The Investigator (5 page)

The man chuckled on the other end of the line. “I can’t rightly do that, sonny. I’m afraid she’s not here.”

Riley bit his lip, but continued. “Okay. When do you expect her home?”

“Well,” the amiable voice replied, “you might try calling back again in about three months.”

“Three months?”

“Yeah, she’s gone on a holiday.” Watson chuckled again. “Not any too soon, either. She sure did need a rest.”

Riley scribbled notes. “I see. Can you tell me where she’s gone? I understand she’s in a wheelchair.”

The amiability cooled slightly. “Who did you say you were again? Munro, was it? I don’t think I know you.”

“I arrived after you retired. I’ve been in town three months.”

“I see. A whippersnapper straight out of the Academy, I’ll bet. I’ve lost count of the number of fresh recruits that were sent out here for me to straighten out.”

Riley tensed at the insult. “I’ve been an officer for nearly a decade.”

“
Hmph.
” Watson dismissed Riley’s experience with a derisive grunt.

Refusing to allow the man to bait him further, Riley continued with his line of questioning.

“Your wife is unable to walk around unassisted, isn’t that the case?”

“Yes, Rosemary’s in a wheelchair. It doesn’t mean she’s housebound. She’s gone on a cruise. One of those round-the-world trips. It takes about four months. She left early in July.”

Riley’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? She was happy to go alone in a wheelchair?”

“The cruise line was very accommodating. They have special suites for disabled passengers. They couldn’t do enough for her.”

“Which cruise line is she traveling with?”

“Princess Cruises. ‘A Princess Cruise for a princess,’ that’s what I told her.”

Riley grimaced at the cliché, but forged on. “Did you use a travel agent?”

“Yes, we did. Rosemary wanted to book online—she’s a whiz on the Internet, but I don’t trust it. There’s no way I’m going to put my credit card details into a computer for who knows who to get hold of.

“I went to the local travel agency—the Thames. I booked the holiday for her myself. Rosemary thought it was good karma when she saw the name. It reminded her of Kathryn, her daughter. The girl lives in London, you know.”

“Yes, Kath—Kate told me that.”

“Kate now, is it? So, you’ve been talking to her? I guessed as much. Well, if you’re talking to her again, you must tell her I said hello and that I miss her. I haven’t seen her for years. I guess she thinks she’s too good for the likes of Watervale now that she’s a hotshot art dealer. It’s just like her to cause a stir the minute she arrives back in town.”

Riley ignored the comment. “She’s worried about her mother. She hasn’t heard from her for a month. I take it your wife has been in contact with you since she left?”

“Well, you see, it’s like this,” Watson explained. “The cell phone reception’s not real good on the ship and it’s hellishly expensive. Rosemary decided to leave her phone at home and take her laptop. The plan was that she’d Skype me, but the silly woman left it behind. It was on the kitchen counter when I returned from Sydney.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it sitting there. That thing’s practically an extension of her arm. But later on, when I was thinking about it, I figured she must have left it behind on purpose. She probably wanted to get away from it all. Enjoy the scenery in peace and quiet… You know what I mean?”

Riley stared thoughtfully at the notepad in front of him; he was perplexed. It sounded a little strange that a woman not only in a wheelchair, but traveling alone, would choose to leave without any means of communication, especially in this day and age, but maybe Darryl was right? Maybe his wife wanted to get away from it all? Maybe that’s why Kate hadn’t heard from her?

“Does that mean, you haven’t heard from her at all since she left?” he asked, wanting to be sure.

“That’s right, Detective. I haven’t. But I’m not worried about her. The girls at the travel agency assured me she’d be given the five-star treatment. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life. She always said she wanted to travel.”

“Where did she embark?”

“Sydney. I drove her down there myself. Took me most of the day and just as long to get back, but I didn’t mind. It’s the first real holiday she’s had in a long time.”

“Why didn’t you go with her?”

The question sat quietly between them. Riley waited for Watson to reply.

