After Ariel: It started as a game

by Diana Hockley

  ‘She didn’t talk about it much, but she did say that Alex has a hasty temper and that her aunt is always placating him,’ he replied, sheepishly. ‘I’ll ask her about it again t –’ He stopped abruptly.

  After handing out assignments for the team, I took Anthony Hamilton in tow. ‘Hold everything,’ I told one my admin assistant. ‘Give me ten minutes?’

  She smiled, nodded and went back to her computer screen.

  ‘Come in, Anthony.’

  He looked at me warily and stepped into what I laughingly referred to as ‘my office.’ I cleared some papers off the only chair available, invited him to sit and squeezed into my chair on the other side of the desk.

  ‘So what gives with you and Pam Miller?’ I placed my elbows on the desk, fingers steepled.

  He wriggled. ‘Nothing’s going on with Pa – Ms Miller.’

  Yet, you mean. ‘You could have fooled me! Listen, Anthony, you know she’s a suspect, purely because a) she found the body and b) she’s the heir to Humphries’ will. So tell me why you know she’s innocent?’

  There was quite a long pause, while my new Senior Sergeant gathered his argument, visibly struggling with what to say. Finally he gave up. ‘I don’t think she’s that sort of person!’

  My eyebrows mingled with my hairline. Suddenly his mobile chirped. “Excuse me, Ma’am.’

  I watched as Hamilton took a call, puzzled when he broke into what was for him, a huge grin. Hm.

  ‘That was West End Uniform. They stopped Pamela Miller on her way home from the city twelve minutes before she rang Triple 0 from Humphries’ house!’

  Relief swept over me. ‘How come they didn’t tell us before?’

  ‘I left a message with traffic patrol to check how many people they had to turn back after the Jane Doe was found. There were quite a few, but he’d run all the number plates through the motor registry. Pam’s name came up driving Humphries’ car. He recognised her in the reports.’

  ‘Good thinking, mate!’ The corners of his mouth twitched, indicating extreme pleasure in my praise. ‘Okay, so you have feelings for Pamela?’

  ‘I only just met her at the Humphries house.’ Cool as the proverbial cucumber. ‘My behaviour has always been professional and it will remain so, Ma’am.’

  ‘I know you were, are and will be, Anthony. Okay, carry on.’

  CHAPTER 23

  Boadicea on the Rampage

  Susan

  Monday, 2PM

  Exhaustion hit. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. I’m so very, very tired. How am I going to get through this? At my age? How would David feel about it?

  Thank God he SMS’d me. All police officers know that an investigation – especially undercover – can go arse-up in minutes. Negative thoughts weren’t going to help; I didn’t have good vibes about David’s safety, for all his pretence that it was a normal secondment.

  ‘Susan? Susan?’

  Evan stood before me, hands full of papers. ‘Are you okay? How long is it since you slept?’

  ‘I went to Melanie’s to have a shower and change.’

  ‘But you didn’t have a kip. Typical. So what’s with Hamilton?’ Evan plopped himself into the chair. ‘Is he going to be a problem?’

  ‘No, not at all, Evan. He’s fine. He’s doing the right thing.’

  ‘Yeah. Why don’t you go home and this time get some rest? I’m here, Hamilton’s here. You get some “shut-eye.” Peterson and I are going to do the press conference shortly. You don’t want to be around for that!’

  A cracking headache had started behind my eyes.

  ‘You know what? I think I will...’

  No matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. I’d driven home desperate to dive into bed and pull the covers over my head. Barging past the weekly wash piled in the laundry tub I tripped over the dog’s water bowl, stopped to re-fill it and mop up the mess, then raced into the kitchen intent on a sandwich. The lady we employed to housekeep a couple of days a week was on holidays and her replacement sick. Damn, I’ll have to find time to do it myself.

