Good Man Gone, page 13
“I do have a life!” Lexi snapped at Lachlan. “You can’t just snatch me from it when the mood suits you.”
He smiled at her from the other end of the rear seat and raised his teacup in salute. “Good afternoon, Lexicon,” he said. “What a beautiful day.”
Doug slammed the door as Lexi’s bottom landed on the leather seat. Her phone dug into her right hip. The Limousine purred away, abandoning its irritating bottleneck in the busy car park. The giants didn’t follow.
Lachlan glanced at her again and his keen gaze assessed the growing bruise along her jaw and the spiteful marks on her throat. “Who did that to you?” he demanded.
“Why? Is your hit man bored?”
Lachlan cocked his head. He never understood Lexi’s sarcasm. She pursed her lips after barking, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
To her relief, he let the subject drop. For now. “Rooibos?” Lachlan lifted a glass cup with smooth lines. The red tea swayed against the motion of the vehicle.
“I wanted coffee!” Lexi snarled. She gazed through her window as the cafe slid from view.
Lachlan leaned forward and rapped a silver walking stick on the partition behind the driver. “Please, find a coffee establishment, Robin,” he said in his polite British accent.
“Coffee establishment,” Lexi mimicked under her breath. Why couldn’t the man just take her to a cafe like other fathers? But linking her genealogy with Lachlan Mortimer’s sent icy fingers snaking along her spine. She shivered. “What do you want this time?” she demanded through gritted teeth.
Lachlan turned to face her. His tartan trouser legs squeaked against the seat. Leather clad slippers performed a ridiculous tap dance on the carpet as he slid to face her. Lexi kept her gaze fixed on the red cravat snuggled against his Adam’s apple. He lowered his chin and glared at her. “You didn’t give Garima my message.”
Lexi forced herself to look him in the eye. Their shared genetics lurked in his vivid blue irises, laughing at her inability to shield herself from them. She saw her brother there. And a reflection of herself. “I didn’t think he’d cope,” she admitted. “But I told him later.”
“Cope?” Lachlan licked the strong tasting tea from his thin lips. “He’s struggling again?” Something akin to genuine compassion leaked through his voice. “He requires assistance?”
Lexi’s shoulders slumped. She pressed herself against the seat. It molded with her body like a comfy skin. “We’ll manage,” she muttered. “Just like we always have.”
But the weight of Garima’s condition bowed her head. She always managed somehow. Patrick Allen never understood her brother’s extreme need for cleanliness during moments of stress. He’d worked hard to feed and clothe another man’s children without complaint. Little time remained for emotional support. His generosity had magnified in the light of his final revelation. He could have cast Lexi and Garima out without regret. But he didn’t.
“But you can’t always cope alone,” Lachlan purred. “Does Garima need to return to the Australian facility?”
Lexi scoffed. “The crystal nut house?” But her sarcasm pained her. The six-month break had given her brother coping strategies and a regime of effective medication. He’d resumed his role in the priesthood with no one any wiser. The tale of an overseas sabbatical explained his mahogany tan better than time spent sunbathing in the garden of an expensive rehabilitation facility. With a magical wave of his bulging wallet, Lachlan usurped every futile achievement of the previous twenty-five years. Money, time, and space healed Garima. Everything Lexi did for her brother paled in comparison.
Lachlan pursed his lips. He didn’t remove his gaze from her face. “Lexicon,” he soothed. “I understand your resentment towards me. But you only hurt yourself with your refusal to accept my account of our history, or my apology.”
“Your account?” Lexi snapped. “I can’t believe a word you say.” Industrial buildings slid by as the Limousine purred through Frankton. The driver winced at her furious expression as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. He made a right turn on Greenwood Street and slipped the heavy vehicle into the drive-through of a fast-food restaurant. Lexi shook her head. “How does a man with your resources lose track of a wife and two children?” She turned to face him, her eyes flashing and her jaw squared.
Lachlan flattened his lips and turned away from her ire. “It’s a pointless discussion, Lexicon. I’m surprised you haven’t investigated it for yourself.” Creases appeared at the corners of his mouth. “But then, you’d need to face facts, wouldn’t you? Your mother and I can’t both be correct.”
