“Expected him to keep up appearances?”
“Those are the exact words she used.”
“Does Brad get along well with his brother?”
“As far as I know,” said Kit with a slight shake of his head.
In that moment, I noticed a change in Dusty’s expression. The light in her eyes suggested she had just experienced a ‘eureka’ moment. She quickly composed herself and directed another question to Kit.
“Have you any idea where Brad might be?”
“Nah. He comes and goes, you know. Often goes away. Says he has to get inspiration for his art. Anyway, it’s Cup weekend. Right? He’s probably gone to Melbourne for the spring carnival.”
“Does he gamble?”
“Who doesn’t? Gamble on the Melbourne Cup, I mean.”
Like Ned Kelly, the Melbourne Cup is endemic to the Australian culture. It’s a horse race run on the first Tuesday in November and is known as ‘the race that stops a nation’. Melbourne Cup Day is one of the most important events in the Aussie calendar; some states even declare the Tuesday a public holiday, such is the popularity of the event.
“Is it usual for him to travel to Melbourne for the Cup?”
“Nah, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Dusty gave Kit an appraising look before taking leave of him. I realised what she was thinking when she asked me later whether I thought Kit was being evasive.
As soon as we were out of earshot, Dusty gripped my arm.
“Did you notice what Kit did when I asked him if Brad got along with Fergus?”
“What he did? I don’t understand.”
“Didn’t you notice him shake his head slightly?”
“Yes,” I said, after a moment’s reflection.
“He shook his head while he was saying yes, or words to that effect.”
I knew I was supposed to grasp the significance of this, but I was at a loss. Dusty came to my rescue.
“That means he didn’t agree with himself. I mean, his body language didn’t agree with his words. People’s body language is uncannily accurate.”
“So you’re saying he knew that Brad’s relationship with his brother was not the best, but he didn’t want to tell you that.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
The excitement in her expression, which seemed out of proportion to the situation, was explained by her next comment.
“That’s what I was trying to remember about Monique. It wasn’t something she said that clanged in my subconscious; it was something she did.”
“You mean she shook her head when she shouldn’t have?”
“Yes!” Her eyes were shining now and looking greener than I’d ever seen them. “It was when I asked her if she’d been working on her laptop at home on the morning Marcia was killed.”
“You mean she said yes but shook her head at the same time?”
“You got it! It was only a slight shake, but it was a shake. Her words said yes but her body said no. She was lying about what she was doing that morning, Sean. She wasn’t working on her computer at home.”
At that very moment, Dusty received a text message with some startling news. Marcia Hamilton’s murderer had been arrested.
Chapter 22
“It’ll be interesting to see how Fergus reacts to this news,” said Dusty, tooting the car horn in response to the waves from people in the street.
We had now been in Byron Bay long enough for people to instantly recognise Dusty’s FJ Holden.
We were on our way to a family meeting after a frantic visit from Chris two days before. It was he who had texted Dusty when we were checking out Brad’s studio. He had wanted to meet with us urgently so we’d hurried back to Ardem and met him there. Chris arrived at the apartment in a state of such agitation that it took a good half hour during which Dusty made him drink strong black coffee, before he started to make much sense.
“It’s just not possible,” he said. His normally husky voice was pitched a little higher than usual and had a tremulous quality. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
“Chris. Just take a few deep breaths and relax.” Dusty coached him through the deep breathing.
“Now, start from the beginning and tell us what happened,” she said when she could see he was calm.
“The police came to the house this morning. They took Monique! Wouldn’t even let me go with her. I followed them in the car anyway and sat around the police station for hours. Finally they came and told me they’d arrested Mon for her mother’s murder.”
“Did they say why?”
He shook his head and raised his hands helplessly. “Something about new evidence. I haven’t had a chance to speak to her yet.”
We later discovered that after Dusty had reported her conversation with Roach to the police, they had lost no time in tracking down the person Morehouse saw on the path that morning. It turns out he was a visitor from England: a bird watching enthusiast by the name of Gary Evans. He had returned home from his holiday in Australia immediately after visiting Byron Bay, unaware that he was a possible witness in a murder case. I silently saluted the police for their excellent efforts in finding the guy so quickly.
Unfortunately for Monique, Evans had provided the police with the new evidence that led to her arrest. He had been filming that morning. After finding a secluded spot, he hid himself and remained very quiet, something bird watchers are extremely good at doing. His camera was aimed at the trees where he was hoping to capture on screen a rainbow bee eater. They’re especially colourful, apparently.
However, one section of the film, the section of interest to the police, had covered part of the walking track. Having heard a slight noise, like leaves being shuffled, Evans had aimed the camera to the ground thinking he might be lucky enough to film a lyrebird. He was disappointed to see that it was only a woman. He turned his camera back to the trees within seconds, but there was enough footage, which was date and time stamped, for the police to see that the woman was Monique. She had entered the walking track at six-forty on Saturday August 31.
