Ill-Gotten Gains (6 page)

‘Which most probably eliminates Leisl too.’ Petra hesitated with her hand over Leisl’s name. ‘If one of them had been with Sam when the discovery was made, they would definitely have shared it with the other. No doubt.’

‘Agreed.’ I took a sip of wine, thinking. ‘You can also lose Deb Taylor. She had no idea that Sam was there, or that I had an appointment, and I know genuine shock when I see it.’

‘Okay, so goodbye to Frilly Willy and spouse, plus Deb Taylor. I’ve always disliked the name Deb. It’s more like a sound than a name. Like a tap dripping.’

‘I’m sure that’s going to devastate the woman.’ Yen tapped her knife against the mayor’s name, leaving a smear of sour cream. ‘Not him. He’d have asked for an update on anything they uncovered but he wouldn’t have been there so late, doing the research. Not a chance.’

I looked at her doubtfully. ‘He did volunteer to go out to the cemetery with them.’

‘Curiosity, that’s all. Believe me, when it comes to the background stuff, that man is nowhere to be seen. He’s strictly foreground material.’

‘Which just leaves us with Edward Given.’ Petra was staring at the single remaining scrap of serviette. ‘I
suppose
that makes sense.’

‘Actually, it does,’ I said. ‘He’s the most likely to get involved in something like this, given his love of history
and
intense curiosity. He’s also the one with the most time.’

Yen pushed her plate aside. ‘In fact, Sam would have been hard pressed getting
rid
of the man. He would have been in his element. But he’s no murderer.’

‘Everybody has some potential for evil.’ I looked over Yen’s shoulder to the adjoining table where the young woman was now feeding the unprepossessing baby. It made a grab for the spoon, missed, and then clapped its hands. The father took a photo with his mobile phone. I thought of Darcy and Tessa. He had been a good father, and no doubt would be again. Taking photos of his own. My risotto felt like lead in the pit of my stomach; like bullets. If I could feel like this about someone I once loved, then surely
anybody
could be a murderer under the right circumstances. Or the wrong ones.

I am writing with regard to your weekly column, in particular your sentence structure. While I do enjoy your writing, the short and/or incomplete sentences are very off-putting. There were six such examples in your March 10 column, eight in March 17, and nine in March 24. Nine! This suggests an upward momentum that I find rather concerning. As a reader.

Faint light came from the half-open curtains at Edward Given’s house, suggesting that he was somewhere towards the rear. I ran through the various scenarios in my mind. One: he and Sam had disagreed and he had lashed out; two: he had left Sam before anything untoward had occurred; three: he had witnessed something untoward but was too frightened to come forward. Four: he had no idea about anything and we were on totally the wrong trail.
Local woman points finger at innocent man. Again.

‘I’m a bit surprised he’s not peeking through the curtains,’ said Petra, who was still sitting beside me in the car despite the fact we had been parked in her driveway for ten minutes. Lucy had long since dragged Quinn into her house, on the corner, to show her something or other. Yen already had her own lights off and curtains drawn, no doubt just in case we felt compelled to visit.

‘Yes, that is strange.’

‘So, what are you going to do?’

I sighed, but didn’t turn. ‘Get a realtor in, find out the market value. Speak to the bank.’

‘Nell, it’s just a house. Don’t beggar yourself for a house. Maybe you’d be better off selling, and not just in a financial sense. Let yourself move on. He has.’

‘Thanks for reminding me.’ I glanced at the dashboard clock and back towards Ned’s house. ‘This really
is
rather strange. It’s only eight-thirty so he can’t possibly be in bed.’

‘Here.’ Petra leant over and pressed the horn before I could stop her. A rather pathetic bleating emerged. ‘Good lord.’

‘Yes, it’s embarrassing. If someone cuts me off I have to rely on a forbidding expression.’

Petra beeped the horn again, twice. ‘Sounds like its balls haven’t dropped.’

‘Which is how I prefer my cars, thanks.’

A dog barked in the distance, frenetic at first and then slowing into intermittent bursts that punched the silence. Quinn appeared at Lucy’s lounge-room window, frowning. I shook my head and waved her back, then returned my gaze to Ned’s windows. Nothing.

‘Let’s go over,’ suggested Petra. ‘We’ll just knock, see if he’s there.’

‘Last time I suspected Ned of nefarious doings, I ended up making a fool of myself.’

‘Ancient history,’ said Petra breezily. She opened her door. ‘Come on.’

Several woody rhododendrons edged his porch, with dried blooms that pushed against our legs as we mounted the few steps. I rubbed my hands as Petra rang the doorbell and we listened to it echo within the house. The only other sound was a faint throaty rumble, which suggested that the heating was on. I fastened the buttons on my coat, tucked in my scarf.

