Switchback Stories (15 page)

Shakily, she placed the mug on the coffee table. ‘I tried to get away, but he became very violent. He threw me against the wall behind his desk. I knew he kept a gun in his desk drawer; I’d overheard him discuss it with Hooper once. I wasn’t sure which drawer, but I was desperate, so I lunged for the nearest drawer and the pistol was in there.

‘I had no intention of shooting him, Inspector. I just wanted to keep him at bay so I could get out. I headed for the door, but I didn’t know he had another gun, under his coat. He shot me in the leg. He said I didn’t have the guts to shoot back and the wound would make sure I couldn’t run away. He moved in on me and I … I fired. I didn’t want to …’ Cynthia burst into tears and the policewoman’s hand came down gently on her shoulder.

‘They tell me he’s dead,’ Cynthia said.

Carstairs nodded. ‘You shot him straight through the heart, Miss Crawford. You’ll be charged with manslaughter and you’ll need to make a preliminary appearance at the Criminal Courts. Your wound is consistent with your story, and my department will recommend you be released without bail while a preliminary trial date is set. If your story holds up, it’s possible the judge will dismiss the charge without committing you to a full trial.’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt about that,’ Cynthia said with sudden resolve. ‘He’ll have to follow precedent. That’s an accepted procedure in legal cases, isn’t it? And there’s a precedent in one of Alexander Crayton’s own cases. The People versus Andrew Scarzeny. The defendant killed his attacker after being shot first in the leg. He was acquitted on the grounds of self-defence.’ Her eyes flashed briefly with an inner fire, and then the fire went out of them.

Carstairs was surprised by the sudden outburst. But he dismissed it as a symptom of the young woman’s shock. ‘The medics are waiting to take you to the hospital for observation. Policewoman Meadows will accompany you there.’

Carstairs watched as Cynthia was helped out of the house. She was an attractive woman, he thought. She seemed genuinely shattered, and her story made sense. But something didn’t gel. Why would a wealthy, successful lawyer like Alexander Crayton risk his lot to shoot and attempt raping his housemaid? Why did the maid, injured and in a state of shock, babble about a legal precedent that might relate to her case?

He scratched his earlobe and walked back through the house. In fifteen years of police work, he’d found there were no easy answers as to why people acted the way they did. Perhaps that butler with the permanent half-grin would be able to shed some light on the enigmatic Mr Alexander Crayton.

‘Mr Hooper, I would like to ask you a few routine questions. Perhaps you could start by telling me what you know of Mr Crayton’s movements today, in the hours preceding his death.’

• • •

Cynthia was resting comfortably on a hospital bed when Hooper was admitted by the policewoman on guard at the door.

‘You must be the last person I was expecting a visit from,’ she said. ‘Still, you haven’t completely disappointed me, Hooper. I notice you didn’t bother bringing any flowers.’

‘I don’t know if I’d refer to this as a visit, actually,’ Hooper replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I’m just here to gloat, really.’

‘Gloat? Over what?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough. I just wouldn’t go getting too smug if I were you.’

Cynthia was irritated. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

‘I’ve suspected all along that you planned all this.’

‘That’s just wishful thinking on your part. You hated him as much as anyone did.’

‘Now, now. You’re showing your fangs, dear. Anyway, I’ve had my gloat, so I’ll be off. I’ll leave it to the police to come by with their little surprise.’ He turned and walked out the door.

‘Hooper! Come back here!’

The policewoman outside poked her head through the archway. ‘Everything all right, Miss Crawford?’

‘Yes … yes. Everything’s fine.’ Cynthia slumped back on the bed. She was worried. I shouldn’t have made that little outburst to Detective Inspector Carstairs, she thought. Nevertheless, what could it matter? Hooper couldn’t prove his suspicions. She was due to be released from hospital in the morning, and to be released from police custody without bail.

She knew there was no way the police could disprove her story in a court of law.

• • •

Hooper drove back to The Ferns. He thought back to the moment, a week earlier, when Crayton had summoned him to his office. ‘Hooper, several expensive items seem to have gone missing around the house.’

‘Yes, I had begun to think the same thing, sir.’

