“Why would you need to know about that?” Lucy gave Dusty a challenging stare.
“It’s probably got no relevance to the book at all, but since it’s been mentioned, my curiosity has been aroused. Whatever it is, I’ll find out eventually. What can you tell me about it, Lucy?”
“It was nothing. And you’re right, it isn’t relevant.”
“Just the same, I’m not going to rest until I find out what it is.”
A look of resignation crossed Lucy’s face. “Brad was engaged to be married. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I think there was more to it than that, Lucy. They didn’t get married did they?”
Lucy shook her head.
“Were they high school sweethearts?”
“No. Grace wasn’t a local. She came to Byron as a backpacker. She was a free spirit, like Brad.”
“Your mother didn’t approve. Was that it?”
“That didn’t bother Brad,” said Lucy. “He and Grace were so much in love. Nothing could stop them. Their love made them invincible. Then one day Grace disappeared. She just left as suddenly as she came without a word to anyone. Brad was heartbroken. He blamed Mum because he felt she hadn’t made Grace feel welcome in the family.”
“Did he confront her about it?”
Lucy caressed the strap of her shoulder bag.
“Brad hardly ever gets angry but… well, he was eighteen and high on hormones, I suppose, and absolutely devastated about Grace.”
“What happened?”
“He was like… It was like something had been unleashed in him. He was out of control. He screamed at Mum, called her all sorts of names. He just lost it; smashed everything he could lay his hands on and threw great heavy pieces of furniture out through the windows. There was glass flying everywhere.”
“Did he hurt your mother?”
“No. She got out of the way as soon as he started smashing things. It was almost as if he had to keep breaking things to stop himself from attacking Mum. Like that was what he really wanted to do. It was awful. After a while he sort of ran out of steam and just slumped down on the bottom step of the stairs with his head in his hands, crying.”
“Had he ever had violent episodes like that before?”
“No. Never. And he’s never been like that since.”
“Did he go on blaming your mother for Grace leaving?”
“He did for a long time, but he got over it. When you’re eighteen and you suddenly lose the love of your life, it’s like the world has come to an end. Then, as you get older, you realise the world has lots of heartbreak to throw at you and you need to learn to deal with it in a reasonable way.”
“What was his relationship with Marcia like after that?”
“Things changed. Brad just went his own way from that time on and didn’t really have much to do with the family. In a way, it became an opportunity for him to follow his dream. He dropped out of school and set himself up as a painter. Mum wasn’t happy about that but Brad just didn’t care. He didn’t even care about the family money. I suppose that sort of took away Mum’s power to have control over what he did.”
“So in a way, he got his revenge for what she did or what he thought she’d done.”
“I don’t think he was trying to get revenge. Brad had always showed talent for art even at school. He dreamed of spending his days painting. Going to university wasn’t high on his list of priorities, but he probably would have gone just to keep the peace if he hadn’t detached himself from Mum.”
“What happened to Grace?”
Lucy shrugged. “No-one knows. Brad never heard from her again. That hurt him a lot. Even if Mum had driven her away, Grace could have left him a note or sent him some sort of explanation.”
Dusty’s phone alerted her to an incoming call with a shrill ring. “Excuse me. I’ll just check who this is.” She pulled her phone from the side pocket of her bag. “It’s Chris,” she said, looking at the screen. “I’d better answer it. It might be news about Monique.”
I knew immediately from the look on Dusty’s face as she listened to what Chris was saying that he was the bearer of bad news.
After she ended the call, Dusty stared past us out at the ocean in sombre silence. Lucy could barely contain her impatience, looking at Dusty and almost willing her to tell us what Chris had said. Finally, Dusty spoke.
“The police have found Marcia’s jewellery.” Her voice was a flat monotone.
“What! Where?” This was from Lucy.
Dusty’s reaction to Chris’s news was enough to tell me that the location of the jewellery must have implicated Monique.
“Where did they find Marcia’s jewellery?” I asked. “I thought they’d already carried out a thorough search of Monique’s home and her studio.”
Dusty heaved a sigh. “They found it at an artists’ warehouse in Ewingsdale. It’s owned by a co-operative and is used by artists and craftspeople. Monique’s designers use it. You know, the Aboriginal ladies who do the painting designs for her fashion label. The jewellery was cleverly concealed in a cavity in the window frame in one of the outside sheds.”
“Did the police get a tip off?”
“No, Monique mentioned the co-op during the police interviews. The police have been keen to find the missing jewellery ever since Marcia’s body was discovered. They hoped it would yield evidence to lead them to the killer. Once they were convinced Monique was the killer they figured that a woman like her would want to keep her mother’s expensive jewellery. So when Monique mentioned that her designers work out of the co-op building, the police pounced on that as a possible hiding place.”
Dusty had the look of a child whose favourite ice cream had been snatched away from her just as she was about to take her first lick. Her conviction about the innocence of Monique had been shattered. Lucy, who had retreated into shocked silence, was pacing up and down along the boardwalk.
