By the time I had eaten all the cake I could and finished two cups of tea, the crowd had started to dwindle as the women returned to their normal Saturday-morning lives. A small group stayed behind to clear things away and wash the dishes. All through the talk and the subsequent chatting, I had noticed a tall thin woman watching me closely; the kind of scrutiny that suggested she wanted to speak but something was stopping her. As the woman returned from the kitchen for another stack of teacups, I introduced myself.

Colour rose in her cheeks as she wiped her hands on her apron, then stuck one out to shake my hand. ‘I’m Carmel,’ she said. ‘Your talk … your talk was very good.’

‘Have we met before?’ I asked, studying her closely.

‘I—I don’t think so.’ She looked down at her hands.

‘I hope my talk struck a chord with people,’ I said. ‘Violence towards women is not an easy topic.’

The woman nodded, then looked away. ‘Best clear these dishes.’ And then she was gone.

Carmel. I had heard the name only recently … Of course! I pulled the memory from my childhood; a younger version of the woman I had just spoken to. Brett Millard’s mother. So, Crystal did still have a grandmother in town, despite Russell Mowbray saying she didn’t. I wondered if Crystal knew about this one—or whether Carmel was yet another secret everyone was keeping from the scallywag girl. Was losing her granddaughter the price Carmel Millard paid for raising a murderer?

When Norma appeared at my elbow, loaded up with dishes for the kitchen, I decided it was hardly the time to ask her about the Millard case—not with Brett’s mother just metres away. That conversation would have to wait.

CHAPTER 18: MORE THAN ONE

CHAPTER 18

MORE THAN ONE

It started raining just as I arrived at the Deception Bay police station around 11 am. Winter was refusing to release her stubborn hold on the town. The station had an icy feeling about it. I checked in with the uniforms, who had nothing to report from their pub surveillance. Wozza arrived soon after, dressed in a tracksuit. He’d spent the morning coaching his daughter’s footy team. He disappeared in the direction of the men’s locker room and returned changed into the suit that had been hanging crookedly on the back of our office door.

‘Are you okay after last night?’ he said. ‘I just read the handover notes. You can call me, you know, if anything like that happens again.’

I waved away his concern. ‘It was a little intense, but Waffles did what he’s trained to do, and …’ My voice trailed off as the image of the knife flashed before my eyes.

‘Heard anything about Meg?’ he asked.

I had already called the hospital; Meg was awake and able to give a statement. ‘We’re good to go. Ready?’