Sleight Malice (7 page)

“I didn’t—”

She held up a
hand, only dropping it when he shut his mouth. “I was about to add that I also
understand where you were coming from…”

A woman
apologizing?

“And no, I’m
not apologizing,” she said, reading his mind, “I’m trying to explain.”

He managed to
keep a straight face, but had to cover his mouth with his hand, coughing to
disguise his chortle.

“Something I
said?”

He leaned
forward and turned the heater down. “Dry air,” he croaked, hoping he wasn’t
overplaying it. Any hint of amusement on his part, and he knew she would clam
up. Experience had taught him women didn’t appreciate a guy laughing when they
were in serious mode. He coughed again.

She studied his
face. “By the way, how did you come to be here?”

He cocked an
eyebrow. Amnesia?

“I’m not saying
that I wasn’t happy to see you, but…” She sat up, the set of her face rigid.
“Have you been following me?”

“Don’t you
remember? You sent me an email.”

“Oh,” she said,
slumping back in her seat, her chin resting on her chest. “I must’ve stuffed
up. It wasn’t scheduled to be delivered until tomorrow and only then if I
didn’t get back in time to delete it.”

“You make that
sound like a bad thing.”

She shook her
head. “No, it would’ve been a bad thing if you hadn’t turned up. Especially for
Selena,” she added in a whisper.

The woman
finally had a name. Though it meant nothing to him, she had to be more than a
passing acquaintance to Desley. How else would she have been able to give the
paramedics the name and phone number of the woman’s fiancé off the top of her
head?

“You were
explaining,” he prompted.

“What?”

“You said you
weren’t apologizing, you were explaining.”

“It’s a long
story…”

“Something to
fill in the time until the police arrive then.”

She rested her
head against the window strut and stared into the distance.

“How about we
start with something easy like who the woman is we just saved?”

He saw her
tense, her breathing suddenly tight.

Silence.

He waited.

She gave a loud
sigh, her breath fogging the side window. “Selena,” she said. “Selena Papa…”

He waited.

“…the woman who
stole my husband…”

Desley touched her face, the
warmth of her skin a stark reminder of the victim’s icy cheek. “Oh God, Selena,
please don’t die,” she said, real concern overriding any animosity she felt
toward her.

Back out on the
highway with the bitumen road stretching for kilometers ahead of her, she drove
on automatic pilot, her mind elsewhere. Who had attacked Selena? Could it
simply be a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? But more
perplexing was why her ex-husband’s fiancée would be at the cottage owned by
Laura’s friend of a friend in the first place. As far as she knew, Selena and
Laura had never met. What would bring her out here, and why now? Desley’s grip
tightened on the steering wheel.

Her mobile
phone rang. Without taking her eyes off the road, she pressed the answer
button.

“Desley, it’s
Fergus.”

“Where are you?
Have you heard any news yet? Is she all right?”

“Look in your
rear view mirror. And two, not yet.”

She did as he
said and was surprised to see his silver Falcon less than a car-length behind
her. He waved. How long had he been there? The last time she had seen him was
when she stopped to use the public toilets in Mansfield and he’d driven past
her on his way out of town.

“But I have had
a call from our mutual friend, DI Buchanan…”

She held her
breath.

“You wouldn’t
know where that ex-husband of yours you mentioned is by any chance?”

The question
caught her off guard. “Pardon?”

“Grant tried
calling you direct, but you didn’t answer.” A pause. “We were probably still
out of range then, though.”

“Not that. Why
would I know where he is? We’re not married anymore, you know,” she said,
unable to suppress the sarcasm in her voice. Any mention of Trent always
brought out the best in her. Hearing Fergus's sharp intake of breath, she
immediately wished she could take it back.

“Don’t shoot
the messenger.”

“Sorry, Fergus,
I’m not normally such a bitch.”

“You’re forgiven,”
he replied, his voice softening. For a moment, he didn’t speak. She imagined
his brain working overtime, looking for the best way to tell her what he wanted
to without raising her hackles again.

“Really, my
bark is worse than my bite,” she prompted. “Think terrier.”

His low,
throaty laugh filled the car.

She couldn’t
help but smile, her mood lightening. “In answer to your earlier question, I can
only assume that if the hospital managed to contact Trent, he’ll either be
sitting anxiously at Selena’s bedside or pacing the corridors. And hospitals
being hospitals, he will of course have his mobile phone switched off. Anyway,
what do the police want with my ex?”

“I did suggest
that to Grant, but although his phone is switched off, he hasn’t made an appearance
at the hospital yet.”

“Okay then, do
you know if they tried him at home?” She paused. “Mind you, if he had a heavy
night, they would almost have to bash the door down to rouse him,” she added as
an afterthought.

“He’s
definitely not there, either, unless he’s hiding under the bed. All the
curtains were open.”

She let out a
loud huff. Where the hell was he? “Shit, I don’t know then,” she said, angry
with herself for letting Trent get under her skin. “Tried the morgue?”

“I wouldn’t
worry too much,” he said, getting to the crux of the matter. “I’m sure he’s
okay.”

Was she that
transparent?
Damn you, Trent James
, she thought.
Why can’t you get
out of my life and stay out?
“And what else did DI Buchanan have to say?”
she asked, changing the subject completely.

“Grant didn’t
tell me, but I did hear on the grapevine that the autopsy results on the fire
victim will be released soon. No ID yet, but they’re still working on that.”

