Authors: Vicki Tyley
By the time Greg and Megan exited the car, Neville was already
standing outside the building’s glass-paneled front door, his bulky frame
blocking the “Jenkins Financial Services” sign.
Greg unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm system, turning on
lights and flicking the air conditioner’s switch to heat as he walked past the
reception desk. Megan and Neville followed.
In the compact kitchen next door to his office, Greg busied himself
making coffee. Megan stood just inside the doorway, ankles crossed and arms
folded, while Neville leaned casually against the wall near the sink. “White
with two thanks,” he reminded Greg.
Greg poured the coffee adding a good dollop of milk and two
teaspoons of sugar to Neville’s cup and milk only to Megan’s.
“Well, well, what have you two young sleuths been up to? Ruffling a few
feathers it seems.” Neville turned and nodded his head in Megan’s direction.
“Pauline Meyer was not at all happy at being woken at sparrow fart on a Sunday.
Claims you were harassing her about Lawson.”
“I… I…,” stammered Megan.
“What’s done is done. No use crying over spilt milk and all that.”
The private investigator slurped at his coffee. “The point is, Dave Abrahams –
DS Abrahams to you – convinced her not to press charges if you stayed away from
her and Lawson Green.”
Greg stepped forward. “The nerve of that woman.”
The corner of Neville’s mouth lifted in amusement. “Settle down,
boyo,” he said, patting the air with his free hand. “I agree her reaction is a
bit over the top, but she is well within her rights.”
Greg closed his eyes for a second, feeling his lungs expand as he
drew a long slow breath. He opened his eyes and exhaled. “Okay, let’s forget
about Ms Meyer just for the moment. Do you have any more news for us?”
“Only what you’ve been reading in the papers. We haven’t been able
to come up with any fresh leads so far, but we’re still looking. Of course, our
boys in blue might well have info we’re not privy to, but if they do they’ll
have a good reason for holding it back.” Neville lowered his eyebrows and
peered at Greg. “But perhaps I should be asking you a few questions.”
Greg frowned. “For example?”
“For example, what were you two doing in the Yarra Ranges National
Park? What—”
Megan interjected. “That was my doing. I convinced Greg to come with
me. I know that it might sound ridiculous to you, but I thought perhaps the
police hadn’t searched far enough.” Her voice cracked. “I had to try…”
The sight of a woman on the verge of tears obviously unsettled the
brash private investigator. Greg too hesitated, not at all sure how to proceed.
Should he try to comfort her or should he give her space?
“Please excuse me.” Megan was on her feet and out the door before
either man realized. Greg heard the bathroom door close, then the sound of
running water.
Neville wiped his hand over his mouth. “Didn’t mean to upset the
little lady.”
“She’s pretty strung out at the moment,” Greg said, still debating
whether to go into the bathroom after her. “Understandably really,” he
continued, glancing out to the corridor. “She has no family and her best friend
is missing presumed murdered. How would you feel?”
“Point taken. But the best thing you could do for her – and you – would
be to let the professionals do their job. Let me put it another way. The worst
thing you can do is to continue playing detectives. Let me assure you that this
is no game. We’re dealing with a right psychopath here. I’m quite sure that if
you got in his way he would have no qualms with dispensing with either of you.”
Neville coughed, softening the tone of his voice before continuing. “As soon as
I know anything I’ll let you know. That’s a promise.” He extended his hand.
Greg accepted the proffered hand and shook it, but made no promises
to either Neville or himself.
Through the
bathroom walls, she heard a phone ringing followed by a muffled voice. She
couldn’t make out what was being said, but that didn’t concern her. What
mattered was that Greg was occupied.
She slipped out of the bathroom. As she passed the doorway to Greg’s
office, she pointed at her watch, miming she was late. With a forced smile, she
gave him a cheery wave and bolted, leaving him sitting open-mouthed behind his
desk with the telephone handset clamped to his ear.
