“It’s all right, you know.” He smiled at her. “I don’t want you to be sad for me. I’ve had a good life.” He chuckled weakly, “Damn it, I’ve had a great life. Done just about everything I wanted to. How many people can say that before they go to meet their maker?”
“But it’s so unfair. We were just … just …”
“I know.” His expression was understanding. “My only regret is that I won’t be around to spoil my grandchildren.” He frowned suddenly. “No more tears though. That’s an order now.”
With a last sniffle she struggled to comply. “I’ll try.”
“And here’s another. I’m not coming back to this place.” He looked about the room. “Ugh, I hate hospitals. If I have to fit out a hospital room with all the paraphernalia and staff at Murrundi, I’ll do it. I’m not going to die in this sterile place.”
Francey bit down on her lower lip as she struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. She agreed. “Okay.”
He grinned at her agreement and then made an effort to perk the conversation up. “Now tell me how you got on in Sydney, the Blue Mountains project. It’s going to set other developers back on their arses, I feel it in my bones.”
The four-person investigation unit sat around a table half covered with a variety of files and reports. It had been eight days since Natalie DeWitt-Ambrose’s death and they’d come together to collate and discuss the various pieces of information they had accumulated since the homicide, and to plan future moves.
Steve looked briefly at the papers in front of him then spoke, “The post-mortem report places the time of death between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. It states that the cause of death was asphyxiation due to strangulation. No water was found in her lungs. Also, there’s no evidence that she’d been sexually assaulted. And according to the doctor performing the autopsy, the contusion on her temple could have caused a light concussion, enough to stun or render her unconscious.
“So, we know how she died but not where. Her clothing showed signs of a struggle. Torn seams and two buttons were missing from her shirt. She could have been killed by the pool and her body thrown in to make us think, initially, that she’d tripped and maybe drowned. However, it seems more likely that death occurred elsewhere and her body was dumped in the water afterwards.” He glanced at the man opposite. “Okay, Glen, what have you got?”
Detective Glen McAlpine, a slim man whose face was a mixture of angles and planes, with a receding hairline shuffled his paperwork. He had been seconded to the original three-person investigation unit to give them a hand with what was becoming a major homicide investigation.
State and even interstate newspapers had sent a sprinkling of journalists to cover the story and the funeral, and to interview just about anyone in the Isa who had a tale to tell about the Ambrose family. They’d made some interesting copy — especially with the news of Francey’s association to CJ still fresh in the public’s minds — for the Sunday editions.
Glen McAlpine opened a folder. “I interviewed Trish Pentano in Brisbane, the day before yesterday. She more or less confirmed that Natalie had been under a lot of strain for several months, longer than that, actually, over a year — because of CJ’s relationship to Francey Spinetti. The fact that CJ said Francey would be the major beneficiary of his estate seemed to play on her mind. Natalie, according to Ms Pentano, hated Francey for usurping her position and had been doing all she could to cause a rift between Francey and CJ.
“Pentano’s no psychologist, but she’s known Natalie for years, even before they had a relationship. She thinks Natalie had emotional and maybe some mental problems that could go back a long way. Symptoms such as moodiness, rages and illogical behaviour began to manifest themselves after her mother’s death, and later on after her half-brother’s death. Ms Pentano thought Natalie had a persecution complex and felt very insecure, even with all her wealth. She also confirmed that Natalie was a lesbian and had been since the age of fifteen.
“Oh, yes. I picked up the report on the Stinger rifle while I was in Brisbane. It’s a match for the bullet you dug out of that tree where the stampede took place. They dusted the rifle too. The only fingerprints found belonged to the deceased.”
“So Natalie could have orchestrated the stampede,” Erin said in a wondering tone as she flicked a strand of hair off her forehead.
Steve’s pencil drummed thoughtfully on a notepad. “That’s a strong possibility but we may never know for sure. She had means and opportunity — knowing the area so well — but I’m stumped for the motive. Why would she want to kill her brother?”
