Now Roxy shook her head. That old chestnut, she thought. It was the perfect “get out of jail” card for journalists and photographers alike.
“But you did know about their affair,” Gilda persisted, “before she died?”
“Sure.”
“You didn’t happen to see them at any stage, did you? Maybe sneak up on them when they rendezvoused at the hutch.”
He stared into his espresso glass, gave it a small whirl with one hand. “Don’t know what you mean.”
Gilda reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and placed it on the table in front of him. It was a freshly printed copy of the newspaper article, the one showing the soggy creek bed where Sunny’s body had been found. He glanced at it and up at her.
“So?”
“So, how’d the Valley Times get lucky with this shot? It’s the scene of the crime, and I know for a fact that the forensic photographer did not take that image.”
He shrugged, took a second gulp of his coffee, finishing it off. He looked at Roxy’s hand. “You gonna smoke that?”
Roxy was still holding onto the cigarette and she also shrugged. “Maybe later.”
Macker watched her for a few seconds, looking slightly disquieted now, and Gilda decided to pounce.
“Mr Maroney, do I have to return to your office and have a word with your editor? I’m sure you gave her a nice neat spiel about getting approval from the investigating team or from Annika Moody herself. Do I need to make a liar out of you or are you going to save me the trouble and tell me what you were doing on the Moody property the day after Sunny Forrest died.”
“How do you know that picture was taken the day after Sunny died?”
“Take a closer look at your handiwork, Mr Maroney. There’s a couple of evidence paddles still in the ground.” She tapped a long nail at the photo. “They get removed after the official photographer has come and gone, and I know for a fact that he came and went within twenty-four hours. Which means you did, too.”
Macker still looked uncomfortable but his lips remained shut, so she said, “Perhaps I should just go straight to Annika and see how she feels about the fact that you were trespassing on her land.”
“Hey, I wasn’t trespassing, no way!” Gilda stared at him, her knitted brows telling him what she thought of that comment, so he blurted, “It’s true! I cut down through the creek. I’m allowed to, waterways are public property around here.”
“I find that extremely hard to believe.”
Macker’s confidence returned then. He was in safer territory now. “Check it out with the local council if you want. Anyone can access a waterway, even when it goes through private land, so long as you don’t go through that land while you do it. Who’s to say I didn’t clamber along the creek the whole way? I could’ve entered the creek from the main road. It cuts under the causeway there, just in front of the café.”
Gilda narrowed her eyes further. He was good, very good. “How could you have walked in that way? The creek was flooded at that time, remember, that’s how Sunny was supposed to have drowned.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t flooded when I came along. Wasn’t a problem at all.”
“Still, whether you accessed the creek legally or not, I think you’ll find taking photos on someone’s private property, which is where that creek bed is, without that owner’s permission is not legal.”
“So, get out your furry handcuffs and take me into custody.”
Gilda did not smile. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Maroney, I’m not actually very interested in whether you were trespassing or even whether this shot was taken illegally. I’m more interested in what else you might have seen that day, or the days surrounding Sunny’s death. I’m looking for evidence, that’s all.”
“Who’s to say I was there any other time?”
She dropped her head to one side, making it abundantly clear she neither believed him nor had the patience for his games. When he remained silent, she said, “This is a potential murder investigation, Mr. Maroney. I am currently looking through the evidence to decide whether to reopen the case. If I do, you could find yourself up on a charge of obstructing a murder investigation. Or worse, aiding and abetting a murderer.”
“Hey, don’t get your pretty knickers in a knot. I don’t know anything about Sunny’s death. I didn’t see anything. I’ve got no intel that’ll be any use to you.” Still, he shot a quick glance at the cigarette that remained in Roxy’s hand.
Gilda’s patience had all run out. “I really don’t have the time or energy for this crap, Mr Maroney, so let me spell it out for you. See that creek bed,” she tapped her nail on the newspaper image again. “To the right of that, just out of the shot, is a small hutch. I know it and you know it. That hutch was a rendezvous point for Jed Moody and Sunny Forrest. I believe that you knew all about that hutch and that you snuck up on them, on at least one occasion, to take photos of their little trysts. Am I correct?”
