Sleight Malice (33 page)

Then in the middle of nowhere, Brandon pulled the car to a stop
outside a padlocked steel farm gate. Leaving the four-wheel-drive running, he
got out, unlocked and opened the gate, got back in, drove through and repeated
the process in reverse. She couldn’t see any buildings where a person could
stay, only a narrow dirt track, winding through the large boulders clustering
the tussocky moonscape. On either side of the property, uniform rows of tall
pines stood sentry.

The reason for renting a four-wheel-drive over a standard car became
clear. The ride was a bumpy one and at times, she thought they would bottom
out. That or she would be catapulted through the roof.

Over the crest of the next hill, she spotted the corrugated iron
roof of a shed or a house. “Who would’ve even known this was here?”

“What was that?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She hadn’t realized she had voiced
her thoughts out loud.

“When we get down there, I want you to stay in the car until I’ve
had a chance to see Laura.” He took his gaze off the track for a moment.
“Okay?”

“Whatever you say.” She almost saluted, but thought better of it.

As they got closer, she saw the iron roof belonged to a small,
weathered timber and iron cottage, its faded surfaces blending with the
environment. She watched the windows, expecting to see movement, but saw none.

Brandon drove around the back. “Stay,” he said, wagging a finger at
her as if she were a dog in need of discipline.

She almost barked, her growing trepidation making her defiant. “Yes,
master.”

He scowled and stomped off toward the cottage. The door opened and a
thin woman with short, black hair appeared on the doorstep. Though she had lost
weight, and colored and cut her hair, there was no mistaking those dusky-blue
eyes – even from a distance.

Desley gasped. Her brother had
Laura circled in his arms, and if she wasn’t mistaken, kissing her in a most
unplatonic manner. What’s more, Laura was responding, her hand snaking up the
back of his neck.

The phone on Fergus’s desk rang.
He leapt for it and in the process, sent the contents of his overflowing
in-tray careering onto the floor. “Desley?”

“No, although I was hoping you would be able to tell me how I could
get hold of her,” answered a gravelly voice. Grant.

“You and I both.” At least now, he knew it wasn’t only his calls she
wasn’t returning. “Why do you need to contact her?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a few more questions
she might be able to help us out with.”

“To do with Laura Noble not being who we thought she was?” Fergus
swapped hands and leaned down to scoop up the papers and files strewn across
the carpet.

“In a sense. Can you tell me where she is or not?”

“Not. And frankly, I’m worried.”

“How long since you’ve heard from her?” Grant asked.

“I spoke to her on the phone around eight-ish last night.”

“And she sounded okay? Not distressed or anything?”

“No, she was fine.”

“So what makes you think there’s a problem? As an adult, she isn’t
exactly beholden to you or anyone else. Who’s to say she isn’t off somewhere
doing her own thing?”

Fergus gritted his teeth. “Suit yourself, Grant, but I’m going to
drive over to her place now to see if there’s any sign of her. Any message?”

“We’ll meet you there.” Click.

Fergus blinked. What was Grant so keen to talk to Desley about to
drop everything and rush over to her place? He hung up the phone, grabbed his
keys and headed for the rear exit, on the way, letting his receptionist know he
could be contacted on his mobile.

For once, the traffic lights didn’t work against him, and he made
the trip between his office and Desley’s home in record time. Not prepared to
wait for the detectives to arrive, he left his car parked on the street, walked
to the front door and rang the bell.

He stepped backwards, his hand shielding his eyes against the glare
of the sun as he peered up at her bedroom window. The curtains were closed, as
were those in the other windows he could see. He went back and rang the
doorbell again, before using his mobile to call her landline. He heard a
muffled ringing inside the house; it stopped when he hung up.

Taking out the spare key Desley had given him, he hesitated for only
a second or two. He unlocked the door, his eyes scanning the security panel as
he removed the key from the lock. All zones were armed; no one was in the
house. Praying she hadn’t changed the security code, he punched in the four
digits to disarm the system, breathing a sigh of relief when the red LEDs
changed to green.

He headed straight to the internal door that led to the garage and
opened it. Desley’s brilliant-blue Peugeot stared back at him. The doorbell
rang and knowing who it would be, he went to answer it.

“You took your time.”

Grant looked past him, one eyebrow flickering. “So is the lady of
the house at home then?”

“No. And before you ask, I have a key.”

“Like that is it?”

Standing behind him, Kim’s eyes widened, her lips pressed together
in a disappointed smile.
Damn
, thought Fergus. He hadn’t wanted her
finding out like this. He had owed her that at least.

“That’s not important. Wherever she is, she isn’t driving. Her car’s
still in the garage. So she must have left the house either on foot or by
taxi.”

Grant barged through the door. “Your deductive powers are amazing,
Sherlock.” Before Fergus could retort, he added, “Have you thought there might
have been a family emergency of some sort and she’s been called away?”

“I’ve left messages on her brother’s mobile, but I didn’t want to
call her parents and worry them unnecessarily. What did you want to ask Desley?
Could it have any bearing on where she might have gone?”

“The information she gave us about the Moore siblings proved
fruitful. The West Australian police have uncovered some interesting facts
about an old case file. We don’t yet know how it impacts on the current
investigation, but it’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to Ms James.”

“So are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”

“Patience, my dear boy, patience,” Grant said, walking away from
him, checking in each room he passed.

