The Murder Club (A Miller Hatcher Novel Book 2)

by Nikki Crutchley

‘Yeah, he was warming up when I followed you out.’ Ngaire winced. ‘He’s an idiot, Miller.’

  ‘I know he is, but nothing he said back there was untrue. I was still drunk when I went to Prisha’s office that day, but I thought I had it under control.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing about that time in my life was under control.’

  They reached their cars parked out the front of the Leader office. Most of the main street was empty, the shops long closed, no need to hang around in town on a Monday night unless you were at the Royal or picking up takeaways for dinner. Ngaire pulled her vape from her bag and clicked it on.

  ‘That night, after the non-interview, I hadn’t even told my editor, George,’ Miller said. ‘I was a coward and was waiting to do it the next day. My flatmate, Nat, had her going-away party. Apart from my slip-up the night before the interview – and boy, was it a slip-up – I’d been sober for almost a year. Anyway, I drowned my sorrows that night at Nat’s party and ended up driving home drunk. I took a corner too fast. Overcorrected and collided with a tree. I don’t remember much, woke up in the emergency department of Auckland hospital a few hours later. I suffered a concussion and abrasions to my hands and face, one particularly nasty one that left me with this.’ She touched her scar. ‘My permanent reminder. No one else was hurt, thank god. I couldn’t cover up the fact I was in the hospital, but back at work I lied to my editor. I admitted fault with the Anand interview, apologised profusely but also told him the car accident wasn’t my fault.

  ‘Randall made it his business to find out. He told George, my editor, along with his uncle who owns First Look and a bunch of other papers and magazines, what had happened, and George had no choice but to fire me – and so he should’ve. I was dishonest and unprofessional. I was charged with careless driving. I lost my licence for six months and was given community service. I go out to Shady Oaks Rest Home once a week or so to help with the residents there.’

  Miller turned to look at Ngaire who was looking at her, a sad smile on her face.

  ‘I understand that you’ll need to fire me,’ Miller said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For not being straight with you.’

  ‘I knew all of this, Miller.’ Ngaire turned her vape off and threw it into her bag.

  Miller stared, mouth open.

  ‘What? You didn’t think I’d ring George and suss you out?’

  ‘Of course, I did. I just wasn’t sure what George told you,’ Miller said, still shocked.

  ‘He told me what happened. He was on your side. Said you were a good journalist but that you needed to get your head straight. He thought this would be a good job to enable you to do that. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve worked your arse off ever since you got here. You’ve run circles around Eric, which he hates. You know that, right? The only reason he bothered exposing you was because he feels so threatened by you. There’s no doubt what you did was stupid. But I’m one for second chances, and sometimes third and fourth.’

  Miller stared at the ground, blinking rapidly, knowing Ngaire wouldn’t deal with tears. She remembered George’s exact words when he fired her: ‘I believe in you, as a journalist, you’ve written great pieces, but there are others like you out there, Miller, others that have the ambition, the talent, minus the baggage. When the time comes, I’ll give you a good reference.’

  ‘Go home, Miller. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Ngaire said. She unlocked her car. ‘Jesus, I could do with a cigarette.’

  ‘I’ve been sober ever since,’ Miller blurted out. She needed Ngaire to know. ‘Day...’ She calculated in her head. ‘Day one hundred and seventy-six.’ She could hear the desperation in her voice.

  Ngaire nodded, winked at her and climbed in her car, leaving Miller alone on the main street. She liked Lentford. It felt like home. She had friends, a decent job, but there was still the fact she was here, a journalist in a small country town, because she stuffed up. She wasn’t reporting on big life-changing issues, interviewing people who were changing the world or making it a better place – all because she’d made that mistake. This was on her. She refused to wallow in pity, but the shroud of guilt she wore daily – for the mistakes she’d made, the trust she’d lost, the disappointment she’d caused – almost brought her to her knees.

