Sleight Malice (23 page)

Compared to
Desley, she was a giant. Then again, everyone was. She didn’t know any
dark-haired, blue-eyed busty women, tall or otherwise. She also realized hair
color was easily camouflaged with dye or a wig. And tinted contact lenses could
well account for the vividness of the woman’s blue eyes.

“Could it have
been Selena in disguise?” Fergus asked, obviously thinking along the same
lines. The height and big chest matched Selena’s physique.

Desley shook
her head, dismissing the possibility. “If you were going to disguise your
appearance, wouldn’t you at least choose a hair color different to your own?”

“Maybe, maybe
not.”

“I still don’t
think it was her. Anyway, you would’ve recognized her voice on the phone.”

“Unless…” He
paused.

“Unless that
was disguised, too,” she said, finishing his sentence. “But why would she want
to harass me? I’m no threat. I’m not trying to steal Trent away from her or
anything.”

“No, but
reality and perception are two different things.”

She sipped her
coffee, the heat from the cup warming her cold fingers. Her gaze met Fergus’s
pensive stare. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

“Promise me you
won’t bite my head off?”

Frowning, she
gave a half-nod, not sure what was coming.

“Have you
considered the possibility it could’ve been Laura?”

It had crossed
her mind, but only for a fleeting moment. Not that she was about to admit it.
“What possible reason would she have to break-in to my house, steal my car and
then call you on the pretext of being a good Samaritan to tell you I was near
death?” She paused for breath. “And that’s supposing…” Her voice trailed off:
she didn’t want to go there.

He shrugged.
“We have to look at every possibility, however remote.”

“Well, I hope
it was her. It would mean she’s free and still very much alive.”

Fergus raised
an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Every
possibility,” she reminded him, yet knowing at the same time her missing friend
wasn’t the mystery woman. No matter the reason, Laura would never torment her
like that. Anyway, her willowy friend wasn’t big busted. Far from it.

She heard
footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, Kim appeared. “Sorry,” she said,
hooking Fergus by the elbow, “but I need to borrow Fergus for a minute.
Outside.”

Still nursing
her coffee cup, Desley drifted into the living room and across to the glass
sliding doors. She stared out at the brick-paved courtyard, bare except for the
wrought iron garden bench in the corner: like her, alone and imprisoned behind
a glass wall. Fergus and Kim were mere meters away outside, her brother and
parents only a phone call away, yet she had never felt so isolated, so cut-off
from reality. It all had to be some horrible nightmare. She felt so, so tired.
If only she could wake up…

A photo of Laura and herself in
holiday mode and grinning like loons floated into view, paused for a second in
the centre of the screen and then faded away. Desley pressed the spacebar,
interrupting the screensaver slideshow. Was that all that remained of her
friend: pictures and memories?

She leaned back
in her chair, her face tipped up and stared at the white ceiling. Fergus had
made all the right noises about not giving up hope and the rest, but she sensed
that’s all it was: noise. She couldn’t blame him. None of Laura and Ryan’s bank
accounts or credit cards had been touched, there had been no credible sightings
of the couple and the body of the man found in the fire had yet to be
identified. With no new leads or evidence to work with, the case had stalled,
the police scaling down their investigation.

Even the
discovery of Ryan’s Nissan Patrol in the Murray River had raised more questions
than it had answered. With no evidence of foul play, the police were satisfied
the dead driver, a 24-year-old unemployed man with a history of car theft, had
stolen the vehicle. But where from?
If only dead men could talk
, Desley
thought, sitting upright again.

Her hand closed
over the mouse. She wanted to see that photograph again, but before she could
open the folder containing all her personal pictures, the phone rang. She
hesitated, waiting to find out who it was before answering.

“Desley, it’s
Fergus. If you’re there, please pick up.” He paused, then added, “I have some
news.”

She snatched up
the phone. “What news? A breakthrough?”

“Of sorts, but
don’t get too excited. The police have tracked down your Maureen Carmel
McKeown.”

Her grip
tightened on the phone. “And?”

“And you could
say she’s an absentee owner. Maureen McKeown died twelve years ago, three years
before the property was purchased.”

“How’s that
possible?”

“Quite simple
really: proof of identity is not required to purchase a property. Obviously,
it’s different if there’s a mortgage involved, but the Howqua cottage was
bought for cash.”

“There’s
something you’re not telling me.”

He laughed.
“Nothing gets past you, does it? Maureen McKeown is, or rather was, Ryan
Moore’s grandmother on his father’s side.”

Desley closed
her eyes, trying to gel what she had just heard with what she already knew.
“Hang on. If it’s Ryan’s paternal grandmother, shouldn’t they share the same
surname?”

“Her husband,
Ryan’s grandfather, died in his fifties and she remarried, taking her new
husband’s name.”

“Am I right in
thinking then, that for whatever reason, Ryan bought the property in his dead
grandmother’s name?”

“That’s the
theory at this stage. Proving it is another matter. With the property not in
his name, Laura wouldn’t have been able to make a claim on it if they split.
Unless, of course, she could prove his ownership and that’s assuming she knew
he owned it in the first place. It would also mean that if he had a business go
into liquidation, creditors wouldn’t be able to call on the asset even if he
had offered personal guarantees. Although going on his past dealings with Paul
Escott, that seems highly unlikely.”

Laura had told
her a friend of a friend owned the cottage. Had it been a line fed to her by
Ryan, or had she known the truth all along? But what difference did it make?
“How is knowing Ryan owns the cottage going to help find Laura?”

“You’re asking
me? You were the one preoccupied with finding out who owned it.”

