Murder In The Family

by Leonie Mateer

  “Bloody hell!” Bromley was pissed off. “What has the woman done? I have to go.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the station. He hadn’t even finished his report. Bloody Audrey had pre-empted him. She was clever. She was covering all her bases.

  He didn’t have to wait to reach his office before his cell phone started ringing furiously. It was the Super. “What the fuck, Bromley! Did you know about this?“

  “I interviewed Audrey Wetherby and her sister yesterday but I still had some loose ends to tie up before I finished my report. I will get it to you this morning.”

  “Too right you will! I’m coming up to see you. What is all this about the bloody caregiver? Did you know she was blackmailing her parish members? Have you seen this so-called, notebook evidence?”

  “No, I have never seen a notebook. Didn’t know about it until this morning. Some of the members of the Baywater woman’s church made accusations about her demanding money. I have arranged to have her body exhumed. We should know in a couple of days if her death was caused by anything other than natural causes.”

  “I want to see your report on the Brown case as soon as I get there. This is big, Bromley. One of the biggest unsolved crimes in the country and you get a confession and don’t bother to pick up the phone and discuss it with me. You’d better have a good explanation. I can’t believe bloody David Doherty didn’t call us for a comment prior to airing this!”

  Bromley knew he was in deep shit. Fuck! He checked his messages and there was a message left at midnight last night from Doherty.

  “Detective Bromley, David Doherty TV One here, I will be breaking the story on the Browns’ murder tomorrow morning. Audrey Wetherby met with me tonight and has filled me in on her statement to you today. If you have any comment, please call me. It will be going to air at eight. Also, I understand you are looking into Greta Baywater’s death. If possible, I would like a comment on this case, too.”

  Double shit!

  C H A P T E R 6 5

  As Audrey was sitting in the Kiwi cabin spilling her guts to David Doherty, Becka was wiping her fingerprints off every surface in the holiday house. Eric had been kind enough to help her with the dishes after dinner. He even cleaned the BBQ, for which she was extremely grateful. He was now lying on the sofa wrapped in plastic like a shiny chrysalis. Cleanliness was important to Becka. Cleanliness and attention to detail were her two strongest attributes.

  It was almost midnight. The streets in the small seaside township were deserted. She hadn’t heard a car in over an hour. The nearby motor camp was full of campervans and kids. The kids would be fast asleep and the parents were either drinking or had passed out watching TV in their metal cocoons. She looked out the window. The night sky was spectacular. The Milky Way was a banquet of stars, luminous shapes and wisps of white. A pale moon shone brightly, reflecting in the still waters of Hihi Bay. Becka had forgotten how wonderful the New Zealand night sky was. London lights blocked out the night sky. She would miss this.

  Finally she was packed, with all her luggage in Eric’s Jeep. She had returned her rental car in Mangonui before lunch and had been grateful for Eric’s offer to drive her back to Hihi. She was even more grateful she had the use of his Ute for the four-hour drive back to Auckland. Now wasn’t that kind of him?

  She backed up the Jeep Wrangler to the front door and opened its back door. Becka was small but strong.

  Even so, she needed to place him on a blanket and slide him across the clean wooden floor to the door.

  Levering him headfirst then hoisting his legs up into the Jeep, she managed to lay him neatly beside their luggage. She was pleased to see he had conveniently bought his luggage with him. Men! Always come prepared for an overnight stay. Gotta love ‘em.

  She locked the door, placed the key under the mat, as she had been instructed by the landlord, and returned to the Jeep. Pulling the driver’s seat forward, she turned on the ignition and heard the motor roar into life. The radio was tuned to the National Radio Station. They were playing Mozart by the London Symphony Orchestra. Perfect. She sat back and headed into the night. She just had one stop to make on the way before she headed out onto the main highway.

  C H A P T E R 6 6

  Audrey heard the police cars driving up her driveway. They looked pissed off as they strode up the path to her cottage office. “Detective Bromley,” she acknowledged him as he burst open the door.

