The Problem with Perfect Read online

  Women swooned over Frederick. Well, at least they had before he became a vomit-stained, sleep-deprived Father-of-the-Year. Men literally turned their heads to watch Rose pass. At more than a decade younger than Marigold, with an extra three inches in height, larger eyes, a cuter nose and bigger breasts, Rose was sort of like Marigold – or like Marigold would be if she’d been enhanced via Photoshop by a teenage boy fond of Victoria’s Secret fashion shows.

  “Hmmm, yes, I guess so,” Marigold said to Will. “Rose is getting ready.”

  “Great.” Will handed her a clipboard. “Fill this in and then we’ll start a warm-up.”

  Marigold took the clipboard. This was more than acceptable. She loved paperwork. Filling in forms was almost relaxing.

  She perched herself on the machine, nearly sliding off, when she realised the bed had a series of springs underneath. Regaining her balance, she quickly filled in the form.

  She used to take charge of the declaration cards for her and Julian when they travelled overseas. She would happily fill in forms when seeing a new doctor. She always looked forward to Census night where she had so many little boxes to tick.

  A small wave of unease hit her as she wondered what her Census form would look like next time. There would be no Julian to account for. It was strange to think of someone being counted on one Census, and then next time, not included, as if they’d never existed.

  “WILL!” Rose screeched, running towards him and giving him a hug that almost resembled a rugby tackle.

  They chatted animatedly as Marigold finished her paperwork and handed it back to Will. Rose parked herself on the next bed and started to stretch.

  “Right. Let me introduce you to the bed,” Will said with a grin.

  “It looks like a medieval torture device.” Marigold surveyed the bench with various levers, springs and pulleys. Bed seemed the wrong word for it. There was nothing relaxing about this. It was more like a rack.

  But that was ok, she wasn’t here to chill out. She was here to prove to her father that she was fit and healthy and ready to go back to work.

  “Oh, so Rose told you all about me, right?” Will gave another grin and proceeded to explain the various elements and finally instructed her to lie down while Rose giggled.

  Will looked rather pleased with himself. Men often did when they caused Rose to smile. Perhaps they thought they were in with a shot, but the painful reality was that for all her admirers, Rose was picky, and had few real, proper boyfriends. But she broke plenty of hearts that Marigold wondered if she ever even knew about. Maybe not. That was for the best. She was so kind-hearted she’d probably feel guilty.

  Marigold followed his instruction. The bed felt hard, like what you’d lie on at a doctor’s surgery.

  “Put your feet in this ring.” He handed her a round rubber circle and she stretched her feet to the ceiling, the bridges nestled into the ring, pulling it down towards her with her toes as he talked her through some stretches.

  With the warm-up done, they started complicated movements where she would put one foot on the bar and push away the bed on the springs. It was surprisingly awkward and challenging. And unnerving. She’d always been so good at sports.

  “I’m fit,” she told Will. “I run three times per week. I’ve completed dozens of marathons.”

  “Pilates is about strength. Lots of fit people find the first few times hard, as you’re using muscles you never knew you had. You’ll probably be sore tomorrow, but that’s normal.”

  By the end of the workout, she had definitely discovered new, hidden muscles. She took in a deep breath as she held a plank on the bed, her wrists burning.

  “Let go of the breath, three, two and one.” Will’s voice counted down the time she’d been in the plank position.

  And she exhaled, feeling her knees hit the bed, the pressure lifting from her arms.

  Her physical weight fell to the floor, but the one in her mind remained firmly in place. She needed answers, and now. It didn’t matter how strong she became; she couldn’t lug this weight around forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Finn

  Finn walked the corridor of the building where Julian’s alleged apartment was, quickly scanning to make sure that he wasn’t being watched, and quietly unlocked the door with the key Marigold had given him.

  He paused and cautiously poked his head inside. Marigold didn’t think anyone else was there, but you could never be certain. He couldn’t hear or see anyone, so he slipped in and closed the door behind him, carefully. Slammed doors grated him.

