Sleight Malice (34 page)

“I want you to hear Laura’s side of the story before you pass any
final judgments. Do that and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Deal?”

What alternative did she have? Without the keys to the rental
vehicle, she couldn’t escape, even if she wanted to. Nor could she survive
outside for much longer, the chill wind already cutting her through to the
bone. She relinquished her hold on the veranda rail and followed her brother
inside.

Bypassing the cupboard-sized kitchen and meals area, he led her
through a passageway into a tiny lounge room, where Nicole – or Laura as
Brandon still insisted on calling her – sat in one of the two shabby, brown
overstuffed armchairs, a blue cushion resting on her lap. The only light in the
dim room came from one small window in the end wall and the glow from the
electric fire in the corner. At another time, Desley might have thought it
cozy.

“Brandon, why don’t you go and put the kettle on while I talk to
Desley,” Nicole said.

“It involves me as well.”

“Of course it does, but I just want to talk with your sister woman
to woman. You understand, don’t you?”

If the glum expression on her brother’s face was anything to go by,
he might have understood, but he wasn’t happy. Nevertheless, he didn’t argue
and left the room.

Nicole gestured at the well-worn leather sofa pushed up against the
wall opposite. “Please.”

About to refuse, Desley changed her mind and took a seat at the end
of the sofa closest to the door. Though she needed all the advantages she could
get, her legs were too shaky to stay standing. Deciding attack was her best
defense, she launched straight in. “How do I know that what you’re going to
tell me isn’t just another pack of lies? You’ve obviously mastered the skill.”

“You’re right,” Nicole said with a wistful smile, “you don’t. But I
want to set the record straight anyway. Maybe you’ll understand then. How much
has Brandon told you?”

“And that’s another thing. If it’s not enough that you’ve pretended
to be someone you’re not all these years, you then manipulate my little brother
into helping you.”

Nicole sighed. “We fell in love, Desley. It wasn’t planned; it just
happened. For the first time in my life, I know what it’s like to be in love. I
never set out to hurt you.” She paused. “Or Brandon.”

“So what was it with Ryan if it wasn’t love? Lust?” Desley
shuddered, the thought of brother and sister engaged in any sexual act
repugnant.

Nicole snickered.

“I’m glad someone’s finding this amusing.”

“No, it’s not that. I did love Ryan, more than words can say, but
not in the way you think. What I would give to have him back.”

“Brandon told me Ryan was dead. I’m sorry.” And she was. Desley
wouldn’t wish the loss of a brother on anyone. No matter what he or she had
done.

“Thank you.” Nicole bowed her head. “That means a lot to me.”

“So you’re telling me you and he were never...” She searched for the
right word.

“Intimate? No. You may think me capable of many things, but that
isn’t one of them. I can’t blame you for thinking that though – you only know
half the story.”

“Well then, start by telling me who killed your brother? And why
haven’t the police found his body?”

“Jeremy Stillson murdered him. I doubt his body will ever be found.”

“Then who killed Jeremy Stillson?”

Nicole stared at Desley, her expression unflinching. “I did.”

In the next instant, scalding liquid splashed the back of Desley’s
hand; tray, coffee pot, cups and sugar crashing to the floor next to her.

“I’m sorry, Brandon,” Nicole said, looking past Desley to the
doorway. “I wanted to tell you; I really did. This is not how I planned it.”

Brandon didn’t say anything. Desley twisted her head around to peer
over her shoulder at her brother. His stunned expression mirrored her own.

For a few long seconds, time stood still.

“C’mon, we’re going,” Brandon said to Desley, positioning himself
between her and Nicole while his sister got up.

“Sit down,” Nicole demanded, whipping out a gun from under the
cushion on her lap. “Now! Both of you.”

Desley floundered backward onto the couch, cowering each time Nicole
waved the gun in her direction.

“Sit I said.”

Brandon eased past Desley and sat next to her on the sofa, his right
shoulder and back angled in front of her like a shield. Two defenseless people
against an armed self-confessed murderer. She only hoped her brother wouldn’t
try anything heroic. Or stupid.

“Now, where were we? That’s right, I was about to tell you why I
killed that murdering son of a bitch.” Nicole kept the gun trained on Brandon.
“Oh why couldn't you leave things alone? No one except Stillson was meant to
get hurt.”

“No one else has to,” Desley said, her fingernails biting deep into
her clenched palms.

“I’m not going to prison.”

“They can’t convict you for murdering a dead man.”

“No? It doesn’t matter now anyway. All I want is a chance to tell my
story. Where do you want me to start?”

Desley took two quick, sharp breaths. “The beginning?”

“Once upon a time… Scrub that, that’s only for fairytales with happy
endings. Sixteen years ago, Ryan Andrew Moore, the best brother anyone could
wish for, left Perth for his big OE and was never to be seen by his family
again. Mum and I received the occasional postcard, letter and even the odd
collect phone call but then it all stopped. Nothing for weeks, then months. Not
a word. We reported him missing and despite everyone’s best efforts, there was
no trace of him. That is, until we heard that he was in the UK, but wanted no
contact with us. It killed Mum; it broke her heart. They said it was a heart
attack, but I knew better.

“Every person I had ever loved had been taken from me. I had to find
Ryan to let him know Mum had died and find out why he had abandoned us like
that. I flew to London and spent months searching for him. Do you know how many
Ryan Moores live in the UK?” Nicole didn’t pause, so Desley guessed the
question was rhetorical. Her voice had taken on a trance-like quality. “I had
almost given up hope when, quite by accident, I came across a Ryan Moore with
the same date of birth as my brother. I was temping at a recruitment agency
helping to vet job applicants when his CV landed on my desk. At first, I was
elated: I thought I had finally found my brother, but the photograph in the
copy he had attached of his Australian passport didn’t look anything like him.

