The Investigator (3 page)

“All right, so you haven’t had any contact for a few weeks.” He shrugged. “Maybe she went on a holiday? Have you called Commander Watson?”

Fury erupted behind her eyes in the seconds before they skirted away from his. Her voice was colder than a winter evening in the Snowy Mountains. “She would have told me—and yes, I called but he didn’t answer.”

She was lying.
He was sure of it. Riley stared at her, trying to work it out—trying to work
her
out.

He kept his tone light. “You live ten thousand miles away. Why would she tell you if she’s going on a holiday? Maybe they’ve gone away together? That would explain why the commander didn’t answer.”

Her jaw tensed. A pulse played a rapid staccato beneath the pale skin of her neck. When she spoke again, her voice vibrated with anger.

“She has
not
gone away on a holiday.”

Riley held her gaze, unperturbed, probing with his eyes. “How can you be so sure? Maybe she’s gone skiing? I’ve heard they’ve had record snow falls down at Thredbo.”

The woman leaped up, knocking her chair over. Her hands had tightened into fists. She paced, her steps jerky—anger and frustration radiating from her tense form. When she turned to face him, her eyes blazed.

“You’re not
listening.
I already
told
you. She has
not
gone on a holiday. And definitely not snow skiing. For God’s sake, she’s in a
wheelchair.
”

* * *

Kate felt a moment’s satisfaction when the detective’s mouth fell open. It gaped for a few moments before realization took hold and he snapped it closed. The look on his face was almost comical. Almost. If things had been different, she might even have laughed.

But they weren’t. Her mother was missing and the more she thought about it, the heavier the fear that resided deep down inside her grew. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. It wasn’t like her mother to stop contacting her. And then there was that last email…

Before the guilt of it overwhelmed her, Kate forced her attention back to the detective. With a steadying breath, she leveled him with a look, pleased when her voice came out close to normal.

“So, Detective. Are you prepared to sit there and hear me out or do I have to go and get completely riled up all over again?”

A dark stain inched up his neck.

“I’m sorry, Miss Collins, truly, I am. You might have made mention of the fact your mother was in a wheelchair a little earlier.”

It was the second time he’d apologized in almost as many minutes. More than he was likely used to. She should probably go a little easier on him. After all, she could have offered the information about her mother’s incapacity at the outset. Besides, she needed his help.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, too. I—I’m upset and worried and…right now, all I want you to do is listen to me and then tell me what you’re going to do about finding her. Deal?”

She held out her hand, concentrating with fierce determination to keep it steady. The piercing look he shot her was disconcerting. It was the same look he’d given her when they’d met. It took all her willpower not to look away. Again. She almost collapsed in relief when he shook the proffered hand.

“Deal. Provided you agree not to withhold any further information I might consider important.”

His hand was warm and strong, engulfing hers. Nerves jangled in her stomach, like the fluttering of a thousand butterflies—nerves that had nothing to do with her being inside the belly of the police station.

Seemingly undisturbed, he dropped his gaze to the notepad in front of him. She picked up the overturned chair and sat back down.

“My mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when she was twenty-eight,” she informed him. “Four years later, she was confined to a wheelchair.”

He looked up in surprise. “She was in a wheelchair when she met the commander?”

“Yes. She was thirty-six when we moved to Watervale. She wanted to get out of the city, away from the memories of my father.” Kate looked away. Her voice lowered. “Or so she said. I was only a child.”

“How did she meet the commander?”

Keeping her gaze fixed on his notepad, she answered with a shrug. “I don’t know. No one ever told me and I never asked. All I remember is, it seemed like only a short time between living in the rented house on Sunnyside Lane and moving into
his
house on Baxter Road.”

The detective drilled her with his stare. Kate’s breath caught and she wondered if he’d picked up something in her tone. After a few moments of silent scrutiny, he looked down again at his notes and she swallowed a silent sigh of relief.

“What kind of a relationship does your mother have with the commander? Twenty years is a long time. They’ve obviously made it work.”

