Читать книгу Protecting Her Son - Joan Kilby - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

RILEY KNEW IT, knew she’d been hiding something earlier. Her doubling over hadn’t been due to the heat but to the drug cache itself. And maybe to its discovery in Summerside. She’d gone quiet while they’d documented the haul, her mouth pulled down in a grim expression. Did she still have connections to Moresco? Was this why John was worried about her?

She was innocent until proven guilty, Riley reminded himself. “What makes you think Moresco is involved?”

Paula gripped the iron slats on either side of her knees. “He got out of prison last month.”

Riley thought about that. “Didn’t he operate out of the inner city? Why would he come all the way to the peninsula to set up shop?”

She shrugged, eyes down. “I don’t know.”

Riley was no detective but he’d been trained in interrogation techniques. He could tell when someone was lying. The rumors about Paula came to mind. She’d done something so bad that it couldn’t be talked about.

“A woman and her two children were almost wiped out today by a sleazebag shooting a light. If Moresco has something to do with the drugs in that car, and if you know something, you’d better tell me about it.”

“I can’t be positive the crystal meth came from him. I’m only speculating. But—” She glanced up. “He called me the day I started at Summerside P.D. He has my phone number. He knows where I live.”

No wonder she’d been tense. Riley lifted his cap and dragged a hand through his hair. “What did he want?”

Again she hesitated. Riley got the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.

“He…didn’t say. Maybe just to scare me. Maybe he wants revenge.” She straightened and scowled at Riley as though he were the villain. “He’d better look out before he tangles with me again.”

Riley studied her, frowning. One minute she was hesitant and uncertain, the next minute she was full of bravado. Was she hiding her own wrongdoing, laying the groundwork for a cover-up by admitting Moresco had called her? Or was she simply justifiably anxious because a drug lord was contacting her?

“Have you told John? If you’re in trouble, the police force will back you up.”

She gave him a look that was part scorn, part pity for his naivety. “Yeah, right.”

“What happened seven years ago to get you busted back to uniform?” Riley asked. “You reacted strongly to the hazing. Did you get caught pilfering drugs from the evidence room? Are you an addict?”

“No! Are you nuts? I would never do drugs.” She was really angry now. “My father was killed by a junkie while he was trying to resuscitate the man’s girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Riley sat back. “I’m sorry. Was he a doctor?”

“Paramedic.” Her shoulders squared. “I went into policing so I could bring creeps like the one who killed my dad to justice.”

“Then what did you do?” He returned to his initial question. “Why has your past followed you here?”

“I don’t talk about it. I made that clear to John. What’s done is done.”

“But it’s not, is it? Not if crystal meth is showing up in our sleepy little town because you’re living here.”

She shrank away, her face pale and drawn.

“You need me to watch your back?” Riley said. “I need to know what I’m watching out for. A soldier doesn’t go into a dangerous situation without intel. His mates wouldn’t let him.” He hardened his voice. “So what’s the story?”

“I’m not required to divulge that information to you, or anyone.” She got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. My son is waiting for me.”

Riley watched her stride off. Was she really bent, as rumor had it? Why else would she have moved from station to station? In a long, deep-cover investigation sometimes the line between good guys and bad guys blurred. Boundaries shifted, cops began to see the law from the dark side. Maybe she had money problems. A cop’s salary wasn’t that great. Undercover vice cops were vulnerable to all sorts of illegal temptations besides drug use. Taking bribes, selling drugs or protection, tampering with the evidence. She had definitely overreacted to the bag of sugar in her locker.

Was Moresco threatening her with violence if she spoke up? Paula didn’t seem like she scared easily. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she’d gotten too close to Moresco.

Riley had known from the beginning that Paula wouldn’t be an easy partner. She could be abrupt, she had a giant chip on her shoulder and at times, talking to her was like chatting to the sphinx. Then there was her attitude to traffic duty. Clearly she felt it was beneath her and what a joy that was to work with.

On the other hand, she was gutsy and he liked a bit of attitude. Being a single parent couldn’t be easy, dealing with the guys at the station was a pain sometimes and she had to be disappointed that her career was at a low ebb. But she worked hard and didn’t complain—unless it was that there was too little to do.

He’d expected she’d be difficult, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring her problems to Summerside. She was his partner, yes, but if her actions violated his moral code, if he found any evidence of illegal activity on her part, either now or in the past, he was going to John, he was taking her down.

Riley pushed off the bench. She’d dodged his questions but the interrogation wasn’t over.

* * *

HOURS LATER RILEY was still mulling over the drug haul and what exactly Paula’s deal was. After she’d left he’d made a trip to the Frankston hospital hoping to question the driver of the Holden. Timothy Andrews had severe internal injuries and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The nurse told Riley to call in the morning.

Paula thought there was a connection between Moresco and the crystal meth. What was the connection between her and Moresco? Her behavior didn’t add up. Was it merely a coincidence that Jamie must have been conceived around the time she was working on the Moresco case? Surely she was too smart, and too classy to get mixed up with a lowlife like Nick Moresco.

Hell. Why was he wasting his free time trying to figure out his partner when she so obviously intended to keep her secrets?

Instead he took out his frustrations by dismantling his kitchen. He disconnected the plumbing to the sink. The stove he’d removed to the corner of the room. There was a gaping hole where the fridge had been.

