Dastardly Deeds

by Evans, Ilsa

  ‘Clearly. Which hotel did you say?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ He set off briskly and I hurried to catch up. We turned a corner and then descended a few steps into an alley before snaking back around. A hotel clung to the cliff face, with a staggered series of oddly shaped tiers offering a wonderful view of the bay far below. Donald led me onto the largest tier and then shaded his eyes as he perused the area.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ he announced. ‘Must’ve finished. So we might as well eat!’

  ‘Oh. Um.’

  He strode over to a table by the balustrade and pulled out a chair. ‘Here you go. Be seated, m’lady!’

  It seemed I had little choice. It occurred to me that the situation might actually be fortuitous. A conversational questioning of Donald might shed some light on the background to April’s death, which in turn might illuminate Kim’s. Even if he himself was the murderer, it was unlikely he would pitch me over the edge with so many witnesses milling around. Middle-aged woman tumbles from cliff-top restaurant. Lands on angry donkey.

  I examined Donald surreptitiously as he perused the menu. He might be a little off, but he just didn’t look like a murderer. I knew that this wasn’t very logical, but I watched too much CSI. There was usually something about their eyes, or their sneer, or some sort of facial tic. Never their eyebrows.

  A cheerful waiter came bouncing over and took our orders for wine and souvlakis. He left with the menus tucked under his arm.

  ‘Have you ever seen such a beautiful place?’ asked Donald, gazing along the cliff face. ‘Unbelievable.’

  I nodded. There were really no words. An awkward silence fell as we both stared at the view. Finally, I turned back to him. ‘So what do you do for a living then, Donald?’

  ‘Nothing interesting. Accounts manager at a building society. Boring.’

  ‘Ah. And your partner?’

  He blinked. ‘No. That is, no partner.’

  I felt a surge of sympathy for him. The relationship must have ended after all. I searched for another topic of conversation. ‘And you like Lego?’

  ‘Um … yes.’ He looked a little defensive. ‘A lot of people do. I suppose you think that’s stupid.’

  ‘Not at all. Some of the best hours of my life have been spent building Lego.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? Do you collect? In a club?’

  ‘No! I meant when my children were younger.’

  ‘Oh. Well, if you enjoyed it, why did you stop?’

  ‘Too busy,’ I said lamely. ‘You know.’

  After a long moment, Donald transferred his gaze back to the view. ‘Too busy. Yep. People always say that.’

  I stared at him. He was right. I had thoroughly enjoyed the Lego phase that each of my five went through. In fact, complaints that I was ‘taking over’ had been rife. On one occasion, unable to resist, I had stayed up till the early hours of the morning finishing the construction of a castle and then had to quickly pull it apart before the child with whom I was meant to be building it awoke. Yet, as an adult, it would never occur to me to buy myself a set. Interesting. There might even be a column there, too. The ideas were just tumbling over each other today.

  The waiter returned with two glasses of wine and a wicker basket of bread. Donald held up his glass and we clinked. I searched for a way to get the conversation started again. ‘And you didn’t like my column?’

  ‘The Lego one? Not so much. Why change what isn’t broken?’

  I leant back, glass in hand. ‘Ah, you’re a traditionalist. Fair enough. So I gather you wrote angry letters when they ditched the original gender-neutral Lego in favour of gendered marketing?’

  ‘That’s not the same. A company has to evolve, change with the times.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He blinked. ‘There’s no place for rabid feminism there. Totally unnecessary.’

  ‘Rabid feminism?’ I grappled with a surge of annoyance. ‘You do realise that feminism simply means that girls should be treated equally? So you don’t think there’s a place for equality in Lego? That while boys get all these aspirational figure-things—’

  ‘Minifigs.’

  ‘Whatever. So while they get scientists and astronauts and explorers, girls just get princesses and fairies and houses to clean? While boys get all the colours in the natural world, girls just get pink? And any attempt to challenge this, any attempt to even the playing field, is unnecessary?’

