Body of Lies by Sarah Bailey

Author:Sarah Bailey [Sarah Bailey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2024-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

FRIDAY, 23 SEPTEMBER, 9.24 AM

My hands are like claws around the steering wheel, my dislike for Everett growing with every passing second. Who does he think he is, grilling me like that? And why does Jonesy seem to hold him in such high esteem?

As much as it pains me, I know the answer: Everett is an option for the top job as much as I am—and, in the eyes of many, a more suitable candidate. There’s a difference between being incompetent and intolerable, and in fairness he’s probably only the latter, which doesn’t make him a bad cop. Jonesy is simply hoping a smooth transition to his successor will be part of his legacy. Still, Everett’s attitude toward me rankles.

I check the time. Just over three and a half hours until I need to get home and look after the kids. I call Lenny’s number and get no answer, so I call the hospital switchboard and ask to have him paged, only to have the receptionist inform me he’s not rostered on today. I try Rufus, his boss, who confirms it’s his day off. Now what? I could go to his house, but there’s every chance he won’t be home and then I’ll have wasted my morning.

Screw Lenny Tisdale, I think, veering off the main road to head east—and screw Everett as well. He said I could do whatever I like so I’ll go and speak with Carlyle Kirk myself. I’m aware that my desire to talk to him goes beyond asking questions about Roger’s murder: I’m fascinated by his ethos, his ambition and his optimism for humanity. He’s also highly perceptive and I’m interested in his reaction to his nephew’s death. In the podcast interviews I’ve listened to, he said he works in his psychiatry practice seven days a week, so it’s a safe bet I’ll find him there. Whether he’ll talk to me or not is another story.

Despite the promise of sun, the day is decidedly grey. The wind reveals the underside of the leaves as the fields of grass ripple like the sea. I call Mac on the bluetooth but get his voicemail. A light anxiety settles across me after I leave a message, and I fight the urge to call Candy for an update on Scarlett or to text Ben. Flicking on the radio, I do my best to relax into a pop song.

The news comes on, signalling it’s ten am. There’s only a brief mention of Roger’s murder: Candy was right, the lack of new information has downgraded the story from an inferno to a grassfire. It’s been replaced by the unexpected death of a high-profile rugby coach in Sydney. The attention economy theory is supported by our reactions to homicide—good luck to your dead self in getting more than a brief by-line if you’re not attractive, white or wealthy. Even then, the general public is only interested for a week or so. Journos like Candy are doing everything they can to even things

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