The Murder Club (A Miller Hatcher Novel Book 2)

by Nikki Crutchley

  ‘It helps to build a case when we do catch him,’ Kahu agreed. ‘But at the moment stuff like that isn’t helping us catch him.’

  ‘Do you have any suspects at all?’

  ‘There’s been a couple. But because of the letters to you, it’s really just bringing them in for questioning. Tamara’s ex, Emmeline’s new boyfriend. Friends.’

  They both sat quietly. Each with their own thoughts.

  ‘And you still don’t know how he gets in?’

  ‘No sign of a break-in at Tamara’s or Emmeline’s. Which makes us think both of them knew him. We’re looking into who they know, who they might’ve come across, some way the two women are connected. And there’s always the chance... In this weather people are leaving windows open. It could just be a case of him climbing in.’

  ‘I know they’d met before, Emmeline and Tamara,’ Miller said, ‘but that might be completely random. Maybe it’s just the fact they live alone.’

  Kahu sighed. ‘Yeah.’

  Len walked over to clear their empty coffee cups and Kahu ordered coffees for those back at the station. ‘Getting anywhere on the murders, Detective?’ Len asked, glancing at Miller. No wink today.

  ‘Getting there,’ Kahu said.

  ‘Really tragic,’ Len said, ‘especially in such a small town.’

  Miller thought the murder of anyone, big city, small town, was pretty tragic. Neither Kahu nor Miller answered so Len was forced to walk away.

  ‘Always on the look-out for a bit of gossip,’ Miller said. ‘He’s always coming to me with little bits of rumour and gossip for me to put in the paper. Like I work for bloody OK magazine or something.’ She looked at him behind the counter where he seemed to be telling Li off for something. When he walked away Li looked over and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Kahu, do you think he’s going to come for me? The way he writes, he either expects to be caught or he’s going to force a meeting – to tell me his story.’

  Kahu gave her a wry smile. ‘Yeah, well I’d rather catch him before he comes for you.’

  ‘I’m not really scared. From what he’s written he needs me.’

  Kahu turned to face her. Their eyes met. ‘You need to be careful, Miller. I know what you’re like. You’ll put yourself out there to help someone out, to get the story.’

  Again, another dig at her covering the story.

  ‘Will you cover it?’ he asked, head cocked. ‘Once it’s all over?’

  She didn’t want to disappoint him. But she knew a story like this would be huge. ‘I don’t want to contribute to his infamy, if that’s what you mean.’

  Kahu raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her. ‘But all of you journalists, that’s what you do.’

  Miller felt the insult. That’s what it was, saying ‘journalist’ like it was a dirty word.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Kahu. It is what I do. It’s my job and every other journalist’s out there to get the facts, tell the public the story, especially with something like this. For people to understand the crime. Shouldn’t they know the criminal? It’s their right to know.’

  ‘Is it, though? Why do they need all the gory details? Why do they need to know that Emmeline scratched and fought for her life but wasn’t strong enough, so was knocked out and strangled to death? Why do the public need to know the background behind the man who did it?’

  ‘I know you think it’s too much, Kahu. I know you didn’t agree with the article I wrote on Castle Bay. But as long as there are readers out there interested, I’ll be reporting it. I have to. It’s my job. And you know as well as anyone, the public help. If it wasn’t for them there’d be cases that are still unsolved. People need to know what’s happening in their own town or city. The people of Lentford need to know there’s a killer among them.’

  Kahu picked up a paper napkin and folded it over and over again into a small square. ‘I know all of this. I’m sorry, I just think these lowlifes should be put in jail and forgotten about, no news articles, no visits, no further education in prison. Sure, I believe in rehabilitation in some, but not all cases. Definitely not all.’ He threw the napkin on the table. ‘Look, the media is useful. I know it is. I have first-hand experience that not all journalists are bad.’

  Miller smiled. ‘Why, thanks for that.’

  ‘Your articles have been great, you know.’

  ‘You read them?’ She felt ridiculously happy.

