Ill-Gotten Gains (13 page)

‘Oh yes. That’d be a relief.’

‘You know what I mean,’ he said with a laugh, and then continued in a more serious tone. ‘I wanted to ask you a few questions. I know your statement says you thought you’d heard someone at the cemetery, but I just want you to think for a moment, are you
sure
there were no cars in the car park? Either when you got there or when you left?’

‘None. Just me.’

‘What about on the way home? Did you pass anyone, even a car on the side of the road? Anything like that?’

I frowned. ‘Not that I can remember, but then I wasn’t really looking. Sorry.’

‘That’s okay,’ he sighed. ‘Oh well, worth asking. I’m due a break in this case.’

‘Are you not making much progress? What about with Sam and Ned?’

He sighed again. ‘Not as much as I’d like. Which is another reason I rang. You mentioned that Sam was working on something for you, and that’s why he rang that night.’

‘Ah.’ I smiled. ‘So
now
the detective sergeant wants to hear my theory?’

‘Given the possibility that your … accident might be connected, yes, it does seem prudent to consider all possible angles.’

‘Well, well, well. I tell you what, I’ll trade you. Tell me who else Sam Emerson rang the evening he died and I’ll give you everything I have.’

‘You do realise I could have you arrested for withholding information? Besides, it won’t help; we’ve already ruled him out. He has an alibi.’

‘James Sheridan.’ I waited for confirmation and then realised that the silence was confirmation itself. ‘So, apart from Loretta and me, he was it? No-one else?’

‘No-one. Now for my part.’

‘Hang on. What about the landline? And Ned’s phone?’

‘Landline hadn’t been used, and Ned only used his to order two takeaway meals from the pub. And before you race down there interrogating the staff, it’s a dead end. My turn.’

‘Okay.’ I filed the information away for later. ‘But I’ve got a better idea – why don’t you join me this evening?’

‘Nell …’

I slid off the bar stool and glanced over at Amber, who was watching me with interest. She immediately dropped her eyes to her mobile. I lowered my voice. ‘No, not that. I’m meeting a few friends who have been researching exactly what it was that Sam was looking into. I’ll email you the background, what we’ve discovered thus far, and the address. Feel free to join us if you like.’

‘My god, you’re the bane of my existence. What part of “don’t get involved” did you not get? Christ, I’m tempted to tamper with your bloody car myself.’

‘Tamper away,’ I replied cheerfully. ‘It’s a write-off anyway. I’ll send you the address of the garage when I send you this other stuff. Let me know if you’re coming.’

‘Fine.’

I hung up the phone and tugged down on my collar for some temporary relief. Gusto padded around to the kitchen and began licking the cupboards. Deb Taylor had said that it couldn’t possibly be James Sheridan because he was far more likely to bribe someone than kill them, and he would never risk his reputation, while Yen had said it simply wasn’t his style. But what if the Discovery
threatened
his reputation? What if bribery didn’t work? Wouldn’t he be more likely to pay someone else to get their hands dirty, thus enabling him to establish an ironclad alibi? He was the only person, other than Loretta, me and the order staff at the pub, who had been contacted that night. He also had motive, means and opportunity. Plus he was a politician. Enough said.

I can add a few more midlife superpowers to the ones in your column. Multi-tasking for starters, and of course having eyes in the back of our head. Then there’s the ability to find things that no-one else can. I bet even Superman occasionally flung stuff around the farmhouse while he yelled, ‘Mum, have you seen my blue tights?’

Deb’s house was some way out of town, a ranch-style with a wide veranda that ran all the way around and had a ramp down to the pathway. Perfect for children on tricycles or skateboards; I would never have been able to keep my lot inside. April had now been replaced by a surly young constable who clearly considered guarding middle-aged women a waste of his valuable time. He parked ostentatiously in Deb’s driveway and then remained in the police car, which was probably just as well.

Petra had barely touched the doorbell before Deb answered. She looked at me with concern as she ushered us inside. ‘Nell, you poor thing! That collar looks
so
uncomfortable! How are you feeling?’

