Black Ice (27 page)

'I'll see if we can get on a flight tomorrow.' He looked at Kirri. 'One that will leave me enough time to visit Kirri's gallery and buy one of her paintings.' He smiled. 'Before they go up in price.'

As they walked to the door, Stella paused. 'It must be terrible,' she said, turning to Daniel, 'having someone's death on your conscience.'

It was unnerving, Daniel thought, the way Stella had honed in on his feelings. Brett Lewis's death still played on his mind. 'Yes. It's not something I find easy to live with. I should have tried to talk him around first.'

'But he was going to kill your daughter!' Philip protested.

'I know, but that still doesn't make me feel any better.'

'No,' Stella stood back as Philip opened the door, 'but guilt has a terrible way of eating at you. And on top of that you have to convince the Coroner at the Inquest that you had no other choice.'

'Daniel has nothing to feel guilty about, Stella!' Kirri felt her temper rising. Sanctimonious bitch, she thought. I'll bet she's never felt guilty about anything in her life.

'No, no. Of course he hasn't,' Stella placated, but her soothing tones only riled Kirri's temper further.

Kirri bit out a curt 'Goodbye,' and walked out into a late afternoon that had become oppressive in its humidity. Trish's phone call had enabled her to forget, at least for a moment, the danger that Daniel and Catelyn could still be in, but Stella's comments had brought back the brutal reality.

Daniel's arm around her shoulder was comforting and protective, but Kirri couldn't shake the ominous feeling that gripped her.

 

'I wonder how long he'll be able to live with it,' Stella mused as she and Philip watched Daniel walk away with Kirri.

'What do you mean?' Philip fought to keep his tone neutral. He'd had as much of Stella as he could take, but until they were back in Sydney and he could offer her a redundancy package he didn't want to antagonise her.

'Killing someone. The knights in shining armour like Daniel Brand find it hard to accept they're only human. Sometimes they break down under the strain.'

'No way. Daniel's too tough for that,' he asserted, but a tiny doubt had been sown.

Stella watched his face and knew she'd been successful. She started to walk to her own room. 'Just leave a note under my door when you know our return flight times,' she spoke over her shoulder, 'I'm going to check out the Cairns night life tonight so try to make it nearer midday.' She stopped and took her room key from her handbag. 'I'd appreciate it.'

Philip watched her false smile, and resisted the impulse to return one of his own.

 

'Damn!' Mick hung up his phone and stared at the photo of Brett Lewis he had e-mailed to the police in Tasmania. When they'd taken it to Brett Lewis's mother, she had declared that the man in the photo was not her son. Thelma Lewis, according to the officer who interviewed her, had shown him family photographs proving her claim. She also said that although she hadn't seen her son for six years, she had received a card from him every Christmas. Unfortunately, none of these cards had ever carried a return address.

Mick didn't mind mysteries, though he preferred his crimes straightforward. Revenge, passion, greed, sooner or later the motives became obvious. But he had the feeling he'd need a lot of patience to unravel the connection between a visiting Yank and a killer who no longer had an ID.

It was definitely time to give Brisbane another call. Perhaps they could hurry up the fingerprint boys in Campbelltown. He didn't like his chances of being placed high on their priority list, but sometimes squeaky wheels
did
have a smattering of grease flung at them.

 

Big drops of rain plopped onto the bitumen. Stella hurried her pace, her sneakers padding swiftly through the night. The trees along the side of the road wouldn't provide enough cover to prevent her getting soaked if the rain got heavier.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed.

A car engine sounded behind her, and headlights illuminated her tracksuit-covered body. Stella cursed as the car slowed to keep pace with her. The passenger side window slid down.

'Hey, mate! Do you want a lift?' A man's voice called out.

In the faint glow of the dashboard light Stella could make out the male driver. She was about to shake her head when rain began to pelt down. Damn! In this downpour it would look suspicious to refuse. She reefed open the door, and slipped into the car. The interior light flashed on, then began to slowly fade. She pushed her tracksuit hood back.

Power rushed through her as she saw the appreciative gleam in the man's eyes. Closer to forty than thirty, he was good-looking in a rough-hewn way, hands broad on the steering wheel. Her glance caught the dull gleam of his wedding ring. Good. A man with a wife was unlikely to tell anyone about picking up a woman on a deserted road in the middle of the night. Still, it wouldn't hurt to add a little insurance. Her blood heated at the thought.

