Thin Blood (28 page)

You have to
trust him
, she thought, running her fingers over the phone’s raised
buttons. She located the menu key, knowing Brett’s mobile was the first number
listed. Before she could stop herself, she had pressed the talk button.

Brett Rhodes woke with a start, the
unfamiliar texture and scent of the heavy cotton sheets disorientating him. It
took him a while to work out where the ringing sound was coming from. At the
same time he realised it was his mobile phone, he remembered where he was, his
pounding head adding to the picture building in his mind. Whose bright idea had
it been to pub-crawl their way across Canberra?

Unwilling to
open his eyes, he groped blindly for the phone, answering with a pained grunt.

“It’s me,” a
woman’s voice whispered.

Groggy with
sleep and the aftermath of countless beers, he grunted again, his parched mouth
struggling to form words.

“Did I wake
you?”

“Jacinta?” With
a mammoth effort, he managed to open one eye and look at the alarm clock. Pain
darted through the retina to his brain. Covering both eyes with his clammy
palm, he groaned. “Do you know what time it is?” Still half-asleep, it hadn’t
yet registered that Jacinta wouldn’t be calling him before dawn for no reason.

“No,” she said,
her voice a harsh whisper. “Brett, I don’t know what to do. I heard noises and
I saw movement by the kitchen window. I think someone’s out there.”

“What noises?”
She had his attention now.

“Like shuffling
footsteps.”

“Could it have
been a possum?” he asked, hoping that was all it was. Stress could wreak havoc
on the mind and the amount of stress Jacinta had been under in the last few
weeks, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had seen Martians. Perhaps he
should have cancelled the Canberra trip after all.

“Bloody big
possum,” she hissed.

“Just asking.”
Opening his eyes slightly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Have
you called the police?”

Silence.

“Jacinta, are
you still there?”

“Yes.”

“For God’s sake,
have you called the police? Yes or no?” His anxiety levels rising, he clamped
the phone to his ear, his hangover all but forgotten. Narelle’s prowler had
turned out to be her husband, but a bullet to the shoulder meant it couldn’t be
Craig skulking around outside Jacinta’s house. However, his shooter was still
on the loose.

“Not yet… Shush,
I heard something.”

“Jacinta, don’t
do anything stupid!” He jumped out of bed, feeling no pain as his thigh
connected with the sharp corner of the narrow, wall-mounted ledge-cum-desk.
“For God’s sake, call the police!”

So far away, he
felt powerless. Useless. He paced back and forth between the tiny en suite and
the bed, feeling like a caged dingo, the compact motel room providing
everything except room to move.

He could hear
her creeping around, her light tread hesitant, a sharp intake of breath before
another step. “Call Daniel!” he yelled down the phone.

He held his
breath, listening. Ragged breathing, a muffled jangle in the background, then
Jacinta’s scream, a loud clunk the last thing he heard before the phone went
dead.

The doorbell rang again, its shrill
peal jolting her body like an electric shock. Abandoning the phone where it had
landed in two pieces on the hard floor, Jacinta crept toward the front door,
her pulse surging with each shaky step.

Steeling
herself, she took a deep breath and looked through the peephole. She squinted,
trying but failing to make out her visitor’s face in the shadowy dawn light.
Although something about the silhouette was familiar, it wasn’t until the
person turned that she recognised the profile. Jacinta fumbled with the door
lock, wondering what had happened for Narelle to turn up on her doorstep so
early. Still wary, she opened the door barely enough to talk to her unexpected
caller.

Narelle’s tired
eyes stared through the door crack at her. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she
said, wringing her hands and moving in so close that Jacinta could taste her
sour breath. “I would’ve phoned but the damn thing’s flat. I haven’t had a chance
to recharge it.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her narrowed eyes
imploring Jacinta to understand.

Visions of her
prowler danced through Jacinta’s mind. “How long have you been here?”

Narelle stopped
moving, her eyebrows drawing together. “I’ve just arrived. I was on my way home
from the hospital to have a shower and pick up some things for Craig. I saw you
hanging around last night but I couldn’t face you or anyone else then.” She
paused. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” she added, backing away.

