by C. A. Larmer
Tina’s cousin Brianna, however, did have something useful to say. She was fifteen years younger than Tina, she gushed over the phone from her rural home of Moree, and had always found Tina “soooo inspirational and that!” Despite this, they had “all felt a bit sorry for her, really.”
“Why?” Roxy asked down the scratchy phone line.
“Oh, just cause of her dad and that.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Yeah, eh. He kinda, you know, was always naggin’ her and sayin’ she ought write something respectable and stuff, like he was embarrassed, but I mean what the hell was he doing with his life?! Growin’ a bit of cotton! Whoopee-doo! There was nothin’ wrong with what Tina wrote. We loved it. Well, Mum and me sisters did, eh? Reckon me brothers read her stuff too but they wouldn’t admit it. Book reading! Ha!”
“So Tina’s dad wanted her to stop writing?”
“Yeah, think so. And aw, man, he was real cut up when she went and did that Playboy spread.” She laughed. “Friggin’ hell, Tina couldn’t come home for a year after that. Not that she wanted to! Why would ya wanna come to boonsville Moree when you live in Sydney, eh?”
Roxy couldn’t argue with that. “Do you think Lorenzo ever tried to stop Tina from writing?”
“Dunno, but he never wanted to talk about it. Got ribbed a lot down at the local pub and that. One time someone stuck Tina’s centerfold to the dunny door, well, you can imagine how that went down.” There was a sudden ruckus at the other end. “Fuckin’ hell, Jayden, put that digger down! Shit, gotta go, eh, kids are tearin’ the place apart. Listen, you gonna quote me and all that?”
“Well ... maybe ...”
“Epic! Can’t wait. Okay, better go ... Jayden ... Jaaaay—!”
The phone went dead and Roxy smiled. Thank God for awestruck younger cousins. She thought about what Brianna had said and wondered whether Lorenzo Vento had finally had enough of being ashamed by his daughter’s novels. That would certainly link in with David’s “forbidden fruit” premise.
It would also explain Lorenzo’s aggression towards Oliver. He must have hated the agent that enabled Tina’s work to get out there. Did he hate him enough, she wondered, to set him up for three murders?
It seemed like a long shot but she was short on other options. Roxy already knew from what Tina had told her, that her father had been in town around the time she was murdered, so he certainly had opportunity, and now perhaps, he also had motive. Perhaps he had finally had enough of her salacious writing. Perhaps he had placed the poisoned apple as a message to others.
Roxy thought about this some more. Being ashamed of your child’s chosen profession was one thing. Killing them for it was quite another, but she tried not to let sense get in the way of a good motive.
By late afternoon, Roxy had made considerable progress on the Tina Passion article, transcribing several interviews and constructing a rough outline. Tonight she would focus on Tina’s books, speed-reading the most popular ones, including the first and last ones published. There was one more book, Oliver reminded her when she trudged back up the stairs of his city office to collect them that afternoon. It was to be her tenth novel and had been finished, but was still at the final editing stage.
“Can I see the proof?” Roxy asked.
“What for?”
“I don’t know, just to see where her head was at when she died. Maybe …” she stopped.
“Maybe there’s a clue in there somewhere—pointing to the suspect?”
It was another long shot but she was growing increasingly desperate. No one seemed to have any idea why Tina had died, and even her father’s obvious disapproval didn’t seem a strong enough motive.
“Well, we only got two proofs mocked up,” he told her. “Tina had one but there’s no way you can get into her place, the cops have it sealed, and I sent the other one to her editor for a final read. I can see if I can get it back.”
“That’d be good. I do think it’s important.”
“Fine, I’ll hassle her for it. But you have to promise not to publish any of it, not until I get her dad’s permission. He hates me enough as it is. I’m going to have to avoid him at the funeral. Speaking of which—”
“Of course I’ll be there. When is it?”
“Actually there won’t be a proper funeral for a while, it’s still a murder investigation at this stage, but friends of Tina’s are holding a memorial service in Gibson’s Park near her place Friday lunch time, and it’d be great if you could come. I’m not sure I’ll be the most welcome person there. Be good to have some support. I can pick you up—”
“No, no, no,” she said quickly, “my eardrums are still recovering from our last trip together. I’ll make my own way, thanks. So what about William Glad? When does he finally get laid to rest?”
“Not sure. Coroner still won’t release the body, but Erin thinks it might happen later this week. No plans for a memorial service, not that I’ve heard of anyway. Then again, Erin probably won’t invite me.”
“I know the cops are snooping around, Oliver, but surely Erin knows you didn’t do it.”
He shrugged. “She’s acting a bit strange, although she is still talking to me at this point, so I guess I should count my blessings.”
“So what’s happening with those gardening guides you were going to release together? Weren’t you—”
He held a finger to his lips. “Shhh! Don’t even go there, okay?! The cops have been asking all sorts of questions about that, like it could be motive or something.”
Roxy’s heart sank. She had said something to Gilda about this, and now felt responsible, but Oliver was pointing the finger firmly back at Erin.
“She’s been blabbing to the cops, acting like it was all my idea. Traitor.”
