Fiona looked at him, her white face ravaged with grief, her eyes dark with shock. ‘Harry, one of the journalists she knew at the Courier Mail might know. She was pretty thick with him and she has several girlfriends she always caught up with when she was home. Alex, get the black and red phone book would you? I know a couple of their numbers are in there.’
He went to get the book and Fiona bent her head over Millicent and resumed crooning. I remembered my bag and music case in the cop car. Hamilton raised his head and looked at me; we spoke over the top of each other.
‘I’d better get –’
‘You’d better get –’
We stopped together as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll get your things out of the car while your uncle’s looking for the numbers.’
While he was gone, I moved over to Fiona and put my arm around her shaking shoulders. She felt diminished, as though the life-blood had seeped out of her body. For a moment, she rested her hand on mine and then dropped it back onto Millicent who lay patiently, as though sensing her presence was holding her mistress together.
As Alex came back into the room holding a piece of paper, the detective came through the front door with my belongings. ‘Where can I put these?’
Alex looked daggers at me, but didn’t say anything; Fiona didn’t appear to understand what was going on.
‘I’d better go to a hotel,’ I said, embarrassed.
My uncle, perhaps not wanting to look bad in front of the detective, took an ostentatious look at his watch and said, ‘You’d better stay what’s left of the night.’
As he left the room, I caught the detective flashing Alex’ back an angry glance. ‘I can take them. I’ll stay in the guest room upstairs,’ I replied.
‘Which room?’
I hesitated, then told him where. Without a word he took my bags up and was back in moments. Alex came back into the room and handed him the list of numbers. ‘I’ll try and get Fiona up to bed. She won’t sleep, but she needs to rest.’
‘Someone will be in touch tomorrow. We’ll need you to look through Ms Humphries house to see if anything is missing.’ Hamilton turned to me as my uncle shepherded my aunt, still clutching the cat, to the stairs.
‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there for a couple of years.’
‘You were there only yesterday, so you might have observed more than you think. We’ll be asking her parents to do the same. Can you come outside for a moment?’ He opened the front door and ushered me out. ‘Can you think of anything else in the light of what they said about McIntyre and the journalist?’
‘No, I can’t think straight anyway now. Will I see you tomorrow?’ I wanted to bite my tongue. It sounded like I was asking him for a date.
His remarkable eyes crinkled at the corners; I think he knew I felt uncomfortable and why. ‘Maybe. Someone else might come round to take a statement...how come you know Inspector Prescott?’
A chill wind wafted along the porch; I folded my arms firmly across my midriff. Here we go again. ‘I met her a few years ago after my best friend was kidnapped. So you can ask Susan – Inspector Prescott – about it or I suppose you could look it up. There was lots of media crap about it when the Esposito’s came to trial.’
‘I seem to remember that.’ He looked concerned. ‘Are you over that now?’
‘Does one ever get over something like that?’ Pain, so long damped down, swept through me as though it had happened the previous week. ‘Oh, I forgot! I was going to go down to Emsberg and see my mother tomorrow afternoon. She’s going into hospital early Monday morning for a cancer operation.’
The detective looked stern. ‘I’ll have to check with DI Prescott as to whether you can go after you’ve made your statement. I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. Can you see your mother at the hospital before her operation?’
‘I hope so. I’ll have to ring my stepfather early tomorrow morning and let him know what’s happened so he can tell Mum.’ If the media doesn’t do it for me.
Hamilton leaned close. ‘Try and get some rest. It’ll be a bad day tomorrow.
CHAPTER 17
Preliminaries
Susan
Sunday, 6AM
‘Susan...Susan!’
The voice came from the end of a paddock.
‘Susan! You need to wake up now.’
‘Evan?’ My head felt like a ton weight on my neck. I squinted at the wall clock – six. Day or night? It was impossible to tell with the lights on. I slumped against the back of the chair. Dopey and disoriented, I stared at my partner.
