Heart of the Outback (55 page)

“I don’t have a reason not to believe him. Why would he lie? He’s not the sort to want to get into trouble with the police, or to simply make mischief,” Steve argued.

“One might assume that he’s fiercely loyal to CJ and Francey,” Glen supposed. “Maybe he found them somewhere else and is trying, in his own way, to protect them.”

“I don’t buy that, and neither did Inspector Clarke. He’s all for going ahead with this new line of inquiry,” Steve stated firmly. He didn’t add that both he and his superior saw the wisdom in trying to clear CJ Ambrose’s name while not incriminating Francey. Neither policeman was comfortable with either Ambrose’s seeming involvement in the murder, so checking out another possibility was well worth the effort.

“Westcott’s a pretty cool customer. He’ll say it must have happened while he was out.” Erin put in.
“That was his alibi, wasn’t it, driving around in his car?”

“There’s other circumstantial evidence which puts Westcott under suspicion,” Steve said and listed them for his team.

“Okay,” Neil nodded his approval, “how do we go about it?”

“As Erin said, the evidence is pretty slim so to make it stick we’ll need to get a confession from him.” He ignored their doubtful expressions and hastened on. “The inspector suggested I wear a wire and record an interview with him. I think I can get him mad enough to admit that he killed Natalie.” Steve then added, “He and Francey are away at the moment, up in Cooktown. They’re due back this afternoon which gives us time to get organised.” He grinned confidently at them all. “I want this bastard, let’s go get him.”

Shellie sat in the same chair recently vacated by Rose, the morning nurse, watching CJ sleep. It broke her heart to see her brother go downhill like this. There was so little she could do; little that any of them could do other than make him comfortable. She smiled at nothing in particular, secretly amazed at how close they’d become over the last six weeks. Like they had been as children as they’d roamed the outback with their father while he tried to find work. Even back then, as a youngster, CJ had possessed a rare vitality and been driven to succeed at whatever he wanted to do.

The way he was handling the frustration of his situation evoked her deep admiration. The old CJ
would have roared like an enraged bull, stomped about swearing and generally made everyone as tense and miserable as himself. It was almost impossible to imagine a world, her world, without CJ’s larger than life presence.

For the umpteenth time she thanked God for the strength of Barry’s love. Without it who knew where she’d be? She gave a little snort — probably up to her armpits in booze. Francey would be all right. She’d come through this dreadful time with her strength intact. She had plenty of moral and emotional strength to see her through the grief and later, the healing process.

“Shellie,” CJ’s voice was husky with sleep. “Is Francey back yet? There’s something I want to tell her.”

“In an hour or two. Les just radioed Lisa that they’ll be leaving Cooktown within the hour.”

“Sis,” CJ half whispered, “I want you to make me a promise. When I’m gone marry that doctor of yours and move away from Murrundi. You deserve your own life in your own home — you’ve spent too many years in other people’s houses. I’m sure it’s what Barry wants.”

Shellie shook her head. “Please, I can’t think about that, it’s too … too …”

“Morbid? Hell, Shellie, I have no delusions. Life will go on with or without CJ Ambrose. That’s the order of things, you know. And this damned illness, by the time it’s done with me I reckon I’ll be ready to go anywhere to escape the pain, the boredom, the isolation of it.”

“Do you need something for the pain? Shall I get Rose?”

“Not yet.” His grin was half smile, half grimace. “After I talk to Francey, then Rose can medicate me. Now I know what a damned pin cushion feels like and it isn’t good.”

Shellie’s mouth twitched despite herself. CJ’s wry humour in the face of his predicament amazed her. Just another sign of him trying not to give in to the inevitable, she supposed.

“You can do something for me if you plan to just sit there.”

“Of course. What?”

“My eyesight’s pretty bad, I can’t focus for long periods of time. Those letters on the table, would you read them to me?”

“I’d be pleased to. I’ll get my glasses.”

All CJ could make out was a blur moving towards the door and disappearing out of sight. His poor sister, how she was suffering. Everyone was, himself included. But soon he’d be free, and so would they.

