He turned to face his wife. ‘You told me he said he was helping. You’re too trusting, Louise. Especially given our current situation.’ Richard turned his stern visage towards his son, who seemed to release the last of his energy under the scrutiny.
‘Like it’s my fault Ashley got murdered,’ George muttered.
Louise lightly touched her husband’s shoulder, the intimate act draining all the venom from Richard’s face. Suddenly he looked as tired as his son.
‘I never said that,’ he told his son. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he added to Oliver.
Oliver sat down at the table, opposite the McMurrys. There was a lengthy silence as each of them appeared lost in their own world of misery.
‘Why have the police decided to charge you with Ashley’s murder?’ Oliver finally asked.
George shifted in his chair and glanced at his parents, but they didn’t answer. Finally, he sighed. ‘They got a more accurate time of death. Apparently the mud caused them some problems to start with, but now they’re saying she died earlier. Closer to when we had a fight. They’re saying I killed her, then went out and established my alibi.’
‘Is that it?’ Oliver asked, thinking that didn’t seem enough for a formal charge.
‘No,’ George admitted. ‘Look, I was drunk, and pissed off at Ashley, and…’
‘You cheated on her,’ Oliver guessed.
‘No! Not really. I…snogged some girl in a bar, and someone saw me.’ He shrank under the blazing expression from his mother. ‘It meant nothing. It was a stupid thing that lasted a few seconds.’
Oliver sat back in his chair. ‘Detective Wilson won’t see it that way. To him it proves that you didn’t love Ashley and that you killed her and went out celebrating.’
‘But it was just a drunken kiss,’ George argued helplessly.
(Aye, we’ve all done it.)
I haven’t!
(All men have done it.)
The tinge of red on Richard’s cheeks seemed to suggest Angus was right.
Perhaps all McMurry men have done it.
‘It doesn’t matter what it was, it matters what it looks like,’ Oliver said. ‘Who was the girl?’
George shrugged.
‘Name?’
Another shrug.
‘Anything at all?’
George’s face scrunched up as he thought hard. ‘Cecee.’
‘That was the name of the girl?’
‘Name of the bar I was in. Cruising Company, Cecee. It’s up Cuba Street. The girl had blonde hair and a nose ring. I like nose rings, tried to get Ashley to get one but….’ His voice trailed off.
‘Why is the girl important?’ Richard said impatiently.
‘Because she might remember more than your son, like exactly what time they kissed, and he might have said something that shows his fight with Ashley was just that, a fight.’
‘That’s quite a few mights,’ said Louise.
‘It’s the best I can do until I track her down. Before I start though, George, I have a question for you that I need a straight answer on.’
Louise straightened up in her chair, indignant at the slight on her son’s good name. Richard frowned in confusion. George’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘What was Ashley’s relationship with Matthew Darcy?’
George scratched the side of his face in irritation. ‘It’s not my place to say,’ he replied.
‘Were they sleeping together?’
‘God, no,’ George choked on his own saliva and his mother slapped him on the back a couple of times until he got it under control. ‘Ashley didn’t want anyone to know, but…’
‘She thought Matthew was her father,’ Oliver filled the silence with the only other logical reason he could think of for their relationship.
George nodded. His parents looked shocked.
‘What made her think that?’ Louise asked.
‘Don’t know,’ George replied with a shrug. ‘Her mum told her something. She never said what.’
‘And she approached him about it?’ Oliver pressed.
‘Yeah, I don’t think it went well, but once Ashley had an idea she saw it all the way through, especially when it was something like this.’
(So the lassie was right.)
Unfortunately. I’ll never hear the end of it.
‘It’s hardly a motive for murder, though,’ Richard said. ‘So what if he had an affair twenty years ago? That’s ancient news.’
‘Maybe,’ Oliver agreed. ‘What happens now with George? I was half expecting him to be in custody.’
