Heart of the Outback (40 page)

“I guess I am.” Her answer held a note of surprise in it.

“Well, I suggest you give in gracefully. Let him give you a party if he wants to, where’s the harm in it?”

She pondered over that suggestion for several minutes and then sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

Feeling as if he’d won a small victory, he grinned and asked, “Now, what would you like for breakfast?”

Natalie’s art gallery, situated in a renovated bond store on the bank of the Brisbane River, was a hive of activity. Under Hugh O’Leary’s artistic direction teams of tradesmen were working on everything from new lighting displays to arranging bales of hay. Sheets of half rusted corrugated iron and old fence palings were also placed in such a way as to enhance the theme of the exhibition — “Country art from all over Australia”.

The place looked a shambles, with crated paintings carefully stacked away from the activity. But Trish, now an old hand at seeing how Natalie’s exhibitions came together, knew everything would be picture perfect for the six thirty opening by the premier.

She watched the general hullabaloo with a dispassionate eye as she waited for Natalie to arrive. Her Sydney flight had been delayed twenty minutes and she had a good idea what mood she’d be in by the time the taxi deposited her at the front door. Natalie’s moods weren’t getting any better, and she was becoming quite worried about her. There were times when she questioned why she stuck around, bearing the brunt of her bad temper. But … she was genuinely fond of her, and she understood the source of her anger even if she didn’t agree with it.

Francey, quite innocently she thought, was the cause of her lover’s escalating moodiness. Natalie had mentally blown the “architect thing” out of all proportion and it was rare for a day to go by without her venting her spleen about Francey in some way or another. She knew about Natalie’s attempt to frighten her off by leaving her out in the scrub. Also that she’d tried on more than one occasion to insinuate to her stepfather that the architect could be spying on his business interests for a competitor, to gain some advantage over him. Ridiculous, CJ had told her bluntly, but that hadn’t put an end to Natalie’s suspicions. She was paranoid about being shortchanged of what she considered her rightful inheritance.

The bizarre thing was that Natalie had plenty of money of her own. Recently she had inherited a
healthy trust fund left to her by her grandfather, Miles deWitt. Then there had been her mother’s inheritance, half of Brenda deWitt-Ambrose’s personal estate. That combined with the increasing success of her art galleries meant that Natalie hadn’t a financial worry in the world.

No, it wasn’t the money, Trish was sure of it. The problem was that Natalie considered CJ’s fortune to be her birthright, the birthright Brenda deWitt-Ambrose had let CJ pry out of her control. That rankled Natalie and was probably the base cause of her lover’s problem. And now that Richard was gone and she could be considered the sole heir, she wanted it all.

She saw Natalie walk up the front steps, stand at the entrance with her hands on her hips, yell a couple of orders at Hugh, then turn on her heel and head for her office. Stifling a sigh, Trish followed. Slowly.

“Hello, love. Have a good flight up?” Trish went up to Natalie and gave her a hug. She kissed her on the mouth and as her arms went around her she felt the tension emanating from every pore of Natalie’s body. She was so uptight, one day she would snap.

Natalie absorbed the warmth of Trish’s comforting softness, saw the affection in her eyes and began to relax. Her hand caressed Trish’s cheek and then her fingers tangled in the brown curly hair. “I missed you. Next time I have to go to Sydney, you’re coming with me.” She watched Trish lick her lower lip, an unconscious gesture which always turned Natalie on. Her hands began to rove over her lover’s body, seeking the curves, finding the little spots where Trish liked to be touched. “God, I’ve really missed you,” her voice deepened, husky with need.

“Me too.” Trish murmured as she traced the outline of Natalie’s lips. Natalie caught the finger and drew it into her mouth sucking it in deeply, sworling her tongue around it. She stared deeply into Trish’s hazel eyes and started to unbutton her blouse.

Trish’s eyebrow rose. “Here?”

“I can’t wait, I want you now …”

They were both half undressed, panting slightly with the urgency of their need, when a loud knock on the office door brought their mutual caressing to a stop.

“Go away!” Natalie shouted. She winked wickedly at Trish. “I’m busy.”