A slight breeze ruffled Dusty’s wild mop of hair, the sun catching it and enhancing its natural auburn to a fiery red. I wished the sun could stir Dusty into a fiery mood; it would be preferable to seeing her in this disconsolate state. When she finished her contemplation of the ocean, Dusty turned to me.
“How could this happen, Sean?”
I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to her being wrong or Monique being a murderer. I decided this was one of those times I needed to keep my mouth shut, but I acknowledged her question with a shake of my head.
“It can’t be Monique,” she said after a pause.
Even now, with this damning new evidence, she was not willing to let go of her belief that Monique had not killed her mother.
“It’s all wrong,” said Lucy, coming to a halt next to us. “I’ve got to fetch Coco. I’ve got to go. I need to talk to Fergus. This is awful news.” She hurried away.
“It’s all wrong.” Dusty repeated Lucy’s statement. “Someone planted those jewels at the warehouse. And that someone was, without a doubt, the killer of Marcia Hamilton.”
She turned to me. The gleam in her eye indicated some of her usual vitality was returning.
“This is not bad news, Sean,” she said, grabbing my arm excitedly. “This is not bad news!”
Chapter 28
“What do you mean about the discovery of Marcia’s jewellery not being bad news? Surely it’s very bad news for Monique.”
Instead of retracing our steps to return to Walkara, we continued our walk, passing the magnificent white lighthouse, its outbuildings and keeper’s cottage. The sounds of the ocean and the taste of salt air followed us.
“Well, yes,” said Dusty, who was walking at a more leisurely pace than she had previously. “It looks bad at the moment. But don’t you see, Sean. By planting the jewels in a way that would further incriminate and ensure Monique’s conviction, the killer has shown his hand.”
We made our way down a stepped path through the shaded rainforest, pausing our conversation as a young mother carrying a baby on her back approache
d from the opposite direction. I moved behind Dusty so that we were in single file instead of side by side to allow the woman to pass. In typical Byron Bay fashion, we exchanged friendly greetings and smiles as she passed. When we had the path to ourselves once more, Dusty continued.
“It’s highly likely that the person who hid the jewellery there was someone close to Monique. The fact that her designers worked out of the co-op workroom would not be generally known. Not only that, but the person who hid the jewellery must have known the police hadn’t yet searched there.”
“So you think this confirms your suspicions about Fergus?”
“I think he’s a more likely suspect than Monique.”
Dusty’s stubbornness in sticking to her conviction that Monique was innocent worried me.
“It could just be exactly as it seems,” I protested. “I recall you once saying that nine times out of ten the obvious choice is the right choice. In this case the obvious choice is Monique.”
“Nine times out of ten doesn’t mean every time. It leaves one time out of ten when the obvious choice is the wrong choice. If Monique hid the jewellery at the workroom, why did she even mention the place to the police?”
“It could have been a situation where not to mention it would have looked worse.”
I tripped on a partly submerged tree root, instinctively reached out to Dusty for support but managed to stop myself from grabbing her when I realised my weight would push her over. “Jaysis!” I said. Perhaps I even allowed profanities to escape my lips. I only just managed to stay upright by grabbing a tree branch on my side of the path.
“Not very graceful, but effective,” said Dusty with a grin.
I navigated a few more steps before returning to our conversation.
“If your theory is correct, if the killer planted the jewellery to frame Monique,” I said, “how did he know the police would search there?”
“He may not have known, but he would have deduced that the place would be searched eventually. He wanted to take advantage of the fact that Monique was the prime suspect so planted the jewellery in the hope the police would search there. If it wasn’t found, he could go back and get it and either put it back where he had hidden it originally or plant it somewhere else to incriminate Monique.”
“His original hiding place must have been a good one. He wouldn’t risk hiding it in his home, for instance.”
“My guess is he hid it in the bushland around the walking track. It would be hard to find there and it’s a public location so would not directly incriminate a specific person if it were found.”
Our walking trail led us back into Byron and to The Pass Cafe where we stopped for an early lunch and refreshing cold drinks. It was almost midday, although my stomach suggested it was way past that time. We sat outdoors under the shade of a sun umbrella in a quiet corner separated from the main dining area where we could talk without fear of being overheard.
A large bird with black feathers, a red head and a fleshy yellow wattle swinging from side to side around its neck, which I recognised as an Australian bush-turkey, loitered around our table.
“It’s looking for snakes,” said Dusty. “But keep your food out of reach. Bush-turkeys have been known to take food right out of people’s hands.”
I wasn’t sure whether I should be more wary of this aggressive looking bird or the snakes it was looking for.
“By the way,” said Dusty, as we clinked our long glasses of iced drinks, “I’ve been thinking about Monique’s statement to the police.”
“Right. Monique’s statement.”
“Yes. It means Chris no longer has an alibi. He could have slipped out that morning just as Monique did.”
I couldn’t understand why Dusty kept coming back to Chris. I wondered if it was because she didn’t want the killer to be one of Marcia’s children. My protest was quick and earnest. “But he’s doing everything he can to help Monique. Surely if he was the murderer, it would be in his interests to go along with the police theory instead of urging you to find the real killer.”