  The apartment reminded Finn of his own. Neat and nondescript. It certainly wasn’t anything like Marigold’s designer home with its massive mirror in the foyer that ran from the floor to the roof, and the living room that contained no fewer than six lamps.

  Why on earth did she need so many lamps in one room? One table had two lamps on it; that seemed excessive. He was sure it was probably some fancy, expensive interior design thing he didn’t understand, but even so, it seemed a waste of money and electricity.

  Julian’s sofa looked good. Finn sat on it and nodded approvingly. Far better than the designer thing he’d sat on at Marigold’s.

  That sofa (if you could call it that) at her house had been for sitting with perfect posture and having tea (but very carefully, so as not to spill any on the fabric).

  This one? Yes. This was for relaxing.

  The TV was positioned to minimise glare from the window. A remote control and a book sat on a coffee table. Finn picked up the book and turned it to read the blurb. Set in the Cold War, it was about an American spy behind enemy lines. Sounded good. The sort of thing he used to read – when he’d been able to concentrate on books. Since the siege, he’d not read anything other than the odd article in the newspaper, and since the talk of the inquest had flared up, not even that.

  He stood and inspected the fridge and kitchen area. Only a handful of dishes, and certainly not enough for multiple people to use on a regular basis.

  He moved towards the bedroom. It looked like a bloke’s bedroom. Basic. No fluffy pillows or side tables or lamps or vases of flowers. Those were often the touches a woman brought to a house, he’d observed. Zara used to bring home fancy blankets for their sofa, or pictures of flowers in frames for their walls.

  Women seemed more adept at making a house a home than most men, which was probably why his place didn’t look like a home either.

  Either way, this was Julian’s apartment. Finn had seen enough different types of houses on his job on the force, and that experience told him that only a man had been here for any sort of length of time.

  He looked inside the wardrobe. There wasn’t much. Only a couple of pieces. They were all the same size, all men’s clothing, and all of a size that would fit Julian as Finn remembered him.

  Moving into the bathroom, he looked at the medicine cabinet. There were no products women sometimes may have had on hand: no make-up, no hairdryer, no perfumes or fragrances. It simply contained one men’s deodorant, one bar of soap, one comb, one tube of toothpaste, and one toothbrush.

  Ah-ha. He slipped the toothbrush into a plastic bag. He’d get it tested, but suspected it belonged to Julian. He’d be able to find a DNA match from something at Marigold’s house. He’d text her and ask her to put aside his toothbrush or comb.

  Interestingly, the cabinet contained no drugs or medications at all. Not even a packet of aspirin. Perhaps Julian never got headaches, or perhaps he kept some painkillers with him in a briefcase.

  Finn moved back into the living area and sniffed the air. He couldn’t smell any weed. He spied the balcony. Maybe Julian relaxed with a joint on the balcony from time to time. He headed out and looked for any signs of ash on the ground. Nothing.

  No tablets. No weed. Nothing that indicated Julian had even taken a vitamin tablet here, let alone an illicit substance.

  Time to talk to the neighbours. Perhaps they could shed some light on this.

  He kn
ocked on the first door he saw, apartment 208.

  “Hi.” A cute girl appeared, wearing black workout gear that clung to every inch of her curvy body. She gave him a smile. “Can I help you?”

  Finn smiled back. He knew exactly how to get what he needed from witnesses. “I hope so. I’m Finn.” He held out his hand, which the girl shook.

  “Leonie.”

  “Leonie. Great name. Look, I’m wondering if you can help me?” He always asked permission. People were more likely to answer questions if they felt they’d agreed, rather than just suddenly being fired at.

  “Of course.”

  “The guy over at that apartment, Julian?” Finn stabbed a finger back to Julian’s apartment.

  Leonie looked over to where Finn was pointing. “That’s him. Julian.”

