Emmett nodded. ‘Have you got somewhere in mind that you might leave her to rest?’
Daniel turned to the window behind Tom’s bed. ‘I was thinking of just here, near the rose garden . . when the staff aren’t looking, of course. That way she can stay close to Tom.’
‘Forgive me,’ Emmett whispered. ‘But I was under the impression that she wasn’t that close to you, or Tom?’
‘She’s still family, and the three of us are all that’s left – well, we were all that’s left. Now there’s just me and Tom, of course.’
Emmett looked to the rose garden, which was lying dormant: bare save for a few woody shrubs. He hadn’t thought of that – with no offspring from any of the Norman children, the three siblings were the last of their line.
‘We need to ask you some more questions, Daniel. Are you happy for us to do that here with Tom? Or would you prefer we stepped outside?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘Here’s fine. I have nothing to hide.’
‘Okay.’ Emmett shuffled forward on his seat. ‘When I spoke to you last, you said you didn’t know the other woman who was found deceased near your sister – Natale Gibson.’
‘That’s right,’ Daniel responded almost automatically. ‘I didn’t know her.’
‘And you’re certain about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve found out that Ms Gibson was volunteering here, as part of a college placement.’
‘Okay.’ Daniel stared blankly from Emmett to Steven.
‘Well, doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?’
‘I suppose so.’ Daniel turned to Tom, whose lips were vibrating softly. ‘Hang on, I need to get him some water.’
Emmett waited while Daniel gently pressed a plastic cup and straw to Tom’s mouth, using a bib by his bedside drawers to pat him dry.
‘But you still claim that you didn’t know Natale?’
‘I don’t claim I didn’t know her. I didn’t know her.’
‘Could she and Rosemary have crossed paths here? Could she, in fact, have been a friend of your sister’s? Or Tom?’
‘I guess so. But if she was, I didn’t know about it.’
Emmett sighed, aware he wasn’t getting very far.
‘Do you recall ever seeing a petite brunette carer here – just a little younger than yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Did you ever notice any members of staff paying particular attention to Tom?’
‘Not really.’
‘What about that newspaper article?’ Emmett reached past Tom to the bedside drawers where the photocopies had been on his last visit. He slid the top drawer open, patting around inside for the papers ‘Did any carer show much interest in that?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Hang on,’ Emmett’s fingers had landed on something wooden. He retrieved the beaded bracelet, turning it over in his hand and admiring the unusual black markings; it was definitely the same one he’d seen in Rosemary’s holiday snaps. ‘Do you know why your sister might have left this here?’
A loud gurgling came from beside Daniel. Tom’s arms flailed.
‘Tom?’ Emmett was certain Rosemary’s younger brother was trying to communicate. ‘Was this a gift for you?’
‘Stop it.’ Daniel’s voice was curt, a flicker of the angry man Emmett had first met reappearing. ‘You’re upsetting him. Our sister’s been murdered, for Christ’s sake. Don’t start waving her belongings around in our faces. She probably just left it by mistake.’
Emmett placed the bracelet carefully by the bed, noticing the way Tom’s head drooped forward, his shoulders rounding like a doll flopped helplessly on the floor. But his left arm was still thrashing.
Reaching back into the drawer, Emmett tugged at the top sheet of paper. It was catching on something.
‘What’s this?’ He picked out a shiny silver necklace that had hooked itself around the edge of the paper.
‘No idea,’ Daniel snapped. ‘Maybe Rosie was collecting trinkets for Tom? I don’t think you should be going through his stuff like this, though.’
Emmett turned to Tom. ‘Do you mind?’
The younger brother didn’t respond.
‘It’s very ornate, isn’t it?’ Emmett held the chain so that the heart-shaped locket hung in the middle. ‘Rosemary certainly had eclectic tastes.’
He flipped the clasp open. And then froze.
He didn’t need to look twice to recognise the two small children, whose faces proudly beamed back at him – the little girl with chubby cheeks, the boy’s deep brown eyes.
‘Why would your brother have Natale Gibson’s necklace?’ Emmett heard his pitch rise as he turned from the carefully positioned photos inside the silver heart to the stony face of Daniel Norman.
‘What?’
Near the doorway, Steven stood up.
‘These are photos of Natale Gibson’s children. This is her necklace. Why would it be here, in your brother’s drawer?’
Tom’s lips smacked together; more drool ran down his chin.
Emmett’s heart raced.
‘Mr Norman.’ He nodded to Steven, who was already moving forward. ‘You’ll need to come with us. You’re under arrest.’
Marcus hummed as he got off the tram and walked down the esplanade towards his beachside apartment. He usually spent Saturday nights out in the city, but tonight it felt good to be going home to enjoy an unusually mild evening alone in his penthouse, from which he could take in the views of the St Kilda foreshore.
‘Hi.’ He smiled as two good-looking joggers split either side of him.
He turned and watched the women bounce away.
Heading up the grassy slope where ice cream trucks sat in the summer, and past the colourful carnival rides of Luna Park, Marcus turned left, striding past towering apartment blocks, then up a steep set of stairs to the security gate at the front of his building.
