artsy, full of vibrant laughter and energy, and it had translated into a dynamic experience in bed. But outside the bedroom her craving for the continual excitement of a metropolis, alternative lifestyles, and the flattery of men, had begun to cost them.
Sally had needed to be the centre of attention, and loved going out to parties all the time.
Dylan was more traditional. He liked the outback, bushwalking, the ocean. Winter nights by the fire. He liked things simple. Wholesome. Sally called it boring.
But by then they were married, and things had started going sideways.
And when she’d become pregnant at twenty-four, she’d felt overweight, unhappy and lonely with Dylan doing long, gritty hours of overtime to support them.
When Heidi was born Sally had detested being cooped at home with only other young mothers for company. She’d rebelled and had a raging affair, seeking validation in another man, an artist.
Her infidelity had completely broken Dylan.
He was a one-woman guy. A lifer. When he fell, he fell hard and forever. And falling for Sally had cost him a mighty big chunk of his life.
He’d avoided getting involved with other women while raising Heidi solo. He’d dated, but only superficially. His focus was his family.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Dylan said gently.
Heidi said nothing, just stared at her cereal.
He heaved out a lungful of air, removed his Glock, locked it in the gun safe, and undid his heavy gun belt, setting it on the counter with a soft clunk. He sat down, rubbing his neck, his back stiff.
“Talk to me, Heidi.”
She pulled her mouth into a tight pout, glaring at her cereal bowl, stirring milk with her spoon as she hunkered down behind the super-size cereal box.
Dylan moved the box aside. “Heidi, I’m not going to be mad,” he said, struggling to hold on to his temper. “I just want to know where you were going last night.”
Silence.
Irritation itched at him. Their dog Muttley scratched at the glass door, and Dylan got up to let him out. His mother usually let Muttley out first thing in the morning, but she hadn’t come down for breakfast yet, which was unusual for her. Tension knotted in his shoulders.
He took a seat opposite Heidi. “Were you going to the party?”
Her eyes flashed up at him. “No. I needed to see Anthem.”
He waited a beat just to make sure his voice came out neutral. “Why so late? Why didn’t you wait until this afternoon, after school?”
Her bottom lip started to wobble a little. Dylan’s chest tightened. “Heidi? Talk to me. Please.”
She looked up slowly, and was about to say something when they heard Dylan’s mum coming down the stairs.
Heidi cast her eyes down, then suddenly pushed her chair back from the table, grabbed her schoolbag and started for the door, unfinished cereal left on the table.
“Heidi!”
“I’m going to miss my bus,” she snapped, and the door slammed shut behind her.
Dylan cursed and looked up at the ceiling.
“Morning, Timmy,” said his mother, moving towards the kettle and filling it. “Did you sleep well?”
“It’s Dylan, Mum.”
She looked momentarily confused. “Of course,” she said softly, plugging in the kettle. “I know that.”
Dylan got up to let Muttley back in, his heart sinking. He felt flat. Tired. His mother was worse than he thought. This was the second time in a week she’d called him by his brother’s nickname.
A brother who’d been dead for thirty years.
He needed to take June for another checkup. That would require a trip to the city, impossible right now. He also had to find a way to break through to Heidi. And he had to get back to work. He’d had no sleep, but no one else would be in the station today.
Dylan had also been left with no choice but to place Peebles outside Louisa’s hospital room for the first shift, short of doing it himself. And that wasn’t going to happen—he still had an investigation to conduct, because no matter how he looked at it, things were just not adding up with Louisa the way he’d like them to.
He stood for a moment at the glass door, absently studying the smoky haze in the distance as he rolled the facts over in his mind again.
As much as he hated to admit it, Megan had hit on the key thing troubling him. It was possible Louisa’s gun had been stolen from the cabinet, and that she hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger.
But she could also have hired someone to do the job. That might explain the arson. Because again, he was forced to agree with Megan—he didn’t see Louisa as capable of torching horses.
He needed better evidence against her, or evidence of an accomplice, or they were going to end up having no case.
And there was that other nagging question in his mind. Why Lochlain? Why had the murder and arson happened there? He needed to find that link. The only connection he could see with Lochlain Racing so far was that the homicide victim was the father of Daniel Whittleson, who worked as Lochlain’s head trainer.
Secretly, Dylan was relieved Louisa was in hospital.
It bought him time to dig deeper before having to officially charge her and get her in front of a magistrate.
He rubbed the back of his neck again, trying to ease the stiffness. What he really needed was a full-on homicide team working this, as would ordinarily be the case. But until the APEC stuff eased off, he was it.
And that was the other thing Megan was right about— D’Angelo was going to go for him personally, potentially crucifying him on points of police procedure, like putting the probationary cop outside Louisa’s door.
Damn, but he was in a no-win situation.
Megan sped along the country road, autumn wind in her hair, the vineyards, vibrant with reds, oranges and gold, flashing by in a blur.
She’d spent the morning with D’Angelo and Louisa at Elias Memorial, rehashing the arrest, going over every little detail that had led up to the heart attack. When they’d finished, D’Angelo had pushed his glasses up his Roman nose and told them with his classic trademark equanimity that he would personally make Detective Sergeant Dylan Hastings his target in getting this arrest overturned.
D’Angelo had been particularly pleased to discover the probationary rank of the constable guarding Louisa’s door. He’d noted this was against NSW policing regulations, adding that police staffing problems in the Hunter LAC were going to be their ace in the hole.
So was the fact Louisa had not yet been officially charged.
D’Angelo’s criminal team was now in the process of putting together a case to nullify the arrest, focusing on police ineptitude, Dylan’s in particular.
Megan felt conflicted by this.
That wasn’t justice. Not in her book. That was legal chess.
It went to the heart of why she’d dropped criminal law.
In her mind, the one and only way to exonerate her aunt and put a simple end to this was to find the real killer, and the cop sure as hell wasn’t going to be looking any further—he thought he had his suspect.
Which was why Megan was on the road to Lochlain Racing now. She wanted to see the arson site herself, speak to owner Tyler Preston, find something—anything—that might help solve this case.
But a cold and faint finger of doubt touched her again as she turned onto a dirt road, slowing for some riders, the sun warm on her arms.