All afternoon he had been in meetings with his superiors. He had been given a warning about not sharing information in a timely manner. Well fuck them. He had too much on his plate as it was. They had promised to give him a team from Kerikeri to assist. About time, too.
He made a note in Greta’s file to have the team check out her neighbors. They may have seen someone coming and going on the day she and Ben died. His mind went back to who was there that day – Audrey Wetherby. But what would she have to gain from Greta’s death? Even if Greta had information concerning Ben murdering his parents, it would not be a motive. After all, Audrey had gone to the media herself to spill her guts. No, he was missing something.
C H A P T E R 7 1
Deacon Steve James sat quietly waiting for the members of his church to take their seats. There was a sense of fear and uncertainty in the room. Looking at their faces, he knew everyone had heard the news that Greta Baywater had been exposed for blackmailing members of her church during fortune-telling sessions. Of course, they’d already known this, but hearing it on the nightly news was devastating. Their loved ones might think they were involved.
“There is no need for concern,” Deacon James began. “As you know, we have burned the notebook. All record of our conversations with Greta has been destroyed. You have nothing to fear. I am meeting with Detective Bromley who is handling the case tomorrow morning. I will tell him the situation has been taken care of.”
“Where has she stashed all the money she took from us? Surely we can claim it back. It was blackmail, after all,” said a parishioner.
“Yes, “ others agreed.
“Then you will have to prove how much you gave Greta, and, with the notebook destroyed, you will not be able to claim compensation.” James responded.
“I want my money back. I don’t care about what she might have written.”
“Me too.”
Deacon James was getting more and more frustrated. “Let’s wait until I meet with the detective tomorrow.”
The meeting was over soon after it had begun. The small crowd of disgruntled churchgoers shuffled out into the night, leaving Deacon James alone and distressed. He dialed a number. “Craig, it’s me. It looks like it isn’t over yet. I am meeting with the police tomorrow morning. I don’t know if I can take it any more.” He listened to his lover’s soothing voice. “Alright, I’ll come over on the way home. See you soon.” He hung up the phone, turned out the lights and locked the church. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. If anyone found out he would lose everything. He had a feeling the detective knew he had something to hide. It was a bad situation.
C H A P T E R 7 2
“We will be landing at LAX in twenty-five minutes. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your tray tables are returned to their original closed position. Please bring your seat upright and if you have footrests, please return them to their original position. We will be at the gate shortly. Thank you for flying with Air New Zealand. It has been a pleasure serving you. For those passengers continuing on to Heathrow airport, you will be required to collect your luggage and go through security before returning to the aircraft. Please take your hand luggage and boarding passes with you.”
What a pain. Honey’s bag was so bloody heavy. Maybe she could ask the nice man sitting next to the redhead if he would give her a hand. She hoped he was going through to London. It took ages for the passengers to disembark. There was a transit area for those passengers continuing on and she followed the crowd down the escalators. She saw the redhead walking with the man who’d helped her when she had boarded the aircraft. They were ahead of her. She did look so familiar. It was the way she walked and held herself. Much more confidently than Honey did. Honey always felt a little uncomfortable in a crowd. She walked faster, hoping she could catch up with them. As she was about to approach them, the woman headed into the ladies’ bathroom. Honey made a choice. Dragging her carry-on, Honey followed her.
The woman had gone into a cubicle. Honey waited. In a few minutes the woman re-appeared. Bright red hair, huge sunglasses and flowing silk scarf reflected for an instant in the mirror then suddenly disappeared before Honey could even blink. What! Shit! Was it… was it Becka? No. It can’t have been. Becka’s been in London for days. Shit, she looked so much like her. Could be her double. I must find her. Ask her if she lives in London. Wow. That was amazing!!!! Honey dragged her bag out into the passageway and headed towards security. Becka had a plain brown straight hairstyle. This woman’s hair was bright copper with a mass of curls. What was she thinking? She laughed.