“How does that
help us track down Laura and Ryan?” Though she felt for the unknown man and his
family, her main objective was finding out what had happened to her best
friend. Dead or alive, people just didn’t vanish into thin air without a good
reason.

“If they can
positively identify the victim, then they’ll be that bit closer to ascertaining
his link to your friends and thus one step closer to uncovering motive. At this
stage, the police have very little to work with.”

“Thanks,
Fergus.” At least he gave her straight answers. The same couldn’t be said about
the hotshot DI Grant Buchanan and his sidekick, DS Kim Mitchell. Police
training 101: never give a direct answer to a direct question. “Please let me
know as soon as you hear anything.”

She glanced in
the rear view mirror, adding another silent thank you as she hung up. She
dreaded to think what might have been the outcome if Fergus hadn’t turned up
when he had. Thank God the email alerting him to her whereabouts had not been
delivered 24 hours later as intended.

More
importantly, he had acted on the email. She couldn’t have blamed him if he had
ignored it, thinking it was the ramblings of an irrational woman. In the past
week, she hadn’t exactly given him any reason to think otherwise. It was a
wonder he wanted anything to do with her at all. During the course of a day,
her emotions would range from being full of hope to utter despair and back
again. She wanted off the mood merry-go-round.

She took a deep
breath. Exhaling slowly, she vowed to show Fergus and everyone else what she
was really made of. Whatever happened, she couldn’t give up until she had the
answers, and for that, she needed strength and tenacity.
Forget terrier
,
she thought,
think mastiff
.

Nearing the
outskirts of Melbourne, she rang home to check her answering machine. Ten
messages. An anxious one from Fergus hoping to catch her before she left the
house; three from her mother, each more panicky than the last; one from her
father asking her to call her mother; one from her brother asking her to call
her mother; one from DI Buchanan; a disjointed almost incoherent one from
Trent; and two from clients.

She called her
mother, reassuring her that she wasn’t going to disappear like Laura and
promising to phone again when she arrived home. The clients would have to hold
on until she was in front of her computer. That left the DI and Trent. One of
whom was looking for the other. Both could wait. She had city traffic to
battle.

Three-quarters
of an hour later, she pulled into her driveway. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she
savored the feeling of being in a place where she felt safe and in control. She
had lost Fergus a few kilometers back, assuming he had turned off for home, but
as she was getting out of the car, his Falcon pulled up in the street outside.
The least she could do was invite him in for a cup of coffee.

Fumbling in her
bag for her house keys, she walked across to meet him coming up the path.
Outside the front door, he laid a hand on her forearm, stopping her from
unlocking the door. When she looked at him, he held a finger to his lips. She
listened, but heard nothing.

“Do you have
someone staying with you?” he whispered, edging closer to the door.

She shook her
head slowly and listened again. Then she heard it: the muted but unmistakable
sound of someone walking around inside. She gasped, her mind racing as she
tried to think who it could be. A brazen burglar? Someone with a key…

Fergus leaned
his head in close to her face. “Call the police,” he said softly, his warm
breath tickling her ear. “I’m going to check around the back.”

She snagged his
jacket as he turned to go. “No police. Not yet. What if it’s Laura?” She was
the only one Desley knew of who had a key.

“What the hell are you doing
here?”

A bleary-eyed
Trent emerged from behind the open refrigerator door, his face as crumpled as
his blue-and-black striped shirt.

“Looking for
the cheese.”

Desley yanked
him backwards, slammed the fridge door and stood with her back against it.
“You’re fucking unbelievable, do you know that? Don’t you think I have enough
to deal with without having you interfering in my life as well? You left me,
remember? Not the other way around.”

He cocked his
head at her, his bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout.

“And don’t
think you’re going to get by me with one of your stupid puppy-dog faces.” She
pushed past him, her hands clenched at her side to stop her from punching him
on the chin.

Fergus, who
until then had been silently observing from the sidelines, stepped aside as she
charged from the kitchen. From behind her, she heard him say, “I think it’s
time you left, mate.”

“I’m not your
mate,” Trent retorted, his tone suddenly sharp, “whatever the fuck your name
is.”

Uh oh
. She spun around and headed back to the kitchen before it could
degenerate any further.

“Although it’s
none of your business,” she said to Trent, positioning herself between the two
men, “Fergus is a good friend of mine. He’s actually here because I invited him
in.” She pointed a finger at her ex-husband’s chest. “You, I didn’t!”

“Are you
screwing him?”

She gasped.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough.” It crossed her mind to say yes, and if Fergus
hadn’t been standing there, she might have. Maybe then Trent would realize her
world didn’t revolve around him. Before she could physically evict him,
Fergus’s mobile phone rang.

He checked the
caller display. “Grant,” he said, already moving away. “I should take it.”

She tried to
hear what Fergus was saying, but then Trent sidled up to her. “Not your usual
type,” he said, nodding in Fergus’s direction.

She bit down
hard, refusing to rise to the bait. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with the
future Mrs James?”

Bewilderment
and something else she didn’t recognize flashed across his unshaven face, his
mouth twisting. “What?” he stammered.

She studied his
features, trying to read his expression. “Haven’t you answered your phone at all
today? Or at least cleared your messages?”

He patted his
shirt pocket and then his trouser pockets. “What the hell did I do with it?”

Gripping her
upper arms, he brought his face in so close she could see every vein in his
bloodshot eyes. She felt his tremor; smelt his stale, alcohol-laced breath.