‘In fact, I have a statement here from one of the administration ladies, Michelle Stanthorp, who says that she and another assistant sat you down behind the counter and while they were hearing your story, she received a call transferred over from the security department. It was from Caitlyn McBeal’s mother telling them she was trying to get in contact with the girl. She was concerned for her daughter’s safety, worried because Caitlyn had hung up on her unexpectedly and now wasn’t answering her phone,’ Whitt said. ‘Michelle Stanthorp says that while she was on the phone to Mrs McBeal, she drew up Caitlyn’s student file, including her photograph, on a computer in full view of where you were sitting.’
When Linny didn’t answer, Whitt looked up. The girl’s head was bowed into her hands. In all his determination to find the truth, Whitt realised he had slipped into interrogation mode. This girl was not a criminal. At worst, she was a liar. He reached over and took a hand down from her face, squeezed it.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ she said.
‘I believe something happened to you,’ Whitt said gently. ‘Something bad. And you didn’t deserve me to be so cold about finding out what it was. I’m sorry.’
‘It was supposed to have been me,’ Linny said. She was suddenly distant, staring out the cafe’s front windows to the busy street. Her teary eyes wandered back to Whitt. ‘Whatever happened to her, whether she’s dead or alive, it was supposed to have been me.’
Whitt closed his notebook. Sighed.
‘You’ve got to find him,’ Linny said. ‘Before he does it again.’
Chapter 43
THE DAY WAS filled with interviews. Zac Taby had said that there were four other Last Chance Valley kids who sat in on the explosives lesson with the visiting student teacher two years earlier. Of those four, one, Brandon Skinner, had died of a drug overdose the year before, home alone and experimenting with meth. The remaining three were called to Snale’s place, two of them with parents in tow. Snale and I sat them down on the couch and picked their brains. Had they participated in the spate of firecracker mischief that had ensued after the ill-fated lesson? Did they know anyone who had? How did they feel about the town and its people? How did their friends feel? Did they know anyone who owned a bright red backpack? The answers to our questions, from all of the kids, were a consistent no. These were the bored, hopeless rug rats of Last Chance. They got up to trouble. It was what kids did out here. None of them were going to admit anything.
Townspeople came to the door to drop helpful hints to Snale and me about locals they thought were responsible for the bombing. Most of the tips were about Zac Taby. There were a couple of mentions of a man named Jed Chatt who lived outside town, Zac’s ‘scary old man’.
Whitt started texting me at midday on a new number. I didn’t ask why.
The account you set up for Sam is empty. I visited. He’s nervous.
I eased air through my teeth. I’d known, as soon as my brother was arrested, that this was going to be an expensive time in both our lives. With his permission, I’d sold almost all of Sam’s possessions immediately after his arrest, and taken charge of his bank account. I’d sold my apartment, my car, and some collectibles of my own, and unlocked some term deposits of my personal savings. Within a week of his arrest, the spending started. I put some money into Sam’s commissary account at the remand centre so he could buy snacks and sundries, toothpaste and the like. Then, like clockwork, the threats on his life began. I started feeding protection money into his account, as slowly as I could manage, just enough to keep his enemies satisfied. I knew they’d want more in time. But all I had to do was keep Sam alive until the end of his trial. I’d take out a loan if I had to. Get a second and third job. Whatever it took.
I’ll deposit some more now, I told Whitt. You and Tox OK?
There was a lengthy pause. I’m not sure we’re the most suited of partners. He’s an unsettling person with an unsettling reputation, and I worry about his actual plans for the killer if we find him.
I smiled at that. Tox was, indeed, unsettling. Whitt had likely heard by now the rumour on the police force that Tox had murdered a mother and her son when he was a kid. I was one of few people who knew the real truth – but I wouldn’t divulge Tox’s secret behind his back.
I texted Whitt, tried to stem his curiosity.
Five days and I’ll be home. Tox is good people. Trust me. You’re safe with him.
He smells like a wet dog, Whitt replied.
Chapter 44
I BORROWED SNALE’S car and took a drive out into the desert to clear my head while she and Kash worked on the package of gold from Olivia Campbell’s house. When I had left Snale’s place the two were dissecting it, weighing the gold and using lifting tape to secure any prints from the wrapping. Kash was rambling about how the difficulty of tracing precious metals made them perfect funding for terrorism.
I understood Kash’s way of looking at the world. I knew officers who had worked in Sex Crimes so long they let it divide their minds clean in half, so that all men became potential predators and all women their potential prey. To stay away from men was to be, by definition, safe.
I’d called Tenacity on the hands-free without asking myself why. I guess I was curious to see if it was indeed the Tenacity whose case I’d solved years earlier.
When she picked up, she sounded like she was clattering around the house, moving pots and pans.
‘Oh my God, Harry,’ she laughed. ‘What a surprise.’
‘ Just checking in on my tenacious friend,’ I said. ‘How’s things?’
A little guilt rippled through me as she sighed and started complaining about how her mother couldn’t find a job, her brother was getting sued, she couldn’t keep her house clean. She told me she’d been doing great in counselling, though. I didn’t know how to get around to the topic of Kash, or even if I should. I’d decided that it was totally inappropriate of me to even think of talking to her about him.
‘I’m in the middle of a divorce, though,’ she said.
‘Oh dear.’
‘I’ve been with Elliot sixteen years,’ she said. ‘We were high school sweethearts.’
I made an awkward noise. Tenacity paused.
‘What?’
‘I think I might be on a case with him.’
‘Who? Elliot?’ The clattering in the background of the call stopped. ‘Elliot Kash? Jesus!’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Small world.’
‘I feel very ashamed,’ I said. ‘I heard him say your name, and I thought –’
‘You thought, “How many fucking Tenacitys could there possibly be in the world?” I get it all the time. Let me guess, you want me to drag him home and out of your hair.’
My face was burning. I tried to focus on the road.
‘Well, you listen to me, Harriet Blue,’ she said. ‘I don’t care if you have to chain him to the front fence of the town hall. You keep him out there as long as you can. I need a break, you understand?’
‘A break from what?’
‘ From feeling like I’m going to get held hostage every time I walk into a bloody airport!’ She was ranting now. ‘From looking at every person on the bus like their bag might be packed with explosives! From waking up every morning to Voice of the Caliphate on the radio, copies of jihadi recruitment magazines spread all over the kitchen table! My friends think he’s a fucking nutcase. Elliot’s obsession with Islamic terrorism is driving me nuts. I thought I had problems.’
‘Well, it’s his job,’ I reasoned. ‘I mean –’
‘It’s not his job,’ she snapped. ‘It’s his life. When I met Ell he was a laid-back surfer type. He was a bricklayer. Hard hands. Brown as a nut. Then everything changed. He went to Bali on a surfing trip with four of his mates and they all went to the Sari Club on the first night.’