Already Dead (20 page)

It was a full minute before Aiden said anything. He filled the time watching the sludgy remains of his coffee, scratching his head, dropping his elbows to his knees and staring at the view. Jax left him to it, knowing his brain was picking at her theory. He'd been convinced she'd done something unlawful, he'd tried to help her out of it. Maybe he was shifting ideas and evidence about to make her theory fit. Maybe he thought he was being conned and was deciding he'd given her enough chances.

He finally folded his arms on the table, cop-look in place as he took a breath. ‘If your original statement is accurate –'

‘It is.'

‘– then Walsh didn't mention having the kind of information you're talking about.'

‘He said a lot of things that I didn't understand. He wanted to get to his wife and son. If he didn't make it, he wanted me to tell her something. He thought people were after him, he said he was a target and that someone had called him “Already Dead”.'

‘He had PTSD. His doctor says it was a psychotic episode.'

‘That doesn't mean what he said isn't true.'

‘Jax –'

‘No, wait. PTSD doesn't explain it all away. I did some reading and yeah, it was a Google search and that doesn't make me an expert, but I didn't find anything that claimed PTSD sufferers were prone to inventing whole new lives. Their issues are about real things, things that happened to them, memories that won't find a place to lie down. They have bad dreams, they get hyper-vigilant, they can feel numb. All things Kate Walsh told me Brendan suffered at various times. She said he'd had flashbacks, too. Recently. A couple of months ago when he caught up with some mates from the army.'

‘And you think he was having a flashback in your car?'

‘No, if he had a flashback, it happened before he got in my car. The thing is, flashbacks are memories thrown up from the depths of your mind that are so intense it feels like they're happening. They can occur out of the blue or be triggered by a sound, a smell, anything.' She motioned with a hand, palm up, as though trying to show him. ‘Maybe he remembered something. Maybe it was about Afghanistan. And maybe someone knew he remembered.'

Aiden sat back in his chair. ‘If he did have a flashback – which can't actually be proved – it might've been something that happened ten years ago. His wife might know all about it. He might've told her twenty times already. Every time he had a flashback.'

‘Except that two guys chased me yesterday, someone broke into my house today and the house I sold in Sydney was vandalised.'

A frown creased his forehead. ‘Today?'

‘No. The night of the carjacking. Apparently there was damage along the street, cars scratched, a brick thrown
through someone's window. My house was the only one broken into.' She pulled in a breath as she remembered the details. ‘The new owners had computer equipment smashed and boxes sliced open. A door was kicked in and there were a couple of holes in the walls, too, so vandals or someone trying to make it look that way.'

‘When did you hear about this?'

‘The morning after.'

‘There's no report in the system.'

She couldn't tell if he doubted her or the efficiency of his colleagues in Sydney. ‘My name won't be on a report. The sale went through the day before I left. I wasn't the owner. It was the agent who told me.'

Aiden got to his feet in one fast movement, as though the information had driven him from his chair. He stalked to the edge of the small rectangle of grass, stood at the view over the neighbour's roof, his back to her.

‘There's more,' Jax said. ‘Wait there.' She took the mugs inside, suggested Zoe play on the grass, grabbed the notebook from her bag. Aiden was where she'd left him when she returned, fingering the screen of his mobile phone. ‘I made some notes,' she told him, taking them to the table and flipping through to her original lists.

Aiden kept his phone in one hand as he stood at her shoulder. ‘A lot of notes,' he said.

‘Once I got started …' She lifted her shoulders and let them drop.

He took her arm, turned her to face him. ‘I told you I'll keep you informed. You don't need to do this.'

He was close enough for her to count the fine, dark stripes in the pale blue-grey of his irises. ‘Yeah, I do.'

‘Did you call the victim support group?'

‘I don't need support. I need to work this out.'

‘It's not the best way to get closure.'

‘Have you been a victim?'

‘No.'

‘Then don't tell me how to get closure.'

