Switchback Stories (11 page)

W
hen MacLaine arrived at the station on Monday morning, there was a message waiting from Robyn St Clair. He found her at her desk in the lab. ‘The clothing fibres taken from the crime scene, which don’t belong to Georgina’s clothing, don’t match any of the clothes at Jillian Ashworth’s home, either,’ she said. ‘If she was at Bellwood Villa that night, her clothing is likely to have shed some fibres.’

‘She could’ve got rid of the clothing she was wearing.’

‘Yes. But why bite into an apple, then leave it there?’

‘To calm her nerves after the killing, she wanted something to nibble on. Nothing unusual in that. There was a bowl of fruit in the kitchen – Georgina didn’t eat apples but stocked them for Marcus and for her guests. Jillian left it there because it didn’t occur to her that bite marks could be used for identification. Or maybe she just put it down and forgot about it and it rolled onto the floor.’

‘I’m not convinced,’ Robyn said. ‘Where did those other clothing fibres come from? Someone else must have been there.’

‘Then give me something that I can work with, Robyn. Right now, the evidence, both physical and circumstantial, will convict Jillian Ashworth.’

‘There
is
something else. Mixed in with these fibres are tiny grains of wood, invisible to the human eye.’

‘Wood? Any idea what it’s from?’

‘Well for starters, possibly someone who works with wood or had been in a timber yard, perhaps?’

• • •

Back in his office, MacLaine went through the revised statement Jillian had made when arrested. Her description of the phone call was that there’d been static on the line and a slight echo to Georgina’s voice as though she’d been standing away from the mouthpiece.

A bad connection?

The phone lines affected by the strong winds?

The apple was one of several pieces of evidence pointing to Jillian. Now MacLaine felt the same seed of doubt that he had detected in Robyn and Don. The fibres and the wood grain didn’t fit. The phone call had bugged him from the start. Why call Jillian? There was
someone
– or –
something
– else, just out of reach, skirting the edge of his suspicions.

He called in Don Christie and Anne Wright.

‘What do you make of the static and echo that Jillian claims to have heard on the line?’ An idea had occurred to MacLaine and he was curious to see if their input matched his theory.

‘Bad line,’ said Don. ‘Not so unusual the past week or so, with the winds and now these electrical storms.’

‘What else? Either of you had bad cases of static on your cell phones lately?’

‘Actually, yes, more so than usual,’ said Anne. ‘My brother’s a TV repairman, always on the road, often calls me on his cell. Crappy handset, I keep telling him to replace it. Lots of interference. And, of course, much worse this last week with the heavy winds.’

‘Exactly. There is a chance then – just one – that Jillian
did
receive that call,’ said MacLaine. ‘If Georgina phoned her from a mobile. It would explain the excessive static Jillian reported.’

‘We’ve already established she wasn’t on her cell,’ said Don.

Robyn saw where MacLaine was going with this. ‘No. But what if she was on someone else’s phone.’

‘Don, get on to all the mobile phone operators. Have them prepare their data on all calls for last Friday night and early Saturday morning,’ MacLaine said.

He figured if he put together a team of at least four, they could scan those lists in a matter of hours. If any of the data files had a call listed to Jillian’s number at the specified time, then that would bear out her story.

What it wouldn’t explain was why Georgina had made the call on someone else’s phone.

• • •

Marcus visited Jillian at the station that morning. With accusing eyes, he’d asked: ‘How could you do this?’

He wouldn’t listen to her plea of innocence.

After he’d stormed out, Jillian felt a new sense of determination. She knew she had to stay strong and think clearly. She remembered that Marcus had visited her at the shop the previous Friday.

She asked to see MacLaine and told him about the apples she kept at the boutique – and about the visit from Marcus.

‘I want you to think very carefully about this,’ MacLaine said. ‘I need a list of
any
other friends who visited you last Friday. And, to the best of your memory, all the customers you had as well.’

The cell phone data came through that afternoon. There were groans when MacLaine enlisted Robyn along with the two constables to work with him in scanning the lists.

At 4.45, a red-eyed Don Christie leapt from his seat. ‘Bullseye!’ Here’s a call made to Jillian’s home at 12.23 am on Saturday.’