When she boarded the plane for Heathrow, the woman wasn’t in her seat. Once the captain turned off the seat belt sign she would sneak up to business class and see if the woman had returned to her seat. She just couldn’t get her out of her mind. Maybe she had boarded late.
Honey hoped Becka would be waiting for her at Heathrow airport. If not, she had Becka’s address. It was getting exciting. She was on an adventure. It was the right decision to leave New Zealand. Matt would be joining her in a few days. They could explore London together.
C H A P T E R 7 3
Detective Bromley looked down at the body of Eric Chapman. Inspector Burt was already at the scene along with the forensics team.
“Overdose my arse,” said the inspector. “Too convenient if you ask me. First Higgins’ body is found in Hihi Bay and now the private investigator working on his case is found dead in his home days later. If it smells bad – it is bad.”
“What do we know, so far?” asked Bromley
“We know that he was staying at the Hihi Motor Camp. He had been seen eating lunch with a redheaded lady in her forties. He hired a boat from Mangonui and apparently took the lady out for an afternoon on the bay. After that we lost trace of him. The motor camp people said he had not slept in his cabin last night. His Jeep is in the garage. He had unpacked so must have been here a while before his death occurred. It’s not a robbery. It doesn’t look as if anything was taken.”
“Do we have a time of death?”
“Looks like about thirty-six hours ago. I will have more of an idea when I carry out the autopsy,” said the Coroner.
“So that makes it late Thursday night. Is anyone talking to the neighbors? Maybe someone saw or heard him return?” Bromley asked.
“Yes, I have some guys on it now,” replied the Super.
Bromley walked outside to a crowd forming around Chapman’s front gate.
“I heard him return home in the wee hours of Friday morning,” said a woman. “I am his next-door neighbor. I always wake at about three in the morning. Drives me crazy. I heard his car and looked out the window. It was he alright. He parked in the garage. The lights were on until about six.”
“Did you see anyone else?” Bromley asked the woman.
“I saw a jogger. A girl. She was running down our street at about six o’clock. No one else. Our neighborhood is pretty quiet,” she explained.
“Do you suppose the girl had been visiting Mr. Chapman?”
“Could have been. He was quite a ladies’ man, was Mr. Chapman. But I couldn’t be sure.”
Bromley thanked the woman and returned to the station. He had a meeting with Deacon James at ten. He was running late. He knew James would be annoyed at having to come to the station on a Saturday morning.
C H A P T E R 7 4
Becka had seen her. Just for an instant her heart stopped. What was she doing in the LAX ladies’ toilet? She was sure Honey hadn’t recognized her. Her instincts were quick and effective. She disappeared in a second. She didn’t board the plane until all the passengers had boarded. She was sure Honey would be sitting way back in coach. Becka was close to the front door of the plane. She knew she could disembark when they reached Heathrow long before Honey could make her way to the front of the plane. Her luggage was also marked “premier” which meant it would come off the belt first. Security would be the only problem. But she had dual passports. Carrying a UK passpor
t meant she would be in a different security lane from Honey.
She figured Honey was coming to England to visit her. Fuck! What shitty timing. She needed to get home, dye her hair and give the impression she had been back for over a week. It wasn’t going to be easy. Becka couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t afford to. What if Honey came wandering up into business class looking for her?
There was an empty seat on the other side of the plane. She grabbed her blanket and took the new seat. She was grateful for her black hoodie in her carry-on. She put it on, wrapped a blanket around her, put on her eye mask and settled in for the eleven-hour flight to Heathrow. Shit! I bet this was Audrey’s idea!
“Would you like a drink?” the flight attendant asked politely.
“Maybe later.” Becka was not in a drinking mood. She felt trapped. If Honey found out she’d still been in New Zealand till the previous day, she would tell Audrey and Simone. Before long the police would know and with her red hair it wouldn’t take long for someone to figure out that she was the woman who’d been in Hihi with Eric Chapman.
