Forbidden Fruit

by Ilsa Evans

  Eric Male blinked, clearly stunned. With a flash of insight, I realised that he hadn’t really expected to gain anything from this quid pro quo deal. Ashley had probably suggested it, no doubt telling him that it couldn’t hurt, that he’d be better off with me on side than not.

  ‘There’s a shell inside,’ I said helpfully. ‘And a cigar ring. Ritmeester.’

  ‘Do you realise I could charge you for this? No doubt you’ve destroyed evidence. Fingerprints for starters, with all the handling.’

  I looked pointedly at the tin. ‘Actually, we hadn’t handled it much. And it was found on my property. At this stage, it’s only supposition that connects it with your ongoing case.’

  ‘Really.’ He gave me one of his level gazes and then laid the letters down on the coffee table, placing the tin beside them. ‘Please refrain from touching any of these items, Ms Forrest.’ He turned to Ashley and nodded briskly before making a call on his mobile. He moved over to the side of the room, giving instructions.

  ‘When did you get back?’ I asked casually.

  ‘Last night. So, I see you’ve been making yourself popular?’

  I shook my head. ‘Actually, I’ve had very little to do with him. Were you going to tell me you’re back?’

  ‘Of course.’ He flicked a glance towards Eric Male. ‘But not at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’ve guessed now. But I can pretend to act surprised, if you like.’

  ‘Same old sense of humour.’

  ‘That’s me, same old everything. Listen, was that true, about Rex Fletcher?’

  ‘Absolutely. The coroner came through with the details yesterday. It’ll be released during the press conference this afternoon. Along with the elimination of him as a suspect in the original murder.’

  ‘I see.’ I felt unaccountably cross. ‘I have to tell you that I’m not convinced, though. Nothing makes sense if it’s not Rex Fletcher.’

  Ashley gave one of his half-smiles. He lowered his voice. ‘I did it all for love.’

  My breath caught in my throat. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I did it all for love. Google it. It’s a song, Nell, not a suicide note.’

  *

  He was right. ‘I Did It All For Love’ was a 1978 disco number released as a single by Lorna Luft, the daughter of Judy Garland. The suicide note could just as easily have been a song request from live band night at the local pub. However, there appeared little doubt that Rex Fletcher had, in fact, committed suicide. Just perhaps not for the reasons first assumed.

  I sat back in my study chair and stared at my list of suspects as I ate a ham and salad sandwich. The first thing I needed to accept was that Dallas’s killer and her lover were two different people. Rex Fletcher must have been the lover; there were no other options, even if this went against all those assurances that he was devoted to his wife. Perhaps it had been intended as a mere dalliance, part of their habitual shenanigans, but became much more. Just say the word, my love, and we can be together. Together we can conquer anything.

  Clare Fletcher flitted across my consciousness, her gaze needle-sharp. I didn’t for one moment believe that she had jumped into the car with her husband without any idea of where they were going or why. It may well have been an impromptu decision, hence the need to touch up her dye job that evening, but she knew more about everything than she was willing to share. Karma gets you in the end, she had said, with a flicker of triumph. Had she been the wronged woman? Distraught that her husband planned to leave her for another? Had she killed Dallas?

  It suddenly occurred to me that I held a temporary ace. The right-handed/left-handed information was to be released at this afternoon’s press conference. I wasn’t sure what time that was scheduled for, but as it had just gone one o’clock, I could safely assume that I had some time up my sleeve. No doubt the detectives planned to visit the grieving widow, but it was likely the discovery of the tin had delayed things somewhat. I knew they were still next door talking to Lucy because the unmarked car remained in my driveway. Richard White was also in position, leaning against the side of the van chatting with his cameraman.

  Fortunately, I was still dressed in my exercise gear. I let myself out through the sliding door, pushing Gusto back inside this time. Then, for the second time in one day, I scrambled over the back fence, this time scraping my arm as I stumbled into the spare block of land. I rubbed the offending spot as I limped around the corner into the alley. My intention was to make a detour past the pub and cross the lane with plenty of distance from my house. From there I could walk around to the front of the motel and then it would be a process of elimination to discover Clare Fletcher’s room.

