also taken the framed photo of me and Dana. The one that was shot the night I met Martin.
I exited the studio and strode back up the lawn, sweat breaking out on my skin.
Willow hurried after me. “Ellie! Just calm down. And then when—”
I whirled to face her. “Calm down? My husband has been brutally murdered and I seem to be a suspect. And I can’t recall anything. Why should I calm down, Willow, why?”
“I’m just saying—”
“I need you to leave. Please. Thank you for fetching me, for all your help. I truly appreciate it. But I need to be alone now.”
She wavered, unsure. “Okay . . . okay.” She went to retrieve her purse, hesitated. “If you need me, I’m just a call away, all right?”
I nodded, shaking inside, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
Willow went to the door. I waited until she was gone, then retrieved Lozza’s card. It displayed her work phone number and a mobile number. I dialed her mobile.
It rang once.
“Bianchi.”
“It’s Ellie. Why did you guys take my clocks and that framed photograph from my studio?”
Lozza told me to hold while she checked. I paced up and down, up and down, horrible shards of memories slicing into me. Martin grabbing my hair. Kicking me. Striking me . . .
“Ellie?”
I tensed. “I’m here.”
“Our logs indicate no clocks or framed photos were taken from your house. The warrant covered only computer equipment, files, communications devices.”
I hung up and stared at the wall where the clock had been, blood thudding in my ears.
THEN
LOZZA
Over one year ago, November 20. Jarrawarra Bay, New South Wales.
Lozza tossed and turned in her bed. She’d thrown her windows open wide, and outside, the sea heaved and sighed under the moon. She rented a house on the beach on the less tony side of the Bonny River. It was run-down, made of weatherboard, had peeling paint, and was freezing in the winter. But it had a suite for her mother, and having her mom come live with her in Jarrawarra had been a big part of the reason Lozza had been cleared to adopt Maya. The arrangement worked for Lozza’s mom, too. She’d been widowed, and helping with Maya had given her a new lease on life.
Lozza punched a pillow and lay back. The heat was humid, thick. She’d come home late and had an early start tomorrow, but her brain wouldn’t stop churning the details of the case. Her thoughts turned to Ellie and what it must’ve been like to lose her daughter. She thought of Maya’s mother, killed by Maya’s abusive father. And how Lozza herself had lost it when she’d tried to take him into custody while Maya—who’d been three years old, like Ellie’s daughter—had cowered under the bed.
Lozza’s violent reaction that day had almost cost her everything.
But she’d fought for Maya when no one else had wanted the kid. And when Maya’s father had died in prison, Lozza had gained everything.
She tossed onto her side. The red glow of the numbers on her alarm clock read 3:25 a.m. She bashed her pillow into shape again. Nothing about the case was making sense.
Her mobile rang. Lozza glanced at the clock again. It was 3:50 a.m. She reached for her phone and connected the call.
“Lozza? It’s Ellie.”
She sat up abruptly in the dark. “Ellie?”
“I . . . I need help—I need to talk to you.”
“Now? Do you know what time it is?”
“It’s urgent. It’s about that framed photo that went missing.”
Lozza frowned and glanced at the clock again. “Are you on medication, Ellie? Have you been consuming alcohol?”
“Damnit, Lozza, listen to me. I phoned Dana, my friend in Vancouver. She was in that photo with me. Something about it had been bugging me before it vanished. And when it disappeared, it really started to eat at me. So I phoned Dana—it’s almost eleven a.m. in Vancouver now, but still yesterday—” Lozza could hear movement as Ellie spoke, a noise like a printer in action. A rustling of paper. “I asked Dana if she still had digital copies on her phone.” More noise. Printing again? “She did. More than one. She just sent them to me, and—”
Silence.
“Ellie?”
“Shit,” Ellie whispered. “Oh shit!” Lozza heard movement. “I . . . there’s a car outside. I . . .”
Lozza heard noises. Ellie moving around her house?
She swung her feet over the side of the bed and reached for her pants.
“Oh God . . . Help, I need help! I need to get out of—” Lozza heard the phone drop