pods, no messy filter paper full of disgusting sludgy, wrung-out coffee effluent.’
Dash reached forward and grabbed the pot, pouring himself another before slotting it back onto the hot plate. ‘No thanks. Years on the job mainlining government-issue coffee has completely bastardised my tastebuds.’
‘You’re not on the job any longer. Remind me to introduce you to Gloria Jeans.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Can’t stand any of the frothy café latte crap.’
‘You’re so old school.’
He raised his mug in salute. ‘Thank you.’
‘That wasn’t a compliment.’
‘I figured. Is there any particular reason you came today or was it just to flaunt greenery in Ralph’s face and bust my balls?’
‘I came to see what you and your mouse learned yesterday about the case but as you’re looking really shite at the moment maybe you should go to bed for a few hours.’
‘Are you going to tuck me in? Or sing me a lullaby?’
Joy shot him her very best sardonic smile. ‘Not likely.’
He shoved one hand through his hair, pushing the thick tangle of salt and pepper curls back then rubbed the same hand over his jaw. The rough scrape of whiskers caused a tiny little pang somewhere in Joy’s lower half.
She ignored it. That half of her had never been very reliable. It was no t her better half.
‘Sorry,’ he grimaced. ‘Late night.’
‘I’m not surprised with all that nuclear-strength caffeine running around in your system. I’m surprised you don’t scare clients away or that you have any at all if this is how you dress for work.’
He shrugged. ‘This ain’t the fifties. People like their P.I.s to look —’
‘Shady?’
Dash glared at her. ‘Resourceful.’
Joy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Is that what you call it?’
He turned his chair on her. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ he grouched.
Joy smiled at the back of his head. ‘Couple days off.’ She walked around the front of his desk and plonked herself in the chair. ‘Not on again til Saturday. Thought I’d hang out with you and help you with the case.’
He snorted into his coffee mug. ‘Lucky me.’
‘Well? How’d it go? Any theories?’
He put the coffee mug down and studied her face. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing, grabbing his mug again. ‘Follow me.’
Joy dutifully followed Dash next door into his lounge room. It was sparsely furnished with a large three-seater lounge made of some kind of overly stuffed fabric that had seen better days and a seriously fucking huge wall-mounted television.
She hoped it was for sport and not porn.
But none of that was what really drew her gaze. Over against the far wall sat a large mobile whiteboard with photographs and newspaper clippings and names and dates and lines and arrows and question marks all scrawled in thick black marker.
Dash strode over to it and dragged it in front of the television to the centre of the room. ‘I pulled everything I could find about the case online and through contacts yesterday and last night. Everything about Hailey and her disappearance. Everything about Martin. All the clues from the police end of it and everything that you told me.’
Joy stared at the board trying to take it all in. It was like a storyboard — a storyboard of Hailey Richardson’s murder — boasting an intricate web of information, clues and relationships.
‘Aren’t there computer programs for that these days?’ she asked absently as her eyes roamed around trying to absorb it all.
He nodded. ‘Yep. But I’m old school remember?’ He looked down at her and she smiled back at him. ‘I like to be able to sit back at a distance and mull over it.’
To prove his point he sunk down on the couch behind him and did just that, sitting forward, bent at the hips, poised for action in case something jumped out at him.
Joy followed suit. ‘Alright then, talk me through it.’
‘Okay.’ He stood again and picked up one of the markers that were sitting in the
Dash reached forward and grabbed the pot, pouring himself another before slotting it back onto the hot plate. ‘No thanks. Years on the job mainlining government-issue coffee has completely bastardised my tastebuds.’
‘You’re not on the job any longer. Remind me to introduce you to Gloria Jeans.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Can’t stand any of the frothy café latte crap.’
‘You’re so old school.’
He raised his mug in salute. ‘Thank you.’
‘That wasn’t a compliment.’
‘I figured. Is there any particular reason you came today or was it just to flaunt greenery in Ralph’s face and bust my balls?’
‘I came to see what you and your mouse learned yesterday about the case but as you’re looking really shite at the moment maybe you should go to bed for a few hours.’
‘Are you going to tuck me in? Or sing me a lullaby?’
Joy shot him her very best sardonic smile. ‘Not likely.’
He shoved one hand through his hair, pushing the thick tangle of salt and pepper curls back then rubbed the same hand over his jaw. The rough scrape of whiskers caused a tiny little pang somewhere in Joy’s lower half.
She ignored it. That half of her had never been very reliable. It was no t her better half.
‘Sorry,’ he grimaced. ‘Late night.’
‘I’m not surprised with all that nuclear-strength caffeine running around in your system. I’m surprised you don’t scare clients away or that you have any at all if this is how you dress for work.’
He shrugged. ‘This ain’t the fifties. People like their P.I.s to look —’
‘Shady?’
Dash glared at her. ‘Resourceful.’
Joy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Is that what you call it?’
He turned his chair on her. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ he grouched.
Joy smiled at the back of his head. ‘Couple days off.’ She walked around the front of his desk and plonked herself in the chair. ‘Not on again til Saturday. Thought I’d hang out with you and help you with the case.’
He snorted into his coffee mug. ‘Lucky me.’
‘Well? How’d it go? Any theories?’
He put the coffee mug down and studied her face. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing, grabbing his mug again. ‘Follow me.’
Joy dutifully followed Dash next door into his lounge room. It was sparsely furnished with a large three-seater lounge made of some kind of overly stuffed fabric that had seen better days and a seriously fucking huge wall-mounted television.
She hoped it was for sport and not porn.
But none of that was what really drew her gaze. Over against the far wall sat a large mobile whiteboard with photographs and newspaper clippings and names and dates and lines and arrows and question marks all scrawled in thick black marker.
Dash strode over to it and dragged it in front of the television to the centre of the room. ‘I pulled everything I could find about the case online and through contacts yesterday and last night. Everything about Hailey and her disappearance. Everything about Martin. All the clues from the police end of it and everything that you told me.’
Joy stared at the board trying to take it all in. It was like a storyboard — a storyboard of Hailey Richardson’s murder — boasting an intricate web of information, clues and relationships.
‘Aren’t there computer programs for that these days?’ she asked absently as her eyes roamed around trying to absorb it all.
He nodded. ‘Yep. But I’m old school remember?’ He looked down at her and she smiled back at him. ‘I like to be able to sit back at a distance and mull over it.’
To prove his point he sunk down on the couch behind him and did just that, sitting forward, bent at the hips, poised for action in case something jumped out at him.
Joy followed suit. ‘Alright then, talk me through it.’
‘Okay.’ He stood again and picked up one of the markers that were sitting in the
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