Blood Secret (10 page)

‘Rennie, the phone,'
Naomi said.

She moved then, blood pulsing in her ears as she grabbed it. ‘Hello?'

‘Renée Carter?'

‘Yes.'

‘This is Detective Phil Duncan. I'd like to talk to you about Max Tully.'

A hand flew to her throat. ‘Have you found him?'

‘No, I'm sorry. I have no news regarding his where­abouts. I'd like to ask you some questions, though. Where are you now?'

Naomi stood beside her as she gave directions from the main street. James stayed by the back windows, his gaze fixed on the view.

‘Do you want us to stay while you talk to the police?' Naomi asked when she'
d disconnected.

Rennie knew enough about cop stuff to guess the detective would want to talk to relatives and colleagues. James filled both categories. If he stayed, it might speed things up and, for better or worse, because facts were safer than assumptions, she wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘Yeah. I think that would be best.'

 

 

14

‘I was at my in-laws' place over at Coal Point for Sunday lunch, which was why I could get here so quickly,' Detective Phil Duncan told Rennie as he followed her into the
living room.

Quickly? It was four o'clock. She found the blood at nine-thirty this morning. But it was his day off, she told herself, and he came anyway. ‘Sorry your lunch was interrupted.'

He held up a palm. ‘My mother-in-law is a lovely lady but her pork crackling could break teeth. I picked up a toasted sandwich at that cafe near the car park.'

She smiled a little, figured there'd be time to fill him in about her job later. Right now, there were more important things to talk about. She made the introductions to James and Naomi, explained the family and business connection. He shook hands with them both, made nice for a
few moments.

‘So what happens now?' Rennie cut in, impatient to
get started.

‘Do you mind if we sit?' He gestured to the sofa as though he was
the host.

Actually, she wanted to pace the room, wring her hands, check the backyard again, but she nodded, took a seat on the sofa and waited while James and Naomi sat together and Detective Duncan eased his large frame onto the cushion next to her. She picked him as late forties, early fifties, short cropped hair with more salt than pepper, probably as tall as Max but twice his size. Not fat, not by a long way. Big-boned, broad-shouldered and meaty, the kind of man Rennie guessed wouldn't move fast but could take a hit like a punching bag. She glanced at his square, solid hands as he pulled a small notepad from the pocket of his shirt and figured he'd probably throw a fist the same way. He'd look like a standover man if it wasn't for the easy smile and the fluid, baby blue of
his eyes.

‘So,' Rennie started, ‘the blood in the car park. Have the forensics been done down there yet?'

He nodded, took a moment to include James and Naomi. ‘First up, the crime scene tech says it's definitely blood and he estimates it got there late last night or in the early hours of this morning.'

Rennie pressed her hands together and slid them between her knees. ‘Max went out to the car park at around ten.'

He patted the air with his palm, spoke with the tone of experience. ‘It's important not to jump to conclusions. There's nothing to connect the blood to Mr Tully at this point.'

‘But you took samples? You must think there's a con­nection.'

‘The blood collection is done in case it turns out there was foul play involved in Mr Tully's disappearance. For the moment, though, the fact it's there doesn't prove it one way or the other.'

‘But he's missing and . . .'

‘Let him finish, Renée,'
James said.

She shot him a glance. ‘And there's blood in the last place he was known to be. Doesn't that suggest something?'

The detective nodded again, some kind of recognition that further explanation was required. ‘There was also a brawl at the pub last night. I took a witness report this afternoon that suggests the fight continued in the car park and that a man was seen with blood on his face. I'll be following up further but at this stage it suggests there are at least two possible explanations for the blood.'

Rennie said nothing, not sure what to think. Detective Duncan had clearly done more than buy lunch and talk to a crime scene tech. But if it wasn't Max's blood, if someone else had bled on the roadway, what did that mean? That the cops would be less likely to look for him? That Max had just walked away from the party? ‘Can't you test it or something to see if it's Max's?'

‘It sounds like they're doing everything they need to do, Rennie,' James said, his tone more patronising than soothing.