  ‘Course.’ He smiled back, the argument over. ‘Be careful, Miller, okay? If you need me to come stay with you, I will. You just have to ask.’

  Miller nodded. ‘I kick-box you know. After Castle Bay, I was so angry with myself... being taken. I was so weak.’

  ‘Miller you had no idea. None of us did.’

  ‘I know, but now I can stand up for myself.’

  They walked over to Li, and Kahu collected coffees for his team. ‘See you Saturday for a game, if not before?’

  Miller agreed and they said their goodbyes at the door. Neither had discussed the killer’s last words, the possibility of more between her and Kahu, and for that, Miller was glad. There was enough going on without a murderer screwing up one of the few decent friendships she had in her life.

  Chapter 22

  The rest of Miller’s day was packed. She got a phone call from an overexcited Logan reminding her about the tour tomorrow afternoon, which she’d agreed to go on. She thought of Kahu, wondered what he’d think of Logan Dodds and the article she was going to publish on him. She imagined him shaking his head, looking at her, through her, with those dark eyes, daring her to disappoint him.

  ‘It’s my bloody job,’ she muttered.

  Eric looked up. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘First sign of madness,’ he joked. ‘Talking to yourself.’

  ‘Well, I must’ve gone mad ages ago,’ Miller said. She was uptight and angry. She knew Kahu cared about her. They were friends. But she hated that her job, or the articles she chose to write, had become such a sore point. She rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the stress that had built up. She knew what would work. A drink. Vodka, wine, beer. If there was the promise of a drink at the end of her day she could easily go on.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, earning another look from Eric.

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re pretty cosy with the lead detective, aren’t you?’

  ‘Cosy? No. He’s a friend.’ Miller gathered her bag and phone.

  ‘Any news? Leads?’ he asked, getting up from his desk and walking over to her.

  Miller thought of everything Kahu had told her. ‘No, nothing. Not that I’d tell you anyway.’ She tried to pass him but he blocked her way. He smelt of mothballs and damp.

  ‘Can’t actually believe you’re still here,’ he said. He was too close now, his breath hot. Miller stepped back. ‘You lose a big story for a national magazine, drunk-driving, involved in a car accident where you disfigure yourself.’ He lifted a hand to her face. ‘You’d be pretty hot without—’

  ‘Fuck off, Eric,’ she said. It took all her will not to punch him.

  He strolled back to his desk, whistling tunelessly. ‘And still, you’re here.’

  Wanker. Miller felt the need for fresh air, but stepping out into the main street afforded her no relief. The day was overcast, which made the heat even worse. Tinny Christmas music drifted from various shops as she walked to her car. The shops down the main street were in full yuletide mode: plastic Santas, tinsel, Christmas trees and lights had been jammed into front windows along with the usual display items, depending on the shop. She looked back to the village square where the plastic tree took centre stage, decked out in fairy lights, tinsel and ornaments that reflected the sun, surrounded by staid oaks that looked down on it, disapproving of its frivolity. It all seemed silly, pointless, crass in light of what was going on. />
  She unlocked her car and threw her satchel onto the passenger seat. Ngaire had asked her to do a piece on the two murders. ‘Link them if you can – even if it’s just both of them being from here. Lorraine Jenson’s happy to talk – if that’s the right word. I’ve already talked to Emmeline’s parents. They live in Invercargill. Her body was sent down yesterday. They want nothing to do with an article. They feel her death should not be publicised. Private people. They told me they’re working with the police to get any information. I don’t know, maybe talk to the boyfriend if you can.’

  Miller drove across the bridge and wound her way up to The Hill. She passed the Doddses’ house and carried on further until she pulled up to Lorraine Jenson’s house. It was a well-kept modern build, tinted windows dark against the beige plaster, as if the house was sleeping. It wasn’t as ostentatious as the other houses on The Hill, but nice enough. Miller thought of her mum’s old state house down on the flat. She got out of the car; the only sound being the cicadas in the nearby trees celebrating yet another day of oppressive heat.