‘I have a good lawyer,’ Richard replied, with a hint of pride. ‘And George is innocent until proven guilty. He had to surrender his passport, but for now he’s allowed out until the trial.’
‘Where’s Claire?’ Oliver asked, and watched as the McMurrys exchanged looks.
‘She said you’d been to see her,’ Louise finally replied, and Richard twisted his face in annoyance. ‘Unfortunately she’s had a little bit of a relapse. The shock of the news, you understand. So she won’t be coming home quite yet.’
‘What sort of place is the Green Recovery Home?’
‘The best money can buy,’ Richard bristled.
‘I don’t doubt it. You obviously love your daughter a great deal to get her the treatment she needs.’
No one replied and, struggling to think of anything else to ask, Oliver told them he’d be in touch. He was escorted to the front door by Richard.
‘I don’t know what good you think you’ll be, but I believe my son is innocent, and if you can help find justice for Ashley then I don’t mind you poking around. As my ancestors used to say, It’s always under the last rock.’
(The gold’s always under the last rock.)
‘The gold?’
‘Excuse me?’ Richard said.
‘I believe the saying is, the gold’s always under the last rock,’ Oliver said, mentally cursing himself.
‘How did you….’
Oliver shrugged. ‘I guess I heard it somewhere.’
Richard studied him for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head, as if dislodging the thought. ‘I liked Ashley. We all did.’ He closed the door before Oliver could reply.
(That’s what my pa used to say when he was searching for gold.)
‘What? That everybody liked Ashley,’ Oliver muttered as he navigated the stairs.
(Ye’re not funny. No, that the gold is always under the last rock.)
‘Sure, like when you’re searching for something it’s always in the last place you look.’
(Aye.)
‘Which is a stupid saying, because when you find it you stop looking, so of course it’s in the last place you look.’
(Do ye always spoil everything?)
‘What did you think of your offspring, many times removed.’
(Richard? He was alright. A bit soft for me liking.)
‘Things have changed since your day,’ Oliver told him while unlocking the car and climbing inside.
(Aye, ye’re all soft. When I was alive ye had to work for everything. Nothing got handed to ye, unless it was a fist to the face.)
On that cheerful note, Oliver went to pick up the children from school.
NINETEEN
It was Friday, which meant no organised kids activities after school. Instead there were disorganised activities, such as playdates. Two minutes after the school bell, negotiations began and a short time later Oliver traded his daughter for someone else’s son. Rose left without a backwards glance to spend a couple of hours at her friend’s house, while Reed’s best friend Isaac was coming home with them.
The boys chatted excitedly about things Oliver didn’t entirely understand. Their conversation was full of words that sounded made up, and some that could have been the names of games or toys or possibly even classmates. By the time he pulled into the driveway, Oliver had the beginning of a headache.
Once the boys were ensconced in front of the television, and chomping down on f
reshly-popped popcorn, Oliver sat down at the dining table and texted Amanda. It would have been faster and easier to ring her, but he couldn’t face the smug ‘I told you so’ that he knew was coming.
Then he switched on the laptop and did some research on the man who wanted to be Prime Minister. There was plenty of stuff relating to his time in politics, but very little on his earlier years, other than where he went to school, and a puff piece from a woman’s magazine talking about how Matthew had met his wife of twenty-two years.
(Why don’t you ask the lass’s mother? Find out what she told her.)
‘I doubt she’d tell me.’
(Then get that Amanda lassie onto it. She could talk the cow out of its milk.)
‘You have some weird sayings.’
Regardless, Oliver picked up his cell phone again and was about to ring Louise to get a number for Ashley’s mother, when a foam bullet sped across the room and hit him in the middle of the forehead. Reed stood in the hall doorway, nerf gun in his hand.
‘Reed! What have I told you about shooting nerf guns at people?’
His son considered the question carefully. ‘Never shoot at someone’s head.’
‘And what else?’
‘Never shoot an unarmed man?’ Reed asked.
