The Naked Room

by Diana Hockley

  Where was James? My heart leapt with fear, but before I panicked, he returned carrying a large tray which he placed on the coffee table.

  ‘Are you feeling a bit better?’ He handed me wet face-cloth to wipe my face and hands and a handtowel to dry off. Two cups of steaming coffee stood on the side table.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ I smiled shakily, and slowly smoothed the warm, wet, cloth over my hot cheeks. ‘I seem to have lost control completely.’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have a child kidnapped before this, now I’m beginning to understand. The stress is horrendous for you.’ He handed me a cup of coffee which I sipped gratefully.

  I sighed. ‘Sometimes I don’t know how I can bear a second more of it. I want to scream and yell and break things. When are you going to start with—’

  ‘I got the item numbers. This morning I’ll set up the account and see what’s what.’

  ‘I want to do it with you.’

  ‘Well, yes, you can, if it doesn’t upset you too much.’ He looked at me doubtfully. ‘We won’t be receiving anything though, thank God.’

  Inexplicably, the last time I heard from Ally, jumped into my mind.

  ‘Mum, would you please send me the green dress with the pleats? It’s hanging in the wardrobe under something else.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get it in the mail tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks millions, mum. Talk to you soon!’

  Was that to be the last conversation I would have with my daughter? About a dress? No. It couldn’t be… terrifying images chased through my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. Before I could let go again, James put his cup down and took my hands in his. ‘Tell me about Ally as a baby.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment, I couldn’t work out what he was saying.

  ‘Ally, Eloise. What she was like when she was a baby. Tell me about her. Please.’

  Was he hoping to distract me? Delighted that at last he was expressing interest, I reached for the holdall which I brought with me, opened the side pocket and took out the folders of photographs.

  He gazed wistfully at images of Ally as a baby and later, playing with the animals, wearing her pet rats on her shoulder like epaulets, clowning with friends, receiving awards for her music. Regret for what might have been swept through me again. The unthinkable forced its way to the forefront of my mind, in spite of my efforts to quell it. She may never know her father.

  After he looked at the photos, it was as though at last we had touched common ground through our daughter, as though our lives had finally intersected. Perhaps we would establish a friendship, but more than that I didn’t dare hope for, though my heart was sending me signals that it would like to take up from where it had been left, twenty-six years ago.

  The night sky was giving way to daylight, the huge house silent, almost menacing, when we went to the kitchen. In spite of him turning the lights on as we walked through the long, high-ceilinged hallway, I felt as though demons lurked in the shadows as I passed.

  The cold, black and white kitchen was an uncomfortable place to be, a sharp contrast to my homely cottage with its shabby cupboards and dog-scuffed doors. I dismissed an involuntary image of James, enormous in my small house. In spite of his caring behaviour, I had no reason to believe he might want to embark on a relationship with me after Ally was found. If…don’t even think it. But my wayward thoughts persisted. The man I had loved and hated all these years was actually standing only a metre away. This is Ally’s dad, father of my child. Surreal.

  Ever competent and talented, basically James hadn’t changed. But what of his inner self? The musician and incongruously, the businessman? He was never soft, but somewhere there lurked a sweet core, a willingness to care for those weaker than himself. And he was trying to save Ally.

  My mind almost flipped out again. I had to know. ‘Where did you put the…?’ Golden box.

  ‘Um…’ He was unable to prevent the merest flicker of his eyes toward the freezer. He saw me shudder. ‘I know how you feel, but there was nothing else I could do with it because,’ he paused, ‘it’s evidence.’

  ‘I think this is getting too dangerous and we should tell the police. I know Georgie could have been killed for some other reason than to do with us, but I can’t help feeling it’s not a coincidence.’ My leg muscles clenched so tight with tension that my knees literally jiggled under the table.

  It was James’s turn to disagree. ‘We have to keep quiet. It was my idea to go to them before, but since this… gift box, I realise you were right. If we keep quiet, they will continue to trust us. Maybe they won’t touch her again.’ He hesitated and then continued, ‘at least they didn’t cut off one of her fingers.’