His fingers softened on her arm. ‘I've seen it before, Jax. Victims, people hurt by circumstances out of their control. They think if they can understand it, they'll be okay. But understanding can be worse. You need to let it go.'

She nodded. ‘And let the police handle it?'

‘I know that's not what you want to hear, but yeah.'

Lifting her chin, she let sarcasm swim into her words. ‘And you'll tell me all about it when you've figured it out.'

‘It's my job to protect people. I'm trying to protect you.'

She took a step back, folded her arms. ‘What would you do if you were in my position? If you'd had a gun to your head, if you'd been chased, if someone had trampled through your home. If you'd had to run with your child in your arms.'

‘I'm a detective. Of course I'd want to do something.'

‘Well, guess what? That just makes you human. You don't get the right to feel that way because you've got a badge and you've done the training. My father taught me to ask questions and find answers. That's what I'm doing. So are you going to look at what I've got or leave?'

A long, tense silence hung in the air between them. She didn't have the patience for it. He looked like he could do it all day. What was with him? He jumped into action when a gun was involved, but needed to cross every mental ‘T' to piece a concept together. Did he tick off a checklist before he got laid?

Their silence was interrupted by Zoe pushing a plastic wheelbarrow full of dolls through the door, giving instructions for them to hold on as they bumped over the step.

Jax picked up the notebook, held it in front of Aiden. ‘I wanted to work out how much of what Brendan said was real. This is the Real side. Two pages of it.' She ran a finger down the list, flipped over to where it continued.

Aiden glanced at Zoe tipping her dolls onto the lawn, at the uniformed cop walking through the house, at his phone, maybe deciding how much time he had.

‘This is the Not Real side.' Jax pointed to the blank column. Aiden finally looked at it. She saw a frown grow between his brows, felt a tick of victory. ‘I've got a list of potentials for the Not Real side but so far everything I've tried to confirm has ended up on the Real list.'

He lifted the page, took a look at the one underneath.

She gave him a second to read then flipped to another. ‘I broke down everything Brendan said to points that could be proved or disproved. I mean there are a couple here that could probably go straight to Not Real. Nano spiders, for example, but I want …' Jax stopped, turned, stared at Zoe.

She was surrounded by dolls, using her hands to knock her head from side-to-side, going cross-eyed and grinning as she sang: ‘
Nano spiders in my head. Nano spiders in my head.
'

The sight of it made the nerve endings on Jax's skull prickle as though something had crept across her scalp. She knelt in front of her daughter. ‘I've never seen you sing that before. Did you learn it at school?'

‘No. That boy taught it to me.'

‘What boy?'

‘That boy from this morning. At the sad house.'

Jax remembered the kids had been in the sandpit, waving their arms and laughing. Zoe blinked at Aiden as he stepped closer.

‘He sang a song about spiders?' Jax asked.

‘
Nano
spiders.'

‘What are nano spiders?'

Zoe jiggled her shoulders – it was a song, who cares? ‘It's his daddy's song. He sings it when he gets a sore head from thinking too much. Look, Mummy, Barbie's got nano spiders in her hair.' She held up a doll with a head that looked like it'd been attacked with gardening shears – Zoe's attempt to ‘fix' its hairstyle.

‘It suits her,' Jax said, her mind rolling back to her conversation with Kate. She'd listened to Jax's account of the carjacking without comment, then she'd talked about Brendan's past and his PTSD. Jax had asked questions but she hadn't thought to ask about nano spiders – she'd assumed they were a new symptom, something that had helped tip Brendan over the edge.

Aiden cocked his head towards the notebook on the table – or perhaps to somewhere out of Zoe's earshot.

Following him across the lawn, Jax said, ‘Brendan talked about nano spiders in his head. He kept bashing at his skull, saying they lay their eggs in your brain, that they breed inside your skull, that once they're there, you can't get them out.'

‘He might have had a headache.'

‘I'm sure he did but maybe it was more than that. Information is in your head. Once it's there you can't get it out. And it can breed, grow big and strong. Maybe make his PTSD come back with force.'

