Dying Words (A Ghostwriter Mystery)

by C. A. Larmer

  It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to lose its shine. Roxy spotted Wolfgang sitting just beyond the shade of the willow tree in a recliner, a blanket over his legs and what looked like a dark hat on his head.

  Ginny took the pebbled pathway towards the tree and then held a hand up half way along to indicate that Roxy was to remain put. Ginny continued on, bent over and had a word with her husband before waving a hand to usher Roxy on.

  Roxy walked up slowly, giving him enough time to gather himself, then smiled as she approached. He was wearing another velour tracksuit and had a fisherman’s cap over his scaly bald head. Beside him was a small, wicker table on which had been placed a newspaper, a jug of water and an empty glass. Things must be grim, Roxy thought. He’s off the scotch.

  “You’re becoming my stalker,” he said croakily, his watery eyes meeting hers. Today they were more lacklustre than lecherous and she preferred them that way.

  He waved at one of the chairs under the tree and she pulled it closer and sat down. Ginny remained standing behind her husband, her arms still crossed, her eyebrows nudged together fiercely.

  “I’m really sorry to disturb you again, Sir Wolfgang, but I need to ask you another question regarding Berny Tiles.”

  “I hope Sondra is paying you well for chasing your own pretty little tail.”

  She ignored this and said, “I spoke to Gordon Reilly today.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Gordo, eh? So you tracked him down.”

  “Yes, he’s here in Sydney, and he’s now off the grog.” She decided not to mention his living status; she had a feeling Wolfgang would relish the information and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “Good for him.”

  “I asked him about that 1975 Survey Congress. Gordon tells me it was a dreadful day. Can you tell me a bit more about that?”

  He coughed violently and his wife reached down to pour him some water. “Is this really necessary?” she asked, handing him the glass.

  Bergman took a large gulp before saying, “It’s all right, Ginny.” He glanced across at Roxy and his expression was now one of amusement. “’Course that night was dreadful for Gordo. It was the day the stupid bugger realised he was no match for his beautiful wife.”

  “I know all about Betty’s affair with Berny.” She didn’t really, she was bluffing and the look of surprise that now entered his eyes wasn’t what she expected.

  “Betty and Berny, eh?”

  She nodded, unconvincingly. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

  “Then why are you here, Roxanne?” Ginny demanded, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Just get on with it, will you. Let’s have it done with!”

  “Gordon told me something else much more portent than that.” She looked at Wolfgang. “He said you ripped Berny off that day. Something about a scam?”

  “Oh for goodness sake!” Ginny began and Wolfgang held a hand up to mollify her. She tsked several times and looked away.

  “What else did Gordon tell you?”

  “He told me that Berny got played that night. That he lost ‘big time’. I just want to know what he meant. Then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Wolfman scoffed and a sliver of a smile found its way to his dry, scaly lips. “Lost? Berny didn’t lose anything. The way I remember it, Berny was the winner that night, not me.”

  “Winner? So why did Gordon say you ripped him off?”

  Ginny stepped forward now, long, glittering fingernails splayed across her hips, a look of outrage on her face. “Bernard Tiles did not get ripped off! It was all completely above—”

  “Ginny, please, go back inside. I’ll deal with this.”

  “I won’t stand around and let this woman—”

  “Ginny.”

  Wolfgang’s wife leaned in close to Roxy’s face, her own screwed up so tightly, she looked like she might snap. When she spoke, her voice was like a screech. “You tell that Sondra woman, her father got our best housekeeper; what more does he—”

  “Virginia!” The boom had returned to Wolfgang’s voice and she glanced at her husband and then back at Roxy, before tsking again and striding off down the pebbled pathway back towards the house, her voluptuous bum waggling behind her.

  Roxy wondered what she was talking about. As far as she knew, Berny didn’t have the income to hire a housekeeper. Meanwhile Wolfgang, who was watching his wife walk away, turned his shrewd eyes upon Roxy.

  “You’re taking the word of a deranged man who’s living in a halfway shelter, still brooding over his ex-wife?”

  “How do you know where—”

  “I know everything,” he said simply, his trademark arrogance in full throttle. “And I know for a fact that what Gordo is talking about has nothing to do with you, or Sondra for that matter. It’s history, ancient bloody history, and if she’d actually spent some time with her father in the months before he died, she’d know that. All she’s trying to do now is play catch-up out of some misguided sense of guilt or greed. I don’t know and I don’t give a damn. It’s too late. You go back and tell her, it’s ... too ... late.”

  He said those last three words very slowly, drumming the point home.

  “Too late for what?” she asked, knowing she was treading on very thin ice now but he didn’t reply, instead he began coughing violently again. She tried to help him to a glass of water but he brushed her off and reached a shaky hand towards his glass, taking several loud mouthfuls. His fisherman’s hat toppled to one side as he drank.

  Roxy said, “I’m sorry, Sir Wolfgang, I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to find out what happened at that Congress. Something happened that night, you’ve all admitted it, but no one seems to want to talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “So why cut the picture from the book?”

