Burn Patterns by Ron Elliott

Author:Ron Elliott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fremantle Press
Published: 2016-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter fourteen

Iris woke in her own bed to sunshine. Mathew was away. Frank had allowed her to drive herself home. She hadn’t filled out his sedative prescription. She wasn’t going to. The front doorbell chimed again. She looked to the clock. It was ten fifteen on Saturday.

Iris put on a robe, went downstairs. The doorbell chimed again as she reached the bottom steps. Impatient, she thought. Where’s the fire? She opened the front door to Detective Stuart Pavlovic.

Pavlovic wore a striped shirt, dark trousers, black leather shoes. He carried a small soft leather bag, too effeminate for a cop. He was looking towards the garage when she opened the door. He swung back, noting the robe. ‘Oh, sorry. I woke you.’

Iris shrugged.

‘I’ve been sent to ask you some questions.’

‘Come in.’ Iris led him towards the lounge. ‘Let me help you with your inquiries.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you want coffee?’ asked Iris.

He nodded.

‘Okay. Come through to the kitchen. Do you know how these pod coffee makers work?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Very well. Could I have a green one? You can pick your own colour. I’ll get dressed.’

Iris went upstairs. She recalled the last thing she’d done before bed was to put all her clothes, including the skirt, into the washing machine. She supposed she had destroyed evidence. She’d thrown away the clothes she’d worn the day of the school explosion. Was it really so easy to put disconcerting events behind her?

She put on shorts and a t-shirt, went into the bathroom. She decided not to subject the detective to more of her morning face. Her eyes were puffy. She dusted the wrinkles, chose a subtle pinkish lipstick, Chanel.

He stood at the back windows, sipping his coffee and gazing into the garden. It was magnificent in the morning, a tangled forest dappling sunshine onto the grass and limestone surrounding the huge swimming pool. The jacaranda still held the last of its flowers.

Iris said, ‘Your bandage has gone.’

He held up his arm, flexed it gingerly. ‘It was in the way.’

Iris found her coffee on the counter.

‘You don’t have any milk,’ he said.

‘Sorry.’

‘I don’t need milk.’ He went to the kitchen table, sat at the other end.

‘You’re not going to comment on the house?’

‘Nice house.’

‘Everybody comments on the house.’

‘There’s all kinds of houses.’

Iris thought he pretended to be unimpressed. He didn’t want to show any inferiority. Maybe he even resented the house. Iris used to. ‘Well, enough pleasantries, Detective. What?’

‘A few things, Mrs Foster.’ He took a pocket sound recorder from his man bag, placed it on the table. He took out his mobile, a small notebook, fished for a pen.

Iris took her coffee and sat at the table within range of the recorder. She said, ‘How is the investigation going?’

He looked at her sharply. ‘It’s an operational matter.’

‘I can help more, if I know things.’

‘Let’s deal with the incidents at Fieldhaven last night first.’

‘I am working on the case.’

‘As far as I know Mrs Foster, you have been helping Dr Silverberg. You used to work for the Fire and Rescue Service.

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