Then she saw her. It was Honey. She was walking up the aisle on the other side of the plane. She stopped at Becka’s empty seat. Becka held her breath as Honey looked around the business section.
“Can I help you?” asked a flight attendant.
“I was just looking for someone,” Honey replied.
“I am sorry but this section is only for business class passengers. I must ask you to return to your seat,” the attendant replied curtly.
“I’m sorry. But I thought I saw my sister. Becka Simpson?” Honey explained.
“I cannot give out names of our passengers. Please, I must ask you to return to your seat.”
Becka watched as Honey turned and walked back to the coach section.
C H A P T E R 7 5
It was all over the news. Audrey stood and watched the mid-day report on her 56” flat-screen TV.
“Private Investigator, Eric Chapman, was found dead at his home on the North Shore at ten o’clock this morning. The police are treating his death as a possible homicide. It was Mr. Chapman who found Detective Constable Higgins’ body only last Tuesday in Hihi Bay where they were reported to be on a fishing trip. We will keep you updated as new information comes to hand.”
This is getting weird, she thought as she collapsed onto her huge chaise chair. Who is doing this? First Detective Higgins and now Chapman. Both were working on her parents’ murder investigation. Both murdered. Shit! Was someone trying to frame her? Where was she when he was murdered? Was it yesterday? The day before? She had an alibi. She was working here at Tiromoana. After all, he was killed at his home in Auckland. Four hours’ drive away from Hihi. The police would still think she could have driven there and back during the night. Shit! What was happening? I’m just paranoid, she thought. Why would anyone suspect me? I had nothing to gain from their deaths. But who did?
Audrey realized she couldn’t just sit back and wait for the police to investigate her. She needed to find out who was responsible. She looked at the time. Honey would be arriving in London at ten thirty tonight. She would call Becka and make sure she arrived OK.
Traffic was coming up the driveway. Raised voices, car doors slamming. Who could that be? She pulled herself out of the chaise chair, checked her appearance in the full-length mirror and went to see what was causing the commotion.
Bright lights, cameras and reporters filled the car park and swarmed down the path. She took a deep breath and smiled. It was the beginning of what was to come. Audrey faced the crowd and quietly answered their questions. When asked if she knew why Detective Higgins and Eric Chapman might have been murdered and whether she thought it had anything to do with her parents’ case, she could only shake her head and say she had no idea. And that was the truth, after all.
C H A P T E R 7 6
David Doherty couldn’t believe his good fortune. His interview with Audrey Wetherby had proved to be the major scoop of his career. The thirty-year-old double murder of the Brown couple in Christchurch was the biggest unsolved murder in New Zealand history. He had downloaded all the old newspaper articles, interviews and reports he could find online. TV One had agreed to fund a full one-hour documentary on the case.
Over the past couple of days he been interviewing anyone and everyone associated with the case. He had even managed to get a quick interview with the private investigator, Eric Chapman, over coffee in Mangonui last Thursday. Chapman had been devastated by the recent death of his long-time friend, Detective Higgins. He had told Doherty they were both working on the Brown case when he died. Chapman was sure Higgins’ death was a homicide. Later in the day, Doherty had been strolling along the Mangonui wharf and had noticed Chapman and redheaded lady pulling into the dock in a snazzy-looking boat. He recognized her from the café. She had been sitting at the next table to them. He chuckled. Lucky devil, he thought. He quickly shot off a few photos.
He had gotten the call just before noon. They had sent a camera crew to Chapman’s home and interviewed Detective Bromley as he was leaving the scene. Shocking! The Detective thought Chapman died late on Thursday night or early on Friday morning.
Doherty told the detective he had met Chapman for coffee in Mangonui around lunchtime on Thursday and he also told the policeman about the redhead he had seen with Chapman later that afternoon. He had her photo. The detective asked him to email the photo to him. Maybe she had something to do with his death.
