Page 15 of Twisted Truths

Timberflat’s best shooter tries again to get off a shot, only to be met by Theo’s outstretched arm. He knocks the ball loose, and within seconds, he’s on the fast break, pushing down the court with a controlled pace, scanning for his teammates. His eyes dart between options, and without hesitation, he dishes a perfect no-look pass to Cuddy—the curly-haired kid—who takes it straight to the hoop for an easy two points.

Levi rotates the team through the bench, but when Theo comes off for a break just before half time, it’s clear he’s the glue that holds the team together. Each of them steps up when he’s on the court. Each of them, that is, except Assistant Coach Petty’s brother.

Eric Petty has skill, that’s not in doubt, but like his brother, he doesn’t have the height, and it’s hard for him to dominate the way the taller players do. His agility and pace help him move the ball down the court when it’s in his hands, but when the game slows down and the defence tightens, his stature becomes a disadvantage. In the last five minutes while he’s on, Timberflat claw their way back into the game.

The first half ends with Barrenridge up by fifteen, and the players file off the court, their faces flush with excitement. They’ve brought a good game, but it’s still too close to celebrate.

Listening to Levi motivate the boys, I realise coaching is his calling. He has a way of commanding their attention and respect the same way Coach Durran did back when we were playing. I’m in awe of the way he speaks to them, with each boy hanging off his every word.

When the buzzer sounds for the start of the second half, my phone rings, flashing with a Sydney number.

“Hello?” I plug my other ear to hear over the roar of the crowd.

The voice on the other side of the line comes across muffled.

“Hang on a sec.” I motion to Levi that I’m heading outside to take the call. He waves me off, and I take the side door out to the parking lot. “Hello?”

“Is this Nash Stone?” A gruff male voice comes down the line.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. “Who’s asking?”

There’s a pause. “This is Hayden Grimshaw. I’m a Private Investigator from Sydney’s North Shore. I was hired to reach out to you regarding the suspicious deaths of Zara Stone, and Daniela, Paul, and Rylan Hughes.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Hired by who?”

“That’s confidential, I’m afraid.”

“You expect me to trust you when you won’t tell me who hired you to look into the death of my family?”

“All I can say is this person wants the murderer found as much as you do.”

“Why?”

“Mr Stone?—”

“Nash,” I grate out. Mr Stone is my father, not me.

“Nash, we’re on the same side. Allow me to help you find out who murdered your family.”

A derisive snort escapes me. “You want me to believe you’reon my side when some mysterious benefactor is paying you to help me? The police think it’s an open and shut case. Why does whoever’s paying you think any different? What do they know?”

“They have a vested interest in the truth.”

“Whatever. I’m not giving you shit until you give me more information. How do I know it’s not the murderer trying to cover his tracks?”

There’s another long pause. “Check your email. I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead, and I mutter a curse as I open my emails. Ignoring the two unopened ones from my agent, I click on the one from Hayden Grimshaw. There’s no message, only a link to a folder. Frowning, I download it, praying I’m not opening myself up to spyware.

When it finally loads, my heart leaps into my throat. There are surveillance photos taken from within the commune, date stamped two weeks before my family was murdered.

In the photos, Zara is deep in conversation with Gabriel Solomon. My fingers grip my phone so hard I’m afraid it will snap. My determination to bring down the manipulative arsehole intensifies, but when I zoom in on a photo, I’m surprised to see the adoration in my sister’s eyes as she gazes at him, a genuine smile playing on her lips.

Swallowing my disgust at how easily this fucker brainwashed Zara, I pan across to his face, only to find a mirrored expression in his gaze. He looks like he actually cares about her as he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

I’m not fooled.

He preyed on her, and made her believe whatever bullshit he spins to draw women in.