Thin Blood (29 page)

She snatched up
the ringing phone, wanting it to be Daniel. “Hello?” she whispered, her hand
cupped around the phone’s mouthpiece.

“Jacinta?”

“Shit, Narelle,
why did…” She stopped, convinced she had heard voices. “Can’t talk now.
Someone’s creeping around outside.”

“It’s—”

“Call Daniel.”
Jacinta paused, listening. “Call the police. Call anyone—”

“Jacinta, listen
to me. It’s me. I’m outside your house. I’m at the door now.”

Struck dumb,
Jacinta stared at the phone. If Narelle was at the front door, why was she
phoning?

“Jacinta?”

“Jesus,
Narelle,” she hissed, her voice no longer a whisper. “What the hell are you
playing at? Do you realise you scared me half to death?” She took a breath.
“But hang on, when I answered the door earlier, you told me you had just
arrived.”

“I had.”

“But that
means…”

“This is silly.
How about letting me in so we can talk face to face?”

For a split
second, Jacinta considered leaving Narelle out there and calling Daniel. But if
she couldn’t trust her own instincts, whose could she trust?

With the phone
still in her hand, she went to let Narelle in, checking she was on her own
before opening the door.

Narelle's sunken
eyes widened slightly. “Oh God, I’ve done it again, interrupted you.”

Following
Narelle’s gaze, Jacinta looked down; the navy-blue towel barely covered her
torso. “Not this month’s fashion, then?” she said, hoping to inject a touch of
levity into the situation. For her own sake, if not Narelle’s.

Narelle didn’t
smile.

“Please don’t
worry about it. Come in,” Jacinta said, ushering her inside. “I can have a
shower any time.” That wasn’t quite true. If she didn’t have a shower within
the next half hour, she would be late for work. Again. “Just give me a minute
to put something a bit more respectable on.”
And don’t disappear this time
,
she added silently.

She entered her
bedroom, cursing as she saw steam billowing from the bathroom and heard the
sound of water running. She’d be lucky if there was enough hot water left to
have a shower. Managing to turn off the taps without getting too wet, she
dumped her towel on the floor, replacing it with the white cotton waffle robe
from behind the door.

She found
Narelle on the daybed, her back against the wall with her knees drawn up,
staring blankly out the window. Jacinta joined her, sitting on the opposite
end. Seconds ticked by.

“How’s Craig?”

Narelle’s gaze
didn’t flicker. “Off the critical list.”

“That’s good
news.”

Silence.

“Narelle, I know
you’re scared.” Of what or whom, Jacinta wasn’t sure. “I’m here for you, but I
sense you’re not telling me something. Whatever it is, I can help you deal with
it.”
Anything except a confession to murder
, added a small voice in her
head. Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, she said, “But if we’re not
honest with each other, it can’t work.”

“Why are you
doing this? What do you get out of it?”

“What are
friends for?”

“You’re telling
the story.”

Jacinta
flinched, taken aback by Narelle’s abrasive tone. “Why did you come here,
then?”

Narelle
shrugged, looked at Jacinta and promptly burst into tears. Sitting on her
hands, Jacinta refrained from reaching out to her. The next move had to come
from Narelle.

“I’m sorry,”
Narelle blubbered. “I shouldn’t be taking my moods out on you.”

Jacinta said
nothing.

“I’m not making
excuses, but with everything that’s been happening, I’m all over the place.”
Shifting to the edge of the daybed, she dropped her feet to the floor and stood
up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

“You have to
stop running sometime.”

“I’m not
running.”

“No? What are
you doing now, then? What was your little disappearing act earlier all about?
What have you been doing for the last ten years?”

“You don’t
understand.”

“Obviously not.”

Tears streamed
down Narelle’s face. “I want to be normal. I want to live a normal life with my
husband and,” she paused, her hand straying to her abdomen, “our child. I want
to put the past behind us. I wish it was that easy…” Her voice trailed off.

Feeling her
façade cracking, Jacinta swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach out and
comfort the teary woman. For things to change, Narelle couldn’t be allowed to
retreat back inside her shell. To date, compassion hadn’t worked; perhaps
confrontation would. “Forget being honest with me, you have to be honest with
yourself.”

