by Chris Taylor
Lane nodded and lifted a hand in farewell. Jett turned back to his desk. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the box he kept in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and emptied the phone onto his desk. Activating it, his heart skipped a beat at the screen saver.
It was a close-up shot of Sabrina and her sister. Jett whistled beneath his breath. Lane hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Sabrina a stunner. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Golden blond hair fell in loose waves around a picture-perfect face. Clear blue eyes shone with happiness and warmth. A luscious mouth, perfectly formed, was opened in a wide smile.
She was cheek to cheek with her sister. The two of them grinned into the camera. Danielle Porter’s dark coloring contrasted starkly with her sister’s, but the impact of her emerald green eyes remained as dramatic as he’d found them earlier.
Today, her brown hair had been tied back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, but the photo on the screen showed her hair loose, like her sister’s. It curled around her shoulders and fell in long waves across her chest. The informal hairstyle made her look much younger than her stated twenty-eight years.
Jett swiped his thumb across the screen and the phone opened to the text messages. It was curious the phone wasn’t protected with a password. Most people felt the need to secure their phone that way. Still, maybe there had been a password and Lane had asked Sabrina’s husband to remove it. Not that it mattered, one way or the other. The lack of a password would hardly point them in the direction of the killer, but her text and phone logs might.
Going straight to the messages, Jett scrolled through the list of texts, starting at the most recent and working his way back. Between nine fifty-one and ten-thirteen on the day of the murder, Sabrina had received and replied to messages from “Sonia” and “Wendy” about a playdate the girls had organized for Tuesday of the following week. Apparently, it was Timothy’s birthday and they were all meeting at the park.
Two days earlier, there was a brief message from Franklin, telling his wife he’d been caught up at work and would be home late. Sabrina had replied with a thumbs-up emoji and two red hearts.
Jett recalled Sabrina’s sister telling him about the recent disagreement between Franklin and his wife. He’d accused Sabrina of infidelity. It wasn’t the kind of accusation one made lightheartedly.
According to Danielle, the couple had been expecting the results any day. Jett made a note to follow the matter up with Franklin. From what Danielle had told him, it was unlikely the results had caused a stir, let alone a double homicide, but it was a loose end that needed tying up so that they could focus on other areas. Like the maintenance man and the middle-eastern angle.
Jett scrolled back through the texts a bit further and paused on the name “Dani.” The most recent message was over a week before. He opened it and scanned the words and then started in surprise.
How many times do I have 2 tell u, Sabrina? Butt out.
The texts from Sabrina were less aggressive, but all the same, it was clear there was tension between the two girls.
Get off your high horse, Dani and just LISTEN to me for a change!
And: You’re so darn stubborn! I’m only trying to help you! Please let me help you!
Dani’s reply was more forthright.
I don’t need your help, Sabrina. I can do this on my own.
Jett scrolled forward, but the argument ended abruptly with the first jab. It wasn’t clear what they’d been fighting about. According to Franklin, the girls had been on less friendly terms more recently. Jett wondered if the anger he felt in Danielle’s responses to her sister could have morphed into the kind of rage exhibited at the scene of the murders.
He shook his head and sighed. It was definitely a stretch. It wasn’t unusual for siblings to argue. Hell, he argued with his brothers and sisters all the time. It didn’t mean he wanted to kill them. He’d talk to the woman about it the next time he saw her, but as far as he was concerned, there were far more viable suspects than Danielle Porter.
CHAPTER FIVE
The day of the funeral dawned bright and sunny—a beautiful, clear summer’s day. Dani rolled over in bed and squinted at the light that shone through the window. It had been late when she’d finally collapsed into bed and she’d forgotten to close the curtains. Sunshine now spilled into the room and across the pale carpet, like a ribbon of gold. Groaning aloud, Dani drew the sheet up over her face and tried hard to pretend this day wasn’t happening.
It had been well after midnight when she’d finally left Franklin’s condominium—yes, it was just Franklin’s, now—and had made her way back to North Sydney. The familiar sound of late night traffic outside her window had calmed her, along with the camomile tea, but still, it had been a long time before she’d succumbed to sleep.
The bodies of her sister and niece had been removed by the time she’d reached their Hunters Hill condominium, but still, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to enter the rooms where they’d been found. Franklin had told her, in halting sentences, that Sabrina had been murdered in the bath. It appeared poor baby Marnie had been sleeping in her crib.
Even now, with the morning sun urging her upright, Dani still couldn’t accept the truth. Someone had murdered her beautiful, sweet-natured sister and an innocent baby. Who could have done that? The world had been turned on its axis. Nothing made sense.
Then again, Franklin was a well-known lawyer who’d recently taken on a very high-profile case. She’d seen the crowds of angry protesters outside the courthouse on the early morning news the day of the murders. They’d been shouting and holding placards. Some had been protesting against Jamal Al-Jabiri’s charges, but most had been angry he hadn’t already been found guilty and locked up for the rest of his life.
At the time, she’d shuddered at the implacable fury on the faces of the demonstrators in both camps and had wondered why the hell Franklin had found it necessary to take on such a case. Still, this was Australia. Though the demonstrators’ anger had unsettled her, she never dreamed it might result in the murders of her little sister and baby niece.
