Fatal Liaison (10 page)

Greg dropped back into the chair. Agitation continued to tweak at
his muscles. A tic that he hadn’t suffered from for some time surfaced under
his left eye.

“First of all… Greg…?” The younger detective paused.

Greg nodded, willing him to continue, indifferent to the drop in
formality.

“Do you know or have you ever heard of a Linda Nichols?”

“Linda Nichols? Not that I can recall. Who is she? What does she
have to do with Sam?”

The sergeant – whose name had passed over Greg way back – took over.
“Linda Nichols was a client of Dinner for Twelve.”

Greg leaned forward, eager for information. “Does this Linda know
where Sam might be?”

The sergeant shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, Linda Nichols was
found murdered late yesterday afternoon.”

Greg’s jaw dropped.

The sergeant continued. “At this stage we don’t think there is any
link between this woman’s death and your sister’s disappearance.”

“Murder?” spluttered Greg. “How could my sister’s disappearance
possibly be linked to a murdered woman? Where was this Linda woman’s body
found?”

“I’m sure you’re right, but we do have to investigate every
possibility. Linda Nichols was discovered dead at home in her bed.”

“Well, there you go then. Sam is definitely not dead in her bed.
I’ve checked.” He stared at the detectives, the set of his face defiant. “It’s
just a coincidence that this woman and Sam both belonged to that dating
agency,” he added, more in an effort to convince himself than them. “Tell me
something: was this woman raped? Did she suffer?” He didn’t know why he needed
to know this; he just knew he did.

The sergeant hesitated as if weighing up how much or how little he
should divulge. “There are some indications she may have been sexually
assaulted, but at this stage findings are inconclusive.”

It wasn’t until after the police officers had left and he was alone
that the real significance of their visit hit home. Despite what they told him,
they were obviously not completely convinced that the Dinner for Twelve link
was a coincidence.

Emotionally drained, and with the synapses in his brain misfiring,
he could no longer think straight. In the state he was in, he was of no use to
anyone. It’d all be clearer tomorrow.

The dry acrid taste in Greg’s mouth reminded him he hadn’t had
anything to drink since arriving home the previous night. Dehydration didn’t
help brain function.

On the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, he noticed the
answering machine’s green message light flashing. He didn’t need to play it to
know it would be his mother. Realizing he could no longer fob her off with
flimsy excuses, he resolved to drive up the next morning and talk to her in
person. She’d every right to hear what was going on. And as fragile as her
health was, he also understood his mother was much stronger than he actually
gave her credence for.

That night, Greg did something he hadn’t done since he was a
schoolboy in short pants. He knelt beside his bed, bowed his head, and prayed.

Megan checked her
watch. Less than two hours before she was due to meet Joe for the dinner that
had never eventuated on Saturday night. What with Brenda springing the news
about Linda Nichol’s murder over the phone and then coming around, Megan had
clean forgotten what day it was, let alone the time.

Poor Joe. How long must he have sat in that restaurant, alone and
feeling conspicuous, waiting for Megan to turn up? His voice, when he did
succumb to phoning her, had been aloof and tightly controlled. She’d apologized
profusely, explaining briefly what had happened and promising to call and
reschedule dinner for another night. Tonight was that night.

That’s if she ever got away from work. Part way through vetting a
stack of curriculum vitaes, her mobile phone buzzed. Glancing at the caller ID,
she finished the notation she was scribbling in the margin. For a split-second,
she considered not picking up. Brenda’s behavior of late had been peculiar – to
say the least. For most of the last three days, she'd been unreachable, then
when Megan had managed to get through, Brenda would giggle maniacally one
moment, sob the next. Something was eating at her, but no amount of coaxing,
cajoling or outright bullying from Megan had persuaded her to open up. One
thing for sure though, Lawson was involved. Somehow.

As she pressed the talk button, she had a premonition Brenda’s call
wasn’t social. With a horrible sense of déjà vu, Megan listened to Brenda’s
breathless voice.

