Bitter Nothings (25 page)

“I can’t stay long.” Sophie stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I have an appointment with a potential new client at ten. I could always reschedule it,” she quickly added.

“No, don’t be silly. I’m fine, really. I have work I should be getting on with, too.”

“Have you heard anything more?” Sophie asked when they reached the living room.

Dervla headed to the kitchen. “Cass Marek identified herself to the police and Harry is back.”

“Wow.”

“To what part?”

“Both.” Sophie pulled a chair out from the dining table. “Tell me more.”

While she made coffee, Dervla recounted Gabe’s call.

“So if the Marek woman’s alibi checks out,” Sophie said, “she’s in the clear?”

“For the actual murders, I guess so.”

“You think she could still be behind it?”

“Anything’s possible,” Dervla said, carrying the two cups to the table. “But if she’s telling the truth about ending the relationship, I can’t see she had motive. And even if she isn’t, I still don’t see it.”

“Psycho perhaps?”

Dervla shook her head. “Unlikely. She came across as very sane. Stressed but sane.”

“And what’s this about the mysterious Harry reappearing?”

“You make him sound like a ghost?”

“Ah, but are you sure he wasn’t an apparition?” Sophie sipped her coffee.

“Quite.” Dervla ignored her friend’s raised eyebrow and proceeded to fill her in on Harry’s visit.

“You’re saying that Todd put the frighteners on Harry over some spurious rape charge from his youth?”

“That’s how he tells it. And I really have no reason to doubt him. What man in his right mind would make up a story in which he was accused of rape?”

“What’s Todd have to say about it?” Sophie set her cup down.

“I haven’t spoken to him yet. He’ll deny it anyway.”

“So he doesn’t know that Harry is back on the scene?”

“Not from me.”

Sophie’s eyes creased in merriment. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he does.” Her smile faded. “Bloody men. We’d be better off without them.”

“Martin?”

“Who else? Can you believe he’s taken to sending me threatening emails now? He doesn’t come out and actually say he’s going to harm me. No, he’s too smart for that. More along the line of I’d better watch my back, that I’ll get what’s coming, etcetera, etcetera.”

“It’s got way beyond a joke. Sophie, you have to do something. Do you still have the emails?”

“They might still be in my deleted box.”

“Not unless you haven’t closed Outlook since you deleted them.” After discovering Sophie had accumulated in excess of two thousand deleted emails, Dervla had changed Sophie’s email settings to empty the deleted items folder on exit. “Regardless, you have to go the police.”

“What with? I have no evidence he even sent them.”

“It doesn’t matter. At least it would be on record. Then if he sends anymore…”

Sophie stood. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

And that’s about as far as it would get. Dervla knew her friend well enough to know when she was being fobbed off.

After Sophie left, Dervla took a long shower. Then, feeling halfway human again, she phoned Todd. For now, she’d decided to stay mum about Harry being back in Melbourne. She wanted to see his face when she confronted him about the allegations.

“DSS Gleeson.” He sounded harried.

“Todd, it’s Dervla. I need your advice about something.”

“How can I help?” he asked, the hard edge disappearing from his voice.

“If someone sends a threatening email to another person, but that person deletes it, is there anything the police can do?”

“Has someone been threatening you?”

“No, not me. A friend.”

“Not having the email to back up the allegation doesn’t make it easy. Hearsay evidence is notoriously unreliable.” He paused. “Of course, I could always have a quiet word with this guy. Put him on notice.”

“But I haven’t told you who it is.”

“You don’t need to.”

She nodded. Todd was more than familiar with Martin’s antics.

“I spoke with Gabe earlier,” she said. “He told me Dad’s mistress came forward.”

“Indeed, she did.”

Dervla chewed her lip. “Now what?”

“Let’s just say, we’re pursuing a line of enquiry that we hope will yield results.”

CHAPTER 37

Four hours later, Dervla paced the floor of Gabe’s apartment. Traffic noise and the smell of cigarette smoke filtered through from the balcony.