The story was getting bigger by the day. He had looked into the death of Ben Brown’s caregiver, Greta Baywater, and discovered that her death was now also considered a homicide. Poison, the detective had told him. Possibly Oleander poisoning. Where had he seen a case like that before? He remembered. It was an old case from a couple of years ago. A lady. She was the sister of a guy who had murdered the poor girl in Hihi. Suicide, they said. Killed herself out of shame for what her brother had done. He had dumped the girl’s body in Hihi bay. Was that a co-incidence? What did all these murders have in common? When he could find the common link, he would have the answer.
He opened the photos of the redhead on his laptop. She was a good-looking woman. In her forties he guessed. He emailed them to Detective Bromley. He had tried to do a photo search on Google but was unsuccessful. He hoped the police would have more luck.
C H A P T E R 7 7
Detective Bromley sat looking at the photos of the redhead on his screen. Although the photos showed only a side view of the woman who was wearing huge sunglasses, he knew he had seen that face before; but where? She looked so familiar. Entering the photo in their database produced no result. She was an enigma. He pulled all the recent photos from the past couple of weeks. Photos from Greta Baywater’s funeral, Ben Brown’s funeral, Steve Brown’s funeral. He searched through the faces and then he saw her. He knew who it was. It was Becka, Audrey’s sister from London. Only she had different hair. This new woman had bright copper-red, curly hair. But he was sure it was the same woman. He sent off both sets of photos to forensics. They had computer imaging, facial-recognition software. Maybe they can confirm the photos are of the same person.
He picked up the phone and called Audrey. She didn’t answer. He left a message. “Audrey, Detective Bromley here. Just wondering if you have managed to get hold of your sister, Becka. She has not returned my phone calls and I need to talk to her about signing a statement confirming your parents’ death. Can you call me as soon as you get this message? Thanks.”
Had Becka really returned to London? Was she still in New Zealand? He left another message on Becka’s cell phone. Why had she had not returned his phone calls or responded to his emails. Where was she?
If this woman was with Eric Chapman on Thursday, then she would have possibly been the last person to see him alive. If he hadn’t slept in his motel room on Thursday night, then there was a strong possibility he had been with this woman. His car was seen returning to his home in North Shore at two in the morning. Was this woman wi
th him?
It was time for a meeting with the team. First on the agenda. Call Air New Zealand and check if Rebecca Simpson was on a flight to London at any time during the past ten days.
Research any cases relating to Oleander poisoning in the past few years.
Set up interviews with relatives and friends of Eric Chapman. Was he in a relationship? Did he have any enemies?
Find a common link between all the recent homicides and compile a ‘persons of interest’ chart. Arrange a press meeting for tomorrow. The media had been hounding him for an interview. Best to deal with it. By the time the meeting was bought to a close, Bromley was exhausted. He checked his phone. There was a message from Audrey. “I’m home. Call me.”
C H A P T E R 7 8
“Yes, she left for London last Friday – over a week ago. Why?” Audrey asked the detective. “Yes, I have spoken to her. I talked to her before Honey and I gave our statements to you. We wanted to make sure she was supportive of our decision to talk to you.”
“Was she calling from London?” He asked.
“I presume so. She called on my home line. I don’t have caller ID on that phone,” Audrey said. “Why are you asking?”
“Because we have reason to believe your sister is still in New Zealand. If you are at your computer, I would like to send you a photo.”
“Yes, send it through.” Audrey waited for her mail message to beep. I am opening it now,” she said.
“Is that your sister, Becka?”
Audrey looked at the beautiful redheaded woman on the screen. Her heart stopped. Her mind froze. Was that Becka? It looked like Becka. But her hair… what had she done to her hair? Then she saw the yellow dress and hat. Shit! “I don’t know what to say, detective. It looks a little like Becka but she is in London. I can’t possibly be her. Where did you get this photo?”
Murder In The Family Page 12