The police asked Evans to send all the footage he had for that day in the hope he had filmed others on the track who might prove to be witnesses. Their hopes were dashed however. The only human on the film was Monique. The police consoled themselves with the knowledge that Monique’s image was clear. She was walking towards the camera, making identification easy. That, coupled with the fact that Monique claimed to be at home the morning Marcia was killed, gave them enough ammunition to make an arrest.
Dusty shook her head. “It was very foolish of Monique to lie to the police.”
Having been deprived of their prime suspect in Norman Roach, the police must have been elated to find another one so soon.
Dusty and I had been sure the crime had been committed by a man. On the other hand that did not rule out a woman. Monique, with her athletic physique and tall build, had the physical capability to carry out the crime. But it just wasn’t right. That Monique, a mother herself, could have killed her own mother was inconceivable to me. As distasteful as it was to think of Fergus committing the murder, it was preferable to one of Marcia’s daughters being guilty. When I expressed my disappointment about Monique to Dusty, she looked at me in surprise.
“Monique didn’t kill her mother,” she said, with firm conviction.
That was the message she took to the meeting called by Fergus to discuss Monique’s situation.
At Fergus’s house, there was no trace of the jovial atmosphere of the Melbourne Cup carnival that was bubbling elsewhere in Byron, and probably all over Australia. It was a solemn group of individuals that sat in the living room. A brooding Chris slumped in one of the straw coloured armchairs. Summer and Toby were sitting on a sofa, their heads together in quiet conversation. Toby appeared to be trying to reassure his sister. Lucy, with dark shadows under her eyes, looked as though she hadn’t slept well. Fergus was the only one calm and controlled.
; In an effort to distract Lucy, I asked after Coco and was rewarded with a bright smile.
“She’s having a physics lesson. She became very interested in the subject after reading Stephen Hawking’s book. There’s a retired Professor of Physics living in Byron who agreed to give her lessons twice a week. Although, I’m not sure lessons is the right word. According to Mrs Whyte, the Physics Professor, all she has to do is answer queries Coco has from various books she’s already read on the subject.”
Talking about her daughter had brought animation to her face and she now looked less tense. I patted myself on the back for a job well done.
“Have you found out something that might help Monique?” asked Fergus, placing two cups of coffee on the low table in front of the sofa Dusty and I were sitting on.
“Not yet,” said Dusty.
Fergus sighed, bent forward and ran a hand through his hair and down along the back of his neck in a gesture of despair.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” he said. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it looks like we might have to face the possibility that Monique murdered Mum.”
“Dad! No.” Summer’s usually soft voice was shrill with desperation.
“It’s not true,” said Chris emphatically.
“Of course it’s not true,” said Lucy. She turned to Dusty, eyes blazing. “This has happened because of you. You’ve been stirring things up and now it’s all gone wrong.”
“I think what you mean, Lucy, is that I had the temerity to prove that Norman Roach was not your mother’s killer.”
Lucy, grim mouthed, stared at Dusty who returned the stare calmly. Finally, tears welled in Lucy’s eyes. She looked away.
“I wish we’d never invited her to investigate,” she said in a voice shaking with emotion. “And I think we should put a stop to it. Right now! It’s just making things worse.”
Lucy seemed frightened. For a fleeting moment I wondered if she was frightened on her own behalf but quickly dismissed that idea. It was her sister she was fearful for.
“No, Auntie Luce,” said Toby. “Dusty’s solved every cold case she’s ever worked on. She’ll find the real killer and help Auntie Mon.” He looked to Dusty for confirmation.
“Finding the real killer has always been my intention,” said Dusty.
“But you think the real killer is Mon. I know you do,” said Lucy.
Dusty, who was regarding Lucy carefully, made no attempt to correct her.
Toby tried to placate his aunt. “It’s all right, Auntie Luce. It can’t be Auntie Mon cos she’s a woman. Isn’t it true that this sort of crime is more likely to be done by a man; most likely a man between the age of 30 and 65?” Toby’s eyes sought agreement from Dusty. “I learnt that from one of your books,” he added.
Before Dusty could comment, Chris cut in angrily. “Forget your damn theories. It can’t be Mon because she’s not a murderer.”
“I can’t imagine Mon doing such a thing either,” said Fergus. “But we shouldn’t ignore the evidence. She was on the track that morning and she lied about it; to the police and to us.”
Fergus, I thought, might have been more disappointed about Monique lying to the family, to him, than about her lying to the police.
“She’s explained that,” said Chris.
Dusty jerked her head up. “What explanation did she give?”
“She was doing the accounts on the computer that morning and was worried about the business; her business – Cavenbah Creations. She felt she just had to get out so she went for a jog to clear her head. She often did that; went for a jog when she was feeling pressured about something.”
I could see that Fergus, who was shaking his head, did not find Monique’s explanation satisfactory.
“Why did she lie about it?” asked Dusty.
