Blood Secret by Jaye Ford Page B

remembered her impatience as Max had headed that way. But she’d seen his wistful gaze at the sunset, guessed the lure of it had been too much once he’d glimpsed it from the top of the hill.
    Now she took the bends slowly, alternating her gaze between the rocks on the edge of the lake and the lawns that sloped up to the houses, not really sure what she was looking for. Footsteps, skid marks, clothing, a wallet.
    She continued to the main road, turned and drove to the strip of shops where Skiffs was nestled between a bakery and a gift shop, and which was all but deserted this early on a Sunday morning. At the T-junction where the street met the lake again, where Pav and James had crossed with her to search the park, she went right and kept going for Garrigurrang Point.
    The point was at the tip of a long, narrow finger of land that stretched out into Lake Macquarie forming the safe cove of Haven Bay on the northern side and the more exposed Winsweep Bay on the south. The road followed the water’s edge, forming a loop around the base of the hill that split the peninsula into its two sides.
    The neighbourhood was not yet roused for the day: garage doors were closed, blinds drawn and there was only a single walker with a dog. She rounded the tip of the finger, slowing to cast an eye over the picnic ground. One car was parked at the end near the small jetty, presumably belonging to the man and child standing on the dock with fishing rods. She continued back along the south side, passing the main road again, this time heading out of town towards the highway and the police.
    Haven Bay wasn’t big enough to warrant a cop of its own. It was one of a string of small communities on the western side of Lake Macquarie and despite being on the shores of the largest saltwater lake in Australia, perfect for sailing and fishing and surrounded by large chunks of national park, tourists tended to drive right past, on their way to the vineyards in the Hunter Valley or the spectacular beaches of Newcastle and further up the coast. It was too close to Sydney and too far off the freeway for most people to bother with the detour, which was just fine with the locals. More than fine for Rennie. As far as she was concerned, the name said it all.
    Twenty minutes later, she was outside the police station, parked at the kerb and uneasy about being there. She had plenty of memories involving cops; most of them included sirens and flashing lights and the urge to run and hide. She got out of the car, reminding herself not all the memories were bad. Some of the cops she knew had helped – and that was what she needed now.
    She spoke with the officer at the front desk, a young woman, not the guy from last night. It didn’t matter; the details were on the computer. Rennie handed over the photo – Max at her birthday dinner last year. He’d put on a barbecue, Pav brought seafood marinated in coriander and chilli and Trish came loaded with new and out­rageously expensive paints and brushes that Rennie gushed over. Naomi and James were there, too, Naomi excited they were finally trying for a baby, James as unreadable about it as he was on everything. The picture was taken on the deck, Max working the barbecue, smiling, happy, being Max.
    The officer pulled out a missing persons form and found a pen. ‘You’re the person who made the phone call last night?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    She read from the screen. ‘Your name is Renée Carter?’
    She hesitated. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜What’s your relationship to Mr Tully?’
    â€˜I’m his partner.’
    â€˜Business or de facto?’
    Neither explained what they were. She would never marry and she wouldn’t stay forever but they were . . . together, entwined, connected. She felt more for Max than she’d thought capable of feeling for anyone. ‘De facto.’
    The officer asked her to go through the details again, taking them down