‘Exactly,’ Oliver replied. ‘So get me a gun.’
A short time later he was crouched behind a chair, nerf gun in hand, waiting for a tell-tale giggle to give away the enemies’ position. The stakes were high, winner got control of the television for the golden hour after dinner.
(What are ye waiting for? Go and get them.)
No need. There’s one thing I have that they don’t.
(What’s that?)
Patience.
Sure enough he could hear Reed excitedly urging Isaac to rush his position and seconds later both boys raced through the doorway, nerf guns doing whatever the equivalent of blazing was. Oliver waited in safety until they ran out of ammo, then calmly stood up and shot each of them in the stomach.
‘Daaad!’ Reed complained.
Both boys demanded a rematch, then another one, until they finally won a game, after which Reed immediately proclaimed his victory and ran for the remote control.
(Is that how the game works?)
‘He’s having fun,’ Oliver said.
Instead of following Reed into the TV room, Isaac peeled off and disappeared down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms. A few minutes later he came back.
‘There’s a man standing by your letterbox,’ he told Oliver.
‘Thanks,’ Oliver replied, but the boy was already gone.
He went to the front door. Sure enough, Victor was waiting patiently at the bottom of the driveway.
(Why didn’t he knock on the door?)
‘For some reason he won’t come onto the property,’ Oliver muttered as he stared at his visitor.
(Like a vampire.)
Huh?
(Dracula was my favourite book growing up.)
Huh.
(What?)
Nothing, I’m just surprised you were a reader.
Oliver opened the door and walked out to meet Victor, who smiled as he approached. The man was wearing his customary black suit, with a white business shirt and dark tie.
‘Mr Atkinson. How is your investigation progressing?’
‘Do you mean is it pointing in the direction of your boss?’
Victor’s smile widened. ‘Why would it do that?’
(Forget the mother, ask this bampot.)
‘Was Ashley Trent his daughter?’
Victor’s mouth narrowed and he thoughtfully pulled at the cuffs of his shirt. ‘Mr Darcy was very fond of the girl, in a fatherly way, hence his interest in the case.’
‘That doesn’t answer the question.’
‘I think it does, Mr Atkinson.’
‘Isn’t he worried this gives him a motive?’ Oliver pressed.
His visitor laughed, a short and sharp sound. ‘Mr Atkinson, don’t be naïve. In politics, last week is ancient history. Two decades ago is prehistoric and of no concern to Mr Atkinson’s career.’
‘What about his marriage?’ Oliver asked.
Victor paused. ‘That would be more problematic, but nothing that couldn’t be resolved.’
(Why doesn’t this lad say what he means?)
Because this way he can deny anything I think he meant.
‘Mr Atkinson, if this is the way your investigation is going, then I’d suggest a different tack. I’m sure your time is precious. Time you could better spend looking at other avenues, or playing with your son and his friend Isaac.’
Oliver felt his face flush and he involuntarily glanced back at the house. When he turned back, Victor was inspecting him with interest.
‘Are you spying on me?’ Oliver demanded, anger turning his words into bullets.
‘I’m doing my job,’ Victor replied. ‘And right now my job includes knowing what’s happening with you, Mr Atkinson.
(Smash him. Smash his tiny little face in.)
Angus’s urging had the opposite effect, and Oliver took a deep breath, feeling his anger ebb away.
‘Like I told you last time, I’ll go where the investigation takes me. If it takes me in a direction away from Matthew then…’
‘Then we won’t have a problem. My employer’s interest in this case is purely in seeing the culprit brought to justice.’
‘Victor.’ Oliver stepped closer, forcing the other man to bend his head upwards to maintain eye contact. ‘I don’t like you watching me or my family.’
Victor moved and for a second Oliver was sure he was going to be struck in the face. At the last moment, Victor clasped his tie and straightened the knot. ‘Then stop wasting time, Mr Atkinson.’