‘Fine, fine,’ I replied shortly, a little weary of having my welfare questioned.

‘At least you don’t need to wear a scarf. And I’m not at all surprised. Not about them
going
so far, of course, but that it proves it’s all linked. I
told
you we’d have to be careful.’

‘Duly noted.’

Still talking, Deb led us into the lounge room. It was a large room with sparse but tasteful furnishings. A laptop was open on the coffee table, connected to a data projector that faced a portable screen set up by the far wall. There was also a glass platter with wedges of cheese, stuffed olives and water crackers. ‘I
knew
that note didn’t ring true! I mean, if someone like Ned Given went to the bother of writing a note, then he’d include more information. Besides,
It’s beyond me
? That sounds more like he was given a task he wasn’t up to! What would you like to drink?’

‘Whatever you have,’ replied Petra with more than her usual enthusiasm.

‘I’ll bring a choice. Grab a seat anywhere you like. Just wait till you see what Lew’s been up to. You’ll be flabbergasted!’ Deb beamed at us and then bustled out, obviously enjoying herself. I wondered if she entertained often. I lowered myself onto on the couch then shuffled along so that I could face the screen directly. The front doorbell rang again and I felt a frisson of expectation.

‘This is going to be like one of those home video slideshows,’ whispered Petra gloomily. ‘I’ve already sat through one today at the funeral.’

‘Well, if you’d had more success there, this one wouldn’t be necessary.’

‘I
am
sorry. Fancy not being able to pick a culprit out of the crowd. Not a single person with a sign saying
I did it
.’ Petra dropped onto the couch and slumped her shoulders. ‘I can’t even drink much because I’m driving, and we have one policeman in the driveway and another about to join us here. Thanks, Nell, I owe you one.’

‘Well, perhaps you can spill another of my secrets. Would that help?’

Petra was saved from answering by Deb, who re-entered the room in conversation with Ashley Armistead. I turned stiffly, just in time to see them followed by a man in a wheelchair. He was a blond giant, even seated, with a florid complexion, but the thinness of his legs spoke to his having been in the chair for some time. The ramp to the veranda and the sparse furniture suddenly made sense.

‘Petra, Nell, this is my husband Lew. And of course you already know Ashley. Lew, these are our fellow investigators.’

‘So we finally meet!’ Lew rolled over to shake our hands and then spun a wheel and swivelled, deftly positioning himself beside the coffee table. ‘Wonderful! Now, just to save on the preliminaries. Car accident, over twenty years ago, so it’s ancient history. T9 spinal-cord injury. That’s complete paralysis of the lower body. Don’t drink and drive.’ He wagged a finger at Petra, as if she needed specific reminding. ‘But I was bloody lucky compared with some, so there you go. Now, you’re gonna be pretty pleased with what I’ve turned up.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ said Petra, glancing at me sideways.

‘Thanks again for having me on such short notice,’ said Ashley.

I adjusted my position so that I could see him fully, hoping to catch his eye and send a nonchalant smile that would belie the buoyancy of my stomach. But he was listening intently as Lew detailed the flaws in police speed-camera methodology. There was something similar about the two men, I decided, even though they did not look at all alike; integrity, perhaps, or a certain honesty. Despite only just having met Lew, however, I suspected his was more exposed than Ashley’s. An image of last Wednesday morning clicked behind my eyes, like a viewfinder, roundly disproving my hypothesis. I flushed.

Deb returned from the kitchen with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, a largesse that seemed a little inappropriate given her husband’s recent warning. She passed the bottles to him and went to a crystal cabinet for goblets. Between them they took orders, filled glasses, passed around the platter.

‘Okay then,’ said Lew impatiently, waving his wife to a seat. ‘That’s enough of that. Let’s get to business!’ He turned to face Ashley. ‘I take it you’ve been given the background?’

‘Absolutely. Nell has been most forthcoming.’

‘Yes,’ said Petra, leaning back and crossing her legs. ‘She often is.’