Outside the sky had cleared, the sudden brightness momentarily
blinding her. She fumbled in her handbag, searching for her sunglasses and car
keys.
“Been to a funeral?”
The unmistakable mellow tone of Joe’s voice startled her. “What?
Uh?” she spluttered. “Shit, Joe, what the hell do you think you’re doing
creeping up on me like that?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He reached out a hand to touch
her.
She reared back out of range, clutching her handbag to her chest.
“What are you doing here? I swear if you keep this up, I’m going to the
police.”
Joe held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you think I’m doing,
I’m not. I was across the street at the chemist,” he lifted the green-and-white
printed paper bag in his hand as evidence, “when I saw your car. It wasn’t
until I came out that I saw you. Thought I would come over and say hello and
see if there was any news on your friend. Brenda, isn’t it?”
Megan wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. What was it with
her? Gentleman Joe’s only crime had been his little too zealous pursuit of
love. But at least he’d stopped hounding her day and night. She hadn’t heard
from him in over a week. So what exactly was her problem?
“Sorry, Joe. I’m a bit tense at the moment.” Wasn’t that an
understatement? “No, there’s no news about Brenda. Thanks for asking.” Now
please go away and leave me alone, she silently willed.
Joe’s gaze shifted from her face to over her right shoulder, his jaw
visibly tensing. Glancing back, she saw Greg strolling towards them, the set of
his face reflecting Joe’s. Inwardly, Megan cringed.
She’d two seconds at the most to decide the best approach. Plead
lateness and leave the two men to their own devices? Or do the civil thing and
introduce them to each other? Too late. Greg was already by her side.
She introduced the two men, ignoring their veiled but questioning
looks. Her face ached as she tried to keep her smile in place. If she weren’t
careful, the wind would change and she would be stuck like that – or so her
grandmother would’ve had her believe. That sudden unexpected thought of her
beloved grandmother added salt to her already raw emotional wounds. She shook
her head, her strained smile sagging.
Across the street, a car horn tooted. All heads turned,
instinctively seeking the origin. A young blonde woman hung out the driver’s
window of a red Mini Cooper, waving as if her life depended on it.
Megan’s heart skipped a beat. And then another. For one delirious
moment, the red Mini and blonde hair fooled her into thinking it was Brenda. A
split-second later, any illusions she had were dashed. In more ways than one.
“That’s Cindy, my girlfriend. Would you like to meet her?” A
Cheshire cat grin split Joe’s face in two.
Hysterical laughter swelled in Megan’s throat. Joe had moved on. She
felt such a fool. What conceit to think he’d been obsessed with her. That
feeling of being watched was just that: a feeling. All in my head, she thought,
just all in my head.
“Some other time perhaps.” She made an obvious check of her watch.
“I’m late already.”
Joe leaned forward to kiss her cheek. This time she let him. “See
you around then. Call me.” He sauntered off, stopped and turned at the curb to
blow her a kiss, before tackling the traffic.
“You better get to your appointment, then,” Greg said, an edginess
to his voice she hadn’t heard before.
“Greg, wait!” she called after his retreating back.
He stopped, but didn’t turn, waiting for her to catch up.
“I’m not good company right now. I’m tired and overemotional and I
need some time out.” Reaching out, she laid her hand tentatively on his
forearm. She felt his body bristle and immediately went to pull away. Before
she could remove her hand, his opposite hand had come up and covered hers.
“Megan, I understand all that, but please don’t shut me out. There
is no need to make excuses. I’m here to help…” With a low sigh, he averted his
eyes. “Nothing more.”
She followed Greg’s gaze, staring at the same piece of concrete that
he seemed fixated on. “Lately, I’ve done and said a lot of things I didn’t
mean. None of which were meant to offend. The last thing I want to do is
alienate you.”
“Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk later,” he said, scuffing the
concrete with his shoe. Stilling his foot, he looked up. “One question before
you go. I recognized Joe from the surveillance photos. How well do you know the
guy?”