“The Tom Roberts paintings have arrived, love,” Hugh’s unfazed voice was muffled by the thickness of the door. “We both have to check them for damage — it’s a clause in the insurance contract, remember?”

“Shit!” Natalie didn’t hide her displeasure. She looked down at Trish’s bare breasts and repeated, softly this time,
“Shit.”
With difficulty she brought her raging passion and need for fulfilment under control. “We’ll have to take a raincheck, darling. But don’t run off, I want to talk to you about something important.” She grinned mirthlessly. “It looks like talk is all we’ll be getting to do today.” She remembered Hugh at the door. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

An hour and a half later Natalie reappeared in the office doorway. “Things are getting hectic here, love. There’s not much point in you hanging around.”

“Okay, I’ve got some research to do on an article anyway.”

“Before you take off, I want to run something by you,” Natalie said. “Look upon it as a story idea, if you like.”

Intrigued, Trish waited.

“I want you to go to Sydney to see if you can dig up some dirt on Francey Spinetti, the bitch.”

Trish tried not to let her disappointment and her reluctance show. She’d been dreading this yet unconsciously expecting it sooner or later. “But why? I thought we’d agreed to adopt a wait and see attitude.”

“There must be something in her past, something I can use to drive a wedge between her and CJ.”

“What if there isn’t?” Something deep within Trish rebelled at the thought of checking into Francey’s past. She honestly liked and respected the woman and it didn’t seem smart to try to crucify someone that CJ seemed to admire so much. But to say so to Natalie at this point in the conversation would start a full on rage.

“Use your imagination. Make something up. I don’t know,” Natalie said angrily. “Few people have led perfect lives, nuns and priests included. There’s often something in their past they’d rather keep hidden. Dig deep, find it. Maybe her parents even. I don’t care what it is, just find something I can use. CJ’s flying off to Europe soon and when he comes back he’s going to throw a big birthday party for her. If I could have it by then …” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the idea.” Then the tone changed, became plaintive, almost childlike. “You promised you’d help me, remember?”

Trish felt trapped. Her conscience longed to say no but the appeal and the hint of desperation in Natalie’s eyes made her want to agree, if only to keep the peace
between them. Deep down she knew she was being manipulated by a master manipulator and she also knew that there was little she could do about it.

“All right. When do you want me to go?” Perhaps it would be good to get away from Natalie for a while … and she’d always liked Sydney.

Natalie smiled. She’d won. Trish and her scruples could be such a nuisance sometimes. “The day after tomorrow. All expenses paid of course.”

Having said what she wanted to say she turned and disappeared back into the gallery.

Trish shook her head, her shoulders drooping as she stared reflectively at Natalie’s retreating figure.

CJ stood near the airport window watching several aircraft taxi towards the arrivals section. He didn’t want to think about what lay ahead but he had to. Funny, on reflection he’d found that he wasn’t afraid of the thought of surgery, the radiotherapy or even of dying. He’d thought he might be, but he wasn’t. He’d lived on the land too long, knew the cycle of life: birth, growth, death. Sometimes surprises but no escapes. And, the thought came to him, with what the doctors said he could expect over the coming months dying would be a relief, a release from the pain.

Barry had explained about the radiotherapy and what it would do to him. Nausea, extreme tiredness, his hair would probably fall out. But if the treatment worked and shrank the tumour, then he’d gain the most precious commodity he could think of — time.

He saw Shellie coming towards him loaded up with magazines and a couple of books to read during the long flight to Geneva. He felt guilty because he
hadn’t told her the truth yet. No-one but Barry and Les knew. She’d be angry with him when he finally did. He had made the decision that the fewer people who knew for the present, the better — until he set in motion the plans he had to.

There was still so much he wanted to do but he knew he had to prioritise everything and concentrate on the most important things. This treatment should give him time. He grimaced with self-derision: time not money was now his most precious commodity.

The interrogation room of Cairns police station had a strange smell to it even though it was air-conditioned: cheap air deodoriser, cigarette smoke, stale coffee.

As he waited for the prisoner to be brought in, Steve Parrish thanked his tendency towards persistence. The luck had finally turned his way. His one lead for Richard Ambrose’s suspected murder, Paul Andronicus, had been arrested for drink driving. The Mt Isa police station had been faxed and he’d grabbed a flight to Cairns the next day because the offender could only be held for twenty-four hours by law.