  “See much of him? You see, I’m an old friend of his from school. I’ve been interstate for a few years but trying to track him down.”

  “I don’t see much of him. Just every now and again.”

  Interesting. Clearly she didn’t know he’d passed away, and didn’t think anything strange of the fact that she hadn’t seen him in at least two weeks now. “Last I heard he was working some fly-in, fly-out job?”

  She leaned towards Finn. “I’m not sure what he does actually. We never really spoke much. Just a wave and a hi.” She struck a small smile. “Can you tell me, is he married? Because he wears a wedding ring but I’ve never seen him with anyone.”

  Finn once read somewhere that women were more likely to subconsciously look for a wedding ring on men. Was it instinct that Leonie had noticed, or had she been interested in him?

  “Separated, I think,” he lied.

  “Oh, that’s sad.” Her bottom lip jutted out before she gave a smile. “You know, there was some woman who came looking for him the other week. A skinny woman with dark hair. Oozing attitude. She was asking all these questions about him, too.”

  Finn had always anticipated that Marigold might be the type who would rub other women up the wrong way.

  “Anything else that Julian may have said that might help me track him down?”

  “He seems to fly a lot,” Leonie said. “He always has one of those wheelie suitcases with him.”

  Was that for flying, for overnight stuff, or simply paperwork? Some people who had a lot of files used small wheeled briefcases that might have looked like a suitcase. He’d ask Marigold about it.

  “Look, if you find a way to get in touch with him, or hear what he’s up, can I leave you my card? Let him know I’d love to grab a beer with him. I’ll pop one in his letterbox too.” He knew that Leonie wouldn’t see him, but it didn’t hurt to leave his details in case she did come across anything of interest.

  “Of course.”

  Finn handed her his ‘plain’ card. It only contained his name, the title Consultant, a telephone number and a general commercial email account. It was the one he used on civilians who would freak out or get overexcited that he was a PI, and start telling him all sorts of stories about how they suspected their neighbours were drug dealers.

  After speaking to a few other neighbours and gaining even less information than from Leonie, he climbed into his car. For the first time in a long time, he realised he’d gone for about an hour without once thinking of the siege.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marigold

  Marigold’s phone beeped. I’m going crazy, read the message from her brother.

  No, you just need sleep. It was 2:10 am and she was on the sofa, a quilt around her, watching an infomercial for an oddly-shaped pillow.

  Are you watching the ad for the pillow? Looks good but I WILL NEVER GET TO BED!!! AGAIN!!! Doesn’t matter what flipping pillow I have. May as well not have a bed at all.

  She shook her head. He was so melodramatic. Erin will sleep eventually. Calm down. She typed back. She hit Send and then started a new message. But yes, the pillow looks good. It looked a strange shape with grooves specifically designed to support the neck. The presenter was talking to an alleged chiropractor (a man in a white coat, at least) who was explaining what each element was for.

  Maybe I’ll buy one, Frederick texted back, seemingly having forgotten his concern that he would never get a chance to use it. He must have been impressed with the chiropractor too.

  Get one. She added a smiley face emoji and hit Send.

  Her mobile beeped again. Want one?

  Yes. Get me one. You owe me for the knives I bought you last night. Call it even.

  She put away the phone and focused on the infomercial. Despite how convincing the chiropractor looked and how impressive the pillow sounded, a bit like Frederick, she wasn’t sure when she would really get to use it.

  She looked back at her phone. She hadn’t heard from Finn since she’d briefed him. What was he doing? She was about to send him a text message but remembered the time. She’d wait. Not everyone had insomnia.

  But he’d be getting a call first thing in the morning.

  Unable to sleep and sick of looking at the pillow infomercial, she threw back the quilt. She was getting nothing done here and there was no chance of sleep now. She found that if she hadn’t managed to doze off before 1 am, it wouldn’t happen and it was better to simply stay awake.

  1 am. That’s when it all went down. 1 am. That was when the police knocked on the door. 1 am. That was when her life fell apart.

