Bitter Nothings (24 page)

“Someone you know?” Sophie asked after Dervla rang off.

“John Bailey, the reporter.”

“I meant her,” Sophie said, nodding at the notepad.

“Sorry. No, no one I know. Someone Dad knew – intimately if my hunch is right. Fancy a drive to Healesville?”

Sophie’s head jerked back. “Now?”

“Why not? I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Don’t you think you should at least phone first and make sure she’s at home? You don’t want a wasted trip. Healesville isn’t exactly just round the corner.”

Dervla shook her head. “I’ll risk it.”

CHAPTER 35

With Sophie in the passenger seat navigating, it took them fifty minutes to reach Coldstream in Melbourne’s outer east. Continuing along the Maroondah Highway, they travelled through kilometer after kilometer of leafy vineyards and rolling farmland, the hilltops browning. More traffic was leaving the city than going the other way.

“You haven’t mentioned Martin,” Dervla said. “Does this mean he’s been behaving himself for a change?”

Sophie turned her head toward her side window.

“What’s happened? Talk to me.” Dervla’s gaze darted between her passenger and the road. “That’s what friends are for.”

“You have enough to worry about. You don’t need any more.”

“Let me be the one to decide that.”

Sophie glanced up. “Damn, we were supposed to turn right back there.”

Checking her rear-view mirror, Dervla flicked on her indicator and pulled to the side of the road. “Martin?” she prompted, while she waited for the traffic in both directions to clear.

“Martin’s an arsehole?”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Honestly, hon, there’s not much to tell.”

“Does he know about you and Nathan?”

“I had a drink with Nathan, that’s it. If you really want to know, all he could talk about was you. Actually, I found out more about your relationship in those few minutes than I have from you in the whole time we’ve been friends.”

Dervla felt a sharp pang in her chest. “What’s to tell? The past is the past.”

“You have to deal with it first.”

“I have. I’ve moved on with my life.”

“Right,” Sophie said. “That would explain why you’ve had no serious relationships since.”

“Excuse me? How did we get from talking about your problems with Martin, to my done and dusted relationship with Nathan?”

“That’s what friends are for,” Sophie said.

A gap in the traffic. Dervla grabbed it, completing the U-turn with only a second to spare as a truck laden with logs thundered down the hill.

Leaving the highway, they drove past high-fenced bushland on one side, open farmland on the other.

“Second on the left,” Sophie said.

Dervla turned into the road, reducing her speed for the narrow unsealed surface. A few minutes later, she pulled onto a grass verge. Through the copse of trees and shrubs fronting the road, she glimpsed a tin-roofed timber house.

Here goes nothing
, she thought, unclipping her seatbelt. “Coming?”

“I’ll wait here. It’s probably better you talk to her on your own. You don’t want to intimidate the woman.”

Dervla nodded. “Good thinking.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.” Sophie tilted her seat back and closed her eyes. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

Dervla followed the driveway in. Except for the gravel crunching underfoot, all was quiet. The air smelled faintly of lavender and horses. Two faded blue rocking chairs sat on the deck under the veranda, an eclectic collection of pots and plants adding to the cottagey feel.

In the next instant, a golden retriever bounded around the corner of the house, its legs and belly muddy and bedraggled, barking madly, its tail keeping tempo. Dervla stood stock-still. The dog’s tail wagged faster, so Dervla proffered the back of her hand.

A woman’s voice rang out. “Rosie!”

The dog tore off in the direction it’d come from. Rosie’s owner appeared at the other end of the deck, her flaming-red hair confirmation enough of Dervla’s hunch. Dressed in a green singlet top and long denim shorts, the woman looked to be in her early forties, older than Dervla had expected her to be from the photo. Her toned arms and legs suggested she worked hard to keep in shape.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, approaching.

“I hope so. I’m Warren’s daughter, Dervla.”

For a long moment, the woman said nothing, her expression more one of resignation than shock. “You’d better come in, then,” she said, finally.

Dervla followed her down the veranda to the front door. The dog stayed outside.