  Chapter 19

  On Tuesday morning, when Miller couldn’t stand Eric’s snide comments or Hine and Cody’s looks of pity any longer, she left the office and walked north up Victoria Street. She’d talked to Nat on the phone the night before when she got home, telling her her secret was out. Nat, Kahu and Ash were the only people who knew everything about her: her struggle to get over her mother’s death, Castle Bay, losing her job, the accident.

  ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ Nat asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Miller said sulkily.

  ‘It sounds like you have some good mates there, Mills. Maybe it’s a good thing they know. Ever thought of that?’

  Nat was always one for putting things into perspective. They went on to talk of Nat’s job at the hospital and her new boyfriend, and half an hour later Miller got off the phone feeling better. Part of her wished she was sitting outside on Ash’s patio, Zach’s music blaring from his room, telling her what had happened. But she hadn’t seen or spoken to her since yesterday. Miller didn’t like how they’d left it. She knew Ash was pissed at her but didn’t know what else to do, other than completely clear the air and tell her what was happening with the letters – then she’d understand. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place to tell.

  Ngaire had made it clear that morning that it was business as usual. Hine and Cody nodded solemnly, glancing at Miller, and Eric had snorted and turned back to his computer. Ngaire had told Miller she’d have to let it blow over. ‘Unfortunately, Eric’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and I want you to hang around for as long as possible. So just deal with it, okay?’

  Nothing like a pep talk from Ngaire. Miller could handle Eric, but Hine and Cody were her friends – and as much as she wanted, no matter what Nat said, she couldn’t get past the fact they now knew her dirty secrets.

  Miller slowed as she passed the village green, the expanse of grass in the main street between the library and the fish and chip shop that ran down towards the river. Three men in high-vis jackets were putting up a Christmas tree. The deep green of the fake ten-foot tree looked unnatural against the yellowing grass of the village green and the long grass that grew along the banks of the river. She carried on, noting the posters in shop windows advertising the Christmas parade next weekend.

  Miller couldn’t believe it was only thirteen days till Christmas. Maybe she could just let it slide this year. She wasn’t sure what Kahu was up to. He’d mentioned visiting family in Gisborne. Li wouldn’t be around, and she wasn’t sure what Cody and Hine were up to. Nat had invited her down to Wellington. She’d said she’d think about it but preferred to sit at home and... drink, she told herself honestly. That’s what she really wanted to do.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Miller,’ she muttered.

  Her phone was constantly dinging, Twitter alerts related to him, who had now been dubbed the Scarf Killer. Kahu had held a press conference that morning. He’d said the two murders appeared to be related – which was obvious to everyone, they’d just been waiting for the cops to confirm it. The women, both living on their own, had been strangled in their homes. There was a call to the public for help. They needed to know the women’s movements before they were killed. Family and friends were asked to come forward. Neighbours had been questioned, asked to remember the smallest of details. No mention was made of the letters that had been sent to Miller, for now, of which she was glad. She was happy to write the news; she hated being the news.

  There were new people in town. Some looked lost, consulted phones. Others stood in groups of two or three, well dressed, ready to film a piece for tonight’s news. Little Lentford had been
cast into the spotlight – just as Castle Bay had been – and this time Miller was on the inside. This was her town now. A town being held under the microscope by the rest of the country, questioning who could have done such a thing. There was talk around town, of course there was. In the pub, the cafe, over the counter when buying groceries, whispered gossip, but that’s all it was for now – gossip.

  She passed two women standing in the middle of the footpath and walked around them, dodging a toddler twirling in circles, biscuit in hand, and a pushchair.

  ‘Strangled in their bedrooms, I hear,’ one woman said. ‘What are we supposed to do? Who’s next?’

  ‘They’ve both been single women, younger than us. I would guess we’re safe,’ the other said, grabbing the stumbling toddler by the hand and smiling at Miller.

  ‘I say lock up your house.’

  ‘God, when was the last time any of us did that?’