She unzipped her tracksuit top and heard a low whistle of appreciation. With a smile she reached across and brought his hand over to cover her bare breast.

 

Harsh morning sunlight ended the night of rain, heightening the day's oppressive steaminess.

Kirri stood in the front doorway of Emma's house, suffused with guilt. 'She's just so whingey and fretful, Daniel. I'm sure she's coming down with something.' Catelyn looked so miserable, reaching out to her from the security of Daniel's embracing arms, her little face screwed up ready to cry.

'Kirri, she'll be fine. If you don't hurry you'll be even later for the appointment.'

Still she hesitated, torn between Catelyn's needs and her own. 'I could take her with me.'

'No, you can't,' Daniel said with great patience, 'not if you want to have a decent conversation with the Curator. This is your big chance. Catelyn will be okay for an hour. Once the cleaners finish,' he glanced back inside at the sound of an industrial vacuum cleaner being switched on, 'I'll take her for a walk, maybe buy her an ice-cream.'

'Okay. But don't forget, Emma's car key is on the keyring if you need to drive to the hospital with her, and you have my mobile number, and the gallery's, and -'

It had been an effective way of silencing her in the past, and it worked again now. But Daniel shortened the kiss, whispered 'Good luck,' and closed the door. Catelyn began to wail, but he cuddled her on his uninjured shoulder while he walked from room to room and she soon drifted into a fretful sleep. With a sigh of relief he carefully reclined onto the lounge.

Half an hour later the cleaners finished, and Catelyn woke as Daniel paid them. He went into the bedroom to pack her clothing. The bed was still unmade, the sheets rumpled from two nights before, but the bloodstain was gone, and so was the mess from the police fingerprint powder. He tried to get Catelyn to lie down, but she clung to him and cried.

He soothed the black curls back from her forehead, worry punching him in the stomach as he felt the clamminess of her skin and noted how pale she had become. Murmuring soft words of comfort, he rocked her gently while his mind raced. She was certainly worse now, but just how bad was she? He had friends who'd said how their kids could be sick one minute, then running around happily the next. Now he wished he'd paid more attention when they'd described the symptoms.

Catelyn began to whimper, and Daniel's nerve cracked. He'd have to get her to a doctor. He took the keys from his pocket and found the one which unlocked the door leading into the garage.

The front doorbell rang.

 

On the south side of Cairns a young drug addict held up a service station operator with a knife and demanded money. The operator tried to knock the knife from the kid's hand, failed, and the kid punched the blade between his ribs, grabbed the cash, and ran off.

The call came in to Mick as he pushed aside a pile of paperwork to make room for a cup of coffee. He sighed, took a tentative sip from the steaming mug, and reluctantly placed the mug on the desk.

He walked out of his office.

A minute later his phone rang.

 

'Stella!' The astonishment in Daniel's voice stopped Catelyn's whimpering. She turned her head from Daniel's shoulder to look at the woman, then burrowed back into the security of his arms.

'May I come in, Daniel?'

Still surprised, Daniel stood back as she walked inside. She appeared to be agitated, her fingers fiddling nervously with her black shoulder bag. Daniel glanced behind her, but he couldn't see her hire car. She was obviously alone.

'Where's Philip?' he asked.

'Back at the motel, I assume. Or shopping.'

'Then why -'

'I need to talk to you, Daniel.'

'Can't it wait till I get back to Sydney, Stella? Catelyn -'

'No!' Her shoe clacked on the tiles as she stamped her foot. 'I need to talk to you
now
!'

Uneasy with this display of histrionics, Daniel noted the small, plucking movements Stella made at the sides of her blue slacks. He spoke softly, 'Stella, Catelyn is sick. I have to take her to a doctor.'

'How are you getting there?'

Catelyn was hot and clammy against his shoulder, and Daniel's patience grew thin. 'Not that it's any of your business, but Kirri's friend has lent us her car.'

'Then let's go. We can talk on the way.'

Daniel hesitated. He didn't want to deal with Stella now, but he might need help with Catelyn on the drive to the hospital. Her safety seat was still in the Nissan, and he wasn't sure she would be safe in a normal seat belt.

