Blood Secret Page 3

  She leaned out a bit further and looked both ways along the street. The path that ran in front of the shops towards the lake was empty. In the other direction, two male bodies were sitting on the kerb at the corner. Both were too wide to be Max.

  A little bewildered, she scanned the cafe, thinking maybe he’d pulled up a chair and dozed off while he was waiting for her but he wasn’t inside, either.

  ‘When did you see him last?’ Rennie asked Pav at the coffee counter.

  He stopped stacking the ice buckets and thought for a second. ‘A while ago.’

  ‘How long is a while?’

  ‘An hour. Maybe two.’

  That long? When had she last seen him?

  During the speeches. She’d raised a hand to get his attention across the room but Trish had delivered her birthday goodwill from in front of Rennie’s painting and he hadn’t seen her.

  Back at the circle of late-stayers, Rennie interrupted Trish. ‘Has anyone seen Max?’ All she got was head-shaking and a yawn from Naomi. Okay, well, he was probably off having an alcohol-fuelled deep and meaningful with someone. Wouldn’t be the first time. Outside, she edged a shoulder between Terry and Gordon Frey, asked if they’d seen him. Angus McDonald, leaning on the car, hitched a thumb towards the lane.

  ‘He said he was going to check his car.’

  Uneasiness took a few quick steps up her spine. ‘When?’

  ‘Dunno. ’Bout an hour ago.’

  She glanced down the street towards the two bodies squatted on the kerb, thought of the knife in Pav’s road rage story and heard the kid’s voice in her head: Yeah, it’s a fucking threat.

  4

  The bottle shop was closed and it was darker in the lane than when they’d arrived. The pub on the other side of the car park was open but there was no activity along its well-lit back wall, just the muted thump of music from inside. The only clear sound was the clump and scuff of four pairs of feet as Rennie led the way to the car.

  James was the one to suggest the posse. Terry had fronted up with an enthusiastic ‘Yo’, although Rennie wasn’t sure alcohol and age shouldn’t have ruled him out. She’d called Pav from the doorway. He was big and loud and he could apparently bullshit his way out of a knife attack.

  She slowed at the first full view of the car park. Glow from the pub and the road and two dim street lamps created a frame of light around its darkened centre. There were only a few cars left: a dark sedan halfway down the first row, Max’s bulky, white dual cab with the company logo on its side and a sprinkling of other vehicles. No small, silver four-wheel drive.

  It didn’t mean it hadn’t come back.

  Pav and James outpaced her to the ute, splitting up when they reached it, walking down either side to the front bumper. As they exchanged glances at the other end, Rennie felt apprehension sharpen inside her.

  ‘Anything?’ she called.

  ‘No.’ James turned away, peering at the darkness, hands on his hips.

  Pav walked along the other side of the car, checking the chassis, stopping at the back passenger door. ‘There’s a dent here.’

  ‘That was already there,’ Rennie told him. It was driven around mine sites and MineLease’s machinery plant; dents happened.

  ‘We should do a walk around the car park,’ James said. ‘I’ll take the pub side.’

  Pav headed towards the exit end and Terry ambled unsteadily beside Rennie as she checked the boundary at the rear of the shops, looking over the fence into each courtyard. Five minutes later, they were back at Max’s car.

  ‘It’s too dark to see into the courtyards behind the shops,’ Rennie reported.

  ‘What would he be doing back there?’ James asked.

  She folded her arms across the uneasiness in her chest. ‘He might not have planned it.’

  ‘Nah. It’d take more than a young bloke and a girl to dump him over a fence,’ Terry slurred.

  His idea of teenage girls was obviously outdated. It was the boy she was worried about, though. ‘He might have come back with mates.’

  Pav looked about a bit more. ‘Maybe. Maybe he went back to the cafe. Did you check the toilets or out the back?’

  No, she’d just jumped to the worst conclusion. Old habits die hard.