A barrage of words fought for airtime. Kate gritted her teeth and strove for casual nonchalance. “I really don’t know what kind of relationship they have. As I said, I was only four when they married and I left Watervale ten years ago.”

“Come on, Miss Collins. You must have some idea. I assume you lived with them until you were fourteen or so? Even a self-absorbed teenager notices something about the way her parents interact.”

“Don’t call him that. He’s never been
my
parent.”

The words were out before she could stop them. Curiosity lit the dark depths of his eyes. She concentrated with fierce determination on the gray and pale blue geometrical pattern woven into the navy carpet and did her best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

“What kind of relationship do
you
have with the commander?”

Her head snapped up. The question was even deadlier for its gentle delivery. She met his unwavering stare.

“I fail to see how the question has any relevance whatsoever to your investigation, Detective. It’s
their
relationship you ought to be examining. I’ve already told you what I think.” She shook her head, feigning disinterest. “Really, didn’t they teach you
anything
in detective school? It’s quite obvious you never learned to
listen
.”

His eyes glittered with anger and Kate wondered if she’d gone too far. He leaned forward, his bearing now intimidating.

“Oh, I’ve listened plenty, Miss Collins and all I’m hearing is a load of bullshit about a mother who supposedly hasn’t bothered to contact you in the last little while and a transparent bid—for reasons I’ve yet to determine—to implicate one of the town’s finest in some unthinkable act. You’re not a very good liar, Blondie. I damn well know you haven’t bothered to call your stepfather.”

She tensed and her fingernails bit into the softness of her palms.
How had she given herself away?

“What did he do to you?” he sneered. “Grounded you once too often? Cut off your allowance?” His gaze raked over her. “I can just imagine what a handful you would have been. Is that why you’re here to accuse him of homicide?”

The detective pushed back his chair and stood, towering above her. He bent over the desk, his face inches from hers.

His voice lowered. “That
is
what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it? That Darryl Watson, Watervale’s longest-serving Police Commander, has murdered your mother?”

Kate held his stare, refusing to be intimidated. She’d come this far. She’d be damned if she’d let some macho, misogynist detective deter her now. If he wouldn’t help her, she’d find someone who would.

Cold steel lined her backbone and roughened her voice. “If that’s the way you really feel, Detective Munro, then I suggest we end this interview right now. I need to find someone who’s prepared to listen to what I have to say.
I’m
not the perpetrator here. Apparently you don’t believe that.”

The legs of her chair slid easily along the industrial carpet as she pushed away from the desk. She collected her handbag and pulled her coat tighter around her.

He watched her without comment, his face implacable. Debilitating despair weighed heavily in her limbs. She couldn’t believe it had all been for nothing. She hid her shaking hands in the pockets of her coat, unwilling to let him witness another instant of her distress. With her shoulders taut and head held high, she walked toward the door without a backward glance.

His voice reached her halfway across the room. “I’ll track down Commander Watson in the morning. I’m sure he’ll be able to sort this out.”

She barely broke stride. With her lips compressed against the pain, she left the room and made her way to the top of the staircase and started down.

* * *

Riley stared after her, frowning. Damned if he knew what was going on, but she was definitely hiding something. He hadn’t been a cop for nearly a decade without picking up a few tips, despite what the woman thought. She was a bundle of inconsistencies. And it was obvious she knew far more than she wanted him to believe.

By her own admission, she’d lived with the Watsons for ten years and had kept in regular contact with her mother after she left. He didn’t buy for a second that she wouldn’t know how it had been between the two of them. Especially being a woman.

Having two sisters, Riley knew firsthand how intuitive women could be. He’d never been able to keep anything secret from either of them. Except the one he’d been carrying around for the last three months. The one he’d managed to hide from everyone—even his twin. As far as his family knew, he’d been the one to request the transfer.

Familiar feelings of anger and disappointment permeated his bloodstream. Riley scrunched his eyes up in an effort to ward them off and focused instead on the woman who’d just left. The woman who looked like a million dollars, but every now and then let her guard down and spoke like a tramp. The woman who obviously had secrets of her own.

