Good Man Gone, page 5
Darlene spoke to Garima in squeaks and sobs. He pressed his left hand over hers and bowed his head. Prayers rumbled from his chest and headed skyward. Darlene closed her eyes, and Lexi noticed a tear roll down her cheek and plop against the brace. Her chest hitched beneath their joined hands.
Gravel scrunched as a paramedic rose. But he didn’t head back to the ambulance. He walked to the skip and peered inside. At the same moment, Lexi noticed the broken catch dangling from the front edge. Without it, the lid had overextended and swung behind it as though giving gentle applause.
“What’s wrong?” Rojas jerked his chin at Lexi. He accompanied his demand with another sharp pinch of her tender flesh.
She shot darts of fire from her eyes but said nothing. With another jerk of his head, he dispatched the young officer. The man pattered towards the paramedic. He lifted his feet with exaggerated care to clear the vacuum cleaner’s discarded dust bucket. After a cursory glance over the side of the skip, he fell back as though felled by an invisible force. He clapped a hand over his mouth.
The more seasoned paramedic shouted his mate. “Put a call in for the coroner,” he said. “We’ve got a body.”
Chapter 10
Things got instantly busier. Rojas lost interest in Lexi like a dog spying a better stick to maul. He ran across the car park, his long legs carrying him in a pincer movement. The younger officer made a radio call. He swallowed and pursed his lips before addressing Lexi. “You’ll have to remain here, miss. We need to question you.”
She nodded, holding her blood-stained hands away from her clothing. The cool wind set about her, blowing through her jeans and attacking her bare arms. The sun slipped behind a fluffy grey cloud. Lexi craved the leather jacket she’d left in her vehicle.
Garima rose as the paramedics lifted Darlene’s stretcher. He whirled in the gravel and stepped to Lexi’s side. “I should ride in the ambulance with her.” His complexion mirrored the colour of ash. “Are you okay to wait here?”
Lexi clamped her teeth over her tongue before nodding. She’d rather paddle in shark-infested waters than remain within spitting distance of Harvey Rojas. But she recognised the conflict in her brother’s eyes. “I’m fine,” she lied. But her trembling lower lip made a liar of her.
“Lex?” He leaned down until his forehead almost touched hers. She clamped her lips closed to prevent the scream escaping from her chest. As though receiving a telepathic communication, Garima shot a glance at Rojas’ broad spine. The officer kept his hands behind his back as he peered into the depths of the skip. “You have history with that guy?”
Lexi blew out a breath. She didn’t know where to start. “He’s Tarant Leon’s brother-in-law,” she whispered. “He detests private investigators. And he hates my guts for other reasons, too.” She gulped as Darlene Barrymore released a sob of gargantuan proportions. Her stretcher slid into the bowels of the ambulance and her cries echoed. Lexi relented. “You go. She needs a priest.” Lexi flexed her shaking knees. “I just need a lawyer.”
But Rojas refused Garima’s polite request to accompany his parishioner in the ambulance. “No way!” he asserted. “You’re a witness. I’ll let you wait indoors, but Officer Smythe stays with you.” He jerked his chin towards the man’s radio. “Get them to send a unit to the hospital. They need that woman’s statement as soon as possible.”
Garima’s shoulders slumped. He stepped into the ambulance to break the news to a distraught Darlene. She wailed louder as the paramedics bore her away.
“Can I wash my hands?” Lexi addressed her question to Officer Smythe.
“Sorry.” He wrinkled his nose. “The forensics guys need a sample.”
“But it’s Darlene’s blood!” Lexi protested. “From the cuts on the back of her head.”
“Is she being difficult?” Rojas pushed his muscular shoulder between Lexi and his subordinate. “If she gives you even the smallest excuse, cuff her! Just wait for me before you interview her. She’s tricky.”
Garima’s elbow bumped Lexi’s spine. The tiny act of solidarity fortified her. She forced herself to ignore the metallic tang rising from her rigidified fingers. At Officer Smythe’s direction, they walked across the car park and into the corridor. Lexi stumbled, her eyes struggling with the darkness after the brightness of the day. Garima steadied her, skipping forward to lead the way. Smythe tangled with the abandoned vacuum cleaner, bouncing off the wall like a skittle. Lexi prayed Rojas met the same fate but broke his boxy neck in the process.