‘Susan, you’ve been asleep a whole half-hour!’ Evan chided, smiling sympathetically. It was alright for him. He seemed to exist on coffee, biscuits and fresh air. I had known him to only take cat naps over a couple of days and still function efficiently. He handed me a sheet of paper. ‘The preliminary forensic report on the body in the park. Do you want to get over to Humphries’ house before Fingerprints gets there?’
‘Yeah. Just give me a minute to get the team organised. You’ll be driving, by the way.’
It seemed such a long time ago since last night and the early hours of this morning. I stared at the squiggles on the sheet. What was...oh yes, my glasses. I fumbled around on the desk and located them under a pile of papers.
Jane Doe had had the air supply to her nose and mouth cut simultaneously. Bruising indicated that she had been held tightly by one hand, the other apparently wrapped around both her wrists, which showed pressure marks. Faint marks showed that her throat had been squeezed, but death had been caused by someone kneeling on her chest. Two massive bruises showed where the perpetrator had knelt; her sternum had actually caved in. This had the effect of damaging her lungs, heart and spleen. Poor girl never stood a chance. One good thing for us, there was plenty of DNA on her face. Obviously someone very strong had been involved. A weightlifter? Maybe. Was he on steroids? Perhaps he went off his head.
‘Lima Astro, Jane Doe’s team’s in. Do you want to take over?’ Evan asked, referring to the briefing and reports to be given. The Incident room next door contained the whiteboard and all the paraphernalia for Limo Photo, the Humphries investigation. If the two cases proved to be linked, we would have to think again. Officers were grouped around the coffee machine, preparatory to briefing.
‘Send someone out for breakfast, please Evan.’
David hadn’t phoned or text me. Had he called while I was asleep? I paused to pull my mobile out of my pocket. Nothing. Perhaps he hadn’t had the chance. Busy with investigations or lurking undercover with criminals? Too right you are.
I resumed my path to the whiteboard. The young girl’s face gazed down on me, her arms folded across her chest as though posed by an undertaker. Other photos of her body, clothes and her shoes were pinned beside it, close-ups of her nose studs and earrings farther down the board. I sighed and waved the forensic report. ‘Are we all here?’
A chorus replied as my tired team sat down with their coffee and notebooks.
‘Okay, we’ll start. A female person, approximately seventeen years of age, time of death estimated as the early hours of yesterday morning. The killer could have been a female, but the victim is young and fit. There is no indication that more than one person was involved.’ I went on to reiterate the forensic report on cause of death. ‘Saliva was smeared over her mouth and nose. No skin scrapings under her fingernails, which were surprisingly short, so no DNA there. There’s nothing to say that her killer was a young man, but the fact that she was out in the early morning would tend to suggest she had a companion rather than wandering around on her own.’
I paused for a moment. ‘No obvious sign of sexual activity, but if she was with a boyfriend they no doubt used condoms. There was no identification – no wallet, no purse, no mobile phone or iPod and no jewellery. The victim has no tattoos or distinguishing marks except for the studs in her nose and earrings. Unfortunately, the stud and earrings are mass produced, but someone might recognise them when they’r
e put in the papers. There’s no match with her fingerprints, so she’s never been in trouble. Now what have you got?’
There wasn’t much in the surrounding area. Some cigarette butts, a child’s sock, the girl’s sandals of course and a broken dog leash, along with enough used condoms to put a serious dent in next year’s population growth. Perhaps there would be more evidence when the search was completed; that was when police cadets came in handy. Breakfast arrived in the form of Maccas which my team fell on like wolves. I waited until they had settled again and continued.
‘So no mobile or iPod. How did the house to house go?’
‘No one saw or heard anything, Ma’am.’ Of course, they never do when you want them to.
‘Now –’ I ticked off the names of two officers who had just arrived on duty. ‘Right, you know the drill. House to house is ongoing, but so far nothing. We do the backpackers hostels, hotels, colleges and universities and see who’s missing.’ Groans rippled around the room. ‘Yeah, they come and go from those places all the time I know, but someone may fail to meet up with a friend, not turn up for coffee or for a class. Even for work. Soon someone is going to miss her. Now, who owns the old boat shed?’