The detective smiled patiently. ‘The sample will be sent off to test for blood grouping. If it doesn't match Mr Tully's, we can obviously rule out that it's his. On the other hand, if it matches, we still can't assume it's his, just that it's his blood type. Do you know what his is, Renée?'

‘I can find out for you,'
James offered.

‘He's A,' Rennie said. Max was a regular blood donor. He called it reimbursement for the blood he'd received after the cave-in – and he always came back boasting as though his type was an
exam result.

The nod from Duncan this time was apologetic. ‘Unfortunately, thirty-eight per cent of the population is type A.'

Great. ‘What about DNA? Wouldn't that show if it was his?'

‘DNA takes a couple of weeks and it won't be done unless there's evidence of a crime.' He saw her frustration and held up one hand like a stop sign before she could say anything. ‘There's no point for DNA yet. It won't find him and it's only used as evidence to help prove guilt in the event of foul play. While I'm here, though, it would be helpful if I could collect a DNA sample for our files. A toothbrush or hairbrush would be best.'

She glanced at James, not sure she wanted him adding any more supportive comments while she was out of
the room.

‘Before I leave will be fine. Can you tell me what happened last night, Renée?'

Rennie crossed one leg over the other and pulled in a long breath. ‘I've explained it three times to three different police officers and I went into Toronto Police Station this morning and signed a missing persons report. What part of the story do you want me to repeat?'

She saw James shake his head, Naomi touch his knee and expected the cop to reply with irritation, but Detective Duncan
surprised her.

‘I know this is frustrating and you'd probably prefer to have a search party out looking for Mr Tully but I'm coming in fresh here. I haven't seen the report you filed yet and I only spoke briefly with the constable you met this morning at the car park. It was more important that we got a canvass of the area going. It'll help me a lot if I can hear the story from you.'

Rennie wondered briefly if the hard man in him had to work on his concern or whether it was a naturally useful foil for his physique. Maybe he'd just seen enough people on a bad day to know staying calm got a better result. Either way, his tone took the edge off her anger – and it made sense for him to hear it firsthand. She closed her eyes for a second, tried to ease back on the impatience and
think chronologically.

She told him about going to the party, the kid in the four-wheel drive, the altercation in the car park. About Angus McDonald hearing Max say he was going to check the car and the search they'd conducted in the dark. She tried to remember the questions the other cops had asked and included that information, too. She finished with everyone she'd phoned. Detective Duncan interrupted only once to confirm he'd written down the number plate of the four-wheel drive correctly. Other than that, he listened, took notes and held up his hand once to James when he tried to interrupt with his version of the
search party.

When she was done, he turned to James and Naomi and went through their versions of the evening. Naomi spoke to Max a couple of times at the party, last saw him when they stood together during the speeches. He hadn't mentioned the road rage kid and didn't seem worried. James explained he was late. ‘A little after ten, probably before ten-thirty,' was as close as he came to an arrival time. He didn't see Max at all; after the search he drove to the office in Toronto to look for him. The last time he saw him was at work on
Friday afternoon.

Detective Duncan had been there three-quarters of an hour when he asked for a drink of water. As Rennie filled four glasses, Naomi propped herself on the other side of
the counter.

‘How are you doing?'
she asked.

‘I'm fine.' She'd had worse interviews with cops. ‘I just wish he'd move on to something that isn't already written down somewhere.'

‘I'm sure he'll get there.'

And Rennie was sure Naomi's only reference was the police information stall at the annual Haven Bay Fair.

The detective had moved to the back windows and was peering into the garden as James talked quietly beside him. Rennie watched their backs as she carried the drinks over, wondering what James needed to say out of earshot.

‘Nice view you've got,' Duncan said as he took
his glass.

She ‘mmm'd' in reply, figuring he was using the opportunity to make some kind of assessment of where
Max lived.

‘James was telling me the house was his grandmother's.'

‘She lived here for almost sixty years,' James added. ‘She passed away a year or so after Max's accident. Apparently, she thought he'd never work again and changed her will a couple of months before she died so he'd have somewhere to live.'

Rennie looked quizzically at him. That's not how she'd heard
it explained.

‘What kind of accident was he in?'
Duncan asked.