“She can’t stay like that.” Garima appealed to Smythe once in the vestry. He spun with his arms outstretched to take in the scruffy, but immaculate office.
“I won’t touch anything,” Lexi promised. Her voice emerged with the huskiness of stress. “I won’t, Gari.” She sank into the visitor’s battered armchair and balanced her elbows on her knees.
“Sorry, sir.” Smythe stationed himself just inside the vestry door like a jailer. Garima sank into his chair. He positioned himself sideways to avoid catching sight of Lexi’s hands. He withdrew his rosary from an inside pocket and ran his fingers over the smooth beads. His lashes fluttered and his lips moved in prayer. The blood turned a garish brown on Lexi’s fingers and palms.
Sirens, vehicles, and police personnel filled the church’s inadequate car park. Lexi fought to keep her aching arms raised while Smythe stared holes into her right cheek. A tiny woman wearing a white disposable jumpsuit scraped blood from Lexi’s palms with a long-stemmed cotton bud. She smiled from within the confines of her hood, offering wordless reassurance. Deft, capable movements captured both samples and photographs. Lexi thanked Garima’s God they didn’t search her. Lachlan’s wad of dirty money still nestled inside her bra.
“Who died?” Lexi asked her. “Who’s in the skip?”
But the woman didn’t answer.
“Can she wash them now?” Garima peered up from his rosary. His hair stood on end and rapid blinks betrayed his nearness to a meltdown.
“She can.” The woman smiled and backed towards the door.
Garima shot from his seat like a champagne cork. He set off at a clip along the corridor. Smythe ran to keep up with Lexi as she barrelled after him.
“Wait!” he cried. His voice echoed off the panelling. “We might need your clothing.”
Despite Garima’s horror, Smythe kept the ladies bathroom door open with his foot. He watched Lexi as she lathered soap over her fingers and washed them twice. A cursory sniff satisfied her she’d rid herself of the stain. A cheap floral gel had replaced the metallic tang. Lexi stared at her reflection in the mirror. She shifted her gaze to the cubicles behind her and considered asking to use the toilet. After imagining the panic it might cause, she relented. They trooped back to the vestry like naughty children.
“The Holy Father is the Pope, Lex.” Garima spoke into the awkward silence as Lexi settled into her armchair.
“What?” She wrinkled her nose and her lips pulled back from her teeth.
“You called me the holy father,” Garima replied. “I’m just a priest. The Holy Father is the Pope.”
Lexi dropped her chin. A dreadful urge to cackle with hysterical laughter burned in her chest. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. The blood stains had forced her to ignore the last eight calls. She tugged her device free after a cursory glance at Smythe. His lips parted, but he didn’t challenge her. Her shoulders slumped. “It’s my boss,” she said. “Please, can I answer him?”
Smythe pursed his lips, but didn’t seem to know the answer. Lexi capitalised on his confusion by answering Tarant’s next call. “Hey.” Her voice held an unfamiliar tightness. “I can’t talk now.”
“Put it on speaker.” Smythe regained enough control to issue the command.
Tarant’s voice gained a tinny quality against the polished clerical implements lining the shelf behind Lexi. “I’ve booked the client for ten o’clock tomorrow. He’s seen the photographs but demanded to speak to you.”
“You’re on speaker.” Lexi hoped he’d grasp the note of warning in her voice. “Before you say any names.”
“Where are you?” His tone softened.
Lexi swallowed. “I’m sitting in a Catholic church right now. It’s not a good time.” Her heart prickled. An image of Tarant’s powerful arms encircling her popped into her mind. A heady flush infused her cheeks. She wished she hadn’t batted away his overtures of reconciliation so fast. Straightening her spine, she reinforced her earlier decision. An inner voice told her she deserved more than to serve as a weak man’s stop-gap.
Tarant’s laugh barked from the speaker. “It’s a bit late to seek absolution, Lexi!” He snorted, adding insult to injury. As though a hidden hand passed him a note in a silent exam, he remembered. “Sorry. You’re seeing your brother.”