‘It's conjecture, Jax.'

‘It's not much on its own, I know, but the Real side is seriously outweighing the Not Real.'

In the sitting room, the uniformed cop greeted two men. One was carrying a fat case. Fingerprinting, Jax guessed. Aiden watched them as they surveyed the room like painters getting ready to pull out the rollers.

‘Okay,' Aiden said, ‘show me what you've got.'

He pulled the notebook towards him as he sat. Jax flattened a hand on the pages. ‘Just to be clear: this is still under our rules of engagement.'

‘Sure.' He said it too fast.

‘Tit for tat. I'll tell you what I've got, if you tell me what you've got.'

He hesitated. Maybe trying to work out what she'd accept. Maybe just taking his damn time to annoy her. ‘I can't promise that. It's a police investigation.'

‘And I'm contributing information.'

‘You're personally involved.'

‘Yes, I am. Do you want to see what I've got?'

He folded his arms, looked like he wasn't fussed either way. ‘You know I could get a warrant for your notebook.'

She'd worked in a newsroom, she'd seen it threatened before. ‘Uh-huh. How long would that take?'

He sucked in a long breath, lips tightening to a hard line. But the anger was an act and it lasted about two seconds before he shook his head. ‘You're a pain in the arse, Miranda.'

‘Thank you, Detective Senior Sergeant. I try hard. What's it going to be?'

He smoothed his tie. ‘Same as before. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine. That's the best I can do.'

It wasn't an invitation to the police station to look over evidence – it wasn't bad, though. But she watched
him as if she was thinking it through, making him wait, enjoying his eyes – the uncertainty in them, their cool steadiness, the hint of brain matter working hard behind them. ‘Okay.'

She found the page where she'd started the lists and talked him through her process. Speaking fast, volume rising, she used her hands to explain, gestured with her arms, touched Aiden's sleeve to make a point, glad to be saying it out loud at last. There was an energy to it, familiar from days on the job when big stories were breaking and she'd gathered details, going through them with editors, colleagues, people on the end of phones.

As she spoke, Aiden's focus moved between her and her notes, listening and observing. Maybe he thought it was amusing to see a civilian get overexcited about evidence. Maybe he thought she was losing it. She hoped she wasn't because it felt damn good.

‘This morning at Kate's, I confirmed more,' she told him. ‘Scotty looks just like Brendan and he could read before he started school. Kate's a teacher and she had trouble getting work because they moved around. She told me how Brendan used to tell people she was the best thing that ever happened to him. You took my statement. He used the same words, remember?'

Aiden kept his gaze on her notes.

‘Brendan said Kate was smart, tough and soft,' she said. ‘You've met her, Aiden. That's exactly what she is. I would use the same words to describe her.'

He lifted his face. She could see reservation in it.

‘Look.' She laid fingers on his forearm, the skin warm under the fabric of his shirt. ‘I know none of Kate's information confirms anything Brendan said about people
being after him, but the Real side of the ledger keeps growing.'

Aiden glanced at her hand, made no attempt to shift it. ‘It's good investigating, Jax. Your methodology is clear and you've gathered some compelling material.'

‘And?'

A small tilt of his head. ‘It's not evidence. There's nothing here to prove or disprove Walsh's claims.'

Jax winced a little, feeling suddenly, ridiculously amateurish. ‘They were more than “claims” when he had a gun to my head.'

‘You're too close to it.'

‘Have I convinced you I'm not involved?'

‘There's more than one way to be involved. Nothing comes off the table yet.'

She frowned at him.

‘It's a process.' Explanation, not apology.

‘How about the concept that people were after him?'

‘The break-in and the incident at the beach last night opened that up as a possibility.'

‘Only a possibility?'

‘There's always more than one. It's good investigating, Jax,' he said again. There was reassurance in his tone – it still felt patronising.

‘Sarge?' The uniformed cop was at the door. ‘Forensics wants a word.'