Without missing a beat, Wiles turned back to Roxy and said, “If there’s anything to be found, Detective Maltin will find it. Okay, let’s hear your story then.” He promptly pressed “Record”.
And so they returned to the night of Jed Moody’s murder. In clear, concise details, Roxy repeated the statement she gave Quick, this time making sure to include the mysterious conversation she had overheard between Annika and a mystery man in the living room that night. She also repeated what Alistair had said about Jed that morning.
“So there’s some genuine animosity between the band members then,” Wiles said, but before she could respond, Quick spoke up.
“The guys are good mates, actually.” He stared at Roxy. “How long did you interview Al for? What, half an hour? An hour tops?”
She shifted in her seat. “About two hours.”
“And you think you know someone in that time, do you? You think you suddenly know the whole dynamics of a band who’ve been together for decades, in just two hours?”
Roxy couldn’t help blushing. She wasn’t expecting such open animosity and she glanced at Wiles who remained silent.
“I’m just telling you what Alistair told me, that’s all. He called Jed an asshole and a selfish prick, his words, not mine. I have it all on tape.”
He tsked. “You got him on a bad day, that’s all. I’ve known the guys for a lot longer than you and they’ve always got along. Best mates.”
“Not according to the band’s publicist, Harry Houghton. He pretty much confirmed there’d been tension between them for a long time, off the record, of course.”
“Of course,” Quick said.
Wiles cleared his throat. “Let’s move on to the electrician, Sam Forrest, then.” His eyes switched from Quick back to Roxy who wondered whether Wiles found his colleague’s aggressive style as unhinging as she did. So much for thinking Quick might be a sympathetic cop. “Did you see Mr. Forrest, or anyone for that matter, loitering on the eastern side of the house, anywhere near the bar stairs, at any time before Jed Moody got on stage that night?”
“Near the fuse box, you mean?”
He didn’t reply, so she shook her head.
“And when Sam Forrest came to talk to you that night, about helping him with his sister’s case, from which direction had he come?”
She tried to think. “I don’t know. I mean, he was standing on the stairs when I came out from the bar, so I can’t be sure.”
“The stairs near the bar.”
And the fuse box, Roxy thought. “Yes, but everyone had access to that—”
He cut her off: “And where did he go between the time you finished talking to him and the time that Jed Moody began to play?”
“Um, again, I’m not a hundred percent certain.”
“Oh, your memory suddenly fails you now,” Quick said, and again Wiles ignored him, keeping his eyes on Roxy.
She tried to ignore him too, but was feeling increasingly riled. Quick sounded more like a prosecutor than an impartial investigator and she didn’t know what he was playing at. Was he angry that she had brought in her good friend to look over a case he’d clearly botched up? Was this more about his close relationship with the Moodys? Or was he always like this?
She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts again. “Let’s see, Govinda called us over to dance and Sam said something about hating hippies and then went inside, to the bar I assume. I went to the bonfire—but did not dance.” She glanced at the recorder, not sure why she needed that to go on the record. “I can’t be certain where Sam went after he went inside. I did see him in the crowd after Jed was killed though.”
Wiles indicated some papers on the desk. “I have a witness who says Sam Forrest assaulted you the day you arrived. At the Goddess Café.”
“Whoah!” she sat forward in her chair. “Sam did not assault me. He was just angry, had obviously heard I was writing Jed’s autobiography and wondered how I could do it.”
“He thinks Mr. Moody had something to do with his sister’s death.”
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. “Well, maybe. He seems to think it was never investigated properly.”
Now it was her turn to glare at Quick, but he stared back, unruffled. It was clear he was not apologising for that.
She turned back to Wiles. “Sam is angry about what happened to his sister and it’s completely understandable. She was barely twenty-one and having an affair with a married man, twice her age. He introduced them, he feels some guilt.”
“You’re talking about Jed Moody?” Wiles said.
“Yes. Jed and Sunny had been seeing each other before she died. But it wasn’t just the affair. Sam was upset that her death didn’t seem to make any difference to Jed, life kept moving on for him.”
“Upset enough to kill him?” Quick asked.
Roxy shook her head emphatically without shifting her gaze from Wiles. “He’s angry, sure, but I’m not convinced he’s a killer. He’s just not the type.”
“So that little bust up with Macker Maroney at the Goddess Café the other day, that was just friendly banter, was it?” asked Quick.
Roxy swept her eyes to him. “Actually, Macker started that. He was saying some unforgiveable things about Sam’s dead sister. What would you do?”
He ignored this and asked, “Is it true you’re having an affair with Sam Forrest?”
Yet again Roxy was caught off guard. She blushed beetroot red and stared at him, aghast. “No! Who told you that?”
Quick was smirking now. He’d got the reaction he was after. “You were seen entering his property on several occasions. You stayed over one night.”
