Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? (15 page)

Well, I made it into Jack's bed, but not quite the way I had in mind. I vaguely remember being picked up, wrapped in a towel, and carried to a soft place where the fire was replaced with ice. He was holding ice packs on my thighs, and I was lying on another icepack under my butt. What was left of my modesty was covered with a hand-towel. “Is this helping? Or should we go back to the heat treatment? I've sent Matt down to the chemist to get you some stuff for the stings” He leant over me and looked into my eyes. “How do you feel? I've never had a woman faint on me before.”

“And I've never fainted before. I'm so sorry I've made all this mess. Your bed…” I didn't know what to think or say or do. I just wanted the pain to stop.

“Matt's getting you a coffee, too.” Now he had my attention. “Just keep on with the ice, and don't worry about the bed. It'll dry out.”

He sat on the side of the bed and rolled me onto my side. “I just need to check your butt.” My heart was already racing. “Not bad. I think your thighs got the worst of it.”

I had to giggle, in spite of the pain. “That's the first time I've been told that my butt's ‘not bad'. It's on fire, goddammit!”

He laughed. “OK, I stand corrected. Your arse is hot. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you. Now, can I put my arse back on ice, please?” And I rolled back onto the cold pack just as the door opened. At least I was still wearing the jogging bra.

Matt was back, with coffee and antihistamines and creams and a selection of Danish pastries and some oranges. “Keep your sugar levels up, babe.” He handed me the coffee cup. “The
chemist said that the antihistamines might make you sleepy, but I figured that if you could sleep through the worst of the pain…” Matt was brighter than he looked.

“I thought I'd better get you something to wear, so I hope these are OK.” He handed me a pair of black knickers. Matt was definitely brighter than he looked.

I lost a few hours, but at least when I woke up the pain was manageable although the welts were impressive. There was a glass of water and two more Panadols on the bedside table with a little note stating “Eat Me”. A mix of male voices, bursts of laughter and music was coming from outside the closed bedroom door. Oh goodie. More people to get a good look at my boobs in my sexy jogging bra that matches my new black bikini pants that will highlight my striped thighs and matching butt. Yippee-fucking-do.

I wrapped a wet towel around me and walked stiffly towards the voices. My thighs were swollen and hot, and my arse was still on fire. God knows what the rest of me looked like.

The laughter stopped, although I had no way of knowing if it was because of me, or the sight of a woman intruding on a male bonding session. I think it was me. They were watching a surfing video on a huge television screen and the verandah was strewn with wetsuits and surfboards. I chose not to notice the tobacco and pot haze.

Jack moved over to me, his face concerned. “I was just about to check on you again. Glad you're alive. Those antihistamines really knocked you out, didn't they?” So caring. “I called your doctor friend, Chris, and he said to let you sleep it off.”

“How did you get his number?”

“Basic detective work, detective. Chris told me to report back to him when I'm driving you home. Now where's your car and where do you hide the key in that outfit?”

I unzipped the wrist-band. “This will open the door, and the ignition key is under the driver's seat. It's the red Alfa parked out the front. But I can drive home. I feel OK.”

“No, you can't drive when you're taking those pills. You can't even sit down. You just don't know it yet.” Much more male laughter from his mates. “And this time it's not my fault,” he threw back at them. Bloody male sexist humour.

“Come on, Maddie. Time to go home. I'll take a cushion for you to sit on.” He wasn't kidding. Sitting down really hurt. But what really hurt was having to listen to Jack talking to Chris about my predicament. Very funny, fellas. Very funny.

Chris was waiting at my door, and he took a professional look at the welts then handed Jack some cortisone cream and told him to help me smooth it on the stripes. “It's been a while since I was in Casualty and I was never very good at dermatology, but if you become tachycardic whilst applying the cream, please call me immediately.” Funny ha ha.

I hobbled to my bed, and gingerly lay on my side while Jack tenderly applied the cream to my thighs and then moved to my butt. “Would you like me to stay with you for a while?” he asked.

My fantasies were coming true, but definitely not in the way I had hoped. I took another pill and went back to sleep.

When I woke again, it was dark, and I wasn't alone in the bed.

That bloody cat was back, and he was snoring.

My condition inspired a thousand bad jokes that had everyone in stitches except me. The Monday morning update was humiliating, and I will never forgive or forget certain members of the New South Wales Police Force who will forever be on my shit list. Still, the pile of paperwork on my desk was a welcome distraction. I called Dr Chris for a mid-morning followup consultation and macchiato. And some sympathy.

“Now, Maddie. How are you today?”

“Thanks, Chris. This morning is much better and the welts and the swelling have gone down, but the marks are still there.”

“They'll take a while to fade, darls, but you're lucky. If those stingers were just a little bit higher you would have been in big trouble. If I remember correctly, lady bits are very sensitive and…oh shit – my mind just can't go there. Can we change the subject please?”