“It’s like this, sonny. I get seasick even thinking about boating. I’ve always been that way. But Rosemary, well, it’s about the only thing she really wanted to do. Go on a cruise. She’d heard from some of her friends that all they did was sit around and eat and take in the scenery and that suited her just fine.”

Still harboring a vague disquiet, but unable to think of anything else to say, Riley ended the call by asking Watson to let him know if his wife made contact and then he slowly replaced the receiver in its port.

Well, that was that. Rosemary Watson was on a holiday. A cruise. A four-month, round-the-world cruise, no less. Odd, but not totally out of the question. There was only one way to know for sure.

He picked up the phone again and asked directory assistance for the number of the Thames Travel Agency. Within moments, his call was connected. After assuring her of his identity, the woman who called herself Elaine Spencer confirmed they had a booking in the name of Rosemary Watson for a cruise that had departed just over a month earlier.

Riley hung up the phone, more than a little relieved. Watson had been telling the truth. His wife was exactly where he said she was—enjoying a holiday away from everyone and everything.

Riley couldn’t imagine how tough it would be to spend every day in a wheelchair and Rosemary Watson had been doing it for more than twenty years. No wonder the woman needed a break.

The timing fit in with Kate’s story, too. The only thing that didn’t fit was Kate’s insistence her mother had met with foul play—and that her stepfather was responsible.

Why would she jump to such a wild conclusion? By all accounts, Darryl Watson was a well-respected member of Watervale society. He may have had a fair dose of arrogance, but Riley had yet to meet a man who’d risen to one of the highest ranks of his profession who hadn’t picked up a little attitude along the way.

It was Kate’s motivation that stumped him. It was obvious she disliked the man, but what did she have to gain by blackening her stepfather’s name? What had happened in her past to make her so damned vindictive?

Riley frowned, not at all sure he wanted to know. After the debacle in Sydney, he was more than reticent to throw around accusations about high-ranking police commanders, even former ones.

His shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

* * *

Kate paced the small confines of her motel room dressed in her favorite pale blue angora sweater and the woolen pants she’d worn a couple of days before. The feel of the whisper-soft fibers against her skin soothed her, as they usually did, and helped to remind her of her successful life in London and the courage she’d employed to attain it.

She was well-respected in the international art world and clients traveled across continents to purchase pieces from her collection. In three weeks, she was holding a major exhibition of artworks so rare invitations to the event had been offered to only the most wealthy of her clients.

Despite the fact she employed two trusted assistants, it was imperative she return to London in time for that show. Her clients expected her to be there.
She
needed to be there.

There was just enough room between the cheap double bed and the wall to make her pacing worthwhile. Usually when she traveled, she went for something far grander, but in Watervale the three-star motel was the best the town had to offer. Besides, she didn’t intend to stay long. As soon as her mother was found, she’d hop the next plane to London, this time with Rosemary in tow. There was no way she’d leave her with Darryl another minute. The problem was, she didn’t know how to go about finding her and while she prayed desperately it wasn’t true, she still couldn’t shake the feeling her stepfather had removed her mother permanently.

After stocking up on supplies over the weekend at the local supermarket, she’d finished her usual breakfast of fresh fruit and coffee a couple of hours earlier and had spent the time since wracking her brain to come up with a plan. She couldn’t just confront Darryl, or go to the house—even if she found the courage to face him. He’d been a serving police officer for most of his adult life. He’d never be foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around—he was way too smart to be careless.

Besides, who was she kidding? She’d barely managed to hold it all together when she’d telephoned him. She’d never be able to set foot in his house. Not again. Never again.

But Detective Munro could.

The thought took hold and grew fragile roots. Her pacing slowed. He hadn’t taken her seriously the first time, but today might be different. No doubt by now he’d called Darryl. Maybe her stepfather’s explanation, or lack of one, had ignited his curiosity… She could only hope it would be so.

But what if it didn’t?

Panic gripped her heart at the thought the detective might accept whatever excuse Darryl offered. Agitation rose inside her. She had to make the detective believe her. Or another detective. There had to be someone who would listen, someone untainted by Darryl Watson’s glory.

