Inheriting Fear Page 16

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 25

  A doctor, who’d been scribbling on a clipboard chart in Rosalie’s room, eyed Mya and Luca.

  “I’ll give you some privacy. Beverly at reception can contact me if you have any questions.”

  Luca slumped into the floral armchair by the window. Mya gathered Rosalie’s head and shoulders into her arms and wept into her hair. Guilt told him to look away, but he wasn’t looking at Mya and Rosalie—he was seeing himself draped over his wife. His throat constricted and his eyes stung. He blinked, but tears spilt onto his cheeks and he dragged in a juddering breath that didn’t satisfy his lungs.

  An insidious growth had lodged in Olivia’s beautiful breast, right beside the heart he loved. Her once-velvet voice became rough, and eyes that used to sparkle and mock him became dull. She had apologized in advance for dying and leaving him. She apologized to him. He was the one who needed to apologize, for doing overtime instead of going home to her, for working on his laptop when he could have been making love to her.

  Eventually, Mya sat and stroked Rosalie’s face. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was committing her mother’s face to memory, because these last minutes would have to last a lifetime. He wouldn’t hurry her.

  The sound of his mobile phone was too loud in the solemn room. He jumped and clutched it to his chest, then raced from the room, tossing an apologetic look at Mya. She didn’t appear to notice.

  “Hello?”

  “Luca? I was expecting to hear from you after you visited Pete.” Kate sounded worried.

  “I didn’t. I haven’t. There’s been a death.”

  Kate’s sharp intake of air was her only question.

  “When I got to Rich Haven, Mya’s mother had just passed away. She was distraught, so I stayed.”

  “Luca, that’s very nice of you, but you shouldn’t be getting involved with this girl.”

  “She doesn’t have any family,” he whispered.

  There was a long silence at the end of the phone. “Okay, I’ll leave you to finish up there and wait to hear from you.”

  “Thanks, Kate.”

  The line went dead, but Luca pressed his cheek against the cool wall for several minutes. Finally, his ears tuned into muttering. He stuck his head through the doorway.

  Mya’s hand fluttered over Rosalie’s body. “Tell me what happened to you, Mum. I know it was Rhonda. What did she do?”

  She whimpered.

  “What are you doing?” He grabbed Mya’s wrists, and held tightly when she struggled.

  Her eyes blazed with anger. He’d seen what she was capable of, but wasn’t afraid. She needed human contact now, even if she didn’t want it.

  Mya sniffed. “Rhonda murdered Mum and I’m going to find out how.”

  “What are you talking about?” He knew he should be telling her that people in aged care facilities died of natural causes all the time, but he was the one who’d been trying to prove otherwise for more than a year. Then again, Rosalie Jensen didn’t fit the victim profile; she had family.

  Mya stood rigid. In a loud voice she declared, “My mother was murdered. I want an autopsy.”

  “And you’re entitled to one. I’ll make sure it happens. But why do you think she was murdered?”

  “Rhonda did it, I know she did. She’s been sending letters and I saw her red hair. Now Mum’s dead and she wasn’t old or sick.” She sucked short, quick breaths and swayed.

  She wasn’t making sense. It must be a coping mechanism. He grabbed her elbows, expecting her to pull away, but she sunk lower, so he scooped her up and carried her to the armchair. Gently he set her down and knelt in front of her. He looked her in the eye.

  “Mya, I don’t know what happened to your mum, but I’m going to help you find the truth. I promise.”

  This time he surveyed the room with a critical eye. It looked tidy, maybe too tidy. No sign of a struggle or ransacking of drawers. Nothing appeared out of place.

  He picked up the phone and dialed reception. “Can you call the doctor back to Rosalie Jensen’s room, please?”

  Within a few minutes, the grey-haired doctor arrived in the doorway. He tucked a clipboard under one arm. “Detective Patterson, how can I be of assistance?”

  “Can you tell me who found Miss Jensen’s body?”

  “Of course.” He flipped a page on the clipboard. “Nurse Anne Purdy found the body and called me immediately.”

  “Could I speak to the nurse?”

  “Certainly.”

  After the doctor hung up the phone on the bedside table, he flicked his head in the direction of the door. Luca followed him into the hall.

  “Are you a family member?”

  “No, a family friend.” It didn’t sound like a lie, although Luca doubted Mya had any real friends. “In your opinion, doctor, is Rosalie’s death suspicious?”

  The man frowned and adjusted his bifocals to the end of his nose. “Why do you ask?”

  “Force of habit.”

  “Well, I examined the body at nine fifteen this morning and found no vital signs, so I pronounced her. I suspect the cause of death is cardiac arrest, but I’m not confident enough to declare it on a certificate of death.”

  “So it will go to the coroner.” Luca nodded and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What makes you unsure, doctor?”

  “Well, Miss Jensen wasn’t as elderly as most of the patients at Rich Haven, but in her condition her life expectancy is reduced. However, I examined her at the beginning of the week and found her to be in good health. I’m not sure about suspicious, but her death is unexpected.”

  They both turned as a young brunette wearing a pale blue shirt and navy skirt approached.

