Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? (22 page)

The boss wasn't happy when I phoned him, but it was midnight and how could he say no to the person who had just possibly cracked the case of the century? I also think he could hear the bat-shit crazy in my voice and thought it best not to argue, so he agreed to assign Constable Jack to look for Capo Paolo in the hotel surveillance tapes. Then he could check out the wheres and whens of Paolo Napoli's private jet's arrivals and departures. That'd keep him indoors and out of trouble for a day or two. And then there were mobile phone records to go through when they were finished. Shooting him may have been out of the question, but the rules don't say anything about boring him to death. Yes, the brandy in the coffee was definitely improving my mood. I flopped back on the bed and started to work out which shoes to pack for Broome. That's more fun than counting sheep and twice as effective.

And then the sun was filtering through the shutters and my phone was ringing. “Private” number. Ah well, nothing like a mystery call to kick-start the morning.

“Griffiths.” I had a headache and it was too early to do “nice”.

“What are you wearing?” The voice was low, very low. A whisper.

“Who is this?” I asked, feeling under my pillow for my whistle.

“Good morning, Detective Griffiths. This is your early morning obscene call.” My heart skipped three beats. It was Jace. “Do you miss me?”

“Miss you? I ache all over, thanks to you, and I'm very scratchy in some very strange places.” I stretched like a cat, feeling the butterflies beating their wings in my belly. God, even his voice could give me the wobblies.

“I've been thinking about some of your places and I wish I could see them now.”

“Well, you can't. I'm shy.”

“That's not how I remember you.”

“Where are you?” I changed the subject.

“Having a lonely breakfast in my monk's cell at the Peninsula. But it's not fun when there's no-one to share. Why don't you join me here for a couple of days? I promise that I won't behave.”

Bloody hell.

“Last night I booked a week in Broome. I'm leaving this afternoon.”

“Didn't you cancel your holiday?”

“And I've just rebooked it. Perth tonight, then six nights at the Cable Beach Resort.”

“Cancel and come up here. Text me your passport details and I'll organise everything.”

Silence.

“Well, will you come? We can have breakfast together tomorrow morning.”

But then I thought of how much I'd looked forward to my holiday and how disappointed I'd been when I'd had to cancel and how good I'd felt when I rebooked. When I'd rebooked my second set of non-refundable tickets. If I cancelled it would be the most expensive holiday I'd never taken. It was my holiday, and I was going to take it.

“Jace, I'd love to, but I can't. I've booked and I've started to pack and I need time to do nothing. I haven't had a break for nearly eighteen months, and I'm running on empty.” Did I really say that?

He sighed. “You've broken my heart, detective. You've rejected me. Or are you just playing hard to get?”

“I told you. I'm shy.”

“And I told you that's not how I remember you. But why don't you send me something to
refresh my memory?”

“It's illegal to transmit and receive pornography.”

“Ah, so we can finally do something illegal.”

“No, we can't.”

“You're a hard woman, Detective Sergeant Griffiths.”

“Not completely, Mr Jameson. Bits of me are very soft. Surely you remember.”

“Oh yes, I remember those bits. But I've got something hard for you.”

Oh yeah.

Ya gotta love phone sex, but I was glad I wasn't paying the bill.

I ignored the flurry of incoming calls from Jack and Boo and rejected the phone messages without listening. He was a lying, cheating toad and she was a man-eating thief and a slut and they deserved each other.

I was officially on holiday and not even a lunatic truck driver could spoil my day. I pulled my bag out of the wreckage of the taxi and walked the last 200 metres to the terminal with plenty of time for a pre-flight drink in the Qantas Club lounge.

Broome, here I come.