  She made her way up the hallway to her bedroom, slipped out of her nightgown and into a pair of black trousers and a black top. Assembling her bag and keys, she locked up the house and got into her car, starting the ignition and reversing out of her driveway.

  The streets were quiet. She took a deep breath. She liked driving at this time of night. Street lamps lit the way and there was no traffic. By all accounts, she hadn’t been a great sleeper as a child. Her dad used to tell her stories about how he’d drive her around the winding country roads near Mulberry Estate to help her get to sleep when she was a baby, but the minute he’d return home, she’d wake up and he’d have to start again.

  “You’ll get your karma,” he’d said to her, with a laugh, on many occasions.

  She probably wouldn’t get it in the form of a child and their sleep patterns, but she certainly was experiencing it as an adult. Would she ever have a good night’s sleep again? And she wasn’t being melodramatic like her brother. His sleep issues were temporary. He had his wife. The love of his life to sleep next to. What did she have, other than her own thoughts?

  The streets were quiet as she drove. She peered through her windscreen. Why had Julian chosen this apartment of all the thousands of apartments in Melbourne? The location was nearly an hour from their own house. It was further north and on the other side of the city. It was in an area Marigold rarely went. It wasn’t near D-Line’s Melbourne offices. She didn’t really know anyone who lived in that area. Had it been selected to avoid detection?

  Or maybe there was another reason. To be close to someone, or something?

  She parked at the front and let herself in through the secure entrance with the code Sharon had given her.

  She moved through the quiet, deserted foyer and halls, unlocked the apartment and turned on the light. She’d decided by now that there wasn’t much chance of anyone else living here, and there still weren’t any signs. Everything had been left as she’d last seen it, even the blinds.

  She moved towards the bookcase and picked up one of the spy novels. She heard the sound of an aeroplane above the apartment. She was closer to the airport here, but it was louder than she would have anticipated considering the airport was still another twenty minutes away.

  Sitting on the sofa, she curled her legs up under her and started to read the novel she’d selected. It wasn’t great. Or maybe it was. She didn’t know. It wasn’t what she normally read, so perhaps it was good for the genre. She wondered if Julian had enjoyed this or whether it was simply something to read. She continued to read until she found her eyes becoming heavy, and she
eventually drifted off.

  She awoke sometime later with the book cuddled to her chest, and glanced at the clock on her phone. Despite being wedged in the corner of the sofa, it was the best three hours sleep she’d had since the night Julian’s body was recovered. She replaced the book on the shelf, opened the blinds, turned off the lights, locked up and headed home.

  Waiting for her on the doorstep was a box. It was from Julian’s work. She pursed her lips. Aaron! What was he thinking leaving it out on the front porch like this? He really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, that was for sure.

  Could the answer to the apartment be in this box?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marigold

  Marigold sat the box on a towel on her dining room table. It was dusty, and this was where she ate – well, usually ate; she hadn’t had much appetite lately. But either way, her dining table was clean and polished. She didn’t want to have it dirtied or scratched.

  She lifted the lid from the box and peered inside. A huge collection of pens sat on top. So many pens. Beautiful ones, too. There was a Mont Blanc one she had given him for their anniversary the year before. She held it for a moment, enjoying the cool, hard surface in her hands.

  What had been the last thing Julian had written with this? Maybe he’d signed his name on a form. Perhaps he’d made a note on a case file. Maybe he’d written a love note to someone he was seeing at the apartment, though the idea of that made her stomach turn.

  She pulled out a coffee mug with a footy club emblem on it. He’d never much been into football, but it was his team. He had a scarf he sometimes wore if they went to a corporate football type event, but he wouldn’t have been able to name any of the players or the coach.

  Putting the mug aside, a box of business cards caught her eye. She pulled one out and ran her finger over the raised typography that outlined Julian’s name and contact details. She felt herself smile as she remembered how many times they’d been at events and he’d slipped a card out to hand over to someone.