by Diane Wood
Checking the bodies as carefully as he could without touching them, he saw no signs of a struggle. The room was neat and tidy and very ordinary. Moving carefully around the room, he opened the walk-in closet. The clothes came in different sizes, indicating the women were living together—otherwise, nothing unusual.
Covering the walls were paintings of women in a variety of sensual poses, as well as numerous family photos. The paintings were tasteful originals, and Josh surmised, for no particular reason, that they were either painted by one of these two women or by a friend. Somehow they seemed personal.
Walking into the bathroom, he carefully opened cupboards and drawers, noting the expensive soaps, bath oils and makeup. There were some pills in the cabinet above the spotlessly clean sink, but nothing looked like it had been disturbed.
It wasn’t until he had a clear picture in his mind of the entire room, including the most likely position of the killer, that he left, closing the door behind him to preserve the scene.
The rest of the house appeared in order. It could have been any middle-class inner city home with a small dog waiting patiently in the lounge. Noting an address book and a pile of letters stacked on an entry table near the door, Josh used his phone to photograph the position of these items, before picking them up and leafing through the mail.
“Nothing unusual in the other bedrooms,” interrupted Nigel, his voice cool and disinterested.
“Nor out here,” replied Josh, still casually sorting the mail. “It looks like their names were Linda Djanksi and Stephanie Cameron, but we’ll know more when we go through their handbags and purses. Have you spoken to neighbors?”
“Only the one who called it in,” replied Nigel nonchalantly. “Uniforms are doing a door to door, but nothing so far.”
“So what did she have to say?”
“Who…?”
“The neighbor,” snapped Josh irritably.
“Oh, right. Well, she saw Djanski come home about five o’clock yesterday and heard Cameron’s car go into the garage an hour or so later. Then she never saw them again.”
“So why did she call the police?”
“Because the dog was barking continually, and that was unusual. She went over after trying to ring them and got no answer to the doorbell. That was when she used a key they’d given her, found the women and phoned us.”
“Did you get a statement?”
“Fuck, Dawson, what do you take me for? I took it down in my notebook. She’s coming to the station tomorrow to sign a statement.”
Sighing, Josh said, “So, how did the killer or killers get in?”
“The security locks were intact,” Nigel answered casually, indicating the door. “And there was no other signs of a break-in. I guess the killer was either let in or had a key.”
“Okay, there’s nothing more we can do here until scientific and fingerprints have finished and the place has been searched. I’ll bag and take the address book and once it’s been fingerprinted we can start looking for next of kin, friends, that sort of thing.”
Driving back to the station, they sat in silence, Josh remembering the peaceful look on the murdered women’s faces. A strange darkness engulfed him and he knew instinctively that these deaths and the death of the other woman were connected, but he’d have to wait for ballistics. If it showed they were connected and they couldn’t find a direct link between the victims, then these murders might be random lesbian killings. Tomorrow they’d begin sifting through the women’s paperwork, contacting their place of work and personal friends, all the normal routines carried out after such a crime. Right now though, someone would have to contact the next of kin, confirm identification and hopefully find a home for the women’s dog. Even though it was nearing the end of shift, Josh decided to organize that himself.
* * *
A week later they were no further forward. The door knock had turned up nothing. Djanski had lived at the house for ten years and Cameron had moved in a couple of years ago. Neighbors viewed them as respectable businesswomen. Many of them were not even aware they were a couple. The old lady next door knew and was fond of Linda Djanski, but not so fond of Cameron. According to her, Cameron could be very intense. Inquiries with work colleagues and friends turned up nothing. The bullets from the other homicide didn’t match, and it now appeared the two killings might not be related.
Three weeks later Josh was called into the superintendent’s office. “Anything new on the double murder at Glebe?” he’d asked casually, knowing from his daily briefings that there wasn’t. Acknowledging Josh’s frustrated shake of the head, the superintendent continued. “Unfortunately it’s the same with the Oxford Street murder, so I’ve decided to amalgamate the two investigations and bring in an extra staff member. The lesbian and gay community is claiming there’s a connection and people in high places are beginning to accuse us of dragging our feet. We need this sorted.”
“Yes, we do,” answered Josh thoughtfully. “And I must admit it’s hard to believe that the murders aren’t connected, but other than the victims being lesbian, we can’t seem to find a link.”
“Well, you’d better find something fast. We’re putting you in as acting inspector in charge of the task force. I’ll give you until the end of the week to select another staff member and I suggest it be a woman. A woman will have a better chance of getting information from the dyke community—and I want results.”
* * *
Nathalie got his phone call on her mobile when she was at George’s. Josh wouldn’t say what it was about, but he arranged to visit on Sunday, coincidentally just in time for lunch.
