Already Dead (34 page)

Hugh Talbotson was one of a list Aiden had slated for interview as part of the coroner's inquiry into Brendan's death. When Hugh was initially unavailable, there was no urgency to chase him down. It was Jax's account of meeting him at the Walsh house and their discussion over coffee that piqued Aiden's curiosity. Suzanne May's computer check led to a connection with the Nina Torrence investigation: Hugh was listed as ‘personal security advisor' for Dominic Escott. He'd never been a bodyguard or driver for either Nina or Escott.

A hit on the fingerprinting from Jax's car and Tilda's house raised questions – one set was at both scenes and was ex-military. It didn't directly connect Hugh, but Aiden wondered about Jax's Afghanistan theory. His first phone calls to her that Friday morning were to warn her off talking to Hugh.

Then a link: Talbotson, Brendan and the man with the fingerprints had fought in the desert together. Aiden didn't know what that meant, but when he couldn't reach Jax, he thought she might've figured it out and asked the wrong person the right questions.

It was Kate who told him about Brendan's phone. She'd been anxious and upset thinking about what Jax might have found; Hugh persuaded her it would be better if he collected it and screened it first. That piece of information made Aiden hit the alarm. It wasn't until Deanne explained what they'd found inside the mobile cover that he started to put it together. Too late to stop Hugh getting in Jax's car – not too late to realise what was happening.

‘So, about the last time we were here,' Jax said.

Aiden smiled. ‘Hmm?'

‘I didn't explain it properly.'

‘You didn't have to.'

Her fingers inched towards him, found the warmth of his palm. ‘I was thinking we could try again.'

His hand closed around hers but he didn't take the cue. Instead, his eyes moved over her face and seemed to stall: undecided, maybe unconvinced.

Jax wasn't that girl from uni and she wasn't the one from two weeks ago. She was somewhere in between, still learning where exactly, only knowing she wanted to move forward, not stand in one spot. So she closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his.

For half a second, he didn't move, then his arm slid around her waist, his mouth softened, deepened, kissed her back. But there was hesitance in it – and in his eyes when she stepped back.

‘See, I didn't fall apart,' she tried.

He took a breath, held it as though he didn't know how to say it.

She did it for him. ‘It's okay. I understand. I'll just –'

‘No.' His grip tightened on her hand when she tried to pull away. ‘I want this. I wanted it fifteen years ago. But …' He ran his teeth over his bottom lip. ‘I've got something for you. You should see it before …' He cocked his head at the car parked behind hers.

What would make her say,
Whoa, buddy, I'm not going there
? ‘You got a body in there?'

‘No, it's …' He kept hold of her hand as he took her to the back of his car and lifted the lid. Three document boxes, side-by-side, unlabelled.

A pulse pumped in her throat. ‘What are they?' Not waiting for the go-ahead, she lifted the top on the closest one. It was full of files, stacked upright, front to back. ‘What are they?' she asked again, her voice tight, fingers already tugging at the first folder.

‘Your husband's documents. Everything of Nick Westing's that Homicide kept. His phone and computer have to stay in evidence but whatever was downloaded is there. You can't have the originals or notes from the investigation but I thought you could do something with this.'

She couldn't answer, couldn't take her eyes off the boxes. She reached out and squeezed Aiden's hand, hoped he understood it was heart-tearing gratitude. Tears filled her eyes as she threw the lids off the other boxes, running her palms over hundreds of pages as though she might sense Nick in them. Aiden waited silently while she perched on the edge of the boot, pulled random folders, flipped through their contents. Stories and research, photocopies of Nick's diary and handwritten notes. She swatted at free-flowing tears so they didn't drop and smudge the words – and for the moment, she had no questions. Just a hunger to read it all.

‘You okay?' Aiden finally asked.

Jax pushed a folder back into its box, stood and hugged him. Five minutes ago, she'd kissed him, had allowed herself to think about where it might lead. Now Nick was here with them. She stepped away. ‘Thank you.' She wiped her eyes. ‘I … I'm …' She shook her head. ‘It's Nick.'

‘That's why I wanted you to see it first.'

She nodded, grateful for much more than just the documents. He understood her need to find out – maybe he had boxes like this of his own. And he knew it would be like
this, that she'd need to back away, and he did it anyway. ‘Thank you.'

‘Give me a call when you've got some questions.'

‘About Nick?'

‘About anything.'

She smiled. ‘Drinks and questions?'

‘We could mix it up, make it food and conversation sometimes. When you're ready.'

‘There's a lot to read. It might be a while.'

‘Try not to make it fifteen years.'

‘It's like police work, you'll need patience. But you're good at that. Give it a while.'

Many thanks to everyone in the team at Random House Australia, and especially my publisher Bev Cousins for listening to my garbled, half-formed ideas on this one and trusting that I'd find a way to the end.

Thanks also to my agent Clare Forster, and to Kate Cooper, Rebecca Ritchie and Anoukh Foerg, for championing my words.

Sam Findley once again provided much appreciated research assistance, time and discussion – thanks, Sam. Thanks also to Michele Oshan and Wendy James for reading drafts, helping me sift through ideas and sharing their experience – and for the coffee and wine that went with it. And to Cath Every-Burns for using her holiday time to read in stereo and compare notes across our bows – it made all the difference to Jax.

To my writing family: Christine Stinson, Isolde Martyn, Elizabeth Lhuede, Melinda Seed, Kandy Shepherd, Carla Molino, Simone Camilleri and Carol Casey; also Louise Reynolds and Dayley Black – it would be so much harder without you.

And to my family: Mark and Claire, who have moved far away but are always with me, and Paul, who meets my imaginary friends and lives with every version of me – I couldn't do it without you.

In
Already Dead
, I write about post-traumatic stress disorder as an injury of war but it can affect anyone. I found many online resources, from information about symptoms to online discussions and where to find help. If you think you or someone you care about is suffering PTSD, there is support – don't wait to find it.

Jaye Ford is a former news and sports journalist, with the unusual claim of being the first female presenter of a live national sports show in Australia, hosting
Sport Report
on SBS in 1988–89. She also worked in public relations before turning to crime fiction. She lives in Lake Macquarie in the Hunter Valley, New South Wales.

Already Dead
is Jaye's fourth novel following
Beyond Fear
,
Scared Yet?
and
Blood Secret
. Her first,
Beyond Fear
, won Best Debut and Reader's Choice at the Sisters in Crime Davitt Awards 2012.

 

www.jayefordauthor.com

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