Chris and Fergus were staring at Dusty in disbelief.
“Funny that,” said Lucy. “You have a more vivid imagination than I do.”
Dusty smiled. “You’re right Lucy, but in my job I have to consider even the wildest possibilities if they fit the facts.”
Lucy was not ready to back down. “What about the fact that, if Fergus had driven out that evening to follow Mum, Summer would have noticed. She would have heard his car, or seen it.”
“Summer was listening to music, so would probably not have heard the car. And Fergus could easily have driven in and out on the other side of the house so Summer wouldn’t have seen the car from her room.”
Lucy shook her head several times; an expression of frustration, I think, at what she believed was Dusty using her imagination to twist the facts.
“Shortly after considering the possibility that Fergus and Chris were in it together, two things happened,” said Dusty. “First, with the help of Monique, I found out what it was that Fergus had seen in the police photos. I knew that this item had been dropped by the murderer. I knew why Fergus had panicked when he saw it.”
“That’s enough!” A vein pulsed in Fergus’s neck. With an effort he controlled himself. His voice was calm as he continued. “Your theory about Chris and me is ridiculous. Chris had nothing to do with it.”
Dusty was looking at Fergus with a glint of triumph in her eyes.
“It was me,” said Fergus.
“Dad!” This was an anguished cry from Summer.
Everyone else sat in shocked silence. It occurred to me that Dusty might have presented the scenario about Chris being involved simply to draw out a confession from Fergus.
“I should remind you, Fergus,” said Dusty, “that I have my digital recorder switched on.” A grim-faced Fergus nodded. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”
“It was just the way you said. Except Chris wasn’t there. I did it on my own. My sprained ankle had healed quickly and hardly hurt at all so I was able to move around freely,” said Fergus.
“The item you saw in the photo,” said Dusty, “was the gift that Marcia bought for Summer; the special Bourbon Street pass. Summer says it disappeared the night Marcia gave it to her, the evening she was round for dinner. How did you come to have it on you?”
“I’m not sure,” said Fergus. “I must have pocketed it when we were looking at it. There was a lot going on, chat and laughter and what not. I suppose I put it in my pocket without thinking.”
“I told you I didn’t have it, Sums,” said Toby.
I cringed at the tactlessness of young Toby who didn’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Dusty ignored him and addressed Fergus. “And you dropped it?”
Fergus nodded. “I must have reached into my pocket for something and dropped it then.”
Chris, who had been staring at Fergus open-mouthed, voiced his disgust.
“And you,” he jabbed an angry finger at Fergus, “you were going to let Monique take the blame. Oh, but you were going to get her the best possible defence. You gutless, yellow-bellied bastard. Your own sister.”
Lucy put a restraining hand on Chris as he made to get up.
Fergus looked at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“So there you have it,” said Dusty. “Fergus is the one who stands to gain the most. He was always the most likely choice for murderer.”
I raised my mobile phone. Dusty had given me the number of the local police sergeant and asked me to text him on her signal. She shook her head.
“The only problem is,” continued Dusty. “There was more to this crime than –”
Chapter 38
With uncanny timing, Coco, dressed in a short legged all-in-one outfit in purple and yellow, chose that moment to scurry down the stairs. Her shoes matched today, both bright pink. She looked over at us and screwed up her face.
“You all look too serious,” she said.
Lucy hurried over to her daughter. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Of course. I’m perfectly fine. I’m just hungry,” she said, reaching up to take a large apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen bench.
Dusty went over to Coco and squatted in front of her. “Coco,” she said, “Sean tells me you visit your physics teacher in Byron Street on Mondays.”
Coco took a bite of the apple and nodded.
“Does Mrs Whyte live next door to Julie Jones?”
Another nod from Coco.
“Coco, before she disappeared, did your nan give you something to deliver to Julie?”
Coco finished the piece of apple she was chewing on. “Yes, it was our special project.”
“Tell me about your special project, Coco.”
“It was the day before Nan went to the Vipasanna centre. Mummy and I were just leaving and Mummy was on the phone. It was a long phone call. While we were waiting, Nan said that Julie, that’s her gardener, might have her baby that weekend. She gave me two cards, one in a pink envelope and one in a blue envelope.”
“Coco,” said Lucy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to but when you finished your phone call, we had to leave in a hurry. Remember?”
Lucy nodded. “But I don’t recall you having the cards with you when you got in the car.”
“I put them in my iPad sleeve.”
“Go on, Coco,” prompted Dusty. “What else did your grandmother say?”
“Nan said if Julie had the baby before she got back from her meditation weekend, I should ask Mummy to drop the card into Julie’s letterbox, pink if it was a girl and blue if she had a boy. Nan had written Julie’s address on both of the envelopes.”
“Why didn’t you tell your mother about the cards, Coco?” asked Dusty, gently.
“Because Julie didn’t have her baby. Then Nan disappeared and everyone was sad.”
“When Julie did have her baby, how did you find out?” said Dusty.
“Mummy told me. Someone rang her up and told her. That was the day I was going to see Mrs Whyte. The cards Nan gave me were still in my iPad sleeve so when I went to Mrs Whyte’s I put the pink one in Julie’s letterbox.”