  The animals were delighted to see me. ‘Wow, the pushover’s here! Let’s eat! Let’s play!’ For a short time we did, but all good things come to an end. Soaking in the bath with a couple of cats sitting on the end is not my idea of fun. They’re always so darned impatient, and they can’t help swatting each other. More than once one of them has fallen in. The prospect of towelling off a soggy, angry cat before I managed to dry myself, didn’t appeal. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you two. I’m having a shower, so get over it!’ Am I reduced to talking to the cats now? Yep.

  I bolted to the bathroom, threw myself under the shower and out, then pulled across the blackout curtains which David and I had hung especially for when we were on “nights.” Even wearing my husband’s pyjamas I couldn’t settle. What’s David going to say when he hears my news? My thoughts squirreled around, interspersed with Pamela Miller and our little Jane Doe and the photo journalist, Marigold Humphries. I squinted at my watch in the gloom: 3.30pm.

  Then the dogs started barking. I crawled out of bed, went to the window which overlooked the front of the house and pulled the curtains. Oh no.

  My mother, a modern-day Boadicea, was charging – sans chariot – toward the front door, her expression boding ill for anyone in her path. Well, right now, that would be me. What had I done now, or more likely not done? Sighing, I dragged my dressing gown on, slipped my mobile phone into the pocket and headed downstairs to find out. Mother and I are – to say the least – incompatible.

  There is no mistaking the signs of a disappointed woman; my mother was classic in that regard. Her mouth had been turned down with disdain so often over the years it had achieved permanency. A woman who plays favourites as expertly as she plays bridge, mum is a master of manipulation. Set for a career as a classical pianist by our grandmother, her expectations had been cut short by her hand being broken in a car door when she was twenty. That she had been throwing a tantrum at the time and brought it on herself was something our grandmother made known on frequent occasions.

  Mother’s disgust at what she regarded as our worthless careers, when my sister Melanie and I became respectively a vicar and a police officer, tempers my compassion considerably. My father, ground into submission over the years, took the line of least resistance and kept a low profile, “doing his own thing.” An architect by profession, he indulged our mother, because deep down I think he really did love her and supported her in her music teaching and overseas trips.

  Melanie’s husband had been terrified of mum, but David was made of sterner stuff. He wouldn’t tolerate her “put downs” and verbal abuse of me or of Melanie. Mother couldn’t contain her satisfaction when our marriage broke down. ‘It serves you right, Susan, marrying that lout. You might have known a man like that’ – she meant so good-looking – ‘wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off other women!’

  Mother’s reaction when I re-married David had to be heard to be believed. So this was the woman who was currently demanding admittance. How did she know I was here? Normally I would have been at work, but she lived en route to our house and probably saw me trying to “tip-toe” past.

  ‘Susan! David has to sort out our neighbours,’ she shouted. With barely a glance at me, she threw her handbag onto the lounge in passing and headed for the kitchen, where she tutted over my crockery and utensils in the sink. ‘I do wish you would keep a tidy house!’ She swung around to face me. ‘Tidy is as tidy does. You should know that, being a detective.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘And that dog shouldn’t be in the house!’

  She lifted a sensibly-clad foot to boot our border collie, but I caught him by the collar just as his lip lifted and shoved him out the back door. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Mother should have known that when I am using correct English, I’m at my most intractable.

  ‘I was passing and saw your car in the driveway. What are you doing at home? ‘Without wait
ing for me to answer, she carried on. ‘The next door neighbours are selling drugs and I want David to do something about it! And they’re building a pergola right next to our fence and a swimming pool! I won’t have it. They’ll be swimming in the nude and goodness knows what else.’

  Mother’s intense dislike of David could always be overcome when there was something she thought he could do for her. As her neighbours are a young couple with lots of upmarket friends and throw uproarious parties, her suspicions were not as unlikely as they sounded.