“I was there looking after his dog while you had him locked up in jail!” My God, she thought, the gossip here is extraordinary! Turning back to Wiles, Roxy took a few deep breaths. “Look, Sam and I have become friends, that’s all there is to it. He helped me get away from that sleazebag photographer the other day and we got chatting about his sister. I told him Gilda might be able to help, and that’s what she’s doing. That’s all there is to this.” When Wiles didn’t say anything, she added, “I don’t know whether Sam Forrest had a hand in Jed Moody’s murder. Intuitively, I doubt it, but I guess you guys will find out one way or another. I’m just telling you what I feel and what I know. That’s all. Unlike some people, this is not personal to me.”
Now it was her turn to stare accusatorially at Quick.
Wiles had had enough of all of this. He switched off the recorder and got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Ms Parker. I trust you’ll still be around, should we have further questions?”
She assured him she would, then also stood up and made her way to the door. As she opened it, she glanced back to find Quick looking at Wiles with a smug look on his face. Whatever his agenda, she realised then that his little performance was all about discrediting her in the eyes of the senior cop and, most likely, discrediting her friend Gilda by association. She just hoped Wiles was smart enough to see through it.
In any case, it sent a small shiver down Roxy’s spine. Whether Sam was guilty of Jed’s murder or not, it was clear Detective Sergeant Quick was determined to place the blame firmly at his feet. The question was, why? Was this simply about a bruised ego after failing Sam’s sister so badly, or was there something deeper and more sinister behind it?
Chapter 27
Roxy was so deep in thought after leaving the interview that she nearly ran straight into the arms of someone who was standing a few meters away. It was Sam.
“Oh my God!” she said, stepping back and blushing again as she recalled the conversation she’d just had with Quick. She wondered how soundproof the door was.
“You okay?” He held onto her arms to keep her from toppling over.
“Yes, I’m ... I’m fine.” She tilted her head towards the office. “Just been given a grilling by Quick.” She tried to smile. “Your turn next is it?”
He nodded. “He still trying to pin it on
me?”
“Afraid so. I don’t know what you did to him in a past life, but he’s gunning for you.”
Sam’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ah, but he’s no longer in charge. I’m not worried.”
You should be, she wanted to tell him, but instead she said, “Listen, they seem to think you and I ... well...”
“Well?” His smile had turned a little cheeky, he clearly knew where she was going with that and she frowned back at him.
“Can you just explain, please, very clearly to both detectives that you and I are just friends, that’s all.”
“So we are friends, then?”
“Of course.” Her expression lightened. “I don’t babysit just anyone’s dog, you know.”
The door creaked open again and Quick peered out, his eyes settling on the two of them and his smirk returned. “When you’re finished with Ms Parker, we’d like a word, Mr. Forrest.”
He disappeared back inside and Sam did a mock salute and made his way towards the office before turning back. “Speaking of Lunar, he misses you. Big time. Want to pop over for a barbeque tonight? It can be our thank you present. ”
Roxy went to say yes, then reconsidered. “Oh, I’m not sure, Gilda’s still around and...”
“Bring Gilda. Why not? We’re just friends, after all, right?” Then he gave her a cocky smile as he, too, disappeared into the office.
“Oh, there you are Roxy!” She swung around to find Houghton peering out from the living area, his scruffy hair flying about his face. “Got a sec?”
Roxy nodded, took a few calming breaths of air, then made her way through the room and out to the veranda. Houghton was taking a seat back at the long wooden table, which was now clear of debris except for his mobile phone and laptop. He pulled a chair out for her then clicked something on the screen and turned back with a grin.
“So, we have liftoff!”
“Sorry?” Roxy’s head was stuck somewhere between Jed Moody’s murder and Sam Forrest’s coy grin, and for a moment she had forgotten all about the book. She snapped out of it quickly and said, “Really?”
“Yep, it’s good news, Annika has seen the light and the lads are eager to get the book happening, too. So, can we get cracking straight away?”
“Sure, of course. You’ll have to speak with my agent—”
“Just did.” He tapped his mobile. “We’ve nutted out an agreement, which I’ll e-mail to him now, but he’s asked if you can give him another call if you can find the time. Maybe use the landline here, hey? He’s having a bit of trouble getting through to your mobile.”
She reached for her phone in the bottom of her bag. There was only one bar showing and even that disappeared as she stared at it. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“Try out in the car park near the studio, or the eastern corner of the veranda, just over there.” He waved his phone. “Seems to be the magic spot for most people. But as I say, feel free to use the landline again. There’s a bunch around the place, one by the bar, another in the kitchen. Annika won’t mind.” Roxy arched her eyebrows. She was whistling a different tune today then.
“Now, listen, here’s what we’re going to need. Not a huge amount, it’ll be mostly pictorial, but a chapter on each band member, some info on Jed’s background, some feel-good stuff about his marriage.”
“Oh? I’m allowed to discuss that now?”
He chuckled. “Well, his fans can’t hold it against him anymore.”
“And Annika really is fine with all of this?”
“Yeah, yeah, she came round, like I knew she would. She knows we’ve gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”
“Will she let me interview her?”
“Says she’s looking forward to it. She’s meeting with the detectives in about an hour, but you might be able to catch her before then if you’re lucky.”
