Page 93 of Ace My Heart

“About fifteen minutes after I arrived. And before you ask, I went straight back to my apartment and I stayed there for the rest of the night.”

“Can anyone confirm that for us?” Taylor asked, a nasty tone to her voice.

“My friend, Brad Jacobs – he drove me to Ben’s and he waited for me downstairs. He can tell you that he brought me home. And Joel,” I looked outside. Joel was pretending to be busy moving the drill equipment, but I could tell he was straining his ears to hear every word that was being said.

“Joel came over not long after I got home.”

“Can anyone vouch that you stayed at home the whole night?”

I got cross then. “No, they can’t. I live alone, Detective Taylor. I don’t have a flat mate, and I’m not in the habit of inviting people to stay over. I guess you could ask my cat – but he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, he’s got better taste!”

Taylor scowled at me. Coughlin hid a grin behind his big hand. I flicked my eyes towards Joel, who was chuckling out on the tennis court. I felt better knowing that he and Coughlin were on my side when it came to Detective Taylor.

“Miss Black, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you! So, you’re saying that you went straight home and stayed there for the night. You didn’t leave the house? You didn’t go back to Ben Herbert’s house – alone – and strangle him before pushing him off his balcony?”

My breath caught. “He wasstrangled?” I gasped.

Coughlin interrupted Taylor’s interrogation. “Yes, Mel. The autopsy showed that he was strangled with a piece of cord before he was pushed.”

My fingers flew to my throat. I found that I was having trouble breathing. A warm hand landed on my shoulder. I hadn’t realised that Joel had come inside and was sitting on the back of the lounge. I felt better almost immediately knowing he was there.

“Listen, Detectives, she hasn’t done anything wrong,” Joel said. “If you don’t believe that she didn’t leave her apartment again that night, then maybe you should question the bus drivers that were on that route, and the taxi and Uber drivers who picked people up in Vaucluse that night. Mel doesn’t have a car, so if she left the house again, someone would have driven her there.”

“And what about you, Mr Herbert? Where did you go after you left Miss Black’s apartment that night?”

Joel shrugged. “I came home and went to bed. My mother can vouch for me.”

Coughlin turned to Taylor. “If you want to look into the taxis and the buses, we can get into that straight away.” He stood up. Taylor stood up briskly beside him, smoothing down her tailored pants and adjusting her jacket.

“Thanks for your time, Mel,” Coughlin said pleasantly, giving me a smile. I couldn’t return it – I was still too shocked.

Sandra came down the steps then, offering to show the detectives out. Taylor looked like she wanted to interrogate me some more, but Coughlin gave her a glance and she followed him back up the stairs. It seemed that he did have some control over her after all.

I heard the door shut upstairs and Sandra came back down. I was frozen on the lounge, touching my throat, remembering the panic of being choked in my dream. Sandra went to the fridge behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of juice. She poured three glasses and brought them back over to the lounge, putting one into my hand and passing one to Joel, before sitting beside me and taking a sip of her own.

Joel reached around and gently pried my hand from my neck. He squeezed it once, but he didn’t let it go like I expected him to. Instead, he sat it down on his leg, which was resting on the back of the lounge, and put his hand over it.

“Sandra, I’m so sorry about this,” I whispered, my throat raw and raspy. “This isn’t something you … so soon after Steve.”

Sandra patted me on the knee. “Don’t you work yourself up about it, Mel. How on earth is this in any way your fault? You just make sure you look after yourself through all of this.”

Sandra finished her juice and stood up. “Well, I’d better let you two get back to business,” she said with a smile, heading back up the steps. I looked down at my juice, still untouched in my hand. Joel plucked it from me, walking back over to the fridge and putting it inside.

“You can drink that later when we’re done with your training.”He smiled gently, beckoning out towards the court with his head. I followed.

He’d cleared up the equipment from the drills, and he handed me my racquet.

“Let’s have a game, hey, Stink?” he asked me, taking his place on the baseline. He bounced a ball in front of him, getting ready to serve.

“Hey, Joel!” I called, before he served. He caught the ball and looked at me.

“Thanks. For the support, I mean. I don’t really tell you often enough how much I appreciate it.”

He grinned at me. “Hey, it’s my job, Mel. I’m just doing my job.”

He served to me then, before I could argue. It wasn’t just that. He did more than he needed to, job-wise. I took a breath and set my mind to the game.

For the second time in less than six months I found myself back at Saint Gertrude’s for a funeral. This time there was less of a circus outside, but there was still a decent pack of journalists; it was the funeral of a murdered man, a rich murdered man.