  Miller crossed the road when she saw Cassie’s townhouse on the right, just after the bridge. The buildings were beige-coloured plaster, somewhat plain and ugly, but she knew these were the backs of the houses. Their fronts looked out onto the river. She opened the black wrought-iron gate to number four and walked into a small courtyard, a suntrap that made her already perspiring body prickle. Sweat on top of sweat. On either side leading up to the door were gardens filled with river stones and succulents, thriving in this weather, and Miller wondered how they handled the cold and damp Waikato winters. The door was slightly ajar, and through the small crack she could see through to the lounge and dining area and out onto the small balcony.

  She raised a hand to knock but stopped. The shouting from behind the door sounded as though someone was standing right on the other side. The other voice, quieter, sad, sounded slightly further away. Cassie?

  ‘There’s no point to it, Cassie!’ the voice by the door shouted.

  ‘Well, I think there is. It can’t hurt. I get my story out there. People are interested in me.’

  ‘You sound really up yourself.’

  ‘Tiff!’ Cassie sounded hurt. ‘I just meant I know people are interested in my story. I don’t really want people knowing about me, but if it helps people to start thinking about Mum again...’ The voice faded away and Miller couldn’t hear any more.

  She was about to knock when the other voice said, ‘Why her? This Miller Hatcher?’

  ‘Tiff, I’ve told you, you don’t need to be jealous.’

  ‘I’m not fucking jealous. Do what you fuckin’ want. You always do. I thought this was supposed to be a relationship!’

  Miller heard a door slam inside the apartment. She looked down at her watch, waiting as the second-hand did a full rotation then took a deep breath, knowing this interview couldn’t possibly go smoothly, and knocked.

  After about thirty seconds she knocked again. After waiting some more she thought about leaving, but then Cassie opened the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and one cheek was a deep red.

  ‘Hi, Cassie,’ Miller said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Hi, Miller. I’m fine. Come on in.’ Cassie’s voice trembled as she tried to sound cheery. ‘Take a seat. I’m just fighting a bit of hay fever at the moment.’ She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table. ‘It’s the season for it.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow and she stopped abruptly.

  Miller knew not to push it. She didn’t even know this woman, but felt an instinct to protect her.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Something cold would be great if you’ve got it.’ Miller sat in an armchair.

  ‘I guess it’s a bit early for a beer,’ Cassie said going into the kitchen which was separated from the lounge dining area by a vast island made of white marble, shot through with grey. ‘Juice or water?’

  ‘Water would be great, thanks.’

  ‘Have you been here for long?’ Miller asked, taking in the new furniture and bare walls.

  ‘No, not long at all. Only moved in the beginning of last week. The place came fully furnished.’

  Miller turned as a door opened from what she guessed was a bedroom. The woman, leaning against the door frame, looked to be just as tall as Miller, in her mid-twenties, auburn hair tied up in a high ponytail. She wore a denim miniskirt and a white singlet over a hot-pink bra. She walked over to Miller and stood over her, so close Miller couldn’t rise. ‘I’m Tiff, Cassie’s girlfriend.’ It was said like a challenge.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Miller said smiling, taking the glass of water from Cassie.

  The two women sat on the black leather couch opposite Miller. Miller took a sip and placed the glass on the coffee table between them.

  ‘So, Cassie. I’m not sure how you want to do this. I know it’s important for you to get the Karl Taylor message out there, help jog people’s memories, but I’d also like to know how you’re doing, what you’re up to, what life was like for you back when your mum disappeared. I understand you’ve never given an interview before?’

  Tiff and Cassie were sitting so close they appeared joined. Tiff put her hand on Cassie’s knee. Miller saw Cassie visibly stiffen and then relax.

  Miller took out her notebook and iPhone. ‘Okay if I record this?’

  Cassie nodded. ‘There was heaps of media attention when Mum went missing. Dad did all that stuff – talking to the TV people and newspapers. He didn’t want us girls – I have a sister – involved in any of that. He tried his best to protect us from it all. I’m not sure how much more harm it could’ve done us, though. It was a real horrible time. Even when everything died down and the police weren’t getting anywhere with finding Mum, we’d get women’s mags pestering us with blood money to get our story. Dad always said no.’