  ‘Mum, that’s not David’s area of expertise. He’s Major Crime, not on the Council. You’ll have to go there to make a complaint about the pool. The matter of the drugs is the Drug Squad’s area of expertise. How do you know they’re dealing or doing drugs? Have you seen anything which might be the case?’Better pass it on if she has. I ran my hand through my hair, debating whether to make coffee for us both – it would keep mother here longer – or to just get her out the door again as fast as I could. She took a little run at me and I backed into the pantry doorway.

  ‘They have some strange-looking plants in the garden and they’ve always got people coming to visit. It’s not rocket science, Susan. The council won’t listen to me, you know that. Well, can’t you ring them?’ Her eyes bulged with excitement.

  ‘Mum, I’m busy. I have two murders to investigate, I’ve only slept for a few hours since Saturday morning. I’m exhausted and haven’t got the time to be phoning the council and arguing with bureaucrats. Put a formal complaint in writing and leave them to sort it out. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?’

  ‘Yes, they’re building a mosque in Hitchins Street!’

  I couldn’t believe she’d left this titbit until last. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me, Susan. Those Muslims are planning to build a mosque at the back of us! There’ll be thousands of cars coming and going, not to mention that shouting they do. You know, the one where they call everyone and his dog to prayers five times a day. We’re getting up a petition for the Council. They just can’t do it.’

  For once I agreed with Mother. ‘Okay, I’ll sign it. Goodness knows what David will say about it.’ Now I understood her concern. We too would be swamped in cars and traffic. Mother’s lips mouéd into a superb cat’s bum, but what she would have said next got lost in the ring tones of my phone.

  Anthony Hamilton’s voice thundered down the line. ‘Susan, West End just advised us a couple came in to report their daughter’s missing!

  CHAPTER 24

  The Visit

  Dingo

  1994.

  It was so exciting! Visitors for the first time he could remember and they had children for him to play with. He’d been too young to remember any playmates when Daddy was there and Mummy wasn’t so angry. At first he’d been frightened and then so shy that they had to push him into the group, but it wasn’t long before he got over-excited. The adults had to calm him down. They made him sit in a circle with the others and play a game where everyone skipped around and dropped a parcel behind someone who had to take a turn to skip. Somehow though he waited, no one dropped the parcel behind him, so he had to pretend it didn’t matter even though he wanted to cry.

  In the background, his mother and two ladies drank wine while a baby slept in the pram parked in the corner of the room. For awhile everything went well. The children were given cakes and red cordial which tasted so sweet that he could hardly swallow it. He spilled some down the front of his new white shirt, but – apart from a look which he knew boded badly for later – his mother didn’t say a word. Then the other children wanted to go outside, but he wasn’t allowed. ‘You know you can’t leave the house!’ his mother hissed, as she dragged him back into the lounge room by his shirt sleeve. Her guests stopped talking. Something about the way they looked at his mother made him uneasy, but within a few moments they turned back to the table.

  She bent down, her breath hot in his ear. ‘Go to your room and practice!’

  Reluctantly, he walked slowly down the hallway upstairs into his room, where dark wardrobes, heavy curtains and the little bathroom and toilet closet encompassed his world. Another room had been turned into a music room with a grand piano where his mother accompanied him, a music stand, and a cupboard with all his music stacked neatly on the shelves. A violin stand in one corner, with a standard lamp parked at the correct angle for reading the scores. There were no toys, but plenty of reading material. Dingo loved books.

  He went to the window and looked down into the garden where the visitor’s three children were playing tag. His school work, music – everything had to be done inside. Frances had set up a study area across the hall from his room.

  Among the few people who came to the big house, with acres of land behind it, were the delivery man with the groceries, the meter reader and a big bluff man whom he knew to be the vicar from the church down the road. After his father died, and they come to live in town, it took awhile before he knew that he was isolated from other children.

  By the time he was eight, he knew his mother was mad. Other mums took their children to school because he saw them walking along the road from his window high above. Sometimes they would look up and wave. He always waved back, until the day his mother caught him at it and slapped him so hard across the face that he lay on the floor crying for hours. After that he didn’t dare.