  He wasn’t in the single bathroom at the cafe, or out back with the bins and the stacked tables, or in any of the doorways on either side of the road, or the public toilets at the end of the street. Terry went back to Skiffs, too tired and drunk to maintain interest, but Pav and James con­tinued with her to the park. When the light from the shops had faded behind them, they stood together in darkness, searching the black, bony shapes of trees and playground equipment silhouetted by the sparkle of lights from the other side of the lake.

  ‘Max!’ Rennie called, half expecting to see a figure separate itself from the shadows: Max oblivious to the fuss he’d caused.

  Pav cupped hands to his mouth and made more noise. ‘Max!’ The sound seemed to hover above the water before dying. James took a few steps in the other direction and shouted. No answer, no movement.

  As Rennie started towards the shore, Pav said, ‘He wouldn’t come out here.’

  She hesitated, unsure. Max would never wander about in the dark, not on his own, not after what he’d been through. ‘That kid was out of control, though. He might’ve . . . I don’t know, if he got him down by the water’s edge . . . If he . . . I think we should . . .’

  ‘Okay, let’s look.’ James caught her elbow as she stumbled on something in the dark. He had none of Max’s charm, could be aloof and a tad dour but he was tall and broad and she was grateful he was out here with her.

  Reflected light from across the bay gave the shoreline some clarity and she called Max’s name in both directions. All she saw was water lapping gently on the pebbles, its staccato slaps the only sound in the still night.

  ‘He’s not here,’ Pav said finally.

  She pushed a hand through her hair, clenched her teeth on the fear wedged in her throat, not sure if it was another old habit or intuition.

  ‘We can look some more if you want but we won’t see much,’ James said.

  They could drive a couple of cars to the road barriers and turn the lights to high beam, she thought, but the park was only one pocket of the reserve that wound for kilo­metres along the lake’s edge. ‘No. I guess not. Let’s go back to Skiffs.’

  There were just a handful of guests left by the time they returned and Trish had wrangled them into shuffling the tables and chairs back into place for the morning. ‘He could’ve gone home,’ she suggested when Rennie gave her a rundown of the search.

  ‘His car’s still out there.’

  ‘He might’ve walked so you could get home.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have left without telling me.’

  ‘Have you checked your phone? Maybe he tried to call.’

  She headed for the kitchen with Trish on her heels, hoping she was right and wondering why he’d phone when she’d been right there in the cafe. Was he still ticked off? Enough that he couldn’t talk to her? Max didn’t get that ticked off.

  She picked through the contents of her bag, thinking about the way home in the dark. And the kid in the car who’d threatened to find him.

  There was one new text message. From Max.

  Luv u b

  Rennie read it twice, her forehead tightening in a frown.

  ‘Anything?’ Trish asked.

  She held it up to show her.

  ‘What’s the “b” for?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t finish it.’ Maybe he was texting when the kid interrupted him. ‘He sent it at nine fifty-seven. That’s nearly three hours ago.’ She hit speed dial.

  Trish edged closer. ‘Who are you calling?’

  ‘Max.’ She hung up. ‘It went straight to message bank
. I’ll try the house.’ She smiled thinly at Trish as she listened to it ring. Pav came into the kitchen, stood at the workbench and watched.

  ‘Max, it’s me,’ Rennie told the answering machine. ‘Are you there? Pick up.’ She glanced at Trish, then Pav, and shook her head. ‘If you get this, call me.’ She put the phone down, ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. This was Haven Bay, safest place in the world. ‘I’m calling the cops.’

  *

  ‘It was a silver five-door four-wheel drive, a late model Subaru,’ Rennie told the police officer. She was still in the kitchen, pacing between the workbench and the cooktops, talking into her mobile. Edgy. Pav moved quietly about, stacking the fridges with leftovers, wiping surfaces. Listening probably. She didn’t mind.

  Rennie repeated the registration number she’d called out in the driveway of the bottle shop.