Riley levered a crowbar deep into a gap between the wall and the cabinet. Bracing his foot on the wall, he hauled on the crowbar. With an ear-piercing screech, the screws holding the unit pulled out of the wood and the cabinet shifted, buckling the ancient linoleum.

Riley staggered backward, panting, to survey his efforts. His mother’s kitchen was well and truly on its way to being destroyed. In a way it felt wrong, as if he were being disloyal to her memory. But she’d be the last person to want him to make worn cabinetry and old-fashioned appliances a shrine to her.

Damn, the pain in his right temple had started up again. His heart raced with an irregular, thready pulse. He must be breathing in too much dust. The paint was so old it might even have lead in it. He hadn’t thought of that. He could be getting brain damage.

He opened the back door and sank onto the steps. The air, cooler now it was evening, was heavy with the scent of the red roses climbing the trellis on the wall next to him. Mum had planted the rose bush the first year she and his dad had moved into the house. Riley picked up a petal and held it to his nose.

His dad and Sandra hadn’t changed much about the house and grounds over the past ten years. The huge fig tree that shaded a corner of the backyard still held remnants of the cubby house he and John had built in its branches when they were ten years old. His mum used to bring out cookies and lemonade and they’d winched them up in a bucket.

In the other corner of the yard was her gardening shed where she grew seedlings for the vegetable patch on the sunny side of the property. Smack in the middle of the grass was the rotary clothesline where she’d hung out the laundry. Summers had been cricket on the lawn, barbecues, the sound of his parents’ conversation continuing into the warm night as he lay in bed lulled to sleep by his father’s deep rumble and his mother’s soft musical laughter.

Heat pricked the back of his eyes. Part of him was grown up and practical. He recognized the value of the property and wanted to improve it, making a nice home for himself in the process. Another part of him wanted to preserve the small shabby dwelling as a time capsule, a tribute to the golden days of his youth and, yes, as a shrine to his mother.

His head throbbed harder. He let the petal in his fingers fall to the overgrown grass and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t stay a kid forever. And he didn’t have time to sit around being sentimental.

He would take a couple of painkillers and get back to work. The kitchen wasn’t going to renovate itself.

* * *

PAULA STOOD BEFORE the bathroom mirror, pinning up her hair while Jamie brushed his teeth at the sink. Nick and his crystal meth had followed her to Summerside. She couldn’t be positive he was the source but the timing was too close to be a coincidence. Was he taunting her? Trying to get her blamed for his presence in the community?

Freshly washed, her hair was slippery and unmanageable. She jammed a hairpin in only for it to pop out immediately. Already on edge, she swept the box of pins off the counter. She’d been aiming for the garbage but most of them scattered over the tile floor.

Jamie’s eyes went round at her uncharacteristic loss of control. Toothpaste foam dripping from his mouth, he crowed, “You’ve got to pick those all up.”

“Yes, sir.” She pulled her hair into an ugly ponytail, ignoring the flyaway wisps. Then crouched to retrieve the pins.

The house needed a good tidying. She picked up the book she’d been reading in the bath last night, Get Out Of Your Mind and Into Your Life. She was a sucker for self-help books, not that they ever seemed to fix her. If she could figure out what exactly her problem was, that would be half the battle. She knew where she’d gone wrong—getting involved with Nick—but not why. Until she understood that she was in danger of falling into the same trap in the future.

She put the pins in the cabinet and carried the book to the spare bedroom. There she kept her private bookshelf crammed with titles like, The Courage to Be Yourself, Women Who Worry Too Much, Get Out Of Your Own Way. But pride of place went to her sewing table and quilting materials.

A half-finished crazy quilt was spread over the table. She touched the patchwork wistfully, itching to piece a few scraps and forget about everything for a while. Ironically, quilting did for her what the books couldn’t do. Fully absorbed in sewing, she didn’t have time to dwell on herself.

She dropped Jamie off at school and went in to work early to have a chat with Patty. As well as operating Dispatch she was in charge of requisitions. Paula handed Patty a list of items she thought she and Riley would need for the investigation.

Patty looked at the list and laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“No. It’s not an ambitious list. A camera, a high-powered flashlight, a dedicated laptop—”

“Half the time we don’t even have spare batteries. Most officers use their own cameras.” Patty shrugged. “The station doesn’t have the resources toward the end of the financial year.”

“I see. I’ll file this, then.” She crumpled the list and dropped it into the rubbish bin.

She started to leave then noticed her reflection in the window onto the bull pen behind Patty’s desk. Her hair was already springing out of the elastic band. Using the glass as a mirror she rearranged some hairpins. She was so focused on what she was doing she didn’t notice Riley on the other side of the glass until he rapped on it.

“Inside,” he mouthed, and jerked his head as if to tell her to get her butt in there.

What happened to Mr. Affable this morning? If she hadn’t been on unofficial probation, if Riley wasn’t the senior sergeant’s best mate, she would slap him down and put him in his place. “Gotta go. The rookie commands my presence.”

“Riley?” Patty swiveled in her seat, discreetly craning her neck. “He’s hot.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Paula lied. She finished with her hair and jammed on her cap. Oh, yes, Riley was hot. In another world, another life, she would have been the first girl in line at his kissing booth. But since Nick, she’d learned her lesson. Compartmentalize. Trouble was, between the box surrounding her job, and the one containing her as a mother, there wasn’t any room left in her life for a romance box.