The Investigator (8 page)

“Admit it, Darryl. Your wife didn’t board. She’s not on the fucking ship.”

This time, he got a reaction. Within seconds, Watson had gained his full height. His mouth opened, spewing beer through the air. He choked and gasped and his cheeks turned crimson, but it was the ice that burned in his eyes that gave Riley pause.

“How
dare
you! How dare you come into my house and accuse me of—whatever it is you think I’ve done. You’ve made a couple of phone calls and glanced at a confidential document on my wife’s desk. Big deal. All of a sudden, you think you know everything. Let me tell you, sonny. You know
shit
. And if you’d looked at that will a little closer, you’d have noticed I’m not mentioned in it.”

Darryl continued to glare at him. “I’ll tell you something else you may not know,” he added. “I might have retired, but I still have friends in your office. Good friends.
Loyal
friends.”

Riley’s body stilled. He should simply shut his mouth and leave, while he still had the right to call himself detective. The thought raged through his mind and was overtaken by another one: He’d stayed silent once before and the shame of it still kept him sleepless.

Anger sprang to life inside him and found its voice, low and guttural. “Are you threatening me?”

Watson shrugged, now completely composed. “Take it how you like.” He moved closer. They were almost eyeball-to-eyeball, although Watson outweighed him by at least thirty pounds. Riley refused to look away, even when Watson’s voice lowered to a menacing growl.

“Listen and listen well. I’m going to say this one more time. I drove my wife to Circular Quay. That ship was berthed right alongside the wharf. If you say she didn’t board, then she didn’t board. I’m through arguing with you. She must have changed her mind, gone somewhere else. Women have been known to do that, you know.”

His gaze raked Riley’s face. “Or maybe you don’t.” His lips turned up in a sneer. “There probably aren’t many pretty white girls that would want to go near a mixed breed like you. Not for more than a night or two, anyway. Even then, it would only be to satisfy their curiosity.”

Riley’s blood boiled. His hands clenched into fists. In less than a second, his barely leashed control snapped. He closed the distance between them and grabbed Watson by the shirt.

Watson’s gaze burned into his, full of defiant contempt. That look was the sluice of cold reality Riley needed to bring his fury under control. Watson wanted him to lose it, was urging him to lose it and if he did, that would be the end of Riley and his career. Watson knew it as well as Riley did.

Sucking in a ragged breath through his tightly clenched teeth, Riley released him and stepped away.

Darryl made a show of shaking his shirt free. With his hands fisted at his sides, Riley drew in gulps of air. If he cared for his career at all, regardless of his suspicions, he had to leave.
Now
.

He turned toward the entryway. Unable to resist a parting shot, he swung back and narrowed his gaze on Darryl’s. “Don’t go leaving town.”

Watson smiled complacently. “Don’t worry, Munro. I’m not the one going anywhere. Oh, and by the way, you were right. I remember now. The ship departed on July tenth.”

With his anger simmering just below the surface, Riley turned and strode to the door. The flawless front yard confronted him again and he smiled without humor. Now he saw it was all an elaborate facade. He didn’t know what other secrets Watson was hiding beneath his veneer of polish, but Riley sure as hell aimed to find out.

* * *

Darryl watched from the front window as the unmarked police car reversed out of his driveway and headed in the direction of town. He still seethed at the audacity of the young detective who had invaded his home.

Who the fuck did the prick think he was, marching into Darryl’s house and poking his nose into Darryl’s business? And not only interfering where he was clearly not wanted, but the bastard had the gall to accuse him of doing away with Rosemary. He may not have said it in so many words, but neither of them had been in any doubt about what he’d meant.

Where did the asshole get off? Didn’t he know who Darryl was? The prick said he’d been in town a few months. Surely, word had filtered down to him about the importance of staying on the good side of the former commander?

Darryl’s eyes narrowed in disgust. Either the police grapevine had failed to do its job, or his influence in the force had diminished.

