Felicity Young - An Easeful Death

She bit at her bottom lip. Should she, shouldn’t she? Tye had been occupying her thoughts to an unreasonable extent over these last few days. Despite his tight alibi, there was still something about the Linda Royce case that struck an uneasy, personal chord. In her head she saw Tye reach for the camera in the bedside drawer, heard his voice, smooth and cajoling. ‘Come on, Stevie, pose for me baby, you know you’ll like it.’

She shook her head to dispel the image. The memory alone made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps sharing her story, getting some reassurance from a professional like De Vakey, would put an end to her illogical suspicions. But sharing intimate details of her former sex life was easier said than done. She took several gulps of champagne: she needed Dutch courage to get through this. Bubbles invaded her sinus cavities. She should have gone for beer.

‘Take as long as you like,’ he prompted with a smile, eyes crinkling in a way that was hard to resist.

With another slurp her courage grew.

‘I was in love with him,’ she said. ‘I feel stupid about it now, but I fell for a classic con. He was clever, witty, charming and romantic when he wanted to be. He wooed me with flowers and expensive dinners. I never saw his other side. When we met he was the youngest senior sergeant in Australia, people said he was going far, would probably end up as commissioner one day. I was only a constable and I guess I was overawed. My father was dying from MS and Tye bent over backwards to help Mum and me out. We began to rely on his support more and more.’ She paused for another sip of champagne; this was getting easier by the moment.

‘My folks made a small fortune from the sale of the family station and Dad gave me the money for my house. When Tye and I decided to move in together, Dad was adamant he should sign some kind of tenancy agreement, just in case. I felt awkward about it, but it was Dad’s money after all, he had a right to insist. Tye signed, but once we set up house things hit the fan. He started to get moody and secretive, having irrational bursts of temper which I put down to pressures of the job—he was working Vice at the time. And then he started spending money. Jeez, did he spend up big. I questioned him about it once and he lashed out and knocked me to the ground. I was stunned. I didn’t know how to deal with it.’

The quaver in her voice betrayed her and she didn’t care. It was such a relief to finally be able to tell someone how it really was. Most of it.

‘Because you still loved him.’ De Vakey moved to her side and squatted down to her level. ‘Because he apologised and said he’d make it all up to you.’

She nodded. Boy, did Tye know how to make up. Sex with him had been terrific; she’d never understood why he needed to use the camera.

‘But the money still bothered me,’ she continued. ‘And I suppose there was no small amount of revenge involved in my motives, too, I mean how dare he hit me? I didn’t do anything rash, but I made some discreet enquiries, began to check up on him, and my suspicions grew. I eventually told a senior officer in Vice who had some doubts of his own, and he had Tye followed. He was caught red-handed receiving protection money from a pimp in Northbridge. There was an investigation. He denied the charges, as did the pimp, and there wasn’t enough evidence for prosecution. Tye was dismissed and left town—and I was carrying his baby.’

De Vakey refilled her glass. ‘A disgruntled cop, certainly. You’ve read my profile of the unsub. Could any of it apply to Davis?’

Stevie looked at her glass. The bubbles rose like strings of pearls. She said softly, ‘Well, he didn’t have any sexual hangups, although he did sometimes want me to pose for his camera.’ Bubbles caught in her throat. ‘I never did, of course.’ She made herself look directly at De Vakey. ‘The posing of the victims, you don’t think...’

He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Relief washed over her as the load lifted. ‘And he came from a stable family background. Never once owned a German shepherd.’

The absurdity made her smile. Surely that nervous giggle wasn’t hers? It must have been—he smiled that irresistible crinkling smile again.

She tried to pull herself together. ‘The only thing that fits is the cop bit. Greed was the motive behind his shonky dealings. Looking back on it, I think that’s why he was interested in me. We’d just come into some family money.’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Stevie. You’re a beautiful woman, despite your efforts to hide it.’

It wasn’t the words, it was the way he said them. A wave of heat surged through her, from her toes to the lobes of her ears, a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time.

It was time to go.

She rose to her feet, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Keeping her tone businesslike and her hand on the table for support, she said, ‘Just one more thing before I go. In the car you said you needed to say something you couldn’t say in front of Monty. Are you suspicious about someone in Central? I reckon Monty is, but he won’t say. Tell me, what’s on your mind?’

He paused to consider his answer and she took a swallow from her glass.

‘You,’ he said.

She nearly choked; bubbles came out of her nose, forcing her to lunge for the handkerchief on the bedside table. From the corner of her watering eye she saw his face light up with a grin. For God’s sake, he was laughing at her.

A small tide of champagne snowballed over the edge of the glass as she slammed it down. ‘You got me here under false pretences—I’m going,’ she said, storming over to the chair where she’d left her jacket and bag.

‘Stevie, please, listen to me.’ De Vakey stopped her with a touch on her arm.

When she shook off his grip, his hand moved to her other arm. She whirled around to meet his eyes, sure she’d see their familiar irritating gleam, his patronising way of telling her to lighten up and take herself less seriously. Instead she saw loneliness and need, another hint of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed in him at the abduction site—or was it merely the reflection of her own weakness?

She saw her failed relationships falling like rose petals at her feet.

The pressure of his fingers increased. ‘Stay. Please,’ he said in a voice soft as cotton. He sought the band holding her ponytail and released her hair, running his fingers through the silky smoothness as it cascaded around her shoulders like water.

She continued to cling to her jacket and bag, a half-hearted signal that this fleeting moment would soon be ending. Emotionally he meant nothing to her. Christ, she barely even liked him. But if that was the case, why did her body refuse to respond to her brain’s command to leave?

She took a breath. ‘You are a master at seduction, Mr De Vakey.’

‘I’m a master of everything I do.’

‘Humble, too,’ she smiled. ‘Arrogant bloody prick.’

When he laughed, her decision was made.

She allowed him to take her by the hand to the bed. As he leaned over to cover her mouth with his, the mattress sighed underneath them.

Right or wrong, she began to lose herself in him, to savour the almost forgotten thrill of her own arousal. She deserved this, didn’t she? God, it had been such a long time.

But fate decreed it hadn’t been long enough.

What the hell was that noise? It took a few seconds of confusion before she realised the nightmarish rhythm was coming from her bag at the side of the bed. De Vakey said to leave it, but she couldn’t.

She dived for her phone, shutting off the thumping beat of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. For Christ’s sake, Barry had sabotaged her ring tone again.