The Murder Club (A Miller Hatcher Novel Book 2)

by Nikki Crutchley

  ‘Here we go,’ muttered Cody, turning back to his computer screen.

  Miller did the same. Aubrey would pop in every few weeks with a list of ‘newsworthy’ stories for the Leader. Ngaire would assign either Cody or Miller to the stories if they were of any value, which they rarely were. Miller hoped there was nothing important. The content for their next issue needed to be in by Christmas Eve and the paper would be put out on the twenty-seventh before their break over the new year. She already had her hands full with articles on Emmeline, Tamara and Madi, along with all the other pieces Ngaire had assigned her.

  After Aubrey had spoken to Hine, she walked towards Ngaire’s office, frowning at Miller as she passed.

  ‘You’re in her bad books after yesterday at the Royal,’ Cody said.

  Miller smiled. ‘I don’t even get extra points for helping to prevent the fire? I think I’m probably always in her bad books. What does she want with Ngaire? More great leads?’

  Hine shrugged. ‘Apparently, she has some information that could make a very good front-page story. She said if Ngaire didn’t want it she’d take it to the Waikato Times.’

  Cody and Miller rolled their eyes in unison.

  Aubrey was back out of the office within five minutes, and ten minutes later Ngaire called Miller into her office.

  ‘Sucker,’ Cody teased.

  ‘Shut the door,’ Ngaire said. She pushed herself back from her desk and eyed Miller. ‘Aubrey’s just brought a possible story to me.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘She said one of my reporters has been receiving letters from the Scarf Killer.’

  Miller’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Fuck,’ she said. Kahu was going to go nuts.

  ‘Indeed,’ Ngaire said, reaching for her vape.

  ‘Ngaire, this can’t get out. This isn’t a story – well, not yet anyway. These letters I’ve been getting, they’re a part of the ongoing police investigation. They aren’t supposed to be public knowledge.’ Miller felt herself sweating in the small office. She got up and started pacing, fanning herself with her hand. Bloody Aubrey and Bull, she thought, remembering how they looked at her at the fire yesterday. Then she realised, if Bull knew, did Ash? Surely Ash would’ve said something.

  Ngaire held a hand up to calm her. ‘I managed to get hold of Detective Sergeant Parata. He’s going to have a word with Aubrey, make sure this goes no further.’

  Miller nodded and sat down again.

  ‘But it would make a good piece,’ Ngaire said. ‘Why’s he writing to you?’

  Miller hesitated but knew she could trust Ngaire, plus it felt good to talk about it with someone. ‘He writes to me with their names, once he’s... killed them. He wants to be famous. He wants me to write about him. Once he’s done, I assume. He wants his story told.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be plenty of people to do that. Why you?’

  ‘I guess because I live here. He’s also mentioned Castle Bay, the article I wrote about that.’

  ‘It would make a great piece. It would get picked up, for sure.’ Ngaire’s business hat was on now.

  ‘I don’t know if I feel comfortable doing it,’ Miller said, thinking of Kahu.

  ‘People want to know about this stuff, Miller. Normal people, everyday people who go about life obeying laws, being basically decent people, want to read about this other side. And who better to write it than you?’

  Miller knew all of this. ‘It feels like I’m doing him a favour. It’s not helping anyone. It’s just feeding the public’s hunger. And giving him what he wants.’

  ‘That’s what a journalist does, Miller, feeds the public’s hunger, whether it be for politics, violent crime, education – you name it. It’s what we do.’

  ‘Well, I can’t do anything at the moment. Not till they catch him.’ Or he gives himself up.

  Ngaire was silent. Miller didn’t want to fight her on it, but in the end Ngaire was her boss.

  Ngaire turned to her laptop. ‘You sorted with the fire article?’

  Miller nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. Subject changed.

  ‘Good. We’re sorted for next week’s issue with a strong emphasis on the murders, of course. I’m firming up stories for the first issue next year. You can do the interview before Christmas or after, up to you. But it will be in next year’s first issue. Maggie Muller,’ Ngaire said.

  ‘Lou’s wife?’ Miller asked, suddenly interested.

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘I know Lou.’