“Oh my God, Megan! Oh my God!”

Megan leapt from her chair, the mobile phone still pressed to her
ear. She reached her office door in a flash and pushed it to, shutting out the
rest of the office and cloistering herself in the claustrophobic shoebox of
workspace called her office.

Brenda continued to gabble as Megan stepped behind her desk,
reclaiming her chair.

“Brenda, stop. What on earth are you talking about? You’re not
making any sense. What about Lawson? Start again. Slowly.”

Megan waited patiently, listening to Brenda’s labored breathing as
she fought to regain her composure.

“Lawson…” Brenda croaked and started again. “The police have taken
Lawson in for questioning. Oh God, what if they think he did it?” The tone of
her voice suddenly switched from distraught to accusatory. “You didn’t tell the
police what I told you, did you? Please say you didn’t.”

Megan wavered. “If you’re talking about Lawson and Linda leaving the
function around the same time how could I not tell them? But, Brenda, if
Lawson’s done nothing wrong, he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Oh God. Do you know what you’ve done? They’ll think he was lying,
that I was trying to cover for him. How could you?”

“Listen to yourself, Brenda. This is not like you. What’s this
obsession with Lawson? How can you be so sure he isn’t involved? If he’s lied
to the police, what’s to say he hasn’t lied to you?”

“You don’t understand—”

“Make me understand. Please, Brenda, I want to help, but you have to
tell me what’s going on. What aren’t you telling me?” Megan’s best friend was
falling apart and unless she could convince Brenda to confide in her, she was
powerless to help. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I could sure do with a
drink about now. How about we meet at The Atrium? Don’t worry, everything will
be okay, it’ll sort itself out.”

After Megan secured an agreement from Brenda to meet and then hung
up, she remembered her dinner date with Joe. Could Joe possibly forgive her a
second time? She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t – even nice guys had a
breaking point. But, as she told herself, she’d only known Joe five minutes,
whereas she and Brenda had been good friends for half a lifetime. No question,
Brenda came first.

Joe must have guessed the reason for Megan’s call. After the initial
hello, he remained silent waiting for Megan to fill the void that hung between
them. In an effort to assuage her guilt at standing him up yet again, she
blathered on, disclosing far more information than she ever intended. He didn’t
interrupt, waiting until she ran out of air before taking his turn.

“Megan, if what you’ve just told me is true, Brenda could be in
serious trouble. You’re saying that this Lawson character was involved with the
missing woman and…” he paused, drawing out the last word, before repeating it.
“And he was involved with the woman who’s turned up murdered.”

Megan heard him take deep breath.

“On top of that,” he continued, “you tell me she hasn’t exactly been
forthcoming with the police. Lawson probably hasn’t been either. Are you really
all that surprised the police have taken Lawson in for questioning?”

Hearing someone else voice her own thoughts just reinforced what her
instincts had been telling her all along. If Joe and she could see it, why couldn’t
Brenda? Surely, Brenda hadn’t been blindsided by Lawson’s shy and retiring
veneer.

Joe’s voice broke into her thoughts. “If you think it would help, I
have a friend who’s a lawyer. He’s very good and if anyone can help Lawson, he
can.”

His offer of help took Megan aback for a moment. Why would she want
to help Lawson? In her mind, she’d already branded Lawson a cold-blooded
murderer and, if that was the case, the last thing anyone needed was some
hotshot lawyer bailing him out. But then again she had no evidence – only a
feeling – to back up her judgment.

“You know,” he said, “it’s innocent until proven guilty, not the
other way around.”

He was right, of course. But jumping to conclusions had always been
her forte. “Let me talk to Brenda and then I’ll get back to you. Can I call you
on this number tonight?” A low chuckle at the other end of the line reminded
Megan why she’d phoned Joe in the first place. “Oh sorry, Joe. I’ll make it up
to you, I promise.”