  He was staring at me. ‘But hang on, the pink stuff sells. So if that’s what girls want, then why not give it to them? Besides, Lego have released a new range of minifigs for girls. They are addressing the issue.’

  ‘You can’t have it both ways! It’s either an issue or it’s bloody not!’ I put my glass down before I spilt it. ‘And if you drown girls in a vomit of pink princesses, then yes, they’ll think that’s what they want. But if you give them scientists and archaeologists and pilots, then they might just aspire to something a little more. As for the new range, why the hell do you think they’ve done that? Because of the pressure! Because of columns like mine!’

  He opened his mouth and then closed it. ‘You’re very passionate about this.’

  I was still trying to catch my breath. It occurred to me that I was probably not going the right away about getting my subject to relax and spill some secrets. After a few seconds, I said simply, ‘I have five daughters.’

  ‘Fair enough. Anyway, I quite like a bit of passion.’

  With excellent timing, the waiter appeared with our souvlakis. I thanked him enthusiastically. Fortunately, Donald must have been hungry, as he dropped the unexpected turn of our conversation in favour of hearty praise for the food, along with the view and the wine and the service.

  I saw Darcy and Tessa pass by the restaurant, pausing to check out the menu by the entrance before moving on. I exhaled with relief. Darcy had looked quite content, which probably meant that she hadn’t shared her news yet. I folded my serviette and then treated Donald to one of my widest, friendliest smiles.

  ‘I have to say, I am absolutely loving this cruise. Do you know, I never thought of myself as a cruise person before this, but now I’m hooked. What about you?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Just … well, it gets a little boring at times.’

  ‘But you’re with your friends!’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I tried not to look too interested. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great catching up with them.’ He grimaced, which rather contradicted his words. ‘But maybe next time a shorter cruise.’

  ‘Ah.’ I hesitated, then decided just to go for it. ‘I did sort of wonder … that is, you’re all very different. I suppose what happened with April didn’t help things.’

  ‘No.’ He gazed at his glass, then picked up his serviette and wiped away a smudge on the rim.

  ‘What was she like? April, I mean.’

  ‘Loud, outgoing, opinionated.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘You’d have liked her.’

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. ‘It must have been a shock.’

  ‘Sure was. I never would have picked her as the type.’ He scrunched up the serviette and threw it on his plate. ‘And the night before, she seemed on top of the world. Having a few drinks, flirting with everyone.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘Sure, with me.’ He looked at me earnestly. ‘But mostly with Scott. Because, of course, I wasn’t interested.’

  I swallowed a grin. ‘Okay. So was she ever, well, romantically involved with any of you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ah, just curiosity.’ I gave a brittle laugh. ‘People fascinate me. That’s why I became a columnist.’ This was absolutely untrue. One of the reasons that being a columnist suited me was the lack of people contact.

  He was nodding. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. You seem like a people person. Well, in answer to your question, nah, April generally went for the dickheads. Besides,
I was the only single bloke at uni. Scott was too wrapped up in Anna.’

  I had forgotten about that. I sipped my wine, thinking. ‘Deb said he was devastated when she died.’

  ‘Sure was. They’d been broken up for months by then but the thing is, I think he thought there was a chance they’d get back together. I thought so too. They were getting on pretty well that night.’

  ‘What night?’

  ‘The night she died.’ He caught my puzzled expression. ‘We’d caught up for drinks that night. She died on her way home.’

  ‘Deb didn’t mention that,’ I said slowly.

  He shrugged, as if it was incidental. ‘We had a good time. Hadn’t seen each other for a while.’ He stared out across the bay. ‘Anna was on top of the world.’

  ‘What a tragedy,’ I said ineffectually. ‘A car accident, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Donald paused as the waiter reappeared to take our empty plates. He ordered another two glasses of wine and then beamed at me. ‘No rush, hey? Now, let’s talk about you. How’s the writing going? What’s the subject now?’

  ‘Crime,’ I said offhandedly, focusing on the job at hand. ‘So, what do you mean by “sort of”?’