  I broke into a jog when I reached the footpath, trying to look suitably energetic. Just an afternoon run, nothing suspicious. I checked for traffic at the edge of the lane and then was halfway across the road when a discordant image registered, bringing me to a halt. I turned, already frowning, and stared back towards the pub. But I hadn’t been mistaken. There, sitting at the table nearest to the kerb, were both of my parents, plus Jim Hurley and Clare Fletcher. The latter was wearing a large floppy rattan sunhat and stylish sunglasses. With her red hair hidden, she looked like a mature Audrey Hepburn. All four of them were watching me, but only my father was smiling.

  The sight was so unexpected that I really wasn’t sure how to react. In the long term, of course, I might be required to sear my retinas, but the short term was calling for more immediate action. Particularly as I was still standing in the middle of the road. Woman imitating Road Runner in country lane crushed by oncoming truck. The end. I walked slowly back to the table. They each had a mug of beer, and were sharing a plate of nachos.

  Clare Fletcher was the first to break the silence. She turned to Yen. ‘Did your daughter tell you that we met yesterday?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yen smoothly. She was an excellent liar. It was a little scary.

  ‘We just ran into each other here,’ said my father heartily. ‘There we were, having a drink with Jim, and along comes Clare! Hasn’t changed a bit. Takes me back …’ He cleared his throat, then pointed towards the street sign. ‘Hey, did you know your sign’s missing? I wanted to show Clare, but it’s gone.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll allow my imagination to fill the gap.’

  My father nodded, pleased. ‘Good-o. Nell, can I get you a beer?’

  ‘She doesn’t drink beer,’ interjected Yen. ‘And she shouldn’t drink anyway, not at this time of day. Turns her stupid.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, Lilly,’ said Uncle Jim in his deep voice. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen our Nell stupid.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t pay attention.’ Yen gave him a half-smile to soften her words and then returned her attention to me. ‘So what brings you down here? And at a jog?’

  I slapped my stomach. ‘Exercise. Just trying to get rid of some of that Christmas excess, that’s all. Ah, have you heard the latest?’

  ‘The latest what?’ asked Yen, her eyes narrowing.

  I ignored her, concentrating on Clare Fletcher instead. She had taken off her sunglasses and was polishing them with a soft cloth. ‘The coroner has just released the cause of death for Dallas Patrick. A blow to the back of the head, most likely as she was turning away from her killer, which then caused her to fall forward and strike her temple on the window ledge.’ I paused for a moment. Her lips had thinned almost to the point of invisibility. ‘The one thing they know without doubt is that the killer was right-handed.’

  ‘Oh, excellent,’ said Yen. ‘Seeing that around ninety percent of us are right-handed, that represents a significant finding. Bring out the brass band.’ She suddenly realised that nobody was paying any attention. She followed my gaze, her eyebrows rising.

  Any doubts I had harboured over Clare Fletcher’s belief in her husband’s guilt had been vanquished by her response to the news. She had frozen, sunglasses in hand, and was staring at me. Her face had leached of colour, lending her da
rk eyes a luminosity that only served to emphasise her evident shock. She shook her head, the overlarge hat wobbling. ‘That can’t be true.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ I said gently.

  She pushed herself away from the table quite suddenly, her chair scraping across the concrete. She remained like that for a few seconds, leaning forward with her hands clamped on the table rim, looking oddly like a woman in labour, and then she rose. She focused on Yen. ‘Excuse me. I must go.’

  Both men had also risen. My father took hold of her arm. ‘Are you all right, Clare?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She shook him off. ‘Just everything catching up with me, I suppose. I must go.’

  I flinched as her hip glanced against the chair. She gathered up her bag and nodded to us briskly before striding off in the direction of the motel. I wondered what she would do now.

