by Andrea Drew
"Yep. I'm about to make a citizen’s arrest."
"Okay. Remember the Crimes Act."
"Mate, I'm not stupid. How could I forget the damn Crimes Act? I worked with it for years. Let's hope he runs."
"If he doesn't…?"
"Then I call it in, anyway."
"I'll look out for it on the D24 dispatch list."
"Right. Talk soon."
"Yeah. You left that dusty old weapon where it belongs, right?"
Connor hung up.
He was about twenty minutes from his ultimate destination, the place where Leigh and Lauren had at first talked about her concerns with not only the finances but her marriage. Leigh had no doubt listened with a serious expression.
Her initial concerns may have become tears, and the weasel took the opportunity to seduce a lonely, vulnerable mother.
How long did the affair last? Judging by his findings on when the loan was taken out, likely no more than a few months.
A few months to unravel a family, and snuff out a life.
He wondered on how it had all gone down. The spirit of Lauren had directed him to her killer, but not much more than that. He imagined Lauren, approaching her brother in law, distressed and distraught, and he’d advised her, and consoled her. One thing led to another and they’d become intimate. How long had the process taken? He struggled to imagine the conservative worm being lucky enough that Lauren started an affair with him.
Maybe they’d met at the holiday house enough times, and talked through her worries and concerns about her decaying marriage enough that she’d eventually trusted him.
Pillow talk might have given the weasel the information he needed, namely that Jarrod Whitehouse had a vasectomy, that he’d been transferred to missing persons, and that he was being blackmailed for his secret fetish.
Lauren had worked it out, and when she learned of her pregnancy, made plans to leave both of them, her husband and her lover, resulting in her call to Elizabeth to stay with her for a few days. A gutsy move, but sadly she’d never made it.
Connor didn’t want to believe she’d leave her daughter behind. They day of her murder she probably left her car at home. The community of Sorrento was small and tight knit and would notice her car parked there at regular intervals.
He imagined her coming to him late at night, telling about the pregnancy, and that she didn’t intend to keep it. This would’ve infuriated the worm, his only chance at a biological child.
The worm had pushed her hard against the filing cabinet, where her head hit the corner and she’d fallen unconscious. The worm, assuming he’d killed her, had then driven out to a quiet spot and buried her in the shallow grave, not knowing she’d been alive, and would never regaine consciousness.
With little to give his thoughts away, barely a flicker of the muscles around his jaw, Connor turned off the freeway and onto a main road, Cassowary Road.
The indicator flicked on and off, a quiet ticking, a time bomb with outcome unknown.
The holiday house lay in a maze of quiet courts and back streets, a nest of peaceful family holidays, relaxation, and fun for many of them. Not this family.
He wondered if the worm had any idea, any inclination, that his deadly act had been uncovered, or considered the possibility for even a moment.
A slight bump vibrated beneath him as the road switched from bitumen to gravel narrowing to a single lane due to low traffic.
They'd see him coming. It wouldn’t matter anyway the charger wasn’t exactly quiet.
As gravel crunched below the slow moving tyres, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up. The sensation that someone sat in the back seat washed over him. He stopped the car, twisting his neck to gaze at the seats.
He saw her, sitting relaxed on the back seat, but this time not wailing or crying, but a smile of contentment. She held the baby closer to her chest, gazing down at it, barely moving other than to pat its bottom.
No pressure or anything.
He pulled into the driveway, parking behind the silver car, effectively barring escape.
If the worm ran, he'd need to run on foot. It had been a long time since Connor had conducted a car chase.
The home appeared unchanged, stuck in a time warp from the seventies, not unlike its owner.
He knocked on the door, and the sound echoed throughout the small hallway into the lounge room beyond.
Within seconds, Katrina opened the door, the bags under her eyes pronounced. Her face appeared hollowed out.
"You're here, thank god.” Katrina said.
He took a step onto the carpet, ignoring the garish multi-colored swirls in regular intervals across it. He stared instead at Leigh Metcalfe, bent over a travel bag in front of the couch which had been pushed against the wall.
