Half Moon Bay (28 page)

Ellie stirred and stretched. She was alone in the tangle of caramel-coloured sheets, light streaming through the window, bathing the room in early sunlight. She peered at the clock. Seven-thirty. She hadn’t slept that late in years. Rolling onto her back, she stretched again, her toes sliding on the soft cotton. The memory of the night with the gentle murmurings and throaty whispers of half-awake bodies and minds sent a shiver of desire through her. Magic. The man had magic in his fingers, his lips and his body. ‘Worth the wait,’ she murmured.

Her nose twitched. Coffee? Yep, she definitely smelled coffee. Throwing off the bedclothes, she reached for Nick’s shirt. On silent feet he was suddenly in the doorway.

‘Don’t do that to a man carrying a hot coffee. I’ll forget what I was meant to be doing.’

She shrugged the shirt over her shoulders, blushing at her nudity.

‘Haven’t you heard of knocking first?’ she retorted, wondering why this felt so normal.

‘On my own bedroom door?’ He grinned at her, looking boyish, happy. The black trackpants hung low on his hips and the muscles in his arms rippled. Ellie felt the hunger low in her stomach. She wanted to kiss that trail of dark hair down to the drawstring again.

He groaned. ‘Don’t look at me like that if you want breakfast. Unless you have something else in mind?’

‘Like what? It’s not every day room service arrives so underdressed.’

‘Likewise, so cover up or be warned.’ His voice was husky.

Ellie parted the shirt, provocative, teasing. He placed the mug down. ‘I warned you . . .’ As he turned to her, she squealed and ran, but he was too fast, trapping her against the wardrobe. ‘In a hurry?’ His lips were warm and she felt the hunger building in her again.

‘Hmm, just as I remembered,’ she murmured.

His eyes were suddenly serious and she regretted for an instant that she’d let her guard down with such a demanding, focused man. What did she really know about him?

‘I don’t do this with every woman I meet, Ellie. Believe me.’ His eyes were dark now, with some hidden emotion. ‘Whatever happens from now on between us will be the truth, your truth and mine. Don’t walk away from it without giving us a chance. Today’s going to be harder than yesterday. I know that and so do you. Last night? This morning? It was a few hours of sanity amidst the madness.’

She had to fight to stay composed, her apprehension at his words swamping her. ‘I know, I know,’ she whispered.

He ran his hands down her arms, settling them on her hips. ‘And that’s why you need to eat.’ He pulled her close and feathered a line of kisses from the corner of her mouth to her temple. ‘So, when you’re ready, breakfast is waiting, then we need to talk.’

He had music playing down low in the living room and a phone to his ear when she joined him. She’d twisted her hair into a loose knot, shrugged on a T-shirt and cargo pants. With a twinge of disappointment she saw he was wearing a faded sweatshirt. She kind of liked the trackpants – shirt optional – look.

She’d expected to feel different this morning; shy, maybe, off balance, but everything about the man and his house set her at ease, relaxed. She could get used to it. When he hung up the phone she saw him make a visible effort to remove his frown, but he waited until they’d eaten and the dishes were stacked in the sink.

He gestured at the table. She sat down again, knowing the mood of playful ease was about to be shattered.

He picked up a pile of newspapers she hadn’t noticed stacked to one side. ‘You need to see these so you know what’s being said, but first you need to know that they found Teisha. I’m sorry, Ellie, she was found floating in the Harbour.’

‘No!’ Ellie didn’t think she wanted to hear how the other woman had died, but she needed to know if Alex was involved with that as well.

‘I don’t have the details yet.’ The way his eyes slid away from hers told Ellie that he wasn’t being upfront. ‘The papers are also full of Alex’s shooting. They’ve already connected the two events. Some of it’s pretty torrid stuff.’