  The interview was quick; she was in and out within half an hour. Lorraine Jenson, widowed three years ago and now coping with the murder of her only child, let her in and through to the lounge at the back. The windows were open, to no avail, and the house was heavy with heat, but also something else. And no matter how silly or fanciful it sounded, Miller thought, that dark, all-encompassing other was grief.

  Lorraine wanted this interview, wanted to show people who her daughter was, wanted to celebrate her life, not speak of the way she left this world. This small woman, sitting erect, a teacup balanced on her lap, surrounded by photos of her only daughter, spoke of school days, first dates, travel and family Christmases, but the event itself weighed her down. No matter the stories she told, she was still talking to a reporter about her daughter because she had been murdered, and Miller could see the instant she realised it. Halfway through a story about Tamara’s twenty-first at the Riverview in town, she stopped short, looked around the room, and burst into tears. A cat came in and leapt onto the couch next to her. She blindly reached out a hand for it and the cat moved closer as if to help where it could. It settled comfortably and purred as Mrs Jenson stroked its ginger fur. ‘This is Misty, Tamara’s cat. It’s silly, but she knows. She knows Tamara’s gone and she’s been such a comfort to me.’ After that, she shut down, didn’t speak, and Miller took her leave.

  Next on the list, after lunch, she met with Adam Potter, Emmeline’s boyfriend. When he sat down with her at a corner table in the Kowhai, she could tell he regretted the decision to meet in a public place. She’d never seen him before. He was a big guy, pale face, haggard, early thirties at most. He looked around. Some obviously knew who he was. People glanced up from sandwiches and coffee, threw a sympathetic look in his direction and then looked back down again. Other tables started up conversations – the murders were never far from anyone’s mind in Lentford, and now, here was someone intimately connected to one of the victims.

  Len brought over their coffees. Looked like he was going to say something, but then walked away.

  ‘It sounds so cheesy. But she was the one.’ Adam stirred his coffee. ‘We’d only been going out for a few weeks. You have no idea. The fact she’s dead is tragic and heart-breaking and so, so unfair. But the way she was taken... I can’t stop thinking about it. The fear she must’ve felt.’ He put down the teaspoon and leaned in, his voice quiet. ‘I feel sad, I feel angry, I feel guilty I wasn’t there. But that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what the cops are saying. He’s preying on women living alone. He wouldn’t have tried anything if I’d been there.’ His face crumpled and he looked into his coffee as if expecting to find an answer there, a reason why.

  ‘You’d only been together a few weeks, Adam, but you knew her. Would she have opened her door to a stranger? Let him in for whatever reason?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a chance. She liked living on her own, but the few times I stayed there I could tell she was conscious she was a woman living alone. She had a routine of locking up the house at night. Even in this weather, she refused to leave windows open, even a little bit. She had a fan in her room that she left on all night.’

  There goes Kahu’s theory.

  ‘Did she know the other victim that you’re aware of? Tamara Jenson?’ Miller already knew the answer but wondered if she could get more out of Adam.

  ‘Yeah. I knew Tamara as well. She was a good friend of a teacher, Louise Bradley, at school. Em and I had discussed her murder. We were both shocked. And here I am talking about both of them now. Em said she’d played pool with Tamara at the Royal a few months back. I met her about six months ago there. There were a few teachers from the primary school having drinks and Louise had dragged Tamara out. Louise told me Tamara had just broken up with her boyfriend so she was trying to cheer her up. I remember her being quiet.’

  ‘What are you up to now that school’s out for the year?’ Miller asked. Would he want to stay here?

  ‘I’ll have been here a year in January. It sounds silly but I’d kind of planned what was next for me and Em. A year or so of dating, then I was going to pop the question. I have no doubt she’d have said yes.’ His smile was weak, not cocky. ‘We’d set up a life here. I’d move in with her. She really wanted kids ...’

  Miller’s heart ached for him. She turned off her iPhone which was recording and put a hand on his. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said.

  He stood. ‘I think I need to get out of here.’ Miller wasn’t sure if he meant the cafe or Lentford. ‘Do you need more for the article?’