T
he police van pulled in around the back of the homestead and parked under the long carport. Steve Parrish checked his watch as he stepped out of the van. “CJ’s plane should land in the next ten minutes. Lisa Dupre knows about the operation, she’ll keep everyone inside. Erin, I want you to monitor the recording device.” He turned to Neil Smith. “You’ll be backup in case anything untoward happens. Take the point at the end of the drive and watch for the plane. Whistle as soon as it comes into view.”

“We’d better do another audio check, Steve.” Erin suggested. “Walk about and talk or sing while I check the levels.”

Steve did so and after he’d got the thumbs up from Erin he joined Neil.

They didn’t have to wait long for the sleek aeroplane to come into view. The jet circled over the
property then lined up with the airstrip and began its descent.

“Wow! I’d sure like one of those little toys,” Neil exclaimed with envy.

“You or I couldn’t afford the annual fuel costs, let alone the leasing arrangements,” Steve quipped. “Okay, I’m off. I’ll try to catch him just outside the hangar. Westcott won’t be inclined to talk if there are witnesses around so I’ll send Francey into the house.” He mentally crossed his fingers that she would cooperate without question.

It was a reasonably paced six minute walk through the vegetable garden, around a couple of machinery sheds and by the first lot of stockyards to the airstrip. The Learjet, model 31, had just reversed into the hangar space, ready for the next take off as Steve reached the outer perimeter of the area. He could feel himself sweating and knew it wasn’t caused by the weather. He wanted to nail Westcott so bad he could taste it but since the inspector had approved the plan a sense of apprehension had been growing inside him. He couldn’t afford to screw this one up. He knew that his track record wasn’t great and so much hinged on a successful operation. His credibility, his quest to bury the past and even his future happiness were on the line.

As he watched the door open and Francey come down the steps he was close enough to see the delight mirrored in her eyes as she recognised him. She walked towards him, briefcase and, as usual, a bunch of rolled up plans under one arm. He barely had time to admire her shapely legs in the miniskirt, part of the
white linen power suit she wore with the aplomb of a catwalk model, before his brain shifted into gear.

“Steve,” her tone was breathy with surprise. “I didn’t expect…” But oh, how she had hoped he’d be there, that somehow, miraculously, they could work things out.

He strode up to her and took her in his arms. Finding her lips wasn’t difficult and kissing her was like receiving the key to the gates of heaven. He held her close to him and as he felt the warmth and softness of her mingle with his body he almost lost his focus. She felt so good, and it had been so long … Eventually sanity resurfaced and he pushed his head back from hers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Westcott come down the plane’s steps and falter, his mouth agape. He noted that as usual the man was dressed in his country squire gear and clutched a black attache case in his right hand.

“I love you,” he whispered to Francey then continued with obvious urgency. “Don’t ask me any questions, just pretend you’re ecstatic about all this.” He kissed her again. “Now I want you to head for the homestead and don’t look back. I’ll tell you what this is all about later.” There were so many other things he wanted to say, that he’d been a prideful fool, that what mattered was them being together — but now wasn’t the time. He’d eat humble pie when he’d attended to Westcott.

“But …” Francey’s huge eyes widened. “What’s going on?” She was desperate not to move out of the circle of his arms; it felt so wonderful to be there.

“Please,” Steve groaned, and using his eyes he tried to communicate the urgency of the situation.
“My love, for once in your life don’t question anything, just do as I ask.” Seeing her frown, he added softly, “Clearing CJ may depend on it.”

He stepped away from her and gave her a playful pat on the backside. When he spoke his voice was loud enough for Westcott to hear. “Yes, darling. We’ll talk about it at the homestead.” Then, he whispered the order through gritted teeth “Go, and don’t look back!”

Controlling her puzzlement but tuned in to the unusual vibrations which emanated from him, Francey did precisely as she’d been told: she kept walking. What is he up to? she wondered. And that kiss. What did it mean? What she’d hoped — that everything was okay between them? Well, she wouldn’t let him get off that lightly — Steve Parrish had some explaining to do.

For several seconds as she covered ground she dwelt on the sheer power of his kiss, how her knees had gone weak and every nerve ending she possessed had burst into life and sent pulsing messages of awareness throughout her body. Steve. Being in his arms again was glorious as was the ardour of his kiss. And how she wanted to believe his declaration of love.