  ‘Lawnmower guy,’ Ngaire said. ‘Anyway, Maggie Muller’s the president of the Lions Club here. First female president of the organisation in the Waikato – bit of a big deal. Lentford has one of the oldest chapters in New Zealand, so I wanted to do a story about that in conjunction with Maggie and her presidency.’

  Miller nodded. It would be a good story and perfect for their readership.

  ‘Maggie’s expecting a phone call to set it up. They’re not going away over Christmas so she’s happy for you to pop in any time.’ Ngaire inhaled on her vape and exhaled menthol-scented vapour into the small office. ‘Good?’

  ‘No problem,’ Miller said, rising to leave.

  ‘And keep me posted,’ Ngaire said, eyeing Miller through the dissipating cloud of vapour. ‘This is going to be big.’

  Miller nodded, dismayed but understanding the excitement in Ngaire’s voice.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Off you go, Cassie,’ Tane said, coming out of the office to join her and Johnno behind the bar. ‘It’s past six, you’re all done.’

  ‘The place is heaving, Tane,’ Cassie said. ‘I can stick around if you want.’

  ‘Johnno and I can handle it. Can’t we?’ He turned to Johnno who rolled his eyes. As usual, Johnno wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t the Royal.

  ‘Off you go. I see your lady friend’s already here.’ Tane pointed at Tiff at the pool table and handed her two handles of beer.

  Cassie walked out from behind the bar and weaved through the full tables, the Eagles’ ‘Hotel California’ battling for attention over the din.

  Tiff leaned over the pool table, one lithe brown leg hard up against the table, the other stretched out behind her, arms poised, showing off a decent amount of cleavage in her singlet. Cassie smiled and her stomach did a pleasant twist, knowing Tiff was all hers. She walked towards her, smiling.

  She and Tiff had had a great weekend. They’d gone down to the river on Saturday evening after all the families had packed up and gone home for dinner. They’d had a swim, and even though the sign proclaimed there was an alcohol ban, they’d drunk wine and made out on the picnic blanket under the oak trees that bordered the river. On Sunday they’d gone to the Christmas parade which Tiff said was naff, but Cassie managed to talk her into. They’d scored drugs off Eric at the Royal after her shift and got high late Sunday afternoon. Cassie had put out of her head the incident with the note in the rubbish bin. She hadn’t confronted Tiff – there was no point. Tiff would just turn it around and blame her. She was beginning to understand Tiff more and more. She’d had a hard upbringing from what little she’d shared and needed extra attention. Tiff got jealous easily, but Cassie was getting used to that, thought it was a compliment. Tiff only got like that because she loved Cassie so much, she was sure.

  ‘Hi,’ Cassie said after Tiff had taken her shot.

  ‘Hi!’ Tiff said, victorious as the eight ball smoothly entered the pocket for the win. ‘Come. Sit. How was your day?’ she asked as they both sat on stools, their back to the leaner, looking out across the room.

  ‘Okay. Glad it’s over. You?’

  ‘Fine. Boring, really. Especially with you not at home.’ She intertwined her fingers with Cassie’s. Cassie looked around the room, and Tiff, smiling, understanding, let her hand go.

  ‘Oh, you missed me,’ Cassie said, teasing. ‘Loo
k what I’ve got.’ Cassie rummaged around in her bag and brought out the copy of the Lentford Leader that Miller had dropped off that afternoon.

  ‘Ta-da.’ She turned and put the paper on the leaner, pointing at the full-page article titled It’s Not Over. ‘How does it look? The paper’s not officially out till tomorrow, but Miller wanted me to get one. Here, have a read. And, look, there’s the police artist’s sketch of Karl Taylor, nice and big, so it can’t be ignored. Don’t know about the photo of me, though,’ she said, cringing. She looked at Tiff, knowing the photo was pretty good, but still wanting Tiff to compliment her. She realised Tiff had gone quiet, too quiet.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is the photo that bad?’ she joked, inspecting it.

  ‘Who took it?’ Tiff asked, sipping at her beer.

  ‘Miller did. I didn’t want to, not really, but she said it helps when people can put a face to the name in the article. I guess I’m going to get a few stares around here now,’ Cassie said, not looking forward to questions and glances all over again, but if it helped, she would gladly put herself on a pedestal to be gawked at and spoken about.

  ‘You have a look in your eyes. It’s flirty,’ Tiff accused, wiping foam from her top lip.