Connor tried to appear nonchalant. "Going somewhere?"
Leigh paused, and then straightened his spine, mouth open and eyes wide. "Oh, er, not really, but now that Katrina's here, someone has to get back to reality. The week’s leave's nearly over."
The worm thought he could carry on like nothing had ever happened. Connor’s fingers curled into his palms so hard his nails were leaving an imprint. He wanted to punch the bastard, and hard, but the last thing he needed was another possible assault case. This would be a clean arrest, by the book.
"What about your wife?" Connor made no move from the doorway.
Reardon took a step closer toward Leigh. Of course, despite being on leave, the stuffed shirt still wore business clothes, dark suit paints, blue shirt, his sole concession to the situation the absence of a necktie.
"She's sleeping most of the time. Not a great deal I can do."
"No, I suppose not, especially when you're the reason she's suffering."
"I resent that remark−" Leigh rubbed the side of his nose then stared at the floor.
Katrina strode across to stand at Connor's left side, in between them.
"I told him a counsellor was on the way. He told me we didn't need one and to cancel it. He wouldn't leave me alone, badgered me constantly until I caved and told him you were on the way." She blew a hair out of her mouth. "I'm sorry."
"I'm here now, that's all that matters."
Run, you bastard, please run.
The worm pushed up his glasses, posture bent. Since the last time Connor had seen him, Leigh Metcalfe appeared to have aged significantly and the dark circles under his eyes stood out like bleak hollowed beacons in his pasty white face.
Connor's phone buzzed in his pocket and rang, quietly at first, then louder with each passing second. He took it out and brought it to his ear, keeping his gaze fixed on Leigh. Katrina hovered a foot or so away, refusing to make eye contact and biting her lip.
"Ryan. Just arrived."
"Okay," Ryan said, dragging the word out to elongate it.
"Tell me you're calling with an answer to my question about the head wound?"
Leigh Metcalfe leaned away from him.
"Yeah. I checked. They weren't too happy about being pushed to get results quickly, but I have it. A glue-like substance, not seen often, pretty old, from say the nineteen hundred’s found in the wound."
"From a rare stamp?"
"Something like that." Ryan's voice quietened to a rumble.
"Thanks. Can you ask for DNA tests on the foetus?"
Katrina's head snapped up, her eyes suddenly rivetted on the mobile telephone.
"Yeah, I'll let you know,” Ryan said. “Take care."
"Right. Call you back...later."
Connor folded the phone back into his pocket and looked at Katrina, and then Leigh.
Katrina took a step forward, her shoulders high and tight, and extended her hand with palms up. "What the hell was that about?"
"The Coroner's findings."
"You mentioned a pregnancy?" Katrina said, voice shrill.
Leigh had turned away and paced in a small circle, hands on hips.
"Lauren was pregnant. You knew that, though, didn't you, Leigh? She told you.
As the father, you had the right to know."
Katrina’s eyes widened at Leigh. "What the hell?"
Leigh threw down the shirt he was packing into his luggage. He spun around, pointing at Connor. "How dare you! What would you know? This is none of your business. We're still grieving. Leave us in peace! Get out, now!"
Despite his heart thudding in his chest, Connor stayed cool, conscious of keeping his voice quiet and measured.
He did his best not to hiss through gritted teeth. "I know Lauren was pregnant, which is pretty difficult given her husband had a vasectomy. Know anything about that?"
Leigh looked down, using his hair as a shield. He zipped the bag and then picked up the handle. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get to work."
"I don't think so," Connor said, barring the doorway. He slid his right arm under his jacket, feeling the smoothness of the gun handle. "It's easy enough to confirm the father of the foetus. DNA can do amazing things these days."
Katrina surged forward, bent at the waist, pointing her finger in her brother-in-law’s face. "You bastard. You were having an affair with Lauren, of all the low life, conniving scum—"
Leigh cut her off, palm facing her face. "Don't believe it for a second. He's fishing, seeing if his theory fits, and it doesn't, not for a minute."