‘I’m going around the back.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are the worst detective in the world.’

‘Agreed.’ I walked to the edge of the porch as she rounded the side of the house and slipped the latch on the gate before disappearing through. A black dog loped down the footpath and crossed the road to pee against my back tyre. I frowned and made shooing gestures but this just seemed to encourage it. Quinn and Lucy had come outside and were staring at me. Quinn held up her mobile and began texting. Which wasn’t going to do her any good as I had left mine in the car, and it was probably off.

‘I don’t have it,’ I called.

‘You’re hopeless,’ she yelled back. ‘What are you doing? Where’s Auntie Pet?’

I held my finger to my lips, hoping she would get the hint.

‘What?’

The side gate banged shut and Petra appeared once more. ‘Do you think you could stop screeching while I’m undercover?’

‘No luck?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s a light on, and the heating, but no sign of him.’

‘He must be out. Probably likes his house warm for when he gets back. Let’s go.’

‘I’ll just check the garage.’

My sigh was wasted as she had already continued past the porch towards the driveway. Mark Tapscott, who lived next door with his wife and new baby, was now leaning against the fence watching us curiously. I walked towards him, intent on explaining, but was cut short by Petra’s gasp. She had bobbed down to peer beneath the corrugated roller door of the garage but now grasped it with both hands and attempted to wrench it upwards. The door shuddered noisily but stayed where it was. She fell backwards onto her butt, hard.

‘What the –’

‘The engine’s on! It’s not the heater, it’s the car!’

With a rapidity that I was later to look back on with admiration, Mark Tapscott sprinted towards his own backyard. Moments later the fence shook. I ran to Petra and dropped to my knees. We both grabbed the edge of the roller door and heaved. But it was caught fast. The oily smell of petrol caught in my throat.

The sound of a door being successfully wrenched open came from the rear of the garage followed by swift footsteps across the concrete floor. My heart slid upwards, throbbing against the base of my throat. We stood slowly.

‘Call an ambulance!’ shouted Mark from inside. ‘Quickly!’

Lucy and Quinn had joined us, with Lucy already jabbing 000 into her phone. Quinn looked from the garage to me, wide-eyed. Moments later the bolt slid across at the side of the roller door and it shuddered upwards. Inside stood Mark, looking pale, and beyond him was a metallic-blue sedan. The engine was now off and the car door stood open. I could see the back of Ned’s head, tilted slightly to the side. The air was thick with fumes.

Mark stared at us. ‘It’s too late.’

‘God.’ I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt like crying – not because I knew Ned that well but because I had known him that long. And because it was all so senseless, so much. Beside me Petra started coughing and stepped back. Now I could see a length of green garden hose, one end jammed into the exhaust and the other wedged into a sliver of open window. In between the hose coiled serpent-like along the concrete floor.

‘Is he dead?’ asked Quinn, moving a step closer to me.

I put my arm across her shoulders and propelled her back towards her aunt. ‘It looks that way. Why don’t you and Luce go pay Grandma a visit?’

‘Stop treating us like children,’ snapped Lucy uncharacteristically. ‘Well, me, anyway.’

‘And me,’ said Quinn, staying close.

‘Shit, I broke two nails.’ Petra was holding her hand out. She glanced across at me guiltily. ‘Yes, I
know
that sounded awful … but they were gorgeous.’

I concentrated on her nails, because it was easier. ‘No, they weren’t. They were ridiculous. No-one over thirty should wear leopard skin. Unless they
are
a leopard. Then they have an excuse.’

The tall, slightly stooped figure of Uncle Jim materialised on my other side, taking in the scene silently. He wasn’t my real uncle, but a family friend for so long that the title was more than earned. He had even been around in the days of my father, and the two had been good friends. Luckily ours was not a particularly tactile relationship, otherwise I may well have flung myself against him. After a few moments, he sighed. ‘Ah, bugger it.’

Trudy Tapscott also appeared, leaning against the fence in the same spot her husband had so recently stood. It occurred to me that Ned would have loved all this drama, and the attention.

‘Okay, young Quinn,’ said Uncle Jim in a no-argument voice. ‘Let’s head over to your grandma’s house. We’ll get some coffee organised. Luce, want to join us?’

‘Scotch, please,’ said Petra. ‘Or anything with bite.’

Quinn frowned but, for once, obeyed without debate. Lucy hung back until they were halfway across the road and then followed. They had barely reached my mother’s front porch, the sensor lights reacting with a burst of illumination, than the mournful wail of the ambulance could be heard in the distance. The sound swelled, becoming impossibly louder, until it came into view and then rolled to a stop by Ned’s letterbox.

