As they closed the front door and left the house, they understood their lives would never be the same again. They made a pact never to mention what happened that afternoon, and she never did.
C H A P T E R 2 5
Audrey looked up from her desk and into the face of Detective Constable Higgins. “I didn’t hear your car,” she said.
“I have been here for a while. Been talking to Matt Walters. He said you packed up his aunt’s belongings. Did you find any notebooks or diaries by any chance? Mr. Walters said he didn’t find any, but I wondered if they might have got mixed up in your brother’s things.”
“Notebooks? No, can’t say I saw anything like that. She did have a number of bibles and odd books. But I don’t remember seeing any diary. Why? Do you think she was keeping secrets?” She smiled. “She was just an old religious lady who liked crossword puzzles. I don’t think she had any secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets,” the detective said. “If you happen to find anything, please let me know. I presume you packed up the house? I see it is on the market.”
“He owed more money than the house is worth. The bank is foreclosing on it. I have donated his belongings to the Salvation Army in Whangarei. Mostly old furniture and bits and pieces. You may want to contact them.”
“I’ll take your word for it. By the way, your parents’ murder case is being re-opened. We have found new evidence. I thought you should know.”
Fuck! What can he have found? “That is a surprise, detective. The case was closed over thirty years ago. What new evidence could you possibly have found that would warrant re-opening it?”
“I’m sorry but I cannot divulge that information.
Let’s just say that we are closer than ever before to solving the case. But you and your sisters will be the first to know when we have something to report.”
He’s bluffing. What could he possibly have found? “Well, that is good news, detective. Finally my dear parents will be able to rest in peace. My sisters and I have always wondered who was responsible for their deaths. We even suspected our Uncle Steve. He was always fighting with my father. Always coming around for money to buy his booze. But I guess we will never know, now that he is dead,” she added.
“Talking about your sisters. You were not at home the afternoon your parents were murdered? Is that right? Your statements suggest you didn’t return home from school until after your parents’ bodies had been found.”
“I have blocked out that awful day. My sisters and I never discuss it. In fact we have never talked about it to anyone. We all have our own way of dealing with it. But to answer your question, I didn’t come home until the police were there. I can’t speak for my sisters. But I do know that Honey was at the park that afternoon and Becka was at basketball practice at school. I don’t know what time they returned to the house. Our older sister, Simone took us all to her place that night. We didn’t go to school the next day.“
“I see. That is what I thought. I’m sorry to bring all this up again. But with this new evidence we might want to question you all again. Are your sisters going to be staying here a while?”
”They are due to leave in a couple of days. But I can’t imagine what you need to talk to them about. We knew nothing of the murders. We were just children at the time. We have put all that behind us.” Audrey knew the detective was onto something. But what?
“I have to get back to work, detective. Is there anything else?”
“No, not at the moment. I will arrange a time to talk to you all in a couple of days. I would like you all to come to the station. I can send a car for you.”
“We are planning on taking a short trip after the funeral. A family road trip down the island. Then Becka is flying back to London on Friday night and Simone and her family are returning home on Saturday morning. If you need to ask any questions I suggest you do so while you are here. We are leaving for Uncle Steve’s funeral soon so it will have to be now. I can call them and tell them you want to talk to them. Shall I have them meet you at the picnic table on the front lawn?”
“Yes, but I want to talk to each of them separately. “
“I will tell them.” She picked up the phone.
C H A P T E R 2 6
Simone kept her eyes out to sea. She couldn’t look at the detective. He was talking about the afternoon her parents died. She wasn’t there when it happened. It was a neighbor who called telling her that the police were at her parents’ house and that she should come over.
It had been chaos. Honey ran to her. She was sobbing inconsolably. Becka was sitting on the curve on the footpath with her head in her hands. Audrey was on the front lawn next to her bike. She was in shock. Simone remembered everything so clearly. Her brother wasn’t there. He was at work, they said, making deliveries.
She had put her sisters in her car and taken them back to her flat. The police said they wanted to talk to them. She said they would have to wait until tomorrow. She remembered the police asking her who had keys to the house. She had told them they never locked the house. No one did. It was a safe neighborhood. At least it used to be.
“When did you arrive at the house that afternoon?” the detective asked her now.
“A neighbor called me and told me the police were at the house. I drove straight over there.”
“What time was that?”
“It was dinner time. I remember because I had to turn off the vegetables on the stove.”
“Were all your sisters there when you arrived?”
“Yes the sirens must have alerted them. They told me that they saw the police at the house when they arrived. “
“Was it usual for your sisters to come home late from school?”
“It was not unusual. Becka had basketball practice most afternoons, Audrey liked to stay late and hang out with her friends in the playgrounds. Honey often went to the park after school. As long as they were home by tea time.”
“Audrey told me that you don’t discuss your parents’ murders with each other. Is that right?
“Yes, we have never talked about it. I know that sounds strange. But we all separated shortly after their murders. Becka went to London; I took a teacher’s job in Wellington and married soon after. Honey lived with me for a few years and later moved to Auckland. Audrey traveled overseas. This is the first time we have seen each other in decades. We were not a close family.”