“Narelle, stop!”

Narelle
faltered, half-turning.

“You haven’t
disturbed me. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,” Jacinta said, opening
the door wider.

The slam of car
doors and muffled voices diverted both women’s attention toward the street.

Narelle’s
already ashen face blanched further. “You called the cops on me?” she
stammered, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Slowly shaking
her head, Jacinta watched as two male, uniformed officers, one much taller and
stockier than the other, opened the front gate and walked up the short path
toward them. What were they doing there? Then she remembered her phone call to
Brett.

She stepped
forward to greet them. “I’m sorry, officers, I think you’ve been called out
unnecessarily.”

“Jacinta
Deller?” asked the short, wiry one, surprising her with the deepness of his
voice.

She nodded,
opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a false alarm, when she spotted
Daniel pulling up at the kerb. What next? The fire brigade?

Narelle started
edging away from the house, her gaze flitting between the police officers and
the street, as if looking for an escape route. Jacinta caught her by the elbow,
gently drawing her back.

“I’m sorry,” she
said, positioning herself between Narelle and the men, “to have wasted your
time, but as you can see, I’m perfectly all right.”

The police
officers exchanged glances, but said nothing. Wrapping her arms around herself,
Jacinta shivered, suddenly conscious of her half-dressed state. Daniel came to
her rescue, sending the two uniformed men on their way.

“After you,” he
said, extending an arm in the direction of the door.

“I should be
going,” Narelle said, backing away again.

Daniel blocked
her way. “A couple of extra minutes won’t hurt. You look like you could do with
a sit-down and a good strong cup of tea. Herbal, of course,” he said, as he
corralled the two women into the house.

“I should call
Brett,” Jacinta said, scooping up the two pieces of the phone from the floor
and slotting them back together. “I dropped it,” she added in response to
Daniel’s raised eyebrows, before making a beeline for her bedroom. “Make
yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a minute.” Long enough to call Brett and
put some clothes on.

Closing the
bedroom door behind her, she let out a loud huff, taking a few moments to get
her thoughts in order. As much as she wanted to suppress them, little doubts
were starting to niggle at her. Had she been blinkered into thinking what
Narelle wanted her to think? Or was she letting other people’s perceptions –
and that was all they were – sway her beliefs? Although they had nothing to
back it up, Grace Kevron, Daniel and even Brett had all intimated that there
was more to Narelle than Jacinta was seeing.

Narelle claimed
she had just come from the hospital, but was it possible she had been outside
the house for a lot longer? What conceivable reason could Narelle – pregnant,
her husband lying seriously injured in hospital – have to want to spend a
chilly night stalking the only person trying to help her?
No
, decided
Jacinta, pulling on a denim skirt,
something isn’t right, but it’s not
Narelle
.

Talking to
Brett, reassuring him she was still in one piece and that cutting short his
trip wouldn’t achieve anything, took longer than expected. “Love you, too.
Please don’t worry about me. I’ll call you tonight.” Hanging up, she heard
cupboard doors banging in the kitchen. Hoping Daniel wasn’t searching for the
non-existent herbal tea he had offered Narelle, she went to join them.

Daniel was alone
in the kitchen, systematically opening and closing cupboards and drawers. On
the bench top, he had amassed three mugs, the large coffee plunger, the tin of
ground Arabica coffee, the sugar bag from the pantry and the crystallised
remains of a jar of honey. “Where do you hide the tea?” asked Daniel, checking
the cupboard under the sink.

“Ordinary tea, I
have,” she said, presenting him with a green, hinged-lid tin that used to house
mint chocolates. “Herbal, I don’t. Where’s Narelle?”

“Other room.”

Jacinta rolled
her eyes.
Ask a stupid question
, she thought, heading for the living
room. But Narelle wasn’t there. Nor was there any sign of her in the dining
room, bedroom, laundry, bathroom or toilet. Some minder Daniel made. Although,
to give him some credit, it wasn’t the first time Narelle had slipped away
unnoticed.