She sighed heavily. No amount of time lingering beneath the covers would make the next few hours disappear. With reluctance, she pushed back the sheets and climbed out of bed. Padding into the bathroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. Her long curly hair stood out in every direction, a tangle of snarls and knots. She’d been too tired to run a brush through it before bed the night before and now she was paying the price. There was nothing for it but to tame the wild mass with water.
Reaching into the shower, she turned the spray on full force. Stepping under the steaming water, she took the time to shampoo and condition her hair. It was the day of her sister’s funeral, along with her little niece’s. She was determined to look her best, if it killed her.
It had been five long days since the detective had attended upon her workplace and given her the terrible news. Sabrina and Marnie had required autopsies and that necessity had added to the delay. The whole sad ordeal had been drawn out.
She’d been numb with grief ever since she’d been told what happened, but burying her loved ones was another something that had to be done. It wasn’t easy on any of them, but she’d been frustrated at Franklin’s unwillingness to make the arrangements. It was almost as if the deaths of his wife and baby had placed him in a catatonic state. He hadn’t left the condominium since it happened. It had been up to Dani to meet with the funeral director, choose the caskets, the flowers, and arrange the service, even the hymns.
She hadn’t wanted to do it, but there was no one else. Franklin was an only child. His parents were both deceased. Dani was the sole surviving sibling and though she assumed her parents were still alive, she didn’t know for certain and she sure as hell wasn’t going to waste time finding out. They’d made their choices years ago, effectively abandoning their daughters to fate and the random kindness of strangers. They didn’t deserve the honor of saying go
od-bye.
With a sigh, Dani turned off the faucets and wrung the water from her hair. Stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel. She wrapped a fluffy one around her body and twisted another around her hair before returning to her bedroom.
She surveyed the contents of her meagre wardrobe. She’d never been one for fashionable clothes. Sabrina had owned a stylish outfit for every occasion, but Dani spent most of her time in a lab coat and her weekends at her sister’s. There just didn’t seem the need for an extensive wardrobe.
Her chest tightened with emotion at the thought she’d never spend an evening or a weekend with Sabrina again. Tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She swiped at them a little impatiently, wondering when they were ever going to stop. And then she was tired of being strong and she bent over with a wrenching sob.
Making her way unsteadily to her bed, she sank down onto it and leaned over with her head in her hands. There were hours and days ahead where she’d have to be strong. Right now, she needed to cry.
The sobs rose up from deep inside her and poured out through her mouth. She gasped and heaved and mourned the loss of her beautiful sister and her innocent baby niece. The anger and frustration at not knowing who was behind this only made the whole thing worse. She didn’t even have a name or face to lay the blame.
She hadn’t heard anything from the police and she didn’t think Franklin had either. Not that he was in any position to carry on a conversation, but he hadn’t mentioned progress on that front.
Another surge of anger at the injustice of it all rushed through her and she clung to the strength it gave her. Anger was good. Anger was productive. Anger would see her through.
* * *
Jett hung back from the crowd of funeral-goers, content to listen and observe. A gaggle of reporters with television cameras stood off to one side. He guessed it was Franklin Cook’s high profile that had drawn them and the fact his wife and daughter had been brutally slain. It wasn’t surprising that the story had already made headlines and had been the lead story on the six o’clock news.
Jett was there as an observer, keen to know who was interested enough to attend the funeral of Sabrina Cook and her daughter. Beside him, Lane also scanned the crowd. His experience with the middle-eastern activists would hold them in good stead.
“Look over to your left,” Lane murmured, his lips barely moving. “The man with the black beard standing near the gum tree. That’s Mohammed Abdul Sharif.”
Jett looked in the direction Lane mentioned and spied a middle-aged man wearing black-rimmed glasses dressed in loose white pants and a matching, long-sleeved tunic that fell below his knees. Around his head, he wore a black Keffiyeh wrapped in the traditional Islamic style. He stood with three other men, similarly attired.
“Who’s Mohammed Abdul Sharif?” Jett asked.
“He’s the self-proclaimed leader of one of Australia’s largest Islamic communities. He has a lot of influence among his followers.”
“Is he an extremist?” Jett asked, pitching his voice low in deference to the other funeral-goers standing nearby.
“No, in fact, just the opposite. He does all that he can to talk in terms of peace and respect for religious and cultural differences, love and getting along with each other.”
“What’s he doing here?”
Lane shrugged. “Paying his respects? Perhaps he’s keeping an eye on things. There are some people within his community who are getting a little fed up with all the talk about peace, especially with one of their own, a teenager, no less, currently warming his butt in jail.”
Jett acknowledged Lane’s comment with a nod and continued to scan the crowd. A shiny black limousine pulled up at the curb and the reporters and photographers swarmed forward. The car door opened and Franklin Cook stepped out, followed by his sister-in-law.
The air was filled with the sound of clicking cameras. One or two photographers even had the audacity to call out, hoping to get a better shot. Danielle was dressed in a simple black sheath that skimmed the curves of her body. Her long, slim legs appeared even longer because she wore a pair of five-inch heels. Dark sunglasses hid her gaze from his view, but her mouth was compressed into a tight line. Despite his training and the importance of remaining impartial, Jett’s heart went out to her.