I looked back towards Ned’s head, willing it to have moved, perhaps glanced around with avid curiosity. I wondered how long he had waited after killing Sam. Had he driven straight home from the centre last night and gone right ahead? Or had he sat inside for a while, maybe the whole day, head in his hands, trying to narrow down his options? Even before that though,
why
had this course of events unfolded? Two men dead, and for what?

The ambulance officers surged into the garage, equipment briskly organised as they checked Ned’s vital signs. As with Sam, the sense of urgency soon abated. One of them walked off to the side with his phone in hand. The police had now also arrived, a middle-aged man and a younger female with a surprisingly generous chest. Trudy Tapscott gestured from the fence so I walked over, glad to move away from the action.

‘Isn’t this awful, Nell? Just awful.’

‘Yes, it certainly is.’

‘Although if
someone
was going to do this, then I’m not hugely surprised it was Ned. I mean, he didn’t have
much
, did he?’

‘Depends on your perspective.’ I felt unaccountably cross. ‘He was probably quite content.’

‘Really?’ She examined the scene at the garage and raised her eyebrows. After a few moments of silence, which clearly made her point, she changed the subject. ‘Anyway, I was going to ring you. You know how I wanted to write a book? Well, I’m just about finished! Once I started, the words just
flowed
.’ She made an expansive gesture with her hand. ‘So would you mind having a read? Let me know if I’m on the right track?’

‘No problem. And I’ll even give you a discount, considering you’re my mother’s neighbour.’

‘A dis– Oh … Um, thanks.’

‘Glad to help. You tally up the words and I’ll put together a quote.’

‘Let’s go get that scotch,’ said Petra in a low voice. ‘I feel like we’re rubber-necking.’

As we set off, I glanced back towards the activity at the garage. The policewoman held up her hand and then came over. ‘Excuse me, ladies, could I just get your names and contact details before you leave?’ She took out a pad and pen. ‘Someone may need to speak to you later on.’

I swallowed my sigh, knowing who that someone would be. I wanted to add a rejoinder, beside my name, explaining that yes, I realised that I seemed to be present at every crime scene in rural Victoria. But, believe me, it wasn’t by choice.

LOVED your column about hot flushes! I’ve been suffering these for years now, and they show no signs of stopping. They are RELENTLESS. But now whenever my temperature surges, I think of your column and smile. Plus I’m trying to see the positives. For instance, the other day when our central heating broke down at work, I was the only one who was periodically warm!

I was sitting at a table with Frilly Willy, Ned and the big-breasted policewoman. I’m not sure why the latter was there, given it was a school reunion, but she had provided the last round of drinks so nobody was complaining. I was wearing a black crushed-velvet hat with a short brim and soft crown that was shot through with threads of burgundy. This in itself was unusual but I had received plenty of compliments so was feeling rather chuffed. In the middle of the dance floor was an intricate two-storey wrought-iron rabbit hutch, its occupants feasting on a mound of grass. Every so often one would put its paws up on the cage and push a quivering nose through the mesh. A black dog stood guard. Just before midnight, a bus pulled up at the double doors to the side, which was something of a feat given we were nowhere near a road, and Darcy disembarked. He immediately made his way over to our table.

‘It’s all a mistake,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Menopause, not pregnancy!’

I moved over to make room. ‘So what does that mean?’

‘It means he wants you back,’ said Ashley Armistead. ‘You have to make a decision.’

I didn’t answer, mainly because Darcy had slid his hand inside my dress and was cupping a breast. His fingers bulged against the silky material as he began to knead my nipple. Well, this was embarrassing. I looked up and realised that he was staring past me, towards the big-breasted policewoman. He gave her his slow, somnolent smile. Now I
did
have to make a decision. I could pretend that I hadn’t noticed, which meant the kneading could continue, and it felt nice. But if I called him to task, it would all come to an end. I felt a wave of irritation, because it wasn’t fair.

Ned’s mobile phone began to ring, with a repetitive buzz that fed my irritation. Now my nipple just felt sore, and Darcy’s fingers rough and callused. I shrugged him away but his hand followed, so I flipped onto my side and opened my eyes to stare at my own mobile. This was why I rarely used the thing. It had vibrated its way across the top of my bedside chest and was now juddering against the lamp as if trying to mate. Whatever, it was still getting more action than me. I reached out. ‘Hello?’

‘Mum!’ said Quinn excitedly. ‘I can’t believe you answered!’

I tried to concentrate. ‘Then why’d you ring? Where are you?’

