Blood Secret by Jaye Ford Page A

scene tape looking bored under his police-issue cap. Rennie thought of the splotch of blood he was guarding and the kid in the four-wheel drive and reminded herself what had shaped her.
    Her life before she came here made violence the first and obvious conclusion. It didn’t belong in Haven Bay but that didn’t stop her mind making the leap. She almost wished Max had tired of her, that she could say she’d seen it coming and was satisfied that was the reason he’d dis­appeared. But she couldn’t. And as she drew closer to the cop, knowing from experience that fast, instant action was sometimes all that would save you, she wondered what kind of response the police would have if they knew Max had gone missing before. Would they decide he wasn’t worth their immediate attention?
    At the bumper of her car, she called to the cop. ‘Has the detective arrived?’
    â€˜Thirty minutes away.’
    Half an hour of waiting, worrying, second-guessing, blaming. No, thanks. ‘Tell him he’ll need to call me.’
    She drove out of the lot, stopped at the T-junction facing the lake, turned right and, for the second time that day, followed the road that led to Garrigurrang Point. The large houses that overlooked the lake were awake now: curtains and windows open, people about, cars on the move. This was Haven Bay’s version of wealthy suburbia: six or seven streets that met the road at right angles, sloped straight up to the crest of the hill then back down out of sight, reconnecting on the south side like rungs in a ladder. The blocks were big, the homes angled for the best view, lots of glass and decking. Then the residences were gone, replaced by the close-packed bush of the conservation area. If the spit of land that was Garrigurrang Point really was a finger, the protected reserve would be the nail, its tall gums forming a canopy over dense native brush, huge hunks of sandstone heaved up by the earth and rough tracks that meandered down the incline to the green strip of the picnic grounds that sat at the very end of the point.
    She stopped in the parking bay where she and Max ate fish and chips in winter and flicked her eyes around the view. Would he have come here? If Trish was right, if he’d disappeared willingly because he was upset or angry, why would he come here? He didn’t have his car and it was a long way to walk in the dark. If someone else picked him up, same question: why come here? It wasn’t the most private place, even at night. The sparkly lights on the opposite shore drew more than just Rennie and Max with their fish and chips. Most weekends there were at least a couple of cars with steamed-up windows. They’d fogged up their own a few times, scrambling into the back seat, giggling like kids. Like the kid she’d never been.
    Had he done that with someone else? She clenched her teeth, told herself to concentrate on finding him, deal with the rest after she knew he was safe.
    Getting out of the car, she started across the park. The afternoon had turned into one of those fairy floss cloud days, early summer warmth and the air still enough to hear the gulls crying as they wheeled out over the water. She kept to the road side of the grass, watching the ground. The metal clip on his watchband sprung open sometimes. If he’d been brought here forcefully, it might have fallen off.
    She wasn’t alone: there was a family finishing a hamburger lunch, four or five boys with bikes and a football. As she turned at the end and started back along the water’s edge, she passed a boy and girl holding hands and talking quietly as they gazed out at the lake. Rennie and Max did those things out here as well. Picnics on the jetty, feeding the fish with crusts. Sailing club parties. Family days when his sister or parents were in town.
    She lifted her gaze to the conservation area, squinting in the glare – they’d walked through there, too. A three-minute