  Luca shook the doctor’s withered hand. “Thanks for your help.” He offered the same hand to the nurse.

  Her eyes were downcast.

  “Ms. Purdy, I believe you discovered Miss Jensen’s body—” He caught himself and shot a glance at Mya.

  She had slumped so her head was on the arm of the chair as she stared blankly at Rosalie.

  He moved so his back was to her and lowered his voice. “I wonder if you can tell me how you found her.”

  Anne peeked from under thick black lashes. Presumably taking Luca’s lead, she kept her voice low. “I was doing my morning rounds and said hello to Rosalie. Of course, she didn’t answer because she didn’t speak, but we like to stimulate the patients with conversation. Tell them what we’re doing and why. Her eyes were closed, so I thought she might be dozing, but when I checked her more closely, I found her to be unresponsive. I immediately called the doctor on duty.”

  “Was she lying on the bed like this?”

  “Pretty much. Of course, I tidied her up a little.” Anne twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

  “Can you describe exactly how Miss Jensen’s body was arranged?”

  A frown fluttered across the nurse’s brow. “Um, sure. She was on her back and one leg was bent. Come to think of it, that was a bit strange. Rosalie can’t move her legs, so whoever put her on the bed didn’t straighten her out properly. Her arms were by her sides, I think her head was turned to the right as though she was looking out the window, and her hair was a bit mussed. So I just tidied her up.”

  “Is it usual for the staff to put her on the bed during the day?”

  “No, not really. We usually put immobile patients in their armchair or wheelchair. It helps prevent bedsores, keeps up circulation, and gives us an opportunity to change the bed linen, et cetera. But there might have been a reason someone put her on the bed,” she added quickly.

  When he looked up from his notes, the nurse was wringing her hands. He smiled to put her at ease.

  “Did you touch her clothing?”

  “Let me see … she was wearing exactly what she has on now. I did straighten her cardigan. It was pulled to one side, but that’s all.”

  “You are being a great help, and I won’t keep you from your job
much longer. Can you tell me if anything in the room was moved or is missing?”

  She studied the room with a pucker of concentration between her brows. “No, I don’t see anything missing. Oh, the orderly took her breakfast dishes away while I was here.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time. I’ve got one more thing for you to do. Please see if you can find those breakfast dishes and bring them back to the room. Don’t touch them more than you have to and don’t wash them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Is something wrong with Rosalie?” She peered around him.

  “I’m not sure, but I do really need those dishes.”

  “Oh, yes. They might still be on the orderly’s trolley.” She flicked him a poor excuse for a smile and trotted down the hall.

  Mya didn’t look like she was moving any time soon, so he stepped into the hall, and dialed his boss.

  “Sir, it’s Luca. I’m at Rich Haven Aged Care Facility and I’ve got a suspicious death I’d like to investigate.”

  There was a pause. A long one. “Patterson, tell me you’ve got evidence this time.”

  “Not exactly, sir. I came here to pick up some information and found out a woman died this morning. The doctor won’t sign the death certificate. I asked a few questions, and it looks a bit suspicious. I’d like to interview the staff and process the room.”

  “You’re on holidays.” The inspector sounded less than impressed.

  “I’ll get a team in and I won’t hang around.”

  “Okay, you can call a small team in, but don’t go making a production out of this unless you find some evidence. Got it?” Moss growled down the phone.

  “Yes, sir.”

  How long would he have to pay for one stinking incident two years ago? He made the call to go in without knowing for sure what they were going to find inside. A cop was shot, but they saved the kidnapped child, for God’s sake. He dialed Kate.

  “Can you get a team over to Rich Haven? I want someone to interview the staff, a couple of officers to process the room, a photographer, and a guard put on the door until we know the extent of what we’re dealing with.” More silence at the end of the phone.

  If everyone didn’t let up with this attitude, he was going to see red. Yes, a police officer needed evidence, but every decent detective knew you had to trust your gut instincts, too.

  “Look, I’ve just spoken to the inspector and he okayed it,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, sure. I’ll come down with Constables Callum and Old. Will you be there to fill me in?”

  “I’m going to take Mya home, because she’s too distraught to drive.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? I could organize—”

  “Will you just go with me on this one, Kate?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. There’s a doctor here you can talk to. He’s going to send the body to the coroner’s pathologist. Order a full tox-screen and find out when they’re doing the autopsy.”

  Luca stood in the hall and scrubbed his hands across his face. As soon as the guard arrived he’d take Mya home, and he wasn’t looking forward to prising her out of there at all.

  This had been a long day already and he had a bad feeling tomorrow was only going to be worse. But he wouldn’t jump to conclusions before the room was processed. To tell the truth, he hoped he was wrong. Being right about the depraved things people were willing to do to one another sucked.

  Chapter 26

  “Watch your head.” Luca put his hand on Mya’s crown as he helped her out of his car.

  When he’d insisted on driving her home, she argued at first, but eventually succumbed to logic—she couldn’t ride a motorbike in her state. Besides, her half-coherent version of events worried him. If someone murdered Rosalie and had tried to run Mya off the road, then he needed to look out for her.

