He replaced the blanket and stood up, the muscle in his jaw flexing. Homicide. Never pleasant but this one … He frowned, perplexed. Why? Who would want to murder Natalie deWitt-Ambrose? The frown deepened. First the son now the stepdaughter. CJ Ambrose was running out of relatives fast.
He looked at Neil and Erin. “We’ll have to get statements from everyone who was at the homestead and in the bunkhouse last night. Did they hear anything strange or unusual? When did they retire? Did they know if the deceased had any enemies, any gossip that can be corroborated? Whatever you can wring out of them. You know the drill. We’re going to need an ambulance, a forensic report and then later a post-mortem. Neil, would you get the paperwork started?”
“Sure, Steve.”
Steve nodded to Erin. The short, slim, blonde-haired rookie’s skin had paled and he noticed that she had swayed once or twice. “Not going to faint on me are you, Constable Cooper?”
Erin’s chin lifted. “I’d like to, sir, but no, I won’t.”
“Good, come with me. We’ll go into the house and get the proceedings started.” He glanced up at the sky for a moment. A perfectly beautiful day, but not for Natalie. He stifled a sigh. “I’ve the feeling this is going to be one hell of a long day.” When the call had come in, he’d begged Inspector Clarke to be the one to head up the investigation team even though, strictly speaking, he wasn’t in the detectives section. After all, why not make use of all his Sydney experience, he’d said. Clarke had grudgingly acceded.
A heavy silence hung over the homestead as Steve and Constable Cooper entered the living room via the side verandah. Ten or so people sat around, each trying not to look at the other. He couldn’t see Francey. He wondered where she was and then she entered the room from the hallway and sat on the side of an armchair, next to CJ. Her hand went around his shoulder in a gesture of affection and support. She looked strained, but bloody marvellous. His stomach muscles tightened until he made himself look elsewhere.
Steve cleared his throat and began, “This is a sad day for Murrundi. CJ, my sympathies to you and your family.” He watched CJ nod silently, noting that the man looked unwell, obviously in shock. “I don’t want to pre-empt the post-mortem but it’s fairly evident that Natalie has been murdered, by a person or persons as yet unknown. As this will be a murder investigation I expect your full cooperation. We need to get statements from each of you. Constables Smith and Cooper will be helping out.”
“What about the … body?” Les Westcott spoke up, his tone aggressively emotional. “You can’t just leave her out there.”
“Neil’s called for an ambulance to take the body into town to the hospital. Someone from forensics or the coroner will have to examine it in order to determine the exact cause and time of death, but,” he glanced at CJ and Shellie and smiled compassionately, “I’m sorry, I know it’s unpleasant but it has to be faced. It appears that she died from asphyxiation due to strangulation, or a combination of strangulation and drowning. The post-mortem will tell us which. There’s a contusion on the temple so she may have been stunned before —”
Lisa Dupre rose from a chair suddenly, her hand going to her mouth. “I’m sorry …” She rushed from the room half doubled over.
CJ seemed to come out of his daze. He stared at Steve. “I want to know who did this,” he bellowed, a vein standing out on his temple. “Who in God’s name would want to kill my stepdaughter? This is too much. First Richard now Natalie. Good God, what’s the world coming to?”
“CJ, calm down,” Shellie soothed, her expression anxious. “You’ll bring on a headache if you don’t.”
“Who indeed would want to kill Natalie?” Steve repeated the thought provoking question. His gaze roamed over everyone in the room. “That’s what I’m here to find out.” Then he became the professional investigator. “I want you to split into three groups. Neil can take some on the side verandah, Erin will take three people into the breakfast conservatory and I’ll talk to the remainder here in the living room.”
Four hours later the police officers’ initial interview work was done and they’d returned to the station after cordoning off the pool for further investigation, and sealing Natalie’s bedroom until a fingerprints team could go over it.
The three sat in the squad room going over their notes.
“What do you think, Steve?” Neil asked.