‘Excellent!’ Lew flicked a switch on the data projector and with a low hum, the screen gradually filled with the now familiar photo of Petar Majic and Mate Dragovic with dog. He hefted the laptop onto his knees and then turned back to us. ‘D’you know, when Deb first asked me to do this I was bit peeved. She’s always coming up with stuff for me. But I’ve had a bloody good time. Fascinating history here.’

Deb gave her husband a smug look. ‘Told you so.’

‘And right as usual.’ He winked at her and then slapped his hands together, the laptop wobbling precariously. ‘Okay then. I started off by confirming the information we had; no point building anything on sand. But I’m gonna update you chronologically, rather than in the order that information was revealed. Easier to follow. So, for starters –’ he jabbed a button on the laptop and the screen changed to a map of Eastern Europe ‘– Petar Majic was born in 1829 in Kerch, a major trade port in the Ukraine. Mother died when he was a baby, father drowned when he was six. After that he seems to have been taken in by a local family, the Dragovics.’ He turned to give us a grin before continuing. ‘I’m guessing they were some type of kin. The Dragovics had a mass of kids so they probably didn’t even notice one extra. Although times would have been tough. He and Mate Dragovic went off to sea together as teenagers and returned in 1852. We next see them signed up as ship’s hands on the
Weidemann
, which docked in Melbourne on 19 March 1855. The Crimean War was in full swing by then, which may have been one reason they left the Ukraine again.’

‘I wonder if they already knew about the gold rush,’ I said, watching as Lew replaced the smaller map with one that showed the ship’s long journey. ‘Or whether they heard about it when they docked.’

‘Hard to know. Next time their names crop up is on a claim at Bendigo Creek.’

‘And Kata?’ asked Petra. ‘Where does she come in?’

‘Ah yes, young Kata. We’ll get to her in a moment.’ Lew was clearly enjoying himself. He scrolled back to the picture of the two men. ‘So we have our two young adventurers off prospecting and, against all odds, hitting paydirt in 1856 – partly because they didn’t subscribe to the popular belief that gold diminished at depth. And did they ever strike it rich. Eventually sold up for forty thousand pounds, which was a shitload of money then.’

Ashley whistled. ‘Not counting the gold they would have extracted in the meantime.’

‘Yep, they were rich men when that was taken.’ Lew inclined his head towards the screen and then scrolled forward once more, until he reached the portrait I had last seen on the display boards at Sheridan House. ‘Which brings us to the lovely Kata. I’d a bit of a head start here, thanks to Nell, but tracking her was still a job in itself. I knew where she’d come from
and
where she’d finished, but just couldn’t join the bloody dots. That is, not until I stopped searching for Kata Dragovic.’ He paused. ‘And started looking for Kata Majic.’

If it wasn’t for my collar I would have gaped, but fortunately my chin was jammed in place. ‘Kata
Majic
? You mean …’

Still grinning, Lew hit enter on the laptop and Kata’s photo was replaced by her wedding certificate. It was quite ornate, with whirling scrolls and beautiful copperplate writing. ‘Yep. The sister married the brother’s best friend in 1853. They had a child too, a boy named Petar, but he died in 1855, probably when Kerch was razed by the British.’

Deb chimed in. ‘My theory is that he left to make some money for his growing family.’

‘We also reckon he fully intended to return,’ added Lew. ‘But the gold rush must have seemed like too good an opportunity. Besides, Kerch was a mess after the war. Still, it seems that she was pretty resistant to emigrating, despite everything. Or maybe there were elderly relatives to care for. Anyway, she didn’t arrive till 1862, when the house at Majic was being built. She would’ve been one of the first to catch the train from Melbourne to Bendigo, because the line was only opened in October that year.’

The screen now showed a black-and-white picture of a steam train, which was neither interesting nor particularly relevant. I was thinking about the certificate. ‘That would have been why Sam couldn’t find the marriage when he first looked. They weren’t married here at all.’