“Thanks Simone. Can you ask Becka to join me?”
“I’m sorry detective. But we have to leave for the funeral. They cannot tell you any more than I can. Please leave us alone. Dredging up old memories is too painful. I don’t want my younger sisters to go through all that again.”
Simone left the detective sitting alone on the picnic bench. He watched as they walked towards the waiting cars. He was surprised to see Matt and Honey hand in hand. When did that happen? His gut told him the sisters knew a lot more about their parents’ deaths than their original statements indicated. But proving it was another thing.
Three school bags in the hallway on the afternoon of the murder. Three school-age sisters who swore they were not in the house that afternoon. But what reason would they have for murdering their parents? There was no life insurance. The house was heavily mortgaged. Their parents were church going, respectable people. I am missing something.
C H A P T E R 2 7
It was over. Uncle Steve was cremated. Well, at least, he would be. They all watched his coffin disappear behind a curtain after the funeral service. It could take up to seventy-two hours to turn her uncle’s body into ashes. There were no tears. Simone offered to say a few words. Mostly for Piper’s sake. She wanted her daughter to experience the dying process in a respectful manner. Audrey was pleased. She had nothing to say.
On their return, Audrey confessed, “The detective wanted us to come down to the Whangarei police station in a couple of days, but I told him we were planning on taking a road trip immediately after the funeral and wouldn’t be able to.”
<
br /> “Good thinking,” said Becka. “I don’t want to talk to him. Thank goodness I am leaving soon. Hopefully he doesn’t bug us again.”
“Isn’t it against the law to lie to the police?” asked Piper.
“We can just say we changed our minds,” Audrey replied.
Arriving back at Tiromoana, Audrey poured herself a full glass of wine and sat in the sun to read her mother’s diary. She had read it once before a long time ago and knew what the words would tell. Opening the old yellowed book at a random page she started reading:
Today, he asked me to purchase more film for his camera.
Why does he have to take so many photos? The girls hate being photographed. They cry and try to cover their little bodies because of the shame…
She couldn’t read any more and snapped the book shut. Audrey didn’t need confirmation of her parents’ sordid lives. After all, she had experienced it at first hand.
Audrey returned the diary to the keepsake box. It was a beautiful carved wooden box her mother had purchased a lifetime ago. A box for her sordid secrets. She touched her mother’s pearls. Audrey had worn them home the day her brother died but had not worn them since. Such a beautiful necklace. Why her brother had the pearls she would never know. She placed the pearls under the diary and closed the lid.
Becka, Honey and Matt arrived for pre-dinner drinks on the lawn. Audrey was surprised to find she actually liked having her sisters around. Somehow meeting again as adults allowed them to dissociate themselves from their childhood.
“To family and friends,” she toasted. “I am going to miss you when you go.”
“Family and friends,” they chorused.
C H A P T E R 2 8
He looked at the crime scene photos again. Something else was bugging him. What was it? He searched through the evidence box and every crime scene photo but nothing seemed to ring a bell.
Detective Constable Higgins walked over to his collage on the wall. He had added headshots to every name. Then he realized what it was. Mrs. Brown was wearing the same twinset in the newspaper article as on the day she was killed. Only difference was – she was not wearing the pearls. There was no mention of the pearls in the report. He searched the evidence documents. No pearls. He knew he had seen them somewhere, but where?
He prided himself on his eidetic memory, which was usually found only in children. He had the ability to recall images, sounds or objects in memory only after a short time of being exposed to them. This made him an excellent detective. He had solved numerous cases by utilizing his special talent. The answer is always in the details.
Then, as clear as if he had seen them yesterday, he saw them in his mind’s eye around Audrey Wetherby’s neck on the first day he met her. He had interviewed her in her brother’s library and she was wearing the very same pearls. I wonder when she took ownership of her mother’s pearls? Surely her mother would not have given them to a fifteen-year-old girl? She must have taken them after her death. But when? That is the question.
He made a note in his file and spotted a pile of boxes in his office marked “Murray Brown”. They must have arrived today from the Christchurch office. He opened the first box and saw stacks of Kodak slide carousels. He pulled a slide out and held it up to the light. A waterfall. Looked like Milford Sound. He looked at a number of slides at random – all scenes mostly from the West Coast of the South Island. He presumed that Mr. Brown must have been an avid amateur photographer. There were undeveloped rolls of film and a camera. He opened up the other boxes. More slides, more film. He closed the boxes and stacked them aside in his office. He requested a projector. When it arrived he would review all the slides. Maybe they held some clues.
C H A P T E R 2 9
They sat in rows on straight-backed chairs. Deacon James welcomed them to the meeting. “I’m glad you could all make it,” he began. He looked around the room at his fellow Christians. “I called this meeting to discuss the death of Greta Baywater and how she had affected our lives over the past ten years. Many of you have come to me and confessed the shame you have felt when this woman threatened to expose your private conversations with her. I also have experienced her wrath. But we are not here to discuss what she held over us, but rather to put an end to this once and for all.