MacLaine glanced over the sheet and found the name of the phone’s owner. ‘Mr Neville Smith,’ he muttered. ‘Who the hell is Neville Smith?’

‘Didn’t have to look far for that,’ Don said. ‘He’s a sales rep for the same telephone company. Lives over on Harwood Drive.’

Don accompanied the inspector to Smith’s home.

Smith was a slightly built man with a fair complexion. He screwed up his face and scratched his earlobe when confronted with the records. His wife, a thin brunette, stood in the background and watched with concern.

MacLaine noticed a number of books on modern detection and forensic science in the bookcase. He went over and picked up a volume on forensics.

‘Hobby of yours?’ he asked Smith.

‘Yes. Always has been. I once wanted to be on the police force, but…well, as you can see–too short.’

MacLaine opened up the book’s contents. There was a section listed on bite-mark analysis.

Then Smith noticed the time the call had been made. ‘Ah, after midnight. My daughter sometimes borrows the phone in the evenings,’ he explained, ‘and I pick it up from her apartment on my way to work of a morning. What’s this all about, Inspector?’

‘Routine,’ MacLaine replied. ‘Why does your daughter need to borrow your phone, hasn’t she one of her own?’

Smith raised his eyes skyward. ‘Today’s kids. Always leaving the thing somewhere, or misplacing it. It usually turns up but in the meantime she keeps borrowing mine. Lately, she’s been driving me crazy. That’s our Nicolette, I guess.’

‘Nicolette? Does she play in a local band and call herself Nikki Vibrant?’

‘That’s her,’ Smith said proudly. But then a cloud of concern came over his features. ‘What’s this all about, Inspector?’

‘Can I ask you, Mr. Smith, where we would find your daughter this afternoon. I believe she could assist us with our enquiries.’

• • •

They drove through another burst of rain with thunder booming in the distance. This was the second day of storms, but MacLaine had noticed that the force of each was beginning to diminish.

He recalled the words of the barman at the Sports Club: Marcus was having an on-off fling with the band’s singer.

‘Nikki could’ve easily slipped away from the club after midnight, driven to Bellwood and been back at the club well before the others headed off to Rogue’s Place,’ MacLaine told Don. ‘I’d say she held the gun to Georgina’s head and forced her to call Jillian on the cell she’d borrowed from her Dad. She was smart enough to figure we’d suspect Jillian and check the Bellwood Villa phone records and Georgina’s cell. What she didn’t anticipate was that we’d check all other cell phone records in the area.’

‘But why? Because of Marcus?’

‘No doubt she wanted a lot more of him than just a fling. Think about it. She needed to be rid of Jillian so she could win Marcus over and marry him for the inheritance. Murder Georgina and frame Jillian, thus getting rid of the two of them in one single blow.’

And,’ Don speculated further, ‘she did that by leaving the apple. Her father’s forensic science books gave her ways to plan that. Damned if I know where she got that apple from, though.’

‘When Marcus visited Jillian at the shop last Friday,’ MacLaine revealed, ‘Nikki and John Tanner were with him, on their way to a rehearsal. Jillian didn’t think anything of it, but she mentions it on the list she made out for me this morning. Nikki must have seen the apple with the bites taken out of it, and seen it as the perfect opportunity. A young woman like Nikki who’s been reading up on forensics, would know that sprinkling the apple with lemon juice almost immediately would preserve it, keeping the surface crisp and prevent discolouring so that she could plant it at the crime scene.’

They pulled up outside the rehearsal room, hearing the strains of music coming from the rear.

‘None of this conclusively proves that Nikki is the killer,’ Don pointed out.

‘No, but it’s enough for us to take her in for questioning and to examine her clothing for a match to the fibres at the scene. I expect they’ll match, and I believe Robyn St Clair will also find a match between the slivers of wood found at Bellwood and the wood from which Nikki’s guitar is made.’

He explained to Don how splinters can be transferred to clothing when timber objects were brushed against garments. Each species of wood was highly distinctive in its structure and easily identified under the microscope. ‘Guitars have a lacquer finish, but if there’s a scratch or chip, that would expose and scuff the wood beneath and allow it to brush against Nikki while she’s playing.’

MacLaine added, ‘A match of fabric and splinter will place Nikki at Bellwood at the time of the murder.’

