Page 25

Detective Sergeant Archer stood, hand raised to knock again.
“Oh.” Surprised, she took a step back.
“You were expecting someone else,” he said. She didn’t know why he sounded disappointed.
“No. I have a new neighbor. I thought it was him, needing something. We’re the only two on this floor.” She took another step back to give him room. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” Archer closed the door behind him and sniffed the air. “Fresh bread?”
“Just baked. Would you like a piece with strawberry jam? I was about to cut a slice.” She lifted the bread knife. “And have some coffee? I make it on the stove because I don’t have an espresso machine.”
He hesitated, then gave a nod. “I’d like that.” He took off his jacket, hanging it on one the hooks behind the door, and she noticed him studying her little bedsit as she added an extra teaspoon of coffee to the pot on the stove. He made no comment, but she liked the way she had done up her space, and she wasn’t self-conscious about it.
She sliced the bread with the ease of long practice working in a bakery, and pushed the butter and jam toward him.
He looked up in surprise when he bit in.
“Sourdough,” Gabriella said. “I was only able to make it because my old neighbor moved down to the ground floor flat a few days ago and his place has the original kitchen with a big oven.”
“You made this?” Archer held it in front of him, looking at it in surprise.
“My mother has a bakery in Melbourne. I worked there my whole life.”
He took another bite, and they sat for a while in silence, sipping strong coffee and chewing bread.
“You hesitated while you were telling me about that van earlier. What did you leave out?” Archer asked the question straight after he swallowed his last bite of bread.
He didn’t sound accusing, just curious, and she gave a slow nod.
“I only hesitated because I honestly can’t say for sure, but I might have seen the van before. Outside the gallery.”
Archer set his coffee cup down and leaned forward. “When, exactly?”
She couldn’t help notice the way his biceps bunched under the white cotton of his shirt as he rested his elbows on her table. The impression she’d had the first time she’d met him, of a man capable of hard physical labor, struck her again.
“Saturday morning. I work a half day.”
“Go on.”
“I had a little set-to with the gallery owner.”
“Devenish?” Archer asked.
“Is that his name? There was a car parked in the loading zone, and I . . .” She felt like an idiot saying it, but forced herself to forge on. “I was afraid, walking up to it. But it was empty, and so I noted down the time, because they’re only allowed to park there for thirty minutes. Devenish came boiling out of the gallery, thinking I was writing a ticket. He said the driver was there dropping off paintings, and he took a couple of canvases out of the boot himself. He was rude.”
“You thought that was strange?” Archer said.
“I thought it odd that he took such offense, but then just the sight of my uniform seems to bring out some people’s temper.” She shrugged. “So I kept on down the street, then came back up the other side. The car was still there, and Devenish and another man were standing beside it, talking quietly. I stopped behind a white van and checked the time, although I didn’t really notice the van.”
“Was the car there more than thirty minutes?” Archer asked.
She nodded. “Almost. But I guessed the man talking to Devenish was the driver and about to go, so I wasn’t going to issue a fine. But while they stood there, talking, Patty came out of her shop and she looked pretty steamed. She stormed toward Devenish, like she was about to have a go at him, and he called out her name, like he was warning her to be careful what she said in public.”
Archer leaned back, the look on his face thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “Did it stop her?”
Gabriella nodded. “She slowed down, and when she got to him and the other bloke, I couldn’t hear what was being said.”
“Nothing at all?”