Killing Me Softly (34 page)

To the loves of my life, my husband Mark, and my two boys, Jacob and Nathaniel: thank you for sharing me with my imaginary worlds. You are the lights of my life and bring happiness and laughter and love to me always.

To my parents, Kerril and Jim, for giving me the courage and stubborn determination to follow my dreams and never let go of what I want, and for all the times you helped out so I could have a little more time to write – no thanks will ever be enough. I love you.

To Kirrily and Matthew, nobody could have a better brother and sister. I am so lucky you are in my life and I am so glad you both got your happy ever afters with Brenton and Alice. Our family rocks!

To my friends Helen and Tonya – you always believed I would get there and were almost more excited than me when I phoned you to tell you ‘I got the call’. I love you guys. You are the best.

I also have to mention the people who put in the hard yards, helping me to become a better writer, commiserating through the rejections (and really understanding what that meant) and celebrating with me through the wins. Liz, Laura, Chris, Dennis, Anyo, Marnie, Frana and Helena – this book wouldn’t be what it is without you. You are the best writing friends a girl with dreams could have. I know, one day soon, you will be writing acknowledgements too.

To Anne Gracie for pushing me to join RWA and interpreting those first rejection letters – thank you. It made all the difference and gave me the shove in the direction I needed.

And finally to Sarah and Carol. Thank you for telling me my writing was good and for urging me most fervently to submit something else. You seemed to know, even when I was unsure, that I had something worthwhile to offer you. Thanks for your trust and for giving me a chance and most of all, for loving this story. I hope everyone else loves it the way we do.

Leisl is a tall red head with an overly large imagination. As a child, Leisl identified strongly with Anne of Green Gables. A voracious reader and a born performer, it came as no surprise to anyone when she did a double major in English Literature and Drama for her BA, then went on to a career as an actor, singer and dancer, as well as script writer, stage manager and musical director for cabaret and theatre restaurants (one of which she co-owned and ran for six years).

After starting a family Leisl stopped performing and instead, began writing the stories that had been plaguing her dreams for years. Leisl’s stories have won and placed in many competitions in Australia and the US, including the STALI, Golden Opportunities, Heart of the West, Linda Howard Award of Excellence, Touch of Magic and many others.

Leisl lives in the leafy suburbs of Melbourne with her two beautiful boys, lovely hubby, overly spunky dog, Buffy, and likes to spend time with family and friends. She sometimes sings in a choir and works as a swim teacher in her day-to-day job.

Killing me Softly
is Leisl’s first published book.

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This edition published by Penguin Books Australia 2012

Copyright © Leisl Leighton, 2013

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Cover design by Laura Thomas © Penguin Group (Australia)

Series design by Alex Ross © Penguin Group (Australia)

Cover photographs by: girl by Aleshyn_Andrei/Shutterstock.com, woods by andreiuc88 /Shutterstock.com

penguin.com.au

ISBN: 978-0-85797-484-6

Melbourne, Australia
Nineteen years later

Screams rent the air. The red and blue lights crowning the two police cars spiralled and turned in silence. Two officers crouched beside the vehicles, watching the house.

From his position beside the hood of the car, Senior Constable Jordan Hill saw the lace curtains on the front bay window part a fraction then fall back into place. He quickly covered the distance between the two police vehicles and threw himself to the tarmac when glass shattered and something fractured. ‘What the hell was that?’ he said, hauling himself up against the side of the second car.

‘He just threw a speaker out the window,’ Senior Constable Murray Walker answered.

‘Jesus Christ, Murray. You called this in as a domestic disturbance?’

The heavy-set blond cop turned from the house with a thin smile. ‘You don’t think this is disturbing?’

‘I guess the situation escalated.’ Jordan pulled himself to his knees. ‘Spoken to him yet?’

‘No. I got here about five minutes before you did. Although he didn’t start throwing stuff until you arrived. Reckon he likes you. I almost feel left out.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

The head of a golf club crashed through the front window. It was withdrawn and swung again. Glass spilled onto the porch, some snagging in the curtains. The club sailed out of the window, over the porch and into a rhododendron bush top-heavy with flowers.

Jordan smiled. ‘We can look forward to about twelve more of those.’ A second club landed on the recently mown grass between the porch and footpath. The driving iron struck the ground at an odd angle, shot skywards, then fell with a hollow ring on the empty driveway. ‘Fore!’