Lexi clicked her fingers. The snap echoed off the walnut fittings. “Oh, that’s right. You didn’t leave us. We left you.”
Lachlan ignored her. He’d tired of the argument. Lexi’s head ached with gritting her jaw. The chauffeur leaned through the driver’s window and spoke at the kiosk. Lexi didn’t hear the order. The vehicle edged around the narrow drive-through like a plank in a toilet bowl. He collected a single take-out cup at the window and nodded to the greasy-haired boy, who handed it to him. Acne speckled the boy’s chin as he gaped at the chauffeur-driven Limousine.
“Help!” Lexi mouthed through her side window. His blank expression told her the tinted windows masked her half-serious plea. The motorised partition buzzed open, and the driver passed the coffee through the gap. Lexi took it, wanting the caffeine hit more than the thrill of coating the car’s interior with the oily black liquid. The Limousine didn’t halt. It glided around the building and emerged in the car park. Lexi clutched her hot coffee in white-knuckled fingers.
“Cheers.” Lachlan raised his refreshed tea mug and winked at her. “Bottoms up.”
Lexi sipped the fortifying liquid and forced herself to relax. “Did you send someone to watch me?” she asked.
“Doug and Len run errands, darling.” Lachlan dabbed his lips with a pristine white handkerchief. “They’re too busy to watch anyone.”
Lexi frowned at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Lachlan’s mind had gone straight to the two oafs who performed menial tasks requiring more muscle than mental capacity. She realised with a flicker of irritation that his denial heightened her fear of the shadowy stalker. “Thank you for sending Kelly,” she conceded, her tone sulky. “The police released Garima earlier today.” She winced at the emptiness of her information. Lachlan paid Kelly’s invoice. She would have told him about the minutiae of Garima’s circumstances before she called Lexi. “You knew,” she murmured into her coffee.
“You’re welcome.” Lachlan’s lips twitched as he raised his tea again. The fluttering of his eyelashes conveyed a latent thrill at Lexi’s discomfort. But when he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes glittered with a threatening diamond-hardness. “Do not investigate the death of the priest.” His tone held no smooth edges.
“Why?” Lexi braced her feet and pushed herself more upright on the slithery seat. “The police want to blame Garima and he didn’t do it.”
Lachlan exhaled as though a hidden string pulled the breath from deep in his core. “Garima’s innocence will prevail.”
Lexi snorted. “Right. Great. Because the cops never lock up innocent people.” She slapped her left hand onto her thigh. “I’ll tell my brother not to worry then.”
Lachlan’s eyelids closed over whatever misgivings showed in his troubled eyes. “This is bigger than you realise.” He lowered his voice to cut the driver from their conversation despite the glass partition. “It’s not just about a dead priest, Lexicon. It’s the result of a very long con. Please, for Garima’s sake and your own, I’m asking you to leave it alone.”
Chapter 29
Lachlan Mortimer had asked for nothing since reappearing eight years earlier. He expected only civility and politeness during their brief interactions. Lexi had grown used to Doug and Len’s gentle kidnapping routine. Often Lachlan just wanted her company in the bookshop. This demand introduced something new into the equation. It left Lexi without a suitable reply.
“I forbid you.” He leaned across the seat and touched her left hand with cool fingers. If he’d known her better, he might have realised his mistake. Lachlan Mortimer had unwittingly lit the blue touch paper on Lexi’s fuse. She burned with a desire to disobey him.
“Whatever.” She tapped on the glass partition and got eye contact with the chauffeur. “Let me out here, please?”
Lachlan clicked his tongue with disappointment. “I thought we might visit the bookshop,” he stated. His brow furrowed behind his grey and white fringe. “I picked up a seventeenth century original of a Marlowe play. It’s exquisite.”
“Next week.” Lexi pushed open the rear door as the Limousine slowed. Her feet hit the pavement before it halted and her ankles bent at a horrible angle. The hand carrying her coffee shook as she spun to peer back into the dark interior. “Perhaps next time, send a text or a note. And stop your goons from following me. It’s weird.” She slammed the door as Lachlan’s lips parted, unwilling to give him more airtime in which to issue his commands.
