Who Needs Enemies

Which is probably as close to an explanation as I was every likely to get from him, and not one I needed. Mom had never been anything but truthful when it came to the reasons their long relationship had ended. Nor had she placed the blame on either his shoulders or hers, but rather on the fact that they were simply different people, with different goals.



My father’s refusal to formally acknowledge the daughter that had come out of that relationship had annoyed her, though. It was only the concern over the effect of a protracted court battle might have had on me that had stopped her from pursuing the maintenance and acknowledgement he owed.



“You didn’t know her,” Lyle muttered. “She was different.”



Yes, she was—if only because she was collecting photographs of all her men. And if Lyle hadn’t known about that, what else hadn’t he known about?



I glanced at my father again. “Did you or Gilroy make any attempt to see or talk to Mona after Gilroy received that phone call?”



“No, of course not.”



“Are you certain that Gilroy had no further contact with her?”



“Yes.” Disdain crept into the cool tones. “He left on a skiing holiday the same day. He’s not due back until later this evening.”



“And you’re certain that he didn’t come back without telling you?”



“Again, yes. He’s in New Zealand, and has been on the news there. Ring the TV stations and view the tapes if you doubt me.”



“I certainly will,” I said, “And I’ll need to talk to him on his return.”



“I don’t think that will be necessary.”



“Well, it’s either me, or I’ll hand everything over to the cops and let them talk to him.”



Bramwell began to tap his desk. The sharp drumming echoed in the brief silence, and tension crawled down my spine. “I don’t suppose offering you a large amount of money to forget all this, and to lose those photos and drawings, will do any good?”



“We’re trying to find out who killed the woman I love, and you’re offering us money?” Lyle took one step forward, then stopped. “You are fucking incredible, brother.”



“One has to try.” Bramwell shrugged. “And don’t act all high and mighty, Lyle. We both know you can hardly call the kettle black when it comes to paying hush money.”



Which was just another indication of how little I knew my uncle. And I had wonder just who he’d paid off—and why. “Or you could just try doing the right thing for a change.”



“I always do the right thing,” he said urbanely. “At least when it comes to family.”



And you are not. He didn’t say it, but it lay there between us nevertheless.



“Am I going to be able to talk to Gilroy?”



He studied me for several seconds, then made a motion with his hand. “All right, but only in my presence. When and where?”



“My place, straight from the airport.” I might as well have the advantage of home ground. “You obviously know the address.”



“I can’t see what this will achieve,” Bramwell commented. “Gilroy wasn’t in the country when she was killed.”



“Maybe,” Lyle said, “But I can look him in the eye and ask him straight out if he was in any way involved with her murder. And he’s blood, so I’ll taste it if he lies.”



“He has nothing to lie about, brother.”



“Then neither of you have anything to worry about,” I said, “And I’ll see you tonight.”



“Unfortunately, yes, you will.”



I turned but at the doorway, I paused and asked, “Does Gilroy drink beer?”



Bramwell expression was one of distaste. “Of course not.”



“Then what about James?”



“Probably. He had more than a few vices.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Why?”



“Just curious.” I shrugged and walked out.



After several seconds, Lyle followed. “He really is a bastard.”



I smiled grimly. In my father’s estimation, there was only one bastard around here, and she was currently making her way out of the house. Jose reappeared at the front door and opened it for us. I exited without comment, and breathed deep the cool crisp air. It felt good after all the bitterness and anger that had filled my father’s study.



“He certainly knows the trouble breeding one can cause,” I said, voice dry.



Then I froze.



Mona had threatened to blackmail Gilroy, but hadn’t used the photos she’d been keeping. And she’d also said the money she’d been paid wasn’t enough.



It might be a leap, but I suddenly couldn’t help wondering if Gilroy had followed my father’s footsteps in more ways than one.



Had Mona been pregnant with Gilroy’s child?



Chapter Seven



If ever there was a straw that could break Lyle’s back, that would be it. It was bad enough that his nephew had answered the call of the woman he loved; if he’d also gotten her pregnant...God, what a mess.



I glanced up at the house, and saw a shadow in the study window. Bramwell, making sure we left.