Steve had never said that phrase aloud before. Her lips curved in a smile despite her confusion. She wanted very much for it to mean that he’d realised how strong his feelings were, but was astute enough to sense that the scenario seemed planned. Again, as she continued towards the homestead, she asked herself … why?

Steve glanced back at Francey to be sure that she’d put some distance between them then he tried to regroup mentally. With difficulty. The singing in his
veins, the burst of joy that had raced through him at her spontaneous response to his kiss was hard to forget. Everything was going to be all right between them, her response told him so. Now, to the task at hand.

“Westcott,” Steve greeted his quarry. There would be no pussyfooting about. He’d spent hours working out a plan of attack. “We need to talk.” As he spoke he studied CJ’s right-hand man. Les appeared to be having difficulty curbing his anger, a situation no doubt brought about by seeing Francey in Steve’s arms. A nerve in his temple had begun to throb uncontrollably and Steve saw his shoulders square under the tweed jacket — a dead give away for tension. Good, he wanted him off balance.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” Les muttered dismissively as he tried to sidestep him.

Steve blocked his path. “’Fraid we do. We can do it here or at the station. Your choice.”

“All right.” Les’ saturnine features set in a bored expression. “What is it now?” He glanced over the policeman’s shoulder at Francey’s departing figure. She was almost to the fodder barn and in half-a-dozen steps she would be out of sight and hearing. Another sweeping glance told him that no other workers were within view. He affected a casual stance, his left hand sliding into his trouser pocket. He waited for Parrish to speak.

“New evidence has come to light in regard to Natalie’s murder,” Steve began. “These,” he pulled out a small plastic envelope which contained the two buttons and dangled them under Westcott’s nose, “were found under the verandah of your cottage. I want you to tell me how they got there?” He
swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and tried to forget about his sweating palms. It was time for confrontation and this time there would be no repeat of what had occurred years ago.

Les snorted. “How the bloody hell would I know? I wasn’t there, remember. You have my statement.”

“A statement that can’t be corroborated. We’ve only your word that you were driving around aimlessly in your car. I put it to you, Les Westcott, that the night of the murder Natalie came to your cottage. You both argued. You lost your temper and hit her, then strangled her.” He stopped for a moment to let Les digest his words. “You see, Les, we’ve worked up a profile on you. We know about your ambition to control CJ’s business empire and how you thought that by marrying Natalie you’d be one step closer. But she wasn’t interested, was she, Les? I think that recently you perceived Natalie as a threat to your long-term plans and that’s why you got rid of her.”

“This is preposterous!” Les guffawed. “You’d never prove any of that in a court of law and you know it. Besides, CJ’s confessed to Natalie’s murder. All this supposition is a waste of my time and yours.”

“Maybe but at least I’ll thwart one of your ambitions. Once CJ’s gone you’ll want to marry Francey. It’s now the only way to get the control you want.” Steve’s sweeping arm encompassed the property. “Well, you won’t be the one to marry her, old son. I will.”

With narrowed gaze he watched Les’ features tighten. That had gotten to him. A sheen of perspiration began to dot the man’s forehead.
Instinctively he knew that Westcott was remembering him embracing Francey. He felt his senses sharpening … just a little bit more and he’d crack. But he wasn’t out of control. Yet. “We’ve patched things up, as you just saw. Shame, isn’t it?” He grinned aggravatingly at him. “All those years, scheming to get your hands on what CJ owned. It’ll never happen. And you can make sure of another thing, once I’m ensconced at Murrundi with Francey it’ll be goodbye Les Westcott — for good.”

A muscle began to throb in Les’ jaw as he thought this new development through. Was Parrish telling the truth about him and Francey or was it a bluff? He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the confusion, the doubts. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself, for he had planned every step with such care. He looked at Parrish and wondered … could this dumb ass copper be about to destroy everything? No, his determination firmed, he wouldn’t let that happen.

“I hope you’ve made contingency plans,” Steve went on, almost conversationally. “We know you’ve stashed plenty away over the years you’ve been with CJ. In fact, I just might have his accountant check the books. Maybe you’ve helped yourself to a couple of million you shouldn’t have.”