by C. A. Larmer
‘So it looks like you’ve wasted a trip, doesn’t it?’
‘It looks like it,’ Roxy replied as civilly as she could muster. She looked past the woman to the rest of the office, spacious and jammed with several dozen filing cabinets. The answer lay in there, she knew that, she just had to work out a way to get in. ‘Is there anyone else I can speak to?’
‘No there isn’t, I’m in charge here and I’m afraid I’m all there is.’ There was a glimmer of delight in the woman’s eyes now and it was clear she was thoroughly enjoying her little power trip, however mediocre.
‘Okay, then,’ Roxy shrugged, ‘thank you so much for your time, I understand your position and I appreciate your time.’
‘Oh, oh, well, thank you...’ she was surprised by Roxy’s change in tone, had clearly been expecting more of a battle, and tried for a smile. ‘You have a nice visit.’
‘Thank you, I’m sure I will. Good bye.’
As Roxy climbed the stairwell back up to the entrance she realized that there was another way to get to those files. She just wasn’t sure if young Sally had it in her.
‘You want me to do what?’
Sally had sounded excited to hear Roxy on the other end, as eager to solve old Frank’s murder as she was. The local gossip was, police chief Butler thought the whole affair a wash out. ‘Most likely a passing straggler looking for money,’ he had told several of the locals. ‘Maybe an old hobo or a young traveler desperate for cash, stumbled upon the church and old Frankie and got carried away. Maybe Frankie resisted, he was foolish enough to. Besides, I really can’t see how anyone could benefit from killing the old coot.’
‘That’s why you have to help me,’ Roxy said over the phone when Sally told her. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. I just need you to distract Beryl long enough for me to slip in and check the files. Simple.’
The young woman hesitated. ‘Oh I don’t know. What if she suspects?’
‘Why should she? She doesn’t know we know each other and you can simply deny all involvement if I was to get caught. Which I won’t!’
‘Oh...um.’
‘Look, Sally, when do you think she takes her lunch break?’
‘12.30. That’s about standard around here. Besides I’ve seen her at the milk bar about then once or twice. But that’s no good.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she locks the office up then.’
‘Oh.’
‘No, no, I know what to do. Where are you now?’ Sally’s voice had lost its anxiety.
‘I’m at the hospital, near the canteen.’
‘Wait there. I’ll be right up.’ She hung up without saying goodbye and Roxy couldn’t help a smile. ‘We’ll make a super-sleuth out of you yet,’ she said to herself.
As Sally made her way to the hospital, Roxy bought a bottled water and took a seat by the window. It was just after midday. They would have to act fast if they wanted to distract Beryl before lunchtime. Ten minutes later Sally was seated beside Roxy, describing her plan in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
‘It sounds good to me,’ she replied and then, with a laugh, added, ‘If you pull this one off, Sally, you might want to consider a career on stage.’
‘Oh I don’t know about that! Besides it won’t be hard to cry for old Frankie. Give me a ten-minute start and then come on down.’
‘Sure thing.’ Roxy did as instructed, imagining the younger woman appearing out of the blue in front of old Beryl.
‘I can’t handle it,’ she would cry, ‘Frankie’s been murdered and I don’t know what to do!’
Beryl would be flabbergasted, of course, unused to open displays of emotion and yet oddly proud that her young neighbor had come to her for comfort. Of all people, Sally had chosen her.
‘Now, now, dear,’ she would soothe, ‘it’s all going to be alright. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘But I miss him so much! And what if the murderer comes after me next?!’ And then Sally would bawl so loudly, Beryl would be forced to take her outside, to comfort her in the serenity of the gardens beyond. ‘Let me just lock up,’ she would say but this would only lead to further hysteria from the young woman and so Beryl would be forced to take her outside, away from the building and any listening ears who might suspect she didn’t have the scene under control. If there was one thing Beryl liked, Sally had told Roxy, it was being in control.
Roxy checked her watch and then began slowly climb back down to the basement, hoping that Sally had been right about her neighbor.