He refused to believe the latter. It wasn’t possible. Watervale’s police force was still comprised of many of his friends—friends who had benefited greatly, both professionally and financially, from Darryl’s influence. There was no way they would turn their backs on him. They owed him too much.

All it would take was a quiet word in the ear of someone who mattered and their lives would be destroyed. He hadn’t spent the better part of three decades in the police force without acquiring a considerable number of favors…

His thoughts returned to the young detective and another wave of anger surged through him. It was just his luck that his slut of a stepdaughter had filed the missing person’s report with a newcomer. Almost every other copper in the station would have nodded and patted her hand and offered all of the expected platitudes and then would have promptly filed the report in the trash.

But she’d been interviewed by the new prick and he’d lived right and royally up to his name. When he’d called Darryl and questioned him about Rosemary’s whereabouts, it had become obvious the newcomer hadn’t been initiated into the way things worked in Watervale. If he had, the call to Darryl would never have happened.

Darryl was secretly relieved to have been given advance notice that he would have to work a little harder to maintain his deception. He’d formulated a plan and when the young detective had come calling, as Darryl knew he would, he’d been ready for him, right down to the travel brochure he’d oh-so-casually laid out across the coffee table. Everything had been going dandy until the prick had spied the will.

Darryl cursed, part of his anger now directed toward himself. It had been a stupid mistake leaving the will on Rosemary’s desk. He’d tossed it there in a fit of pique nearly a month ago and hadn’t given it another thought. It had been careless and if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was knowing how to be careful.

Not that it mattered too much. What he’d told the detective was true. Rosemary owned shit. It was the fact that the bitch had cut him out—
him,
Local Area Police Commander, Darryl Watson—that had pissed him off.

A shaft of fire spiraled through his gut. Ever since he’d found out about the will and its contents, his ulcer had been playing up something fierce. His wife of twenty years had written him out of her will. As if he was nothing, a nobody. The humiliation of it.

What was worse, until he’d stumbled across it in the bottom drawer of her desk, he hadn’t suspected a thing.

They’d both made wills not long after they’d married. Although Rosemary had come to him with little more than the clothes on her back and a cowardly daughter in tow, he’d thought it important to make her feel she was an equal partner in their marriage—and she had been—at least in the early days.

Despite her disability, Rosemary Collins had been beautiful. Her navy-blue eyes were both mysterious and intriguing and hinted at secrets he yearned to uncover. Her rich, golden hair had cascaded like a thick swathe of silk down her back. He couldn’t wait to feel it spread across his bare skin. Though confined to a wheelchair, her figure had been enviably slim. In contrast, her breasts were full and round and bountiful, pressing teasingly against her shirtfront, pulling the fabric taut.

He hadn’t been the only hot-blooded male in Watervale who’d lusted over the newly arrived widow. The fact that she’d had all of the single male population and even some of the married ones walking around town with hard-ons had only increased her desirability.

He had to have her.
He had to have her, so no one else could. It was as simple as that.

When they’d married a scant few months after her arrival, he’d been the happiest man in the world. Despite the inconvenience of the child that came with her, he’d spent countless hours enjoying the bounty of Rosemary’s body—a task made even more enjoyable knowing how many others wished they were in his place.

In the early days, he’d paraded her around town for everyone to see and lust after. He’d taken her to balls and dinners and other social outings, always insisting she dress provocatively. He loved to see the agony and the envy in the glazed eyes of his colleagues as they looked on and hankered.

But, like all new toys, after awhile, the novelty wore off. The thrill of twisting the men of Watervale into hard knots of unfulfilled desire eventually lost its shine. Over time, Rosemary’s looks faded and he became less and less enamored of her charms. It was about that time he began to notice Kate.

The child had been little more than an inconvenience in the early days of his marriage. Right from the beginning, he’d made sure she was banished to live on her own upstairs, away from her mother and the constant bids the girl made for her mother’s attention and he’d barely noticed the kid in his everyday comings and goings.

