The Investigator (11 page)

Kate heaved a sigh. It would be a relief to talk to someone about it, someone who knew her from way back when.

“I know. It wasn’t exactly planned. One night I just made up my mind to leave. I packed a bag and hopped a bus to Sydney. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. Mom told me she’d let you know.”

“I can’t believe how brave you were. You make it sound so simple and I’m sure it was anything but. I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to do it back then.”

Kate brushed aside the admiration in Cally’s voice. “It’s amazing what you can do when you don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t I know it,” Cally murmured, her voice rough with emotion.

Tears pricked Kate’s eyes. She couldn’t begin to imagine Cally’s life, raising a child alone, and yet her friend didn’t sound unhappy. Kate had never allowed herself to imagine a family of her own. A family meant letting someone get close and that wasn’t something she was prepared to do.

But listening to Cally speak about her son, she felt a yearning that was completely foreign. When at last the feeling subsided, she felt emptier than she had for a long time.

Tucking her emotions firmly back into the box where she’d locked them for so many years, she cleared her throat and spoke again. “How did you find me?”

“I had a call from a police officer from Watervale—a Detective Munro. He was asking questions about you and Darryl.”

Kate’s stomach dropped like she’d just stepped into a free-falling elevator. A buzzing sound filled her ears and she had to strain to hear Cally.

“I didn’t tell him much. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Kate found her voice at last. “I’m glad you did.”

“I realized if the police from Watervale were calling to ask about you, there was a fair chance you’d returned home. I rang all five motels in town. The Jackeroo confirmed you were a guest and put me through to your room. I hope you don’t mind. I really wanted to talk to you. Not just about that, but…everything.” Cally’s voice faded into a murmur of hesitation and uncertainty.

“Of course, Cally. Of course I don’t mind,” Kate hastened to reassure her. “It’s great to hear from you. I only wish you were still here, so we could meet in person. I could do with a hug right about now.”

“I’m hearing you, Kate. It’s been a long time for me, too.”

A moment passed. Cally broke the silence. “What brings you back to Watervale? And please tell me why the police are asking questions about you.”

Kate sucked in a breath and held it for as long as she could. In silence, she willed the heavy knot of dread that lay deep inside her to ease. “My mother’s missing.”

“Oh, Kate! That’s awful.”

“Yes.” It was all she could manage.

“Do the police have any idea where she might be?”

She cleared her throat again. “No, not at this stage. Darryl told them she’d gone on a cruise, but the police have since discovered she didn’t board the ship. Right now, no one knows what’s happened to her.”

“Oh, Kate, that’s terrible. They’re not suspecting foul play, are they?”

Kate bit her lip, fighting the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. “I-I don’t know what they think,” she whispered.

“I don’t know what to say, Kate. I wish I was there to give you a hug.”

“Me, too.”

Images of Riley bombarded Kate’s thoughts and her stomach clenched in response. Those eyes, that smile, the utter confidence he exuded—like nothing and no one could stand in his way.

As if reading her mind, Cally chuckled in her ear. “I’m not sure what he looks like, but that detective sure sounded yummy on the phone.”

Kate’s pulse quickened. An awkward laugh escaped. “Yeah, he’s pretty easy on the eye.”

“I
knew
it. I bet he’s got a body to die for.”

“
Mm
, yeah, he’s got it all happening there, too.”

“Oh, Kate,” Cally squealed, reminding her of when they were teenagers. “It sounds like you know him pretty well.”

Kate’s cheeks went hot. “He’s a police officer, Cally. You, of all people, know how I feel about them. And anyway, my life’s in England, now. Watervale holds nothing but bad memories.”

“You and I have a lot in common. I haven’t been home since before Jack was born,” Cally admitted quietly.

Kate felt a burst of surprise. “What about your mom and dad? Don’t they still live here?”

“Mom died a few years ago. As far as I know, Dad’s still there.”

“I’m sorry, Cally. You and your mom were pretty close.”

“Not as close as I thought.”

Kate took a moment to process Cally’s words. She wondered what had happened to change things.