“Cass Marek, by the way,” the woman said, leading Dervla into a carpeted sitting area. “But of course, you probably already know that.”

Two claret-red couches flanked a box fireplace, the centerpiece an inlaid wooden chest that doubled as a coffee table. Cass motioned for Dervla to sit, then sat opposite.

“One of yours?” Dervla asked referring to the poster-sized monochrome photograph of what appeared to be a seed head on the wall behind Cass.

“Yes,” Cass said, hesitant. “You obviously know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

“Did Warren not talk about his family?”

“Not much, no.”

Dervla blushed, realizing too late that an adulterer didn’t discuss his wife and children with his mistress.

“I’m still not sure why you’re here,” Cass said.

That made two of them. “Someone sent compromising photos of you and my father to a reporter.”

Cass blanched. “A reporter?”

“Yes, fortunately – or unfortunately – he brought them to me.”

“Do you have these photos with you? Can I see them?”

From her handbag, Dervla withdrew the printed copies and handed them over.

Cass studied them for a few moments, her mouth tense. “Who else knows about these?” she asked, placing the photos face down on the chest.

“A friend and my brothers.” Dervla paused. “And the police.”

The blood drained from Cass’s face. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

Dervla leaned forward. “I had nothing to do with it, I swear. My older brother, Gabe, took the original photos without my knowledge. The police haven’t identified you as the woman.”

“Yet,” Cass said, voicing Dervla’s thought.

“Since they’re going to find out sooner or later, why don’t you take the initiative and contact them? Unless, of course, you have something to hide,” Dervla said, glancing around the room for evidence of a Mr Marek.

“I’m not particularly proud that I fell for a married man’s charms, but I have nothing to hide.” Cass’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Can I ask how long you and my father were involved? How did you meet?”

“Only a couple of months. We met when he commissioned me to do some photographic work for him. One thing led to another and, well, you know the rest.”

Her father’s camping weekends suddenly took on new meaning. “I assume he spent time here.”

Cass nodded. “When he could.”

“Did it never concern you that he had a wife and two young children at home who adored him?”

“To be honest, no. Not until I actually met Lucinda. Until then she was just a name.”

Dervla’s heart thudded. “Lucinda knew about you and Warren?”

“She turned up here one day out of the blue, demanding I stay away from her husband. That she was pregnant.” Cass wrung her hands. “That changed everything. I told your father I couldn’t see him anymore. I didn’t tell him why.”

“When was this?”

Cass’s throat moved up and down. “The week before the murders.”

“Around the time these photos were taken?”

“Just after.”

“You think Lucinda is responsible for these photos?”

“Who else?” Cass swallowed again. “I don’t blame her. She was only trying to protect her marriage.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you,” Dervla said, before she could stop herself.

Cass stood. “I’ve answered your questions. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Leaving the photos on the chest, Dervla rose from the couch. “Thank you for your time.” She drew a deep breath. “I can’t condone what you did, but I also realize that it wasn’t down to you alone.”

Eyes downcast, Cass showed Dervla to the door. The dog leapt to its feet, tail wagging, sitting down again on Cass’s command. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said and shut the door.

Back at the car, Sophie had the door open and her feet up on the dashboard. “That was quick.”

“Hmmn.” Dervla slipped into the driver’s seat and hooked the seatbelt. Something didn’t feel right. If only she knew what it was.

CHAPTER 36

An incessant ringing roused Dervla from a deep slumber, one she didn’t recall falling into. Daylight leaked around the bedroom blind. How long had she been asleep? Still wearing the clothes from the day before, she clambered off the bed and went to answer her phone.

“I thought you’d like to know that the woman in the photos has come forward,” Gabe said, when she picked up.

Good. One less thing to worry about. She dragged a hand through her hair. “Any news on Emmet’s bail hearing?”

“Not yet.”

“Nor the DNA on the sports towel, I suppose.”

“No.” He paused. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the woman Dad was having an affair with?”

“Yes, of course. Who is she?”