“But then I got to thinking. What were the odds of there being two
Australian Ryan Moores with the same middle name, and the same date and place
of birth living in the UK? Adopting the name Laura Noble, I contrived to meet
this man who shared so much in common with my brother. It wasn’t hard. I knew
where he worked, where he lived: all I had to do was wait for the right
opportunity. When I bumped into him, spilling my drink at a bar he frequented,
he of course offered to buy me another a drink.

“He told me that night his father had been killed in a car accident,
but that he had a mother and sister, Nicole, still living in Perth. But he
didn’t sound Australian, he sounded Canadian, and he was telling me about my
own family. Then he told me about working as a deckhand on a yacht sailing from
the Caribbean across to the UK. It felt like my heart had been ripped out and
shredded into little pieces, yet I couldn’t let him see that. I had no proof,
but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man had stolen not only my
brother’s identity, but his life, too.”

Desley felt Brandon tense and lean forward, his gaze on the gun in
Nicole’s relaxing grip. She grabbed the back of his shirt where Nicole couldn’t
see and twisted, willing him not to try anything.

“Do you know how sick to the stomach it made me feel to be with him?
I had to put that out my mind though, because I had to make him pay for what he
had done. I had to be two people: the woman he would fall madly in love with
and Ryan’s avenger.”

Desley was unable to suppress her gasp of surprise.

Nicole smiled. “Yes, the man you first thought was my lover then my
brother was in fact Jeremy Stillson, my brother’s killer. He never suspected a
thing. You should have seen his face when I told him who I was. It was worth
every sickening minute I had to spend with him.”

“But why did you wait so long?” The words were out of Desley’s mouth
before she could stop them.

“My plan had to be foolproof. Nothing could go wrong. I wanted to
destroy him slowly and make him suffer. But to do that, I needed to find out
who he really was. Then I discovered he had a Swiss bank account containing
hundreds of thousands of US dollars.” Nicole snorted. “The bastard must have
been naïve to think he could hide files on his laptop from someone with an IT
degree.”

So that’s where the money for the Escotts came from
, thought Desley. Nicole was trying to right another of Stillson’s
sins.

“I knew he must have stolen it,” Nicole continued, “so I employed an
investigator in the US to compile a list of major robberies and frauds for
around the same time my brother went missing. It didn’t take long to narrow
down the list. A photo of the illustrious dead Jeremy Stillson clinched it.

“Of course, for the plan to work I had to sacrifice my brother’s
reputation. Because if everything had gone to plan, Ryan Moore would’ve been
branded a murderer, his victim a man already presumed dead. The insurance policies,
everything, was designed to incriminate the man those in Melbourne knew as Ryan
Moore. Payback from beyond the grave.”

Silence.

Desley gnawed her lip, not knowing whether to say anything or what
to say.

“Of course, if that stupid tart hadn’t turned up at the cottage when
she had, neither of you would’ve been dragged into this sorry mess. In fact, I
should’ve already been out of the country, starting life afresh as the real
me.”

“Hey?” Brandon blurted. That was evidently news to him.

“Sorry, Brandon honey. Please know that I do love you, but—” Nicole
leapt to her feet. The gun still trained on her captives, she backed to the
window and looked skyward.

Desley heard it, too: the soft whump-whump of a helicopter’s blades
chopping through the air just audible in the distance. She glanced sideways at
Brandon, but his gaze was focused squarely on the gun being pointed in his
direction.

The louder the sound grew, the more agitated Nicole became,
brandishing her firearm like a sword. “Keys. Give me the car keys,” she
demanded, her left hand opening and closing in a snapping action. “Hurry up.
Don’t make me hurt you.”

Brandon leaned forward in his seat, his hand reaching behind him.

Nicole jumped back. “No funny business.”

“Do you want the keys or not?”

“Yes, yes.” She waved the gun in Brandon’s face, snatching the keys
from his hand as he pulled them from his back pocket.

Unable to watch, Desley closed her eyes for a moment, imploring
Nicole not to pull the trigger – accidentally or otherwise. She felt the air
move as someone or something passed in front of her face. Biting down hard on
her lip, she opened her eyes.

Nicole stood in the doorway, her gaze cold. “Don’t move! Believe me,
if you try to stop me
,
I won’t
hesitate to shoot.”

Desley believed her. She had nothing to lose. The woman who
m
she had once thought of as her best friend
had already killed.

The cottage walls shuddered, the sound of the helicopter overhead
drowning out any further conversation.

Desley put her arm out in front of Brandon, holding him back. “Not
yet,” she mouthed.

Shoving aside her arm, he crept toward the door. She followed, not
knowing if the thudding in her chest was her heart or vibration from the
helicopter.

From the relative safety of the cottage, Desley and Brandon watched
as Nicole darted across the open ground to the rented four-wheel-drive. She
made it, but seemed to be having trouble opening the doors.

“Wrong keys,” Brandon yelled in Desley’s ear.

Nicole kicked the driver’s door, yanking on the handle as if her
life depended on it.

Leaving Brandon watching Nicole, Desley went in search of an
east-facing window, the direction from which she could hear the helicopter. She
found what she was looking for in the laundry. A blue-and-white helicopter with
POLICE emblazoned on its tail had landed in a clearing not far from the
cottage, its rotor blades idling.

How?
thought Desley.
How had the
police known where to find them?
She shook her head. That wasn’t important.
The main thing was that they were there.

Uniformed police officers piled out of the helicopter, firearms at
the ready. Desley rushed back to Brandon, praying Nicole wouldn’t do anything
stupid.

A shot rang out.