Ellie looked down at her hands and realised they were clasped together, knuckles white. ‘Gutter press. The feeding frenzy will go on for days.’ She sounded bitter and didn’t care. The insinuations when Nina died had been relatively muted, but still they’d hurt. Now, no matter what his faults, she knew she would defend Alex. He’d died deflecting attention from her. She too would have been headline fodder without his intervention.

‘The police need to interview you, Ellie. Several departments are lining up to do that.’ He reached across the table and covered her hands with his. Their warmth steadied her. ‘Ellie.’ It was only when he reached across and wiped her chin that she realised she was crying. They were silent tears of sorrow for a friend she would never joke with again, never argue with, never touch. One more link with Nina was gone. Nick pushed his chair back and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her. ‘I’ll be there with you.’

They stayed like that for a minute, then he straightened, his hands resting on her shoulders. She tipped her head back against him. ‘Thank you.’

‘I need to collect some reports from work. The boss has scheduled an emergency meeting today. I’ll be back about one. We’re due to meet the police at two. Will you . . .?’ His hands squeezed a little tighter.

‘I’ll be fine. I have work to do as well. I’ll keep busy.’ She struggled to keep her voice steady. She was anything but. He kissed her temple and she heard him breathe in. Then he stepped away, taking the energy with him.

Half an hour later, she was alone in the house. The newspapers were full of lurid details about body parts being found at the home of Alex Creighton. Whoever was behind this was going to make sure he took the fall for Teisha’s death. Ellie didn’t know whether the woman’s death made her more angry or sad. Right now she felt as though the rollercoaster of her life had tipped over the top and was hurtling down the curves and bends towards a brick wall. The glow of last night was all but gone.

She wanted more answers and she figured she had a couple of hours to search Nina’s computer before this afternoon’s appointment with the cops. Research would stop her reliving the shooting. She was surprised Nick hadn’t asked about Nina’s laptop this morning, but maybe he thought she’d been bluffing about it. Maybe he didn’t know what she was implying.

She carried it up to the office. It was dwarfed by Nick’s desk but she settled into the leather chair, tucked one leg up underneath her and started working through every file. Nina had been meticulous and everything was labelled and saved. Surely the last story she was working on would be there in chronological order?

Frustrated when she reached the end of the list without results, Ellie drummed her fingers on her knee. Could it be online? They both used cloud technology to archive information. It took a couple of minutes to log Nina’s computer on to the internet. Ellie clicked on the History tab. The most recent date recorded was the day Nina was shot. The last link listed on that day was that of the online storage site. She followed the link. Two attempts and the ‘failed log-in attempt’ message flashed red on the screen.

‘Damn.’ Ellie rocked back in the chair. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’

Now what? If she handed it over to the police they would be able to access the storage site. But . . . Then she may never know exactly what set this tragedy in motion.

She tried another tack and typed the name of the building company behind the development into a search engine. Multiple links appeared. Several were newspaper stories and she frowned as she read the by-lines. Alex Creighton had connections to it long before she’d taken an interest in the company. She quickly read through the stories. Glowing advertorials, every one of them. What was Alex thinking?

She found a small article from the
Financial Review
questioning some of the fundamentals of the firm and its involvement in Defence contracts in Afghanistan. She jotted down the name of the journalist.

When she typed that name into the search engine she stared in disbelief at an obituary for the man. Was it a coincidence? She couldn’t sit still, adrenalin making her fidget. Further down the page, she found a story on the single-car accident that had claimed his life. A set-up? There was no doubt in her mind now that Alex had been trying to block her from telling the story. Duplicity every way she turned.

She took the stairs two at a time and burst into the courtyard. Shadow followed her with an expectant wag of his tail. A dove landed on the back fence and she raised her hands to frame it.

‘Photos! Nina’s photos.’ She hurried back inside and grabbed her own computer. If she paired the two machines, she should be able to use her software to search for any matches to the men in the black-and-white photos she found on the old camera.