  Miller shook her head. His pained expression told her she wouldn’t get any more from him. She needed nothing else. These women were loved, they’d be missed, they’d left a hole in this small town. She and the rest of the cafe watched Adam walk out and the whispers became loud conversations, people joining in from other tables, about the tragedy of it all.

  Chapter 23

  Miller worked on Tamara and Emmeline’s article for the rest of the afternoon, every few minutes peeling the backs of her legs off her leather chair and adjusting her desk fan for optimum lukewarm air, ignoring Eric, wanting to get it done before five so she could see Cassie at the Royal. The muscles in her neck were taut and she needed a run to rid herself of this day. Just past five, she emailed the story to Ngaire and walked out of the office without a glance or word to Eric. She bit her tongue when she heard him shout out, ‘Well, goodnight to you, Miss High-and-Mighty.’

  Tosser.

  She walked down to the Royal and waved to Cassie who, by the looks of it, had just finished decorating the bar. ‘Tane insisted,’ Cassie said, rolling her eyes.

  Miller looked around. Fairy lights flashed behind the bar; tinsel surrounded the doorway to the toilets and around the scoreboard next to the darts. It hung off the leaners next to the pool table.

  ‘Not really my area of expertise.’ Cassie frowned, looking at her efforts. ‘It looks a bit shit.’ She lifted her mass of black hair, wiping her neck.

  ‘It looks fine,’ Miller said, even though she thought it made the tired-looking Royal even more so.

  Tane came out of the back office. ‘Thanks for doing that, Cassie. Lipstick on a pig, but good to get into the spirit. And if I left it to bloody Johnno it’d be fucking Easter by the time he got round to it.’ He walked down the other end of the bar and served a couple waiting there.

  Miller sat at the bar and asked Cassie for a Coke.

  ‘I’m sorry about the other day,’ Cassie said. ‘I wanted it to go better than that. The interview. But even after all this time, it’s so hard to talk about.’

  ‘It’s okay. Really,’ Miller said, gulping down her Coke, the fizz bringing tears to her eyes.

  ‘Speaking of Mum, I had a real weirdo in last night,’ Cassie said, looking over Miller’s shoulder as if expecting him to appear. ‘Some guy going o
n about some kind of tour. He was taking people to murder sites or something like that.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Logan,’ Miller said, suddenly uneasy. ‘Logan came to see you?’

  ‘Big guy, overweight, gross habit of biting his nails?’

  ‘That’s him.’ Miller realised what Logan had been doing in her bag. He’d found Cassie’s details in her notebook and tracked her down. She explained to Cassie what had happened.

  Cassie glanced up towards the door again. ‘Is he dangerous? He knows where I live.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Miller said, not wanting to cause alarm. ‘Maybe just a bit unbalanced.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Tiff saw him. Said a few choice words to him.’

  ‘I’m sure she did,’ Miller said, unable to keep the acid from her tone.

  Cassie paused. ‘I’m sorry about Tiff the other day. She was trying to protect me. She’s like that.’

  Miller pulled out her iPhone to record. ‘Can we do this here, now? I just need a little bit more about you, really. Just consider this a conversation.’

  ‘Or a counselling session?’ Cassie laughed again. ‘No problem. I mentioned it to Tane. He’s been great about it.’

  Miller smiled. She was growing fond of Cassie, after only two meetings. She couldn’t fathom the kind of life she’d had and wanted to do anything she could to help.

  ‘When I think about it, I needed her there for so many things. I’d liked girls for ages. For as long as I could remember, even before you’re supposed to get proper crushes. I remember in Year Five when I was nine, talking to friends and sharing our crushes. Mine was Lily Gardner. She had long black hair and kind eyes. I told them my crush was James someone, the first guy that wandered into my line of sight. And that’s when the lying started. To my friends, and to Mum and Dad. A lie of omission, really, as my sexuality – sex full stop – wasn’t talked about in our house. When Mum went missing, the regret of not telling her was so strong. And when we realised she was never coming back, I felt guilty that I’d hidden who I really was. She would never know the real me.’