Had he told us the entire truth? I very much doubted it, but I couldn’t really be sure. People might talk to me rather easily but I couldn’t always see the lies behind their words.



If Mona had been pregnant, Bramwell would have gone to great lengths to protect his son. Or rather, protect his son’s political ambitions, which to my father were more important. And while I had no doubt he could and would employ someone to kill anyone who got in his way, I also had no doubt that he wouldn’t have condoned rape. His views on that crime were widely known and, during his stint as a judge, he’d thrown the book at any rapist proven guilty in his court.



So where did that leave us, besides knee deep up that well known creek?



I climbed into the car and started it up. First things first. Get Lyle home, then somehow find out if Mona had been pregnant. Maybe Ceri could use some of the contacts she still had—although Kaij’s mob were in charge of the investigation and they were known for keeping information to themselves. Ceri’s contacts didn’t have that sort of reach.



“Don’t take me home.” Lyle said, voice sharp. “Because I’m parking at your place. I intend to be there when Gilroy turns up,”



“Why? So you can punch him out too?”



“Damn it, Harriet, I thought you of all people would understand.”



I pulled into the Toorak Road traffic. “And why would you think that?”



“Because your mother was a siren. Surely it couldn’t have been easy seeing all the men coming and going.”



“I grew up with it, Lyle. Besides, it is part of their nature, whether you like it or not.” He didn’t say anything, so I added, “And I still don’t see how my being raised by a siren would make me more understanding of this situation.”



“Well, you would have seen how a siren’s call can warp a man’s mind. I mean, it hooks you, hooks you deep, until you can’t think straight and all you want is her call. But you also know others answer her call, and sometimes you even see it. Deep down, the knife twists. The anger burns.”



Actually, it was very rare for a man to get hooked that deeply by a siren, simply because sirens generally made sure it didn’t happen. Mom and her friends had always been wary of calling any one man too often, just to avoid that sort of event.



But it did make me wonder who he’d seen with her—though it wasn’t hard to guess, to be honest. “You walked in on James Logan?”



“The bastard got what he deserved,” he said, doing everything but meeting my gaze. “It’s a shame Frank wasn’t in that helicopter, too. If I’d known that bastard was the one who’d threatened her-”



He shook his head. The unspoken threat hung in the air, twisted and poisonous.



“James might have gotten his just desserts,” I said sharply, “But there’s no evidence whatsoever that Frank was the one who’d threatened her.”



“Who else could it have been? James hasn’t got the guts, and besides, she said it was a politician.”



“Which Gilroy is.”



“Which is why I want to ask him myself. I’ll know if he’s lying.”



“There’s always Bramwell.”



“He said he didn’t do it. I believe him.”



Because he wanted to? Because blood called to blood and he really didn’t want to believe otherwise? As much as I also didn’t think my father had killed Mona, I very much suspected my reasons for believing so differed to Lyle’s. “Then maybe it was whoever took the damn memory card. Someone knew about that book, Lyle. Find out that, and we may well find our killer.”



“Maybe.” He glanced out the window. Not wanting to hear anything resembling sense.



I bit back my frustration and said, “Besides, while you think James deserved his death, the other three people in the helicopter certainly didn’t.”



He waved a hand. “I didn’t say they did.”



Maybe, but he never gave them a thought, either. “Did you get around to talking to the cops about Keale?”



Lyle wound down the window then lit a cigarette. “They’re releasing him tomorrow, once he’s been charged. The case won’t be slated for court for a couple of months, and they’ll shackle him with a tracker that’ll restrict his movements.”



“What about the Prevoron tests?”



“I told you before,” he said, voice irritated, “They’ll take a while to come through.”



“If we can prove there’s Prevoron in his system-”



“It won’t make a goddamn difference.” Lyle blew a ring of smoke out the window. “You need to face the fact, Harriet, that your friend is very likely going to jail.”



It would kill him if he did. You couldn’t confine a dragon in a cell barely bigger than a toilet, and expect him to survive. And hell, the animal rights mob would be up in arms if they did that sort of thing to zoo animals. “What sort of sentence is he looking at?”