“Not that I’m aware of,” Billie said, and swallowed. Had he been the one in her room as she slept?
“Now two men who may have been colleagues of Mr. Moretti have ended up at the bottom of a cliff.”
“That appears to be the case, yes.” She shifted in the hardwooden chair. “You’ll note I reported the incident immediately,” she added. “I didn’t think they had much chance, careening off the road like that, but we called for an ambulance. They were shooting out of their car at us. Did the Katoomba police tell you that? These men were quite reckless.”
Silence crept between them, and Billie considered her father and his history with Moretti. She’d known Moretti hated him for something, something personal. So Moretti was convicted of trying to bribe an officer of the law? That figured.
The inspector appeared to make a decision. “I want you to show me exactly what happened,” he said.
“Am I of interest?” He did not seem about to arrest her, but it was worth asking.
“Not at this stage,” he replied, poker-faced.
“Well then, I guess we can still be friends,” she said with a smile, eliciting a twitch of the lips from the inspector. There was a long pause, during which his eyes softened again, just a touch.
Billie stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “Shall we take a drive, then?” she suggested. “I have my roadster parked only a couple of blocks away. She’s a fine automobile. I can take you with me.”
“No need, Ms. Walker. There is a police automobile available,” he said. He came around to the door to let her out.
“I’ll meet you at Victoria Pass, then?” She resisted daring him to a race to get there first.
“Your secretary, Mr. Baker, was also a witness,” he noted. “He is available?”
Her heart sank a touch. “You need us both? Surely not. I’ll have to close the office if no one is there to man the desk. And the police do have his statement.” Today was not a day to leave the telephonesunanswered, considering the free publicity the newspapers had provided.
“Very well.” The inspector looked at his wristwatch. It was old but handsomely designed, with rectangular gold detail on a worn leather strap. “I’ll meet you at the spot where you pull off just after the pass, if you don’t want a lift. Will two o’clock suit?” he asked.
Two o’clock.That gave them just over three and a half hours to drive there, she calculated. “Oh yes. I’d prefer to drive myself, thank you. That is, if I’m not under arrest. And that should give me time for a spot of tea first,” she replied a little naughtily.
He did a double take as he collected his jacket. “Just don’t run anyone off the road this time,” he advised, and she flashed him a grin in return, fairly sure she’d heard him make his first joke.
Twenty-six
“Ms. Walker, a note arrivedfor you while you were out,” the lift operator, John Wilson, said.
Billie was on her way back down to the street level of Daking House, having instructed Sam to hold the fort and take messages, when she was handed an envelope. She took it from Wilson and turned it over in her hands. The plain envelope had her name on it in familiar bold letters, no address or stamp, and it didn’t feel like there was much inside. She slit it open with her nail and read the slip of paper that confirmed the identity of her correspondent. There were only seven words:
I GOT A JOB IN THE HOUSE
Billie paled.Shyla.“When did this arrive?”
“Just a minute ago. I was on my way up to give it to you when you ordered the lift,” Wilson told her.
“I have to catch her,” Billie said, and when the cab arrived onthe ground level she sprinted out, forgetting her usual thank-you. She burst out of the front door of Daking House and stood on the footpath of Rawson Place looking to her left and right. Traffic filled the streets around Central Station, with plenty of pedestrians on the footpaths. Which way would Shyla have gone? A dark-haired woman in a dark coat was walking across the road toward Central, visible in a parting of taller pedestrians, and Billie ran after her, weaving through the crowd and grabbing the woman’s shoulder. She turned. The brown-eyed woman gave Billie a shocked frown, shook off her hand, and walked on.
“Sorry...” Billie began, but the stranger was already gone.
A tram passed and a boy of no more than fifteen wolf-whistled at her. Billie heard it in the distance, as if it were happening in another, parallel dimension.Damn it, Shyla,she thought. If that man, Frank, was detaining or harming the girls in some way, Shyla could be putting herself in serious danger. Billie still didn’t have an address, but a big homestead in Upper Colo near an orchard couldn’t be too hard to find if she could spot that distinctive Packard, and now she had the number plate, too. That was assuming the automobile was parked in the open, or the man wasn’t off transporting whatever things he left the homestead to deliver.Blast.She’d have to get out there and see what was going on, and soon. But she wanted to hear first from Constable Primrose, with details: a full name, an address, a record of some kind. When had “Frank” arrived in the country? Was he known to police?
She wondered when Shyla’s job would be starting; did she have a few days up her sleeve? She wanted, too, to pay a visit to Moretti. She wanted to be sure Adin Brown was okay. She wanted to speakto his parents again. There was much she wanted, but for now she had a detective inspector to satisfy.
Her heart slowing to a normal pace, Billie walked toward her motorcar, uncurling tense fists that had left the faint crescents of fingernail marks in her palms. The roadster was parked by Station House like a waiting steed, and putting the top down and climbing in allowed Billie’s shoulders to drop a touch. The vehicle was still a bit dirty and roughed up from the previous day, but it seemed not to diminish her glory. Here Billie was in the driver’s seat of something she could control. It had been an eventful few days, and now she was increasingly worried about Adin’s immediate safety and Shyla’s as well. She needed to clear her mind to get it to function at its best, and for Billie driving at high speed was just the tonic. She placed her handbag on the passenger seat, pulled on her leather driving gloves, and patted the dashboard as if the machine were a large and beloved mare of great power and elegance. The engine warmed admirably, and as she waited for the right moment to pull out into the traffic she considered Sam’s response to the news that she would be driving back up the mountain. He’d initially looked disappointed not to be going with her, but had covered that up commendably. The telephone had been ringing—thanks to the press—and she needed him in the office.Steady Sam.Unquestioning Sam.She might not have made it through the weekend without him.
Engine warm and ready, Billie pulled smoothly away from the curb and was immediately pleased to detect that the previous day’s incident had done nothing whatsoever to sour her desire for the road. This was to be her second trip to the Blue Mountains in as many days, and at this rate she’d run out of petrol couponsmidmonth, but no matter. The proximity of death taught you that you only had this moment. Only now. She wasn’t going to sit in any cop’s car when she could be at the wheel.
The speedometer needle moved higher in its round dial; the wind pushed harder. The exquisite freedom of the road had not been lost to her, and though she was unaware of it, Billie’s red lips wore a soft smile, mirroring that of winged Victory just feet ahead of her on the roadster’s purring bonnet.
Twenty-seven