“What sort of question is that?”
“Well, when did you meet him?”
“I met him the same night I met you. Not long after you left, in
fact.” She glared at him, resenting the direction his line of questioning was
heading.
Greg pressed his lips together, studying her face as if trying to
gauge how far he could go without getting his head bitten off.
Megan saved him the trouble. “Yes, I went out with him a couple of
times. No, I haven’t slept with him. No, I’m not still seeing him. Enough
information for you?”
“I didn’t mean that. What I was actually alluding to, until you got
up on your high horse, was what do you know about his background? Off the top
of my head, I don’t remember if Neville came up with anything. Do you think we
should be checking him out a bit more thoroughly?”
Jumping to conclusions had always been her forte, but now she was
positively excelling. In an effort to make amends, she answered Greg as
honestly as she could. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I would be lying if
I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Time and time again, I’ve replayed
that night in my head. Joe hardly looked at Brenda, let alone spoke to her. It
was me he was interested in.” She wasn’t about to reveal how ardently he had
pursued her though. “And as you can see,” she added, holding her palms out,
“I’m still here.” She stifled a yawn, edging in the direction of her car. “Only
just though.”
Greg eyes narrowed. “Don’t say things like that. Even in jest.”
The tap-tap of the
pen hitting the desk as he absentmindedly see-sawed it between his fingers barely
registered in Greg’s mind.
Had Megan been right? Had he been blinkered by his deep-seated
belief that Lawson Green was guilty? Basing his convictions on a hunch that
Lawson was the man his sister had been involved with, he’d condemned the man
without so much as a hearing. What right did he have to set himself up as judge
and jury?
None.
The pen slid from his fingers, clattering to the desk. Restless and
unable to settle, he prowled the offices, moving from one room to another,
spending less than a minute in each.
His unexpected meeting with Joe Renmark earlier had rattled him. Joe
was tall-ish, dark-haired and from a woman’s point of view probably considered
good-looking. It opened up a realm of possibilities that Greg hadn’t
considered. Was it possible that the “tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous” man
Sam had referred to was Joe and not Lawson? Or someone else altogether?
Had Megan been at risk? Was she still at risk? What about Joe’s
so-called girlfriend in the car? Greg came to an abrupt halt, stopping mid-stride.
He was letting his imagination run wild. So what if it’d been Joe or even some
other guy that’d been dating Sam? That in itself didn’t automatically brand him
a murderer.
Nevertheless, his inner voice refused to be quietened. If that’s the
case, why hadn’t he come forward to eliminate himself from the investigation?
And, surely, any man who’d genuinely cared for Sam would’ve wanted to pay his
last respects. Greg thought back to the day of the funeral, the faces of those
that had attended flashing through his mind like a fast-forwarding video. He
was quite sure there’d been no one there he couldn’t account for. And he was
equally sure it’d been Lawson he’d spotted loitering on the fringe.
Suddenly remembering the surveillance photos, he headed back to his
office, reaching behind the door for his jacket as he entered. He retrieved the
packet from the inside breast pocket, rehanging the jacket before spreading the
photos out in a grid pattern across his desk.
With a little leeway, the description “tall, dark and drop-dead
gorgeous” (gorgeous being subjective) could fit many of the men appearing in
the photos.
With a loud sigh, Greg dropped into his office chair. After
everything that’d happened, he felt like a pawn in some type of perverted game
of snakes and ladders. He would climb one ladder only to land on a snake and
slide back down again. Glancing at the photos, he realized he was back at
square one.
Who was to say that there was even a link between the killer and the
dinner dating agency? Logic was one thing, but the gnawing sensation in the pit
of his stomach was telling him something else entirely. Still convinced the
answer lay somewhere in the spread of photos laid out in front of him, he
reassembled them into one heap. One by one, he scrutinized the pictures,
sorting them into two piles. The stack of shots with dark-haired males in them
was smaller, though only slightly, than the one without.