The technology played the game. Nina’s photos were just as methodically stored as her Word documents but the first match it threw up was a jpeg file titled ‘Diggers or Drug Lords?’ Ellie felt the jolt all the way to her fingertips. Nina had photographed her story and stored it as an image. Ellie couldn’t help but hear Nina’s voice as she read through it.

Ellie remembered the roads full of decrepit aging cars vying for space with military convoys and the private contractors’ shiny vehicles that oozed contempt for lesser beings. Poppy fields in bloom that were strangely beautiful. She recognised several of her photos imbedded in Nina’s story.

Nina’s strong pacifist streak always coloured her stories. Ellie sighed, feeling empty and alone. The next was a story about the effects of the war on the Australian troops, especially those injured in the course of combat. Then there was a collection of pieces about the rise of warlords who’d previously been drug kingpins.

The last story was more like an outline – a series of dot points, story threads and questions. Nina had identified the connection between Phil Ah Tak with his Chinese triad, the Afghani warlord Hamid Daulat, and Beyond Borders Strikeforce. Ellie googled them, looking for further threads.

‘Got you.’ The developers working with O’Sullivan were an Australian subsidiary of the same parent company that controlled BBS. Ellie stared into space. All the players were there, interconnected, but the shape didn’t look right. Who was the central figure linking all the contacts? Was Teisha involved or just collateral damage? Was her sugar daddy part of the multinational developer?

Ellie logged onto Facebook, found the photo of Teisha and Lachlan, framed him and his ice-blue eyes, then hit Search. It took seconds and she was looking at a photo of her sister wrapped in Lachlan’s arms. ‘Oh fuck, no!’ Ellie’s stomach churned. Lachlan and Nina? Several more photos loaded, showing her sister with him at social functions, in parks, in bars and restaurants in Western cities. Using Nina’s detailed records, moments later Ellie had his full name. Lachlan Meriden. Were they an item or was Nina just using him for information? Or money? Was that the explanation for the bank accounts? Could Nina have been at the heart of a drug deal?

Ellie’s agitated hand rolled the mouse as she stared at the screen, shifting the images around in her head. Someone had brought the different operations all together. Could it really have been Nina? Surely she was only setting up the story, checking facts, investigating. Ellie didn’t want to believe her sister had done anything illegal. She was headstrong, opinionated and driven, but surely she wouldn’t cross the line?

She froze as the next image downloaded. Nina was laughing with a group of helmeted soldiers. Her blond hair was blown back, her face full of life. And there, on one side of her, stood Nicholas Lawson, looking aloof and untouchable, forbidding.

Ellie slumped in the chair, her breath rushing out and taking a piece of her heart with it. Nick knew Nina had been killed in Kandahar not because he’d heard about it second hand, but because he’d actually been there.

She dragged her hands down her face, numb with betrayal.

An arrow of memory pierced her mind. All the little moments of niggling recollection coalesced: his watch, face-up on his right wrist as he shook hands with her at the airport when she was departing. He’d been there when the door of the aircraft closed, his salute poignant. Like so many other images from that terrible time, his face had been locked in her subconscious.

She wrapped her arms around her, the chill spreading from her heart. How could she, a photographer, have forgotten a face so completely? Nick must have been walking on eggshells, waiting for her to remember. No wonder he kept insisting he couldn’t tell her the truth yet.

She turned back to the screen. The next document in Nina’s photo stash listed details of bank statements that showed deposits, each in excess of $25 000, being directed into a trust account. That account was identified as having a sole signatory, one Alexander Creighton. The Porsche was registered to Alex, so not a rental car at all. The document also catalogued the same news articles written by Alex that Ellie had already read extolling the developer’s virtues. Was that the explanation for the money in Nina’s accounts? Had she succumbed to cash for comments as well? Or was it worse than that?

The article Nina was working on had all the elements of a headline-stealer. It was capable of blowing a drug syndicate with all its tentacles out of the water. But was her sister using the money to finance the deal, or was it a pay-off not to publish?