Roxy glanced at her phone. It was just after 9:00 a.m. “I had better chat to Oliver before I do anything else,” she told him. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Returning inside, Roxy located the hand-held phone that was perched on the corner of the bar beside a cluster of liquor bottles, and picked it up. There was a man’s voice on the other end, which confused her for a split second before she realised someone else in the house was using the phone. She heard the words, “—not here! I told you, pigs are everywhere, we’ll get busted—” The voice stopped abruptly, sensing her on the other end, and said, “Who’s there?!”
She dropped the phone back onto its cradle as though it were made of burning lava, and felt a rush of guilt followed by a shot of anxiety. Was that Alistair? Doug? She couldn’t quite place the man’s voice, but he sounded stressed.
He also sounded shifty.
She glanced around furtively. Was the caller using the kitchen phone? Half of her wanted to stride in and see who was talking, the other half—the smarter half—told her to mind her own business and get the hell out of there, and so she did, dashing back out to where Houghton was still tapping away at his laptop. He blinked at her.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Roxy slipped into the chair beside him and tried to smile. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“Did you call Oliver?”
“Not yet.” She grappled for her mobile. “I think I’ll try my luck with my mobile.” She tried to warm her smile up. “So, who else is around today, apart from Annika?”
He shrugged. “The boys are out in the studio going through Jed’s files. Cook’s here, too, slapping together some brunch for Annie, I think, why?”
“Who’s the cook?” She tried to keep her tone nonchalant, wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off.
“Oh, just a guy from the shop, Hans someone-or-other.”
Roxy immediately remembered the man with the sinewy body and the black bun from the Goddess Cafe. “Come here often, does he?”
He shrugged. “Comes in occasionally and whips up a few meals to keep Annie happy. She was going to let him go, actually, she doesn’t really have the budget for that kind of extravagance anymore but, well, now that Jed’s gone ... I guess she’s not up to pulling dishes together at this stage. Plus she’s got us buggers to feed, hey?” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
Roxy shook her head. “Just curious. So where’s this magic spot then?”
Two minutes later, Roxy was leaning out across the veranda balustrade, her iPhone in one hand, the other holding onto the railing for dear life. “Olie? Is that you?” The signal kept cutting in and out.
“Oh ... (crackle, crackle) the great ... (crackle) Parker finally ... (crackle, crackle) call!”
It might have been a bad line, but Oliver’s sarcasm was clear as a bell. “Sorry, Olie. I’ve been busy with Gilda.”
“Gilda? Tell me ... (crackle crackle) there.”
“What?”
“She’s there?”
“Yes! She came to see if I was all right and is now staying to do some investigating work.”
“What?!”
Roxy leaned out even farther to get a better signal. “She’s looking into Sam’s sister’s drowning! The one I told you about yesterday!”
“Don’t yell, I can hear you perfectly well.” Roxy relaxed a little. “You two,” Oliver continued. “You’re like Tintin and his fluffy white dog.”
“I’m hoping in this analogy of yours that I’m Tintin and not the dog.”
He laughed. “Hey, you’re the one with the canine fixation at the moment. Speaking of which, how is our friendly murder suspect? Still behind bars?”
“No, he is not.” Although she wondered how long that would last. Would Sam even be free for a barbecue at his place tonight? Not if Quick had anything to do with it, she decided, then shrugged the thought away and changed the subject. “So, Houghton tells me the book is back on.”
“Yep, great news for you, I have to say. I’m finalising the deets with him this morning and we should have a proper contract to you to sign by lunchtime. I’ll get Shazza to e-mail it to you
when it’s done. Read through and let me know if you’re happy with the terms and conditions. I negotiated a better word rate, but they seem to want fewer words now than the original book, so it evens out in the end, I’m sorry to say. Still, it’s a pretty sum for a few days work.”
“It’ll be fine, Olie.” She was happy to hang around.
“How’s the investigation into the poor bugger’s murder going? It’s all over the press here. All anyone wants to talk about. In fact, your friend Maria called.”
“Maria Constantinople, from Glossy?” Roxy pictured the overweight, over-cursing magazine editor and shuddered a little. “What did she want?”
“She wants you to write a story about Jed Moody and his murder, of course.”
“Great! I could do with the extra money, although I don’t exactly know the full story yet.”
“I told her as much. Plus there is the small matter of the confidentiality agreement you signed before you flew up.”
Roxy deflated. That’s right. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but she recalled signing the contract in her agent’s office the week before. It was standard stuff. Every ghostwriting contract included a confidentiality clause to ensure that anything seen or heard during client interviews remained at the client’s discretion. And it made sense. As a ghostwriter you were invited into a person’s inner sanctum and often saw and heard things that the client wished you hadn’t. As they were footing the bill for the book, you abided by their wishes and promptly “unsaw” and “unheard” whatever they asked. This was not a biography. It was an authorised autobiography, and that’s how the process worked.
Now she wished it didn’t.
“Surely that doesn’t cover Jed’s death? I mean, there were loads of people there. It was practically a public event.”
“Doesn’t matter. The agreement covers everything that happens during the time you were employed to ghostwrite the book. His death included.”
Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6) Page 17