Cally sighed. “It’s a long story and one best not told over the phone. We should make plans to meet up somewhere.”

A tiny smile tugged at Kate’s lips. “I’d like that.”

Listen, I’m going to have to go. Jack’s calling out for me. Is there anything I can do to help find your mother?”

Unwilling to worry Cally with her fears, she hastened to reassure her. “No, no. It will be fine. I’m sure she’ll turn up somewhere.”

“Well, if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do—?”

“I’m sure. But thanks for offering. And it’s been great to hear from you.”

After exchanging contact details and promises to speak again soon, Kate ended the call and slumped down on the bed.

Memories of her stunted youth crowded her head and along with them, the fear. The only bright points of her entire childhood had been the stolen hours she’d spent alone with her mother and the times when she’d been able to escape with Cally, running through the mist-laden forest on the edge of town. Dense with undergrowth, the smell of damp soil had filled her nostrils. Running through the forest as fast as she could had helped to keep the fear away, at least for a little while.

But that was years ago. She was an adult now and she couldn’t keep running away, no matter how much she wished differently.

CHAPTER 9

Riley parked his iridescent green police vehicle outside the offices of Cole & Westport. It was almost a week since he’d taken the initial report from Kate and he was no closer to discovering the truth. His call to the Watson’s housekeeper had gone unanswered, so he’d turned his attention to the next person on his list: Rosemary Watson’s lawyer. He’d spied the firm’s logo on the cover page of her will. A call to directory assistance had done the rest.

The law firm was one of four that serviced the town and its surrounds and was known for its representation of blue-collar clients. Not the sort of firm he’d expect Watson to patronize, but maybe that was the reason his wife had chosen it.

The old weather-board house which served as office premises had been freshly painted and looked smart, but not intimidating. Twin borders of dwarf agapanthus lined the concrete walkway which led to the front door, providing the only visible greenery in the winter-bare garden.

As he entered the house, the heavy scent of roses assailed his nostrils. His gaze was drawn to the reception desk, where a huge bouquet of blood-red flowers had been arranged in a crystal vase. The middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter caught him looking at the display and smiled a little self-consciously.

“They’re from my husband. It’s our anniversary. Twenty-seven years today. He really shouldn’t have. They must have cost a fortune this time of year.” The smile softened. “But roses are my favorite.”

The look on her face made something grip Riley’s heart tightly. He wondered what it would be like to love someone so long and so well. He fought to keep his expression neutral.

With a slight shake of her head, she offered a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be rabbiting on like that. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Detective Riley Munro. I called earlier. I’m here to see Ronald Westport.”

“Of course, Detective. Just take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Riley headed for one of the vacant chairs that lined the walls of the sparsely furnished waiting area. Only one other client sat in the room. The man’s grizzled cheeks and red-rimmed eyes suggested he’d survived a hard night—or maybe three.

Riley reached for a fishing magazine from the pile on a low pine table in the middle of the room. Settling back against his chair, he flicked through it, barely registering the pictures that filled its glossy pages.

Tossing the magazine back onto the pile, he sat forward and thrummed his fingers against his knees. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

An occasional whiff of stale tobacco wafted toward him from the man in the corner. Riley’s heart rate spiked and he bit down on the almost primeval surge of need. What he’d give for a satisfying drag of poisonous chemicals deep into his lungs. He’d quit over a year ago, but he still craved nicotine like a newborn baby craves milk. It was stupid and it was deadly, but it wasn’t called an addiction for nothing.

“Detective Munro? Mr Westport will see you now.”

Riley bit back on a sigh of relief and stood. The door near the receptionist’s desk opened and an elderly gentleman with a full head of snowy white hair stepped into the waiting room and held out his hand.

“Detective Munro, I’m Ronald Westport. Please, come through.”

They walked past partitioned walls that dulled the sound of keyboards and murmured conversations and turned into a well-appointed, corner office. The bright, mid-morning sunshine filtered through the oversized windows and bounced off an impressive array of framed certificates, gilding the room with light. A huge oak desk dominated the room, almost bowing under the weight of a paper stack of other peoples’ problems.

