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“Great. Thank you,” she replied a little awkwardly, not giving anything else away. When the silence stretched just a little too long between them, she finally blurted, “What’s it like working in a regional office?”
“What?” Her question caught him off guard. Damn, she had a habit of catching him off guard both mentally and physically. He needed to put a stop to that.
“Your job. Do you like it? Do you like working down here?” She waved an arm around to encompass his garden and then the ocean farther down the hill.
“Yes, I guess so,” he replied. He’d moved down here six years ago to take up the job offer as a senior detective in a special operations branch CIB was setting up, because opportunities were sparse back in Canberra where he’d joined up. Detectives were a dime a dozen up there in the capital. He’d made detective sergeant two years ago, after solving a particularly tricky case. “Tasmania is probably the safest state to work in,” he added thoughtfully. “Our crime rates here are much lower than in a major city like Sydney or Melbourne.” She was watching him avidly, and so he went on. “The powers that be keep talking about boosting police numbers, especially in rural and remote areas, but you know as well as I do, a lot of that is merely hot air. They’re more likely to cut numbers than to give us more manpower. It can be tough working in a smaller station. Longer hours, less resources, that sort of thing. There are also fewer cops who want to work remotely, which also puts the pressure on. Why? Are you thinking of getting out of the city?”
Lacey lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “No. Yes. Maybe,” was her enigmatic answer. “I’m not sure if I’ll go back to Melbourne.” Then as if she’d suddenly remembered her pot was still on the stove, she jumped up, sloshing wine over the rim of her glass and went to check her cooking. “Shit, I nearly boiled it dry,” she said, throwing him a guilty glance over her shoulder.
So, was she thinking of perhaps getting a transfer? Nico watched her back as she moved between the small stove and the van. They could always do with more good police officers around here. But the question needed to be asked, was she actually a good police officer? With no information on her background, he couldn’t decide. Being an officer of the law was a demanding career. Not everyone could do it. He loved his job. It was almost as if he’d been made for it in some regards. He’d always had an inquisitive nature. And that, along with his love of practicality and his stubborn refusal to give up until he had an answer to his problems, made him a good detective. Some parts of the job were harder than others, but he loved it when he finally got to solve a case, or discover that one vital missing clue that cracked a case wide open. It was often tedious work, with long, unfruitful hours spent behind a desk, but he did love it.
Lacey clambered into the van and began to pull out plates and cutlery, and Nico’s mind wandered back to his time at work this morning; specifically, to the meeting he’d been requested to attend.
When he’d walked into the muster area that morning, an air of gravity cloaked the room as all the officers took their seats without comment. Even Tyrell had stopped ribbing him about boxing in a dress. Nico took a seat near the rear of the room, next to Tyrell and his sometime partner, First Class Constable Sally-Ann Smith, as the room quickly filled. Even though this was considered a regional station, they still had over twenty registered police officers, and that didn’t include their civilian staff who helped with the admin, or specialist consultancies like forensics.
Charles stood up on the low stage at the front regarding them all silently over the rims of his glasses. Beside him stood the western district commander Penelope Tander, looking very prim and proper in her full dress uniform, blonde hair pulled into a severe bun, her shoulders back, watching them all from beneath the brim of her dark-blue, ceremonial peaked cap.
“Good morning.” The commander addressed the room once there was complete silence. “I’ll get straight to the point,” she said without preamble, and Nico liked her more already. He much preferred a person who was straight up, no beating around the bush. “Some of you may have already heard the rumors, but there has been talk of a suspected serial killer working down in Hobart.”
Nico blinked but showed no other outward sign that he was surprised. Her words had been a revelation, however. Of course he’d heard the gossip. Being a homicide detective, he often knew what was going on in other high-profile cases around the island, and even on the mainland. The police down in Hobart were keeping their cards close to their chests, and no word had been leaked to the media as yet about the possibility of a serial killer, in a bid not to send the public into a panic.
“There have been two murders in Hobart in the past year. Both of them sex workers, with little to no family connections. The second murder was only three months ago, and while there were similarities between the killings, detectives were loath to put them in the serial killer basket.” The district commander took a subtle breath, and then continued. “Until three days ago, when there was a third death over in Zeehan. This one has everyone on edge,” she warned, her piercing, blue eyes roving around the room, settling on one or two of the officers and spearing them with her gaze.
Nico sucked in a breath, and he heard Tyrell do the same next to him. Zeehan was a small mining town on the west coast of the island over two hours’ drive from Burnie. It was normally a sleepy little town full of historic buildings that enticed the tourists, but not much else. It wasn’t somewhere you’d think to find a serial killer.
“We have no description of a perp, and no witnesses,” the commander continued. “First Class Constable Smith is handing out a copy of the profile the Hobart unit are currently working with.” Sally-Ann stood up next to Nico and waved a fistful of papers in the air before she diligently began weaving between the desks, distributing them. “This may seem unprecedented, but we are sharing this information with all stations and operational units on the island. Because we’re worried this killer is on the move,” the commander finished with a sober grimace. The silence was deafening.
Nico took one of the stapled documents from Sally-Ann and scanned the contents, his heart beating a little faster as he read the details of the three separate crime scenes. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his mind began to race with different ideas and scenarios as he tried to picture the mind of a killer. He hated he was thinking this way, but it was part and parcel of the job. He was employed to catch murderers. And there was a murderer on the loose. It’d be a huge coup if he could be part of the team who brought this person down; the primary on the case, even.