  “What?” He slammed the glass back onto the table, spilling water everywhere.

  “That picture I showed you, of the 1975 Survey Congress, was in your book. It was in the original layout. The publisher says your wife had it removed. Can you tell me why?”

  He stared hard at her as though not quite sure how to play it. He straightened his hat and then brushed the blanket down.

  Eventually he said, “You’re talking about a shitty old black and white photo. It was insignificant, it wasn’t worth the space. It’s certainly not worth your time now. It’s irrelevant to anything.”

  “It’s relevant to Sondra.”

  “Why? Does she think it has something to do with Berny’s death?” When Roxy didn’t say anything, his eyes widened again and he looked almost amused. “Good God, she thinks I had something to do with that?! She thinks I got up out of my sick bed and ran over her father—my old mate?”

  “No, no, not at all—”

  “But you clearly do.”

  “No, I—”

  “Didn’t you just tell me that Berny had an affair with Betty that night?” She nodded slowly. “Yet you’re here, interrogating me?” He leaned forward in his chair as best he could. “It seems to me that if anyone had a beef with old Berny, perhaps it was Betty’s husband.”

  “But he’s—”

  “What? Homeless? Doesn’t mean he can’t drive. I recall him getting about in a rattly old truck back in his day.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t have access to a—” she began and then stopped as the image of a white van flashed before her eyes.

  Oh my God, he was right. The police suspected a white van had hit Berny, and she knew there was a white van at the Matt Talbot Hostel where Gordon Reilly worked. She now recalled Gordon’s words, “I do a bit of driving, pick ups and deliveries”. She could feel the blush rising in her face and Wolfgang could clearly see it because he was no longer smiling.

  In a very slow, measured tone, he said, “You go back and tell Sondra she is barking up the wrong bloody tree.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit and I will be speaking t
o the publisher. How dare you come into my home and accuse me of murder.”

  Roxy recoiled. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “All you’re doing, young lady, is dredging up old wounds. You think reminding Gordo of that night made him feel any better?” She shrank back. “You think any of this is helping anyone?” He paused, coughed again then had a change of tack: “Is my book done? I was under the impression my book was finished.”

  “It is, yes.”

  “And are there any more questions you need to ask me for my book?”

  She shook her head and he stared at her with hard, cold eyes. “Then get the hell off my property before I have you thrown off.”

  Chapter 21

  It was a very shaky Roxy Parker who returned to her car that evening and made her way home. She had not meant to upset Sir Wolfgang, had already warned herself not to get in his bad books, and now she was so far in, she was practically at the Index. Roxy didn’t really believe he could hurt her, but still, it was a terrible way to end a business relationship and she realised that she had better alert her agent. No doubt there would be complaints coming in from the publisher, if not the man himself. This would really make the marketing department happy.

  Back at home, Roxy ripped her gear off and stood under the shower for many minutes, trying to let the day’s grime wash off her. But it was going to take more than some soap and a scrubbing brush.

  She eventually got out, dried herself off and changed into comfy trousers, sweater and bed socks, then made her way to her kitchen to retrieve a fresh bottle of merlot and a glass. Only after several good long sips, did she find the energy to call Oliver.

  “I’ve already heard,” he said, sounding blasé. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time you’ve pissed off a client.”

  She conceded the point. “Still, I went in accusing the man of God knows what, on the word of an alcoholic. What was I thinking?”

  “Obviously not much. Look, let it go, Rox. I managed to calm Ginny down.”

  “Oh my God, Ginny’s already called you?! What about the publisher?”

  “Nah, haven’t heard from them but she tells me you’ve set her husband’s recovery back a month.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Listen, don’t sweat it. We’re talking about Wolfgang Bergman here; you think he made his billions by playing nice? You just gave him some of his own medicine as far as I can tell. Besides, I hardly think a little tiff with you will leave a blip on his radar. They’re just bluffing, trying to put you back in your box.”

  “Well it worked. I’m about to ring Sondra and tell her enough is enough. I’m fishing around like a blind woman and I have no idea what it is I’m trying to catch. Or even if I’ve got any bait on my hook.”

  “Nice metaphor there, Rox. That’s why you’re my favourite writer.”

  “Might be an unemployed writer if word gets out about me harassing the client.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. Listen, pour yourself a steady drink and chill out.”

  “I’m already onto it. It’s got me thinking though.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Maybe he’s right about Gordon. I mean, the guy is clearly still carrying a torch for his estranged wife. I wonder why they never divorced? And he does have access to a white van. Maybe I am barking up the wrong tree? Maybe Gordon ran over Berny.”

  “What? Revenge, thirty-something years later?!”

  “Don’t they say revenge is a dish best served cold?”

  “Cold? It’s turned positively mouldy. Surely, if he was holding a grudge against Berny, he would have acted decades ago? That’s a long-held grudge, Rox. And do people really kill because their wife had a fling?”