‘No. But they lived here for five years, at what we now call Sheridan House. It would’ve been very different for her. Mind you, the whole town was growing rapidly. There was an ironworks over towards Axedale and Petar also opened a lumber mill. And he employed a young foreman named James Sheridan who was also married.’

‘To Mary Frost,’ I said, thinking ahead. ‘So this all means that Kata
was
Beloved.’

‘But what happened?’ asked Petra, clearly fascinated despite her earlier misgivings. ‘If this was such a great love story, why’d she marry Sheridan the same year Petar died?’

A sepia-toned Sheridan House appeared on the screen with an open carriage beside the porch. Lew swivelled his wheelchair to pick up his wine, draining the glass before continuing. ‘We know the house was finished in 1865 and that Mate died the same year. Stabbed in a bar fight. Then in early 1867 Mary Frost dies in childbirth. And on 29 March Petar falls from his horse and dies three days later.’ He jabbed at the laptop and the next slide showed Petar Majic’s death certificate, a plain document with almost indecipherable handwriting. ‘Now this is interesting. First, because the deceased is listed as unmarried.’

I was still caught up with the realisation that Petar’s companion on his fateful ride, as detailed by Betty Rawlings’ reliable nan, could not have been Mate Dragovic after all. He was already dead. I filed this information away and squinted at the screen, trying to make out the words. ‘Unmarried? That’s odd.’

‘Sure is. Also, there was no doctor in the town so we just don’t know if Petar might have survived if he’d received medical treatment. We also only have the informant’s word for what happened. If you look at the certificate, you’ll see that this gentleman happens to be James Sheridan, who has just promoted himself from foreman to business partner. Was this factual or creative? Was he an opportunist or something more dire? We just don’t know.’

‘Look, this
is
interesting,’ said Ashley suddenly. ‘It really is. And my money’s on the wife and the foreman slash business partner being in cahoots. But surely there’s nothing here that anyone would be desperate to keep hidden. Nothing could be proved either way.’

‘Be patient, my man.’ Lew was beaming happily. He pulled up a new slide and then sat back to watch our reaction. This screen showed a toast-coloured newspaper clipping with close, fussy printing. We all leaned forward to make out the words, Petra and I both reciting under our breath.
MAJIC – on the 23
^rd
May at Bendigo. The wife of Peter Majic – a daughter. Both well.

‘Ah,’ said Ashley, clearly a quick reader. ‘Now
that
makes it interesting.’

I followed his thinking, my eyes widening. ‘But a child changes everything! Even if Kata married James Sheridan later on, wouldn’t the baby have inherited from her father?’

‘Exactly.’ Lew stared up at the screen. ‘There seems to be no copy of Petar’s will, which is odd given he was clearly proactive about death. Just go look at his crypt.’

‘Not you,’ said Petra, digging me in the ribs.

I ignored her. ‘Did the baby survive?’

‘Yep. Her name was Matija Tatiana Majic, and you’ll note that she was born one week before her father’s death. She was also born in Bendigo, which suggests there was some concern over the lack of a doctor around here. It also means that Kata wouldn’t have been in Majic when Petar fell from the horse. Or when he was being nursed.’

‘But if James Sheridan was so dodgy, why did she marry him?’ asked Petra.

Deb shuffled forward on her chair. ‘We have a theory. All of a sudden she was a young widow in a foreign country, totally isolated with a new baby. Even her brother was dead by then. English was her second language and she probably wouldn’t have been able to read the death certificate or anything like that. Plus the odds are she’d been taking care of little James since his mother died. So if your husband’s partner –’ Deb paused to draw inverted commas in the air ‘– offers you marriage, would you really have a choice?’

‘I suppose not.’

Lew scrolled forward to the next slide, a copy of the marriage certificate I had seen in the Historical Society office. ‘This is where it gets interesting again. Our ever-reliable James has provided the information here too, I’m guessing, because suddenly Kata Majic, mother of one, becomes Kata Dragovic, spinster. In one fell swoop, he has wiped out her marriage.’

I frowned. ‘But why?’