Smythe’s eyes widened as Tarant made the connection. He gave Lexi the side-eye and shot a glance at Garima. Lexi exhaled. “I don’t know if I can make that appointment. Not sure where I’ll be. Talk to you later. Please stop blowing up my phone.”
Tarant’s protest ended with the push of a button. Lexi knew he wanted to ask her about the Facebook inquiry. She rose enough to stuff her phone into her jeans pocket before sitting awkwardly on one butt cheek. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited.
Chapter 11
Senior Sergeant Rojas glowed as he stepped through the vestry door. He jabbed a finger at Lexi. “We’ll take her back to the station,” he crowed to Smythe. Delight filled his sparkling eyes. “Let’s interview her under caution.”
Garima blinked, and his brow furrowed. He rose from his seat. “That’s not correct procedure,” he said, dialling his voice up to preach-level. “Lexi witnessed the same event as me. Take our statements separately and let us get on with our business.” Garima’s knuckles whitened over his rosary. With the blood stains banished from his uncontaminated safe space, he resumed control. His muscles seemed to widen and his rumpled hair stretched towards the low ceiling. “One moment,” he said.
Before the police officers could object, Garima pulled his work phone from his jacket pocket. He activated the screen and dialled a number. The call connected with surprising speed, considering its busy recipient. “Ah, Superintendent Packard,” he intoned. His voice gained a confidential air. “Your officers are currently recovering a body from the skip behind the church.” Garima paused and cocked his head. “Yes, thank you for speaking to the refuse collectors. They fetched the rubbish early this morning. Mrs Barrymore told me she went outside to empty the vacuum cleaner carton and saw a pair of feet sticking up from beneath a cardboard box.”
Smythe hissed in a low breath as Garima chatted to his superior at a level indicative of a personal connection. Colour flared from Rojas’ collar and infused his cheeks. Lexi bit back a smile at his rage-flush. She avoided eye contact with him, not wishing to inflame her precarious situation.
Judging by the police superintendent’s line of questioning, he knew Mrs Barrymore well. Garima answered a query about her health. “She’s regained consciousness. But that’s what I wished to speak with you about. I’ve spent the afternoon with my sister. She helped Mrs Barrymore until the paramedics arrived. Your officers wish to take her to the police station and confiscate her clothes. They already forced her to wait for an hour with Mrs Barrymore’s blood on her hands. I imagined we’d both just give statements. Am I incorrect about that assumption?”
Lexi’s brows rose. She observed her brother in a new light. Perhaps accepting confession from Hamilton’s greatest afforded him significant sway in the face of stacked opposition. She studied his calm exterior and imposing authority. It jarred with her understanding of a man crippled by insecurity and compulsion. For a moment, she saw through the eyes of Darlene Barrymore. Garima, with his stinky feet and vacuuming obsession, faded. He became beautiful, capable and commanding. Lexi’s lips parted in a smile of pure pride. Father Garima Allen was awe-inspiring.
Garima held out his phone towards Smythe. “Are you in charge?” he asked the younger officer, his face deadpan and expressionless. “Superintendent Packard wishes to speak with you.”
Smythe gnawed on his lower lip. Rojas snatched the phone from Garima and walked into the corridor. He returned with a vein throbbing in his temple. A wildness had caught hold of his jittery facial muscles. “You can leave,” he snarled. Garima’s phone flew through the air, but he caught it with ease. A gimlet hardness entered Rojas’ eyes as he surveyed Lexi. “I’ll call on you at home later to take your statement.”
Lexi heard the overt threat in the innocuous sentence. Her blood ran through her veins as ice. She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll go straight to the police station now.”
Rojas lost control of his lower jaw. Lexi knew he couldn’t leave the crime scene without relinquishing his grip on a potential murder case. Smythe’s radio had already alerted both officers to the pending arrival of detectives. The need for glory battled with his urge to make Lexi miserable. His lips flashed like a dying fish’s as his best chance to punish her evaporated before him. She held her breath. This dangerous man hadn’t asked for her address. Fear rippled through her.
Smythe shifted on his heavy soles, sensing the tension hike between Lexi and Rojas. She suspected the probationer had a bumpy road ahead of him with this ruthless training officer.