Every minute counted. The longer her mother was gone, the quicker any evidence of her departure deteriorated, until eventually there would be nothing. It would disappear. Just like, deep down, she believed her mother had.

* * *

Chase called out from the stairwell, “Hey, Munro! There’s someone downstairs to see you.”

Riley stood and wove his way through the clutter of desks and cardboard boxes that bulged with old files and police briefs and caught up with his partner at the top of the stairs. “Who is it?”

“Don’t know. One of the uniforms called out to me on the way up.”

Riley slipped past him and jogged the rest of the way down. Striding into the foyer, he pulled up short. His gut clenched like he’d been kicked by a bull and suddenly nerves jammed his throat.

Kate Collins stood off to one side, staring out the small window beside the doorway. Her mouth was taut. Her arms were folded across her chest.

Even the glamor of her outfit—a pale blue turtleneck made of some kind of soft, fluffy wool and the same pair of charcoal-gray pants she’d worn when they’d first met—couldn’t disguise the tension in her body.

He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Miss Collins. We meet again.”

She hesitated, and he noticed an infinitesimal clouding of her eyes. His heart skipped a beat and then her hand, warm and fragile, was in his. He tried not to notice how good it felt.

“Detective Munro, thank you for seeing me.”

The control was back. Her voice was firm, cool, polite. She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and abruptly released his hand.

“What can I do for you, Miss Collins?”

She looked around at the assortment of people who crowded the waiting room. A constable stood behind the reception desk, attending to enquiries. Her gaze returned to Riley’s.

“Is there somewhere a little more private we can talk?”

“Of course, come upstairs.”

He indicated for her to precede him. The heavy winter coat she’d worn when he’d last seen her was absent and as she began to climb the stairs ahead of him, his gaze came to rest on her nicely rounded butt.

The faint scent of her perfume wafted down to him, rich and exotic, like a bowl of crushed frangipani flowers and cinnamon. He shook his head. What the hell was he doing, thinking such ridiculous thoughts? It was bullshit. She was a client, a member of the public who had come to him for help. He’d best remember that.

She hesitated at the top of the stairs.

“Go straight ahead, first room on the right. Same place where we talked on Friday afternoon. It should be vacant.”

Riley bounded up the last remaining stairs and entered the interview room a few seconds behind her. She stood staring at the blank white walls, her arms once again crossed in front of her.

“Take a seat,” he said. “Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee? A can of Coke?”

She gave a slight shake of her head and sat down gingerly on one of the gray, molded plastic chairs. She shifted as if to rest her elbows on the scarred wooden table, and then halted as her gaze absorbed its grimy surface.

Years of dirt, sweat, secrets and fear permeated the cheap wood. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to make contact with it.

Taking a seat opposite, he tugged out the notebook and pen that habitually lived in the pocket of his shirt and scrawled the date and time on a fresh page and then braced himself for the impact of her eyes.

Throughout the long, night hours of his weekend, they’d burned themselves onto his retinas and he was leery of falling victim to their cobalt spell again. If he wanted to get to the bottom of it, he needed to keep his wits about him. She might be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever been this close to, but that didn’t mean he’d let that attraction he felt interfere with his job.

He was a professional. He knew how to keep his distance—even if his cock didn’t want to. The thought soured his mood and put him on the offensive.

“You lied to me, Blondie. “I’ve spoken to Darryl. You never called him and your mother’s alive and well and enjoying a well-earned holiday. I’ve closed the file.” His voice was harsher than he’d intended and he felt like shit when her eyes filled with desperation.

“No, no! You can’t do that! I have to find her! I have to know where she is!”

With grim determination, he forged on. “I just told you where she is. I’m beginning to think your stepfather was right. Perhaps you do have a thing about stirring up trouble. I guess coming in here with your puppy-dog eyes and sad story was one way to do it, but it pisses me off to have my time wasted. There are a lot more important things I could be doing with it.”