“Does the name Cassandra Marek mean anything to you?”

“No,” Dervla said, grateful that Gabe couldn’t see her expression. “Should it?”

“She’s a photographer. Apparently, they met when Dad hired her for some catalogue work.”

“Was it serious?”

“Not according to the Marek woman. If she’s to be believed, she ended the relationship.”

“Why did she end it?” Dervla asked, wondering if Cass had filled the police in on Lucinda’s visit.

“Don’t know. I wasn’t privy to that part.”

“Does she have an alibi?” Something Dervla hadn’t been game to ask her in person.

“Out of state on a calendar shoot, though that’s yet to be verified.”

The doorbell rang. “So,” she said, moving to answer it, “does this mean she is no longer ‘a person of interest’?” She opened the door, her jaw dropping at the sight of Harry standing on her doorstep. “I have to go,” she said to Gabe and hung up.

She stared at Harry, her emotions mixed.

He gave her a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head. “Can we talk?”

“I’m listening.”

“Inside would be preferable.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she swung the door wider. He stepped inside, the warm muskiness of his aftershave unsettling her as he brushed past. She followed him down the hall, her fingers checking her shirt buttons hadn’t come undone overnight.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the couch.

“Be my guest.” She waited until he was seated, then dropped into an armchair.

Harry’s gaze flicked between her face and the coffee table. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I suppose you’ve been wondering where I’ve been.”

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again after this, but first I’d like a chance to explain.”

She crossed her legs.

“When I was eighteen, I dumped my girlfriend for her best friend. It got nasty, with my ex threatening all manner of things. I didn’t take it seriously, and that’s where I went wrong.”

Dervla frowned. Where was he going with this?

“About six months after that, the police turned up on my doorstep with a warrant for my arrest.” He lowered his voice and gaze. “For rape.”

Rape?
Her breath caught in her throat. Had she heard right?

“She – my ex – alleged that I’d pushed my way into her home and forced her to have sex against her will. It was her word against mine.”

She touched her lips. “Are you saying the sex was consensual?”

He nodded. “She must’ve planned it all along. I was just too young and stupid to see it. The charges were eventually dismissed but not before she almost destroyed my life. Mud sticks.”

“I don’t get it,” Dervla said. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I wanted you to hear it from me first. I was told in no uncertain terms that associating with an accused – albeit innocent – rapist was not in your best interests. I suspect he had an ulterior motive.”

“Todd threatened you?” She didn’t know who to be madder with: Todd for using his position to blackmail Harry, or Harry for buckling.

“He’ll deny it, of course.”

That she believed. “So why did you come back?”

“Because you deserved an explanation and an apology. I’m sorry, Dervla. I wanted to do the right thing by you, but I realize taking off like that wasn’t it.” He stood and faced her. “I hope you can forgive me.”

His hips were level with her gaze. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t a matter of forgiveness; it was more about what and whom she could believe. “I’ll need some time.”

“I understand. You know where to find me. I’m staying at the same hotel.”

When she went to stand, he stopped her. “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

She breathed out, sinking back into her chair. One less awkward moment to deal with.

Half an hour after Harry left, she hadn’t moved, her thoughts still in a tug-of-war. Whom could she trust, if anyone? A high-ranking police detective, who’d stoop to dirty tactics for his own ends? Or her stepmother’s ex-husband, who’d not only as a teenager been accused – though not convicted – of rape, but had fled when threatened with exposure?

But he’d come back. That took a lot of courage.

The chime of the doorbell jarred her from her inertia, her muscles protesting as she pushed herself to her feet to go and answer it.

She opened the door. Dressed in a fifties-style pencil skirt and a jade-green silk blouse, her auburn hair pulled up in a smooth bun, Sophie looked the epitome of understated elegance. Quite the opposite of how Dervla felt with her mussed hair and creased clothes.

“If this is not a good time, I can come back later.” Sophie pulled a face.

Dervla laughed, the sound brittle. “Good times are in rather short supply around here at the moment, but I’d be glad of the company.”