this morning, given what happened yesterday. It came up stolen.” She paused. “And a neighbor said the vehicle I heard fleeing the Cresswell-Smith home also had a Queensland plate. I don’t know if that’s relevant.”
He regarded the image of the man, then leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He eyed her for a moment. “What’s inside the package?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Given the circumstances—missing husband, his wife with a history of drug abuse and now in a coma—open it.”
Her pulse quickened. She set the box on his desk, and Jon handed her a pair of scissors.
She’d already photographed the package.
She put on some gloves and carefully cut the tape. She opened the top. Inside were five containers, all with the same label as the one she’d found with Ellie Cresswell-Smith on the bathroom floor. Jon got to his feet and came around the desk.
“Hypnodorm,” he said. “Controlled meds.”
“Looks like the same stuff she overdosed on.”
He glanced down at her. The potential implications hung heavy in the room. She, a cop, had apparently delivered black-market pills to the house of a woman who might yet die of an overdose from the same meds.
Jon rubbed his chin. “Log those into evidence. Have them tested. Let’s hope this doesn’t become an issue, Lozz,” he said quietly. “At least this isn’t a murder case, which could go high profile. So far it’s just a person missing at sea—a man who could still turn up. Coupled with spousal abuse and a drug-addiction problem.”
He reseated himself behind his desk. “Canvass the place. And find that bikie.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lozza got up, exited the room, and shut Jon’s office door quietly behind her. She felt sick. Her gut told her there was nothing simple about this case.
THEN
LOZZA
Gregg was waiting for her outside in the car park.
“You drive.” She tossed him the keys. She wasn’t in the mood.
He caught the keys. “What did the boss man say?”
“He said to get our arses out there and canvass residents.” She wasn’t inclined to discuss her meeting with her superior with rookie Gregg right now.
She slid into the passenger seat and reached for her seat belt. Gregg started the vehicle and pulled out of the lot. The day was bright. Hot already. But clouds were building over the northern horizon. He drove toward the headlands. There were several residents who lived there who had telescopes and routinely watched the ocean in the morning. One of them was Willow Larsen. They aimed for her house.
Gregg fell oddly silent as they neared. She glanced at him. He cleared his throat.
“I was with Willow,” he said.
“What?”
“I was with her. In the morning. Before six a.m. yesterday. I saw them—the Cresswell-Smiths—going out in their Quinnie.”
“And when were you going to tell me this?”
“I just did.”
Lozza’s blood pressure went up. She looked out the window and tried to breathe deep.
They drew up outside a gate under a jasmine arch. Willow’s lime-green VW Bug was parked on the street outside. Lozza hesitated. “So you’re sleeping with her?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I didn’t say it made a difference. I’m just asking.”
“It’s not really your business, Lozz.”
“Just want to know what I’m dealing with before we go in there.”
“And if I was—how’s that going to change our interview?”
“It means I’m doing the talking.” She got out of the car and banged on the door.
Gregg followed suit and said, “Chill, Lozz. It’s not like I’m delivering drugs or anything.”
She cursed under her breath and opened the garden gate.
THEN
LOZZA
Willow opened the door wrapped in a turquoise kimono with a dragon embroidered on the back. Her feet were bare and her hair was tousled—clearly they’d woken her.
“Hey.” She looked at Gregg, then Lozza. “What’s going on?”
“Martin Cresswell-Smith is missing,” Lozza said. “Gregg says you witnessed his boat going out to sea.”
She frowned, looked confused. “Yeah, we both saw the Abracadabra going out. Martin and Ellie were on board. What do you mean he’s missing—where’s Ellie?”
“She’s in the hospital. Drug overdose.”
“What?”
“Can we come in, Willow?”
But she seemed frozen for a moment. “Is . . . is she okay?”
“She’s in a coma right now.”
Willow’s hand went to her mouth. Her eyes watered. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “How . . . how did this happen . . . if they both went out on the boat?”
“This is what we’re trying to figure out,” Gregg said quietly. “Can we come in for a moment, Willow? We need to interview anyone who saw them going out.”
“Sure, sure.” She stepped back, allowing them to enter.
“Sorry if we