“Coco,” said Lucy, in shocked surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Coco had picked up on the tension in the room and the anxiety in her mother’s voice. Her big grey eyes started to well with tears. “Did I do something wrong?”
Lucy enveloped her daughter in a hug. “No, darling. Nothing at all.”
“I didn’t tell you, Mummy, because you were upset about Nan. I thought it would make you cry.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Coco. Thank you.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Coco,” said Dusty.
Coco soon returned to her cheery self and ran back upstairs to the roof room biting into her apple.
Lucy turned to Dusty. “I’ve tried to shield Coco from the news reports about Mum. She wouldn’t have known that there was a mystery about the delivery of the card.”
“So it was just a coincidence that Coco delivered the card the same day that Marcia’s body was discovered,” said Dusty, returning to her place at the top of the steps.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “A really weird coincidence. Coco delivered the letter in the morning when she went to see Mrs Whyte. Julie’s husband obviously went to the letterbox in the afternoon, after Mum had been found.”
After an anxious glance up the stairs that her daughter had just ascended, Lucy slipped back into her seat. We were a quiet group. The announcement Dusty had started to make before Coco appeared had mystified everyone, including myself.
“As I was about to say,” continued Dusty, “there was more to this crime than a son murdering his mother. In fact, this was not a crime of matricide. It was not the act of a child killing their mother; it was the act of a grandchild killing their grandmother.”
Summer and Toby stared at Dusty, disbelief stark on their faces. Everyone else in the room sat in stunned sile
nce. I was baffled. Surely, Dusty didn’t mean Summer or Toby. Then I remembered that Monique and Chris had two adult sons. Was it possible Dusty had found out something about them? Had one of them been in Byron at the time of the murder? Why hadn’t Dusty mentioned it to me?
Fergus was the first to recover. “This is ridiculous. Leave the kids out of this. I’m ready to pay for my crime. There’s no need for any further speculation. I’ll make a formal confession to the police and, of course, give you an exclusive interview.”
“The terms of our agreement mean that you must allow me to follow through on anything I consider relevant.”
“Let her finish, Fergus,” said Brad, his expression grave, his voice devoid of emotion.
Fergus dropped his head in his hands.
“In the end,” said Dusty, “it was Penelope who put me on the right track when she mentioned having to wear a wig to disguise her identity. That’s when I knew who had killed Marcia.”
The room was silent.
“In fact, Marcia never left this house alive that Friday evening.” Dusty was looking straight at Toby. “Toby walked her to her car which was parked under the jacaranda trees and obscured from view from the house. He clubbed her over the head, bundled her body into plastic sheeting and put it in the boot of her car. Knowing his grandmother always parked there, he had earlier hidden a weapon and the plastic sheeting. This was a planned, premeditated murder.”
An agonised cry came from Penelope. “No!”
“Wait a minute,” said Chris. “Monique and I saw Marcia driving past that evening, after she left here.”
“You thought you saw Marcia driving past. What you actually saw was Toby wearing Marcia’s distinctive shawl and a wig in a similar hair style to Marcia’s. Toby drove Marcia’s car out of the drive, waved to Fergus, making sure to keep his face averted, and later tooted and waved to Monique and Chris.”
“Toby doesn’t even have a driver’s licence,” said Summer.
“But he can drive. You told me yourself that he’s been practising in family cars since he was young.”
“But… Toby wouldn’t…” Summer struggled to finish what she wanted to say.
“Toby then drove to the lookout,” continued Dusty, “took Marcia’s body onto the bush track and rolled it down the gully. After that, he drove back to his grandmother’s house and set about making it look like she’d spent the night in her home. Without realising he had dropped the Bourbon Street pass, he then ran as fast as he could back home and down to the beach, most likely dressed in a hooded jacket to reduce the risk of being recognised. He was probably only on the beach for a few minutes, not for the hour he claimed.”
“Why are you doing this?” said Fergus. “Toby’s not the killer. I’ve already confessed.”
Toby spread out his hands to indicate his ignorance of the whole affair.
“What if I told you, Toby, that the police have examined the Bourbon Street pass which they retrieved from Marcia’s home the other day? Your father’s fingerprints are not on it. Not a single one. The only people who handled that pass were you and Summer.”
Toby’s glance flitted across to Summer briefly. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “I was in Nan’s house. But not on the Friday evening. I went over there the next day to get one of my DVDs. I wanted to watch it with my friends but I’d lent it to Nan. I must have dropped Summer’s pass then.”
“Did you and your grandmother share the same taste in movies?”
“Not like that. She was researching for a book. She wanted to get to know the things a teenage character might like.”
“Did you get the DVD?”
“Nah – couldn’t find it.”
“Where did you get the key to Marcia’s house?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“On the Friday evening when I walked her to the car. That’s why she took a while before she drove out. She gave me a bit of a pep talk. Said she felt I was responsible enough to be a key holder.”
“So she took it off her key ring and gave it to you?”
Toby hesitated. “What do you mean?”