‘What’s more, this appears to be happening regularly, every couple of days.’

‘When did you first notice it, Mr Crayton?’

He shrugged. ‘Two or three weeks ago, I suppose. I don’t exactly keep a logbook on household items, Hooper. And as my right hand around here, you should have been on to this sooner.’

‘Yes sir. Well, these thefts appear to coincide with the employment of that cleaning woman, Miss Crawford.’

‘Then sack her.’

Hooper shook his head. ‘You need evidence to support a termination of employment. She could sue you for wrongful dismissal.’

‘I know the law, Hooper.’

‘Of course, sir. The real fact of the matter is we don’t know for sure it’s her.’

‘Do you think it could be anyone else?’

‘Unlikely. But sometimes the gardeners come into the house during the week. And then there are your clients and your guests.’

Crayton looked exasperated. ‘We need proof.’

‘If I may make a suggestion, Mr Crayton. Why don’t you call in Reighdon Security Systems. I’m sure they could come up with a way to detect the real thief.’

Crayton snapped his fingers and looked self-satisfied, as though it had been his own idea. That was the expression Hooper pictured, as he swung his car into the sprawling grounds of the estate.

• • •

Cynthia was packing her overnight bag when the nurse approached her. ‘Excuse me, Miss Crawford, there’s a call for you on the phone in the front office.’

Cynthia nodded. She went through to the office and took the phone from the young nurse at the counter. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Miss Crawford. Detective-Inspector Carstairs here. How are you this morning?’

‘I’m fine thanks, Inspector. The doctor has given me the all clear and I’m about to leave. The leg’s a little stiff, that’s all.’

‘I’m glad I caught you there. I understand the no bail application was passed and that Policewoman Meadows has already left. Anyway, I have even better news. It appears that a preliminary trial may not be necessary. We have uncovered some evidence which will support your case of self-defence. We’ll be able to drop the charge.’

‘Really? That’s fantastic. What’s happened to change things?’

‘It’s a bit difficult to go into over the phone. Can you come over to the police station at North Sydney? We’re about to review the evidence, and it would be best if you were here with us.’

‘No problem.’

Cynthia caught a taxi to North Sydney. She felt good, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The waiting and the planning were over now. She wanted to get the bittersweet taste of revenge out of her mouth and get on with her life. Hooper’s visit the night before had worried her, but now it seemed that even the legal precedent wouldn’t be needed. No trial. She wondered what it was that had validated her story.

The police station was a hive of activity. A receptionist phoned through to Carstairs to advise him that Cynthia had arrived. He appeared from a nearby corridor minutes later. His eyes sparkled when he saw her. ‘Glad you could come across so soon, Miss Crawford. Follow me upstairs. We’re just about to get started.’

She thought he seemed genuinely pleased that they’d uncovered evidence to back up her story. ‘Please, call me Cynthia,’ she said.

They entered a large conference room on the second floor, where a number of detectives were seated, ‘Take a seat,’ Carstairs told her, ‘and let me explain. As you know, Crayton was a nut about security. It seems that the man was paranoid. That estate of his was an electronic fortress.’

Cynthia nodded agreement.

‘Apparently he’d noticed a number of thefts over the past few weeks,’ Carstairs continued, ‘and he suspected it was one of his staff, or one of his regular house guests. He called in his security people for advice. They installed hidden video surveillance cameras around the interior of the house, in those places where thefts were most likely to take place. Hallways, the main living and entertaining areas. He kept them running day and night. The intention was to collect the tapes daily and run through them at fast speed, watching for the moment when the culprit actually lifted something. Money didn’t seem to matter to Crayton when it came to his paranoia.’

The detective sighed. Excess of that kind seemed to him to be a crime in itself. ‘Anyway, the thrust of the matter is that one of the hidden cameras was on the wall of Crayton’s office, undetectable, imbedded in the frame to one of his paintings. His man, Hooper, pointed that out to us, and the security people have since collected the tapes, found the one in question and made it available to us this morning. It means we have a visual record to back up your verbal statement.’

Cynthia felt the blood drain from her face.