“Money?” Neil Smith suggested.
Steve shook his head. “I’m not sure. She was already a very wealthy woman and would have been wealthier when CJ died. If greed, money, was the motive why wasn’t CJ her target?”
“A fight, perhaps? She and Richard may have had a row over something,” Erin suggested.
“That’s possible,” Steve agreed. He looked at Neil. “What have you got on Mike Hunter?”
“I did a background check, the usual. He was regular army for ten years, did a stint in a commando unit. Later he bought a property in western NSW and married. Three years ago things got tough for him and the bank took over his property. He also split with his wife. She divorced him and went to live in Wollongong with the kids. He was pretty bitter about the loss of the station and the family split. Apart from that he seems a regular kind of bloke. The stockmen at Murrundi consider him a good boss. According to a couple of the men he had a thing for Natalie. They reckoned she was just having a bit of fun with him, that she wasn’t serious.”
“What about the Swiss army knife found at the crime scene?” Steve asked.
“Mike identified it as his. He claims he lost it the night of Francey’s birthday party,” Neil added succinctly. “We’ve only his word for that, of course, even though CJ said he’d seen him looking for it around the pool.”
“Maybe he was just saying that. Or, maybe the killer found it and planted it by the pool to incriminate Mike,” Erin said. “Alternatively, if Mike met Natalie the night of the murder and they argued, with his army background he’d be capable of stunning her and then strangling her, maybe losing the knife in the struggle.”
“What else have we got?” Steve asked.
“Les Westcott doesn’t have an alibi for that night, neither does CJ’s daughter,” Glen said.
“Westcott was known to have been in love with Natalie,” Neil informed everyone, “according to rumours in the station’s bunkhouse and general opinion around the Isa. It’s only hearsay, I guess, but Lisa Dupre said Les was furious when Natalie gave him his walking papers about eighteen months ago. He keeps it pretty quiet, but according to Lisa Westcott’s very ambitious and wants to run CJ’s whole show eventually. The man considers himself CJ’s unofficial son even though there’s no blood relationship.”
Steve groaned inwardly. And he’d given the man a free hand with Francey, fool that he was. “You said he has no alibi for the night of the murder?”
“Westcott says he went for a drive into town early on, then came back and listened to a couple of CDs and went to bed,” Neil said.
“Hhmm, that isn’t much of an alibi,” Erin agreed. “The post-mortem put the time of death at close to 11 p.m. Francey Spinetti said she worked on some drawings till about ten thirty and then retired,” she said, looking down at her notes. “But here’s something interesting. According to her Aunt Shellie, she and Francey had fought the night before. Mrs Kirkby had to break them up.”
“Did Francey physically threaten Natalie?” Steve wanted to know, his heart was getting heavier by the minute. One didn’t need a genius IQ to see where the possibilities were leading.
“Shellie said she said something like …” Erin looked at her notes, “This isn’t finished. There’ll be another time, another place.” She glanced at Steve. “One could interpret that as a kind of future threat.” She stopped for a moment, then added, “There’s more. Evidently, be
fore that Natalie and CJ had a run-in the night of Francey’s party. Francey came along and tried to break it up and collected a slap across the face from Natalie. I did a background check on Francey Spinetti. She took karate lessons at her father Carlo’s insistence because he was worried about her going out doing amateur photo shoots by herself. So,” she concluded, “she too would know how to stun a victim.”
“Sure,” Steve agreed then tried to move the topic away from Francey. “Are you implying that even CJ could be a suspect?”
Glen looked up from his paperwork to ask, “What motivation would he have?”
“I don’t know …” Erin said slowly. “Unless … and this comes from out of left field. Did he suspect that Natalie had been instrumental in Richard’s death? Revenge is a strong motive for murder.” She checked her notepad. “According to Mrs Kirkby, Mr Ambrose had a bad headache the night before the murder and had been sedated. Statements taken the day after the murder said Mr Ambrose did some paperwork in his study then retired. He spoke to no-one either personally or by phone so he had opportunity too.”