‘In the kitchen. And there’s no milk.’

‘What?’

‘There’s no milk. I wanted cereal.’

‘For god’s sake. Have toast.’ I hung up, tossing the mobile onto the spare side of my bed, and then rolled over to stare at the ceiling. My nipple still felt sore. Bloody Darcy.

The events of the previous day slid into my consciousness, slowly at first and then gathering momentum. Sam Emerson. Edward Given. Both dead. The truth was, with all the shock that remained, I was also a little relieved that there was not some manic killer on the loose. Or Petar Majic’s ghost, determined to keep Beloved hidden for another hundred and fifty years. My mobile began vibrating again on the bedcovers.

‘Hello?’

‘There’s no bread either. I thought you went shopping? I had to have a hot cross bun from the freezer!’

‘So why are you telling me this?’

‘I’m not. That detective bloke is here to see you.’

This news brought me upright. I tossed the phone again as I scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom. There I brushed my teeth and hair, sparing a moment to wish fervently for the fetching hat of my dream, before replacing my baggy T-shirt with a pair of satin pyjamas that felt like oil. Lastly I shrugged on my dressing-gown. I tied the cord as I hurried through into the family room, taking a moment to breathe before entering.

‘That hot cross bun was stale.’

‘I’m not surprised, given it’s over three months since Easter.’ I turned from Quinn to Ashley Armistead, who was squatting as he patted the dog. The detective was dressed very casually, in jeans and a light windcheater that had
Carpe Deim
written across the chest. I pointed. ‘
Dead Poet’s Society
. Robin Williams.’

‘O Captain, my captain,’ replied Ashley.

‘So sad when the young guy killed himself.’ The words had barely left my mouth when I realised their inappropriateness. I flushed.

‘I’m going to school,’ announced Quinn. She picked up her schoolbag. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Aren’t you early?’ I glanced at the clock and back at Ashley. ‘And you too?’

‘I told you the other day. We’ve got a breakfast for outdoor ed. Caitlin’s mum’s giving us a lift.’ She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and loped through the doorway. Gusto pulled away from Ashley to follow. Moments later the front door slammed shut, hard.

‘Is she angry?’ asked Ashley.

‘No, just fourteen. It’s par for the course.’

He grimaced sympathetically. ‘And yes, I know it’s early. Sorry about that but this is actually my RDO and I’m heading down to Greensborough for the day, visiting friends. Thought I’d take a chance and see if you were up.’

‘Barely. I’d offer you coffee but we’ve run out of milk.’

‘Lucky I brought some then, isn’t it?’ Ashley gestured towards the bench where two takeaway coffee containers sat. ‘I was hoping they’d sweeten the early arrival.’

‘They certainly do.’ I moved over and collected one. It was tepid, but divine.

‘Now, to business. I’m told that you and your sister were at Edward Given’s house when his body was discovered. There’s a surprise.’

‘Actually, you may remember that my mother happens to live in that street. And my sister now lives there also, next door, while the house on the corner is currently occupied by two of my daughters. So there was ample reason for me to be there.’

‘
Actually
, unless you also happen to have relatives camping in Edward Given’s backyard, a few questions still remain.’

I took my coffee over to the couch and waved Ashley towards the armchair. ‘Okay, but it wasn’t me in the backyard. See, we’d all gone out for dinner and I was designated driver. So we were discussing poor Sam, and I remembered in that phone conversation I told you about he used the word “we”, which suggested he had company at the community centre that night. By the process of elimination, we thought it might’ve been Ned.’

‘So you thought you’d pay him a visit?’

‘Spur of the moment, when I dropped everyone off. We knocked on the door and Petra went round the back to see if he was home. We were just leaving when she decided to see if his car was in the garage. That’s when we realised …’

He nodded. ‘Yes. We’ve got a statement from Mark Tapscott. So did either of you enter the garage at all?’

‘No. Mark said it was too late. There was no point.’ I tucked my feet beneath me and regarded Ashley. ‘Okay, my turn for questions. Do you know when he did it? How long after he got home?’

Ashley rubbed a finger between his eyes slowly. ‘We don’t know he did anything yet. There are some … anomalies.’

I stared. ‘Like what?’

‘Like a large peri-mortem bruise on his right buttock consistent with being dragged over the handbrake from the passenger seat into the driver’s seat.’

I slid my feet back to the ground and leant forward. ‘You mean someone else put him there, that they set everything up? Tried to make it
look
like a suicide?’