Oliver looked into his dark eyes. Fear raced down his back and out his bottom in the form of a loud trumpet. Victor’s eyes widened and he wrinkled his nose up. Without another word he turned and fled for his car.
(Aye, some men speak with their fists, ye speak with yer arse.)
When Oliver relayed the story to Jennifer later that night, she laughed so hard red wine slopped from her glass onto the carpet. She was still chuckling as she sponged the spot before it stained permanently. Oliver knew his wife well enough to realise it was nervous laughter. It didn’t take a genius to know she was thinking of the last time Victor had appeared in their lives.
(Just as well.)
‘No comment required, Angus.’
After he told her Angus’s opinion, she laughed again, only this time it was warmer and more natural. She deposited the cleaning rag onto the coffee table and crawled over to sit on the floor by Oliver’s feet, resting her head on his knee.
‘Let’s go over what we know,’ Jennifer said.
Oliver spent the next five minutes bringing her up to speed.
‘You’ve been busy,’ she commented.
‘I know,’ he sighed, ‘but I feel like I’m not getting anywhere. The only thing I know one hundred percent to be true is that George McMurry didn’t kill Ashley. And the only reason I know that is because a guy who’s been dead for sixty years told me.’
‘Consider this. You’re trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle that’s fallen out of the box. Before you can start, you need to gather all the pieces.’
‘Seems everyone has an analogy for this investigation,’ Oliver muttered. ‘The trouble is right now I’ve got my hand down the back of the couch searching for a blue piece that could be sky or water. And the last time I put my hand down the back of the couch I found a peach stone that had been there so long it was growing a new peach.’
‘Eww. Okay then, what are you going to do next?’
He rubbed the top of her head, ‘I can think of a few things that spring to mind.’
‘So can I, but until Angus is gone, they can spring straight out of your mind again.’
Oliver sighed in frustration. ‘Well then, I guess my next move is to go looking for a woman.’
<
br /> ‘The girl from the bar?’ Jennifer replied.
‘You know, you’re no fun when I’m trying to tease you,’ Oliver said, this time with mock frustration.
‘Exactly,’ Jennifer replied. She sat up straighter and tapped her shoulder. Oliver leaned forward and began to massage her shoulders. ‘How much of a problem is Victor going to be?’
He paused for a moment to think, and she wriggled under his hands, signalling for him to keep going.
‘It really depends whether Matthew Darcy had anything to do with the murder. My feeling is he didn’t. Victor is right. Apart from annoying Darcy’s wife, the fact that he had an affair years ago isn’t going to cause any ripples in his political career.’
‘Annoying his wife?’
He could almost feel her raised eyebrows. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. Please enlighten me.’
‘Jennifer!’
She laughed, signalling a temporary end to the teasing.
‘Can Amanda find the girl? Tomorrow is pretty busy for us.’
(Too busy to catch a murderer?)
‘Angus is questioning your priorities,’ Oliver said.
‘Angus doesn’t have to bake a unicorn birthday cake for a seven-year-old girl.’
‘Neither do you.’
‘No, but you do. And your book launch is tomorrow afternoon. So when exactly are you going to find this witness?’ Jennifer asked.
Oliver didn’t have an answer.
(This is important.)
So is my life.
(My family needs to be the priority.)
Not above mine.
TWENTY
‘What’s that?’
‘A unicorn,’ Oliver told his son.
Reed turned his head on the side and squinted at the cake. ‘Are you sure Dad?’
Oliver had to admit it wasn’t his best effort, but given the time constraints and endless distracting thoughts, it was the best he’d been able to manage.
‘What’s that part?’ Reed asked.
‘The horn.’
They both looked more closely at the pointed bit sticking out of the top of what was meant to be the head.
‘Do you think she’ll like it?’ Oliver asked.
Reed slapped his father on the back. ‘Sure, Dad. She’ll love it.’
Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set Page 35