‘Do you remember the mine collapse at Teralba?' James asked. ‘Max was the guy they pulled out.'

The cop made a soft whistling sound. ‘It took a while, if I remember.'

James nodded. ‘Twenty-odd hours.'

‘There was a fatality, wasn't there?'

‘The other guy in Max's team. Dallas Brownston.'

‘That's tough. He obviously worked again, if you two are in business.'

‘Yeah, nothing much stops Max.' James said it as though it was a breeze, as though he just got out of the hole and got over it. Maybe it was pride in Max's accomplishment but Rennie knew it paid for a cop to
understand history.

‘He worked at it,' she said. ‘He's still working at it. It hasn't been easy.'

‘Yeah, of course,'
James added.

‘I'm sure,' the detective said. ‘And it's great you're all here to help locate him. I've only got a few more things I'd like to go over and I'd prefer to do it with Renée and James separately, if that's okay with everyone.'

‘Fine by me.' James propped his hands on his hips, ready to go with his
important information.

Rennie crossed her arms. ‘Sure.'

He took Rennie first, leading the way back to the sofas and smiling like they were buddies now. ‘Mr Tully . . . Max . . . Do you mind if I call him Max?'

She shook her head, wishing he'd just get on
with it.

‘Can you tell me what kind of mood Max was in before the party?'

Finally new questions.

Playful, she was going to say, remembering him grinning at the bedroom door.
Hey, honey, let me help you with those pesky buckles on your overalls.
Then she remem­bered it hadn't stayed that way. By the time they'd got out of their clothes and reached the floor, he was intense and focused, making love as though nothing else mattered. Then there was the just-throwing-it-out-there
Let's get
married
. And the awkward, curt, joke-but-no-joke conversation that followed. She wanted to tell the detective Max didn't have a care in the world but would that make the cops look in the wrong places? ‘He was tired. A little stressed, too, I guess.'

‘What was he stressed about?'

‘He'd had a long week and he'd brought work home. I assumed it was that.'

‘What about in the car? How did he react to the other driver's aggression?'

‘He was ticked off.'

‘Uh-huh. Angry?'

‘I suppose.'

‘Did he drive faster to try to shake him off?'

‘Are you planning to send him a speeding ticket?'

He laughed like she'd cracked a good one. ‘Actually, Renée, I'm trying to establish what state of mind Max was in before he disappeared. Did he speed up?'

‘No, he slowed down. Forced the kid to drive under the speed limit all the way to the main street.'

‘Nice tactic. And the conversation in the car park. A kid in my face like that would make me want to deck the guy. How did Max handle it?'

‘He was mad but he kept his cool. He did his best to stop it escalating.'

‘Uh-huh. What about at the party? How was he once you two got there?'

Touchy. ‘Fine.'

‘Did he need a stiff drink?'

‘He had a glass of champagne. Not what I'd call stiff.'

‘Is that his usual choice of drink?'

‘No. Beer and red wine, mostly.'

‘Did he drink much at the party?'

‘I don't know. I was busy. I work at the cafe and it was a birthday party for one of the owners. I was helping with the food.'

His eyebrows slid upwards. ‘Oh, you work at Skiffs. Great toasted sandwiches.'

She nodded, like she gave a toss what he thought of
his lunch.

‘How much did you
see
Max drink?'

‘Only that first glass of champagne. That was the last I spoke to him.'

‘And how was he?'

‘Well, not drunk, obviously.'

‘Still angry?'

‘He wanted to check on the car. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea.'

‘Why not?'

‘I thought the kid might be out there waiting for him. The fact he didn't come back says I might've been right, don't you think?'

He tipped his head from side to side, as though un­decided. As he took a long, silent moment to sip at his water, Rennie glanced across the room at James and Naomi sitting quietly at the dining table. She got an encouraging smile from Naomi, a blank stare
from James.

‘I don't know what you and Max are like,' Detective Duncan said, ‘but when my wife and I go out, I always get her to put my keys in her handbag. I know it annoys her but I can't stand them jangling around in my pocket. Is that what you and Max do?'

‘Sometimes.'