“It’s too soon to be making pronouncements,” Steve evaded. “Several people had opportunity. Besides, someone from beyond the homestead could have got to her if she’d been outside the homestead’s perimeter. Almost half the staff know the homestead’s security code anyway. It’s my guess she was outside, maybe taking a walk when it happened. Rape may also be involved. So, suspect-wise, it’s wide open.”
“What about motivation?” Erin asked.
Steve grimaced. “I don’t know, nothing’s obvious so we’re going to have to dig for it. Get more background information on all the people at the homestead. Maybe one of the men was having an affair with her and the relationship went sour. I’ve heard that Les Westcott was keen on her a while back, and I’m sure most of us have seen her flirt with Mike Hunter, Sam Bianchini and a few others.”
“Or maybe one of the women. You’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?” Neil said quietly. “She was supposed to have been a lesbian. Rumour has it she and that journalist, Trish Pentano, lived together. Could be a jealousy motive. Jilted female lover.”
“Good point,” Steve commended, “worth noting in your report as a possibility.”
“You know the one who I reckon has the best motive?” Erin ventured. “Francey Spinetti.”
Steve, who’d got up to make himself a cup of coffee, spun around sharply. “Why?”
Erin, with the eagerness of one new to the job, crossed the reasons off on her fingers. “Opportunity — she lives at Murrundi. Motive number one — with Natalie out of the way she inherits CJ’s entire estate. Motive number two — Mrs Kirkby let it slip that Francey and Natalie didn’t get along. I mean really didn’t get along. And motive number three — means. Francey and Natalie are roughly the same height and build — Natalie was probably a little lighter, weight-wise. They’d be pretty evenly matched in a fight and if Natalie was stunned beforehand, strangling her would be easy for a woman of Francey’s size and fitness.”
Steve didn’t speak. What could he say? Young Erin was spot-on. She’d said all the things he’d thought from the moment he’d stood beside Murrundi’s pool. He just nodded and walked out of the room.
The first time Francey and Steve met face to face at the homestead was awkward. It happened two days after Natalie’s death when Steve accompanied a two-person fingerprint team from Brisbane.
Francey walked out of the large office from which CJ ran his business empire and almost collided with the man she loved. Startled, both jumped back.
“Steve. Hello.” Francey recovered first.
Steve stared at her, he couldn’t help himself. She was all dressed up in a cream long-sleeved power suit which showed the colour of her skin to the best advantage. Her bouncy, curly hair bobbed around her face and dangling gold earrings swayed as she moved her head slightly to the side. Cream patent leather heels accentuated her slender legs and in her left hand she carried a leather attache case. Under her other arm were several rolled up building plans. He’d never seen her look more beautiful or more desirable.
Francey saw the two men working in Natalie’s room and curiosity plus the desire to stay close to Steve for as long as possible, made her ask, “What’s going on?”
Steve pulled himself together. “Routine. We’re pretty sure Natalie wasn’t killed in the room, but we’re just sifting through everything. You know, for clues. Anything that might give us a lead on her murderer.”
Francey nodded. “It’s awful,” she said softly. “I can’t believe anyone would want to …” Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
Francey thought for a moment then
said. “I’ll be honest with you, Steve. Natalie and I weren’t best buddies, far from it in fact.”
“Under the circumstances, I think you should be careful what you say,” Steve cautioned, hoping the officers in the room hadn’t heard her admission.
“I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill her. We didn’t get along, but the resentment came from Natalie, not me. She simply couldn’t accept me as CJ’s daughter and all that goes with it.”
“Okay.” He tried to change the subject. “Where are you off to?”
“Cooktown. Les is flying me up.”
“You won’t be away long, I hope. I’ve probably more questions to ask both of you.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow morning. The construction company’s started on stage two of the Jasmine project and a few glitches have to be ironed out.”
He didn’t want to hear about her business exploits, they reminded him of the gulf between them. “How’s CJ coping with all this?”