  He parked right in front of her house. It had stopped raining, but large puddles of dirty water pooled on the footpath and he guided her around them.

  “That’s weird,” she said.

  “What?” He followed her line of sight to the front porch.

  “That pot has moved.”

  Strictly speaking, pots didn’t move, people moved them. While she fished keys from the pocket of her leather jacket, he stared at a brown, circular stain on the porch. A stain the size of the pot thirty centimetres away.

  “Did you move this pot when you watered it or something?”

  “No. I can’t remember doing that.”

  She slid a key into the deadbolt and turned. It clicked and her arm extended as she pushed the door inward. Something metallic caught Luca’s eye.

  “No!”

  He grabbed her wrist with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist. She was lifted off her feet as he threw them from the porch.

  Mya screamed.

  They thudded onto the wet lawn, Mya face down and Luca on top of her.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” She thrashed her arms and legs.

  A gust of wind whipped hair into his eyes as he rolled off her, hands in front of his face in a defensive posture. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  A deep boom triggered an automatic response. He pushed her head into the grass and arched his body over hers.

  A surge of wood splinters hit his back and legs like a thousand needles. In the seconds that followed he could hear only the ringing in his ears. Gradually other sounds penetrated. Laboured breathing, someone shouting from what seemed like a great distance.

  The ruined front door of Mya’s house was charred. Small flames tried to assert themselves into the fire-retardant paint around the shattered frame, where dark ribbons of smoke were caught by the gusting wind.

  Mya squirmed, so he rolled off her. They sat on the wet ground, staring at the debris strewn across the porch, stairs, and lawn. He pulled his mobile out and dialed the emergency services.

  “A fire unit is on the way,” he told Mya.

  Fast footsteps made them both turn. Bert Reiner ran up the path with a small red fire extinguisher in his hands, passed them, and leapt onto the porch.

  “Wait!”

  Luca jumped to his feet, but the old man already had the pin out, squeezing the trigger to sweep white foam up and down the door frame. It sounded like someone trying to hock up a ten-second loogey. Then it was over.

  Bert stepped back as white goo dripped down the wall.

  A crowd of neighbours formed across the road, and there was a smaller group further down—the Mason family—who were laughing.

  Bert helped Mya to her feet and she dusted at the wet patches on her T-shirt and jeans. Luca’s training and methodical nature kicked in. It was the best way he knew how to deal with situations outside of his control, and this was a raging bull waiting to charge. When he’d put Mya in his car to drive her home, it had been out of compassion, but when he saw her lying on the lawn, surrounded by debris and with terror in her eyes, well, he was damned sure not going to let anything else happen to her.

  No matter whether his feelings were reciprocated, he would protect her and make her safe again.

  He felt pinpricks of discomfort on his back, but he was standing, so all that mattered now was making sure the bastard—or bitch—who did this paid. He jotted down details of the timeline and scene: the names of individuals he could see and knew, and the sequence of events. This was what he was good at, gathering information from any and every source; sifting through it; looking for patterns, mistakes, clues. He would find the culprit; all that remained was to see how long it would take him.

  Two fire appliances screamed up the road. One parked behind Luca’s car, the other pulled in front of it at an angle. The station officer was the first yellow-suited firefighter to alight from the front of the cab.

  “Clear the property.” He issued the order with a wave of his arm in the direction of Luca, Mya, and Bert.

  More firefighters spilled from the second appliance.

  “Run out the hose and prepa
re to enter the house,” the station officer instructed.

  “No! The door was rigged,” Luca yelled.

  Curls of smoke weaved under the eaves and dispersed over the gutter, leaving the air with an acrid heat-bead smell.

  The lead firefighter stepped in front of Luca. “Please stand aside until the house is clear, sir.”

  “Detective Patterson.” Luca pulled out his badge.

  “Nice to meet you, but you’re still going to have to wait on the footpath until the house is clear. Thanks for the tip. We’ll keep our eyes peeled for secondary devices.”

  Luca huffed and flipped open his mobile. It rang only once.

  “Hi, Kate. I need you to come to Mya’s house. Everything is going to shit here.”

  “What happ—”

  “Just get here.” He pressed the end button and turned to find Mya.

  She was propped against the fence, staring at what used to be her front door. The strange expression on her face didn’t look like the blank void of denial or the bitter aftertaste of grief. He’d seen fear on plenty of other faces before, but it looked out of place on Mya. Tears gathered along the rims of her eyes and her chin quivered, but even after everything that had happened to her today, she wouldn’t give into her demons. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from the evil that lurked in her home.

  A police car arrived and the leathery driver waved at Luca and swaggered over.

  “Patterson.” The officer looked like an old Charles Bronson, with grey flecks in his thick moustache and darkly tanned skin. “This your place?”

  A stinging sensation on Luca’s back was demanding attention. He shrugged his shoulders to reposition his jacket. “Afternoon, Davey. No, I was just dropping a neighbour home and her front door exploded.”

  “Shit! You’re lucky neither of you were hurt.” He gave Mya a cursory glance.

  “I thought I saw a wire as she opened the door, so I threw us off the porch.” He demonstrated with his arms. Stretching his back hurt.