“You go,” Garima urged her. His eyes flashed a warning. “I’ll wait here until I’m able to lock the church. Text me.” He pulled his private phone from his inside pocket. It bleeped as he turned it back on. With a solemn smile, he waved the device towards Lexi in a silent promise to take her call.
She didn’t stick around long enough for Rojas to find another way to hurt or detain her. Her tyres left rubber on the road as she pulled out from behind Garima’s vehicle. Knowing that Rojas expected her to drive to the main police station on Memorial Drive, she couldn’t risk him following her. The detectives might rebuff his efforts to ingratiate himself into their ranks. That would leave him free to chase her. It would also make him angrier.
Lexi drove to the police watch house in Nawton instead. She requested a form from the lady behind the counter. Twenty minutes later, she’d laid out a competent account of her afternoon’s exploits. She included the half an hour she’d sat outside the cafe with Garima. A side note explained she’d seen no one enter the church car park while they sat opposite the entrance.
The receptionist grew restless as five o’clock approached. Lexi signed the statement and requested the woman scan and email it straight to the detective leading the investigation. “He’s waiting for it,” Lexi insisted. She faked mock anxiety and covered her eyes with her hand. “I feel quite shaken. Think I might faint.”
The receptionist fought her edginess and used a copier in the corner to scan Lexi’s written statement. She capitulated, not wanting to stay at work a moment longer than necessary. Lexi leaned against the counter with her forehead resting on her wrists. But she watched the woman through the plexi-glass. After a call to headquarters, the receptionist acquired the name of the lead detective and sent Lexi’s statement to his email address. “I’ll file it tomorrow morning,” she promised. “I already attached it to the case number. Detective Inspector Grunwald will contact you if he has more questions.”
“DI Grunwald. Thank you.” Lexi gave her a relieved smile. “I’d hate to get into trouble for not providing a statement.” She hoped her fuss and pointed remarks caused the woman to remember her visit in the future. The only way to thwart Harvey Rojas was to remain visible and play everything by the book.
Chapter 12
Lexi drove straight home. She craved a cuddle with Nahla. The thought lasted her as far as her street before evaporating in a puff of realism. The cat detested unsolicited manhandling. It would more likely lead to deep scratches and ill feeling.
Lexi waited for the automatic gate to slide aside. But a movement in her rear-view mirror caught her eye. A motorcyclist made the turn from the main road. His lazy movements appeared casual and unassuming. He cruised past the SUV, muscles rippling through the skin-tight sleeves of his black leather jacket. Strong thighs controlled the powerful bike with effortless grace. His face remained hidden by his tinted visor, but he turned his head towards her as he cruised past. Lexi’s chest tightened. She could no longer blame coincidence.
After closing the gate and locking the front door behind her, Lexi surveyed her empty hallway. Silence rang in her ears. “Nahla?” She kicked off her boots and left them on the door mat. Her socks pattered against the floorboards. She searched each room with growing trepidation. A rigorous beat in her temple signified her heart rate hiking. “Nahla?”
The four-bedroom house seemed smaller than usual as Lexi searched it again. Scenarios raced through her mind in unhelpful loops. She hadn’t intended to gather enemies when she woke that morning. But she’d re-engaged Rojas by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her father had lured her into his lair. And she’d also acquired an unwelcome and unidentified tail.
“Nahla!” Lexi released the security bolt on the rear door and hauled it open. The garden stretched out before her like a blank canvas. Neat flower borders met a sunburnt lawn, a narrow path meandering through it to a dilapidated potting shed at its end. Blood stains streaked the wooden deck beneath the covered porch. A line of sticky entrails finished beside Lexi’s sock. She clapped a hand over her mouth, nausea rising into her chest. Her lungs locked on an inward pull and she bent double to ease the pressure.
The ginger cat jerked awake with an indignant yowl. A frantic tensing of sleek muscle rippled her orange coat. Nahla sunned herself on the barbeque beneath the kitchen window. The black cover superheated the sun’s rays and fed her need for warmth long after dusk. Her angular head rose at the neck as though only half interested, and Nahla shot Lexi a glare of annoyance. A decapitated mouse head plunged to the paving slabs with a splat.