“What do you
mean?”

Jacinta took a
punt. “You know what I mean,” she said, her tone all-knowing, although she had
no idea what she meant herself.

Narelle dropped
her gaze, her bottom lip quivering as she slumped back down onto the daybed.
“But that’s it; I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t any more. My sister and
two other women are dead, shot through the head. That’s real. That Craig’s
father’s gun, the murder weapon and the one used to shoot him could be one and
the same? How could that possibly be?” She paused, her long fingernails clawing
the backs of her hands. “Craig didn’t tell me about the gun,” she said, her
voice soft and sad. “I found it by accident when I was cleaning up some broken
glass and took off the dishwasher kickboard to check if any had slid
underneath.”

Jacinta opened
her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.

“Do I wonder why
he didn’t tell me about the gun?” Narelle continued. “Yes. Do I want to believe
the man I love is capable of murder? No.” She stopped scratching her hands and
glanced at Jacinta. “But him being shot proves it couldn’t have been him,
doesn’t it?”

She had a point,
but Jacinta’s what-if brain had already kicked into gear. What if, in a
misguided attempt to divert suspicion from Craig, Narelle had shot him? Could
love, or whatever it was, really be that blind? What if he was innocent after
all? What if the gun had been planted? Who hated him enough to want to destroy
his life? “It certainly helps his case,” she said, not quite giving Narelle the
answer she was looking for, “but there are still too many unanswered questions.
Who,” she said, knowing before Narelle opened her mouth what the answer would
be, “do you think would want to kill, or at least maim Craig?”

Straightening
her back, Narelle met Jacinta’s gaze. “Grace Kevron.”

“I know that’s
what you think, but unfortunately she has a rock-solid alibi for the time of
the shooting.”

Narelle’s lip
curled. “She probably hired someone to do it. I wouldn’t put anything past that
bitch.”

That was one
possibility Jacinta hadn’t contemplated. An accomplice, perhaps, but not a hit
man. “You of all people know what it feels like to be unjustly accused. Do you
have anything, besides a feeling, to support that suggestion?”

Narelle sighed,
her sagging shoulders answering the question.

“When Craig was
shot, where were you?”

“Just what are
you implying?”

Oversensitive or
a guilty conscience? “Nothing. What I meant was, were you in a position to see
the car? Did you see anything? Did you hear the shot? That’s all.”

Looking sideways
at Jacinta, Narelle said, “I’m surprised your policeman stepbrother hasn’t told
you everything. Aren’t you two like,” she raised a hand, crossing two fingers,
“that?”

Jacinta closed
her eyes, inwardly screaming as she took a deep breath. “Do you want my help or
not?” she snapped, Narelle’s mood swings more than testing her patience.

Fortunately for DI Lassiter, the
same charge nurse was on duty. “How’s our patient today?”

“Resting comfortably
and doing remarkably well. We’re watching him carefully, but except for a
slight fever, his obs are all within the normal range. He’s one lucky man. If
that bullet had been any lower, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Any chance I
could talk to him for a few minutes?”

She frowned, her
mouth pursing.

“Nothing heavy,
I promise,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just want to see what he does and
doesn’t remember. The longer we leave it, the less he’s going to recall.” He
held her gaze, using his eyes to draw her in. “Five minutes; ten at the most.
You can supervise, if you like,” he added, his last comment swinging it for
him.

Escorted by the
charge nurse, Daniel entered the small hospital room. Propped on a mound of
white pillows, the head of the bed raised slightly, lay Craig Edmonds, one
shoulder bare, the other heavily bandaged. The tubes, catheters and wires
connecting him to monitors and other equipment reinforced the seriousness of
his injury.

The patient’s
eyelids fluttered, then opened, his dark eyes accentuating the paleness of his
face. Whether it was a side effect of the drugs or not, he struggled to focus
on his visitors, his pupils remaining dilated, his face impassive. Recognition
dawned slowly, his bottom lip drooping as the DI advanced.

Daniel pulled
the plastic, padded visitor chair in close to the bed and sat down. The less
intimidated Craig felt in his presence, the better.