‘There’s an exit out the back way from her office, so we’d most likely use that one. Just come in the front door, get what you need and leave the same way.’
Roxy hesitated at the bottom of the stairwell and, hearing nothing, edged herself slowly around, ready to leap back should she see signs of life. But both the corridor and the office were empty. Roxy dashed up to the door and turned the knob. It was locked! She looked around frantically. What was she supposed to do now? Then she noticed the reception window had been left ajar. It seemed Sally had been able to pull Beryl away before she got to that lock. Roxy checked the corridor again and then pulled her body up to the window panel and, flinging her legs around, leapt inside. At just that moment a flurry of footsteps could be heard coming from an office down the hall, followed by voices, which were getting increasingly louder. Roxy guessed they were workers taking their lunch break and estimated that they would turn when they got to the stairwell, that she would be safe in just a few seconds.
‘I’ll just grab Bezza,’ someone called out and a separate set of footsteps began closing in fast. Roxy ducked under the counter, curling her legs tight to her stomach. She could not tell if her feet were poking out but it did seem like her heart was thumping loudly. Too loudly. An unfamiliar voice called out, ‘Beryl?! Beryl, you there?’ Deathly silence. After several excruciating seconds the footsteps started back towards the stairwell.
‘Must’ve already gone for lunch,’ the voice announced matter-of-factly and then the chatter continued as the workers climbed the stairs and faded out. Roxy sighed with relief and waited one second more. Hearing nothing but her own frantic heartbeat, she uncurled her legs and climbed out from under the counter.
The filing cabinets were like a maze behind her but it didn’t take long to track down the cabinet for Alexander (Beattie’s maiden name). Roxy had been banking on Beryl being as organized as she looked, and she did not let her down. On the side of each aisle was a sheet plastered with reference guides. ‘Birth Parents, 1960-70’ was, according to Beryl’s directions, down in the red section, under the code: ‘BP 2’.
Roxy flung the relevant drawer open and located the file within seconds. She was expecting a lot of dust, maybe a few tiny critters, as it was unlikely to have been opened in a very long time. Instead, it was fresh manila folder with the words Frank O’Brien & Beatrice Alexander scribbled in black marker across the top. The marker did not match the others in the drawer and Roxy’s stomach turned. She opened the folder and stifled a scream. It was empty. A brand-new, empty folder. Somebody—the murderer?—had beaten her to this evidence. There was no other explanation.
‘Damn it!’ she hissed. What was she to do now?
She glanced at her watch. If Sally was keeping up the charade, she still had a few minutes to look around. Roxy flicked through the other files surrounding Mrs Musgrave’s. If she could find someone with a similar situation to Beattie’s perhaps then she could find a common link, the attending doctor’s name, perhaps, or the midwife’s—someone who may have been party to the birth and could tell her what was missing from the file. This was a small country town and must have been even smaller 50 years ago. How many doctors could there have been? Within minutes she had located another couple who had given birth around the same time as Beattie. The mother’s name was Milly Smith and no doctor was listed but the midwife was: Agnetha Frickensburg. Roxy continued her search. She found two more women who had used Agnetha during their births
that year and four who had used someone called Zoe Callahan. She could not be sure that Zoe and Agnetha would even be alive today, but it was worth a try.
Committing the midwives’ names to her memory, she quickly shut the cabinet and departed the office as she had come, checking that she hadn’t left any footprints on the desk as she went and that she left the window ajar. Then she sprinted along the corridor and back up the stairs. When she reached the top, she slowed her pace down and, covering her face with one hand, as though coughing, she calmly left the hospital. She didn’t spot Sally or Beryl on her way out and she didn’t try to. She just needed to get out of there as fast as possible. She was in deep enough trouble as it was.
Chapter 19: The Angry Young Man
When Roxy returned to her hotel room she discovered a note that had been slipped underneath her door. It was from Police Chief Butler. He had a few more questions, could she please drop by the station, ASAP? She fetched her Filofax and a pen and jotted down the names: Agnetha Frickensburg and Zoe Callahan, then grabbed her handbag and jacket again, and let herself out. In the hotel foyer, Roxy came across the young barman from the morning before. He wasn’t smiling, just gave her the once over and skulked into the side bar.
