Free Blood Secret by Jaye Ford

questions ran through her mind. Why was there only a single patch of it? Had it been staunched quickly? Had someone grabbed a towel from the back of a car or ripped off a shirt and wadded it on the wound? Maybe the bleeder got in a car and bled some more on the upholstery. Or maybe they’d been bundled in, unwillingly, forcefully.
    None of the hospitals had treated or admitted a Max Tully and there were no confused patients without ID. She tried a private hospital and a clinic. Then Cessnock and Maitland hospitals – both were an hour away at least and an unlikely choice if you were in Haven Bay and needed medical attention in a hurry, but she figured they were worth a try, to cross them off the list if nothing else.
    When a man climbed into a sedan in the car space beside the blood, Rennie tapped on his window and asked him to steer clear of the stain on his way out. Five minutes later, as a woman prepared to drive into the spot, Rennie stood in front of her BMW and waved her arms about before asking her to find another place to park.
    Both times, she got straight back in her car, not wanting to linger in the open. It was something she’d never felt the need for in Haven Bay but tension had settled deep in her spine and, like a child with a security blanket, her brain looked for the comfort of old habits. Maybe the caution wasn’t out of place today. The kid from the four-wheel drive was a loose cannon. He knew what she looked like and he might have another car or friends with vehicles she wasn’t watching for.
    When the phone buzzed, she’d been dialling a number from Max’s book. Trish’s photo on the screen made her close her eyes briefly, disappointed it wasn’t Max but grateful to hear from her. ‘Trish. Hi.’
    â€˜Hey, hon.’ Her voice was groggy and a little husky, like she’d been woken out of a deep sleep and forced to speak. ‘How you doing this morning?’
    Rennie remembered the champagne-induced state Trish had been in at the end of the night, imagined her still in bed, dry-mouthed, bleary-eyed, hair and mascara a scary duo, and decided not to rush straight into it. ‘I’ve been better.’
    Trish cleared her throat. ‘Ditto. Did Max turn up?’
    â€˜No. I made an official missing persons report with the police about an hour ago.’
    â€˜Oh, hon, that’s not good. Where are you now?’
    Rennie glanced at the blood across the laneway. ‘In the car park behind Skiffs.’
    â€˜Are you arriving or leaving?’
    â€˜Neither. I’m waiting for the cops. I found blood.’
    There was silence for a moment then confusion in her voice. ‘Blood? What do you mean blood? A lot of blood? Where?’
    â€˜A patch of it on the pub side of the car park.’
    There were stuttering noises on the other end of the phone, as though Trish was sorting through a response that made sense. ‘I’ll come down.’
    She sounded like she might struggle walking to the bathroom to look for painkillers. ‘No, it’s okay. You should stay home and nurse your hangover.’
    â€˜What, and not share the wonder of the mountainous bags under my eyes this morning? No, I’m coming down. And I’m bringing coffee.’
    God, coffee. The next thing she needed after Max – finding him, holding him, beating him around the head – was strong, hot coffee. ‘Thank you.’
    She hung up, held tight to the phone and wondered what she’d do without Trish and Pav. Wondered where she’d be now if they’d closed half an hour earlier the day she arrived in Haven Bay.
    Rennie and her sister, Jo, had left Victoria the morning after her court-ordered counselling finished, both of them restless and ready to move on after the forced year-long stay. They drove straight up the coast, stopped for a late lunch south of Sydney, pushed on north for another hour, then decided to call it quits for the day. The