  ‘Tiff!’ Cassie laughed. ‘It’s hardly flirty. If anything, I look sad, reflective.’ She angled her head to look at the photo.

  ‘Whatever,’ Tiff said. ‘It’s not like it’s going to cause much of a stir. You do realise that in the last few weeks three women have been murdered?’

  The way she said it was accusatory, as though Cassie had forgotten about the women’s murders.

  ‘Of course I do. Don’t look at me like that. It’s horrible what’s been happening here. I just... I don’t know, I just want one person to come forward, to kick start the investigation again. It’s only going to take one person to remember something. Don’t you think? Plus, Miller said other papers might pick up the story.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Tiff muttered.

  They sat in silence, Cassie wondering, yet again, how their conversations could so easily deteriorate.

  ‘Miller said she dropped a few copies off at home this morning,’ Cassie said.

  ‘Not that I know of.’ Tiff drained her beer and walked up to the bar without saying anything else.

  Cassie took a deep breath. She put the newspaper back in her handbag. She’d been so proud, but she should have known Tiff wasn’t going to be excited about it. She had something against Miller and was never going to get on board with this while Miller was involved. Trying to think up something else to talk about that wasn’t so volatile, she startled when she heard a voice to her right.

  ‘Cassie Hughes?’

  Cassie turned. ‘Fenella. Miss... Dr...’ Cassie laughed and so did Fenella. ‘Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Fenella was dressed in her usual garb, pencil skirt, tailored shirt and heels. Cassie hadn’t seen her since she’d left The Oaks.

  ‘It’s Fenella, please.’ She tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Cassie noticed the slightly puckered pink scar that ran along her forehead, just above her left eye, which had been covered by a bandage last time Cassie had seen her. Fenella noticed Cassie staring and brought her hair back to partially cover it.

  ‘Not my usual haunt,’ she told Cassie, looking around. ‘Just meeting a friend here for a drink.’

  Cassie nodded, thinking the Riverview Hotel would be more to Fenella’s taste.

  ‘How have you been?’ Fenella asked, and then immediately said, ‘Don’t answer that if you don’t want to. I’m not being nosy. It was just a general question.’

  Cassie smiled. Fenella was nice out of The Oaks, not so uptight. ‘I’m really well, thank you. I’m doing much better.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. And who are you here with?’ Fenella asked, looking around.

  ‘Um, well.’ Cassie hesitated. ‘My girlfriend. Here she comes now, actually.’

  Fenella looked to where Cassie’s eyes were and they both watched as Tiff wound her way from the bar over to the table. A strangled groan escaped Fenella’s lips.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Cassie asked.

  Fenella was already backing away. ‘Lovely to see you, Cassie. I’d better get going.’

  ‘Was that Fenella I just saw?’ Tiff asked, eyes wide. ‘What the hell was she doing here? Not really her style. Uptight bitch.’ She put the beers on the table and sat down.

  ‘She said she was meeting a friend. I swear when she saw you, she had a mini-fit,’ Cassie said.

  Tiff barked out a laugh. ‘I guess I wasn’t the most well-behaved patient at The Oaks,’ Tiff admitted.

  ‘Seriously, when she saw you walking over here her eyes bugged out of her head and she made this weird groaning sound. What the hell’s that about?’ Cassie asked, confused over the woman’s reaction.

  ‘Fenella, groaning, what a wonderful thought,’ Tiff said, raising her brows at Cassie.

  ‘Why would she react like that?’

  ‘No idea, Cass. Eric’s out the back. Apparently, he’s been told he can’t deal in here anymore. So he’s gone out to Smoker’s Corner. I’m not sure that’s quite what Tane meant. Got some cash? Shall we go score?’ Tiff asked picking up her beer and motioning for Cassie to do the same.

  ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Cassie said, even though she wasn’t really up for it. She had work tomorrow and Eric’s weed made her feel horrible.

  They walked out the back of the Royal where a few decrepit picnic tables and the skeletons of old sun umbrellas were piled in a corner. Cassie turned as she went outside and met Fenella’s eyes. She didn’t look confused or anxious, she looked scared.