“Ah, but I believe he genuinely loves Monique. He doesn’t want her to be convicted of murder. Besides, if she’s convicted of her mother’s murder, she won’t receive any of her inheritance.”
The bush-turkey was pecking at the ground, dangerously close to my feet.
“It’s not always about money, you know,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my voice.
“No,” said Dusty. “But almost always.”
She gave me a searching look. I’m sure she found a mulish expression on my face but I wasn’t about to back down.
“Believe me, Sean, when I see a man like that, so devoted to his wife, I want to believe in his sincerity too. I probably want to believe Chris is what he seems to be even more than you do.”
I recalled how on a previous occasion Dusty had berated herself for being ‘stupid and old fashioned’ when she admitted to wanting to believe in a man who had the ‘moral fibre to be loyal to the one he was committed to’.
“What about motive?” I said. “Chris doesn’t have a motive to murder Marcia. He wasn’t in desperate need of…”
It was at that moment that I suddenly remembered what it was about Chris that had been lurking at the back of my mind.
Dusty was looking at me intently. “He wasn’t in desperate need of money. That’s what you were about to say, wasn’t it? What stopped you? What is it Sean?”
A dark mood descended on me as I realised the implications of what I had just remembered about Chris. I kicked at the bush-turkey under the table. It retaliated swiftly with a sharp peck at my shoe which was no less than I deserved. I had no right taking out my angst on the poor bird.
“When Chris and I were talking…” I began reluctantly.
“The day we were at their home, Chris and Monique’s home?”
I nodded.
“You were talking a lot of computer gobbledygook.”
“It might have sounded like gobbledygook to you,” I said, “but it made complete sense to us. Chris has developed a prototype for a revolutionary app. He was understandably cautious about giving me too many details but the end result will be an app that can detect the early stages of diseases such as cancer. He got the idea after seeing a documentary on dogs detecting cancer in people even before the cancer had begun, at what they call stage zero. Chris has come up with an app that can virtually do the same thing. He believes it could be the next big thing in technology. He really believes in it.”
“Sounds pretty amazing. And he needs money to take it to the next level?”
“Yes.”
“How much money?”
“A lot. It takes a lot of money to get a product like that to market.”
“I see,” said Dusty. “So Chris ticks all the boxes. He has means, motive and opportunity. And he’s a male.”
I shook my head. “If Chris is the killer, we have to accept that he planted evidence to incriminate Monique. I can’t see him doing that.”
I tucked my feet further under the seat hoping the big black bird would soon lose interest in me and our table.
“Ah, but what if the jewellery has been there all along?” said Dusty. “He might have hidden it there right after the murder because he thought it was a secure hiding place. He probably didn’t intend to leave it there forever. He could have planned on moving it later on. As time passed and the focus was on Norman Roach, he might have thought it was safe to leave it there. Then when the police arrested Monique, he didn’t have the chance to retrieve the jewellery before they found it. In fact, the window of opportunity to get to the co-op and plant the jewellery or to retrieve it was so small, it makes more sense that it’s been there all along.”
I wasn’t ready to give up my fight for Chris. “What about this narcissistic personality you were talking about? Chris doesn’t fit that profile, does he?”
Dusty gave me an appraising look. “I like that about you, Sean. Your loyalty, I mean. You like Ch
ris and you stick up for him even when the odds seem stacked against him.” I basked in the unexpected warm smile she gave me. “As far as the narcissistic personality is concerned, you are right. Chris doesn’t fit the profile.”
I had to restrain myself from looking smug. At least I hoped it didn’t show. Unfortunately, my complacency was extinguished with Dusty’s next comment.
“On the other hand, you might recall that I did say narcissistic personalities are good at hiding behind a socially acceptable facade.”
There wasn’t much more I could say on Chris’s behalf. The bush-turkey, too, knew when to give up. It wandered out from under our table and scurried away to the decking area where it was sure to pick up the odd morsel dropped by a careless diner.
“I think,” said Dusty, “it’s time to go to jail.”
Chapter 29
It wasn’t just the austere surroundings and the uniformed police guard that unsettled me. It was also the dramatic change in Monique’s appearance; her face was pallid and dark shadows circled her eyes. In those eyes I saw defeat.
She was in custody awaiting a bail application. Whether she knew it or not there was probably little chance of the application being approved. Dusty had told me successful bail applications were rare in murder cases.
Monique greeted us solemnly when we sat down opposite her at the steel table.
“Monique,” said Dusty, gently. “I know you didn’t kill your mother.”
Monique blinked. Tears welled. She lowered her head to hide her embarrassment, took a tissue from a pocket and dabbed her eyes. When she looked up, she offered Dusty a smile that was reminiscent of her normal self.
“You don’t know what it means to hear you say that,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard Chris say it.”
She nodded. “Oh, yes, of course. But to hear someone… someone independent… say it. That means so much.”
“Well, my aim is to prove your innocence to the outside world. Then you’ll hear it a lot more.” This produced further tears which Monique dabbed as Dusty continued. “I believe your mother’s jewellery was planted in the shed at the co-op to incriminate you.”
A Devious Mind Page 18
