Limbo (5 page)

Dash stared at Joy’s mouth as the words dropped out in a long continuous string, each of them only making sense at the end when they were all out in the open.

His pulse picked up.

‘
The
Hailey Richardson? The twenty-nine-year-old mother who disappeared with her daughter six months ago and was found dead last week in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere? That Hailey Richardson?’

Her gaze fell to the floor as she nodded. ‘Yes.’

Crap. He needed coffee for this.

Dash stalked to the ever-ready percolator on top of the bar fridge and poured himself a mug. Ralph, completely oblivious to the bombshell that had just been lobbed around him, did his habitual three-sixty revolution of his bowl.

‘You want one?’

‘Yes please.’

She said it like she needed it more than he did. And he needed coffee
bad.

‘Black, right?’

‘That’ll do.’

He handed it over before pouring another and indicating she should sit opposite him at his desk. She sat and he followed. They sipped at their coffees in silence as Dash tried to wrap his head around the revelation.

‘Where do you work?’ he asked eventually.

‘At Brentwood Funeral Home.’

He remembered a sliver of their conversation that night at the Purple Parrot. ‘Cadaver make-up?’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t say anything for a long moment as he let that one sink in. It was the kind of cop he was. Dash caught himself as the thought slipped by. How long would it take for him to stop thinking of himself in a blue uniform? Three-plus years later he sometimes forgot.

But the lessons he’d learned in the force were still invaluable to the work he did today. Where others had often leaped up and jumped to conclusions, shooting off half cocked, Dash had learned early to turn things over in his head for a while first. Look at all the angles. Be objective.

He’d never been interested in a conviction for conviction’s sake. He wanted the
real
perpetrator. In his seventeen years it had earned him respect.

And enemies.

‘Do you remember that Christmas I spent at your house?’ he asked as he looked into the thick black sludge of his coffee. ‘The parlour was closed for the day and your Mum cooked duck and you weren’t there when she put it all on the table and she sent me to find you and you were sitting in that window seat at the front where you always were with your head in a book and I called you and you turned and then that…man…passed between us.’

‘Yes.’

He glanced up at her. ‘You saw him too?’

‘Yes.’

‘But there was only us there that day. Your family and me.’

‘Yes.’

Dash stared at her for long moments. It had been an eerie moment — his heartrate had been off the scale — and Dash remembered to this day how freaked out he’d felt. Somehow he’d just
known
that the…man…wasn’t of this world. That he was an…apparition. But Joy had been so calm and serene and when he’d looked at her with a question in his eyes she’d shrugged like it was just another day at the funeral parlour.

They’d never spoken about it and he’d dismissed it at the time, talked himself out of it. But when she came to him with a ghost story — he believed her.

He’d had some involvement with psychics during his time on the force and none of them had filled him with confidence, even though he knew police forces around the world had worked very successfully with some to help solve cases.

He just hadn’t been convinced by any of the ones he’d seen.

But after what he’d seen that day…he trusted Joy.

‘You better start from the top,’ he said.

Five minutes later, her story finished, she lapsed into silence. All that could be heard was a bunch of teenagers singing about the story of their lives in the background. As if they were all suddenly forty and actually had something to sing about.

‘What do you think?’ she asked after a long pause. ‘Will they think I’m mad?’

Dash drained his mug and stood to pour himself another as he mulled it over.

‘Maybe they’ll be receptive?’ she asked, but didn’t sound very convinced.

‘Oh no,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘They’re pretty much going to think you’re either, A, batshit crazy, or B, involved somehow. Got an alibi?’

She frowned at him. ‘For what?’

God — he couldn’t believe she could be that naive. ‘For
January.
When Hailey and her daughter went missing.’

She didn’t say anything for a long time and he waited and watched as realisation dawned and her face went from cute but serious to pale and grim. ‘Oh.’ She swallowed.

‘Yes. Oh.’

‘Umm…’ she paused again and he could almost see her mentally trawling back seven months. ‘I was in the US.’

Relief, hot and sharp, rolled through him. He didn’t think for a moment that Joy had anything to do with the Richardson disappearances but he knew his colleagues wouldn’t be so generous. ‘That’ll do.’ And he grinned to put her at ease.