‘Don’t go leaping ahead. Usually, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, then it’s a duck. All I’m saying is that the investigation is ongoing, and there’s a few inconsistencies we need to sort out. Each of them will probably have an explanation, such as he may have begun in the passenger seat and then decided to change seats himself, for some reason. Of course, the two autopsies will bring more information. But in the meantime, given the anomalies, we are going to treat
both
deaths as having some suspicious circumstances. And your pyjama top is open.’

I blinked, and then registered this last part. I looked down and sat straight in almost one motion, although he hadn’t been quite right. My pyjama top wasn’t
open
, it had just been gaping. Much like me. ‘In other words, what you’re saying is that it’s
possible
someone killed Sam Emerson at the community centre, before driving Ned back to his house and setting it up so that we’d think
he
killed Sam but couldn’t live with the guilt.’

‘I think I just stressed that I wasn’t saying anything of the sort.’

‘It’s between the lines.’ I took a sip of coffee, thinking. ‘Which would mean we’d be back to the most likely motive being the discovery they both made that night. About Petar Majic and Beloved. The one I told you about yesterday.’

‘Yeah. Sure.’

‘So we’d have a third person on the scene. Or … no, most likely it would be someone he
rang
to tell them the news. After all, he was
bursting
with it. Now who would they ring?’

‘You?’

‘Apart from me.’ I put my coffee down and curled back, hugging a throw cushion. ‘We’ll have to get the Historical Society membership list.’

‘
We’ll
have to do nothing.
I
, on the other hand, will follow correct investigative procedures. I may throw you a piece of information every now and again, if you keep your nose clean, but that’s it.’

‘My nose is
always
clean. I’m strict about that. And you don’t need to throw me anything, I am quite capable of uncovering information on my own.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen your capabilities.’ He gave me a half-smile which then settled quizzically. ‘Okay, my turn for questions now. Why did you blow me off last Christmas?’

‘I’ve always hated that expression.’ I grinned. There was no response so I picked up my coffee, buying time. But the question wasn’t going anywhere. I sighed. ‘Okay then, I think I panicked. I’ve been married for twenty-six years. That’s a long time.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I get that. But it’s not “I
have
been married,” it’s “I
was
married.” You need to move on.’

‘You sound like my sister.’ I rotated the coffee cup in my hands. ‘To be honest, I know you’re both right, but it’s easier said than done. I regretted cancelling that time almost straight away, but it didn’t stop me making another excuse when you rang the following week. And then regretting that.’

He rose, smoothing down his jeans. ‘Maybe after this business is over then? Is it worth another shot?’

I smiled. ‘Maybe.’

‘How about Norfolk Island? I’ve always wanted to go there. We’ll fly over for the weekend, get right away from everything. Separate. Then you can go digging around in history to your heart’s content. And I’m very good in bed.’

My smile widened. ‘Is that your considered opinion, or do you have verification?’

‘Only my considered opinion, but I’d
like
verification. Care to oblige?’

‘Maybe,’ I said again, rising. I adjusted my dressing-gown to ensure I didn’t give another sneak preview and followed him down the hall. Gusto was sitting by the front door and he turned to stare at us, tongue lolling. At the doorway, we both paused and then attempted to go through together. The doorway was a large one, but not quite large enough for two to pass without awkwardness so we stepped back again, and laughed.

‘After you.’ Ashley waved an arm expansively.

‘No, after
you
; you’re the visitor.’

‘I insist. Ladies first.’

I shook my head and we locked eyes, laughed again and made an identical snorty noise just before reattempting the exit simultaneously. This time we wedged ourselves neatly against each other and, turning, I could suddenly feel the length of his body. I looked up, surprised, and attempted to step back but he caught me neatly by the elbow and, when he met no resistance, slid his arm around my waist and drew me back. We stared at each other, and then kissed.

Now, I have long been a vocal critic of books and movies that proclaim the first kiss to be earth-shakingly superlative, where the hero and heroine lock lips without bumping noses, or chins, or other protuberances, and embark on this mutual exploration that inevitably leaves her weak at the knees. Our kiss was not in that category, but it was nice. It was a very long time since I had kissed like that, as marriages do not lend themselves to long bouts of kissing, but it came back quickly. Like riding a bicycle. While kissing. We stopped after a while and gazed at each other. His eyes were dark. He ran a finger down the side of my cheek slowly, watching its progress, and then let it fall to my shoulder, where it peeled the edge of my dressing-gown back, just slightly. He lowered his head to that spot and left a series of kisses, his lips feather-light, even as his hands slid inside my dressing-gown and all the way around to the small of my back. He drew me firmly forward, so that I could feel him. My legs may not have been weak, but my body was on fire. He lifted his head and stared at me. I nodded; a small, almost imperceptible movement. But a question asked and answered.