“Yes, well…”

“Someone,
whether it be Ryan or not, didn’t want you digging. That much is obvious.”
Fergus’s voice softened. “You’d tell me if you had received any more threats?”

“If you’re
asking if I’ve received any more anonymous emails or if my house has been
broken into again or if my car has been stolen, the answer is no, thank God.
But go back for a minute. Are you suggesting Ryan might have been behind that
warning email?”

“Or someone
else who thinks you were getting too close for comfort.”

“Too close to
what, though?” Desley didn’t need to see Fergus to know he was shrugging his
shoulders. She cupped her hand around the receiver and dropped her voice. “Are
you sure my phone isn’t being tapped?”

“I can have Tim
check again,” he whispered back, making her feel foolish, “but he’s 99.9 per
cent sure you’re clean, besides…”

She cleared her
throat. “Besides what?”

“I have a small
confession to make. I spoke to Kim about your suspicions…”

Knowing what
was coming, Desley mouthed the words with him.

“…and she
assures me you are not and have never been under electronic surveillance.”

Why wasn’t she
surprised? She wouldn’t have expected the police to admit to tapping her phone
even if they had been. “I thought we agreed—”

“However,” he
said, talking over the top of her, “you were right about them tapping Helen
Escott’s phone line.”

She gasped.

“But whatever
you do, you can’t tell her. I know you like Helen, but you have to remember why
they’re doing it. For some reason, which may or may not be associated with your
friends’ disappearance, Paul Escott has gone to ground. He certainly has the
motive to want revenge on Ryan.”

“Ryan, yes,”
she said with a sigh, feeling like she was stuck in a loop, “but not Laura.
Quite the opposite if what Helen told me is true. She tried to help him.”

“Sometimes we
hurt the people we least mean harm.”

“What do you
mean by that?”

“I’m talking
collateral damage. I’m not saying that’s the situation here, but I’ve seen
enough of the dark side of human nature to know what people are capable of.
Revenge is a powerful emotion. We also don’t know what his state of mind was.
Remember, his wife turned him away from seeing his own son on his birthday. How
do you suppose that made him feel? We have to stay objective.”

She propped her
elbows on the desk, rubbing her eyes with the back of her left hand. Fergus was
right. She couldn’t let emotion cloud her judgment. What made her think she
could predict the behavior of a man she had never met? What she would do and
what someone else would do in any given circumstance wasn’t the same. She
couldn’t even be sure, put in the same situation, how she would react.

“Point taken,”
she said distractedly, her mind backtracking to Ryan’s late grandmother. “Hey,
have they managed to track down a next of kin for Ryan? A living one I mean.
What about Laura’s family? I know her parents are both dead, but surely she has
to have at least one relative, even a distant one.”

“In answer to
your first question: not yet. Ryan’s parents are both dead. Likewise his
grandparents on both sides. He does have a younger sister – Nicole. She lodged
a final tax return in 1996, citing she was leaving Australia permanently.
Interpol have been alerted and the Red Cross and other tracing agencies have
feelers out, but so far they haven’t managed to locate her.”

Laura hadn’t
mentioned Ryan had a sister, that is if she even knew of her existence. Had
brother and sister kept in contact over the years? If Nicole hadn’t been back
to Australia in all that time, perhaps she didn’t want to be found. Desley kept
her thoughts to herself.

Fergus
continued. “Sorry, nothing to report on the whereabouts of Laura’s kin at this
stage, but I promise I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”

“But when will
that be: today, tomorrow, next week, next year, never?” She sighed. “Never
mind, I know you can’t answer that.”

No one could.
She had already come to the realization that if she wanted answers, she would
have to find them herself, with or without Fergus’s help.

A few minutes before midday,
Desley found herself parked across the street from Coyne Systems, the software
development house where Laura worked as a business systems analyst and where
they had first met. On cue, the two-storey, white concrete-block building’s
main doors opened and Chrissy Simmonds, flanked by her entourage of Friday
lunchers, spilled out. Desley shrank down into her car seat, only surfacing
again when she could no longer hear their animated voices.

She held her
hands out in front of her to check for shakes. She wasn’t even sure if she
could pull it off, but what did she have to lose? Before she could change her
mind, she jumped out of her car, hurried across the street, through the main
doors into the building’s foyer and up the stairs to the open but windowless
reception area. She didn’t recognize the glossy-lipped Barbie at the front
desk.

“Hi, I’m here
to see Chrissy. I know I’m early, but she said just to wait in her office.”
Desley gave a dismissive sweep of her hand. “It’s all right, I know my way.”
She took off, making a beeline for the HR manager’s office. Praying no one
would challenge her, she resisted the urge to look around.

The door to
Chrissy’s office was shut, but thankfully not locked. Desley slipped through,
closing it behind her. The angle of the olive-green slimline blinds meant she
was able to see out, but made it difficult for anyone to see in. Not that it
mattered as the outer offices looked to be deserted. She breathed out, taking a
second or two for her pulse to steady. She had timed her visit well.

The pale grey
desk and return were clear and the computer was switched off as if Chrissy
didn’t expect to be back for the day. Desley tried the first of the
three-drawer black filing cabinets lining the back wall. Locked. Keeping one
eye on the door, she rummaged through each of the desk drawers. Just when she
thought she was out of luck, she lifted out a pen tray, uncovering a pair of
loose keys.

The first one
didn’t fit, but the second did. Her heart in her mouth, she rifled through the
files searching for Laura’s personnel records, specifically her résumé. It felt
a bit like clutching at straws, but an online article she had come across
suggested studying the victim could help unravel a crime, especially where it
appeared to be motiveless. And since she didn’t know where to start with Ryan,
she had decided to begin with Laura and work backwards.