“I have contacted her nephew, Matt Walters, asking him for assistance in this matter requesting he destroy any records his aunt kept of our conversations. I am hoping he is an honest man and will agree to our request.”
“If he agrees, how will we know whether he has destroyed them?” asked a middle-aged woman from the back row. “What if he uses the same information to destroy us?”
“It is unlikely he will read all her private correspondence. We will just have to take his word. Our goal is to have everything destroyed. Don’t you agree? More importantly, we don’t want the police knowing our personal business. Do we?”
Mary Hastings was listening in silence. She had already gone to the police and given him the blackmail letters. Should she tell the others? Better to keep quiet. They may not want the police to know.
Deacon James had a lot to hide. His marital infidelity would get him banned from his church.
Infidelity with another man would destroy his reputation completely. He had gone to Greta ten years ago. Craig, his lover at the time, had recommended her. It will be completely confidential, he was promised. Confidential, my ass. She had used his sessions to blackmail him ever since. At first his sessions with Greta were therapeutic. She made him feel good about himself. Every Wednesday, week after week, he would sit in the little library and she would bring out her tarot cards. “Your future looks bright. Your secret is safe,” she would say. He had confessed that his marriage to the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest family in the community was a farce. He was attracted to men. Then, a few months ago, Greta had threatened him. Wanted money. Lots of money. Now she was dead. Did she keep records of their sessions? He presumed she did, and they must be destroyed.
He looked at the crowd in the room. He was shocked at how many had responded to the notice in last week’s church bulletin:
If you have had a reading with Greta Baywater and suffered consequences please attend a meeting in the Church Hall on Tuesday night at 7 p.m.
He recalled most of them had also attended her funeral. He wondered if they felt relief, like he did, when they realized she could no longer destroy their lives. Did they also worry that their meetings had been recorded or, worse, documented for anyone to see?
He hoped that Matt Walters would acquiesce to his request. He asked the attendees to email him immediately after the meeting so he could respond to them when he heard any news.
The crowd dispersed. Deacon James checked his messages for the tenth time that night. No response. Damn!
C H A P T E R 3 0
Matt wondered what Deacon James could possibly want that was so urgent. When he read his text message about destroying his aunt’s notes pertaining to their private sessions, he thought the man must have lost his mind. What sessions? What notes? What church sessions could possibly stir up so much emotion? He would return his call later. Matt was looking forward to spending the day with Honey. She had stayed over again last night in his cabin. They drank and laughed and told silly stories until they fell asleep. He had never felt so blissfully happy.
Today they would spend the day at Tiromoana, exploring the rocky beaches and fishing for snapper off table rock. It was a beautiful day. Honey had left to help with breakfast and to sneak a couple of bottles of wine for their day in the sun.
“Mr. Walters, Mum sent me over to tell you that brunch is ready on the front lawn,” It was Piper.
“Thanks Piper. But you can call me Matt. I’m on my way.” He watched the pretty teen in short shorts and bikini top skip down the wooded path. Youth. So much energy. He grabbed his camera. His creative juices were flowing. Beautiful women, stunning views and warm balmy breezes. It doesn’t get any better than this. His phone started beeping
again. Shit. What is his problem? He turned off his phone and went to join the others. C H A P T E R 3 1
Deacon James could wait no longer. It had been twelve hours since he left the first message and still he had no reply. Has he read her notes? Is he planning to blackmail us all too? He needed to get answers. His life depended on it. Where was her nephew staying? Researching online didn’t reveal anything. Greta’s personal life was just that, personal. If she had a website or Facebook page, it was taken down. Nothing.
He prepared himself for the seven o’clock prayer meeting. He expected a large turnout tonight. He knew God would take second place to Greta. They would want to know if he had handled everything like he said he would. He picked up his bible and headed for the door.
His phone rang; he looked at the caller ID. Finally! “Matt Walters here, you left me a message or two. Sorry I haven’t returned your call until now but I have been out fishing all day. Just got back. What can I do for you? You said something about my aunt having notes about sessions?”
“It is rather a personal matter, Mr. Walters. Your aunt was assisting a number of her friends and now that she has passed away, we would prefer to have any information she may have recorded, destroyed.”
“I am sorry, Deacon James. I have no idea what you are talking about. My aunt was just a housekeeper and caregiver. You must have her confused with someone else.”
“You didn’t know? “
“Know what?”
“Your aunt was a psychic. She had quite a reputation – used tarot cards to look into the future.
Unfortunately she used private information gained from her sessions to encourage her clients to pay her large sums of money.”
“No way, you say my Aunt Greta was a fortune teller?” Matt laughed. “I have her personal effects. Just some old bibles, pieces of cheap jewelry and boxes of clothes. She lived with Ben Brown for over fifteen years, taking care of him. She liked doing crossword puzzles and knitting. I am sorry Deacon James, but I cannot help you. You are mistaken. My aunt was a nice church-going lady.”
Murder In The Family Page 5