  My mother ran a hand over her chin, fixing her eyes on me. ‘Would I be right in assuming that Rex Fletcher was left-handed?’

  ‘You didn’t know that?’

  ‘No. I only met the man for a weekend. And we weren’t making crafts.’

  I closed my eyes briefly. Beside me I could hear Uncle Jim shuffle awkwardly in his chair. All I wanted to do was go home and drink myself stupid. Apart from anything else, I would have thought that Rex Fletcher’s right- or left-handedness might have indeed come into play over the weekend, so to speak, otherwise surely it reflected poorly on the breadth of his capabilities. But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t about to enter into a debate.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Your column often delves into motherhood yet fatherhood is rarely mentioned. Could this indicate a prejudice, perhaps even pathological, against the God-given and vital role of fathers? Could this prejudice influence decisions made in your personal life? Something for you to ponder.

  ‘So she goes, How would you like a proper shower? And I’m like, Would I!’ Ruby’s face moved jerkily on my computer screen. It was like a hundred stills all cobbled together, with every second one missing. ‘Mum, are you listening?’

  ‘Of course I am. So you had a shower?’

  ‘Yeah, it was blissful! They have everything in their camp! Get this, they even have a sauna! Not that you need one with this humidity.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Enough about me, what’s new there? I can’t believe I’m missing out on everything!’

  ‘Not that much, really. Things should be sorted out soon.’

  She frowned, her mouth moving just before the words emerged. ‘Doesn’t sound like not much. You find a body, your dad’s over there for the first time ever, and he gets arrested. Then some other bloke tops himself in your bedroom!’

  ‘These things always sound like a lot when they’re, well, said.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. And there’s Scarlet due in a week or so and Lucy today.’ She hesitated, the words following her into silence. ‘I was thinking, maybe I should …’

  ‘If you want to come home, Ruby, then do so,’ I said quickly. This daughter had a record of never finishing anything, and of finding an excellent reason not to do so. ‘But don’t use all this as an excuse. You’re nearly at the halfway mark. That’s amazing! So before you make a decision, ask yourself one thing – will you regret it?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose …’

  ‘Those babies will still be babies if you see your contract through. If anything, they’ll just be more fun.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Her head turned to the side, and then swam jerkily back. ‘It’s just, I’m a little homesick, Mum. Actually, a lot.’

  I stared at her, wanting so much to tell her to come home. Right now. Instead, I took a deep breath before I spoke. ‘And we miss you like crazy too. But this isn’t about us, or home, or anything else that’s going on. It’s about you. Make the decision that’s best for you, honey, and the one that you won’t look back on in five years and regret. Okay?’

  Her lips didn’t seem to move. ‘Okay.’

  We exchanged the usual endearments and then rang off. I watched her face vanish, knowing that one word from me, one encouraging word, and she would be on the next flight home. A mix of guilt and irritation swam uncomfortably in my gut. It did not feel good. To distract myself, I closed Skype and detoured into my inbox. There were several new messages, most inquiring about Lucy’s health, and one from Deb Taylor asking if I knew anything about the disappearance of my street sign. I ignored them all, clicking instead on one I had received on Friday evening. This was not the first time I had reread it since then.

  Hi there. Great to see you this morning, even if under not-ideal circumstances. You’re looking well. I would have let you know I was back, but Eric sprung the trip to your place at the last minute. I think he’s scared of you! Obviously my involvement in the case won’t go any further than that, but even so, I’m thinking we should postpone our chat until next week when all should be done and dusted. That probably sounds like I’m avoiding everything, but that’s not so. I’m sorry that phone call the other day ended so badly. I’ve missed you like blazes and hope you feel the same. Speak soon.

  Love,

  Ashley

  I had already checked past emails, and this was the first that he had signed with ‘love.’ It was also the first in which he had mentioned that he missed me, but then again every other email had either been sent just after he had seen me or just before he was about to, so that was more understandable. The apology I found a little confusing, since the bad ending to that phone call had been more my doing than his. I wondered if it was a tactical ploy, to put me off guard, and I wondered whether his mention of ‘blazes’ was supposed to conjure up images of heat and fire and sweat-slicked lust. And I also wondered if I was investing a little too much time in dissecting this email.

