Loreth White - Breaking Free

He waited a beat just to make sure his voice came out neutral. “Why so late? Why didn’t you wait until this afternoon, after school?”

Her bottom lip started to wobble a little. Dylan’s chest tightened. “Heidi? Talk to me. Please.”

She looked up slowly, and was about to say something when they heard Dylan’s mum coming down the stairs.

Heidi cast her eyes down, then suddenly pushed her chair back from the table, grabbed her schoolbag and started for the door, unfinished cereal left on the table.

“Heidi!”

“I’m going to miss my bus,” she snapped, and the door slammed shut behind her.

Dylan cursed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Morning, Timmy,” said his mother, moving towards the kettle and filling it. “Did you sleep well?”

“It’s Dylan, Mum.”

She looked momentarily confused. “Of course,” she said softly, plugging in the kettle. “I know that.”

Dylan got up to let Muttley back in, his heart sinking. He felt flat. Tired. His mother was worse than he thought. This was the second time in a week she’d called him by his brother’s nickname.

A brother who’d been dead for thirty years.

He needed to take June for another checkup. That would require a trip to the city, impossible right now. He also had to find a way to break through to Heidi. And he had to get back to work. He’d had no sleep, but no one else would be in the station today.

Dylan had also been left with no choice but to place Peebles outside Louisa’s hospital room for the first shift, short of doing it himself. And that wasn’t going to happen—he still had an investigation to conduct, because no matter how he looked at it, things were just not adding up with Louisa the way he’d like them to.

He stood for a moment at the glass door, absently studying the smoky haze in the distance as he rolled the facts over in his mind again.

As much as he hated to admit it, Megan had hit on the key thing troubling him. It was possible Louisa’s gun had been stolen from the cabinet, and that she hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger.

But she could also have hired someone to do the job. That might explain the arson. Because again, he was forced to agree with Megan—he didn’t see Louisa as capable of torching horses.

He needed better evidence against her, or evidence of an accomplice, or they were going to end up having no case.

And there was that other nagging question in his mind. Why Lochlain? Why had the murder and arson happened there? He needed to find that link. The only connection he could see with Lochlain Racing so far was that the homicide victim was the father of Daniel Whittleson, who worked as Lochlain’s head trainer.

Secretly, Dylan was relieved Louisa was in hospital.

It bought him time to dig deeper before having to officially charge her and get her in front of a magistrate.

He rubbed the back of his neck again, trying to ease the stiffness. What he really needed was a full-on homicide team working this, as would ordinarily be the case. But until the APEC stuff eased off, he was it.

And that was the other thing Megan was right about— D’Angelo was going to go for him personally, potentially crucifying him on points of police procedure, like putting the probationary cop outside Louisa’s door.

Damn, but he was in a no-win situation.

Megan sped along the country road, autumn wind in her hair, the vineyards, vibrant with reds, oranges and gold, flashing by in a blur.

She’d spent the morning with D’Angelo and Louisa at Elias Memorial, rehashing the arrest, going over every little detail that had led up to the heart attack. When they’d finished, D’Angelo had pushed his glasses up his Roman nose and told them with his classic trademark equanimity that he would personally make Detective Sergeant Dylan Hastings his target in getting this arrest overturned.

D’Angelo had been particularly pleased to discover the probationary rank of the constable guarding Louisa’s door. He’d noted this was against NSW policing regulations, adding that police staffing problems in the Hunter LAC were going to be their ace in the hole.

So was the fact Louisa had not yet been officially charged.

D’Angelo’s criminal team was now in the process of putting together a case to nullify the arrest, focusing on police ineptitude, Dylan’s in particular.

Megan felt conflicted by this.

That wasn’t justice. Not in her book. That was legal chess.

It went to the heart of why she’d dropped criminal law.

In her mind, the one and only way to exonerate her aunt and put a simple end to this was to find the real killer, and the cop sure as hell wasn’t going to be looking any further—he thought he had his suspect.

Which was why Megan was on the road to Lochlain Racing now. She wanted to see the arson site herself, speak to owner Tyler Preston, find something—anything—that might help solve this case.

But a cold and faint finger of doubt touched her again as she turned onto a dirt road, slowing for some riders, the sun warm on her arms.

What had Dylan meant by saying Louisa had bought justice before? And why had Louisa’s pistol been used as the murder weapon?

Megan drove up the Lochlain driveway, and pulled up under a tall stand of gum trees alongside one of the farm outbuildings.As she got out of the car, the first thing she saw was a young teen in a navy-and-white school uniform on some risers near an empty dressage ring in the distance. She was bent forward, face buried in her hands, crying. Not just crying, but sobbing, her frame physically racked by emotion.

Megan glanced around. There was no one in the immediate vicinity. She hesitated, then walked up to the girl. And as she neared, something in her heart squeezed.

The child reminded her of herself at that age.

Perhaps it was the thick honey-blond hair in two pigtails, the proximity of a dressage ring, the scent of horses in the air—all combining to prod loose a certain memory thread. It was at about the same age as this girl, Megan had lived to ride.

Dressage had been her performance class, a passion passed down from Granny Betty to her mother to her.

She’d lost touch with the sport after her mum and dad’s accident. Life had changed after that. She’d been sent off to boarding school, the horses sold. But right at this moment she felt the old passion stirring oddly, deeply, inside her once again.

“Hey there,” she said, edging onto the wooden bench alongside the girl. “You okay?”

The teen stilled, then sniffing and wiping her face, looked up cautiously. Her cheeks were streaked and blotchy, but she had incredibly beautiful big green eyes. Again an odd sensation gripped Megan. She had a weird feeling of looking back in time, at herself.

“My name is Megan Stafford,” she said softly. “Can I help?”

The girl swiped her eyes, looking embarrassed, then shook her head.

“Did something just happen?”

She glanced away, stared at the empty ring, her gaze shifting slowly towards the fire-damaged barns that had been cordoned off with construction fencing and checkered blue-and-white crime tape. Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears and she moistened her lips. “My horse, Anthem—” she said, eyes fixed on the charred ruins “—was injured in the fire.”

Megan’s heart clutched. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Did… did you lose her?”

The girl bit her quivering lip as tears spilled silently down her cheeks again. “I…might. She’s got smoke inhalation damage. I don’t know if she’s ever going to be okay, and…” She was racked by another deep sob. “I can’t be with her because the vet is in there with the other horses now. Anthem was doing all right, and…and then suddenly there was a whole lot of fluid in her lungs yesterday…” Her voice choked as a wrenching surge of raw emotion took hold of her.