“Yeah. Mate, we have a fucking woman missing. You could have saved me time if you’d come as you said.” West’s tone is laced with disappointment and frustration.
“Astin, I’m sorry, okay? I had to get shit sorted, and I arrived as quickly as I could.”
I cough, causing both of them to search for me.
“Reid, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” Stratt says. His green eyes are vacant, lacking any actual sort of apology on contact.
“You’re dismissed. Enjoy your vacation.” West doesn’t even address me. Instead, he turns his back in my direction. I’m not sure if this is because he’s embarrassed I witnessed them disagreeing, or if it’s because he's blatantly being rude.
“Alright. Sure.” Stratt's tone is clipped when he rolls his eyes in front of me, and I’m left wondering why they’re arguing in the first place. There’s overt hostility between these two, and you can feel the tension in the room.
“Max, I need the shitter. Where is it?” Stratt seeks Maloney’s assistance.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
Stratt nods, flaring his nostrils before they both take to the hallway.
John seems puzzled when he comes into my line of sight. When he shrugs, I find myself shrugging, too.
“I’m going to put your toolbox in the office, and then we’ll have that coffee?”
“Sure.”
I take refuge on the veranda, swinging on the love seat that banged excessively against the wall on the night of the storm … the night Morgan never came home. For the last few hours, Detective West has been in a pissy mood, biting everyone’s heads off and snapping orders. Detective Gleaton’s copped the brunt of it. Maloney, on the other hand, has steered clear of him, and spent most of his time talking to me about life, his family, and how he became a cop. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were great mates, but we’re not; we’ve only known each other for a such a short period of time. Talking to Max, though, is easy; I could see how under different circumstances we would be great mates.
Max is leaning against the railing, patting at his pocket. He’s changed since Stratt left. He’s now wearing a grey T-shirt and knee-length black cargo pants. I guess he too had to freshen up. I’m still in the jeans and the white polo T-shirt I wore under my jacket when interviewed earlier.
“Smoke?” Maloney says when he retrieves the packet from his pocket.
“Why the hell not?” I say, knowing it will make my stomach queasy, but lessen my tension. I spark the lighter and draw back hard, coughing not once, but twice. Maloney doesn’t partake, but I get the feeling he wants to right now. He’s jittery, and jittery doesn’t suit him.
“So, what was that disagreement before?” I’m curious as I hand the lighter back to him.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips when he reaches out his hand and takes it.
“We don’t have to—”
“Cops being cops, mate, nothing more. Everyone’s highly strung at the moment.”
“Morgan?”
“Yeah, they're getting close to some pretty good leads. It’s the waiting game. Nobody likes the waiting game.”
“Why are West and Gleaton here and not out doing investigative stuff?” This has crossed my mind numerous times today.
“Good question. I’ve asked myself the same. But then again, I’m not a detective, and I know almost the entire force is out there searching and collecting information.” Maloney is twirling the lighter between his middle and pointer finger.
“Something isn’t sitting well with me,” I confess after taking another draw and bringing nicotine to my once clean lungs.
“What’s that?”
“I’m trying to figure out how this prick knew that Gleaton had allowed me to leave the house and go next door to John and Shirley’s. Gleaton says the property has been checked, and there are no bugs, so how did he know? And if he knew there was a tap on the line, why would he call?”
There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure if Maloney is thinking of a way to divert the conversation, or if he’s deciding what he will share with me. I wait.
“I’ve wondered this too.” Our eyes connect. “That call came in, what, all of twenty minutes after the tap was in place and the landline routed to ring through your mobile phone?”
I nod. “Which means Gleaton, yourself, John, Shirley, my father and mother-in-law knew I wasn’t here.”
“And you.”
“Obviously, I knew where I was at the time. Why would I do that? I didn’t take Morgan. I’m not responsible.”
“I believe you, but I’m confident none of the people you’ve mentioned are involved either. Think about it. West and Gleaton have both been here when the calls have come in. I’ve been here with you the entire time. John and Shirley are next door in the neighbouring property, tending to your children's needs, and your in-laws have been beside themselves since they arrived. I think someone is watching this house, but I suspect it’s nobody who's here.” He pauses. “And as for the phone tap, if he knows it’s in place, which I suspect he does, he’s pretty fucking brazen in calling. It takes a bit of time to get a location, but not much. He cut that call short, before we got a location … this tells me that he understands how they work.”
“That red-headed cop, though … he’s …”
“Eric.”
“Yeah.”
“He left with West and had no idea you went next door. Don’t think I haven’t had a thought once or twice that it could be an inside job. I’ve done the maths, and it doesn’t add up. It can’t be.”
“But what if—”
“Reid, you’re barking up the wrong tree. You’re suspecting everybody, and you should be, but I’m eliminating everybody because that’s my job.”
“Yeah.” I take a drag of the cigarette; now so small it barely peeks between my fingers.
“You want another one?” Maloney’s eyes turn towards my hand.
“Nope. They taste like shit.” Just as I flick the butt over the side of the veranda, I spot Linda’s car pulling up to the curb. “Linda,” I murmur.
A tall, broad man with blond hair and five o’clock shadow, quite muscular, walks beside her down the path. He’s not holding Linda’s hand, but he’s close enough to her that the bottom of the flowy dress she’s wearing blows against his leg. This must be the copper boyfriend she texted me about earlier. What took her so long in getting here? What further information does this man have?
“Dodger, fancy seeing you here. How’s light-duty going?” Maloney recognises him immediately, and before I even blink, Maloney has taken to the path and is shaking his hand.
“You know. Being shot in the arse isn’t as bad as desk duty.” Dodger laughs. So does Maloney.
I stand from the swing and wait at the top of the stairs. Linda walks in front, Maloney and Dodger following behind, muttering among themselves.
“Where were you?” I mouth to Linda.
Linda just nods and continues to walk right past me.
“Hi, mate. Dusty McQuill. Everyone calls me Dodger though. Linda’s told me a lot about you and your wife.” He holds out his hand. I hesitate to take it in mine.
“So, what are you doing here?” Maloney says as Dusty steps back from the top step to the middle one, letting go of my hand.
“Unofficial business.” He points to the casual attire he’s wearing—denim knee-length shorts and a surf-branded T-shirt that reads Surf Tide. “Max, this is my latest squeeze, Linda.” He shifts his pointer finger towards Linda. Dusty’s so relaxed and causal in both body language and the way he's socialising; it gives the impression we’re at a staff Christmas party, about to have a few drinks and dinner.
The front door flies open, and when I twist on my heel, I see West holding a piece of white photographic paper out in front of him. It’s a big piece, A4-sized.
“Reid, fingerprints have come back from Morgan’s vehicle. They found a print on the busted tyre inside Morgan’s boot. Do you know a Winston Sampson?”
I think hard and mutter his name, “Winston Sampson? No. I’ve never heard of him.”