‘The Western Yacht Club owned it before they disbanded and now no one appears to be responsible for it. We’ve dug up a clerk from the city council to find out who’s paying the rates,’ advised one of my team. ‘He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.’
Just then, my mobile buzzed. I took it out of my pocket and read: ‘All good. Love you. xx’ He’s safe!
I turned back to the matter in hand. We couldn’t allow the media to publicise her photo until her family had been located and notified but, a contradiction in terms, we couldn’t find them until we knew who she was. We would have to dig and dig some more, continue knocking on doors. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before anxious relatives, friends or if she worked, an employer contacted her parents. If she was a student, she wouldn’t turn up for classes. I remember my tutors being somewhat slack when I was doing university night classes, but someone would notice her absence eventually. Surely the girl would have been texting to her friends? I’d yet to meet the teenager who didn’t have to be surgically removed from their mobile phone. Someone would know where Jane Doe had been the night before and maybe even who she’d been with.
The team dispersed and I bolted for my cubby hole of an office, the umpteenth cup of coffee for the day in hand. I closed the door, sank into my chair and took a deep gulp of the lukewarm liquid, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. David was safe...thank God for that. I shut my eyes and leaned back, letting my mind drift over our lives together.
Images of us in our very early twenties drifted across my mind. Oh we were so darned immature it was sickening. The birth of our twins soon straightened me up, but David was another story. I guess lack of money and our stressful jobs – well, David’s job was more stressful than mine. Our daughters were fractious, colicky and seemingly, sleep unnecessary. David, desperate for sleep before night shift, moved in with a mate, leaving me to cope on my own. My Aunt Beryl came to the rescue and moved the babies and me into a house on the bay, where she and her cats looked after us. It was a few years before I met Harry Prescott, an architect and married him. I always wanted to have a child with Harry and it was almost thirteen years before I discovered that the bastard had had a vasectomy before I met him.
David turned up to investigate two murders in Emsberg where Marli and I were house-sitting for Harry’s sister Eloise and her husband James. That was the beginning of our renewed relationship and now, well, I had some rather interesting news for him when he got back from the mountains. It wasn’t something a woman wants to hear at the age of forty-two. I’d settle for the menopause any day.
Sighing, I hauled myself to my feet staggered out to send my team home. I brought Superintendent, Col Peterson, up to date before meeting Evan to go to the Humphries’ crime scene. I phoned my neighbour, explained the situation and thanked her for taking up the slack with our animals. Hopefully, I would soon get a spare hour to go to my sister’s house to shower and change into the fresh clothes which I kept there for emergencies and where I hoped to enjoy at least an hour’s sleep, before coming back to the Incident Room to tackle the investigation into the death of Marigold Humphries.
CHAPTER 18
Hostile Territory
Pam
Sunday, 11.00AM
Shouting woke me. Bleary-eyed, I gazed at the ceiling, trying to work out where I was. Pink curtains, rosewood dressing table complete with Art Deco table lamp. Memory flooded back. I was in my Aunt and Uncle’s spare room, lying fully clothed on the bed and Goldie was dead.
Downstairs someone started hammering on the front door. What was going on? Footsteps hurried past the bedroom door and clattered downstairs, Alex’ angry voice raised. I could hear Fiona crying. My feet found my shoes in record time. I snatched up my mobile phone and rushed down to the vestibule where my aunt was standing, wearing a red, quilted dressing gown, her hands over her face. She turned and stumbled into my arms as Alex threw open the door. The front hallway lit up with flashes. He slammed it shut and shot the bolt.
I pretty much dragged my aunt along to the kitchen, where the phone was ringing off the hook and pushed her into a chair before running to pull the blinds down, shutting out the over-excited faces peering through the window. I answered the phone, but as soon as the caller said the words, “Sunday Mail” I slammed the receiver on the bench top, leaving the caller cheeping in frustration.
