forces herself to keep her gaze locked on Lorrington’s.
“And how long was the wait before Detective Sergeant Corneil Tremayne and the rest of the forensic team from State Crime Command did arrive?”
“Two hours and twenty-three minutes,” says Lozza. “They deployed from the Sydney area, flew into Agnes Basin via helicopter, and were brought into the channel by boat. There was a storm. It delayed them for a period.”
“And what did you at the crime scene do during that period?”
“Constable Abbott cordoned off the area around the body. I left the jetty and went up the trail to where there is an old, abandoned farmhouse.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” Lozza says quietly, her mind going back to that day, to the horrific scene she’d found. “I went alone.”
THEN
ELLIE
Over one year ago, October 26. Jarrawarra Bay, New South Wales.
Light streamed in through open blinds, flat and searingly bright. The room was hot. My head pounded. My whole body hurt. Birds—awful birds in brilliant colors—flitted and screeched from branch to branch outside the window.
With a jolt I realized I was in my new house. My new bedroom. Naked beneath a tangle of damp sheets. I could taste the sourness of old alcohol and vomit in my mouth, and a metallic tinge . . . blood? I touched my tongue to my bottom lip. It was swollen, cut. My pulse quickened. Cautiously I turned my pounding head to the side. My clothes lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. A sense of horror dawned. I reached under the sheet and felt between my thighs. Sticky. Swollen. Sore.
I scrunched my eyes tightly shut as fear rose and circled like a tangible creature. Disjointed shards of memory sliced through my brain. Thunder. White lightning. Pummeling rain—the scent of it on dry soil. Martin pulling his truck into a driveway. Bats in the tree above the garage. Him half carrying me up some stairs. Then . . . nothing. A black hole. My fear tipped toward terror. Was it happening again? The blackouts?
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, caught sight of myself in the mirrored closet doors across the room. I was in a double bed and barely recognized the woman with the tangle of dark hair who stared back at me with puffy eyes, dark circles, a cut lip, red insect bites all over her face.
I put my hand to my brow.
Think, dammit! Remember.
But I couldn’t.
I glanced at the pillow beside me—dented where a head had lain. A bottle of water had been placed beside a digital clock on the bedside table. Condensation formed on the outside. Still cold. It hadn’t been there long. Had Martin put it there? The clock read 2:56 p.m.
The sound of a vehicle reached me through the open window, wheels crunching over gravel.
I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the window. I blinked out into the harsh light. I was on a second floor. Down below, the driveway was empty, a garage door open. Relief pinged through me. Martin was gone with the truck. I couldn’t let him see me like this—I had time to pull myself together, figure things out.
In the adjacent bathroom I found that my cosmetic bag had been placed on a white marble counter. Everything was white, from the tiles to the fresh towels. My cosmetic pouch had been emptied, my toothbrush and toothpaste placed neatly in a cup next to the basin. I avoided my reflection while I hurriedly brushed my teeth and cleaned the sour taste out of my mouth. I took a scalding shower. As soap made contact with my private parts, my skin burned. I tensed. Whatever had happened last night, sex had been aggressive. A memory surfaced—or was it a nightmare? Me trapped, restrained, fighting someone off. I shook off the image. I did not want to acknowledge to myself that it might not be from a dream. Edgy, I toweled off and combed the tangles from my wet hair.
The mirrored cabinet above the basin housed the rest of the contents from my cosmetic bag, including my bottle of painkillers and . . . the container of Ativan tabs.
I stared at it, my heart beating faster. Martin. He’d unpacked my cosmetic bag. He’d seen my pills. I opened the drawer beneath the counter and felt a wash of horror. He’d also found my backup stash of pills from my suitcase. He’d put them all into this drawer.
A mix of rage and anxiety crackled through my chest. How dare he go through my