  “You know Inspector Burt?” Bromley snapped. She nodded. “We understand you have some evidence relating to your brother’s death, your parents’ murder and Greta Baywater’s blackmailing activities. We would have appreciated you divulging this information to the police rather than having it blabbed all over the morning news. What were you thinking? “

  “I wasn’t thinking!” Audrey exclaimed guiltily. “I had been drinking last night. I was so upset with everything. Dragging up the past.” She sniffed. “I knew it would be all over the news soon enough and just wanted to tell my side of the story. David Doherty was staying in one of my cabins and he seemed so nice and seemed to really care about me. I guess it all just came out. I am so sorry. I will get you the diary and notebook.” Audrey left the office and the two policemen followed her into her cottage.

  Handing over the evidence, Audrey explained, ”I took a photocopy of Greta’s notebook before handing the original to Deacon James. He said he would burn the evidence to protect him and his fellow parishioners.

  “I got a strange vibe from Deacon James and that’s why I decided to photocopy the notebook before giving it to him. I just had this funny feeling that maybe he had something to do with Greta Baywater’s death. When you read what she knew about him, you might think that, too.”

  Detective Bromley’s demeanor softened slightly with Audrey’s explanation of the situation. “Thank you, Audrey. But why didn’t you tell me about your mother’s diary?” The detective was skimming the pages and was obviously shocked at its contents.

  “Because it was awful, what she wrote,” she explained. My brother must have kept it all these years. Now you can understand why he did what he did.”

  Detective Bromley handed the diary to the Inspector. “This pretty much says it all,” he said flipping through the pages. “Thank you Audrey, we’ll let you know if we need to talk to you again. By the way, I haven’t been able to get in touch with your sister, Becka. If you are talking to her can you ask her to contact the station? Just have to verify the statement you gave.”

  “Will do, detective.” Audrey watched them go and let out a deep sigh. All was going to plan. All suspicion was now focusing on Ben and Deacon James. She still didn’t have any idea how she would deflect any suspicion regarding the death of Detective Higgins. Hopefully they would be too distracted with what they already had on their plates. At least she had some breathing time.

  She looked at the time. Shit! She still had a couple of cabins to clean. More reporters were due in this afternoon. She knew the press would now hound her and her sisters. At least Becka was out of the country.

  She doubted they would be able to track down Simone. She had managed to erase any record of her previous life prior to her marriage. As for Honey, she knew she should call her and explain why she had done what she had. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Honey didn’t deserve this. She would suggest she leave the country for a while. Maybe go and stay with Becka in London. Yes. Perfect idea. She picked up the phone to make the call.

  C H A P T E R 6 7

  Honey and Matt had watched the morning news in horror. “What the hell made Audrey tell all?” Honey sobbed uncontrollably. “Now everyone will know. I can’t believe she told them about your aunt, Matt. I am so sorry.”

  Matt was quiet. He was silently pissed off that Audrey hadn’t told him she had kept a copy of his aunt’s notebook. He didn’t trust Audrey. Not for one minute. She was definitely hiding something. But what?

  “She must have had her reasons.” He paused. “I don’t think you should
go to work today. Ring and tell them you have the flu. Don’t worry, Honey, we will work this out.”

  Honey had told Matt the full story. He was appalled at what Honey had gone through as a child. Now she would have to deal with the aftermath of what Audrey had done. Matt knew she needed some time alone. He kissed her goodbye and left her on the sofa covered in fluffy cats and pillows.

  Audrey called to say she had purchased Honey a ticket for the 10.30 p.m. flight to Heathrow that night. “You should leave the country until all of this blows over,” Audrey had told her. “If the police have any questions, they can talk to you over there. I can handle everything here. After all, it was me that caused all of this. A break away will do you the world of good. Why don’t you suggest to Matt that he comes with you?”

