The Game You Played (35 page)

I stopped her. “No. That’s not why I went there.”

“Look, it’s understandable you were angry,” she continued, as though I hadn’t spoken. “And then when you confronted her about sleeping with Luke, things got heavy fast, didn’t they?”

“You think I hurt Pria?” I breathed. “You think
I’m
the reason there’s blood everywhere in the bathroom upstairs?”

“So it
is
Pria’s blood?” she said.

“I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Why do you keep asking me? She wasn’t there when I went to the house. And neither were Jessie or Luke.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “God, please don’t let it be Jessie.”

“We were able to gain access to Jessie’s health records online,” said Trent. “It’s not Jessie’s.”

“Thank you,” I mouthed at him

The questions paused for a moment while I closed my eyes, grateful to know the blood didn’t belong to her. Tommy’s blood had already been spilled months ago—it couldn’t be his.

“Are you and Bernice lovers?” Annabelle fired at me then.

“What?” My eyes shot open.

“Our team found sex play gear and marijuana at the house you and Bernice have been frequenting,” she told me.

“What you found is Bernice’s
disguises
. Apparently, she dresses as a man so she can walk the streets at night in relative safety. And so that people don’t know it’s her going through their trash. I knew nothing about all that until tonight. And I haven’t been frequenting number 29.”

Annabelle and Trent exchanged looks.

“Then why did you and Saskia choose to go there after you left Greensthorne?” asked Trent.

“Because I found something belonging to Tommy there—days ago. A piece of his nightlight. Except, it didn’t end up being from his nightlight. It belongs to another version of it. Slightly different.” Taking the boat from my pocket, I placed it on the table.

Annabelle creased her face in a cynical expression, not even bothering to look at the boat. “Sorry, but I’m not following. What does it matter? You found a piece of a kids’ toy that was similar to your kid’s toy?”

“Yes. But the nightlight was expensive. And limited, numbered edition. There isn’t going to be bits of them everywhere. They’re not McDonald’s toys.”

“Let’s move on from the nightlight.” Trent seemed impatient while trying hard to appear to be the opposite. If it was true that police worked in good cop/bad cop pairs, then he was making an attempt at being the good one.

“No,” I said unwilling to let it go. “You can go to the toy store and find out who bought the last one they had, six months ago. This person lives on our street, but I don’t know their name. But you can find that out. You’re the police”

“How do you know all that?” Annabelle frowned at me.

I couldn’t tell them Sass had been impersonating a police officer. “It’s not important.”

“Leave it for us to decide what’s important,” Annabelle told me.

“Okay, then we’ll make a deal,” I said boldly. “You listen to what I have to say, and I’ll answer your questions.” I needed them to know what I knew. Urgently. So far, they hadn’t given me a chance to explain myself.

Detective Gilroy nodded. “All right, Phoebe, what do you want to tell us?”

“I have reason to believe that the abductor of my son is Pria Seville.”

“You told us that when we first brought you in,” he said. “But we have no reason to believe that she is.”

“Because you’re not listening to me.” I clasped and unclasped my hands, not knowing where to put them, a desire to
run
increasing inside me. “There’s a toy room upstairs in her house. It’s been locked all year. She told Jessie that she’d bought a puppy to help guard the house, but that the puppy was too aggressive and needed to be taught how to behave before Jessie could meet it. But Jessie never got to meet it. And when Bernice and I went up there, there’s no sign of a dog ever having been there. In fact, there’s nothing in there at all. But Bernice found a toddler-sized handprint high up on the wall.”

The cynical look hadn’t shifted from Detective Yarris’s face. “You and Pria were friends. Even if it was Tommy’s print, he could have been in that room before.”

“The room’s been totally renovated since he’s been in there. And besides, it smells of cleaning liquid, like it’s all been thoroughly cleaned recently.”

“Understandable if she had a dog in there,” said Annabelle.

“Who would keep a dog locked in a room for six months?” I shot back.

“We don’t know if this is even true.” Annabelle tapped her pen on the table, obviously not liking the direction the conversation had taken. “Is the handprint clear?”

“It’s smudged,” I said.

She sighed, sounding annoyed. “So, we can’t use it. Is this all you wanted to tell us?”

“No, there’s more. I remembered something. Late last year, I was visiting Pria with Tommy. We were playing hide-and-seek. All of us—Jessie too. A pile of books and stationery crashed to the floor in Pria’s office. I assumed Tommy did it, even though it would have been hard for him to reach that high. I didn’t think about it at the time. Anyway, I helped her pick it all up. There were some loose sheets of paper and envelopes. They were blue. I touched them when I put them back on the desk.”

I noted a vague interest in Trent’s eyes. “You’re saying this stationery was the same as that used in the kidnapper letters?”

“Yes. I’m certain.”

Detective Yarris shook her head, a slight alarm in her eyes at the turn the conversation had taken. “Why wouldn’t you have told us that before?”

“It was one of those tiny things,” I said, “that you forget almost as soon as they happen. And it was a long time ago. November last year. I didn’t connect it until I was back in her office again.”

“Did you find that stationery tonight? In Pria’s office?” asked Trent.

“No. Maybe she threw it away.”

“That gives us nothing to go on.” Annabelle rubbed her forehead. “Okay, well, if that’s all you have to tell us, then—”

“There’s something else.” A secret that I could no longer keep. That I should never have kept.

“Go ahead,” said Trent.

“This was years ago,” I started.

“Then how is it relevant?” Annabelle raised her eyebrows, glancing at Trent with a weary expression. She wanted him to tell me my time was up. No more of me having free time to speak.

“It could be,” I told her quickly. “I know how Grace Clark died.”

My words got their attention, but neither of them seemed to recognise the name. No one remembered the poor woman. Not even the police.