Her brother-in-law offered his arm and Jett noted she took it without hesitation.
“It doesn’t look like she’s harboring any blame,” Lane murmured.
Jett watched as the two of them walked slowly into the church, heads bowed low in grief. They looked neither left, nor right.
“Yeah,” he replied quietly, “though it’s interesting. Danielle Porter told me Sabrina and Franklin never argued and yet a couple of weeks before her death, he accused her of being unfaithful.”
Lane’s eyebrows rose and his forehead lined with creases. “Wow, that’s one helluva way to trigger an argument. What happened?”
“Franklin demanded a paternity test. The results were due about the same time she and her daughter were murdered.”
Lane frowned and his voice sharpened. “And why are you only just now sharing this information?”
Jett held his gaze. “Danielle also said the accusation was groundless. Sabrina had assured her the results would prove Franklin was Marnie’s dad. I’ll follow it up with him after the service. It should be easy enough for him to clear the matter up, one way or the other.”
“Given that all other lines of enquiry so far have drawn a blank, we need to investigate every possible clue,” Lane replied.
“Yeah,” Jett agreed. “But I’m not sure it’s going to lead anywhere.”
Lane let out a sigh filled with frustration. “It doesn’t seem to matter where we look, we keep running into brick walls. I interviewed some members of the Islamic community. They’d heard of the murders, but they had nothing to impart that would implicate anyone. That poor woman and her child have been dead almost a week and we’re not even close to finding the killer.”
“Yeah, I went by Kevin Thompson’s apartment Tuesday afternoon and again, yesterday morning. Same story. His sister hasn’t seen him since the morning of the murders.”
Lane nodded, his expression grim. “At this stage, the maintenance man’s our best bet and he’s not doing himself any favors. What’s he hiding from?”
“I’ll run his name through the system when I get back to the office and see what I can find,” Jett offered. “I’ll also check if he has a vehicle registered in his name.”
“Good. In the meantime, I look forward to hearing about the paternity results.”
“Yep. I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to Cook. I’m not holding out much hope it’s going to move things forward, but it’s worth following up.”
Lane acknowledged Jett’s comment with a brief nod. “I guess that’s it. There’s no point in both of us hanging around. I’ll see you back there.” With a wave, he disappeared into the crowd.
Forty-five minutes later, Jett followed the funeral procession as it snaked its way to the Macquarie Park Cemetery and Crematorium. Unlike the swarm of media, he kept a respectful distance as the final hymns were played from an iPod and a Bluetooth speaker and the caskets were lowered into the ground. One was made of dark cedar and was liberally embellished with shiny brass fittings. The second coffin was small and white and lacy. Jett’s gut tightened at the sight. It was decorated with bright, yellow-button daisies and soft green ferns. A pink teddy bear sat on top of the flowers.
Finally the crowd thinned until only Franklin and Danielle remained. Sabrina’s husband sat in the cheap plastic chairs provided for the family by the funeral home. Danielle kneeled by the gravesite and stared at the hole in the ground.
Jett moved closer and could see her lips moving silently. He wasn’t sure if she was praying or bidding the occupants a final farewell. He felt uncomfortable interrupting either scenario, but he still sought some answers and in a homicide investigation, there was never a good ti
me to ask.
“Mr Cook, Ms Porter. Please accept my condolences,” he said quietly, gazing from one to the other.
Danielle stood a little awkwardly and inclined her head, but didn’t speak. Her hair was pulled back into an uncompromising bun. Her face was drawn and wan. Without the protection of her sunglasses, he could see her eyes were red and swollen and glazed with pain. In contrast, Franklin Cook looked stoic. He regarded Jett with a frown.
“Detective Craigdon,” he said, his voice toneless. “Thank you for coming.”
Jett inclined his head. “I… I’d like to ask you both a couple of more questions.”
Franklin’s frown deepened. “Now?”
“Yes. I understand this is a difficult time, but we’re working around the clock on this and so far, we have very few leads.” He flashed another look at Danielle and then returned his attention to Cook. “I wanted to ask you about the DNA test. The one you requested not long before this happened.”
From the corner of Jett’s eye, he saw Danielle stand and fold her arms across her chest, but he kept his gaze on Franklin, watching closely to gauge his reaction. The man’s expression didn’t alter. He certainly didn’t appear surprised by the question.
“What is it you want to know, Detective?” he asked in the same toneless voice, as if nothing and nobody mattered anymore. And perhaps that was true…
“Have you received the results?” he asked.
Franklin nodded wearily. “They came in the mail the day…the day this happened. I received them at work. I have all of our mail delivered to my office. It’s more secure that way.”
“And what did they say?” Jett persisted, feeling churlish that he had to ask, but wanting to put this line of questioning to rest.
Danielle Porter’s eyes blazed with fury. She pushed herself into Jett’s space. “What the hell do you think they said? My sister was good and kind and honorable. She didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. Of course Marnie belonged to Franklin!”