She paused in the open doorway. “Why is it taking so long?”

“The justice system isn’t renowned for its speed,” Gabe said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “Just because the hearing was scheduled for eleven-thirty doesn’t mean that’s when it’ll happen.”

Her fingers twitched, a long-dormant nicotine craving gnawing at her gut.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He sucked on his cigarette. “Bail is only granted in exceptional circumstances in murder cases.”

“We should’ve been there.”

“You heard what his lawyer said. Emmet didn’t want us there.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “We should’ve been there to support him.”

“It’s better this way. No waiting media circus to contend with.”

Dervla joined her brother on the balcony, gazing out over the railing at Treasury Gardens, its treetops and pathways spread out like a giant board game. On the street below, traffic flowed, punctuated by the occasional clang of a tram.

By the time the phone rang, Gabe had chain-smoked his way through half a packet of cigarettes. When he answered the phone, she held her breath, hanging on his every word, nod and “I see.”

“Well?”

He held her gaze for a moment, his lips pressed together in a hard line. “Bail was refused,” he said, voicing what she already knew. “He’s been remanded in custody to reappear in February.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her stomach in knots. Even though she’d known the odds were stacked against Emmet, she’d clung to the hope that Gabe’s hotshot lawyer would get him released. “What about an appeal? Did he say anything about that?”

Gabe nodded. “We can appeal to the Supreme Court, but only if there are new facts or circumstances.”

She stared at Gabe, her mind racing in circles. Somewhere out there had to be proof that Emmet was innocent. All they had to do was find it. “You’ll call me if anything comes up, won’t you?”

“Where are you going?”

“I need some air.”

He nodded and turned away, his shoulder tensing as she touched it.

“But I can stay if you’d rather,” she said, dropping her hand.

“No, it’s fine. I have something I should be attending to, anyway.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?” He pulled another cigarette from his pack.

She saw herself out, emerging onto the street a couple of minutes later. The lunchtime crowds had thinned, the pace less rushed. Away from the lee of the apartment buildings, the air was cool, a chill wind cutting through the sun’s warmth. Instead of crossing the street for the gardens as she’d intended, she turned left toward the city centre.

Paying scant attention to her surroundings, she strode block after block, slowing only for the lights. When she reached the far side of the Bourke Street Mall, she took a breather and called John Bailey. He’d have the low-down on what’d happened inside and outside the Magistrate’s Court. As it was, she felt sure he knew a lot more than he was letting on. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she told him that Cass Marek was the woman in the photos. But then what sort of reporter would’ve handed over a phone number without checking it out first?

He answered on the second ring. “Bailey.”

“John, it’s Dervla. I take it you were at the court.”

“I was. How did you manage to slip away unnoticed?”

“Easy. I wasn’t there. Emmet asked us not to be.”

“I’m guessing you’ve heard, though?”

“That bail was refused? Yes. Were there many reporters?”

“Put it this way, if you don’t want to see your brother’s face splashed across the news, don’t turn on your television. Same goes for tomorrow’s papers.”

“But what’s to tell? He hasn’t been convicted of anything.”

Bailey laughed. “You’ve obviously never heard the term ‘trial by media.’”

She had, of course, but then this was her brother they were talking about, not some nameless person. “Does that include you? Are you going to hang him out to dry, too?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, we have an agreement, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

“Which means?”

“I’ll only be reporting the facts.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“What’s in it for you?”

“My, what a short memory you have. The exclusive inside story of a family murder from the accused killer’s sister, who also happens to be the victims’ daughter and sibling, that’s what.”

Then it dawned on her. “You’re writing a book.”

“Give the girl a gold star. Books, newspapers – it’s all words.”

Dervla rubbed her forehead. She only had herself to blame. “And what if I can prove Emmet didn’t kill anyone?” A passerby gave her a strange look.

“All the better.”

She lowered her voice, cupping her hand over her mobile. “Do I get any say?”

“You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours.”

“Nice talking with you,” she said, hanging up before he could reply.

