Ellie blinked, frowned, then winced as the movement appeared to hurt her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. Hollows had sunk below her cheekbones, and her complexion was so pale her skin looked almost translucent. Lozza had thought she was dead. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d arrived just in time to save the woman’s life. If it hadn’t been for the drug package . . .
“Ellie, do you know where Martin might be?” she asked again.
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you know why you’re here, Ellie?” Gregg asked from his window perch. Lozza heard his duty belt squeak as he repositioned himself against the windowsill.
Ellie’s gaze shifted to Gregg. She flinched against the sunlight and turned away again. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to moisten her lips. Lozza offered her water with a straw. Ellie sipped slowly. It clearly hurt to swallow.
Lozza tamped down her frustration and put Gregg’s question to her again. “Did the doctors tell you why you are here, Ellie?”
“They told me I’d overdosed.” She touched her bandage again. “The doctors . . . said I had a cocktail of drugs in my system. Alcohol, GHB, and something else—I don’t remember taking them.”
“What else did the doctors tell you?”
“They said I probably fell under the influence and hit my head in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen before I went up to the bathroom. They gave me stitches. They said I had vaginal bleeding and tearing . . . I have no recollection of anything. They also say I have some retrograde amnesia and that memories prior to my . . . accident might or might not return.”
Lozza swore to herself and glanced at Gregg. He shrugged a shoulder. This was the first time Lozza had heard of vaginal trauma. Her mind went back to what the neighbor had said about witnessing Martin hitting his wife and hearing screams. She thought about the bruises, the allegations of a mistress, and the other things Willow had said.
“Okay, here’s what we do know, Ellie,” Lozza said quietly, leaning forward. “And maybe going through it all will jog some memory. Several witnesses, including Constable Abbott here, saw the Abracadabra leaving Bonny Bay early yesterday morning. According to Jarrawarra Bay Marine Rescue records, the Abracadabra radioed to log in at 5:49 a.m. At that time the Abracadabra informed the volunteer radio operator that there were two adults on board and they were heading out to the FAD. Their estimated time of return was six p.m. That was the last anyone heard from the boat. Do you recall any of this, Ellie?”
Ellie stared blankly at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember any of it.”
Frustration bit through Lozza. “Okay, here’s what else we know. Your neighbor saw you come home in the dark, around seven forty p.m.”
“That woman next door who watches everything from her window?”
“She saw you from an upstairs window,” Lozza said. “She reported you stumbling and bumping over a rubbish bin near the boathouse studio, then she saw you going over the lawn and entering your house from the rear sliding doors. How did you get back to shore if the boat is gone?”
Ellie frowned and touched her bandage again, as if confirming it was still there.
Lozza pressed. “Your neighbor said you looked wet and that you were wearing a baseball cap and a windbreaker—the same items of clothing you were seen wearing that morning while heading out in the boat.”
Ellie began to look frightened. She glanced at Gregg.
“I arrived at your house at 8:02 p.m., Ellie,” Lozza said. “The rear sliding door was open. I found you unconscious in the bathroom. There was broken glass downstairs, blood smears in the kitchen, blood at the base of the stairs, clothes all over the bedroom floor, open suitcases, some blood on the bedsheets.” She paused, thinking again of the noise in the vacant lot and the Corolla that had sped off in the dark. “Can you remember what happened at your house?”
Ellie was quiet for several moments. Her eyes flickered and Lozza tensed in anticipation, but Ellie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have . . . it’s all just a black hole.”
“Was anyone else with you inside your home?” Gregg asked.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
Lozza moistened her lips and nodded. “Okay. Now, I do have to bring this up—it could be relevant. Do you recall having a fight with your husband the night prior to going out in the boat?”
Ellie hesitated. “No.”
Lozza watched her eyes. The woman was lying. She remembered something. Even a hint. Or perhaps Ellie just expected from habit that this was something that had occurred.
“Ellie, you’ve just mentioned vaginal tearing. Do you recall having aggressive intercourse that might have caused the vaginal trauma?”
Tears coalesced in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I only know what the doctors have told me.”
Gregg inhaled deeply behind Lozza. Uncomfortable.
Lozza said quietly, “Ellie, I came to your house with a package that had been left for you at the Pug and Whistler. It contained the same black-market prescription medication that you overdosed on. The package had your name on it. What can you tell me about that package?”
She gave Lozza a blank look. But the pulse at her neck increased in tempo. Her breathing became more shallow. “I . . . I don’t know anything about a package, or those drugs that the doctors said were in my system—I don’t take them. I used to take Ativan, but I’d stopped.”
Lozza showed her the photo of the bald man in a leather jacket with the tattoo on the side of his neck. “Do you know this man?”
Ellie peered closely at the photo. Sweat broke out on her brow. She swallowed. “I . . . I’ve never seen him. Who is he?”
Again, Lozza felt she might be lying.
“This man left the drug package for you at the Puggo. He has a hummingbird tattoo on the side of his neck, and he rides a dirt bike with Queensland plates.”
Ellie
