“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 woke you,” Lozza said as they followed her into a stunning living room overlooking the sea.
“No worries. I worked late last night. I do readings online in time zones across the world. Sometimes that means crazy hours. Take a seat. Can I get you guys coffee, tea?”
“No. Thanks,” said Lozza. “We shouldn’t be long.”
They sat and Lozza got out her notebook. “Describe what you saw, please,” she said.
“I saw them quite clearly through the scope.” Willow nodded to the telescope on a tripod in front of the huge picture windows. “Gregg was with me. He saw them, too.”
Gregg grunted.
“What time was that?” asked Lozza.
“It was . . . just before six, I think. I was making coffee when I saw a boat heading out into the bay. I went to the scope to get a better look. I saw it was the Abracadabra. Saw the name clearly. And I saw Martin and Ellie on board.”
Lozza scribbled in her notebook, feeling hot and clumpy in her big boots with her stupidly frizzy ginger hair and peeling sunburned nose while Willow sat across from her in her pretty kimono and elegant home. Despite her late night and the shadows under Willow’s eyes, she still managed to look sexy.
“What were they wearing?” asked Lozza. “How did you know it was them?”
“I could see. Martin had . . . I think a tan shirt. Cargo pants. The same as he wore fishing the other day when they got into trouble on the bar. Bare head. Ellie had a pale-blue cap on. A royal-blue jacket. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. I noticed because it’s so long and was blowing in the wind. They were headed toward the Point of No Return. I was surprised to see them because Martin was supposed to be away on a business trip. And there were whitecaps on the sea. It was windy. Not ideal fishing weather . . .” Her voice faded.
Lozza glanced up. “Anything else?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Thanks,” Lozza said, closing her notebook and coming to her feet.
“Is Ellie going to be okay—can she have visitors yet?” Willow asked.
“She’s unconscious. Don’t know yet.”
Worry creased Willow’s brow. “I . . . I don’t understand. What . . . what does it mean that Martin is missing?”
“The boat is gone,” said Gregg as he stood up. “Martin and the boat.”
“So how did Ellie get back?” asked Willow.
“We’re trying to figure that out,” Gregg