That’s if we ever do get together, she thought as she said her
goodbyes and hung up. Maybe she was destined to remain single all her life
because, sure as hell, fate seemed to be conspiring against her. Events beyond
her control had twice now thwarted any chance of a relationship with Joe
getting off the ground. Maybe it was for the best. He almost seemed to be too
good to be true, anyway.

With no time to dwell on her love life, or rather lack thereof, she
gathered up the papers on her desk and shoved them into the cabinet behind her.
It took her less than a minute to lock the cabinet, shut down her computer, and
grab her coat and handbag.

Exiting the lift on the ground floor, she hurried across the foyer
and out through the revolving doors on to the footpath. Although technically
still daytime, dark clouds shrouding the city made it feel later than it
actually was. Buttoning up her coat as she ran, Megan headed for the throng of
people waiting impatiently on the corner for the traffic lights to change to
green.

By the time she’d traversed town, reached Collins Place and ridden
the lift to the 35th floor, she was more than ready to collapse into one of The
Atrium’s tub chairs. First she had to find Brenda.

With the muted lighting, it took her eyes a few moments to pick out
Brenda’s profile. She sat at one of the tables near the piano, overlooking the
concourse. Megan hobbled towards her, each step she took sending sharp pain
shooting through the balls of her feet, reminding her that whilst stilettos
might look the part they weren’t designed as walking shoes.

She reached the table and with a huge sigh of relief dropped down
into the chair opposite Brenda. The temptation to slip her shoes off under the
table was almost too much.

One look at Brenda’s face soon made her forget she even had feet.
“Brenda, don’t take this personally, but you look like shit.”

Brenda peered out from under half-closed eyelids her lips twitching
in a limp smile. “Thanks.”

“No, seriously, you look like death warmed up. Are you all right?
Should you be home in bed?”

“I haven’t been sleeping…” Brenda picked up the wine bottle and
nodded towards the unused wine glass in the table centre. “Care to join me?”

Megan nodded, studying Brenda’s face as she concentrated on pouring
the wine. Brenda’s complexion, pale at the best of times, appeared almost
transparent in the low light. Her eyes, glassy and sunk in shadows, lacked
their usual vitality.

Megan reached forward and lightly touched the back of Brenda’s hand.
It felt cold. Brenda lifted her eyes, meeting and holding Megan’s gaze with an
imploring stare. That look alone was enough to tell Megan she’d underestimated
the situation’s gravity. No question, murder was a serious matter in anyone’s
books, but Brenda seemed to be more distressed about Lawson’s welfare than the
fact that a woman who Lawson had been associated with was lying in the morgue.

What was Lawson to Brenda? Was it possible to develop such a strong
bond in such a short time? Anything was possible, Megan supposed. However, to
help she needed to understand, and to understand, she needed to get inside
Brenda’s head.

Her voice low and steady, Megan summoned up her counseling training,
rusty as it was. “Do you think it would help to talk about it?”

Brenda shrugged. “I don’t see how.”

“A trouble shared? What is it about Lawson?”

“Lawson? He understands me. He knows what it’s like.”

Leaning forward, Megan gave a reassuring nod.

“He lost his parents to a car crash when he was a kid, too. We’re
both abandoned children.” Tears welled in Brenda’s eyes. “No one wanted him.
They just kept shuttling him from foster home to foster home.”

Megan squeezed Brenda’s hand. Even though Brenda rarely spoke about
her upbringing, Megan was aware Brenda’s mother had died in a car accident when
Brenda was just a toddler. Her father unable to cope with the grief of losing
his wife had then spiraled into a deep depression culminating in his suicide on
the first anniversary of his wife’s death. Her aunt, her mother’s sister, had
stepped in and raised her.

“He knows me.” Brenda tapped her chest. “He knows me in here. Things
I’ve kept to myself for years, I can tell him. He understands in a way nobody
else ever could.”