‘Hello to you too,’ she thought gloomily and made her way back to the police station, past the empty check-in desk and towards Chief Butler’s office.
‘You wanted to see me?’ she said, leaning in through the open door. His head was down, reading some papers and he looked up, more than a little startled, and then out towards reception.
‘It’s empty,’ Roxy announced, helping herself to a seat. ‘Good thing I’m not a crim’, eh?’
Chief Butler was not amused. ‘I hear you’ve been snooping around where you’re not welcome.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean Sally Duffy. What were you doing talking with her this morning?’
‘Where? Who saw me?’
‘The Speak Easy Cafe, Miss Parker. Jonathan Brownie tells me you were down there with Sally asking her all sorts of questions.’
‘And there’s a law against that is there?’
‘Don’t come the raw prawn with me young lady,’ he boomed. ‘You could be in a lot of trouble here you know? Frank O’Brien didn’t have an enemy in the world and then suddenly you show up and he’s dead.’
‘Are you now saying you think I did it?’
He sighed heavily, then got up and leant out his office door.
‘Boomer!’ A meek voice called something out from another office and a young policewoman rushed in, red faced. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Just going to the loo, sir.’
‘Yeah well wait until someone comes along to relieve you. You don’t leave reception unmanned. Never. Got it? I don’t care if you wet ya bloody pants. You stay at the desk until relief arrives.’
‘O...Okay Sir, sorry.’
He ‘hmphed’ and then, slamming the door behind him, returned to his seat to glare at Roxy while stroking the scar on his nose. She didn’t dare smile.
‘Look, lady, I don’t think you did it any more than I bloody did, but I can’t have you wandering all over town interrogating the witnesses.’
‘Sally Duffy is a witness?’
‘Well, no, but she’s the only one who seemed to like old Frankie and I don’t need her upset, alright?’
‘You’re one to talk.’
‘Huh?’
‘Sally said you gave her a right working over earlier today.’
The police chief looked taken aback. ‘I thought I was very gentle with her. Short and sweet I was.’
‘Never mind,’ Roxy said, brushing her fringe impatiently off her face. ‘Look, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m simply trying to investigate another murder—’
‘Yes, well I made a few calls about that, to the guys at the Mosman branch and they tell me there was definitely no murder. It was suicide.’
‘That’s what they say. I suspect otherwise.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ He was really getting riled now. ‘You bloody journalists are all the same. Looking for a story where there isn’t one.’ He was stroking his cancer scar so hard now Roxy feared he would dig his way right through. She took a deep breath.
‘Beatrice Musgrave was a friend of mine, Chief Butler.’ Her voice was calm, almost mechanical. She had explained this so many times before. ‘I’m just trying to get some honest answers about her death, whatever the cause. In the meantime, I’m also a journalist. You can’t stop me from making some inquiries. Ask your wife, she’ll tell you as much.’
The police chief was not impressed by this comment but he did not challenge it, either. He let up on his nose and relaxed back into chair. ‘All I’m saying is, go easy, okay? I’m tryin’ to run a respectable murder investigation here and I don’t need little smart-asses from the big smoke coming in and twisting the facts. You’ve got no proof that this has anything to do with that Sydney society woman and twisting people’s minds is not gonna help.’
‘And if I do find proof?’
‘You’re not gonna find proof because I want you out of here. As far as the investigation is concerned, you’re free to leave and that’s exactly what I expect you to do. Pronto.’
‘What if I choose to stay in Macksland? Lap up the sights a little?’
‘Well, obviously I can’t stop you now can I? But I don’t want you interfering. I don’t want you talking to Sally or to anyone about the case. At all. You want Frank’s murderer apprehended? Leave it to the professionals.’