Fergus trailed him, irked not only with the way Grant was stringing
him along, but also with the DI’s lack of respect for Desley’s privacy. They
entered the kitchen, Grant dragging his knuckles along the polished granite
benchtop.

“It seems,” Grant said, “that this isn’t the first time Ryan Moore
has gone missing. The day after his twentieth birthday, our Mr Moore boarded a
plane for Singapore. He had no plans, no itinerary and not much money. You know
the young: they think they’re invincible.”

It’s called being adventurous
, Fergus
thought.

“Anyway,” Grant continued, “according to the missing person’s
report, the last his mother and sister heard from him, he had signed up as a
deckhand on a yacht sailing from Antigua in the Caribbean across the Atlantic
Ocean to Dartmouth in the UK. The trip should have taken approximately six
weeks, but as he hadn’t been the most regular of correspondents, they didn’t
become unduly concerned until four months had passed with no word from him.

“The local Antiguan police could find no trace of him. Ditto the
Salvation Army. They didn’t know the name of the boat or anything about the owner
– except he was an Australian expatriate – or even the port they had sailed
from. There were fears the yacht may have sunk or fallen victim to pirates.

“However, later investigations in the UK showed Ryan Moore entering
the country as planned. And to cut a long story short, our missing person
eventually came forward, identified himself to the English authorities and had
himself removed from the register. His family were notified he had been found
safe and well, but he requested they not be told of his whereabouts.

“Immigration records show he returned to Australia five years later,
where we have to presume he hooked back up with his loving – in more ways than
one – sister. Could even be the reason he left in the first place.”

Fergus scratched his jaw. “So why didn't this information come to
light sooner?”

Kim answered. “There was no centralized national missing persons’
register back then. And since the case was closed, there was no reason for it
to be entered into the computer database.”

“But what does it all mean? Why would he have wanted to cut himself
off from his family like that?”

“You know as much as we do.”

“Right now I have no idea how it all fits together, but I do know we
need to find Desley. She knows Laura-slash-Nicole and her brother as well as
anyone, which doesn’t say much, but what if she’s somehow worked out where
they’re hiding and gone after them? I wouldn't put it past her. We know they’re
desperate; one man is already dead.”

Grant folded his arms, the seams of his fitted black jacket pulling
under the strain. “If that’s the case, why didn’t she let you or somebody know
where she was going? Doesn’t she trust you?”

Fergus had wondered the same thing. He threw up his hands. “I don’t
know. The thought that she had been forced to leave against her will did cross
my mind, but then I doubt the security system would’ve been armed.”

“If she has her mobile phone switched on, we could try triangulating
its position,” Kim said, looking at Grant. “There’s no reason to think it
wouldn’t work – we found it once.”

“It would be a breach of privacy.” Grant wiped a hand across his
mouth. “We don’t have just cause—”

“Of course we bloody do!” Fergus snapped, almost, literally as well
as figuratively, leaping down the DI’s throat.

Grant fixed him with a hard stare. “If you would just let me finish,
I was going to say there is a way around it.”

Somewhat chastened but unrepentant, Fergus shut his mouth and
waited.

“She’s not suspected of being implicated in any crime, but if you’re
prepared to report Ms James as a missing person, stating you hold grave
concerns for her safety and welfare, then we can act.”

“What are we waiting for? Do it.”

The woman who stood before her was
a stranger – a stranger who had turned Desley’s life inside out. “Why?”

Brandon wrapped a protective arm around the woman Desley now knew to
be Nicole Moore.

“Why?” Desley repeated. She didn’t know who had betrayed her more:
her own brother or the woman she had loved like a sister. Both had deceived
her.

“Please believe I never meant to hurt you,” Nicole said, reaching
out a hand.

Desley backed away from the outstretched arm. “You lied to me. You
led me to believe you were someone you weren’t. Screwing my brother is bad
enough, but screwing your own? That’s just sick.”

Dismay flashed across Nicole’s drawn face. She shook her head. “No,
you have it all wrong.”

“I do? Go ahead, enlighten me.” Desley started to shake, couldn’t
stop shaking as a barrage of conflicting emotions engulfed her: relief, anger,
sorrow, disbelief, resentment, disgust. She clutched the veranda rail, her legs
not strong enough to support her on their own.

Her brother whispered something to Nicole, waiting until she had
gone inside before turning to Desley. “I know you’re mad, and you have every
right to be, but please just listen to what she has to say.”

“Why, Brandon?”
Why? Why? Why?
The word looped through her
head, making it hard for her to think of anything else.

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I love her.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first time I met her.”

“No, you had a crush on her. Love is different. How can you believe
anything she says? She had me fooled for years. What makes you think you’re any
different?”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

Desley clenched her fist. She wanted to unleash her hurt on Brandon,
on Nicole, on the world, on anyone. “She really has got inside your head,
hasn’t she? What are we talking? Days? Weeks? Months?”

“Please, Desley, come inside where it’s warm and we can talk.”

She blinked back tears, determined not to fall apart. Trapped in the
middle of nowhere with the two people she had thought she could trust most, she
had never felt more alone. She fingered her mobile phone inside her pocket and
pulled it out.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling someone I can trust.” As she held it up to check the signal
strength, he snatched it from her. “Brandon, give it back.”

“No. You can’t tell anyone where we are.”

“This is getting way beyond a joke. You can’t keep me here against
my will. I refuse to be a part of this… this insane game of yours.” She held
out her hand for the phone.