Craig’s voice
crackled as he tried to speak, his chapped lips stretching thin over his teeth.
He motioned toward a disposable cup on the bedside unit next to him. The nurse
nodded as Daniel, glancing her way, picked up the cup of half-melted ice cubes,
holding it still while Craig hooked one of the slippery fragments with his
fingers. Sucking greedily on it, he dipped his fingers back in the cup and
smeared icy water around his mouth and stubbly chin.

“Mr Edmonds,”
Daniel said, replacing the cup and sitting back in the chair, “we need to find
whoever did this to you, and fast.” Craig turned his head away, looking to the
nurse. “Don’t you care,” continued Daniel, “that while you’re safe here under
police guard, your pregnant wife is out there, fending for herself? Think about
it. Someone out there is desperate enough to want you or her or both of you
dead.”

His face
contorting, Craig made a valiant attempt to sit up. “You have to protect her,”
he said, his voice a husky whisper.

“But that’s it,
Craig,” Daniel said, switching to Craig’s first name in an attempt to convince
him he was on his side. “She refused our help point-blank. Your wife is one
headstrong woman, but the longer your assailant is at large,” he paused, adding
emphasis to his next words, “the longer her life is in peril. We need your
help.”

Craig’s voice
filled with despair as he gazed down at his inert body. “But what can I do?”

“Lead me through
everything that happened that day. Start from when you were discharged from the
hospital.”

Craig’s mouth
twisted. “I don’t remember much. It’s all so patchy. Please,” he said, tears
welling, “whatever it takes, you have to protect Narelle.”

The nurse
stepped in, stretching a protective arm across her patient. “That’s enough.”

Craig moved his
head from side to side. “No, not yet.” He gave a low sigh, sinking back against
the pillows, his eyes closing as if the effort of shaking his head had been too
much. “What do you want to know?”

“What time did
you leave the hospital?”

“I’m not sure.
Sometime around four, I think. The taxi driver will have a better idea.”

“Why didn’t
Narelle collect you from the hospital?”

“I wanted to
surprise her.”

“You bought
flowers,” prompted Daniel, recalling the bouquet of six pink roses found in the
gutter.

Craig opened his
eyes, nodding. “That’s right, I did.”

“Okay, you’re in
the back of the taxi, holding a bunch of flowers and looking forward to
surprising your wife. The taxi turns into your street and pulls up where? In
the driveway? At the kerb?”

“At the kerb.”

“How did you pay
the driver?” An inconsequential detail, but Daniel hoped it would help
stimulate his memory.

“Credit card. I
had no cash.”

“You get out of
the taxi and look up and down the street. What do you see?”

Craig closed his
eyes again. “Only what you would expect to see. Cars parked on the street and
in driveways. A kid on a bike. A pregnant woman pushing a pram…” He screwed up
his eyes. “A white courier van with orange writing. Not a company I recognised.
I only noticed it because it slowed, like the driver was looking for an address
or something, but I really didn’t think that much of it. It drove past.”

“The driver, was
it a man or a woman?” Daniel leaned forward, keen to catch every word. For a
moment, he thought Craig had drifted off.

“I think it was
a woman, but I can’t be sure.” Craig paused. “Or it could have been a small man
with long black hair. The driver was wearing sunglasses…” His voice trailed off
mid-sentence and then started again. “…and I only saw her or him for an
instant. Sorry…”

Ignoring the
daggered look the nurse threw his way, Daniel leaned in even closer to Craig.
“You’re doing great. We’re nearly there…”

Narelle burst
into the room, the pitch of her voice escalating as she stormed Daniel. “I
don’t believe you people. This is police harassment. Get out! Get out now!”

Daniel jumped
up, grappling with her flailing arms as she came at him, her cheeks blazing
like beacons.

“Can’t you see
he’s ill? He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Leave him alone.” Her nails gouged
the skin on his wrist, drawing a beaded line of blood.

“Calm down. You
have it all wrong.” His hand pushed down hard on her shoulder. “Sit!” And like
an obedient dog, she did.

Breathing hard,
she gulped air, tears streaming down her face. “It’s not fair,” she sobbed,
plucking handfuls of tissues from the box the nurse held out. “Craig’s the
victim here.”