Free Ill-Gotten Gains by Ilsa Evans Page B

my coat, tucked in my scarf.
    ‘I’m going around the back.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘You are the worst detective in the world.’
    ‘Agreed.’ I walked to the edge of the porch as she rounded the side of the house and slipped the latch on the gate before disappearing through. A black dog loped down the footpath and crossed the road to pee against my back tyre. I frowned and made shooing gestures but this just seemed to encourage it. Quinn and Lucy had come outside and were staring at me. Quinn held up her mobile and began texting. Which wasn’t going to do her any good as I had left mine in the car, and it was probably off.
    ‘I don’t have it,’ I called.
    ‘You’re hopeless,’ she yelled back. ‘What are you doing? Where’s Auntie Pet?’
    I held my finger to my lips, hoping she would get the hint.
    ‘What?’
    The side gate banged shut and Petra appeared once more. ‘Do you think you could stop screeching while I’m undercover?’
    ‘No luck?’
    She shook her head. ‘There’s a light on, and the heating, but no sign of him.’
    ‘He must be out. Probably likes his house warm for when he gets back. Let’s go.’
    ‘I’ll just check the garage.’
    My sigh was wasted as she had already continued past the porch towards the driveway. Mark Tapscott, who lived next door with his wife and new baby, was now leaning against the fence watching us curiously. I walked towards him, intent on explaining, but was cut short by Petra’s gasp. She had bobbed down to peer beneath the corrugated roller door of the garage but now grasped it with both hands and attempted to wrench it upwards. The door shuddered noisily but stayed where it was. She fell backwards onto her butt, hard.
    ‘What the –’
    ‘The engine’s on! It’s not the heater, it’s the car!’
    With a rapidity that I was later to look back on with admiration, Mark Tapscott sprinted towards his own backyard. Moments later the fence shook. I ran to Petra and dropped to my knees. We both grabbed the edge of the roller door and heaved. But it was caught fast. The oily smell of petrol caught in my throat.
    The sound of a door being successfully wrenched open came from the rear of the garage followed by swift footsteps across the concrete floor. My heart slid upwards, throbbing against the base of my throat. We stood slowly.
    ‘Call an ambulance!’ shouted Mark from inside. ‘Quickly!’
    Lucy and Quinn had joined us, with Lucy already jabbing 000 into her phone. Quinn looked from the garage to me, wide-eyed. Moments later the bolt slid across at the side of the roller door and it shuddered upwards. Inside stood Mark, looking pale, and beyond him was a metallic-blue sedan. The engine was now off and the car door stood open. I could see the back of Ned’s head, tilted slightly to the side. The air was thick with fumes.
    Mark stared at us. ‘It’s too late.’
    ‘God.’ I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt like crying – not because I knew Ned that well but because I had known him that long. And because it was all so senseless, so much. Beside me Petra started coughing and stepped back. Now I could see a length of green garden hose, one end jammed into the exhaust and the other wedged into a sliver of open window. In between the hose coiled serpent-like along the concrete floor.
    ‘Is he dead?’ asked Quinn, moving a step closer to me.
    I put my arm across her shoulders and propelled her back towards her aunt. ‘It looks that way. Why don’t you and Luce go pay Grandma a visit?’
    ‘Stop treating us like children,’ snapped Lucy uncharacteristically. ‘Well, me, anyway.’
    ‘And me,’ said Quinn, staying close.
    ‘Shit, I broke two nails.’ Petra was holding her hand out. She glanced across at me guiltily. ‘Yes, I know that sounded awful … but they were gorgeous.’
    I concentrated on her nails, because it was easier. ‘No, they weren’t. They were ridiculous. No-one over thirty should wear leopard skin. Unless they are a