The Survivors, стр. 48
No-one had said anything as they’d watched Trish Birch turn and walk back to the service station. She’d driven away, Renn’s gaze following the car until it was well out of sight. He’d turned to Kieran.
‘Let’s go.’ He nodded at Pendlebury. ‘See you shortly.’
‘Yes,’ she had said simply, her eyes on his face. ‘See you.’
Renn had not said another word all the way to Fisherman’s Cottage. Now he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, ducked under the police tape and went to open the front door.
‘They’re letting you back in?’ Mia said to Olivia as they stood by the gate and watched Renn find the right key. ‘That’s good.’
‘Not permanently, just to get some clothes and things. And Julian’s asked me to get Bronte’s work keys back. She was supposed to be on earlies this week so she’s got one of the sets for the back door.’ Olivia was wearing the same borrowed outfit she’d been in that morning and toyed with the hem of her jumper. ‘Chris says they’ll give Bronte’s parents the chance to visit the house – if they want to, I guess – and then I might be able to come back.’
Olivia did not look at all keen on that idea, Kieran thought, as Renn opened the front door and disappeared inside.
‘If you’re allowed in, do you reckon that means they’ve found whatever they were looking for?’ Kieran said.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Or else they’ve decided it’s not in the house.’
Renn reappeared in the doorway. ‘All yours, Liv.’
Olivia rested a hand on the gatepost, but went no further. Kieran saw her glance at the dying flowers at her feet, then to the darkened hallway.
‘Do you want us to come?’ Mia said, and raised her voice as Olivia nodded. ‘Chris? Sorry. Is it okay if we come in with her?’
Renn saw Olivia’s expression and considered. He looked at Kieran, empty-handed other than Audrey in her sling, and Mia, holding only the small nappy bag.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘You grab what you need, Liv, but I’ll have to make a note before you take it.’
Renn stepped aside to let them pass and Kieran followed Olivia up the path and into the cool, dim hallway.
‘Come through,’ she said. The cottage’s kitchen and living room were cosy and felt like they would be welcoming under different circumstances, but even to Kieran’s untrained eye he could tell both areas had been searched. It looked like some effort had been made to restore items to their rightful spots, but even having never been there before, Kieran could tell things were slightly off. The cushions on the couch looked somehow in the wrong order, and the entire contents of the bookshelf felt misaligned.
Even now, Kieran caught Renn casting his eye over the room. Whatever he and Pendlebury and the other officers had been looking for, they still hadn’t found it, Kieran felt sure. They must be fairly certain it wasn’t in the house, though, or Kieran doubted they’d have let Olivia back in, let alone him and Mia. Renn also hadn’t seemed worried about them smuggling something out in their pockets or the nappy bag Mia was carrying, Kieran realised. So, probably nothing small then.
What was it? He couldn’t help glancing around as well, aware he wouldn’t recognise a missing item even if he tripped over it.
Olivia barely looked around, walking straight to her bedroom. Mia followed her in and sat on the edge of the bed as Olivia opened a drawer and began to pile underwear on the dresser. Kieran hovered in the hall, giving them some space.
Renn peered in to check what Olivia was doing and ducked straight back out again. He went to the back door and unlocked it, stepping out onto the verandah. He stood framed in the doorway with his arms folded, and his gaze resting on the floral tributes near the shoreline. Two camera crews were down there, Kieran could see. The guys from the Surf and Turf the other night, plus a new pair. They were both interviewing a man who was pointing at something out to sea while trying to stop his dog from chewing the flowers.
Kieran turned away and came face to face with the last room in the hallway. The back bedroom. In his parents’ house, this was his room. In Fisherman’s Cottage, it had belonged to Bronte. The door was wide open. No privacy for the dead, Kieran guessed.
Bronte’s room had the specific type of sparseness that suggested its occupant hadn’t planned to stay long, Kieran could tell from the hallway. A double bed with a green and white doona cover took up most of the space, along with an open clothes rail where she had hung up a single row of dresses and tops. A spare Surf and Turf uniform dangled from the end, garish against her own clothes, which were mostly black and grey. A full-length mirror was propped against the wall, with a hair straightener and a makeup bag on the floor beside it. The single window in Bronte’s room looked out onto the beach, across the sand and down to the place where her body was found.
A desk had been pushed underneath the window. Bronte’s art station, Kieran thought. It was the only cluttered space in the whole room, the surface covered by different types of pencils stacked in cups, small pots of paint and a pile of notebooks and papers. On top of a thick sketchbook lay a yellow industrial-looking torch. ‘Sean Gilroy’ was printed along the side in capital letters.
Kieran looked at the torch and the desk and suddenly imagined Bronte in that room at night. Settling in with the