  Trouble arrived. Two women came to the front door and demanded to be let in. His mother argued, but when they threatened to call the police, acquiesced and invited them into the lounge room. After a short time, she stormed upstairs to his room. Mouth pursed, she ran to his chest of drawers and dragged out clean clothes. ‘Get changed into these. Come downstairs and behave. When they ask if you’re allowed outside, you say you go out every day! Understand ?’ As she had her ‘or else’ expression in full force, he agreed.

  Somehow they got through the interview with the ladies he understood later were “social” workers, and it was a while before anyone disturbed them again. His mother pointed out that as long as he kept up to his schooling and the Education Department was happy, no one would care what happened at home. The ladies came once or twice after that and he was trotted out for their inspection. One day he even played the piano for them and they nodded and smiled and said what a good boy he was. The word “prodigy” was mentioned. His mother smiled and smiled until they left, after which he was sent to the rooms his mother had set aside for his studies and bedroom. It was two days before she came for him, smiling and smiling and he was allowed down to the kitchen to eat.

  Then came the day that his mother’s old school friend found her and even Frances couldn’t stop Anna and her sister, June, from visiting. They brought their children and June’s newborn baby girl with them. Feigning graciousness, Frances invited them to afternoon tea thereby setting the stage for the worst day of his life.

  As he stood watching the children playing in the garden, he was astonished to see his mother come out with her friends. Mouth agape, he stared as they joined in the children’s game. Why can’t I play too? She won’t let me even go outside. Well, I’m going!

  Filled with rage, he ran down the stairs and along the hall toward the front door. As he passed the lounge room, the sound of the baby screaming stopped him. Tiny fists waved above the edge of the pram. He walked over and looked down. Red-faced, angry, the baby roared on. Its legs kicked free of the blanket; he could see runny yellow poo seeping from the side of the nappy. What to do? A large duffle bag was parked by a nearby chair. He rooted through it. Because his mother only allowed uplifting programs and the news on TV, he didn’t know what to do with disposable nappies or other baby accoutrements.

  Hey baby, don’t cry.

  The baby’s screams increased. Frightened in case something was wrong with it, he yanked the sodden blanket toward him, jumping back as the baby came with it, rolling over the low side of the pram. The tiny thing jerked its arms as it started to fall. He grabbed, unaware that he had the ch
ild by the neck as he wrenched it away from the teetering pram. The baby’s head felt like a doll’s. Surprisingly heavy, the baby dangled from his hands, legs kicking feebly and then slowing.

  The screaming stopped.

  The body stilled.

  Stunned by the suddenness of it all, he stood with the child hanging in his large, powerful musicians’ hands. He looked down at yellow baby poo dripping down his bare leg into his sock.

  Footsteps thundered into the house toward the lounge room.

  ‘What have you done?’

  Something connected with the side of his head, sending him crashing to the floor on his back, his hands still around the baby’s head and neck, her body bouncing on his chest. His mother was thrust to one side and the child’s mother hurled herself at him. ‘You killed my baby! You’ve killed her!’

  The baby slipped through his fingers and rolled onto the floor.

  The screaming went on and on. He got slowly to his feet, trembling as tears welled. His mother grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him through the door onto the wood floorboards of the hallway. ‘Get up to your room, you stinking, rotten little shit. Murderer!’

  He crawled over to the bottom stair and leaned his back against the post, disconnected from the drama, unable to process what had occurred. Somewhere in the dim recesses of confusion, he knew the accident wouldn’t have happened if the adults hadn’t been outside having a good time.

  Sirens sounded outside. His mother rushed out of the lounge-room to the front door to usher in the stampede of ambulance officers, carrying bags. No one told him what was happening. Sounds of frantic activity, combined with noisy crying came from the room. The other children gathered around the bottom of the stairs, with him but apart, all too frightened to make a sound. Another ambulance pulled up at the front gate and two more officers came through, this time pushing a trolley.