I kicked him. “So you're not going to switch to gynaecology. What's the matter? Scared?”

“Terrified. Give me a nice uncomplicated heart any day. It goes pitter-pat, pitter-pat. Simple. Now, we are going to change the subject. Just keep rubbing in the cream, take two aspirin and call me in the morning. And if you ask me, Surfer Boy enjoyed rubbing your arse, Maddie. Shall I tell him to keep an eye on it?”

“I don't know what to do about that one, Chris. He's so bloody young. I don't want to turn into my mother. But he's so bloody hot. And he's only temporary until Marco gets back. And what must he think of me? I'm a flake who faints and gets stung on the bum and he thinks I've already got a fuck-buddy. But the only male who's been in my bed lately is a ginormous black cat that turned up in the middle of the night and killed my budgie. This could be a disaster. What should I do?”

Chris took my hand and kissed me on the nose. “Go for it, girlfriend. I saw the way he looked at you, and he insisted on staying with you until you went to sleep. Now, if a guy goes through something like Saturday morning and sticks around, he's a good guy and you should jump his bones just as soon as your bum doesn't hurt anymore.”

I kicked him again and took my hand away. “Oh, very funny. But seriously, I need help with this one. I just want to get my hands on him for a few hours. A couple of days, tops. And then I'll put him back.”

“You won't hurt him?”

“You've seen him. He's unbreakable.”

“Then go for it. Don't you have a light bulb that needs changing?”

“Oh please. I can do that for myself.” And then I remembered the cat. I could ask Jack to fix the bathroom window to keep out the cat. Perfect. The Plan was back on track.

Just then, Jack pulled up in the squad car and beeped the horn. I high-fived Chris and carefully slid into the passenger seat. We finally had a time to talk with Lynnette.

chapter twenty five.

Lynnette Browning Jameson Wycliffe Wells Jameson Becker was looking good, and she knew it. Her face was flawless. Her skin was unmarked, perfectly smooth and unlined, very pale and translucent. Her neck was faintly blotchy and there was a bit of swelling around her chin, but all in all I reckon she'd got her money's worth. She was wearing a silk caftan that screamed St Tropez but whispered Bangkok if Boo was to be believed, and she was barefoot. One foot was lightly bandaged and she walked with a slight limp.

Her Woollahra house was chaotic: suitcases, handbags, boxes, piles of clothes, shoes and DVDs that didn't have cases or labels.

“Gee, I'm sorry that I've been hard to find, but you know how it is.” Her teeth were blindingly white. “I've just made some tea. Just shove that stuff to one side and sit down and I'll be with you in a sec. I haven't had a chance to get to the supermarket so things are a bit basic. I hope you don't take milk, because I haven't got any.” She limped into the kitchen.

Oh great. Black tea. My favourite. Yuck. Constable Jack was spellbound. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I had her photo in my bedroom for years, and I still have the Playboy somewhere. She still looks pretty good, doesn't she?” Oh yeah. She's the real deal. His teenage wet dream. I should have known. “Yep, she's holding up pretty well for her age.” I couldn't help myself.

I moved some fake handbags and sat on the lounge, glaring at Jack, who was rapidly disintegrating into a 192cm mass of jelly. Lynnette hobbled back, carrying three mismatched mugs of black tea. Jack cleared a seat for her. And one for him. Next to her.

“I'm still in shock about Jim's death. Is it true that he was dead when he was shot? I mean, how could that happen? Does that still mean that he was murdered? I don't understand.”

I bet you don't, you pathetic pile of plastic. “We are just trying to wrap this up, Ms Becker. Do you have any idea of who would have tried to kill him?”

“Well, there's me, of course. I suppose that everyone's saying that I missed my chance years ago, but that really was an accident and Jim forgave me. And really, we had moved on from being angry and were thinking about getting back together again. And he assured me that he wasn't behind that beating that poor Nicky Wells took. The girls and I had dinner with Jim last
month and he going to help me out with some property development and I was sorry that the Pole-Dancer situation wasn't working out, but really, I don't think I can help you. Really.”

Really?

I glanced over at Jack, who was going quite pink in the face and seemed to be holding his breath. Get that goofy grin off your face, Surfer Boy. She's even older than me.

“I've been in Bangkok for personal reasons for the past three weeks, so I really don't know what happened. I'm really devastated by his death. Has that Bradley bastard taken over TenTen? Will the funeral be televised?”

Oh yeah, she's devastated. Really, really devastated. They're going to bury her meal ticket in time for the six o'clock news. Really.

My darling sister still hadn't paid me her share of my mother's birthday present, so I was a bit surprised when she called.

“Didn't I give you that money?”

“No, Boo. You didn't. Can you transfer it today? You've got my bank account details.” “Sure. No problem. I'll do it this afternoon.” Yeah, right.