  I choked. Coffee sprayed all over the table, coming out of my mouth, nose, and running back into my throat. Tears poured down my face. James leapt to his feet, grabbing a tea towel with which he proceeded to mop up. I couldn’t stop coughing as I tried to suck oxygen.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Eloise. Oh damn!’

  Gradually getting control of myself, I flopped back on the chair. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. At least it wasn’t that.’ My voice wobbled.

  Of all the terrible things they could do to Ally, maiming her hands would surely be the worst, apart from killing her. For a moment he looked uncertain and then he reached out to touch my hand.

  ‘Eloise, I think you should come and stay here with me at the house, at least until this is all over. Will you do that? No one knows I’m Ally’s father, so the media won’t find you here. Believe me, if you stay where you are, they will hunt you down and hound you and Pam.’ He looked at me, anxiously.

  Poor Pam. I felt guilty leaving her to deal with the media when it got out she was a friend of Ally. She didn’t need the hassle of having shrieking journalists and rampant photographers following her every move. Nor did I. ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t,’ I told myself and accepted, crossing mental fingers that Pam wouldn’t feel abandoned.

  We went up to James’ bedroom where I lay down to rest, while James gathered some fresh clothes and headed for the shower. The doona’s comforting softness envelop my tired muscles.

  My daughter. Mutilated. Please God, they’d drugged her when they cut off the lobe of her ear. Or was she fully conscious? No, stop it! Think positively. Plastic surgery can do anything now. Oh God, no.

  I forced my thoughts to Masters Island. Georgie, my best friend was dead, murdered. But who hated her enough to kill her? She drank too much sometimes and occasionally was very abrupt, which upset some people. What could she have possibly done to get stabbed? Was this related to Ally’s kidnapping? Had she told someone who Ally’s father was? Was that person afraid she would connect him or her with it?

  James, Pam and I talked over everything which had happened since Ally disappeared. We women feared they would treat her badly, perhaps not feed her properly, but James assured us they wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise. I thought what they’d done so far was more than enough. Perhaps they didn’t care, because they planned to—don’t go there.

  He emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. I climbed wearily off the bed. ‘There are clean towels there for you, Eloise. Can you manage on your own for a short time now? I want to go and set up this account.’ The corners of his mouth turned down with distaste.

  I could tell from his expression that he was champing at the bit to get on with it. As I heard myself answer “fine” the incongruity of the answer struck me. We humans fall over, hit our heads and have blood pouring out, or we trip, land flat on our faces and feel we’ll never get up again—but still say “Fine, thank you,” when asked if we’re all right.

  ‘Come to the study as soon as you’re ready. I’m cancelling a couple of appointments so I don’t have to leave here. James looked at me, thoughtfully. ‘You need a car and I’d like to get you one so you can be independent.’

  I was astonished. ‘I have a perfectly good car at home
!’

  ‘I know you do, but you need a car to get around in while you’re up here. You’re reliant on Pam or myself for transport. Let me hire one for you, Eloise, please?’ He gave me one of his rare smiles, so like Ally’s.

  ‘All right,’ I capitulated, ‘but only a jam tin on cotton reels, thank you.’

  His lips twitched as he punched some numbers into the phone, spoke for a few minutes, hung up and then turned back to me.

  ‘I don’t think for a minute they expect to get three million out of us, Eloise. Using eBay is an easy way to get maybe a few hundred thousand at the outside, because it’s essentially a quick “get in, get out” exercise and amateurish. But keeps us busy and in a constant state of panic. As far as I can see, it’s the only explanation for such a bizarre way of getting extra money.’ The muscles in his jaw clenched. He was keeping himself tightly under control, but the strain showed around his eyes and mouth.

  Downstairs, the dog barked. The housekeeper, Mrs Fox, had arrived.

  ‘A Lexus will be delivered at 9am,’ said James, as he went to the door.