‘And she knew Marcus well enough to know there was a gun in the house,’ Don realized.

Marcus Bellwood looked annoyed when he saw the police officers enter. Tanner and the drummer had impassive expressions. It was Nikki Vibrant, MacLaine noted, whose eyes betrayed both alarm and guilt as they approached her.

• • •

In the evening, after her release, Jillian simply needed to spend time alone at her home, feeling secure. She ran a hot bath and eased herself into it gently, allowing the warm caress of the soapy water to soak away her tensions.

After her arrival home, she’d received a phone call from Don Christie. He wanted her to know a positive identification had been made between the wood and fabric particles at Bellwood Villa and those of Nikki Vibrant’s clothes and guitar. Jillian was aware of the warm and caring tone to his voice and had the feeling he would call her again.

She decided that would not be a bad thing.

She then put the answering machine on, and now listened as Marcus left a message, gushing about how sorry he was he hadn’t believed in her.

Jillian knew she would never have anything to do with Marcus again.

She’d left the radio playing and country music melodies filtered through to the bathroom. Between songs, a DJ announced the freak weather conditions were over. The forecast was for warm, sunny conditions.

Jillian sighed with relief, anticipating the soft, golden light of autumn and the earthy colours of reds, browns and ochres that were balm for her soul.

I
would never forget the day I discovered that my husband, Stuart – a man I’d been certain could keep nothing from me – had a secret.

It was an unusually balmy Friday for mid-winter. My plan was simple: I would surprise Stuart by arriving at his office at quarter to one and announce I was taking
him
out to lunch. That would make a pleasant turnaround from the norm on the occasion of this, our third wedding anniversary.

I parked the car across the street from the building that housed the offices of Callaghan, Mayer and Stott, Architects. I was waiting to cross when I saw Stuart stride out of the building, a bunch of small red roses in his left hand. He placed the roses in his own car then slid into the driver’s seat and drove away.

He’s heading home to surprise me, I thought. Panic set in. I didn’t want to spoil his surprise so I jumped back in my car and took off. If I took the route across the south-eastern edge of town and linked up with the Princes Highway I’d just beat him back.
Just
.

The traffic wasn’t bad and I drove faster than I should have. When I arrived home, I rushed to our bedroom, changed quickly and sat down to wait. I expected Stuart to walk through the door any minute.

Forty-five minutes later I realized he wasn’t coming.

I tried his cell phone but, as usual, got his voicemail message.

I phoned the office. The firm’s receptionist, Mandy Carpenter, answered in her sing-song voice. ‘Callaghan, Mayer and Stott.’

‘Hello Mandy. Tina here. Can I speak to Stu?’

‘Sorry, Mrs Callaghan. Stuart’s out, not expected back until about half-past three.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

I bit my lip – I hadn’t intended to let the anxiety show in my voice.

‘No, Mrs Callaghan, he didn’t let me know where he would be. But then, he never does on a Friday.’

‘Friday? What’s so different about Fridays?’ I hoped I wasn’t sounding like a paranoid little wife. But I knew I was.

Mandy’s reply seemed a little tentative. ‘Oh nothing’s different, but Stuart sometimes takes an extended lunch break on Fridays. I think he catches up with a few of his mates.’

Mates? I felt like shrieking inside. He doesn’t have any mates who’d appreciate seeing him turn up with a posy of miniature red roses.

‘I can take a message-’

‘Thank you, Mandy. No, don’t bother, there’s no message – I’ll speak to him later.’

I put down the phone and buried my face in my hands. The tears came quickly. I’m being silly, I told myself. Stuart will explain everything to me when he gets home tonight, said the eternal optimist who lurked somewhere deep inside.

He arrived home carrying a bunch of carnations in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ he said, and he took me in his arms and kissed me. ‘I’ve booked a table for two at Jordans for seven o’clock.’

‘It will be a perfect night for it,’ I replied. I looked into those sensitive brown eyes, at the impish grin and the curly brown hair. All my fears and anxieties vanished. Stuart was the most genuine, down-to-earth man I’d ever met, and a romantic to boot. I knew he could never be capable of having an affair. Perhaps the red roses had been for one of his firm’s female clients. Nothing unusual in that.