15. Iris
Iris
I ’ve never wished a weekend away in my life but this one is dragging.
It’s not only the fact that Sam has had to put in a whole heap of overtime in the last few days—so much for the nine-to-five—but I’m worried sick about Eva.
Though, there’s nothing I can do until the kids are back in childcare and kinder and I can hopefully follow Matteas again.
So I do what I always do when I’m stressed—I bake and listen to true crime podcasts.
The twins are napping and Billy’s distracted with a movie, so I’m getting some much-needed peace.
I get out all the ingredients for banana choc-chip muffins and begin measuring out what I need.
I try to focus on the podcast—the host is currently sharing police findings from a burnt-out caravan belonging to a serial killer who hunted in Texas and bordering states—but I can’t concentrate.
My mind keeps wandering. I stare down at the mashed banana in the mixing bowl.
It looks disgusting in this form, although I know it’ll bake well.
But it’s mush. Slop. Slops like they served the kids who were taken.
I only know this because it was detailed in one of the court transcripts when they made the arrest two years ago.
Two years ago. The same time Eva and Matteas moved to Cobal Gully. I’m missing something.
I take out my headphones. I’ve completely lost track of the podcast and am picturing poor children locked up in cells, and my new friend basically locked up in her house. What the hell is wrong with the world?
***
The twins wave goodbye as we walk over to the kinder building. Matteas is already standing there, hands in the pockets of a designer pair of trousers, smug look on his face. Billy runs up to Archie again, breaking my heart a little, and high fives his friend.
I don’t say a word but when the door opens, I make sure I’m quick to sign Billy in and get back to the car before Matteas does.
Ten minutes later I’m trailing Matteas, with a few cars buffer between us, again with absolutely no idea where we’re going or what my plan is. But I’m on to something and it feels right.
We end up in the city again, but not the cafe this time.
Instead, he pulls into an underground parking lot below a tall business tower.
I follow him into the carpark, my large sunglasses covering most of my face.
It’s a public, pay per hour parking lot so he won’t be suspicious of another car entering, but I don’t want him to look back and recognise me.
I find a parking space several rows away from him and watch.
My heart is racing, both fear and excitement coursing through me.
But I’m stuck now because the only way from the carpark is via an elevator and I certainly can’t just get in with him.
He carries a laptop bag with him as he enters the elevator and as soon as the doors close, I jump out of my car and race over.
I watch the red number above the doors slowly go up.
At level twenty-three it stops. I wait to see if it moves again, perhaps someone else got in at twenty-three.
But it doesn’t move, not until I press the call button and it begins its descent to the carpark.
I have no idea what’s on level twenty-three. Offices, I presume. But is it Matteas’ office? Brent’s office? Or is he visiting? Maybe it’s his secret mistress’s place of work. My mind races with the possibilities and then the door opens.
I press the button for level twenty-three and up I go. Somewhere between level ten and fifteen, I panic. I want to get out, bail on this stupid idea. I should’ve listened to Sam because I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting myself into.
I can’t think of what to do quickly enough because the elevator bell sounds and the doors open.
Before me is a wall with business names and office numbers. Offices one to six are off to my right and offices seven to fifteen are to my left. Both directions are long hallways, grey linoleum floor, a few indoor plants scattered around, and doors on either side.
I have no idea where to start with the company names.
I read through them in order, nothing grabbing me on first glance.
Then it hits me. One company is called Bishop Transport, in office four.
I’ve never heard of it before, but the man who was arrested two years ago also worked in transport, and Eva mentioned Matteas was once in transport and logistics.
It could be a coincidence but I have no better place to start.
I walk down the right-side hallway until I come to a door with a ‘4’ written on it below the words Bishop Transport. I steady my breath before pushing the door open.
It’s a large space, much larger than I was expecting. There are a number of office cubicles but I can’t see their occupants, and there’s a beautiful young woman sitting behind a reception desk right in front of me.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks, looking me up and down. It makes me feel self-conscious but only confidence is going to work in this situation, so I push it aside and plaster on my friendliest smile.
‘Hi. I’m looking for Brent Dawson.’
She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, no Brents work here.’
I’m about to leave, when I remember. ‘How about Eddie?’
Her perfectly shaped brows knit together. ‘He’s here.’
‘Can I speak to him?’
‘Can I ask who’s after him?’
‘I’m Iris, old acquaintance.’
‘Right, one moment please.’ She picks up an office landline and murmurs a few words I don’t catch before directing me to a couch nearby.
‘Thanks.’ I sit on the couch and take in my surroundings a little more.
The couch faces the reception area and has a coffee table next to it.
Facing this way, it means my back is to the rest of the office.
The cubicles are all behind me and I wonder if this is so people waiting can’t spy on the workers or make them feel uncomfortable.
‘Iris?’ A man I immediately recognise walks up to me.
He’s the man from the photo, from the cafe.
And he looks exactly like the Brent I’d seen a few times in Rosewood except that he has dark circles under his eyes and several more lines on his face.
He isn’t clean shaven and his haircut wouldn’t fly if Sam was his sergeant. ‘Do I know you?’ he asks.
‘I’m Iris, Sam Anderson’s wife.’
His eyes widen and I swear there’s fear in them.
‘You worked with him at Rosewood Police Station.’
He shakes his head. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and suddenly the air in the building is thinner. I try to suck in a deep breath, but I cough instead. Brent’s face is ashen and I want to reach out and shake him. Ask him what’s going on.
His eyes flash over my shoulder and I turn my head only to be met by a strong hand pressing a cloth to my face.
The smell is strong and makes me instantly light-headed and then there’s a prick in my neck.
The last thing to cross my mind is the prediction from the trivia night, and that it was about to come true.