“She died in number 29,” I said. “About thirteen years ago. Fell through the stairs onto the floor below. A homeless lady.”

“I wasn’t working here then,” said Annabelle. “Hell, I wasn’t even a police officer, actually.”

“I was here,” said Trent, looking deeply engaged in thought. “The stairs had been purposely cut.”

“Yes, they were. And me, Pria, Luke, Saskia, Kate, and Bernice were all there.”

“You what? You were there in the house when Grace died?” Detective Gilroy’s eyes widened, and he waited for me to continue.

“Yes, we were. We’d been drinking. The usual teenage stuff. Luke and I went upstairs to hook up. We heard an alarm clock go off in one of the other rooms. We went to check, and what we found”—I sucked in a breath, remembering the terrible smell yet again—“was a circle of dead rats on the floor, surrounding the clock. Each one with a knife in its belly.”

Neither Annabelle nor Trent was interrupting me with questions now.

“Luke was angry. He grabbed a knife from one of the rats and charged out into the hall. Unfortunately, the lady—Grace—came running out of the middle bedroom then. We didn’t even know she was there. The alarm clock must have woken her. She saw Luke with the knife, and she ran away from us. Onto the stairs. That’s when they collapsed.”

Trent scratched his temple—a distracted, thinking gesture. “What happened to the rats?”

“Luke’s mother came and cleaned it all up.”

He blew out a long breath. “She was the one who reported hearing something next door at number 29. Bloody hell. All of you kept this a secret all this time.”

“Yes,” I said, watching both their faces.

“So, how does Pria come into this?” Annabelle’s tone had changed, but I couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

“Someone had to be underneath the stairs, waiting to collapse the ladders that held up the stairs. We were sure it was Bernice at the time. But we were too scared to tell the police anything. But tonight, we watched an old video. The camera had been running at the time. The video shows it was Pria who was the one who went into the space under the stairs, the second before the stairs collapsed.”

“Why didn’t you watch the video before?” Annabelle’s eyes sharpened.

“It was a shocking thing, what happened to the woman. Things happened so fast after she died that all of us forgot the camera. Luke’s mother put it away when she came in and cleaned up. She destroyed the tape that was in the camera, but the camera films on its on-board memory when the tape is full or when there’s no tape. The video was still there.”

Trent and Annabelle exchanged glances again.

He turned his face to me. “Where’s the camera now?”

“It’s still upstairs, in a room at number 29.”

“Why would Pria cut the stairs, though?” he asked. “And how? It’s a pretty impressive feat—cutting the stairs and concealing the cuts, and at the same time making sure the stairs were stable enough to walk on.”

“I’m not sure. Pria’s father made furniture from tree logs. A hobby. She used to help him. I don’t know why she cut up the stairs, though. I always assumed that Bernice did it because she liked Luke or something and wanted to hurt me.”

“Damn,” said Trent. “Was that the reason you thought Bernice had a grudge against you? You know back when I asked you who could be writing the letters? You named Bernice, but wouldn’t tell me why.”

“Yes, that’s why. But we found out tonight that it wasn’t her.”

Detective Yarris studied my face. “Do you have anything else? Anything else you remembered?”

Trent seemed surprised at her question.

When Annabelle noticed his confusion, she took a quick breath in and out. “I’m feeling like we’ve been looking at the tip of an iceberg in this case all along,” she told him. “I’m happy to go and bring in the camera—if it really exists. And run a check on the nightlight tomorrow.”

He still seemed hesitant when he nodded. I wondered if because he’d been on my side all along, when all evidence had ended up pointing to me as Tommy’s killer, he’d grown especially hard against me.

“Thank you,” I breathed. “There’s probably lots more I could tell you, but my head isn’t working properly. Because of the sleeping pills I took. For what it’s worth, I found this in Pria’s office, but it’s just a drawing.” Pulling out the folded pencil sketch of the mountain, I pushed it across to them.

Frowning, Annabelle unfolded the large piece of paper.

Trent bent his head over it. “Yeah, that’s not telling us any—”

“Wait.” Annabelle traced a finger over the words,
sanctuary, eden
, and
refuge
. “Those mean something if you’re into sailing yachts down to Victoria. Those are all stops along the way. Sanctuary Point. Eden. And Refuge Cove. People stop at those because they’re beautiful. And safe.
Ab ovo
I don’t know about. I’m not saying that’s what these are, but . . .”

I gaped at her. “I know where Eden is. Not far from where Luke’s parents have a holiday house. But I’ve never sailed that far with Luke. I get seasick. But he’s been with his father a few times.”

“My husband’s parents are yachties,” she said. “I made the trip once with them down to Victoria. Never again. I’d rather drive it.”

Trent pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. “Hmmm,
Ab ovo
. . . doesn’t look like it’s a place anywhere in Australia. Lemme look up the dictionary meaning. Okay, it’s
something, something
about Helen of Troy and an egg. Apparently it means new beginnings.” He raised his eyes to Annabelle. “So, where are the other two places?”

“From Sydney, Sanctuary Point is the first, Eden the second,” Annabelle told him. “The third one on that list is Refuge Cove. But it’s way past Eden. It’s on the southernmost tip of Victoria.”

“Hell of a long way down,” agreed Trent. “If that’s your last port of call, where would you be headed?”

“The Bass Strait,” said Annabelle simply, staring down at the picture. “That’s if you were headed out to sea. Next port of call, Tasmania.” Her forehead pulled into a frown. “Unless you’re stopping at one of the islands along the way. There’s quite a few. There’s about three hundred kilometres between the mainland and Tasmania.”

God, where were they and where were they headed? Beyond Tasmania, there was only Antarctica. Tasmania was a relatively small island compared to the open vastness of Australia, but there were still too many places they could hide.