“Do the police believe her?”
“I don’t know, hope not. But it’s just crazy. I mean, I wouldn’t kill the old man for some bloody gardening books. I’m not that hard up for sales.”
Roxy agreed it was crazy and let it drop. She got to her feet and gave him a quick kiss before trudging off with Tina’s novels in a green bag by her side.
That evening, Roxy went through Tina’s collection, first reading the back cover blurb for each one. She didn’t know what she was looking for but she was hoping that maybe there was a Snow White-style plot amongst them, something to work from. Yet nothing leapt out and she decided that she really needed to get her hands on that final book, the one in the proofing stage.
The phone rang shrilly, and noticing it was from the Glossy offices, she quickly picked it up. “Hello, Maria,” she said and the older woman cackled.
“You’re gonna love me. I just got that hunky friend of yours a gig.”
“Sorry?”
“Max Farrell can do the photos, for your Tina Passion story. He charges like a wounded bull these days but I reckon it’ll be worth it.”
She felt her heart stop. She gulped. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Mari—”
“It’s done, darls! My Art Director’s already had a quiet word and he’s on it. Says he’d love to do it and awaits your call. Just let him know when you tee up the interviews and he can tag along and get the snaps. We want it a bit photo-journo like, not too stiff, black and white, bit moody, that kind of thing. Okay, gotta go, but you can thank me later for that one.”
She hung up and Roxy gulped again. Max Farrell. Damn it, now there was no more avoiding him.
Chapter 21
“You’re avoiding me,” David Lone said, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously.
“Am not,” Roxy replied defensively, aware she hadn’t returned his calls for two days. “I’ve just been busy, you know that.”
He laughed. “You’re so easy to bait.”
“I’m not fish, David.”
“And there you go again. Hook, line, sinker ...”
It was late Wednesday night and they were seated at the bar of a Kings Cross hotel. David had rung several times to ask Roxy out and eventually
, feeling wired, she had agreed. But only if they met close to her place.
“And only for one!” she had told him, but was already onto her second merlot. New habits die hard. The bar, Glenda’s, was one of the least seedy in the area, with moody lighting and plush lounge chairs, but Roxy didn’t want to get too comfortable so had opted to stay perched on stiff stools up at the counter. She no longer trusted herself, at least not around David Lone.
“So what’s the latest?” she asked and he held his head to the side.
“I’m not sure I should be revealing anything to you. We’re competition now, aren’t we?”
“Hardly. I’m just doing a lifestyle piece on Tina. It’s a monthly mag, David, any info I put in about her death now will be old news by the time it sees the light of a newsstand.” He relaxed a little at this. “You’re ferociously competitive, you know.”
“It’s how I got to where I am now.”
“And where is that exactly?”
“Sharing a few drinks with the sexiest writer in Sydney,” he replied as she rolled her eyes.
“You really do aim to make a girl uncomfortable, don’t you?”
“What? By complimenting her? Most women lap it up.”
“Well, I’m not most women.”
“I’m beginning to work that one out.”
She crossed her legs and stared into her wine glass. “So ...”
“So?” he echoed.
“So what’s the latest on the infamous Snow White murder?”
“So this is why you agreed to meet up? You want to grill me?”
She smiled sweetly. “Just for a little while. I am an Australian writer, after all. Finding out the latest might just save my life.”
“Gee, I hope you’re not next on the hit list. I can think of quite a few writers I’d bump off before I got to you!”
Her smile dissolved. “You think he’s going to strike again?”
His own smile deflated as well. “I certainly hope not. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t joke about this. It’s not at all funny, is it? Okay, what can I tell you, you’ve read the papers yourself. They’re all such sheep, aren’t they, the press? They would have called it Tinagate if I hadn’t come up with my great line.”
“So the apple really was poisoned?”
“Yes it was. According to my sources, strychnine may have been used, that’s still being verified.”
“Strychnine? How very Agatha Christie!”
“I know. Tina had also been struck from behind as we thought, by a large metal object. Killed first and then the apple placed in her mouth.”
“So did the poison kill her or the blow to the head?”
Someone called out David’s name and he glanced around and waved. It was a pretty young thing, someone Roxy vaguely recalled from a reality TV show, and she was smiling at David flirtatiously but he ignored her and turned back to Roxy.
“The poison ... I’d say, but we don’t know for sure, yet.”
“Why would someone do that? Do you really think it’s to leave a message?”
“Absolutely. And for dramatic effect. But then who knows what’s in the mind of a serial killer.”
Roxy felt a slight shudder. “So do you think this person is a sicko or is there some kind of motive?”
“There’s always a motive.”
“Not always. Plenty of people do kill in the heat of passion.”
“Yes, but this was clearly planned. Orchestrated to the last degree. Maybe the first death was spontaneous. Not the next two.”
“So, then, what was Oliver Horowitz’s motive?”
He took a long sip of his wine and then placed it down and turned his stool around to face her.
“You need to look at the facts, Roxy, you need to put your emotions aside.”
“I find that hard to do,” she said glumly and he nodded.
