Blood Secret (18 page)

25

Rennie said nothing, her fingers tight on the phone, her other hand curled into
a fist.

‘I'm trying to get hold of a parole officer to find out where he's living,' Evan
told her.

Anywhere outside prison walls was bad. ‘Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck. Why weren't we told?
Why weren't we
told?
'

‘I don't have an answer for that yet. You're not the easiest person to find. I can only assume that had something to do with it.'

No, this wasn't her doing. She wasn't stupid enough not to plan for this. Prisoner release notification was meant to be sent to her and Jo's solicitor. He knew how to contact them; they both checked for correspondence. Had he forgotten the urgency? Forgotten
them
? Anger rose like bile from her gut. She wanted to shout and rant and yell obscenities. At the system, at the world, at her fucking life. Experience reminded her it was a waste of time and energy – and that her life had always been screwed. ‘I have to warn Jo.'

‘It might not be what you think. He's been in prison a long time.'

‘Long enough to nurture his fucking obsession.' And this time he had gunshot scars to keep him warm
at night.

‘I'm going to put in a call to the detective investigating your case. He might be able to speed things up.'

She thought about Detective Duncan and his breakfast. ‘I'm not sure speed is a priority for him.'

‘You know you can come here, Kat.'

‘You think I should leave?'

‘I don't know what you should do. We don't know where he is yet. I only know what you're like.'

She closed her eyes. ‘The kind of person who wished her father would rot and die.'

‘Katrina . . .'

‘No, it's okay. I know who I am. I just hoped Haven Bay might've changed me. Call on this number when you find out where he is.'

Rennie stood tense and still as something old and hardened and programmed for survival opened a door inside her and stepped through. Before any kind of independent thought kicked in, she'd checked the yard, locked the studio and was moving quickly to
the house.

The father scenario made sense. Max's unfinished text message, the blood in the car park, the thud on the fence, the search of the glove box, the man with the camera. Was that what he looked like now – old and wiry – or had he hooked someone into it with him? She wondered about the blood, about how it had got there. Maybe Anthony had seen her with Max earlier and wanted him out of the picture, or maybe he'd spoken to him when he went back to the car park and it had gone badly. Then what? Had he bundled him in another vehicle and dumped him? Where? Where would he
take him?

By the time she reached the back door, guilt was pulsing in her throat and images of Max were flashing in her head. What state was he in? Battered? Cut? Dead? Oh God, was he dead?

The thought threw her momentum off course and she paced the length of the windows and back again, filled with frantic, shameful remonstrations.

She'd thought her past wouldn't find
her here.

She was going to be gone by the time he
was out.

She'd hoped Anthony Hendelsen would die before that happened.

When the hell did she ever get what she wanted?

She clenched her fists, raked them through her hair, stalked and turned and stalked some more. She shouldn't have stayed past the first year. She'd left too big a footprint. She'd endangered the only man she'd ever loved. Max hadn't deceived her; she'd set him up.

A knock at the door killed the angst like a switch. Her head snapped up and a pulse of fear shot through her. Think, Rennie. It was a light rat-a-tat-tat not an angry thump. And not her father's style to knock on a door. She ran quietly to the bay window anyway, keep­ing out of sight as she looked onto the porch. She saw Naomi first, her pregnant belly straining against the fabric of a long shirt, James beside her watching the street as though he might see Max coming. She wished they weren't here but felt more glad than she should to
see them.

She glanced briefly at the houses along the road. Would she know if her father was watching? Covert had once been his middle name. All the years Rennie had been on the run, she'd seen him only four times and never in broad daylight. Monday morning on a front doorstep was as safe
as anywhere.

She swung open the entry and saw Naomi's good morn­ing smile turn to alarm. ‘Rennie, what's wrong? Have you heard something about Max?'

What could she tell them? That he might be dead and it was her fault? ‘No. I . . . Come in.' She didn't say more, just ushered them in and locked
the door.