Murray Walker arched a brow. ‘You’re in a good mood.’

Jordan turned from the house and grinned at his best friend. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Did you get some last night?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘None of your business always means no.’ Murray shifted his weight from one knee to the other. It was unseasonably hot for this early in October and his collar was damp with sweat. He looked, Jordan thought, like a married man. He had that neat, ironed air about him and was carrying a bit of weight around his middle, care of three good meals a day and the love of a woman who thought the gym was a waste of time.

‘This idiot’s looking to spoil my day.’

‘He should have called first,’ Murray said. ‘Checked to see if this morning worked for you.’

‘Thursday would have been better.’

Murray snickered.

Jordan became serious again. ‘Hostages?’

‘Kid’s not in the house. Wife’s locked herself in the bathroom, reckons he can’t get in.’

‘Is he armed?’

‘Wife says not, but I’m saying he’s got a kitchen full of knives. And clearly a set of golf clubs.’

‘Back-up?’

‘I called for back-up. You’re it.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Some would say. How do you want to do this?’

‘I’m thinking.’

Despite the men being equal rank within Victoria Police, Murray often followed Jordan’s lead. It was a situation Jordan was comfortable with, and given the choice, one he preferred. At twenty-seven years of age he was one of the youngest senior constables in the Melbourne precinct, having joined the day he’d become eligible.

All was quiet within the house. For the moment nothing was shattering or otherwise, but that only put Jordan on guard. Noisy people rarely concerned him. Quiet people could be anywhere, doing anything.

Jordan thought of the heat again and rubbed at the exposed skin of his neck. The reflection off his vest made him wish for sunglasses and the pretty front yard made him think of something wholly unrelated to the moment. It wasn’t the time or the place, but his news burned within him. So he said it quickly. ‘I got promoted.’

Murray half-turned, taken off-guard. ‘Congratulations. There was never any doubt.’

‘Then why are you so surprised?’

‘Well … ’ Murray narrowed his eyes. ‘Okay, there’s always a little doubt. I didn’t think there were any available positions above our rank. Who’s leaving?’

‘I am.’ Jordan lifted his head a fraction just as a toaster landed on the bonnet of the car. It was followed by a kettle and a dinner plate. The men scrambled further behind the car as the ceramic exploded against a headlight. Plates remained the weapon of choice for a few minutes, each flung like a Frisbee.

‘What’s the guy’s name?’ Jordan retrieved the loudspeaker tucked behind the front seat of Murray’s car and switched it on. A piercing electronic wheeze made him wince.

‘Keith Masters. Wife told him she wants a divorce. And did you say
you’re
leaving?’

Not leaving, Jordan thought as he chanced getting to his feet, but returning. A Betty Boop clock landed in the gutter to his right. He cleared his throat and spoke into the loudspeaker. ‘Hey, Keith. Mate, how’re you doing in there?’ He saw the curtains part and knew he had the man’s attention. ‘Keith, I’m Senior Constable Hill. I’m one of the guys you just flicked a bunch of void warranties at.’ A drinking glass smashed behind him, lobbed clear over the car. He arched a brow. ‘Okay. So I hear you’ve got yourself some company in there. Your ex-wife?’

‘
Wife!
’ the man bellowed, clearly hysterical. ‘My wife!’

‘Sorry, Keith, your wife. Is she hurt?’

‘
I’m hurt!
I’m
hurt! No one leaves Keith Masters!’ He threw another glass to emphasise his point.

‘Your wife’s leaving you? Man, tough break.’ Jordan kept the unease out of his voice but it was there, pressing against his stomach.

‘She’s not leaving me. She’ll never leave this house again!’

Jordan took note of an upturned tricycle at the top of the driveway and tried to make his voice sound sympathetic. ‘So you’ll be doing the school run, then?’

There was a long silence, then a tentative question: ‘What?’

Crouched beside him, Murray hissed, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Jordan lowered the speaker and answered quietly. ‘Who cares? If his wife’s got any sense she’ll be making a break for it. By the time he figures out I’m talking crap she’ll be out of the house.’

Movement out of the corner of his eye put him on alert. A harried-looking woman had slipped through the side gate and was creeping down the driveway. She waved at the two police officers, her face aflame with embarrassment. ‘Bingo,’ Jordan murmured.