“Take a seat,” the lawyer offered, squeezing his sparse frame between the desk and his faux-leather chair and the boxes of files piled high on the floor behind him.

“So, Detective, what can I do for you?”

Riley sat forward, reassured by the keen light of intelligence leveled at him from the other man’s eyes. “I’m here about Rosemary Watson.”

Something flared in the blue orbs that studied him. “Ah, Rosemary Watson.” His voice held an air of finality. “I wondered if the police would be stopping by.”

* * *

She could do it.

She knew she could. For her mother’s sake, she could do this.

Kate’s heart thudded against her ribcage. She stared at the nondescript building which housed the local constabulary. The ordinariness of its facade mocked her. A building as plain and common as it was shouldn’t have had the power to instill the bone-numbing fear she felt at the thought of stepping inside it. Again.

Of course, it wasn’t the building. It was what it represented that terrified her: The Police brotherhood: All for one and one for all. Too bad she was completely out of options.

She had to see Riley again. It was imperative to know whether he’d discovered anything about the whereabouts of her mother. She straightened her spine and told herself that walking into the Watervale Police Station was a world easier than it would be to walk into No.16 Baxter Road.

Kate blotted at the film of perspiration that had gathered on her upper lip, despite the crispness of the wintery day. Scrabbling around in her handbag for a tube of lip gloss, she swiped a generous amount across her parched lips. Patting a non-existent stray strand of hair against the tight confines of her bun, she squared her shoulders and opened the car door.

Her confident stride across the asphalt and up the front stairs of the station belied the tangle of nerves and nausea that jostled for position inside her. The mantra repeated itself in her head:
I can do this
. After all, she was good at facades. Her whole life had been an illusion.

* * *

Riley stared back in confusion at the unflinching gaze of Ronald Westport. The lawyer’s words hit the back of Riley’s skull and bounced forward. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Westport’s narrow face grew somber. Splicing his fingers together, he rested his chin on the makeshift platform and placed his elbows among the mess of papers on his desk.

“Mrs Watson came to see me about five weeks ago. I was surprised to see her. I’ve known her husband, Darryl, of course, for years in his role as the Local Area Commander and even before then, but I’ve never done any work for either of them. Darryl favored one of my opposition up on Main Street.”

“What did she come to see you about?”

The lawyer’s mouth tightened. “Is she dead, Detective Munro? Is that why you’re here?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Riley hastened to reassure him and prayed silently that was true.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I’m sure you’ve heard of client confidentiality and legal professional privilege.”

“Of course, it’s just that when you said you’d been expecting the police, I assumed Mrs Watson had told you something that would lead you to make such a statement. You must agree, it’s a fairly odd thing to say.”

Westport’s eye contact didn’t falter. “Mrs Watson asked me to draft her a new will. I assume you already know that, or you wouldn’t be here. Apart from that, I can’t tell you, other than to say she left with me a sealed envelope that was to be opened in the event of her death.”

Riley went to speak, but Westport cut him off. “Before you ask, I don’t know the contents of the envelope, Detective. She gave it to me already sealed. I witnessed her signature across the seal and locked it in my safe.” His eyes filled with challenge. “And there it will stay until you furnish me with a Death Certificate.”

Riley sat back against the hard wood of his chair. “You’re right,” he replied, his tone affable. “I saw your logo on the bottom of Rosemary’s will.” His gaze drilled into the lawyer’s. “I also know what’s in it.”

Westport refused to be intimidated, shrugging as he began to shuffle files around his desk. “So, you read the will. What more can I tell you?”

“Did she come in alone?”

Furrows dug deep across the mottled forehead. “Yes, she did. I can’t say if someone dropped her off here or if she caught a cab, but she did ask my receptionist to call the disabled taxi when it was time for her to leave.”

“How did she appear?”

The lawyer frowned again. “What’s this all about, Detective? I might be old, but I’m not stupid. If Rosemary Watson’s not dead, then something else is going on.”