He nudged his fat lips downwards. “You’re delusional, that’s what you are. Besides, you’ve got no proof of that. Where are these pictures, then? Where are these images I’m supposed to have taken? If I had these fantastic photos I’d be a rich man. I wouldn’t be sitting here chatting to you. I’d be making money from them.”
“Ah, but you were making money from them,” said Roxy, who had been watching the exchange silently until now. “You were blackmailing Jed Moody, weren’t you?”
Macker’s eyes hardened. “What are you talking about?”
He had an edge in his voice now and Gilda, too, looked slightly taken aback as she stared across at her friend.
Roxy wished she’d worked it all out earlier, if only to give Gilda the heads-up, but it was just coming back to her now. She recalled the first time she met Jed, on the veranda of his house that night, and the cryptic conversation he had had with Houghton just before Annika appeared. He’d asked Houghton if he’d given somebody “his marching orders”. Houghton had been reluctant to discuss it in front of Roxy, yet Jed was not so reticent. He had said something like: “I’m not giving that asshole one more cent. Tell him to go shove it.”
Was he referring to Macker Maroney?
She decided to take a punt. “You had pictures of Jed and Sunny together. You were blackmailing them. I know this for a fact, Macker. Jed and Houghton talked about it the night I arrived.”
“That wasn’t blackmail!” Macker growled. “Photos are a commodity, I wanted to see if I could find a buyer. Photographers do it all the time. Lock me up for that and you’ll not only have to lock up half the photographers in the world, you’ll have to close down every tabloid newspaper and gossip mag in existence. It’s the way it works, yeah? You should know that.”
She shook her head. “No, what I know is, any decent photographer asks permission before they take the photo, not afterwards, and they certainly don’t blackmail people to stop printing it.”
Gilda was not interested in a moral argument. “So it’s true you do have images of Jed and Sunny together at the hutch?”
He hesitated again. “So, I had some pix of a married man playing up. It’s not a criminal offence. They were taken the week before she died. Nothing to do with her death. She was alive and well when they finished up in the hutch. Had a big ole grin on her face, in fact.” His eyes twinkled and Roxy felt nauseous.
“Having an affair may not be a criminal offence, Mr Maroney,” Gilda snapped, “but it is a criminal offence to try to extort money out of Jed over it.”
“Hey, settle down! No one was doing any extorting. Like I said, I just made a monetary exchange. Houghton offered to buy the pix in exchange for me not selling them on to a magazine. That’s all there was to it.”
Gilda sat back in her chair. Something was not adding up. So, Jed was caught with his trousers down again. He’d been doing that for decades. It was hardly a revelation. In fact, hooking up with a young blonde was probably a feather in your cap when you were a middle-aged rock star. So wh
y did Houghton lie to her about it? If what Macker was saying was true, Houghton clearly knew about the affair before Sunny died and was determined to hush it up. But why would Houghton care, she wondered?
She said as much to both Roxy and Maroney, adding, “Surely any publicity is good publicity.”
Maroney shrugged. “I dunno, you’d have to ask Houghton that. Seemed bloody anxious to get hold of the shots, though. Swore me to secrecy. Made me delete the originals, the works. You’re lucky I’m even telling you this. But that’s all there is to it. End of story.”
“I don’t think it was the end of the story,” said Roxy. “I think you got some more pix, just recently, this time of Jed with Asha Kidlong at the hutch. So you went back to Houghton to extort more cash.”
He looked at her, smile widening. “Oooh, you’re a clever cookie, you are. Keep trying, you’re nearly there.” He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. When Gilda sat forward looking like she was about to throttle him, he said, “Okay, so I got some more pix. But it’s not what you think. These ones are a lot more incriminating.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ these shots could land someone in very big trouble. But you’re wrong about who it was.”