I opened my mobile and dialed the number which Anthony Hamilton programmed into my phone, but as it started to ring, there was another ruckus at the front door. I could hear Alex talking to someone, footsteps and then the detective himself, phone ringing, came into the kitchen followed by an older, kind-faced woman. A tiny thrill slithered through me as the detective and I made eye contact. Pam, what’s wrong with you! Of all times to...
‘Mr and Mrs Humphries – Pam – Ms Miller, I’m sorry you’ve had to contend with that lot. This is Jo Fields, our Family Liaison Officer. She’ll be here to answer questions and help with all the things we’re going to need you to do.’ Hamilton glanced at me, as he closed his mobile.
My uncle broke in. ‘Do you know who did it?’
‘No, we are just starting our investigations–’
‘Well, you should be out there looking for him!’ Alex’ face turned red with the rage of which the family knew him capable. The detective’s expression did not change, but he exchanged a glance with Jo Fields, who sat down opposite them.
‘We don’t know yet whether Ms Humphries –’
‘Well, you should!’ Alex wasn’t about to let up.
‘– knew her attacker. Ms Humphries may have known the perpetrator. We are hoping you can give us some leads.’
Alex trumpeted into his handkerchief and Fiona clasped her gown tighter around her body. I started making tea. There followed a brief argument after Hamilton asked Alex and Fiona to come to Goldie’s house to see what, if anything, was missing. The spat intensified when he added that they also needed to have their fingerprints taken for elimination purposes.
Dishes piled in the sink revealed that Alex and Fiona had eaten breakfast, but hadn’t called me. The sooner I got out of there the better. The contractors I hired to put my furniture and personal effects back into my unit would be busy this morning. I was deeply thankful I had made the arrangement...
‘Pam! Wake up! It mightn’t be important to you, but you could at least listen!’ I jumped and turned to face Alex’ hostile glare as he continued to berate me. If I hadn’t gone out ‘clubbing’ after the concert, Goldie would still be alive. What right had I to put my social life ahead of my hostess? I was a guest in his daughter’s house and I couldn’t be bothered even coming home after the concert. ‘Chasing after some man, I suppose, like that Russian git.’
Rage started to boil deep inside. It was all too much. The media uproar, the shoc
k of finding my beloved cousin dead, Alex’s inexplicable hatred and Fiona’s blank grief – exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me. The detective’s deep voice pulled me out of my fog. ‘Pam, we need to get your fingerprints for comparison with those in your cousin’s house and we also need to know if there’s anything missing from the house.’
‘What about Fiona and Alex? They’d have a better idea than I would.’
‘They’re coming in later.’
‘Can I go back to my own unit?’
‘Of course. We have to do this first though.’ He took my arm and eased me out of the room and up the stairs to the bedroom. ‘Get your bag and music case. Alex doesn’t mean what he said. That was grief talking.’ He tried to look convincing, but failed miserably. Oh yes, Alex meant it alright. My hands shook. I was unable to believe the venom directed at me. Should I have come back to Goldie’s instead of going out with Ally and Brie? Could I have saved her or would we both have been killed?
‘Do you think he’s angry because it was Goldie and not me who died?’
‘Probably. There’s no accounting for grief, Pam, you know that from before.’ Anthony Hamilton ran his hands up my arms and squeezed my shoulders gently before stepping quickly away. I realised why when my uncle appeared in the doorway. My aunt and the Liaison Officer loomed behind him.
‘Pamela, I think it’s better if you don’t come back here,’ Alex snarled. ‘You couldn’t even be bothered to get up and be with your aunt this morning. You must have known she needed you!’
I could barely look at him. I loved Goldie too. I snatched up my handbag and flute case and the detective picked up my clothes hold-all. Alex was forced to stand aside to let us pass. I followed the detective down the stairs, hopping over the bottom two, to the front door where he stopped me. ‘Let me go first.’ He opened the door and spoke briefly to two uniformed constables outside. As I stepped outside, hordes of reporters shouted and surged around the steps. The officers shielded me with their arms as Anthony Hamilton, ploughing through the media scrum, towed us in his wake.
After Ariel: It started as a game Page 13