She buried her face in her hands and he swore he could see them shaking. ‘They’re going to commit me, aren’t they?’ she asked, her voice muffled.

‘No.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Because I’m going to be there with you every step of the way.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

The thick edge of gratitude in her voice pricked at his conscience but he didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t exactly Mr Popular as far as the cops were concerned.

Don’t thank me yet
.

Joy felt like she’d been plonked into the pages of a pulp-fiction detective novel as she sat next to Dash at a tinny table in a small room marked
Interview
. They were sitting beside each other, facing the door, with a large tinted window to their right. Joy assumed as the window did not actually look
out
over anything, its purpose was for people to look
in
.

If the room was deliberately designed to put its occupants ill at ease it was doing a damn fine job. All it needed was a loudly ticking clock, a stack of phone books and a swinging light bulb and it would be the full cliché.

Joy shifted nervously in her hard metallic chair as she waited for someone to
interview
her. Apparently the head honcho, a detective inspector called Rasmussen, was in charge of the Richardson case but he was taking his sweet time getting here.

Dash started to drum his fingers on the tabletop. ‘Do you think they’re watching us through there?’ she whispered.

His fingers stilled as his gaze flicked to the window. ‘Yep.’

‘But I haven’t told them anything yet. All they know is that I have information regarding Hailey Richardson.’

‘They’re not looking at you.’

Dash’s face had set into a grim mask the second he’d stepped foot in the Basin cop shop and had remained that way. Even his jovial greeting to the officer on the front desk had done little to contain his grimace.

‘I’m getting the feeling that you’re not exactly the prodigal son around here?’

‘Well spotted.’

‘What the hell happened?’

His grunt was not reassuring. ‘Long story.’

The wheels in Joy’s brain turned a little harder as she mentally prodded his two-word answers. ‘They kicked you out, didn’t they?’

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’

‘Corruption.’

Joy gaped at him. Dash had been kicked out because he was
corrupt?
‘And you thought you being here with me was going to help
how
exactly?’

Another grim-faced response sailed her way. ‘Trust me. It will.’

‘
How?
’ she hissed.

His gaze flicked to her hot pink fringe. ‘You want to be taken seriously, you’re going to need someone to vouch for you.’

‘And you think a
bent
cop vouching for me is going to help?’

He shrugged. ‘I think
any
cop vouching for you is a plus given the kooky story you’re about to tell.’

Joy rolled her eyes. ‘Because kooky is
worse
than bent?’

He resumed his finger drumming again. ‘Bent they know what to do with,’ he said grimly.

The door opened abruptly and Joy started guiltily. What the fuck for she had no idea. Although if the experienced-looking detective in a tie and long sleeves walking towards them could read her mind, he may well find murderous intent directed towards Dash.

Maybe she should have put on her big-girl undies and come alone.

‘Hello, Dash.’

Joy watched as Dash smiled —
genuinely
smiled — for the first time since they’d been here.

His whole face lit up, changing it from ugly-handsome to just downright handsome. The man even had dimples underneath all those whiskers.

He really should consider smiling more often.

‘Baz,’ he said, standing, his hand outstretched, and the two men did a manly handshake-pulled-into-a-half-hug thing where they bounced their pecs together. ‘Helen still busting your balls?’

The other guy laughed. ‘No more than Liz I bet. How’s Katie?’

‘She’s great. Ten now. I’m thinking of building her a very tall tower, cutting her hair really short and locking her away in it.’ He glanced down at Joy. ‘I’ve been told she may never speak to me if I do.’

There was a deep, manly grunt in reply. ‘Talk’s overrated anyway. Let me know when you get started on it, I’ll give you a hand as long as you can lock my two away as well.’

Joy rolled her eyes. Bloody hell. She was dealing with Neanderthals.

‘You know each other?’ Joy said, determined to break up the love-in and get this over already.

‘Joy Valentine, meet Detective Sergeant Barry Norman,’ Dash said. ‘We were partners for five years.’