She shrugged. “You know CJ. He plays his cards pretty close to his chest. But deep down I think he’s quite upset. We all are.” Partly from guilt, she thought but didn’t say. Not too many people at Murrundi had been overly fond of Natalie; she was a difficult woman to like. But none had wanted her dead she was sure of it.
From beneath her long lashes she studied him, trying to see a softening, a warming towards her but in some ways he was just like her natural father, poker-faced and controlled. One never knew precisely what they were thinking or feeling unless they wanted you to. It was driving her mad. She missed him like crazy, could hardly get a decent night’s sleep for wanting him and here he was, “Mr Cool” as usual, seemingly unaffected by their break-up. Her chin set in a stubborn line. She wasn’t giving up though, on him or them. Somehow she would make him see that they belonged together.
“Hey, Steve,” the taller of the two officers called from the room. “Here’s something interesting.”
Francey peered over Steve’s shoulder as he turned to look at what the man was pointing to. The room was a mess. Drawers had been checked and emptied, the sliding wardrobe door was wide open. Papers, letters and documents were strewn over the bed. Shellie would have a fit when she saw what they’d done.
On top of the mess on the bed lay a rifle which had been wrapped in an old linen skirt. Using a pencil, the man turned the rifle over then upended it so that the barrel pointed towards the ceiling. He put his nose close to the barrel and sniffed.
“Hasn’t been fired recently,” he pronounced.
“What’s the model?” Steve asked, though he had a premonition what it might be.
“A Stinger. The type a girl’d use,” the shorter man said.
“Don’t put a finger on it,” Steve warned. “It’s possible that it was planted. Tag it and have it checked for prints. And, I want the bore checked for a match with a ballistics report that’s in my file at the station.”
The taller man shrugged. “Okay, no problem.” He looked past Steve to where Francey stood. His eyes glistened with voyeuristic appreciation. “Hey, love, think we might get a cup of coffee around here? We’re going to be a while.”
Francey’s eyebrow arched. “Sure.” Macho cops! Who did they think she was, their servant? “Down the hall and across the living room, the door on the left is the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Steve grinned as he turned back to her. Winking his approval he then saw Les Westcott, decked out in a tweed jacket, woollen tie and moleskins striding towards them. Typical bloody squatter gear but, grudgingly, he had to admit that on him it looked good.
“Francey, we’d better get a move on.” He nodded sombrely to Steve. “I’m glad you’re here, Steve. I’ve a question. When are you going to release Natalie’s body for burial? There’s the funeral to organise, you know.”
“Tomorrow, I believe,” Steve’s response was to the point. He didn’t like the way Westcott put his arm proprietorially around Francey’s shoulders. Damn, he didn’t like it at all. He waited until the man had turned away then he said, “Les, when you and Francey return from Cooktown I’ll want to talk to you, to both of you.”
Les swivelled back around, his gaze fixing on the policeman. “We’ve already given statements. What more do you want?”
“In the light of other emerging facts to do with the case, it’s likely that I’ll need to interview you both again. We can either do it at Murrundi or in Mt Isa. Which do you prefer?” he said formally.
Les Westcott made an exasperated sound. “We’re both as busy as hell, Parrish, as I’m sure you know.”
Francey intervened, placing her hand on Les’ arm. “Steve’s only doing his job, Les. We want to give him all the help we can, don’t we?”
Steve almost smiled. The appeal in her voice, the look on her face, who could resist it? He was pretty sure Westcott couldn’t or wouldn’t. After all, one day she would be his boss in the truest sense of the word.
“All right,” Les returned stiffly. “We’ll do it here. I’ll call you when we get back.” He glanced first at Francey then Steve. “Okay?”
“Fine.” Steve watched them walk away, his hands clenched at his side. What had he seen? His thoughtful gaze remained on their departing figures. It had been just a glimpse, but the expression in Westcott’s eyes before he’d disguised it was crystal clear. The man was head over heels in love with Francey. His dark eyes narrowed even further. Why hadn’t he cottoned on before? His hands balled into impotent fists at the sudden realisation. Jesus, he was supposed to be a good cop, a top detective in his day. Shit. What had he done? Gone and handed her to Westcott on an invisible silver platter. Stupid. Bloody stupid!