Nodding, Steve ran his hands through his hair in an abstracted fashion. “It seems that we have a few suspects with opportunity, means and motive. At least three, maybe four.” He looked at his team and summarised, “So far you’ve done good work, but now we have to dig deeper, work on a solid motive. Find the right suspect and home in on them. Got it?” He watched them all nod their heads solemnly and then slowly file out of the room. But he sat there tapping his pencil on the table top.
In his mind one suspect was shaping up better than all the others and it was the one person he hoped wouldn’t — Francey Spinetti. And the worst thing was that he could do little as an officer of the law to focus attention elsewhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Steve Parrish’s expression was grim as he climbed the front steps of Murrundi’s homestead. The country grapevine had disgorged the news of CJ’s condition to all and sundry. Terminal. He didn’t doubt the accuracy of the gossipers who’d passed the word on; they rarely made a mistake. But even so, it didn’t seem possible. CJ and Les would have had the best doctors in the country double-check the diagnosis. The muscles around his heart contracted as he thought about what it meant to Francey to find her father and have so little time with him. She’d be coming into her inheritance a damned lot sooner than everyone thought, but he didn’t envy her her position. Living up to CJ’s reputation and memory, and carrying on his empire would be one hell of a job.
His thoughts moved to Les Westcott. The phrase “waiting in the wings”, came to mind. Good old dependable Les would be more than willing to help Francey assume the mantle of control over CJ’s holdings. His gut twisted in a mixture of plain old-fashioned jealousy and another emotion, something deeper. The thought of Les touching Francey made him steam, really steam.
He stopped and stared at Murrundi’s front door. His vision became distorted and blurred as the pain intensified into a wave of anger. Les and Francey. The idea was so unpalatable his stomach threatened to turn over. He straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. Get a grip, he admonished himself. You’re the one who walked away, old son. You let her go. He let his breath out slowly. No use belly-aching about it or wishing things were different. You’ve only yourself to blame.
He rattled the door knocker furiously.
Shellie answered the door. “Steve! How nice. Do come in. Everyone’s in the conservatory having a morning tea-cum-business meeting.”
Everyone turned out to be CJ, Les, Lisa Dupre and Francey.
“Steve, may I get you something?” Shellie asked as she moved towards the well-stocked traymobile.
“A coffee’d go down well. Thanks.”
Subtlely, through long dark eyelashes, Francey studied Steve as he took his coffee and sat at the table, diagonally opposite her. For weeks, she had prayed to receive some relief from the longing she felt for him when he intruded into her thoughts, something that happened often. Too often! Now, seeing him looking fit yet very businesslike, she knew her feelings hadn’t changed. She cared, deeply. Every nerve in her body had gone on full alert the moment she heard his voice and she had to exert maximum self-control to stop herself staring. God, it was awful to feel this way and know the feelings weren’t reciprocated. Perhaps she should find a reason to get out of the room, away from him and the cloud of unhappiness that hung around her like an invisible shroud.
“I take it this isn’t a social visit,” Les said without preamble, his dislike for the policeman showing.
“You’re right.” Steve dug his fists into his trouser pockets to hold back the urge to smash one into Les’ complacent face. He struggled against the impotent rage that welled within him towards Westcott, even though half his anger was self directed. He’d been a fool to let Francey go and now he knew it. Too bloody late, of course.
“What can you tell us?” CJ asked.
Steve looked at “the man with the golden touch“, barely able to disguise the shock he registered as he studied CJ. The man had aged twenty years since the last time he’d seen him. He had gone bald, had lost a lot of weight and his skin tone was unhealthily pale. His eyes were different too, dull, as if he was heavily drugged. A wave of compassion moved through Steve as he noted his obvious deterioration. It wasn’t pleasant to look at.
CJ sat next to Francey in an automated wheelchair. Steve’s roving, seemingly casual glance then took in Francey’s features. She’d lost weight too, and she had a distant air about her, as if her mind were on more weighty matters.