“She’s gone.”

Daniel stopped
pouring, the kettle suspended mid-air. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“Not here, AWOL,
absent, missing, gone!” she said, her pitch escalating with each word.

Shrugging, he
finished filling the coffee plunger. “She won’t have gone far. Not with her
husband in hospital.”

“Why do I seem
to be the only one concerned about her? Have you forgotten that the man — ”
Daniel cocked an eyebrow at her “ — or woman who shot her husband is still at
large? Not to mention she’s pregnant and probably not thinking straight.”

“Hormonal, you
reckon?” He chuckled. “You might be able to get away with saying that, but if I
even hinted at it, I’d be ducking for cover. Ask Wendy.”

“No, that’s not
what I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Forget I said anything.” Stress,
fatigue, illness, or hormones: whatever the cause, the result was the same.
Jacinta felt close to the edge herself. “Black, thanks,” she said, counting on
the coffee to revive her enough to get her act together. Her job required her
to be a functioning human being.

As Daniel
concentrated on pressing the plunger down and filling two of the mugs, she
studied his face, the tightness of his lips and the deep V above the bridge of
his nose evidence of his stress levels.

“Any news on
Craig’s shooter or the missing gun yet?”

Daniel continued
stirring his coffee, not looking up. “No.”

“I’m not trying
to tell you how to do your job, and I know you told me Grace Kevron couldn’t
have done it, but have you considered she could have an accomplice?”

“You really have
it in for Grace, don’t you?”

“She’s hiding
something, I’m sure of it. And you have to admit, she’s made no secret about
her feelings for Craig and Narelle.”

Daniel nodded.
“Sure, she blames them, but if you were in her position you might have, too.
It’s a natural reaction to seek out a scapegoat when there are no definitive
answers. Grace might be a bit screwed up, but that doesn’t automatically label
her a psychopathic killer. In fact, the psych report suggests she’s more likely
to harm herself than anyone else.”

Jacinta still
wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts. “But
you haven’t completely ruled out her involvement, right?”

The corners of
his eyes creased, his mouth twitching in barely suppressed amusement. “Have you
thought about changing career? Doggedness is one of the prerequisites to being
a good cop.”

“Ha, ha, very
funny.” But it wasn’t. She knew her strength lay in her tenacity. Without it,
she couldn’t have survived. “You’re such a comedian. Have
you
thought
about changing jobs?”

“Frequently.”
The smile faded from his face. “But in answer to your question, until we have
evidence to prove otherwise, we won’t be eliminating anyone from our enquiries.
Shuffled down the list perhaps, but not ruled out.” He poured himself another
cup of coffee. “Don’t worry; we’ll be talking with Grace in the next day or
two. She was released into her mother’s care late yesterday, but even though
she’s responded well to treatment and is considered stable, I’m told she’s
still a little on the fragile side. Don’t, whatever you do, go bothering her.
You’ll just make my job twice as hard.

“Now,” he said,
glancing at his watch, “I have to be somewhere else. Are you going to be all
right on your own? I could always have someone come and sit with you.”

“Thank you for
caring,” she replied, his concern tempering her indignation, “but I don’t need
babysitting.” She forced a smile. “Besides, having a police officer tagging
along with me to work wouldn’t be a good look.”

After Daniel
left, she hurried from room to room, opening blinds and curtains, the early
morning light diluting the emptiness and heavy silence.

In the bathroom,
she turned the shower taps to full, undressing while she waited for the water
to warm up. She tested the temperature and was about to step in, when a flash
of movement through the bathroom’s frosted glass window caught her eye. She
froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t imagined it that time.
Over the noise of the shower, she heard a scraping sound, like one of the
wooden outdoor chairs being dragged across the brick paving. Then nothing.

Leaving the
shower running, she wrapped a towel around herself and tiptoed into the
bedroom. She was careful to avoid the windows. The phone lay less than a metre
away on the bedside table. It rang. She jumped, letting out an involuntary
squawk.