  ‘Did you see the driver?’ The cop was male, sounded young and the road rage story had piqued his interest. She gave him a description of the angry kid and his passenger – hair, clothes, eye colour, his watch, her jewellery. The stuff she noticed.

  ‘That’s a pretty detailed description. Have you seen them before?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I just pay attention.’

  ‘Did Mr Tully know either of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there any reason Mr Tully might decide to leave the party without telling anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could he have had a fight with someone?’

  They’d snapped at each other. It wasn’t that kind of fight. ‘No.’

  ‘Has he had work problems?’

  She remembered the conversation with Naomi, the long hours he’d been working. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Does he have any medical issues?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there a chance he might want to harm himself?’

  Not since she’d known him. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll put his details in the computer. If you haven’t heard from him by tomorrow, you’ll need to come into the station and make a statement. And bring a recent photo.’

  Rennie rung off. ‘I’m going to look for him.’

  ‘He could be anywhere.’ James was in the doorway.

  ‘I know. But I can’t just go home, not without looking. I’ll drive back along the lake. Maybe he tried to walk. Maybe the kid found him. I don’t know, maybe he just fell over in the dark.’ She tossed her phone in her handbag and dug out the car keys.

  ‘Should you be driving?’ Pav hauled his apron over his head. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

  ‘Not that much and I feel stone-cold sober.’

  ‘Well, I’m over the limit, for sure, but I’ll come with you,’ Pav said.

  ‘I’ll take Hilltop Road and meet you at your place.’ James saw the question on both their faces. ‘I’m fine. I’ve only had a couple beers.’

  ‘What about Naomi?’ Rennie asked.

  ‘She’s gone already. Eliza took her and Trish home.’

  She felt a sudden rush of gratitude. They’re friends, Rennie. It was another reason she’d stayed. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  *

  She drove slowly, retracing Max’s route. The water was a black satin sheet that stretched all the way to the opposite bank. At the shoreline below the road, she couldn’t tell where the rocks ended and the lake began. On the right, the rough edge of bitumen met lawns that sloped upwards to unlit houses. The only illumination came from a bright moon, well-spaced street lamps and Rennie’s high beam.

  Pausing at the mouth of the roundabout, she noticed the fresh skid marks circling the island. ‘This is where it started,’ she told Pav.

  She took her time cresting the hill and heading down the other side before turning into their street, where Max’s grandmother’s old timber house came into view, the light on the porch glowing softly on the new charcoal-grey paint job. Relief was her first thought, then she couldn’t remember if they’d flicked it on before they left.

  James’s car was identical to Max’s and already in the driveway when she pulled into the carport. He was talking as he opened her door. ‘No sign of him on the way over. I took a bit of a look around the back while I was waiting but it’s pretty black out there.’

  Getting out, she eyed the house – the porch light was the only one she could see.

  ‘Maybe he went to bed,’ Pav said.

  That’s what Rennie wanted. To go inside and find a Max-sized lump in the bed, put a hand to his forehead and feel him burning up. Sick. Sick enough to phone a cab or get a lift with another guest, too overwhelmed to find her or leave a message. Sick enough to deserve forgiveness for scaring her.

  She unlocked the front door, found the light switch and in the moment before the darkness vanished, she saw a body soaked in blood. Then it was gone, replaced by the incandescence flooding the corridor and cool, still silence.

  She didn’t call out in case he was in pain. In case there was someone waiting for her, too. It was Haven Bay but some things never left you.

  Pav and James walked around her, their height and bulk reassuring. Lights came on, the bathroom exhaust fan started up and went off again, the back door rolled open. Rennie moved quietly down the hall to their half-closed bedroom door and edged a shoulder inside. Pale squares of light spilled through the window across a rumpled doona and cast-aside clothes. Her paint-crusted overalls and a bra, his T-shirt and shorts – the remains of their impromptu passion before the party. No Max on the bed or on the floor or squeezed into the wardrobe.