She had all the trappings of a well-educated, successful, intelligent woman, yet she hadn’t called the commander. He’d bet his house on it. There was something about the way she’d stared at him when she’d answered, as if willing him to believe her. It might have worked on a rookie, or someone less observant, but not on him.

And her story just didn’t make sense. No one went to the police before they’d done the most basic of enquires. Calling her stepfather, the person in the best position to know her mother’s whereabouts, was a no-brainer.

It’s what he would do. It’s what anyone would do. Pick up the phone and call. But she hadn’t. She’d flown halfway across the world and still hadn’t contacted her stepfather.

His frown deepened. He doodled on his notepad, giving his thoughts freedom to roam. What was it with her and Darryl Watson? Riley hadn’t been in town long enough to meet the retired officer, but you didn’t get to be the Local Area Commander—or the LAC as they were known—for a quarter of a century and have your picture hung from an impressive gold frame smack bang in the middle of the main wall of the reception area if you weren’t looked upon well.

Maybe she was jealous? It wasn’t unusual for kids to feel like the spare wheel when a parent remarried. Perhaps she’d spent her childhood feeling left out and harbored some sort of grievance against him? Maybe she’d left home in a fit of teenage rebellion over some slight—real or imagined—and it had never been resolved? She’d admitted she hadn’t been back to Watervale since she’d left.

If she’d run away at fourteen, there was every possibility there’d been some kind of falling out. It didn’t necessarily indicate fault on the part of her parents. Teenagers ran away from home all the time. Most stayed away for only a week or two, but not all of them.

CHAPTER 3

Kate
pulled the pins out of her hair and tugged at the elastic. The tight bun was released and she sighed. Her hair fell in a cascade across her shoulders. Tossing the accessories onto the top of the cracked Formica vanity, she braced her arms on either side of the stained sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Tired, pallid skin shone sickly under the cheap fluorescent light. Dark smudges bruised the delicate skin under her eyes, emphasizing her fatigue. She hadn’t slept properly since the last email she’d received from her mother.

At the thought of her mother, she squeezed her eyes shut. Despite the physical distance between them, over the years since she’d left, they’d renewed and strengthened the bond that had always been there between them. It may have been weakened during the last decade her mother had lived with Darryl, but even he hadn’t been able to sever it.

Whilst Kate had never found the nerve to tell her mother the truth about her abrupt departure, Rosemary had finally accepted her explanation and, over the ensuing years, they’d formed a closeness once again.

Kate hadn’t been lying when she told the detective she communicated with her mother on a daily basis. Living so far away, and knowing what her mother’s husband was capable of, Kate had felt an even greater need to stay in contact. To check on her.

Not that the man’s evilness had ever extended toward her mother. At least, not that Kate was aware, but it hadn’t completely alleviated the guilt that had surrounded her every time she thought of leaving her mother behind.

Rosemary had suffered one blow after another. Kate’s father had died not long after she’d been born, leaving her mother alone and almost penniless. The multiple sclerosis had struck her down in her prime, robbing her of her youth. Then, Darryl had appeared on the scene.

To Kate’s mother, he’d been a knight in shining armor, rescuing her from the harsh knocks life had dealt her. She’d found someone who loved her, cherished her and wanted to protect her from the challenges that had been thrown her way. Outwardly, he’d even loved her daughter.

Kate’s heart thumped hard at the memory. Familiar fear coiled deep inside her, ready to strike the moment she paid it heed. She didn’t blame her mother for not knowing the truth. Rosemary’s handicap forced her to live downstairs. She was clueless to what went on above her after dark and Kate had loved her too much to share her pain.

Scrubbing at her eyes in an effort to banish the images that lurked behind them, Kate turned on the faucets and splashed water over her face. Blinking droplets from her eyes, she pressed a towel against her skin and breathed in its clean, lemony smell. In contrast to the overall dinginess of the motel room, the blindingly white bath towel was soft and luxurious.