Thin Blood (9 page)

She scanned the
throng, failing to recognise any of the faces. Her breathing steadied as,
feeling relieved but more than a little foolish, she continued on her way.

Outside the open-fronted
Café Face, she wavered, the tantalising aroma of coffee so intense she could
taste it. Like a magnetic force, it drew her in.

Within seconds,
she was ensconced behind one of the small, square tables dotted in front of the
padded bench seat that ran the entire length of one wall. Out of habit she
picked up the acrylic menu holder from the centre of the table, scanning both
sides before putting it back. She had no appetite.

A pimply-faced
waiter, dressed from head to toe in black, took her order. Waiting for her
macchiato to arrive, she turned on her mobile and checked for messages. No one
had called during the hour or so she had been pitching her skills as a
copywriter to the directors of Alvico Media. She tried calling Brett, but he
wasn’t answering. She then phoned Narelle, hanging up the instant she heard
Craig’s voice on the answering machine. All the while, her gaze flitted back
and forth, checking the faces of the people coming and going.

Her coffee
arrived. She downed the demitasse of milk-stained espresso in two swallows, and
immediately ordered another.

The second cup
went down almost as quickly as the first. She had hoped the caffeine would keep
her alert, but it just made her more anxious. When her heart started
flip-flopping, she wasn’t sure if it was simply an after-effect of the coffee
or weeks of accumulated stress catching up with her. Clasping her hands
together to stop them shaking, she waited, hoping the sensation would pass.

After a minute
or two, her heart no longer felt like it was trying to escape her chest.
Although keen to get home, she still didn’t trust her legs. She ordered a
bottle of mineral water, buying herself time and giving her a legitimate excuse
to stay seated at the table. Sipping the ice-cold water helped to cool body and
nerves. She finished her drink and readied herself to leave, sliding across the
bench seat to the gap between her table and the next.

Then she saw
him, reflected in the mirror behind the counter. Or at least it looked like
him. The last time she had seen Daniel Lassiter she’d been a frightened
fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

Pulse soaring,
she glanced at the backs of the customers who stood waiting to pay at the
counter, and then back at the mirror. Her stepbrother’s face had vanished.

She leapt to her
feet, her eyes frantically searching the café and beyond, to the street. Had he
been there at all? Could she have been mistaken? Had the face in the mirror
belonged to a complete stranger? She wanted so much to believe that, but the
square jaw and dark, deep-set eyes haunted her. No passing of time would ever
change that.

Illusion or not,
seeing him after all those years brought it all flooding back. It had started
as a fairytale, her mother falling in love with a man who wanted to marry her
and take care of her and her daughter. Life until then hadn’t been easy for
mother and daughter. Jacinta’s father, a married man, had abandoned his lover
as soon as he found out she was pregnant. It had taken years before her mother
allowed herself to trust another man. Unfortunately, that man had been a
charmer by the name of Tony Lassiter.

Jacinta could
still remember her excitement on learning they were going to be part of a real
family. A family with a father and a brother. Her mother was happy; she was
happy; everyone was happy.

All that changed
the day Tony Lassiter slipped the gold band onto her mother’s finger. In the
ensuing weeks and months, her stepfather subjected her mother to a torrent of
emotional and physical abuse. He cut her off from her friends, further isolating
her. He wanted to control her every move.

The night
Jacinta woke screaming, her stepbrother’s clammy hands groping her breasts, had
been the night that her mother finally took a stand. She packed an overnight
bag with the barest of essentials and promised Jacinta everything would be all
right. They didn’t leave straight away, biding their time until the right
moment.

Two days later,
in the dead of night and dressed in only her pyjamas, she had fled with her
mother to a women’s refuge. Somehow, Tony tracked them down. When the staff at
the refuge refused to let him see his wife, he became violent, brandishing a
knife and threatening to kill them.

Jacinta and her
mother made a break for it, carrying only the one overnight bag they had
brought with them. Asking no questions, an old friend loaned them the money for
the tickets to Melbourne. With all Tony’s contacts, it was a testament to her
mother’s strength of character that they made it out of the state alive.