“Well?” CJ prompted.
“Yes. Ummm, our investigation’s coming along. The team have been …”
“I don’t want to hear that police bullshit,” CJ suddenly exploded. “I want to know whether you’re close to arresting Natalie’s murderer.”
“We’re following several leads, sir. At present that’s all I can tell you.”
“Are you saying we’re all suspects?” Francey spoke for the first time, her tone formal.
“It’s routine, Francey. You were all present the night of the murder so technically, according to police procedure, you all had opportunity. However, I’m not pointing a finger at anyone in particular, I just want to reduce the options.”
“You’re not giving out much information, Steve,” Francey complained. “I think, as Natalie’s family, we have the right to know everything, especially which way the investigation is heading.”
“I’m telling you as much as I can. Until I know where the case is heading it’s best not to divulge a lot of half-truths and assumptions. That’s how I’ve operated in the past and such a system works well.”
“What about the Stinger rifle you found in Natalie’s room?” Les asked.
“What about it?” Steve tried to evade the answer but knew he couldn’t.
“Come on, man, give,” CJ insisted.
Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. Forensics matched the rifle found in Natalie’s room with the cartridges found near the stampede site.”
“Are you implying that Natalie fired the shots that killed Richard?” Francey, ever the frank one, asked outright. On the outside she appeared calm, cool — just like Steve — but on the inside her emotions were in turmoil. Looking at him, talking to him, the sound of his voice, everything, was affecting her more than she had ever thought possible. Being this close to him physically but worlds apart emotionally was unbearable but she bore it because to stand up and leave now would tell them all how much his disaffection was hurting her.
Steve shook his head. “I didn’t say that and probably we’ll never know for sure,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “It’s possible the rifle may have been planted in Natalie’s room by a person or persons unknown.”
“Were there fingerprints on the rifle?” she probed on, dissatisfied. Why didn’t he come right out and say it, tell them everything, she wondered. Deep down she sensed a reserve, as if he knew more than he was letting on.
“The only prints we found on the rifle belonged to Natalie.”
“Then isn’t it reasonable to assume that Natalie fired those shots?” Francey persisted.
Steve stared at Francey and purposely kept his expression blank. “It may be reasonable but a court of law may not regard such evidence as conclusive.”
“So, we’ll never know who fired those shots for sure?” Francey’s voice dropped and became quietly contemplative.
“I think not. I’m sorry.”
She glanced at CJ and her arm crept around his shoulder. “This is unnecessarily upsetting for CJ.” She appealed to Steve. “He’s not well, you know.”
Steve nodded. “Yes, I do know.”
CJ bristled. “Don’t write me off just yet, any of you.” He shrugged away from Francey’s grasp. “Can’t sit around gasbagging all day. I’m going to my study. Work to do, you know.”
They all watched CJ steer his wheelchair from the room.
“Well, what is it you really want, Parrish?” Les demanded aggressively.
“I’m here to go through your original statements again. Perhaps each of you may have remembered something extra. I’d like to talk to you one by one.”
“Damned inconvenient. We’re trying to run a business here, you know.” Les grumbled.
“Les,” Francey’s eyebrows rose. “Steve has a job to do, like all of us.” She looked at Steve. “Perhaps you’d like to speak to people in the dining area, or the conservatory. Who would you like to see first?”
As Steve walked back to his four-wheel drive he ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling it about his forehead. Four possible suspects in the case but as things were shaping up, with motive and means, the woman he loved — Francey — looked to be suspect number one. From the investigations already carried out and double-checking today what people had said, it was obvious that she had the strongest motive, no alibi, as well as means and opportunity. Damn!
Probationary Constable Erin Cooper sat on the other side of the table, facing Steve Parrish, her gaze locked expectantly on him. He glanced across at the station’s most junior officer. Erin was champing at the bit with eagerness. Her first criminal investigation and she clearly loved every minute of it. She’d make a good officer once she curbed her over enthusiastic attitude, he thought.
Heart of the Outback Page 40