  ‘A Lexus? That’s hardly a little car, James!’ I protested.

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘You need something decent to drive.’ An understatement indeed. ‘Right. And I’ll get started with this stuff, then we had better eat something.’

  I must have made a small sound, because he looked down at me sternly. ‘You have to eat, Eloise. You aren’t helping anyone, least of all Ally if you don’t keep healthy.’

  He visibly braced himself and picked up the list, mouth tight, eyes bleak. Greatly daring, I reached behind him, my right breast brushing his arm as I rubbed the small of his back with slow circular strokes. He looked up again, startled.

  ‘You used to do that when I was stressed over exams. It always calmed me,’ he said quietly. We looked at each other for a long moment. A flash of tangled limbs and heat, slid into my mind. I could see the pulse at the base of his throat throbbing; he drew in a sharp breath. ‘When this is over and Ally is safe, we’ll go away and have time together,’ he said, thrusting his hand into his pocket to jingle his keys and coin.

  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. ‘My God, it has to be someone who’s been here!’

  I gazed at him, speechless.

  ‘I’m stupid. I knew there was something I was missing. The letter box key is always kept on the hook where you saw me get it last night. Either someone broke in or it was a tradesman who was here.’

  His face twisted.

  ‘Maybe a member of the orchestra, or it could even be one of my friends.’

  CHAPTER 24

  Doing Coffee

  Detective Senior Sergeant Susan Prescott.

  Wednesday: 11.00am.

  My nose ran, my throat felt raw and I was cranky. The media were battering the front of Headquarters down, begging for information. What we didn’t give them, they invented. My husband, Harry, had arrived back from Sydney and the information he brought with him was causing a great deal of angst. I lurked in my corner of the room all morning, thinking and snivelling into tissues, while Evan conducted the early briefing. Occasionally a member of my team would poke his or her head in the door, start to speak, take one look at my thunderous expression and promptly vanish.

  We had checked out the credentials and backgrounds of all the members of the orchestra, the directors and three administrative staff. I was disappointed to discover there was nothing sinister in the lives of any of them, including Sir James McPherson who had been pestering the Commissioner daily, wanting to know what we were doing and why we hadn’t found Ally Carpenter. I would love to have wrapped my hands around the conductor’s throat and squeezed until his eyes popped out. We’re doing our best, for heaven’s sake!

  The detective from the CIB in Townsville who answered my enquiry about the artist, Georgie Hird, rang back at 11am. They had interviewed a friend of Georgie Hird and Eloise who was house-sitting Eloise’s cottage. Irritation oozed down the line. ‘She acted as though she knew nothing, but I’m not convinced, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘How can I help you, then?’ I sucked my teeth and twirled my pen in my fingers, wishing he would get on with it.

  ‘I need everything Eloise Carpenter knows about Georgie Hird. Could you assign someone to interview her for us?’

  I agreed to do it myself.

  ‘Ms Hird died as a result of a long, thin piece of metal. There was a half-finished sweater in a basket in her bedroom, so it seems likely a knitting needle was driven through her heart. One steel number 11 is missing and a single thrust was all it took,’ he said, and then expanded on the details.

  ‘The forensic report advised she died instantly, there was little blood, but bruise marks on her arms where someone held her tightly. There are abrasions on her body, so we figure she was murdered in the house, carried to the cliff edge and thrown onto the rocks. She’d not been immersed in the sea and not had sexual intercourse prior to her death.’ Then he added a detail which only the killer would know.

  After we finished speaking, I sat and turned the case over in my mind. It appeared too much of a coincidence for Ally Carpenter’s godmother to be murdered while the girl was missing. However, on the face of it, a connection between Ally Carpenter’s abduction and the murder of the artist seemed far-fetched. Reason suggested Ally’s abduction was sexual, and the presence of the woman at the nightclub couldn’t preclude that.

  It would be easy to leave her body in the bush outside the city, and large freezers have been known to make handy receptacles for inconvenient truths. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I had a feeling she was still alive. In the meantime, I agreed to question Eloise Carpenter about Georgie Hird.