  Honey looked around her apartment. She had nothing here to stay for. Even her cats seemed to be getting used to her absence. Audrey was right. She must go. Go before the press found her. “I’ll go,” she said. Can you let Becka know I am on my way? See if she can pick me up from the airport? I have to pack. Shit. I hope I have enough warm clothes. It will be cold as hell over there.”

  “I’ll email you through the e-ticket. I suggest you don’t answer your phone. It will most likely be reporters. I will be the spokesperson for the family so you don’t have to answer any questions. I’ll keep you out of this, Honey.” Audrey hung up and left Honey in a packing frenzy.

  With her suitcase finally packed and the cats in their cage, Honey waited for Matt to drive her to the airport. She had begged him to accompany her but he said he would join her in London in a few days. “I need a couple of days to tie things up here,” he had explained.

  C H A P T E R 6 8

  Becka opened the front door of Eric Chapman’s messy house. “How can anyone live like this?” she thought as she walked through the kitchen looking for the inside entrance to the garage. Opening the garage doors, she parked the Ute inside and closed the doors immediately. She had been careful to wear one of Eric’s shirts and tuck her red hair neatly inside one of his baseball caps. If any neighbors saw the Jeep returning home, they would presume he was driving. Details. It was all in the details.

  Once inside, Becka set to work. Pills, booze and pot were everywhere, throughout the house. Setting the stage for an overdose was easier than she thought. With Eric unwrapped and redressed in casual jeans and sweatshirt, she propped him appropriately against the sofa, unpacked his suitcase and returned his fishing gear to the shelf in the garage.

  All evidence in the Jeep was wiped clean. Even though she was wearing gloves and a hat she didn’t want to risk anything. One stray hair could lead to detection. She made sure she returned the driver’s seat to its original position.

  She checked the time. It was almost six a.m. She had a full day before her flight left tonight for London. She was getting tired and knew she needed to get some sleep. She took one last look around house. Perfect.

  Changing into running shoes, black sweats and a black hoodie, she ran three miles to where she had hidden her luggage in dense bush. She used a new SIM card to order a taxi and immediately replaced it with another. The call would never be traced.

  The taxi dropped her at an airport hotel where she collapsed on the bed and slept soundly until her wake up call at 6 p.m. Becka liked her new look. The red hair changed her appearance considerably. She chose her favorite black knee-high boots, tight black pants and checkered blazer. A multi-colored silk scarf and dark glasses added to her disguise. I might even keep this look when I return to London, she thought. But knew she shouldn’t take any chances. When they find Eric’s body, people would say he was with a redhead either at lunch or on the boat. Mangonui was a small town and she knew they would have been spotted. It was definitely time to leave New Zealand.

  She checked in early, went through security and spent the next hour browsing the duty free shops. She reached the gate to find a large crowd had gathered waiting to board. Traveling business class, she had timed it perfectly. She handed the flight attendant her passport and boarding pass and with a flick of her pretty red hair walked the gangway to the Boeing 777.

  From her window seat she watched as luggage and food carts buzzed to and fro across the tarmac. She ordered a glass of champagne and ignored the long stream of boarding passengers who were accompanying her on her journey back to London.

  C H A P T E R 6 9

  Matt and Honey arrived at the airport at eight o’clock. It was a busy night at the Auckland International Airport and Matt helped Honey drag her heavy suitcase up to the ticket counter. He even paid her $120.00 overweight baggage fee. Air New Zealand was strict on their designated weight limit of 23 kg or 50 lb. per passenger. He kissed her goodbye and watched her disappear through security. She was on her own now. The wait at the screening area was long and tedious. When she finally reached the gate, they had just started boarding coach. She was seated in Row 47C, an aisle seat. Honey was always worried about climbing over other passengers to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She hoped no one was sitting in the middle seat so she would have more room.