“What do you mean?” Gilda repeated, more firmly this time.
“It wasn’t Jed and Asha I photographed. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Who else was Jed with?” Roxy demanded and he clamped his lips shut, still managing to smile as he did so.
Gilda fumed. “We can subpoena the pictures, Mr Maroney. You might as well tell us now.”
He shook his head defiantly. “Nope. No can do. As I say, have to protect my sources.”
“Your income stream, more likely,” Roxy snapped. “Are you waiting to get more money off Houghton?”
He stubbed out his cigarette then leaned forward. “Look, I don’t know what any of this has got to do with Sunny’s death. I had nothing to do with that. I feel bad, she was a good kid, sweet, you know? Sexy too. The day I heard about her death, I raced to the scene to get that one picture, then got the hell out of there. Went back along the creek. I didn’t access anyone’s land. I didn’t tread on anyone’s toes. It’s just a friggin’ photo.”
“Not to Sam Forrest, it isn’t,” Roxy said. “That’s the scene of his sister’s death, it’s sacred territory to him, and you went and splashed it all over the local rag.”
Gilda cleared her throat. That wasn’t really the point now and she’d had enough of Macker Maroney and his childish games. She would talk to Wiles about getting a search warrant for the photographer’s camera and digital files and see what incriminating photos he was talking about. She stood up. “Okay, that will do for now. I’d thank you, Mr. Maroney, but I’m not sure there’s any point.”
“Let me make it up to you then.” He nodded his head at the card she had left on the table. “Let me take your photo. I could really sex you up. We could both make a lot of dough.”
When she ignored this and turned away, he called out, “Maybe a few shots of you wearing nothing but your handcuffs?”
Gilda didn’t flinch. As she exited the café, she simply called back, “No, thank you, Mr. Maroney. I’d rather have my skin peeled off than spend any more time with you. Thanks for the coffees!”
“The hide of the man!” Roxy was saying as they made their way back to the main street where their car was parked. “I can’t believe you didn’t punch him out or arrest him for being an A-class slimeball.”
Gilda shrugged. “Oh well, we left him with the bill for the coffee, that’s gotta hurt a cheapskate like Maroney.”
“But you’re going to let him get away with that comment?”
“You think that’s the first time I’ve heard that kind of thing? I’m a female cop, Roxy it comes with the territory. One of the many delectable ways lowlifes try to get under your skin, try to bring you down to their level. The trick is not to react.”
“Still, what a scumbag.”
Now Gilda laughed as they reached her car and she unlocked the doors. “Your mother would say I should be grateful anyone wants to take my photo at this stage of my life.”
“Oh, my mother would have taken his card and begged him to photograph me, as well,” Roxy said, then managed to laugh along with her. “So, are you going to try to get hold of his camera?”
“You bet. Maroney’s obviously got a stack of photos that could bust this case right open, not to mention Wiles’s investigation. He’s clearly been sneaking onto the Moody property for years taking snaps. God knows what else he’s photographed. He may not even realise what evidence he has. He could be sitting on a goldmine.”
“What do you think he meant by ‘incriminating’ pictures? Maybe we should check Asha’s age. Houghton said she was seventeen or eighteen, but maybe he’s lying. She could be underage, for all we know. That’s pretty incriminating.”
“Except Maroney said the incriminating shots weren’t of Jed and Asha, remember?”
Roxy groaned. “But can we believe anything that comes out of that slimeball’s mouth? Isn’t he in the same category as the publicist?”
“Oh, I think paparazzi are even lower on the Slimeball Scale. Still, I can’t believe Houghton just lied to me about that. He clearly knew about Jed’s affair with Sunny, so why keep it to himself? Like I keep saying, it’s not illegal, it’s no big deal.” She paused. “Or is it? Maybe there’s more to all of this than meets the eye. Maybe that’s why Sunny had to die.”