Chris heaved a sigh. “She didn’t want me to know how bad things were; didn’t want anyone to know. She was embarrassed that her business wasn’t doing well. So when she realised I hadn’t missed her that morning, she decided to pretend she’d been at her computer the whole time. That way she could avoid questions.”
Dusty raised a quizzical eyebrow. “So she lied to you, her own husband? Surely you would have supported her – not judged her.”
“Of course I would. Mon knew that, but her pride was at stake. And technically, she didn’t lie to me. I didn’t ask her where she’d been that morning. I just assumed she’d been at home. It wasn’t until the murder investigation began that she lied. She realised it wouldn’t look good that she’d been on the track and had more or less hidden the fact from me.”
“That would’ve been the perfect time to come clean.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Chris, looking regretful. “But I don’t think Mon was thinking clearly. You have to remember that she had just gone through almost two weeks of stress worrying about her mother. Then on top of all that she, like the rest of the family, had to face the awful truth that Marcia had been brutally murdered.”
Dusty indicated her understanding with a nod. “So now she’s offered this explanation to the police and they don’t believe her?”
Chris shook his head. “No, they don’t. And it’s beginning to look like her own brother doesn’t believe her.”
He directed a fierce glare at Fergus.
“I don’t know what to think,” said Fergus. “I don’t want to believe Mon had anything to do with it. I’m just trying to look at it according to the evidence.”
“I don’t think the evidence is what it seems,” said Dusty.
Chapter 23
This remark was met with surprised silence.
“What I mean is,” continued Dusty, “the evidence points to Monique’s innocence, not her guilt. Her explanation for why she was on the track that morning and why she lied about it is perfectly reasonable to me.”
“It sounds perfectly reasonable to me, too,” said Chris. “You,” he directed a resentful stare at Fergus, “talk about evidence against Mon, but there really isn’t any, is there?” His next comment was a sideswipe at Brad. “Maybe we should be thinking about why Brad’s not here.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lucy’s voice was tight with anger and tension.
“I’m not suggesting anything. It’s just that it’s rather strange that he disappeared when things were getting too hot. And why is he still in hiding instead of supporting Mon and the family?”
Lucy stared at Chris open mouthed. Fergus raised an eyebrow and fixed a glassy stare on his brother-in-law.
“Uncle Brad wouldn’t hurt Nan,” said Summer.
Chris looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course Brad has got nothing to do with Marcia’s death. But neither has Mon.”
“What if this is a vendetta?” said Lucy, her eyes shining with naive excitement. She believed she had found a straw to clutch onto, a possible solution that could absolve her family. “Mum might have been murdered by a crazy person who hated her just because she was rich. Now they’re targeting the rest of us. They might have some sort of bizarre plan to kill one of us each year. Something like that.”
She challenged Dusty to contradict her with a defiant look. But her face clouded and her shoulders drooped as a possible consequence of her theory occurred to her. “Brad might not be missing, he might be…”
Tears began to well in Summer’s eyes. “Has something happened to Uncle Brad?”
Toby put his arm around his sister.
“It’s all right, Summer,” said Fergus. “Auntie Luce is just exercising her vivid imagination.”
Lucy quickly crossed the room to sit next to her niece.
“Yes, Summer. Your father’s right. You know me, always thinking like a writer. It was a silly thing to say. I’m sure Uncle Brad is just fine.”
“What’s happening to our family?” sobbed Summer.
Lucy took the girl in her arms and rocked her, murmuring soothing words until she calmed down. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, Summer looked a
t Dusty.
“Please. Can you try to find Uncle Brad?” she pleaded.
“Of course I will. In fact, Sean and I will be driving up to Nimbin next week. And you mustn’t worry about your Auntie Monique. She’ll be all right.”
Fergus, catching Toby’s eye, gestured at the stairs.
“Come on, Sums,” said Toby, rising to stand in front of his sister and hold out his hand to her. “Let’s go and listen to some music.”
“Yes, off you go, Summer,” said her aunt. “You need something to take your mind off things.”
As Toby led Summer toward the stairs, Dusty stopped them.
“Summer,” she said. “I’ve been wondering about something you said the other evening at Rick’s.” Summer turned and paused, looking enquiringly at Dusty. “You told Toby you wanted something back. I’m just curious what it was, that’s all.”
“Yes, I do want it back,” said Summer, giving her brother a look that was a mixture of accusation and frustration.
Toby responded by holding out his hands palms upwards to protest his innocence. His sister ignored him.
“It’s a special pass to that New York jazz club we told you about: Bourbon Street,” she said to Dusty. “Nan bought it for me when she was overseas. She gave it to me when she came round for dinner that last night.” Summer paused in reflection for a moment, no doubt with images of her grandmother alive and well when she last saw her. “It’s fantastic. It’s embossed in gold and very expensive; just the best gift Nan could have bought me. Then Toby went and lost it!”
“I didn’t lose it, Sums. Really!” Toby’s emphatic denial seemed sincere, but Summer shook her head.
A Devious Mind Page 14