  I picked up the telephone and rang Ms Carpenter’s mobile, which she answered on the second ring. I regretted not having news to give her, but she didn’t seem surprised. Fleetingly, I wondered why not and then plunged into the reason for the call.

  ‘Ms Carpenter, Townsville CIB has been in touch with me regarding Miss Hird’s murder. I would like to ask you some questions if you feel up to it.’ There was a moment of silence, during which I grabbed a clean tissue and dabbed my dribbling nose.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be happy to give you any information I can… but I don’t know if there’s much I can tell you,’ she replied.

  ‘Perhaps it might be better if I met you somewhere and we talk, Ms Carpenter?’

  It would be a good excuse to get myself out of the building, leave behind the pests such as the “James” heavyweights from the Pacific Orchestra and the screaming media pack.

  We arranged to meet at a small coffee shop, not far from Pamela Miller’s flat.

  I got waylaid several times in the effort to escape headquarters, having fought off Evan’s well-meaning efforts to come with me and ignored Ben Taylor’s hopeful glance as I swept by. I was going to pick Eloise Carpenter’s brains and felt I could do better on my own.

  It was a fine, autumn day and the air was crisp with the promise of a cold winter. As we sat in the trendy little café opposite a park, making small talk while we waited for our lattés to arrive, I looked closely at Eloise. Her face had taken on a translucent appearance, accentuating her exhaustion. Her eyelids were heavy and red-rimmed; her eyes told of tearful nights.

  We confessed to watching our weight, but then decided to throw caution to the wind and have caramel-cream cakes. For a very short time it was possible to forget the reason why we were there, but then reality kicked in.

  ‘Okay, Senior Sergeant, let’s get it over with,’ said Eloise, as she scooped a spoonful of froth from the top of her coffee and licked the spoon.

  ‘First of all, how are you holding up? And have you changed your mind about the police liaison officer visiting?’ I asked, after we had taken the first sip of our coffee and bite of cake.

  Her eyes widened. ‘No, thank you. I have Pam and my friends to help me. The orchestra administration has been very good to me and there are other friends I can call o
n. The doctor has given me some sleeping tablets in case I need them.’ Her expression said she wouldn’t take them in a pink fit.

  ‘Okay. Well, let me know if we can help you in any way, won’t you?’ I smiled reassuringly at her. ‘Are you staying at your goddaughter’s place for awhile?’

  ‘Er, no. I’m going to stay with a friend.’ She blushed and kept her eyes on her latté, carefully breaking up the froth with her teaspoon. Oh yeah?

  ‘You’re not going to stay in Ally’s house?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t bear it. Pam and I went over, but it was too awful with Ally not there. I just couldn’t stay and certainly not on my own.’ Her mouth wobbled, as she stirred her coffee vigorously, splashing droplets over the rim of the cup. ‘All the time I was there, I expected to hear her come through the door, and I could smell her clothes on the bed, the bathroom—everywhere in that house, I could feel my daughter’s—’ she faltered, searching for the right word, ‘essence.’

  She looked at me, mother to mother. ‘It was like when she was a baby, you know? Their scent. I used to wonder how sheep knew their own lamb in a flock of hundreds, but once I had my baby I understood.’

  ‘Oh yes. I know exactly what you mean.’ I nodded slowly, remembering the birth of my twin daughters. The personal aroma of your children never leaves the archives of a mother’s memory. Pity the other memories of my first marriage wouldn’t disappear.

  Time to return to business. ‘I’ll need your phone number and new address if you’re moving location, then.’ I clicked my biro and waited expectantly. She looked embarrassed. ‘You have my mobile number, Senior Sergeant,’ she pointed out, our personal moment now scotch mist.

  ‘I do, but I also need to know where you’re staying,’ I said gently. ‘In case we need to collect you to identify Ally,’ was my unspoken thought.

  ‘Look, I’d rather not say.’ She squirmed. ‘Isn’t it enough you have my mobile number?’