  She lined up patiently in the gangway with her fellow passengers. She wished she could afford to fly first class or even business class, just once. But Audrey had paid for the ticket and she was just grateful for any seat. Finally she reached the entrance of the plane and was greeted by two smiling attendants who asked her where she was seated. They pointed her down the first aisle. It was difficult with her carry-on luggage. She tried to push it in front of her and then decided that pulling it was easier. A man stood up and helped her to readjust the bag on wheels. The redheaded woman next to him was looking out the window. Even though she had her back to Honey, she seemed familiar, somehow. Beautifully dressed with knee-length black boots that Honey thought she recognized. Quickly she moved forward to appease the impatient passengers caught in her luggage tangle.

  By the time she reached her designated seat, she knew where she had seen those boots before. Becka had a pair. Just like them. But why did the lady seem so familiar? Honey was proud of her ability to recognize people. She remembered names and people’s faces even after only one encounter. She had even remembered who David Knowles was when she heard that he had been burned to death a few days ago. Even though she was only twelve when Becka was dating him, she’d always thought David was really cute. She remembered how angry Becka was when he wouldn’t go out with her anymore after their parents died. She wondered why she was thinking of that now. She figured it was because the redheaded woman reminded her of Becka. Silly really. She would see Becka as soon as she arrived in London. Hopefully Audrey had told her she was coming. Honey didn’t really know Becka very well. Becka had left for London soon after Honey and Audrey had moved into Simone’s little flat. They had corresponded at first, but eventually lost contact over the years. Honey was looking forward to spending some time with her. Getting to know her.

  It was a ten-hour flight with a security-check stopover at LAX. At least she could stretch her legs when they disembarked. She wondered how many of her fellow passengers were continuing on to London. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of the mess she was leaving behind. Thank goodness Audrey was taking care of everything.

  C H A P T E R 7 0

  The detective had called Eric Chapman numerous times and left many voice messages. Where the hell was he? He wanted to talk about Higgins’ trip to Hihi. Had they met up that night? Had they both met with Audrey? Bromley left another message to contact him urgently and then opened up the Greta Baywater file.

  A call to forensics revealed Greta had been poisoned. There was a list of toxins in her system: cardiac glycosides, saponins, digitoxigenin, oleandrin, oleondroside, and nerioside. When he had asked how the hell she’d ingested these toxins, the forensic pathologist advised that it was most likely she’d ingested the Oleander plant. It has been know to induce a heart attack and ultimately death. “So she was poisoned?” he confirmed.

  “Looks l
ike it could have contributed to her death,” he was told.

  Did Deacon James have anything to do with it, he wondered. Bromley had read Greta’s notes on Steve James and, as Audrey had suggested, James certainly had his reasons for keeping his sessions with Greta confidential. Being gay was not a motive for murder, but as the local deacon, married to the only daughter of one of the most affluent and prestigious families in the city, having a gay lover would destroy his reputation completely.

  Bromley’s call to Deacon James was not received well. At first he spoke to James’ lovely wife, Naomi, who explained that her husband was at the church. It took some convincing for her to give Bromley his cell phone number.

  “Why do you want to speak to Steve?” she asked. “What is it concerning?” She sounded annoyed, hostile even. When Steve James answered his cell phone he was distant and not forthcoming with information. He said he had heard the news about Greta blackmailing church members and was calling a church meeting to discuss the matter with his parishioners that evening. Upon Detective Bromley’s suggestion that he might attend the meeting, Deacon James was adamant he should not do so. Furthermore, he stated that he had burned the notebook. “I didn’t want to risk the information falling into anyone else’s hands,” he said. “I was shocked to hear Audrey Wetherby mention it at all.” He agreed to meet the detective at the Whangarei Police Station at ten the following morning. Bromley didn’t mention he was reopening the case due to new evidence. He didn’t want to put James on the defensive.

  It was a complicated case. One he had inherited from Higgins. Things were getting out of hand – this was all Higgins’ mess. And now that Higgins was dead, Bromley had to clear up his mess.