Page 85 of A Murder is Going Down

‘You’re justsoMelbourne. If I cut you, I think Fitzroy would ooze out.’

‘I miss Elena. Michael’s so busy with acting work and he’s travelling more and more, so I was thinking about it. The University of Western Australia had an open day and I thought it would be a good chance to check it out. I didn’t want to tell Michael until I was sure I wanted to move.’

‘You flew over by yourself?’

‘I’ve got some money from my terrible job at Coles.’

‘You’re only sixteen.’

‘I didn’t ask for a beer on the flight.’

For a moment, relief feels like a cool washcloth on my forehead. I never really thought it could be Patrick. Did I? Then I think about what Patrick’s saying for more than two seconds and something doesn’t feel right. ‘So, Felix just happened to die after you got here?’ I ask.

‘I know how it looks. That’s why I didn’t say anything.’

‘Where did you stay?’

Patrick pauses, and I can’t tell whether he’s crafting a lie or if this is awkward for him. ‘Elena booked a hotel room for me.’

‘She knew about you coming over?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before now?’ I wipe my hands on my jeans and push the dishwasher door closed.

‘I don’t know. Elena agreed not to say anything until I was sure I wanted to move. By the time you and I were partnering up to solve crimes, it would have been weird to come clean. It would have looked dodgy.’

‘What’s dodgy?’ Lilia asks from the doorway.

‘Your personality,’ Patrick says automatically, then, ‘Sorry. I forgot about the détente.’

‘There’s ice-cream cake on the table and it’s getting melty,’ she says, ignoring Patrick.

And that’s that.

It’s easier to eat a piece of ice-cream cake than argue the point with Aunty Sam. So I eat as fast as I can, then drag Lilia to my room, fending off Aunty Sam’s offer of tea and biscuits like an Arctic explorer facing down a polar bear.

Lilia sits on my bed and looks around. ‘Your bedroom’s the same,’ she says.

‘I’ve been freezing my arse off in Switzerland for two months. Not much time for redecorating.’

Her face turns a deep pink, which is annoyingly flattering on her.

‘How was it?’ she asks.

‘Amazing, best holiday of my life. Gutted to have leftall my cool new friends behind.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Do you have the recording?’

‘Right.’ Lilia pulls out her phone, and I see that her lock screen is now a photo of her and Ben. ‘Shit. Sorry,’ she says and quickly opens the app and hands the phone over to me. ‘My lock screen’s on automatic – it cycles through my photos. It’ll probably be some random recipe screenshot next,’ she adds while I pretend to have no idea what she’s talking about.

‘Have you already listened to it?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, I had to see if it worked.’

This pisses me off, but it also makes my life easier, because I can grab my over-ear headphones, plug them in and block out anything Lilia might care to say about the matter.

‘Heidi, I should tell you—’ Lilia starts, but I don’t listen because I press the play button. I hear dishes at first. A lot of clattering dishes. A scraping noise. Then voices, identifiable this time, if still muffled and occasionally inaudible:

Patrick: … in the bin.