“Clearly, this won’t affect you here in Burnie. We have a team from Hobart heading to Zeehan to investigate the murder there, and to date they already have enough manpower and expertise. The reason we’re broadcasting this information is that we want you all to be on high alert. If this turns out to be a serial murderer, and if he is on the move—both big ifs, mind you—I want everyone to be on the lookout for him.”
The commander kept referring to the perp as ahebut Nico knew that was technically incorrect. The killer could be asheas well. The likelihood was lower, but it shouldn’t be discounted.
Suddenly, Lacey was standing in front of him, holding out a plateful of steaming food. He’d been so caught up in his musings, he’d nearly lost track of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, and he almost dropped his glass in surprise.
“Here you go,” she said. “I caught the rice just in time.” She grinned at him.
“Thank you.” He readjusted his seat so he could put the wineglass on the ground and take the proffered plate. Enough dwelling on work, it was time to let that go and concentrate on this delicious-looking dinner Lacey had made. It wasn’t often a woman cooked for him. Wasn’t often anyone cooked for him, actually. Most of the time he ate alone in his kitchen. He wasn’t an awful cook, but cooking for one often felt like a waste of time, and so he had his standby favorites of burgers and salad or steak and chips. At least he hadn’t sunk to ready-made TV dinners or frozen meals. Not yet.
Some nights he’d eat out with Tyrell after a session at the gym, or they’d meet up with a bunch of cops after a shift and go for drinks at the pub. Occasionally, he’d go out with another of his friends, Gabriel, a young local GP he’d become friendly with through playing in a squash tournament a few years ago. Gabriel liked to think of himself as a bit of a food connoisseur and so he’d choose a different gourmet restaurant to visit each time they went out. Nico was in it for the wine and the company, rather than the food. Then there were the well-meaning older ladies in the community, who’d bring him casseroles or cakes they’d cooked to keep him fed. That’d happened a lot when he’d first moved to Boat Harbour, but once he’d made it clear that he was quite self-sufficient, and not in need of any mothering, most of them had dwindled away to leave him in peace. It was nice to have company though; he could admit that now. Especially the company of a good-looking woman.
“Mmm, this is good,” he said through a mouthful of spicy chicken curry. Creamy and with just the right amount of heat. “How did you make this on that little stove?” he asked in wonder as he took another bite.
“It’s really simple. I can give you the recipe,” she offered with a cheery grin.
“I’d like that.” He sat back in the folding chair and regarded the darkening ocean. The sun had set below the horizon and night was falling fast. Lacey had turned on a set of fairy lights strung around the top edge of her van, and they cast a soft glow over their little encampment. They sat in easy silence as they ate, Smudge sitting between them on the grass casting hopeful glances their way. The air was cold and crisp, but with the hot food and half a glass of wine in his belly, he wasn’t that worried by the temperature. It gave him a moment of pause, made him stop and realize how lucky he was that he lived in such a beautiful place.
He glanced over to where Lacey sat, the blanket draped over her knees, long legs stretched out in front. She was rugged up in the same sheepskin jacket she’d been wearing last night, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, the tip of her nose pink from the cold. She gave him a conspiratorial grin and his stomach did a slow somersault. There was something about her. They had a natural connection; she was easy to be around. When she wasn’t dropping him to the ground like a sack of potatoes, that was. Admittedly, she was hiding secrets, which always set off alarm bells in his head. But damnit, he liked this woman. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. One thing was for certain, he needed to learn more about her before he made any more decisions about this budding friendship.
CHAPTER FIVE
LACEY WANDERED DOWN the edge of the road, not really concentrating on where she was going. This morning had dawned bright enough, but then clouds had come over blocking out the sun as she’d sat in her van eating toast for breakfast. Nico had already left for the day; she’d heard his motorcycle grumble down the driveway before the light was even fully over the horizon. Which left Lacey at a loose end, with nothing to do and nowhere to be. Dave had said the spare part could take a few days to come in, and that he’d call her the second it arrived. So she’d untied Smudge from his kennel and was taking him for a walk, exploring the small hamlet of Boat Harbour Beach, even though it was still too early for most normal people to be out of bed.
The community consisted of a tangle of roads, mostly running parallel to the beach with a mixture of large, modern houses built to take advantage of the views, intermingled with older, heritage homes made of wood, like Nico’s. It was no bigger than a few suburban blocks, and the amenities were basic, without even a supermarket. Only a corner store and the café at the edge of the small bay. Locals would have to drive to Wynyard or Burnie to get their groceries, but she guessed maybe they liked it that way. Simple and secluded. Not too isolated or off the beaten track, but not city living either. She guessed most of the residents knew each other. Small communities always seemed to know each other’s business.
She strolled along the edge of the road—there were no walkways out here—watching as Smudge poked his nose into a line of daisies planted along a white picket fence. She looked up and saw a cute cottage, with a well-tended garden, immediately drawn to the idyllic look of the place. She could envisage herself living in such a place. It was so much more homey and welcoming than the enormous mansion her parents insisted on living in. A sign of their wealth and status. Her mother was constantly preening about how much their mansion in Toorak was worth. But Lacey had grown to despise the stately rooms, decorated for style but not for living in, and the empty hallways leading to bedrooms that were never used, or the sprawling pristine gardens that only the paid gardeners enjoyed. Lacey had money put aside in a trust fund, which she could access if she wished. She could buy this little house without even putting a dent in her savings. But what would be the point? She didn’t want to settle down. Not here, at least. But she also wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to Melbourne. What was there for her now? She could—
“Hello. Is anyone there?” a tremulous voice called from somewhere a little farther down the road. Lacey turned her head and searched for the owner of the voice. “Help. Is anyone there? I need help!” An elderly woman suddenly appeared at a gate to the house next to the cottage Lacey had been admiring.