"If it's a theory, I'm sure you won't mind giving a DNA sample to eliminate you from the investigation," Connor said, and then paused.
Both he and Katrina glared at Leigh, a sheen of sweat shining on his face. He made no move to wipe it away.
"It doesn't prove anything," Leigh said at last.
"It proves you’re the father, and you had motive. She called it off, didn't she? One last meeting. She told you she'd terminated the pregnancy, which infuriated you, your only chance at having a biological child. Except she lied, maybe she intended to leave her husband, but she certainly didn't want a future with you anymore."
Leigh lunged toward Connor, hands out toward his throat. Connor grabbed his outstretched hands. He twisted Leigh around, wrapping the worm’s own arms across his torso to hold him still.
"You bastard," Connor hissed into the worm’s ear. "You killed her. You can tell yourself it was an accident all you want but you pushed her so hard her head hit the cabinet. That's how the glue got into the head wound. You kept your stamps there, the Penny Black."
"I. Can't. Breathe," Leigh whispered.
For a moment Connor considered pulling to tighten the grip, then released him. Leigh rubbed at his chest. "You're a savage, pure and simple."
"Maybe, but I didn't kill a pregnant woman."
"It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt her..." Leigh’s face changed from pale to almost purple, and he balled his hands into fists.
Katrina rushed forward, hitting him in the chest.
"You killed my sister! You piece of shit we trusted you, Liz trusted you, you bastard!" Her words spun out of control, becoming almost indecipherable at such skyrocketing pitch.
Connor extricated her from Leigh, as gently as possible. "He's not worth it."
Her words cracked into tears, and she collapsed against the couch, covering her face in her hands.
"He'll get what’s coming to him," Connor murmured quietly.
Leigh rubbed his arms. "I'll charge you with assault."
"Self-defense," Connor said, the muscles in his cheek twitching as he fought to control his anger. "I'm sure you'll say the same when you're charged. Good luck defending the indefensible. Lauren was alive when you buried her. She suffocated to death. You murdered her, pure and simple." He bit the words out, solid and heavy.
Leigh Metcalfe stood glaring at Connor, pushing air out through his teeth. A purple vein engorged in his temple. Time seemed to slow down. Leigh's eyes glassed over, then he fell, knees buckling, and landed backwards, his head barely missing the couch as he hit the carpet with a loud thump.
Connor stared at the still form on the carpet. He took a moment to get his breath, and removed the phone from his pocket to dial triple zero.
"Hello? I'd like to report a murder suspect here in Sorrento." He paused. "I've made a citizen’s arrest, the suspect fainted."
Connor gave them the address details, before sitting on the couch. Katrina Across the room, Katrina stared at the wall unseeing, almost catatonic, probably in shock. Finding out her brother in law was a murderer was rough for anyone to take in, especially the way this had unfolded.
Leigh had rested back cocky and smug, sure that due to information Elizabeth provided, all investigations would point to Jarred Whitehouse. His murdered mistress had made sure Connor looked in the right place. At that moment, despite his bones aching and feeling every ounce of energy leave, he saw her transparent figure, walking in from the hallway. She floated toward her Katrina on the couch, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, moving her cheek next to hers, and touching it gently.
Connor wasn't sure whether to tell Katrina. Considering what she had been through, he decided to keep quiet. She didn't need anything else to stir her emotions further.
Wiping tears from under her eyes, she turned to face him, hunched forward at the other end of the couch. "I don't believe this. After all the garbage we've been through, all the torment, suddenly, I feel peaceful, like everything will turn out all right. Maybe Lauren's watching, pleased that we caught the bastard that did this to her."
Connor nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Maybe she is, Katrina. Maybe she is."