Years later,
they learned that a few months after they escaped, Tony Lassiter had put a gun
in his mouth and blown his head off. Jacinta had felt no sorrow, only relief
for her mother.

Seeing the
likeness of her stepbrother in the mirror had exposed memories she would much
rather have kept buried. She had told no one about that time in her life, not
even Brett. Pretending it never happened had been easier.

Had her eyes
deceived her?
God, I hope so
, she thought, as she sidled between the
tables.

A light touch on
her shoulder, just as she was about to step out onto the footpath, almost sent
her into orbit. She skipped sideways, dislodging the hand and spinning to face
her assailant.

“Excuse me,”
said the pimply-faced waiter. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

Frowning, she
stared at his extended hand. In her panic to get home and away from prying
eyes, real or imagined, she had forgotten to pay her bill. Feeling her face
redden, she apologised profusely, fumbling in her satchel for her wallet. She
shoved a twenty-dollar note into his hand and took off, too embarrassed to wait
for the change.

All the way to
the tram stop, she kept checking over her shoulder. Even though the tram wasn’t
crowded, she remained standing, her back to the door. At one stage, she got off
the tram using the front door and reboarded through the back door. Her
behaviour was bordering on irrational, but she didn’t care. If nothing else,
life had taught her it was better to be safe than sorry.

Two stops from
home, she jumped off the tram, holding her breath as she waited to see if
anyone else disembarked. With a huge sigh of relief, she watched the tram pull
away, leaving her standing alone on the street corner in the midday sun.

By the time she
had walked the couple of blocks to her street, her face was flushed and beaded
with perspiration. Her shoes, not designed for walking, were pinching her feet.
All she wanted to do was get home, have a shower and put her feet up.

She had begun to
think that perhaps she had imagined it after all. Convinced that her mind was
playing tricks on her, she made a conscious decision to try to forget what she
thought she had seen. Her life was complicated enough — why add to it? Daniel
Lassiter, and her memories of him and his father, belonged to another lifetime.

With the sun
beating down on her, she trudged on, her only thought that of the refreshing
shower awaiting her at home.

She reached her
front gate, never happier to hear its annoying squeak as it swung inwards.

Then, before she
could close it, she sensed someone behind her.

Without
thinking, she rammed her elbow backwards as hard as she could, her self-defence
training coming into play. She heard a sharp gasp as it connected with
something solid. In one fluid movement, she dropped her satchel to the ground,
brought both fists up in front of her chest and spun to face her target. With
her knee up and her foot flexed, she was poised to strike.

Jacinta froze.
Doubled over and clutching her stomach, Grace Kevron stared up at her. Her face
contorted with hurt or confusion or rage. Or perhaps all of those things.

Bringing her
knee down, Jacinta took half a step forward, her arms outstretched. Still bent
over, Grace shied away, the look on her face now one of fear.

“Stay away from
me!” she screamed.

Jacinta stopped,
her hands held up in front of her, palms forward. Either she didn’t know her
own strength, or the element of surprise had been more effective than she would
ever have expected. “Jesus, Grace! What the hell were you doing, sneaking up on
me like that?”

“I wasn’t
sneaking up on you.” Grace’s eyes screwed up, her teeth clenching. She managed,
“I did call out… but… you…” before the words trailed off into a moan.

Even though it
was against her better judgment, Jacinta couldn’t bring herself to abandon
Grace on the street. With her arm around the woman’s hunched shoulders, she
guided her through the front gate and up the short path to the front door.
Grace offered no resistance.

Once inside,
Jacinta settled Grace on the smaller of the two low-backed suede sofas in the
living room. A little of the colour had returned to Grace’s pale face, but the
tension around her eyes and mouth remained. She hugged one of the sofa’s
scatter cushions to her stomach.

Jacinta stayed
standing, her arms crossed over her chest, praying that she hadn’t made a
terrible mistake in bringing Grace Kevron into her home. But what alternative
had she had? She wasn’t even sure how to approach the situation. All care and
concern? Sure, she felt bad about hurting Grace, but what had she been doing
there in the first place?