I had the impression he was playing for time.
“Did she have an extra key on her key ring? Did she take that off and give it to you?”
“Oh, I see what you mean. No, she had had a special one made for me.”
“And yet according to the police files, when the police asked which family members had a key they were told that the only spare key (apart from Marcia’s) was the door key Marcia gave Monique. If you had a spare key, why didn’t you mention it?”
Toby shrugged. “I suppose I thought it might look suspicious.”
“But at that point in time, there was no thought of Marcia being murdered. She had merely disappeared. There was no need to be concerned about looking suspicious.”
Toby shrugged again and stared at the floor.
“Where is the key now, Toby?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have it on you?”
“Nah. It’s probably in my room.”
“Where in your room?”
Toby was running out of patience. “I don’t remember where I put it. All right?”
Dusty leaned forward and tilted her head to one side. Her eyes gleamed as she gazed intently at Toby. The cat was waiting to pounce on the mouse.
“We know it’s not there, don’t we, Toby? You know why and I know why. Because Marcia never gave you a spare key. You didn’t need one. You had Marcia’s keys. You just drove her car into the garage and entered the house from there.”
Toby shook his head vigorously. Dusty continued.
“Dropping the Bourbon Street pass wasn’t the only mistake you made, Toby. You betrayed yourself, as killers sometimes do, with a slip of the tongue. I didn’t recognise it for what it was at the time. But what you said stayed in the back of my mind until I finally realised why it had been troubling me.”
Dusty pulled her notebook out of her bag and flicked it open to the page she wanted.
“When we were discussing Marcia’s death, you said: It ought to have been different.” Dusty turned her attention to the others in the room. “Toby’s use of the word ‘ought’ set me thinking. It occurred to me that he could have been thinking about himself, about what he ought to have received or what his grandmother ought to have given him. Marcia had refused to give Toby a Porsche when he asked for it – refused, for the first time, to give him the gift he had requested. What he meant when he said ‘It ought to have been different’ was: She ought to have given me what I wanted then she wouldn’t have died.”
“That’s not true. Toby wouldn’t hurt Nan,” said Summer, her eyes wide in disbelief.
“It’s an outrageous suggestion,” said Lucy.
Brad and Penelope looked across the room at each other. Fergus had his head in his hands.
“It was because of the Porsche, wasn’t it Toby?” said Dusty. “Marcia wouldn’t buy you the Porsche you requested.”
“I told you; I didn’t really expect her to give it to me.”
“Ah, but you did. You always got your own way with Marcia. All of a sudden, she refused you. And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it, was it?”
“Of course she could afford it,” said Toby.
“You killed your gentle, affectionate, sweet grandmother who showered you with gifts and love.”
“Sweet!” Toby snorted. “Love! Love? She was a mean, manipulating old witch. She could’ve given me a Porsche. A couple of hundred thousand dollars was just small change to her. She was too friggin’ mean!”
Toby’s lips were curled up in a snarl. Hate flared in his eyes. His family stared at him in horror. Dusty gave me the signal I’d been waiting for. I texted the police sergeant asking him to attend.
“She was too mean to help Auntie Luce and too mean to help Dad. She was mean to Uncle Brad’s fiancé. She was always using her money to manipulate people. Getting rid of her was the be
st thing for all of us. Now, everyone is free.”
Toby looked around the room as though beseeching everyone to understand.
“I did it for the family.”
Fergus groaned. “No, Toby,” he said. “Don’t say any more.”
But Toby was unreachable. “You ruined everything!” he yelled at Dusty.
Then to my horror, he flicked open a pocket knife and lunged at Dusty before anyone realised what he was doing. I saw the point of the blade descending toward Dusty’s chest. But her reflexes were quick. She brought one arm up to block Toby’s thrust, at the same time punching him in the face with her other hand. By now, Brad and I were almost close enough to grab Toby. But he was strong and fast. Before we knew it, he was behind Dusty and had a stranglehold around her neck, still holding the knife.
“Back off,” he bellowed, tightening his grip on Dusty’s neck. I could see she was having trouble breathing.
At that moment, three uniformed police officers entered the room. When I had texted, I’d told them to come in through the unlocked front door.
Unfortunately, even the police officers could not help Dusty. It would only take a jerk of Toby’s arm to strangle her. They were forced to stay back.
“Toby, love.” It was Penelope’s quiet voice. She was standing a short distance away. “You haven’t thought this through. Even if you take Dusty as a hostage, you won’t get far.”
Toby’s eyes did not meet his mother’s. “I did it for the family, Mum,” he said.
“I know you did, love. But you mustn’t hurt anyone else.”
Toby relaxed his hold on Dusty’s neck slightly. But Dusty, although now finding it easier to breathe, was still in danger. No-one in the room stirred. One false move that might startle or alarm Toby could mean death for Dusty.
Then Dusty’s head fell forward and her body crumpled. Her sudden dead weight took Toby by surprise. She slipped from his grasp to the floor where she lay in a pathetic heap. Before he could react, the police officers had seized Toby and handcuffed him.
A Devious Mind Page 24