Twenty minutes later, she found herself standing outside the hotel where Harry was staying. It took her another five to decide to go in.

She remembered the bespectacled receptionist from her last visit. He, however, showed no glimmer that he recognized her.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“Dervla Johns. I’m here to see one of your guests, Harry Kilbourne. Could you please let him know I’m here.”

“One moment, please.” The receptionist picked up the phone, waited and hung up. “I’m sorry, he’s not answering. Would you care to leave a message?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll catch up with him later, thank you.”

So much for knowing where to find him. She opened her phone, in two minds whether to call him, and closed it again. Why was she even there?

CHAPTER 38

With no destination in mind, Dervla traversed the city streets and laneways. Her feet hurt and her calf muscles ached, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving. A luxury Emmet, locked up in a cell, didn’t have.

Her pace slowed. What had Todd been referring to when he said they were pursuing a line of enquiry? Was it possible evidence had emerged that could exonerate Emmet? Or at least raise doubts?

She came to an abrupt standstill. A man in a suit bumped into her, scowling as he veered around her. She stepped out of the thoroughfare, found her phone and called Todd. When it diverted straight to voicemail, she hung up.

Once her phone was back in her handbag, she looked for a street sign or some other landmark to tell her where she was. The heritage building behind her took up the whole block but had no sign that she could see. Directly opposite, its name partially obscured by a tree, was the Bank of China. Neither helped pinpoint her location.

Her phone rang. She delved in her handbag, for a second not able to find it, even though she’d just put it in there. She glanced at the caller ID. Todd.

“Returning one missed call,” he said, when she answered.

“I’m in the city. Can you spare me a few minutes?”

“I’m just finishing up here. We could meet for coffee if that suits you. Where are you?”

“Good question. Give me a minute,” she said, walking up the footpath toward the corner. “Queen Street.”

“Do you know the Myrtle Café at the Flinders end of Elizabeth Street?”

“No, but I’ll find it. About twenty minutes?”

“See you then,” he said and rang off.

The lights changed and she made a dash for it. Once on the other side, she paused to get her bearings, then started up Lonsdale Street.

Arriving at the café a few minutes before the appointed time, she bought herself a bottle of water and sat at one of the outside tables. From the number of teenagers in uniform on the street, school was out. Laughing and happy, without a care in the world. Dervla would’ve given anything to be in that place.

She tipped her head back and gulped half her water, her stomach contracting as the chilled liquid hit it. She waited a few moments for the sensation to pass and downed the rest. Her thirst quenched, she went back inside to order a coffee.

Todd appeared at her shoulder as she was about to pay. “Let me get that,” he said, and then to the counter assistant, “I’ll have the same, plus a piece of that caramel slice.”

He led her to a table at the rear of the café. Her eyes took a moment to accustom to the lower light, the only illumination in the area coming from two stained glass floor lamps. Except for a couple holding hands across a table, Dervla and Todd were alone. At any other time, she might’ve thought it intimate.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

He smiled and pulled out a chair for her. “Any time.”

“You might not think that when I tell you why I wanted to see you.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a slow smile. “Not for my body?”

She blushed. “Not exactly, no.” The heat in her face intensified. What was she saying?

He leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked. “Not exactly?”

“More your brain,” she said quickly. “Or rather what’s in it.”

He laughed, moving his arm to make room for the waitress to set the coffees and cake on the table. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“You know me too well?”

“Somehow I doubt that. Okay, so what is it that you want to know? I can’t promise I can tell you but ask away.” He cut the caramel slice in two and offered her half.

She shook her head. “First, I’d like to know what the DNA tests on the sports towel showed? Surely that’s information that has to be made available to the defense.”

“Which it has been.”

“And?”

Todd glanced around, then leaned in close. “Since you ask so nicely and since the information is going to be public knowledge soon enough…” He paused, drawing back from her slightly. “Forensics confirmed the blood as your stepmother’s and half-brother’s. DNA from your father was also identified, though that’s hardly surprising given it was his sports towel.”