CJ emerged from a room down the hall and beckoned to him. “Hey Steve, may I have a word with you? In the study.”
The day after Natalie’s funeral the symptoms relating to CJ’s tumour began to escalate. Dr Barry Ryan ordered him hospitalised so that he could monitor the medication and make him as comfortable as possible. Outside the private room in the Mt Isa hospital, Shellie and Barry stood talking quietly.
“It won’t always be like this, Shellie. As the tumour grows other symptoms will take over. The headaches will become less intense, but there’ll be other problems. His whole system, the vital organs will begin to break down.” He sighed. “All we can do is medicate him for the pain and keep him comfortable.”
Shellie wiped away a tear, she’d been prone to teariness since CJ had told her of his condition. “I don’t know if I can take this, love. First looking after my father, then helping nurse young Miles and then Brenda, now my own brother. It’s too much.” Suddenly the urge for a drink almost overwhelmed her. Alcohol blurred the problem, made life bearable. Oh, she was tempted … but she wouldn’t. She had Barry’s support, he’d help her through her weaknesses.
“I know it’s hard,” Barry comforted. “But you and Francey are all CJ’s got now. You have to be strong for him and your niece.”
“Francey’s on her way in,” Shellie said. “I left a message with Lisa and as soon as she and Les get off the plane they’ll be here. I’m going to tell her.”
Barry frowned. “CJ said he didn’t want Francey to know yet.”
“For God’s sake, she’s not stupid. Don’t you think she’s going to put two and two together? Besides, he’s her father, she has a right to know. And for other reasons too. Francey has to start to prepare herself to be in command.”
Barry didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. CJ’s not going to like it.”
Shellie gave an impatient shake of her head. “For once in my life I don’t care what CJ likes. My niece should know and if I have to be the one to tell her then so be it.”
Francey sat on a utilitarian chair at the side of CJ’s bed watching him and, periodically, all the monitoring equipment that was attached to him. Terminal. Dying. The fingers of her right hand came up to stroke her forehead, trying to ease the pain away. She didn’t, still couldn’t believe it, even though Barry had confirmed Shellie’s conf
ession ten minutes ago.
For a couple of seconds she closed her eyes and remembered the first day she’d come to Murrundi and her initial impression of CJ. Her mouth curved in a fleeting smile. She’d been frightened half out of her wits back then. God, how everything had changed. He’d thrust her into a world beyond her imagination, given her challenges that had pushed her beyond the limit of her own self-belief and capabilities, and she had triumphed and grown.
She had come to love him long before she’d known he was her natural father. And now, her eyes watered, she was going to lose him … before they’d had the time to experience much of a life together. CJ might see the situation as a great cynical joke on himself and life, but she didn’t. Her heart, all the way down to the depths of her soul had been devastated by what Shellie had told her. Dying. CJ.
The thought of something, a rogue something; blood, tissues and other matter growing uncontrollably inside his brain, taking over and squeezing the life out of him, turning him into what? She couldn’t bear to think about it. But even so a wave of helplessness rushed through her. There was nothing she or anyone on earth could do. “The man with the golden touch” and all he’d accomplished, it had seemed larger than life. How could she, how could anyone who knew him accept what was to be his fate?
She struggled mentally to find a level of acceptance, and wished she believed more strongly in her faith — that might give her some degree of succour. And then she thought about another thing, with his passing, and God knows she didn’t want to think about it but she had to, the mantle of responsibility for Murrundi and all his enterprises would fall to her. She wasn’t ready. There was still so much to learn. Sensing a movement from the bed she looked up. CJ lay there studying her in much the same way as she had often caught him watching her in the past.
“You’re awake,” she said superfluously.
He nodded, and then his gaze probed her features deeply. “You know?”
Her hand reached out to cover his and she nodded affirmatively, suddenly unable to speak because her throat had constricted with emotion.
Heart of the Outback Page 39