Carstairs continued speaking, but his voice seemed distant to her now, as though the volume had been turned down. She wanted to turn and run, but she had no possible chance of escape.

‘We’re about to sit down and view the tape,’ Carstairs said. ‘I thought you should be here while we do, Miss Crawford, so that you can answer any questions we may have afterwards, before we finally drop the charges.’

• • •

At The Ferns, Hooper watched the 6 p.m news bulletin on television. Reporters jostled on the steps of the North Sydney police station when Detective-Inspector Carstairs appeared. He explained the sequence of events that led to the arrest, that morning, of Cynthia Crawford, who was already at the station at the time the incriminating video was played.

Hooper felt perfectly content. For several years, now, he’d felt like murdering Alexander Crayton himself. Nevertheless, he needed the job. Ex-cons like himself never find it easy finding straight employment. He was too old to return to a life of crime. Besides, he liked the salary and the life-style at The Ferns.

He simply detested being Crayton’s servant.

Crayton, of course, knew all this and was certain, therefore, that he could trust Hooper to do the right thing by him.

Crayton had always been paranoid. When a man makes his fortune defending criminals, he can make a lot of powerful enemies.

When Crayton needed a domestic cleaner, he’d told Hooper to screen the applicants. ‘Use whatever private detection services you require. As usual, we need to ensure we know everything about the background of the person we hire.’

‘No problem,’ Hooper assured him. It didn’t take him long to learn that one applicant, Cynthia Crawford, was really Cynthia Barratt, sister of a murdered woman whose killer had been cleared in court by Crayton. The woman’s looks had changed since the trial. She’d obviously gone to great lengths to disguise her appearance.

Why do all of that and then apply for a position at Clayton’s residence? It was clear to Hooper that this woman wanted revenge.

Hooper recommended Cynthia for the job. ‘Ordinary, respectable past and a good worker,’ he lied to Crayton.

‘Fine, I’ll hire her,’ Crayton said with his usual impatience over domestic matters. And Hooper had walked away with a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

It will suit me fine, he thought, if the woman
does
kill him.

Crayton had once told Hooper that, as a trusted aide, there would be a substantial sum left to him in Crayton’s will. ‘But don’t get any of your ex-crim ideas,’ Crayton warned him. ‘There are strict instructions in my will that my beneficiaries get nothing should I die in mysterious circumstances. Quite a good incentive, don’t you think, to allow me to die by natural causes? And, should I live on past your retirement date, the bequest will be made at that time.’

Officially, it was another ten years before Hooper reached retirement age. He knew that Crayton would make him work out every last day. It was very important to Hooper then that there be nothing mysterious about Alexander Crayton’s death. It needed to be quite apparent that Cynthia was his murderer, and that Hooper had no involvement.

That was the reason Hooper had begun his little thefts. He timed them to coincide with the start of Cynthia’s employment. Every couple of days, he stole one or two small but expensive items. A miniature, a set of crystal glasses, the list went on.

The last item he’d taken, the night before Crayton’s death, was an amber vase kept in the living room glass cabinet. He always made certain that the item he stole was something Crayton would notice missing within a day or two. And he always wrapped the items in plain brown paper, securely taped them and placed them in the garbage. That way, he ensured they could never be traced.

He knew Crayton wouldn’t suspect him. He’d been a trusted aide. At last, that position of trust was going to reward him. When Crayton had spoken to him about the thefts, Hooper had the opportunity to suggest calling in the security people. He’d already made an anonymous inquiry to Reighdon Security to ask how the firm would handle such a problem. As he’d suspected, it was by the use of video surveillance cameras.

A
t the conclusion of the news, Hooper switched off the television set. Events had unfolded precisely as he’d hoped they would. That vengeful little woman had played right into his hands. He only wished he could have been there to see her face when she was confronted with the video showing her in the act of Crayton’s murder.

Alexander Crayton’s solicitor, Raymond Gerring, was appointed executor of his estate. Hooper had to wait several months while Gerring attended to the probate, death duties and evaluation of Crayton’s assets, before a date was set for the reading of the will. It was typical of Crayton’s arrogance, Hooper thought, that he’d requested a public reading of his last testament, to be attended by all those who would be beneficiaries.