Naomi was hovering in the living room waiting for her. ‘Is it the police? Did you speak to them again?'

For a moment, Rennie thought she meant Evan. ‘No. Yes. I saw Detective Duncan this morning.'

‘Was it bad news?'

Her conversation with Detective Duncan felt like a lifetime ago and right now all she could think about was calling Joanne, but the apprehension on Naomi's face made her circle her thoughts back to the early morning conversation. ‘No news. He found the kid from the four-wheel drive but he was at a party all night. Detective Duncan doesn't think he had anything to do with Max going missing.'

‘I thought it was unlikely.' James was propped against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest as though he'd been proved right.

Rennie remembered the missing funds and shuffled through the possible scenarios again. The kid-gone-crazy version was gone. There were still the father-out-of-prison and Max-taking-the-money options. Neither fitted perfectly, she reminded herself. There was a chance he'd left her, that she hadn't killed him.
Shitty options.

‘It's something, though,' Naomi said, reaching for Rennie's hands.

‘I'm . . . tired. And worried. I . . .' Her eyes dropped to Naomi's fingers on hers, stilled by the friendship in them. It was something new for her in a moment of alarm. She gave them a quick, thankful squeeze. ‘Why are you here? Have you got news?'

‘No. We wanted to keep you company, see if there's anything more we can do to help. Didn't we, James?'

‘I thought I might have another go at Max's computer before I take the financial details into the police.' He cocked his head, a concession. ‘Maybe I can find something that will sort it out.'

He didn't look convinced but at least he
was trying.

‘Can I make you a coffee?'
Naomi asked.

Rennie could drink a bucket of it, was more than grateful to have someone ask, but the callous survivor in her remembered there were reasons she didn't have friends in the old days. It was harder to leave when she cared. When they cared. ‘Maybe later. I need to make a call.'

She shut herself in the bedroom and found her sister's number in the mobile. She hadn't spoken to Joanne in almost a year. The last time was on Rennie's birthday and the conversation ended with the same pissed-off question she'd been asking Rennie since they parted company five years ago.

Why are you still there?

They'd kept up the regular email check-in, the couple of lines to let each other know they were still breathing but neither had called. Rennie guessed Jo felt the same as she did – no desire to go over
it again.

A male voice answered. ‘Simone Carter's phone.'

There were sounds in the background: people talking, somewhere busy and noisy. A cafe was her guess. ‘Can I speak to Simone?'

The man raised his voice without covering the mouthpiece. ‘Hey, Simone, can you take a call?'

‘Who is it?'

There was no mistaking the irritated edge to Jo's voice. ‘It's her sister,' Rennie said without waiting for
the question.

‘I didn't know you had a sister,' the
voice called.

There was no answer, just the sound of the phone being carried about, footsteps, a quieter place. ‘Katrina?'

Rennie kept her voice low so it wouldn't carry to the living room. ‘Yeah, Jo, it's me.'

‘What's wrong?'

‘Hey, how are you,' would have been nice after so long but Rennie wondered whether she'd do it any differently if Jo called out of the blue. ‘He's out.'

Three seconds of silence then Jo got straight to the point. ‘When?'

‘Five months ago. Evan's trying to find him.'

‘You called Delaney?'

‘Last night.'

‘What happened?'

Rennie told her about Max, the blood, the man with the camera and the car being searched, all the time hearing her voice slip into the blunt rhythm she heard in her sister's, feeling a familiar toughness creeping around the edges of her thoughts.

‘Where are you now?'

‘Haven Bay.'

‘Why the fuck are you still there?'

And there it was. ‘I can't leave.'

‘Of course you can. You pick up your pack and walk out the door.'

‘I can't. Not yet. There's more to it. It might not be Anthony.'

‘Do you want to wait to find out?'

Did she want to see her father? Under no circumstances – ever. ‘Max might've left. Or maybe Anthony only hurt him. Either way, I need to find out.'

‘No, Kat. You need to stay alive.'