He was just entering the door code when a figure emerged from the darkness, causing him to jump.
‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’
Marcus felt his chest squeeze. He knew her at once, though she looked even younger, and less attractive, than he remembered.
‘I waited for you in that cafe like you said, but you didn’t show, and I’ve been calling and calling with no answer. Why aren’t you speaking to me?’ Laura’s voice was screechy, and several people leaving Marcus’s building stopped to look.
He gritted his teeth. This kind of public display was the last thing he needed.
‘What are you talking about?’ He forced a smile. ‘I sent you a message just this morning. Don’t tell me you didn’t get that?’
The young woman crossed her arms in disbelief. ‘Really?’
‘I was so worried about you.’ Marcus patted her clumsily on the back. ‘Come in.’
Stiffly placing an arm around her waist, he guided her into the building and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. He shuddered as he caught sight of their reflection in the closing silver doors. What a poorly matched couple they made.
‘Here we are, then.’ He nudged her into his apartment.
‘Wow,’ she gasped. ‘I always forget how amazing your view is.’
Marcus rolled his eyes, watching Laura stroll through his luxury penthouse as though it was her own, mentally flinching each time he saw her touch anything. How had he ever got involved with her? And, more importantly, how was he going to get rid of her?
‘You’ve been busy cleaning?’ She giggled, pointing to the bottles of bleach and cleaning detergent he’d left out on the kitchen counter.
Marcus shoved the products under the sink.
‘Something to drink?’ He pulled the fridge open, relieved to find an opened bottle of cheap white chardonnay.
He gave it a discreet sniff, wincing. The wine had definitely turned, but did it matter? He poked his head through to the living room and saw that Laura was now seated on his new modular lounge, facing the window.
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She was hardly worth wasting anything better on.
‘Here you are, darling.’ He handed her the glass, sitting down next to her as he tugged at his shirt. How had it got so tight around his waist? ‘What shall we toast to?’
For the first time since she’d accosted him, Marcus forced himself to look her in the eyes. Only then did he notice she was crying.
‘Darling, what’s wrong?’
The young woman didn’t respond, instead shaking terribly. He went to take the wine glass back from her – she appeared to be having some sort of fit.
He was too late.
With a sudden, violent whip, Laura hurled the glass towards the window. The sound of it shattering on the polished floorboards reverberated through the room.
Marcus froze.
‘You fucking bastard.’ Laura leapt to her feet, her eyes wide. ‘You fucking bastard!’
The spilled wine inched its way along the floorboards, dangerously close to his new couch. Marcus cringed, resisting the urge to jump up and grab a cloth.
‘You know I’m pregnant, why the hell would you give me alcohol?’
Oh, yes. That.
‘My friends were right about you,’ Laura screamed, spit spraying from her mouth. ‘I left school for you; I gave up my body. And you don’t even care.’
Marcus shuddered again; she was so ugly. Why had he allowed this girl to waste his time?
He watched her face crumple, her mouth gaping unattractively between each succession of sobs. Then he watched her run past him, slamming the door of the guest bathroom behind her.
To the sound of her wailing, Marcus found himself a tea towel and soaked up the wine, happy to have rescued his couch just in time.
Then he poured himself a Scotch, and moved into the study.
Flicking the television on, he was grateful to see he hadn’t missed the start of the football. ‘Come on, Saints!’ he yelled at the screen, as play got underway.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he slumped in his favourite armchair and reached for the remote, turning up the volume.
The last thing he wanted to hear was the sound of Laura’s pathetic crying.
Outside the shelter shed, the boy waited impatiently for his friend to arrive, dangling his feet from the bench and scouring the sea of students that were streaming in through the school gates.
Any moment now the trio would march in: Tom, his brother Daniel and their sister Rosemary, the siblings easy to spot with their reddish hair and unusually pale skin.
He patted his backpack lovingly, before carefully unzipping the main compartment and peering in. The gold-wrapped present was still protectively nestled in his spare jumper, his handmade card sitting upright.
The boy beamed, almost giddy with excitement as he imagined the joy to come.
Today was a special day – his best friend was turning eight! He couldn’t wait to see Tom’s face when he presented him with his gift.
It had taken all his determination to get enough money to buy it – saving his lunch change and even sneaking a few coins from the wallet of the old man when he wasn’t looking. And his friend would love it – of that he was certain.
They’d seen it in the shops together, one afternoon late last year, when they’d been out with Tom’s parents.
‘Wow,’ his friend had exclaimed, as the store assistant had demonstrated the toy, moving the silver coils in his hands like magic, the spring jiggling and bouncing as if spurred on by some internal force.
‘It’s called a slinky,’ the man had said. ‘You can even walk it down stairs.’
From that day on they’d talked endlessly about getting themselves a slinky, and the boy knew his friend had been bitterly disappointed when Santa failed to deliver on their hopes last Christmas.
He wriggled in his seat, watching the yard duty teacher make yet another lap of the school ground.
Where was Tom?