  ‘There’s no sign of him out the back,’ James said when she met him and Pav in the living room.

  ‘Or anywhere inside,’ Pav said.

  ‘It doesn’t look like anything’s been touched in the bedroom,’ Rennie told them.

  She glanced beyond the glass at the back of the house. The floodlights were on now, illuminating the deck and the yard and the converted garage. ‘I should check the studio.’

  ‘It’s just your painting gear out there, isn’t it?’ James asked as he and Pav followed her out.

  ‘Max keeps stuff in there, too. And we had a . . . tiff. Maybe . . .’

  ‘He put himself in the doghouse,’ James finished.

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  He hadn’t done it before. Max believed in never letting the sun go down on an argument, even if the sun had to go down and come back up before it was settled. It wasn’t a concept Rennie’s family would understand but his parents lived by it and they were still going strong. With a failed marriage behind him, Max liked to take advice from the experts.

  The pungent smell of paint wafted into the night as she pushed open the door. The single room had been her home for a year until Max convinced her to move in with him. Her old bed was still there, canvases leaned against the walls, paint tins and other detritus stacked in the corners. The centre was clear except for the easel and her current work. No Max.

  ‘Did you look for a note?” she asked Pav when they were back in the living room.

  ‘I couldn’t see one.’

  ‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Right. Thanks. Shit.’ She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. It’s not what you’re thinking, Rennie. ‘Okay. We wait then.’

  Pav and James exchanged a glance and she realised what they’d thought. The ‘we’ was something else from her past, back when it was just her and her sister making urgent decisions. ‘No, sorry, I don’t mean you guys need to wait here. You should go home.’

  ‘I don’t mind staying,’ Pav said.

  ‘Me either,’ James added.

  Pav had opened Skiffs at six am and worked through to the party and James had been doing overtime at the office on a Saturday. ‘Thanks but you both look wrecked.’ Worried, too. Pav’s hands were clamped to his hips and James’s eyes were everywhere, as though he expe
cted to find Max tucked into a corner. ‘I’ll ring you when he turns up.’ She walked to the front entry as she spoke. ‘After I’ve hit him over the head.’

  ‘Then you can hold the phone to his ear while I tell him he’s a bastard for making us send out a search party in the middle of the night,’ James said as he stepped past her.

  Pav gave her a quick, firm hug. ‘I’ll clock him when he comes into the cafe tomorrow.’

  Rennie smiled a little, trying to believe it. When they’d gone, she dialled Max’s mobile for the fifth time, listened to the first words of his recorded voice and hung up, worried about filling his message bank with pleas to call when she might need to leave more important information.

  Like what, Rennie? This was Max, not her sister. Back then, she’d have been telling Joanne where to meet her. Right now, there was nothing more important to say than, ‘Let me know where you are.’

  She kept the phone in her hand as she surveyed the room. Max had inherited the rundown, shotgun-style cottage not long before Rennie met him – one of Haven Bay’s original miners’ residences sitting on a small rise that sloped gently down to the lake. Max had lived in the studio flat off and on for years. When Rennie moved in there, he’d been renovating the house, staying up nights and knocking out walls, converting the pokey old rooms on this side of the hallway into an all-in-one living room/kitchen that now looked onto both the street, at the front, and the water, at the back.

  Maybe he had left a note. Somewhere obvious only to Max. She checked the pages stuck to the fridge with magnets, the junk basket under the telephone. Maybe he was distracted or in a hurry. She shook the local phone directory, checked the bookshelves, the coffee table, the buffet and hutch, the magazine rack. Or he could have been sick, a little confused, stumbling drunk. She opened the fridge, the freezer, looked in the pantry, cupboards, drawers, the oven, the TV cabinet. Then she stood at the panels of glass at the back of the room and watched the dark yard. Frustrated, worried, cross. Where the fuck are you, Max?