of searching conducted by
Reardon could trace his identity.
“ Nothing
more than what we already gathered from the content of the
Smith/Bellante e-mails,” Reardon said, “that Smith and Bellante
worked for several racketeering organizations.”
Ethan didn’t
appear surprised. “So next came the victim at Cabriati’s
home.”
“ Yep, a year
later; Friday , December 3 - Alice
Polinski. Age forty-nine. Formerly of Summit Road, a small acreage
on the nearby outskirts of Nambour.”
Ethan
sketched out Polinski’s details onto his timeline. “And what did
our Alice do there?”
Reardon shifted his weight forward and
collected his glass. It felt too warm and he now regretted not
adding the ice. “Our Alice didn’t do much of anything. Spent some
time in Sydney, then sixteen months ago moved back to Summit Road
where she lived in total isolation.”
“ Seems a
radical change of scenery. You said back .”
Reardon discovered Polinski had lived in
Summit Road for many years, rented the Sydney place during her
short stint there. “Summit seems to have been her principal
residence.”
“Do we know why she went to Sydney?”
Reardon shook his head.
“Relatives?”
“None so far.”
“And no obvious connection with either
Bellante or Smith.”
“ Not yet.”
Even though Reardon’s gut stressed there was a connection, a bloody
strong one.
There was a brief moment of silence. “So
what was Alice doing in the Zephyr complex?” Ethan asked.
“Holidaying?”
Reardon
flicked his head to one side. “Maybe. However, you don’t normally
get shot while holidaying.”
“ You think?”
Ethan returned the marker, grabbed his beer and fell back into the
sofa. “So what’s your take on
this?”
“Why does Cabriati want our help? She
continues to claim she doesn’t know Alice Polinski. If that’s the
case, wouldn’t she just spend a few shell-shocked days milking
sympathy from her friends and then get on with her life?”
“True. So she’s lying?”
“The thought has apparently crossed the
minds of some of our smarter little friends in blue. But if
Cabriati did have anything to do with Alice’s death, the last thing
she would want is our help.”
“All very interesting, buddy. But it’s
nothing the police can’t handle.”
This
instantly brought images to Reardon, of specific members of one
particular workforce. He cocked a crooked eyebrow at Ethan. Ethan’s
automatic grin revealed their heads were in the same space. “Okay,
well some of the police. But still a possible pushover to
solve.”
So why did
Reardon’s instincts keep telling him otherwise? Reardon stared at
his drink, was mesmerized by its rhythmically circling
fluid.
And he wondered.
He wondered
what a seemingly innocent twenty-eight-year-old schoolteacher would
have to do with an unscrupulous man like Thomas Bellante and the
brutal murder of a middle-aged woman.
Whatever the answer, Reardon knew one
thing.
He had to find out.
Chapter 6
Claudia
December 13, 2010
3:25 pm
WITHOUT
INDICATING, I abruptly wrenched my car
onto the gravelly roadside and hit the brakes, slamming the car
still. It instantly sparked off a cacophony of angry horns.
Combined with the unbroken rumble of committed motorists, it only
worsened the already dull thudding in my temple.
I rested my head on the steering wheel, took
comfort in its soft, thick casing and breathed deeply. But it did
little to lessen the pain or the increasing uncertainty bubbling in
my stomach.
I couldn’t
believe what I was about to do, seek the help of a complete
stranger. Had I really become that desperate?
I could
picture Mel’s head nodding furiously, her eyes rolling several
times and I grunted. Mel had been the one who originally set up the
meeting. At first, I had complained about it to her. But, in the
end, who was I to disagree, particularly when the alternative was
the very cold, very intimidating Detective Inspector
Weatherly.
The mere thought of the man was
Reardon could trace his identity.
“ Nothing
more than what we already gathered from the content of the
Smith/Bellante e-mails,” Reardon said, “that Smith and Bellante
worked for several racketeering organizations.”
Ethan didn’t
appear surprised. “So next came the victim at Cabriati’s
home.”
“ Yep, a year
later; Friday , December 3 - Alice
Polinski. Age forty-nine. Formerly of Summit Road, a small acreage
on the nearby outskirts of Nambour.”
Ethan
sketched out Polinski’s details onto his timeline. “And what did
our Alice do there?”
Reardon shifted his weight forward and
collected his glass. It felt too warm and he now regretted not
adding the ice. “Our Alice didn’t do much of anything. Spent some
time in Sydney, then sixteen months ago moved back to Summit Road
where she lived in total isolation.”
“ Seems a
radical change of scenery. You said back .”
Reardon discovered Polinski had lived in
Summit Road for many years, rented the Sydney place during her
short stint there. “Summit seems to have been her principal
residence.”
“Do we know why she went to Sydney?”
Reardon shook his head.
“Relatives?”
“None so far.”
“And no obvious connection with either
Bellante or Smith.”
“ Not yet.”
Even though Reardon’s gut stressed there was a connection, a bloody
strong one.
There was a brief moment of silence. “So
what was Alice doing in the Zephyr complex?” Ethan asked.
“Holidaying?”
Reardon
flicked his head to one side. “Maybe. However, you don’t normally
get shot while holidaying.”
“ You think?”
Ethan returned the marker, grabbed his beer and fell back into the
sofa. “So what’s your take on
this?”
“Why does Cabriati want our help? She
continues to claim she doesn’t know Alice Polinski. If that’s the
case, wouldn’t she just spend a few shell-shocked days milking
sympathy from her friends and then get on with her life?”
“True. So she’s lying?”
“The thought has apparently crossed the
minds of some of our smarter little friends in blue. But if
Cabriati did have anything to do with Alice’s death, the last thing
she would want is our help.”
“All very interesting, buddy. But it’s
nothing the police can’t handle.”
This
instantly brought images to Reardon, of specific members of one
particular workforce. He cocked a crooked eyebrow at Ethan. Ethan’s
automatic grin revealed their heads were in the same space. “Okay,
well some of the police. But still a possible pushover to
solve.”
So why did
Reardon’s instincts keep telling him otherwise? Reardon stared at
his drink, was mesmerized by its rhythmically circling
fluid.
And he wondered.
He wondered
what a seemingly innocent twenty-eight-year-old schoolteacher would
have to do with an unscrupulous man like Thomas Bellante and the
brutal murder of a middle-aged woman.
Whatever the answer, Reardon knew one
thing.
He had to find out.
Chapter 6
Claudia
December 13, 2010
3:25 pm
WITHOUT
INDICATING, I abruptly wrenched my car
onto the gravelly roadside and hit the brakes, slamming the car
still. It instantly sparked off a cacophony of angry horns.
Combined with the unbroken rumble of committed motorists, it only
worsened the already dull thudding in my temple.
I rested my head on the steering wheel, took
comfort in its soft, thick casing and breathed deeply. But it did
little to lessen the pain or the increasing uncertainty bubbling in
my stomach.
I couldn’t
believe what I was about to do, seek the help of a complete
stranger. Had I really become that desperate?
I could
picture Mel’s head nodding furiously, her eyes rolling several
times and I grunted. Mel had been the one who originally set up the
meeting. At first, I had complained about it to her. But, in the
end, who was I to disagree, particularly when the alternative was
the very cold, very intimidating Detective Inspector
Weatherly.
The mere thought of the man was
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