When the bell sounded the boy did his best not to feel grumpy.
He remembered his friend had been out for dinner with his family the night before, so maybe he’d just slept in?
But when his class returned from their morning break to find the school principal standing earnestly at the front of the room, he knew something was very wrong.
‘I have some sad news.’ Ms Riviera’s voice was softer than usual, her hands clasped deliberately at her front. ‘Your classmate Tom Norman was involved in a car accident last night. He’s at the hospital. He’s been very badly injured.’
A few of the children gasped.
The boy was only aware of a dull throbbing in his ears.
‘Will he be back tomorrow?’ a girl in the front row asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ Ms Riviera rocked awkwardly on her heels. ‘It was a very bad crash. Tom is seriously hurt.’
‘But he won’t die, will he?’ someone else called out.
The boy felt his stomach lurch, the smell of his dead mother filling his nostrils.
‘I hope not. The doctors are doing everything they can.’
Looking from his carefully hung bag, in which the special gold present was still safely tucked, to the oddly stiff principal at the front, the boy buckled forward, vomit spilling from his mouth to the carpet.
The last thing he remembered was the feeling of someone’s hand rubbing his back in small circles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The room was musty and dark, and the limp figure of Daniel Norman, slouched before them, did little to inspire creativity.
Emmett stifled a yawn; the eerie silence from the streets outside suggested the clock had long ticked over from the jubilance of Saturday night to the early hours of Sunday morning.
‘Have you had time to reconsider your initial statement?’
‘I’ve told you the truth. Nothing’s changed.’
‘There’s a forensics team going through your house as we speak. You may as well come clean.’
‘I’m not hiding anything. My sister has been killed. That’s all I know.’
Emmett drew his hands back in by his sides, silent. Beside him, Bianca stared straight ahead. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book: say nothing, and eventually the other person becomes so uncomfortable they feel the need to fill the void.
It worked nearly all of the time. But not on Daniel Norman.
Rosemary’s brother shrugged, shifting back on his seat and reclining as though he might fall asleep.
‘Mr Norman?’
‘What?’
‘We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what you did to your sister. Let’s start with the Saturday she died. You rang her in the afternoon, and then what?’
‘I rang Rosie in the afternoon and she said she was coming to Tom’s birthday. That’s the last time I heard from her.’
‘Did you arrange to meet her that night?’
‘No.’
‘Did you have someone else meet her?’
‘No.’
‘Was there a reason you wanted her dead?’
‘I didn’t want her dead. Why would I suddenly decide to kill my sister?’
Emmett paused. In truth, this was something he was still grappling to understand himself. What had made Daniel snap? Why now?
‘Can you explain how the women’s jewellery ended up in your brother’s bedroom?’ Bianca asked.
‘No.’
‘Can you think of anyone else who might have put the jewellery there?’
‘No.’
‘Who visits your brother most frequently?’
‘I do.’
‘And who would have had access to his room?’
‘Only me, Rosie or the staff, I guess.’
‘So how did it get there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Daniel flailed his arms, the erratic movements reminding Emmett of the way Tom had so hopelessly been trying to communicate. He was certain the younger brother knew who’d put the jewellery in his drawer. Who had he seen?
‘Mr Norman, did you ever notice anything mo
ved around your brother’s room, anything that suggested someone else might have been there?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Not really, but it’s hard to say. Stuff is always being moved because of all the different carers who come and go. Sometimes when I visit there are flowers in vases, or different pictures displayed . . There was one nurse who insisted on hanging all these religious images around the room and I asked the managers to take those out – our family wasn’t into that sort of stuff.’
‘Okay, but nothing to suggest he’d had any other guests?’
Daniel pulled a face. ‘That pasta frame was new – but I assumed one of the carers had just unpacked it for him. They go through his belongings every few weeks and put out bits of old memorabilia. Apparently, that helps his mental stimulation, talking through memories.’
‘Pasta frame?’ Emmett had a vague recollection of seeing an unusual, homemade frame.
‘Yeah, it was on his bedside table when I first noticed it. But I think it might have been moved somewhere else now.’
‘That was the gold frame that had the photo of you and Tom in it?’
‘Not me and Tom, no,’ Daniel scoffed, as though that should have been obvious. ‘That was a picture of him with one of his old schoolfriends . . Weird little kid, can’t remember his name. I thought it was a bit odd that the carers had chosen that one. I don’t remember ever seeing it before, but he’s got a heap of old junk in those boxes under the bed, and every time I’ve suggested clearing stuff out, he gets upset with me. So I’ve left it all.’
Emmett’s skin tingled.
‘A schoolfriend? I wasn’t under the impression that Tom kept in touch with any former acquaintances.’
Daniel snorted. ‘Of course he doesn’t. How could he?’
After further, fruitless attempts at getting information out of Rosemary’s brother, they left him to the care of the custody warden.
‘I think he’s telling the truth,’ Emmett whispered, as soon as they were outside the interview room. ‘And there was someone else who visited Tom Norman earlier this month, I remember seeing a name in the visitor book.’
Sticks and Stones Page 24