  I closed my inbox with a sigh and swivelled my chair to face the two lone sheets of paper stuck to my wall. Now I had an even greater reason to work this whole thing out, because the sooner it was done and dusted, the sooner we could have that conversation. I wasn’t very good at deferred gratification.

  I peeled the sheets off the wall and carried them out into the kitchen just as my front doorknob rattled noisily, and then opened. Petra came through quickly, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ I said jovially. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  ‘That reporter’s sure persistent.’ She moved over to the bay window and peered outside. ‘He followed me all the way from the car thrusting his thingamajig in my face.’

  ‘The lengths these people will go to for a story.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ She let the curtain fall and then flopped down into an armchair, dropping her bag on the floor. ‘Coffee, coffee, my kingdom for a coffee.’

  I flicked the jug on. ‘I should have just enough milk. So how was the big date last night?’

  ‘Good.’ She smiled slowly. ‘Very good indeed.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Really? On your first date? Don’t you have any self-control?’

  ‘Not much. You’re a long time dead.’

  ‘Oh, great philosophy.’ I let Gusto inside. He trotted past me and then put on a burst of speed to ascend the stairs, no doubt intent on rejoining Quinn, who was having her Sunday morning sleep-in. ‘But did you actually find out anything useful?’

  ‘Depends on your definition of useful. And the context of this usefulness.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ I poured our coffee, using the last of the milk, and took Petra’s mug over to her. Then I returned to the bench and picked up my list of suspects. ‘Okay, let’s get to the matter at hand. The reason for this little meeting …’ I paused, shook my head. ‘I can’t believe you slept with him already.’

  ‘Twice, actually,’ said Petra. She took a sip of coffee and then put her mug down on the coffee table. ‘It was the least I could do, considering the trauma he’s been through.’

  ‘No, the least you could have done was not sleep with him. People manage that all the time.’ I looked at her curiously. ‘All jokes a
side, is this just a fling or do you like him?’

  ‘I never sleep with people I don’t like,’ said Petra primly. ‘But … yes, I rather think I do.’

  I smiled, pleased for her. ‘In that case, congratulations. I hope it all turns out well.’

  ‘Me too.’ She rose to her feet and came over to the bench, taking the list from me. ‘Okay then. Let’s go through these one by one. Paul Patrick Senior. Alibi. Margie Patrick. Alibi.’

  ‘I know everyone says they didn’t leave Ballarat that day, but … I don’t know.’

  ‘I do. The police have gone over his movements with a fine-toothed comb. It’s always the ex-partner. Besides, you said yourself after you met him that he totally believed she’d done a runner. Now her –’ Petra tapped Margie’s name ‘– I’m not so willing to dismiss. She would have been more of a peripheral figure at the Anzac Day march; they weren’t her kids for starters. And even though everyone says she didn’t leave, I don’t know that they would’ve noticed her absence in the same way. Paul and I spoke about it last night.’

  ‘But what would her motive be then? Assuming she was after Paul Senior, you’d think she’d be thrilled that Dallas was leaving him. Why would she follow her?’

  ‘True. Okay, next we have Mr and Mrs Forrest.’ Her voice changed. ‘The Disgustingtons.’

  I regarded her thoughtfully as I sipped my coffee. ‘How many guys have you slept with?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s a serious question. Counting your latest conquest last night, how many guys have you slept with? C’mon, ballpark figure. More than five? More than ten? More than twenty?’

  ‘I suppose … more than ten.’

  ‘Okay, so even including Yen’s brief walk on the wild side, her number would be four max, and that’s including the two long-term relationships. Not sure about our father, but seeing as he met Edie within months of landing in England, I’m thinking he’s still going to come in at less than ten.’ I waited for these numbers to have impact. ‘And then we have you …’