  ‘Can you give me some background on your mother’s disappearance? You were quite young at the time. But I guess you know the details?’

  ‘I was ten,’ Cassie said, her voice quiet. She cleared her throat. ‘It was Saturday morning, like normal. She’d been into town to get groceries and go to the post office. We lived on a lifestyle block about half an hour out of the city, towards Katikati. She was sending Emily, our cousin, a birthday present. She was turning five and Mum had bought her a new lunch box and drink bottle for school.’ Cassie looked up with a sad smile. ‘Sorry, not relevant. Funny, the things you remember.’

  Tiff got up, went to the fridge and brought back two beers. ‘Never too early for a beer, eh Cass?’

  Cassie left her beer untouched on the coffee table and continued talking as Tiff drank. ‘She got home about eleven and said she was going down to the orchard. There was a farm-gate kind of shop about two k down the road. We lived on a quiet country road, so it was a nice walk, and Mum liked buying our fruit and veg from the McAllisters. Said it was fresher and cheaper.’

  Miller knew stalling when she saw it. She could tell Cassie didn’t want to get to the next part.

  ‘And that’s the last time I saw her. We know from the shop owner she was there. She didn’t talk to anyone else but him; just bought what she needed and left.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened after that?’

  ‘It was a nightmare. There weren’t really any suspects. There was nothing. She’d vanished. Dad didn’t tell us what was happening at the start. When Mum didn’t come home after a couple of hours, he rang the McAllisters. They said she’d been and gone hours earlier. He called all her friends. Then by dinner time he called the police. They said there wasn’t anything they could do so early on. A neighbour looked after us while Dad and a few of his mates went looking for her. The place we lived, there were small farms, orchards, a bit of bush. I remember going to bed that night feeling confused, but more than that, scared. And I stayed scared and confused for years.’

  ‘And how did Karl Taylor’s name come to the police’s attention?’

  ‘You know Mum’s body was found last year – at the old dairy factory here?
’

  Miller nodded, remembering what Ash had told her the other night. It had been big news at the time. A cold case that was on its way to being solved. But over a year later, there was still nothing.

  ‘There wasn’t much... left... of Mum,’ Cassie said, gulping a sip of her beer. ‘But they found her watch and bangle with the old Roman coins. Two of the three coins were missing from the bangle.’ She held up her right arm, the coins running together to create a tinny jingle. ‘Mum found these bangles at a gypsy fair one year. My younger sister Fiona thought they were ugly, so Mum bought one for me and one for her. We wore them all the time. They’re not expensive, just tatty rubbish, but meant a lot to us.

  ‘Anyway, it was reported on the news over a few weeks. The police asking for the public’s help, showing a picture of Mum and a photo of the coin they found, saying where she was last seen, where she was found. There were two coins missing and I think the police hoped someone would come across them. I think they thought he – Karl Taylor – had taken them as a souvenir. There wasn’t a lot to go on, but they hoped someone could help. A guy came forward, Gary Vogel. I’ve never met him. He’s a builder in Tauranga and had a labourer called Karl Taylor. Karl had been working for him for a few months. Gary told police he was hard-working, kept to himself. He and the other guys didn’t really get to know him. Gary remembered Karl had taken the work truck on the Saturday Mum went missing, to clean up at a job they’d finished the day before. Our next-door neighbours had had an extension done. Karl was supposed to get the truck back to Gary by noon, but he never showed. He tried contacting him on his mobile but he never answered.’

  ‘Gary did well to remember all this, fourteen years after the fact,’ Miller said.

  ‘That’s what we all thought. But he told the police he remembered as he needed the truck to start a new job on another site that afternoon. He almost missed out on the job because of it. Karl turned up early the next morning with the truck, apologising, saying his mum was sick. He’d headed straight to Hamilton to visit her. Gary let it slide and didn’t think much more of it.’