Gilda started the engine and turned back along the main street, heading south. She suddenly groaned. “It’s not clicking into place. I mean, whether Maroney was blackmailing anyone with anything, I just don’t think that’s the issue. If he did have something on Jed or Sunny or whomever, then it should have been him lying in that creek or zapped with 240 volts, right?”
Roxy nodded. That made sense. “Maybe we’re overthinking it and it all comes back to the jealous wife. Annika was really possessive of Jed when I first met her. I mean, viciously so. Seems to me, she’s the obvious suspect. First she finds out about Sunny and kills her in a fit of rage. Then finds out about Jed and Asha or some other underage chick and realises it’s never going to end, she’s going to have to keep killing women until the cows come home, so she finally wreaks revenge on her ratbag husband instead.”
Gilda glanced across at her, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “Dare I say it?”
Roxy shook her head. “Don’t bother. I know, straws, straws, straws!”
Then she slumped in her seat despondently.
Chapter 30
A pungent mix of salt, sunscreen and mildew rushed up to meet Roxy and Gilda as they made their way through the scrubby palm garden at the back of Doug Campbell’s beach house, a renovated 1950s’ fibro shack. They had already knocked on the front door and called out his name, to no avail, so took Houghton’s advice and decided to check the beach where Doug famously spent his time.
A bush turkey scratched around in the scrubby grounds that separated the house from the sand dunes and they watched it scurry away as they weaved their way along the leafy path towards the beach. At the top of the dunes, thick clumps of Bitou bush did little to hide the spectacular view of the achingly white sand and the deep blue sea beyond. They could just make out some surfers at the break when Roxy pointed.
“Could be him.”
“Pity I didn’t bring my bikini,” Gilda replied. “Shall we leave a note and come back?”
“Oi! What do you want?” shouted a male voice behind them.
They swung back towards the pathway to find the drummer, surfboard under one arm, weaving his way down a second pathway from the beach, one they hadn’t noticed earlier. The two paths merged halfway along and they made their way across, closer to where Doug was now standing, dripping wet in a black Rip Curl wetsuit.
“Hi, Doug, it’s me, Roxy Parker!” she called out and he stared at her for a second before his white Zinc-covered
lips broke into a smile.
“Right, yeah. Sorry, didn’t recognise you. Come down, I’ll just wash up.”
They followed him back to the house and waited while he rinsed himself and his board beneath a makeshift shower that had been erected below a wattle. He tugged his wetsuit off to reveal floral board-shorts and a surprisingly ripped body for a man in his forties—tanned six-pack, bulging biceps, chest-hair bleached from the sun.
Doug shook his hair out like a wet dog, then walked across to the house, leaned his board against one wall, and waved them towards a grey wooden deck under a mouldy shade sail. There was a faded outdoor setting and he pulled out a chair and sat down, so they followed, Roxy being sure to introduce Gilda as she did so.
“Gilda’s looking into Sunny Forrest’s death,” she explained.
Unlike almost everyone else, Doug didn’t bat an eyelid. “Oh right, good luck with that.” He looked at Roxy. “And you’re back on the book, yeah?”
She nodded. “You happy about that?” He just shrugged. “Look,” Roxy continued, “I’m sorry to crash your pad like this, I was in town and I just wanted to drop by and see if we would set up a time to do the interview. It’ll probably take about two hours, and then I can leave you alone.”
“No sweat, I’ve got all the time in the world. Although if the surf’s pumping you might have trouble catching me.”
“How does 11:00 a.m. tomorrow sound?”
He nodded. “That’ll give me time to get a surf in after breaky. Can I get you guys anything? Soft drink? Beer?”
They shook their heads. “We won’t stay long,” Gilda spoke now. “I just tagged along in the hope I can ask you a couple of quick questions regarding Ms Forrest.”
He brushed his hands through his dripping hair and gave his head another shake, sending salty drops flying towards them. “Go on then.”
“Did you know her at all?”
“Nope. Only heard about her after it all happened. Houghton told me.”
Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6) Page 19