“Fair enough, but it’s vital you get some perspective. And it’s vital, for just a few minutes here, that you let me play devil’s advocate. You’re usually good at that but now it’s my turn, okay?” She nodded reluctantly and he held up a finger. “Let’s consider the first death, Seymour Silva. Did you know the police are now backtracking on the suicide verdict? They’re reopening the case?” She nodded again. “So, Seymour Silva, what possible motive would Oliver have to kill that poor man? Well, there was the small matter of him sacking Oliver as his agent a few weeks before he died.”
“That was months earlier and Oliver blames his manager Norm for that. Not Seymour.”
“So he says. And it was just six weeks earlier, actually. Ask Oliver. Perhaps he was still so angry and wanted to teach him a lesson? What better lesson than to kill the goose who laid the golden egg? Norm’s books were hot property thanks to Seymour and his supposed alien abduction. That was the drawcard. With Seymour dead, Norm was just another writer. Think about it, Roxy, Oliver had kept their dirty little secret for years and instead of repaying him, they go and ditch him, say they don’t need him anymore. That’s got to cut.” He paused. “So maybe Oliver got cutting ...” He indicated his wrist and slashed it left and right. She gave him a withering look. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away.” He held up a second finger. “Now to William Glad’s death: Oliver’s motive there is very clear.”
“How so?”
“Don’t you recall, he told us himself, he had been begging old William to release his back catalogue for years. A very lucrative back catalogue, I might add. Now Glad’s out of the way, Oliver and Erin are free to do just that.”
She shook her head furiously. She had already thought this through. “It’s nonsensical, David. William Glad was dying. Oliver knew that. Erin knew that. Why murder him when he’ll be dead in a few days anyway? Then you can publish anything you like.”
He flashed her a confident smile. “Ah yes, but did you know William had asked his daughter to arrange a bedside meeting with his lawyer before he died?” The look of surprise on her face was all the answer he needed. “It never came to pass but you’ve got to wonder what that was about. Maybe William was going to change his will and insist the books never be published, maybe they had to kill him before he did it.”
“How do you know about the lawyer?”
He tapped his nose, saying nothing, and held up finger number three. “Now to Tina Passion, the third murder. That motive, I’m sorry to say, is as old as the bible. Older even.”
“Oh?”
“Love, of course. Unrequited love to be more specific. The worst kind of love. That one you can’t dispute.”
“Oh, come on, David, I know Olie had a soft spot for Tina, but—”
“A soft spot? The guy had a hard-on, was gagging for it, and she played hard to get. Oliver must have been sick to death of her games, her constant teasing. You and I saw it for ourselves, that last time she came to his office. So he took her out to dinner, walked her back to her place, tried his luck yet again and yet again she laughed him off. That’s really got to hurt. He’s unbalanced as it is by now, having killed two other writers for money and revenge. So he follows her in, tries to have his merry way. When that doesn’t work, he hits her over the head and then plants the poisoned apple to make it look like a serial nutcase.”
She was growing increasingly frustrated by all of this. “So where did Oliver get poison from? Out of his back pocket? No way, that death was clearly premeditated, you just said so yourself. Somebody took time to arrange that one carefully, to source poison, an apple ...”
“Maybe it was a crime of passion as you call it, then he left, fetched some poison from his place or from the convenience store. The shopkeeper already said he bought a bunch of stuff.”
“But there’s no proof he bought poison! Or even an apple for that matter. Besides, if it turns out to be strychnine, isn’t that tricky to get these days? From what I’ve read, it’s banned almost across the board. It’s not 1940 and available as rat poison at every supermarket.”
“Who knows, but you still can get it, I think, if you’r
e clever, and Oliver is pretty clever. He might have had some at home. He could’ve fetched it from his place and returned to Tina’s to make it look premeditated.”
She laughed then, feeling the ridiculousness of what he was saying and a little relieved, too. It was so outlandish, surely the police would see that.
“Well, that’s how I see it,” David said, moodily, “And it’s how the public will, too.” He looked away and took a long gulp of his drink.
There was no laughter now. “You’re not?” she said. “You are not putting all of that in tomorrow’s paper. Tell me you are not?” She yanked his arm and he looked back at her.
“Not quite, I can get my butt sued, you know that. The lawyers have amended a few things, but that’s the general gist.”
Roxy pushed her stool back and stood up. “Unbelievable!”
He stood up, too. “Hey, Roxanne, don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
“I thought you understood, this is what we do, this is how we get our headlines.”
She shook her head at him. “This is all conjecture. Your theories sound absurd to me. You haven’t convinced me at all. Where’s your evidence? Where’s your proof?”
“I’m not saying he did it, I’m just throwing suggestions around.”
“In a national newspaper that will kill Oliver’s career, if it doesn’t kill him first. You need to go to your office and pull the presses. Now!”
He shook his head. “It’s done, Roxanne. It’s too late.”
“Then we’re done, too,” she said, reaching down to collect her handbag. He tried to grab her hand but she shook him off.
“Come on. This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe it is, but Oliver is more than my agent, he’s my good friend, and I thought he was your friend, too. I thought you’d have some heart. And I thought you were going to come to me first.”