But, as the years passed and his desire for Rosemary waned, he noticed just how much the girl had grown—and how beautiful she’d become. She was the image of her mother. His interest in the girl became more focused. The more he studied her, the more he wanted her…

And now she’d returned.

Her arrival had taken him by surprise. He’d never expected her to come home, even when her mother stopped contacting her. It was the one thing he hadn’t planned for. The fact that she had not only returned, but had gone to the police, created an added complication.

He’d had it all worked out. Over the preceding days, he’d carefully dropped subtle and not-so-subtle hints among his friends that things weren’t so rosy at home. He’d cunningly let them know his wife’s condition was deteriorating and his ability to care for her had become strained and even though he was loathe to do it, he couldn’t help but contemplate the necessity of moving her into a nursing home.

His friends had responded exactly like he’d expected. They’d commiserated with his predicament and had congratulated him on his devotion to Rosemary for so many years. They knew it couldn’t have been easy for him, caring for an invalid wife.

He’d made all the right noises and had accepted their murmured words of support with gratitude and humility. He’d thanked them for their concern.

His plan had been brilliant. He’d continued to foster the impression that Rosemary’s condition had worsened. And then, he’d made the announcement: He’d arranged for her to go on a holiday—a four-month cruise. It was probably the last holiday she’d have.

Despite recent setbacks, he was still confident the plan would work. The day after she was due to return to Watervale, he planned to make it known the holiday hadn’t been able to slow the downward turn of her health and he’d had no choice but to settle her into a nursing home in Sydney. He’d make it clear it was what she wanted and that it was for the best.

No one would question his decision and if the truth were known, no one would even care. In recent years, Rosemary had kept more and more to herself. The few women she’d fostered friendships with had either faded away or had been the wives of his police colleagues. He was more than confident there would be no questions asked from that quarter.

Watervale would continue as normal. In time, Rosemary Watson would be forgotten. Eventually, it would almost be like she’d ceased to exist.

It was only with the return of her daughter that his plan had begun to fray at the edges.

Darryl drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing the tension to ease from his shoulders. He was damned if he’d let his stepdaughter ruin everything. He would do whatever it took to see his plan through, including thwarting the overeager detective.

Pretending to get confused over his wife’s departure date had been a stroke of genius. It was further proof he had nothing to hide. The detective would know an officer of Darryl’s experience would make sure he had a watertight alibi, if it came to that.

It would stand to reason that if he had something to hide, he’d have the date of Rosemary’s departure fixed firmly in his mind. Appearing confused about something so important as the date her cruise departed—in effect, the last time he’d seen her—was not an expected way to maintain his cover, if in fact, that was what the detective assumed Darryl had been doing.

Detective Munro
.

Darryl frowned in thought. He’d discovered the man had transferred from a command in Sydney. That, in itself, was suspicious. The fact he had family in the nearby area didn’t cut it. No one as young as Munro elected to be transferred to a backwater like Watervale without being prompted from someone higher up.

There was more to Munro’s transfer than he was letting on. Darryl would bet on it and he never wagered on something he knew he wouldn’t win.

It was just the way he was.

CHAPTER 7

Kate secured the sash of her thick terry housecoat around her waist and picked up the cup of hot soup. She sank into the motel room’s solitary armchair and tried to focus on the evening news that blared from the television a few feet away.

She took a bite of her microwave dinner and sighed. Not exactly gourmet dining, but she hadn’t felt like socializing and the room service menu had been unilaterally uninspiring. In a town the size of Watervale, word was probably already out that she’d returned. No doubt her disappearance a decade ago had conjured up wild stories and people would be keen to see her for themselves.

Not that she cared what anyone thought. All she wanted was to find her mother and return to her life in London. She might have told Detective Munro she suspected her mother had met with foul play, but for all of her suspicions, she hadn’t given up hope Rosemary was still alive and that there was a reasonable explanation for her lack of communication.