  His eyebrows shot together to form a V-shaped caterpillar. ‘Have you ever thought that your curiosity might be a trifle insensitive?’

  ‘I am sorry. It must be the wine.’ I gestured towards my empty glass. I would have batted my eyelashes if I had not known, from experience, that this made me look like I had an acquired brain injury. ‘I’m a bit of a one-pot screamer. And her story is just so sad. I’m afraid I have rather a macabre fascination with tragedy. I’m not sure why. I do apologise.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine.’ He looked at me fondly. ‘I don’t mind. I said “sort of” because it was a hit-and-run. That is, she wasn’t in a car. She was at a taxi rank.’

  I stared at him. ‘A taxi rank?’

  ‘Yeah. Scott had wanted to give her a lift home but she said no. Maybe she thought he’d take it the wrong way. Anyway, we said goodbye outside the pub and she headed up to the taxi rank. Didn’t even hear about what happened until the next morning.’

  I was still trying to absorb this. Anna had been killed in a hit-and-run. Anna had been murdered.

  ‘The bastard didn’t even stop. Just sideswiped her and then left her there.’

  ‘Did they … catch him?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. They reckon it was some drunk coming home.’

  Our fresh glasses of wine arrived. I picked mine up and took a swig. I felt gobsmacked, but electrified with certainty. Anna had not been killed by some drunk coming home. She had been killed by someone she knew very well. The same person who, twenty-three years later, had killed her friend April. Who had then murdered Kim Satchwell only days after that.

  ‘Back in a minute,’ said Donald, getting to his feet. ‘Bathroom break calls. And then let’s talk about you. I want to know who Nell Forrest is.’

  I didn’t think that Kim had been mistaken for me. That scenario made no sense against this new information. No, the killer was a man who did not take rejection well. His crimes were opportunistic, but fuelled by an intense sense of entitlement that usually hid its face behind a jovial bonhomie. Anna had rejected him not once but twice, and he had run her down in a fit of rage. April had also knocked him back, after flirting with him all evening and possibly even inviting him back to her room. Being pushed from her balcony was the price she paid. And then came Kim. I suspected that she, too, had engaged in some enthusiastic flirtation and had then withdrawn consent. Possibly because of a lack of suitable venues for consummation. I knew the feeling. The following day, he had seen her wander down the path and followed her, no doubt expecting to pick up where they had left off, but had been rebuffed. Even worse, she had turned her back. That had been a mistake.

  I had never been a target because there had simply never been anything going on between us, not even a hint. I was clearly not his type. Maybe it was the hair. But he had murdered three women and each time had casually gone on with his life. He had even bought himself sunglasses in Istanbul with the ten lira note taken from Kim’s purse. Calm, collected and narcissistic. All the hallmarks of a psychopath.

  I took another sip of wine. I could see Donald coming down the steps from the bathroom. I sighed. I probably wouldn’t have been in the mood to continue our conversation regardless, but with this knowledge buzzing at my temples, I was even less inclined. He paused at the bottom of the steps and then suddenly swung his head around towards the balustrade by the entrance, as if someone had called out to him. Someone had. It was Scott.

  My stomach clenched. He didn’t look anything like a murderer. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. With his striped polo shirt and baggy shorts, he was the cliché of a daggy tourist. Phoebe stood next to him, gazing across at me curiously. I gave her a weak smile. She didn’t reciprocate. It occurred to me that she had probably expected Donald to join them, not enjoy an assignation with me. But that was a minor concern at the moment. Just as I had started to worry that they would be coming over to join us and I would be sitting with a serial killer, Scott waved cheerily at me and they moved away.

  I stood quickly. It was time to let Donald down gently. I had to find someone – Petra, Ashley, Deb – and share what I knew. It seemed almost bizarre, in this beautiful part of the world, with its whitewashed buildings and sapphire sea. Killers did not belong here, even those in Bermuda shorts. But the information now fizzed along my vocal cords. It demanded release. And his three victims demanded justice.