Her sister's rapid-fire responses were making it hard to think. She stalked across the room, stood to one side of the window and looked into the street. ‘This is my fault. I need to fix it.'

‘No, this is not your fault. It's Anthony Hendelsen's fault. It's always been his fault. He's got a bottomless pit of shit to answer for. It's not yours to fix. Your job is to
survive
him.'

It'd been their mother's mantra. She'd brought them up on it, made it a war cry. Rennie and Jo had recited it to each other when she'd gone and told themselves it was their right, their revenge,
to live.

Except it wasn't just her and Jo anymore and Max deserved to survive him, too. ‘I have to find Max. Even if it's too late. Even if he's . . .' She squeezed her eyes. ‘And Max's son is here.'

‘He'll be safer if you're not there.'

‘I can't leave him on his own.'

‘How old is he?'

‘Fourteen.'

‘Christ, he's old enough to look after himself. Think what we were doing at fourteen.'

‘I wouldn't wish that on him.'

‘He's not your kid, Kat.'

The volume of her voice slid up as she spoke. ‘I've got a life here, Jo. It's more than just somewhere to live. I can't pick up and leave.'

‘Then you made a mistake staying.'

Had she? Was it a mistake to find Max? ‘It's different now.
I'm
different. I'm not her.'

‘Who?'

‘Katrina. I'm not Katrina Hendelsen. I'm Renée Carter and I can't leave.'

‘Jesus, Kat. You think whatever name you use is going to make a difference to
him
?'

She was right, Rennie knew it. And she knew it didn't matter. ‘It makes a difference to
me
. As soon as I walk out that door, I'm her again. A hand-to-mouth callous bitch whose only goddamn role in life is to survive. I don't want to be her. I want to be the person I am here and if I leave, I can't come back. I can't waltz into town when it's all blown over and say, “Gee, sorry I couldn't hang around to find Max.” I
love
Max and I need to find him.'

Rennie heard hard breathy sounds through the phone and the beat of muffled footsteps. She guessed her sister was
pacing angrily.

‘Rennie?' It was Naomi calling quietly from the other side of
the door.

How much had she heard? Rennie put a hand over the phone before she answered. ‘Yes?'

Naomi talked as she eased her way in. ‘Sorry to interrupt but I made the coffee.' She was carrying a large plate with a mug and two thick slices of toast. ‘Trish sent a fruit loaf from the cafe for you this morning. She said it was the closest she could come to French toast, whatever that means. Anyway, I spread it with butter, I hope that's okay.'

Yes, Rennie thought, it was perfect. And no, it wasn't a mistake to be here. ‘It's great. Thank you.'

‘Are you okay in here?' Naomi asked. ‘I wasn't listening – I just thought you sounded upset.'

Upset, pissed off, terrified, thankful.

‘Is it the police?'
Naomi asked.

Rennie answered without thinking. ‘No. It's my sister.'

‘I didn't know you had a sister. It's nice she's keeping in touch while Max is . . . well, while we're looking for him. Is she close enough to come and stay? It might be a comfort to have some of your own family with you. Anyway, I'll let you get back to her. Oh, and by the way, Hayden's awake.' She touched Rennie's arm as she passed, smiled back at her from
the door.

Rennie wanted to laugh at the disparity of the moment – tough-arsed Joanne in her ear, Naomi at the door worried about her food intake. When she'd gone, Rennie closed her eyes, trying to find a
middle ground.

‘Katrina? Who was there?'
Jo asked.

‘A friend.'

‘What did she want?'

‘She brought me coffee and toast and asked if I was okay.'

There was silence from Jo for a long moment. Rennie hoped she was getting the message – that what she had here was worth
holding onto.

‘What did you mean, Max might've left?' Joanne
even­tually asked.

The explanation wasn't pretty but she wanted Jo to know she wasn't being completely reckless by staying, so she explained how Max had disappeared before, the password protection on his computer files, the money missing from MineLease, James's and the detective's version of what
had happened.