  He was right, of course, and she sighed with exasperation. “It’s so bloody frustrating! I think there’s much more to this than a simple fling. Something obviously happened that night. Something so bad that no one wants to talk about it. I just wish it made a little more sense.”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it. This is Sondra’s problem, not yours. Let it go.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, knowing only too well she would not succeed.

  Roxy hung up then stared at the phone for some time before placing two more phone calls, both unsuccessful. Sondra was not answering her mobile, nor was Max. He was probably working late again, she decided, and penned him a quick text message, telling him that she missed him and would pick him up tomorrow. She wasn’t one for platitudes, but she had a feeling she needed to make more effort. She also wondered what it was he seemed so eager to tell her. She hoped it wasn’t bad news, but ever since he had called, an unsettling lump had formed in the pit of her stomach.

  Roxy then turned to her computer and constructed a long e-mail to Sondra, giving her the full rundown of the day’s events, being sure to include everything that Gordon and Wolfgang had said. After she sent it, she reread Gordon’s words again, carefully:

  My life fell apart that day, so did Betty’s. It was the beginning of the end. A dreadful, dreadful day.

  Berny had his own problems. He got played. The oldest scam in the book. Wolfie made him look like a fool at that Congress, which is why I’m surprised to hear he wanted the photo. If I was him, I’d burn it.

  She thought about that. Whatever happened, Berny obviously had a very different perspective of that Congress than Gordon. Not only had he not burnt the photo, he had kept it all these years and then called for it with his dying breath.

  But why? Was this really all to do with a simple affair? Or was there something darker and more sinister at play?

  Feeling increasingly frustrated, Roxy checked the time—8:55 p.m.—then grappled through her handbag for Betty Reilly’s mobile phone number. She placed the call and after many rings was about to give up when a male voice answered. It sounded strangely familiar.

  “Oh, hello,” Roxy said, surprised. “I hope I’ve got the right number. I’m looking for Betty Reilly.”

  “Betty Jones now,” the man snapped. “It’s really not a good time.”

  “Oh, sorry, I thought she’d be at home. I don’t mean to interrupt—”

  “We are at home. What’s this about?”

  Roxy hesitated. “Um, my name’s Roxy Parker. Who am I speaking to, please?”

  There was hesitation on the other end, too, and it felt like a full minute before the man spoke. “I’m Betty’s son, Brian.”

  “Oh, Brian, hello. I spoke to your mother yesterday. I’ve been trying to find your dad.” There was silence again and she realised this might have come as a shock to him, so she quickly added, “Listen, I’d really like to speak to your mum, if that’s all right.”

  She didn’t know whether he lived with his mother or was just visiting, but considering he was now forty, she had to assume the latter. Still, this guy sounded very protective and she was trying hard to place his voice when Betty came on the line.

  “Oh hello, Roxy, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” She sounded upbeat.

  “I didn’t expect to find your husband so soon either, but—”

  “My goodness, you found him?! That’s fantastic! Oh, hang on a minute.” Her voice lowered considerably. “I’ll just shut the door.” There was a pause while Roxy heard footsteps and a creaking sound. “So how is Gordon? Where is he?”

  “I found him at the Matt Talbot Hostel in Woolloomooloo, it’s down—”

  “Yes, I know where Matt Talbot’s is.” There was another pause and when she spoke again, she was no longer upbeat. “Oh dear, so it’s bad as we thought.”

  “No, Betty. Gordon tells me he just works there, he has a bedsit somewhere on Challis Avenue. That’s in Potts Point.”

  “A bedsit? Okay, well, that’s better I guess.”

  “I gave him your card. I asked him to call. I’m not sure if he will.”

  “No, well, at least you tried. Oh, this is such overwhelming news, Roxy! And such a surprise. We’ve both looked down at Matt Talbot’s before and had no luck,
you see.”

  “Well, he’s not using his old name. They call him the Surly Surveyor.”

  She half laughed. “The Surly Surveyor, that fits the bill. Oh, I am so glad he’s okay. He is okay, isn’t he?” Uncertainty now.

  “Yes, he seems fine, Betty. Says he’s given up drinking.”

  “Really? Good ... good.”

  “He asked about both of you and said to tell you he’s well. Not to worry.”

  There was another strangled pause. “How can I not?” she said eventually, her voice trembling with emotion.

  “Betty, he’s okay. I can assure you of that.” She took a deep breath. “Listen, it’s late so I won’t take much time, I just wanted to ask you again about that night, the night of thre Survey Congress.”

  “Oh dear, not now, please.” Her voice had turned hushed again. “It’s not the time ...”

  “Then can I come back and see you? Maybe at work tomorrow?”

  “Not at work, no ... um ... I can meet you for lunch, say around 12:30? Just out on the street, in front of my office? I really must go.”

  “Of course. Thanks, Betty, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Roxy hung up and put the phone aside. She felt a little better. If there was one good thing that had come from all of this, it was the chance she had just given one family to reunite.

  She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 22

  The man glanced at his watch, hoping he wouldn’t be late. It was early, even for him, and he wouldn’t normally be up and out at this hour, but the call had sounded important. They needed him in at work, and he was happy to oblige.