The Limousine slipped away from the curb like flotsam in the traffic. And Lexi tramped home, walking further than she intended.
Nahla met her on the front step. She seemed agitated, winding her body around Lexi’s calves and mewing. But when Lexi picked her up, the cat produced her claws and arched her spine.
“You’re all frustrating me!” Lexi grumbled. “Garima, Lachlan, you. I don’t understand what anybody wants from me!” She included Tarant in the list but didn’t voice his name. An emotional void had opened in her soul after cutting him off. It left her restless and dissatisfied. Lexi slumped into the hall chair and removed her trainers. Lachlan’s warning rattled her. It suggested he knew Father Donald’s killer.
She curved her body and hugged her knees, stretching out her aching spine. Lexi sighed. The cat brushed past her shins, and she reached out her hand to touch the soft, furry head. Something caught her eye. Something odd and out of place.
The drawer beneath the hall table stood out by just a few millimetres. Lexi may never have noticed but for her stretch. Staring at it sideways, she saw the minuscule disparity. “Someone’s been in my house,” she whispered.
Lexi remained silent but pushed herself upright. She tested the mood of the house and sensed no other human presence. She checked each room for signs of disturbance. Nothing. The evidence seemed too flimsy to raise an alarm. Besides, who would she tell? A drawer not quite pushed back didn’t warrant a police investigation. But it proved enough for Lexi. Along with Garima’s obsession with cleaning came a hatred of items out of place. Patrick Allen’s bespoke wooden kitchen drove the boy to distraction. The drawers stuck out and humidity swelled the cupboard doors. Lexi grew up with the daily battle of door slamming and Garima’s meltdowns.
Someone had bypassed her locks and a sophisticated burglar alarm. They’d searched her house with expert care.
She exhaled and tugged out the hall drawer. The trespasser possessed enough skill to make only one minor error. Someone like that wouldn’t leave fingerprints. Lexi sifted through the drawer’s contents of novelty key rings, a lonely sock, and a packet of tissues. She’d shoved enough detritus there over the years to half fill the space. But if she upended the drawer over the dustbin, she wouldn’t miss a single item.
Her heart thudded as she remembered her safe. Lexi ran her mind over her post-fight conversation with Rojas. She’d told him too much. “Oh, no!” she breathed. Her fingers shook as she covered her mouth with her hand. She’d taken photos of his distress and humiliated him. But she’d also revealed the ace she still held up her sleeve.
Lexi whirled on the spot and tore into her bedroom. She prayed to Garima’s God she hadn’t overplayed her best hand.
The pen drive still rattled in the vase on her mantelpiece. Dried flowers cascaded petals onto the wooden surface. Unless the intruder cleared up their mess, they hadn’t touched the vase. Her back twinged as she shifted aside her cream bedroom chair. Its rounded feet matched the divots in the rug. Lexi peeled back a corner of the heavy woollen floor covering. A nudge of the correct floorboard popped the hidden door and exposed the safe. Lexi’s fingers shook as she entered the code. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she withdrew the DVD case.
It remained sealed, just as she’d left it. Her handwriting covered the label attached to the disk. Lexi closed it all up and moved the chair back into place. She sat on it, her calves trembling. “Idiot!” she breathed. “Kelly has a copy. No one in their right mind would link us together.” She pressed a hand to her heart and focussed on taking slow breaths. She’d picked Kelly Lomas as her trustee for that very reason. Why would anyone connect a lowly private investigator with a fierce barrister who worked for the mob? She pushed away Kelly’s support of Garima. It didn’t seem enough to put Kelly in Rojas’ path. Not yet anyway.
Lexi ran a hand over her sore face and stared around her. She resisted the urge to doubt her understanding of her environment. It seemed easier to just acknowledge she’d not pushed the drawer back properly. But she didn’t do it. She knew it in her bones.
Washing her face and tying her dark curls into a manageable ponytail bought her time. The mundane activity calmed her and restored her equilibrium. Back in the kitchen, she threw away the cold coffee in the take-out cup and made herself another. Then she phoned her brother.