###
Epilogue
Inky darkness had replaced the twilight when Connor left the local police station out on the Peninsula. He'd watched the sky’s progression during the interview with police, and as he detailed the various twists and turn of events, the view through the window had turned from glaring piercing light, to faded brightness, and dull pre-sunset, the curtain of night falling as he told of Elizabeth's visit, followed by his interviews with Jarrod Whitehouse, and later Hugh Fraser.
Of course, he'd conveniently omitted any references to his Sentinel abilities, explaining away the final clue through serendipity, that somehow it had taken time for the pieces to fall into place and for the puzzle to be solved, which wasn't strictly a lie. Quite often investigations took time, for the seemingly random factors to come together, usually when least expected.
Ryan had arrived toward the end of the interview, and of course, he hadn't mentioned that had it not been for Ryan providing information to him, the investigation would most likely have taken a lot longer.
After the interview, they stood on the top step, looking out at the view: tall trees nodding in agreement, as the wind shifted through the leaves. A couple of holiday makers remained, sitting on a blanket, laughing as they enjoyed the remnants of the day.
Seagulls called out to them, and the peace and tranquility of the area flowed through him. The investigation had ended.
"Might check on my client tomorrow," Connor said as he bowed his head and trudged down the steps. "She's had a lot to deal with."
"Yeah," Ryan said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's not every day you lose a sister and a husband in one move."
Connor reached the bottom of the steps and paused on the footpath. "I'm thinking of putting in an application, a return to Homicide." Ryan arched one eyebrow. "You are? I wasn't expecting that."
"I don't know." He sighed. "Private Investigation has been good to me for a while, but since I lost the contract, I don't know, something's changed."
"Yeah, mate." Ryan removed his hands from his pockets. "They could use you in Homicide. Or in the Academy. There’s an instructor job going, a couple of days a week."
"I'll think about it," Connor said, and he turned the corner toward the car park. Ryan followed behind him.
New native bushes and grasses had been planted, and the markings of a fresh watering left fan shapes on the concrete. Connor reached Black Betty and opened the door. "Any charges for Whitehouse or Fraser?"
"Barely," Ryan said, heading a few feet away to hi
s own vehicle. "Police prosecutor didn't go for it. Blackmail charges for Fraser most likely. Fraud might become a civil case if the bank ever gets through the red tape."
Connor didn't bother replying.
"Anyway, I'm heading home." He realised he was about to tell Ryan about his plans to get married in the next couple of weeks, and then paused. "Hey Ryan, I wanted to ask you something."
Ryan gazed at a uniformed officer walking away from a car, watching as the figure became smaller. Then they were alone again.
After a moment, he walked toward Connor and stood directly in front of him. "What is it?"
Connor rubbed at his chin. There didn't seem to be an easy way to say it. He didn't fancy the idea of a sentimental moment in the back of a police station in the outer suburbs of the Mornington Peninsula, but he'd started. "I was talking to Gypsy, about getting married. She said she wants to wait until we have the money. Something is holding her back, I can sense it, and I don't think it’s me, or at least, I hope not."
Ryan smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight to his right hip, waiting for a response.
Somehow, getting to the point seemed difficult, needing the perfect segue which proved out of reach. What the hell, better to just come right out with it.
"If she gets over her idea that getting married will make a respectable woman out of her, I'll need a best man, and I can't think of a better man than you."
Ryan's mouth dropped open, but he quickly closed it, before his lips formed a grin.
"I'd be honoured, mate." He flushed. "I'm not sure what else to say, but...thanks, I guess."
"No problem," Connor said, gazing down. He'd never been good with sentimentality, particularly raw unbridled emotions like whatever the hell it was that surged in his chest. "I'll head off, but..."
What did he want to say? Somehow, thanks for risking your career to give me the answers I needed to solve the case didn't cover it. Besides, he'd never say that sort of stuff, anyway. It smacked of desperation.
Instead, he grinned at Ryan.
With a chuckle Ryan waved and headed back to his car. Connor watched as Ryan backed out and disappeared down the street. He hesitated, taking in another glance of the sky, and then headed home. He couldn't wait to tell Gypsy this case was over. Until the next.