“Look, Grace…”
Sighing, she dropped her voice and continued, “I’m really sorry about jabbing
you in the stomach like that, but what the hell are you doing here?”

Grace glanced
up. “Remind me never to get behind you again,” she said with a feeble smile.
When Jacinta didn’t respond, she added, “I came to offer my help.”

Jacinta frowned,
wondering where Grace was taking it. “Go on.”

“Actually, I
think we can help each other. We both want the same thing, don’t we?” Grace
shoved the scatter cushion aside and sat forward, evidently no longer in agony.
“You came to me, remember?”

“Get to the
point, Grace. What do you want?”

“Truth and
justice. I want the world to know the truth about what happened in that house.”
The pitch of Grace’s voice rose slightly, her calm exterior starting to crack.
“I want the bastard and his floozy to pay. Kirsty didn’t deserve what they did
to her.”

Pinching the
bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, Jacinta closed her eyes
and sighed. “Grace, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested?
Yes, I was researching the story, but I’m not any longer. I’ve given up my
career in journalism.” Grace looked sceptical. “In fact, I had a job interview
today,” Jacinta said, wondering why she felt compelled to justify herself. “I
am truly sorry that my visit brought back painful memories for you. I never
intended to do that. If I could, I would take it all back.”

Grace leaned
back in her seat, retrieving the cushion and clutching it to her chest.
“There’s something you ought to know.”

Despite herself,
Jacinta felt a flicker of interest. She weighed up her options. One, she could
send Grace on her way and never know what deep, dark secret she was harbouring,
if any. Two, she could hear her out, have her curiosity satisfied and then send
her on her way.

She heard
herself offering Grace a cup of tea.

“Something
stronger, if you have it.”

Jacinta thought
quickly. What did she have in the house she could offer her guest? The couple
of cans of beer that Brett had left in the fridge? A half-bottle of Shiraz that
was probably more vinegar than wine? Then she remembered the cognac left over
from the dinner party.

Leaving Grace on
her own, Jacinta went in search of the cognac, returning shortly with the
bottle and two heavy-base tumblers. She poured two good measures and handed one
of the glasses to Grace.

“By the way, how
did you get my address?” Jacinta wasn’t listed in the White Pages, her business
card didn’t include her home address, and she certainly hadn’t given it to
Grace.

Grace tapped the
side of her nose. “I have my contacts.”

Jacinta didn’t
press the point. She knew that privacy was just a delusion harboured by those
who didn’t know better. Finding someone’s address was merely a matter of
knowing where to look.

Even before
Jacinta had touched her drink, Grace had downed hers and was helping herself to
another. While she seemed relatively calm and in control at that moment,
Jacinta had seen how rapidly she could flip. She could only hope that the
alcohol wasn’t going to exacerbate the situation.

For a few
awkward moments, neither woman spoke.

Grace took a
swig of cognac and cleared her throat. “Kirsty and I were a lot more than
friends. We were lovers.”

Jacinta choked
on her drink. All sorts of possibilities had crossed her mind but that hadn’t
been one of them. Open-mouthed, she could do nothing but stare at Grace.

“You’re
shocked.”

“No, I mean,
yes, I mean… God, I don’t know what I mean. Did Craig know? What about the
police? Did you tell them?”

Grace spoke in a
low monotone, her eyes glassy. “I think Kirsty told him she was leaving him for
me, they argued and in a violent rage he killed her. Couldn’t stand the fact
she loved someone more than him.”

“But…” stammered
Jacinta, “but you told me Craig and Narelle were having an affair. If that was
the case, and he was serious about Narelle, wouldn’t that have worked out well
for all involved?”

“He wanted both
sisters.”

Bewildered,
Jacinta didn’t know what to believe. Was the woman simply delusional, living in
a fantasy world of her own making, or had the two women been lovers, as she
suggested? Even if what she was saying had any element of truth to it, why was
she confiding in Jacinta and not the police? “Grace, don’t get me wrong here,
but I can’t see how I could possibly help. Surely this is a matter for the
police?”