Roxy jumped to her feet and, unable to help herself, did a mock salute. Chief Butler restrained a smile. ‘I promise to stop seeing Sally,’ she said, ‘if you promise me two things.’
He looked ready to hit her so she quickly said, ‘Just keep a close eye on Sally, that’s all. If I’m right about the motive, then she may be next. She knew Frank’s private business and the killer might want to shut her up, too.’ He nodded slightly not daring to acknowledge her remark but she could tell he understood and she doubted he’d ignore any possibility of another murder in his district. Frank O’Brien’s brutal slaying was probably the first in a long time and, unlike his suspicious deputy, Roxy knew that Chief Butler was not looking forward to another one.
‘And what’s the second thing?’ he asked.
‘It’s just a suggestion, you can ignore it if you like.’
‘Yeees?’
‘Check out the birth files at the old hospital. Frank O’Brien and Beatrice Alexander—that was her maiden name—they should be recorded as birth parents of a baby girl about 50 years ago. But I have a feeling you’ll find the evidence has been, shall we say, tampered with?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Just a hunch.’
‘You get an awful lot of hunches, don’t ya?’
Roxy bat her green eyes innocently. She was on her way out when he called for her to stop.
‘Just one more thing.’ Now she was the one to groan. ‘If I was you, I’d keep your head down and out of trouble.’
‘Oh?’
‘It seems a few of the locals think you were somehow involved.’
‘Why? Because I found the body?’
‘Because you were asking about Frank just before he died.’
‘But he’d clearly been killed long before I—’
‘I know, I know. But the locals can be a bit bloody paranoid about outsiders. Just keep out of mischief and clear out as soon as ya can. Got it?’
She indicated that she did, and made her way back to the hotel. She had promised not to see Sally Duffy but that didn’t mean she couldn’t speak to her. She would return to her room and call her from there, and was just heading up the wide, wooden hotel staircase when the young barman called out.
‘You still here?’ he said, his lips twisted into a snarl.
‘Yes I am. Got a problem?’
‘As a matter of fact I do.’
She stopped walking and turned to
face him full on. This threw him off for a second but he heaved his chest up and said, ‘Me and the boys wanna know what your business was with old Frankie.’
‘Old Frankie? You mean the guy you didn’t even know existed yesterday?’
‘Yeah, well I didn’t recognize him in the suit. But I knew of him. Everybody did. He was a bit odd, but...well, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. How did you know ’im? Why were ya askin’ about him?’
Roxy sighed and came back down the staircase to the ground level. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business, but the truth is I didn’t know him either. He was good friends with a woman I knew who was recently murdered. I wanted to speak to him about her. But I got there too late.’
‘Or so you say.’
‘The body had been dead two, maybe three days by the time I got to it. I, on the other hand only arrived in town yesterday. Just ask Chief Butler, and your manager.’
This surprised the young man and he stood staring at her for several dumbfounded seconds. She waved towards the stairs, indicating that she had places to be, people to call.
‘Oh...Okay then, fine. Just checkin’,’ he said. ‘So you and the other one gonna head off now?’
‘Other one?’
‘Yeah, the skinny bloke.’
This stopped Roxy in her tracks again. ‘What skinny guy?’
The young barman looked perplexed once more and then backed away. ‘The one also lookin’ for Frank. Oh, never mind. Thought youse were together.’
‘There was someone else here? Looking for Frank O’Brien? Did he give his name?’
‘Nah, just came in, askin’ for Frank just like you.’
‘When was this?’
‘About noon. Figured he was with you.’
Roxy squished her lips up to one side thoughtfully wondering who it might be. ‘Was he staying at the hotel?’
‘Not that I know of, just passin’ through he said. Look, sorry if I came on a bit hard. It’s just real odd, you know? First you, then him, then poor old Frankie shows up dead. We’re all just wonderin’ what’s going on, you know?’
Roxy waved him off. ‘Fair enough, too. I don’t blame you, but you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with it. I am trying to sort it all out, though. Can you give me a quick description of this other guy? Was he young, old? Well-spoken—’
