and it doesn’t exist at all?”

“But why would he bother taking the equipment in the first place?” Dylan murmured. “Unless there was something on them he had to get off. And after all, he knows you didn’t kill Father Pat.”

“Doesn’t that mean he did it? There’s no other explanation. He’s psychopathic enough to set up a scene which would implicate an eight-year-old child.” There was a sob in her voice. “He must’ve thanked his lucky stars when I came along and took the rap.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. If he murdered the priest and set up the scene he would’ve taken the computers then, not later. No, someone else must’ve been involved.”