Garima answered his personal phone, but the officiousness dogged his tone. “I’m in the middle of something,” he snapped. “What’s up, Lexi?”
She ground her teeth against his defensiveness. “Did you visit my place this afternoon? I went for a walk and someone entered the house. I’m ruling out the possibilities before I panic.”
“No.” His voice changed. It lost the hard edges and sympathy leached through instead. “A cop returned my car but left the lights on. I need a jump start before I can go anywhere. Who do you think got in? Is there any damage?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, but didn’t give her time to answer. “Do you think that awful cop got into your house and searched it?”
“I don’t know.” Lexi closed her eyes and imagined a search by Harvey Rojas. He’d relish her arriving home to find a trashed house. He’d leave more evidence than a skewed drawer, even if she couldn’t link it to him. “No.” She added more confidence. “Not him. Lachlan picked me up at the lake. He urged me not to investigate Father Donald’s death. Apparently, it’s bigger than we think, but he’s certain the cops will stop suspecting you.”
Garima made a low growl in his throat. He didn’t sound convinced. “Sorry about earlier,” he said. “We’ll talk later. A confirmation class arrives in three minutes. Take care.”
His dismissal left Lexi with a click and then a silent phone. Sighing, she returned to her laptop and the unnamed photographer who wore a priest’s clothing.
Chapter 30
The owner of the Larry and Joanne profile responded to Lexi’s message request as she pushed the remains of a sandwich into her mouth. Her fingers froze at the sight of the red number one over her Messenger icon.
A scroll and a click took her to the private conversation, and she swallowed the bread too fast. Particles bunged up her throat and forced her to slurp her water. Larry or Joanne had an abrupt manner.
‘All the information is with the photograph. Check the comments.’
Lexi groaned. She sensed the interaction would resemble pulling out teeth. ‘Can we talk?’ she replied. And added her phone number.
It took an hour for Larry or Joanne to pluck up the courage to call her. In an age of phishing and complicated phone scams, Lexi marvelled they called at all. But curiosity won over sense. For a family who left every photograph open for public consumption, they showed some healthy regard for privacy. The number flashed on Lexi’s screen as private.
“Hi, how can I help you?” She responded without offering her name. It seemed sensible to drip feed information as circumstance forced her to.
“You gave me your number.” Suspicion dripped from the female voice. “Why are you interested in that photo?” She continued before Lexi could explain. “I wish I’d never posted it. My husband wants me to delete it. He hates social media.”
Lexi cleared her throat. “We should start from the beginning,” she offered. She recognised only honesty would work against the woman’s instant distress. It piqued her interest that posting the photograph on the community page had caused such veiled fury. “My name is Lexi. I work as an inquiry agent. We have a gentleman who’s looking for an old friend. He sent us the link to your photograph.” Lexi sighed. “I’m floundering,” she admitted. “The only people not named are the photographer and two of the children. Four died, and the community tagged six.”
“Didn’t he give you the name of his friend?” The woman sounded disbelieving. Lexi closed her eyes and gave a silent inhale. After a decade in business, Tarant still sucked at taking cases with the correct information. Perhaps Alex Battersea’s behaviour might force him to take stock.
“Unfortunately, no.” Lexi added a false brightness to her voice. “He paid in advance but hasn’t communicated since booking our service.” As an afterthought, she added, “Am I speaking with Joanne?”
“Yeah.” The suspicion returned to overshadow the craving for intrigue.
Lexi pushed on. “I appreciate your help, Joanne. Are you able to name the other two children in the picture? Or the photographer. He’s a priest, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Her tone softened. “Really nice man. The other kids bullied me because I had bad skin. He made them stop. And he went kayaking in his priest’s robes. But that’s a good thing because he pulled out Michael Anderson when he fell in. Stupid kid didn’t tell anyone he couldn’t swim.”
“Wow,” Lexi breathed. “A bit of a hero, then.”
“Yeah.” Joanne took a moment to sift through her memories. A baby cried in the background, a shrill, aggressive sound. Lexi sensed the pull of motherhood robbing her of Joanne’s attention.