It was against his better judgement, but he nodded, 'Okay.'

 

The Curator walked out of the gallery, and Kirri sagged limply against her office door. She'd done it! Four of her paintings were to be hung in the forthcoming exhibition. Three from those already on display in her and Trish's Boutique Gallery in Cairns, the fourth she still had to paint. But she had enough time.

Daniel! She had to tell him. Perhaps they could go out to celebrate. If Catelyn was well enough.

'Kirri,' Trish walked over from the front counter, 'that gentleman would like to talk to you.'

Kirri glanced across to where Philip Weyburn was standing, a heavily wrapped painting and a suitcase by his side. She hurried over, and Philip smiled a greeting. 'I bought one of your seascapes for my mother. Hopefully, it will have a calming effect on her. I love her, but it's driving me nuts living with her.' He reached into his shirt pocket and brought out an envelope. 'She asked me to give this to Daniel, but I forgot yesterday.' He placed the envelope on the counter.

'I'll make sure he gets it, Philip.'

'Thank you. Now I have some more shopping to do. Can I leave the painting and my suitcase here until I'm ready to catch a taxi to the airport?'

'Of course. I'll put them in the office. Isn't Stella going back with you?'

'Yes, but she's meeting me at the airport.'

Kirri chuckled. 'And by the look on your face you're hoping you'll be allocated seats on opposite sides of the aisle.'

'Opposite ends of the plane, more like it,' he grimaced. He held out his hand. 'Goodbye, Kirri. I hope the police find out what Brett Lewis's motive was.'

'So do I, Philip.' Kirri shook his hand, then took his suitcase and painting into her office. She looked at her watch. The Curator had been in a hurry, so the meeting had been swift and decisive. Kirri debated whether to rush straight back to Catelyn, or take a few minutes to dash into the hospital and check on her grandmother. She tossed the envelope into her shoulder bag.

The envelope wasn't sealed, and an old newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor. She bent down and picked it up. Two couples dressed in evening attire faced the camera. Kirri read the blurb beneath. "James and Irene Weyburn and their American friends Keneally and Estelle Brand, attending the Regency Ball on Saturday night."

She read the blurb again, then studied the picture. She opened the envelope, took out two photos. They were in colour. Both taken at the Ball. One full length, the other close-up. Kirri studied the well-defined facial features of Daniel's mother and felt her stomach tighten. 'Estelle,' she murmured. 'Essie.'

Her finger traced across the tall figure of Daniel's father. 'Keneally. Ken.'

A terrible feeling of dread swept through her. Clutching the photos, she grabbed her bag and ran for the street.

 

'She'll be fine in the back seat with me,' Stella asserted as she opened the back door of Kirri's green Magna.
How convenient of the brat to be ill. I didn't think I'd get Daniel into the car this easily.
'Besides, it's illegal to have a small child in the front if they're not in a safety seat.'

She took Catelyn from Daniel, put her on the middle back seat, and fastened the seat belt. Catelyn had stopped crying, but she was still pale and miserable. Stella got in beside the child. 'Hurry up,' she told Daniel.
Damn the man. We've got to get out of here before that bitch artist gets back. Or the bloody cops show up
. 'Please, Daniel,' she pleaded.

Daniel folded his long body into the driver's seat. Stella's behaviour was peculiar, and he didn't want to be saddled with her, but if she could help with Catelyn … He clipped on his seatbelt, adjusted the rear-vision mirror and reversed out of the garage, using the remote to close the roll-a-door. In spite of the previous night's storms, the heat and humidity were already intense, so he switched on the air-conditioning. He turned towards the esplanade, grateful the hospital was only a short distance away. Stella was quiet, and he wished he could see her face.

As he approached the esplanade he turned the indicator to go right towards the hospital.

'I'm sorry, Daniel, but I
really
need to talk to you.'

Something cold and hard pressed into the back of Daniel's neck.

'Turn left.'

Daniel's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel at the soft metallic sound of a gun being cocked.

Kirri had only seen Emma's new car once since Emma had traded in her father's old Land Cruiser, and it had taken her a moment to register that it had reversed out and was driving away from Emma's house. And another second to realise that Daniel was driving … and the back seat passenger's shining blonde hair belonged to Stella.