  Chapter 33

  Miller sat in the lounge, finishing her article on Emmeline, Madi and Tamara – their early lives and their lives in Lentford, and also the safety issue around women living alone, and how this shouldn’t ever be an issue. The only thing people really wanted to know was who this guy was and how or when he was going to be caught. But Miller had nothing.

  She’d already told Ngaire she wasn’t going ahead with Logan’s article, and after explaining why, Ngaire agreed. ‘I don’t need the wrath of the town, especially at this time. Have you told Logan?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ Miller said. She wasn’t looking forward to the task.

  She looked at the list of stories she needed to get done for the last issue. Talking to a council member about the new recycling bins, the Salvation Army Christmas food drive, and an interview with one of the primary-school teachers about the school holiday programme. She sighed. ‘Riveting.’

  On the plus side, Ngaire had left her in charge of articles on the Scarf Killer, so she could do another article on that next, hopefully with a bit of inside knowledge from Kahu. Who knew? This time next week he could be caught, and it would all be over.

  Her phone rang and she reached over to the stereo to quieten Elton’s ‘I’m Still Standing’. ‘Ngaire, hi, what’s up?’

  ‘Lorraine, Tamara’s mother, has organised a candlelit vigil for the murdered women on the village green tonight. Can you go cover it? Photos would be good. I know you’ve already spoken with her, but maybe a fresh quote? Apparently the mayor’s speaking as well.’

  ‘No problem. Are you going?’

  ‘Can’t make it tonight,’ Ngaire said, giving no excuse.

  Miller hung up and went back to work. She wondered what the turnout would be like. Would the town want to get involved in this?

  Miller arrived at the vigil just before eight-thirty. The sun was beginning to descend, the gleaming orb disappearing behind the hills, bathing them in orange and golds as it went. The vigil was scheduled for nine o’clock, which Miller thought was a bit late, but Maggie, Lou’s wife, who was handing out white tapered candles, told her that Lorraine thought it would look nicer in the dark. ‘The candles
, you know,’ she said. ‘Plus it’s a hell of a lot cooler now.’ Maggie patted her brow with the back of her hand. ‘Although not cool enough.’

  She was right, Miller thought. The temperature was still well over twenty-five degrees and there was no breeze to lift the heavy heat that blanketed the small town.

  ‘Maggie,’ Miller said. ‘While I’ve got you, shall we set up a time for your interview?’

  ‘Oh, yes, how exciting,’ Maggie said, fumbling with her candles. ‘Will there be photos?’

  ‘Yes.’ Miller smiled as Maggie patted her hair which had lost a lot of its usual body in the heat.

  ‘Well, I’ve got an appointment at Deidre’s tomorrow first thing,’ Maggie said, naming the only hairdresser in town. ‘So how about tomorrow, around ten?’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Miller said.

  Maggie gave Miller her address and walked off, all five foot nothing of her, swallowed up into the crowd, passing the candles out left and right, speaking to every second person she came across, her voice directing people where to go and what time it was starting, breaking through the subdued conversations around her.

  Miller held her candle and followed the crowd into the centre of the village green. She estimated that there were close to two hundred people present. She looked around. He was here. She was sure of it. It wasn’t intuition or sixth sense, she just felt he would be here. He’d be enjoying this, wouldn’t he? He’d made all of this happen. Seven days before Christmas and a town was in mourning. He’d be in his element.

  Miller saw Cassie and Tiff and began to walk over, but Cassie, meeting her eye, shook her head almost imperceptibly. Miller got it: she wasn’t welcome. She gave Cassie a sympathetic smile, letting her know she understood.

  Ash stood with Bull, who towered over her and most of the crowd. Ash looked in her direction and Miller waved out. Ash raised her eyebrows in greeting, her eyes moving away and scanning the crowd. Typical Ash. When she was on duty, she was the consummate professional. And Miller knew she would be on the look-out for him too. She’d spoken to Kahu briefly and he’d said that he’d given Bull a warning about spreading gossip about the letters. ‘It’s likely he was having a nosy in the meeting room and came across them.’ He’d said neither Ash nor the other local constables were aware of the letters and he wanted it to stay that way for the moment. ‘I had a word with an Aubrey Moore. Apparently Bull had spoken to her about the letters. Bit high-and-mighty, gave me some spiel about the public’s right to know. I put her right.’ Miller had no doubt.