Partners?
Joy took mental notes as she said ‘Pleased to meet you,’ and shook his outstretched hand.

The two men couldn’t look more different. Barry looked every inch the police detective of television fame in his business shirt, tie and charcoal trousers. Wire-rimmed glasses sat high on his large nose, there was a slight paunch around his middle and he was balding on top.

Dash, on the other hand, looked the epitome of scruffy P.I. His unruly hair had been finger-combed back off his forehead, his snug jeans sat low on his hips and his open leather jacket revealed glimpses of t-shirt and flat stomach.

As Barry — Baz — took a seat opposite, Joy had to wonder whether Dash and Barry being so chummy was a good thing or a bad thing.

Was Baz corrupt too? Or had he just turned a blind eye? Didn’t partners know everything about each other?

They did on
Law and Order.

‘Thought Rasmussen was handling this,’ Dash said.

‘He’s the head of the investigation but…’

Dash nodded grimly. ‘Yeah.’

Joy wasn’t sure what that meant. The slight pause, the silent communication, didn’t fill her with faith. Was this Rasmussen person also corrupt?

‘So, Miss…’ he checked a notepad in his hand, ‘Valentine…you have some information regarding the murder of Hailey Richardson?’

Joy glanced at Dash. He pose was casual, balancing his chair on the back two legs, his grounded feet rocking him slightly back and forth, but the grimness had returned. He nodded at her in what she assumed was some kind of encouragement.

A smile would have been more convincing. A woman could do a lot of crazy things for a pair of fine-looking dimples.

She took a deep breath. ‘Last night…at work, I work at Brentwood Funeral Home.’ Joy glanced at Dash’s old partner who was already taking notes. He nodded at her to continue.

‘Well…Hailey Richardson’s body is there…I’m fixing her up for her family to view this afternoon.’

She stopped again and checked that Barry was keeping up. He nodded for her to continue. ‘She told me that they still had her baby and begged me to contact you.’

Joy watched as the pen in Barry’s hand stilled on the page. He glanced up at Joy then at Dash then back down to the page. He put his pen down and shut the notebook.

Barry looked at Dash. ‘Are you shitting me?’

Dash shook his head, still casually swinging on his chair. ‘She’s the real deal, I can vouch for that.’ His voice was deadly serious. ‘I went to the academy with her brother.’

Barry turned his attention to Joy and looked at her for long silent moments, clearly unconvinced. ‘So,’ he sighed. ‘You’re psychic?’

Joy frowned at the unexpected question. ‘No.’

‘But you saw a ghost? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? You saw Hailey’s ghost?’

‘Well…yes.’ Joy didn’t really like the word because it conjured up white sheets and rattling chains, which had never been her experience — nor anyone else’s, she suspected, outside the pages of a comic book.

But for the purposes of simplicity…

‘So you saw a ghost but you’re not psychic?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’ve
never
seen a ghost before. This is a…’ Barry took off his glasses and sucked on the end of one of the arms, ‘…
completely
new occurrence?’

Joy glanced at Dash. She knew the truth would dig an even bigger hole for her. But he nodded again, apparently unconcerned about the hole.
Just tell the truth.
That’s what he’d told her on the way over here.
If you want them to believe you don’t let them catch you in a lie.

‘Well…no. I have seen other…ghosts…in the past. But not for a very long time.’

Gary placed his glasses back on his nose triumphantly and gave her a patronising
of course you have
smile.

‘And they’ve
never
spoken to me,’ she hastened to add.

He peered over his glasses at her. ‘I see. So this…hearing voices is a new thing, then?’

‘Baz.’

Dash’s voice took on a gravelly warning and Joy sensed his body going onto alert even though he still appeared the epitome of laid back as he rocked on the chair.

‘Tell me…are you…medicated, Miss Valentine?’

‘That’s enough,
Baz
.’

Joy glanced at Dash, and saw his jaw clench and unclench. She didn’t like the way this was headed, even though she’d known it would probably get down to this. Maybe not quite so soon, however.

‘Like vitamins?’ she asked sweetly.

The cop gave a half laugh that seemed to echo off the walls and bounce off the tinny table. ‘Like lithium.’