The door opened and a police constable led the prisoner in. Steve motioned Andronicus to sit at the table and as he did so the constable moved to sit on the chair near the door.

Steve double-checked the charge sheet. “Paul Andronicus?” His quarry looked the worse for wear. Still hungover with a five-o’clock shadow across his jawline, the swarthily built man dressed in dirty blue jeans, black T-shirt and elasticised boots looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Yeah. So?”

“I’m here to ask you a few questions. My name’s Sergeant Steve Parrish from Mt Isa.”

Andronicus straightened up in the chair. Suddenly alert, he eyed Steve with a modicum of respect. “I didn’t do anything illegal in the Isa mate, someone’s given you a bum steer.”

“That so? We’ll see. I’m going to ask you some questions. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so. But whatever you do say may later be used in evidence. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Where have you been, Paul? I’ve been trying to find you for over seven months. You left the Isa in a bit of a rush, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. That’s not a crime, is it?” Andronicus replied with a touch of bravado.

Steve allowed a grin to flash across his face. “Not yet. So, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing illegal. I’m a carpenter, mate, I go wherever there’s work. I’ve been to Charters Towers and down to Townsville then up here to Cairns. Lots of projects going on here.”

“You were in the Isa when Richard Ambrose died, weren’t you?”

Andronicus’ forehead screwed up in a frown. “Reckon I was. Bad luck for the bloke, that stampede. Lousy way to die.”

Steve offered him a cigarette which he refused. The ploy was to try to be his buddy, get his confidence up a bit. “It was. The corpse was barely recognisable. Had to be identified by his dental records.”

“Yeah …” Andronicus gave him a strange look. “Well, what’s that got to do with me? I’m in the can,
here for drinking too much and having a car accident. What’ve you come all the way from the Isa to question me about? I paid all my bills, I swear I did.”

“You and Penny Ormond were something of an item until Richard Ambrose started to take an interest in her. Is that correct?”

The eyes narrowed, the tone became defensive. “We might have been. So what?”

“I’ve spoken to several people back in the Isa. They say you were really cut up about Penny Ormond dumping you for Ambrose. That you threatened,” he paused to take a black book out of his shirt’s breast pocket, flip it open and read a direct quote, “‘to teach Ambrose a lesson he’d never forget’. Several people at the Irish Club have given me sworn statements to the effect that you threatened Richard Ambrose’s life.”

“Now wait a minute.” Andronicus held up both hands, palms forward. “How do you expect me to remember something I said almost a year ago? Even if I did say it I was probably pissed at the time. Jeez, what are you trying to pin on me?”

Steve reckoned it was time to get formal. “I feel it fair to warn you, Paul Andronicus, I have evidence that Richard Ambrose may have been murdered. I am reminding you that what you say here,” he pointed to the video camera at the end of the room, “is being recorded and may be used in a court of law against you.”

“Shit, mate,” beads of sweat began to form on the carpenter’s forehead. “I didn’t touch Ambrose, I swear it.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Paul. Unless you can give me an alibi which can be corroborated, you’re the best suspect I’ve got.”

“What? So CJ’s put you up to this? The old bastard wants his pound of flesh. An eye for an eye stuff … He lost his bloody son and heir so someone has to pay.”

Steve shook his head. “This has nothing to do with Mr Ambrose. I’m a police officer carrying out an investigation into Richard Ambrose’s death. I found evidence that shows the stampede may have been deliberately started. Someone wanted to hurt Richard Ambrose, maybe the intention was to give him a scare, but the scenario backfired and Richard was trampled to death. That makes his death manslaughter, or murder, depending on how the prosecutor views the evidence. On whether he thinks he can make murder stick.
Murder
, Paul, think about it.”

“I didn’t do it. Honest. It wasn’t me. Give me a lie detector test or something, whatever it is you blokes do. I’m innocent, I swear it.”

“We don’t do lie detector tests, that’s done in the USA.”

Steve watched Paul Andronicus cover his face with his hands. All aggression was gone now and fear emanated from the suspect.