  Chapter 22

  The postal service also makes me grumpy. And chandeliers. And those magazines they have at the doctor’s surgery. The last one I picked up had a story about some psychic saying that everything was about to come together for Princess Diana. It didn’t.

  ‘I am going to kill you.’

  I shaded my eyes as I gazed up at Petra. Her word choice was a little unfortunate, given the circumstances. ‘I did look for you. Everywhere.’

  ‘You can’t have looked that bloody hard. I’m getting a drink.’

  I watched her stalk off towards the bar. Nobody stalked quite like my sister. I had actually looked for her everywhere. After I parted company with Donald, I had done the rounds of the township over and over, keen to share my revelations. I stumbled across Enid six times and Donald twice, but my own relatives had remained elusive. Apart from Darcy, if he could be still counted as a relative. I ran into him and Tessa outside the chairlift station and had to endure an awkward conversation in which Tessa wouldn’t meet my eyes and Darcy clearly thought I’d said something to upset her. They did me a favour, though, because I was already having second thoughts about the chairlift, even when the only other option was the donkey. But I went through with it just for a speedy escape. It was an eyes-tight-shut trip to the shore, lurching over the towers as the cable car skimmed down the cliff.

  The ship had been fairly deserted, with most people still enjoying the sights of the island. I ran into Enid again, but she made it clear that my company was not necessary. She was heading back to the casino. I spent an hour or so in my cabin putting together a perfunctory paragraph about Istanbul, minus the Gallipoli component, but eventually left a note for Petra and settled myself with my laptop on the upper deck. I hadn’t written much but, with my non-alcoholic cocktail and an expression of intense concentration, I thought I looked rather good.

  ‘I see you managed to get yourself a new hat while you were looking,’ said Petra as she slid herself onto the U-shaped bench opposite me. ‘Good on you.’

  I decided to go on the offensive. ‘Yes, because that bloody donkey ate mine. After it tried to kill me. Where the hell were you? I wasted the entire day looking!’

  ‘Even during your leisurely lunch with Donald?’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘That’s right, we ran into Scott and Phoebe. Didn’t sound like you were too worried.’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t enjoy myself at
all,’ I said, affronted. ‘I just thought maybe I should stay still, so you’d have a chance of finding me. Where are the girls?’

  Petra took a sip of her wine. ‘Skyping down in their cabin. They’ll be up later. And can I just say that your youngest daughter has been a pain in the butt today. She whinged all morning about her shirt until I bought her another one, then she whinged about not being able to find you, and about Griffin not skyping her last night, and that she was tired. Probably from all that whingeing. There’s a reason I didn’t have kids.’

  ‘Sorry. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘At one hundred dollars an hour, I’d say about eight hundred.’

  ‘I meant for the shirt.’

  She shrugged, took another sip of wine and then stared huffily over my shoulder. ‘Does it occur to you that I might have been a little concerned? Having just discovered last night that someone might be trying to kill you, and then you disappearing from the face of the earth?’

  I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Sorry. It wasn’t on purpose. But listen—’ I leant forward ‘—you’ll never guess what I discovered.’

  ‘That avoiding your family gives you a day off?’

  ‘No.’ I paused for effect. ‘The name of the killer.’

  Petra raised an eyebrow but before she could respond, Enid appeared by her elbow with a glass of champagne. She was wearing her muumuu again. She looked at Petra expectantly until she rose, allowing Enid to manoeuvre herself to the far side of the bench.

  ‘I’m being sociable,’ said Enid, before adding quickly, ‘for a while.’

  I smiled politely. ‘Lovely. Ah, how are you?’

  ‘Same as when I saw you before. Except one hundred dollars poorer.’

  ‘You lost then?’

  ‘No, I gave it away to a passing stranger. That’s the sort of woman I am.’

  She was clearly not in a good mood. Sociable was probably a stretch at the moment. I was rather pleased to hear the distinctive sound of Lew’s wheelchair approaching, even though it meant I would have to postpone sharing my news with Petra. Deb was just behind him, carrying a tray of drinks. She was beaming.