The visit with George had been even better than she expected. It was as if, for the first time, he had something of his own to be genuinely proud of. Jeremy greeted her with a huge hug and shy smile and then proceeded to introduce his sister. The little girl was as beautiful as her half-brother, except that she was fairer and her eyes were the clearest, brightest blue. It was obvious, as she shyly reached for Jeremy’s hand, that she adored him.
They had morning tea together, Nathalie letting the children approach her in their own time. Gradually they relaxed with her and chatted, as children do, about anything and everything. She’d never seen George so smitten or so gentle with anyone and the children followed him everywhere.
Later they went to the playground, watching from a nearby seat as the children climbed and jumped and laughed together, Samantha’s short little legs struggling to keep up with her brother’s long ones.
“Thank you for letting me visit,” she said quietly. “I know Mother doesn’t want me around.”
“I don’t want to talk about her, Nat,” he said, his eyes never leaving his children.
“You don’t have a choice, George. She’s here, staying at your house, being with your children.”
“Yes, my house, my children. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing to worry about.” His face had grown serious, his eyes hardening, and Nathalie knew that if she pushed him he’d grow angry and cold.
“Thanks anyway,” she finished lamely. “They’re beautiful. How long have you got Samantha for?”
“A few days. Her grandmother’s taking her to see her mother in prison on Tuesday.”
She wanted to ask if he still intended trying for custody but decided against it.
After the park they went for a burger, the kids enjoying the attention of another adult and doing their fair share of showing off. Jeremy was the more outgoing and because he spent more time with his father, he was more relaxed. But Samantha showed she was a feisty little girl, well and truly putting Jeremy in his place when he teased her too much.
Back at the house, the children showed Nathalie their bedrooms, which were in an area totally separated from the main part of the house. Nat could see how George would be able to run his business without the children ever knowing what that business was—at least while they were so young.
It fascinated Nathalie to hear their childish chatter and fan
ciful make believe and to see how they related to each other and to their father. They seemed so secure and open. Nat couldn’t remember a time when she and George were like that. She didn’t really remember them being children, only very small adults with adult secrets and responsibilities. It made her glad that Jeremy and Samantha were so different.
She stayed for tea at George’s request and it gave her more of a chance to find out about his life. He’d been really fond of Jeremy’s mother and they had a good relationship, even after the split. But, according to George, Samantha’s mother was a recovering addict who, while not able to look after the girl herself, would not agree to increased custody, preferring instead to leave the child with her own mother. It was the grandmother who, without her daughter’s knowledge, allowed him access whenever he wanted. It went unsaid, but Nathalie presumed George was paying the grandmother for the privilege.
When Nat tried a second time to raise the issue of them going to America, George refused to discuss it.
As she left, the children gave her soft, warm kisses that remained on her face long after she’d left their company. It was then that Nat knew she couldn’t let George put them under Mother’s control. Somehow she would stop it.
* * *
Josh arrived at midday the next day. They spoke for a while about his new girlfriend and Nathalie could hear the warmth and happiness in his voice.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about work,” he said, sipping his beer. “I want to know if you’re interested in a transfer to Serious Crime—specifically to my task force.”
In all the time they’d known each other, their working lives had rarely crossed, but it was Josh who’d encouraged her to work plainclothes and complete the detective’s course.
“Why do you want me?” she asked, puzzled. “There are a lot more experienced detectives around who’d kill for the chance to work on a task force.”
“But you’ve got the right look and you’re one of the most intelligent people I know. Most importantly, I trust you.”
“Got the right look? What does that mean?”
“Well, to put it bluntly, the murders we’re investigating could turn out to be linked. But even if they’re not, a lot of questions are going to have to be asked in the lesbian and gay community, and some of those women are going to respond much better to another woman than to some crusty bloke.”
While Nat made steak and salad, Josh explained the structure of the task force and his theory that the deaths were connected.
“So, going back to me having the right look?” she said with a wry smile when he’d finished explaining. “Would you be saying that I could pass for a lesbian?”
“God, Nat,” he answered with a grin. “That’s not why I want you on the team, but…well…yes. I guess that is what I’m saying.”
She burst out laughing. Their relationship had evolved into open friendship where they discussed anything—anything except Nathalie’s past. But she had told him that as a young person she’d had female lovers. It didn’t totally surprise him.
“So when would I start, if the transfer went through?” she asked, thinking that the timing was perfect.
“Monday week. We need to get going as soon as we can. If you want this, I need to know by tonight so that I can get the paperwork moving first thing tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to consider,” she replied happily. “I’ll do it.”
They spent another hour talking about the murders and the implications if they were random lesbian killings. Then they talked about the alternatives.
* * *
Her nightmares came for her again that night. She was perhaps six or seven. He was Mother’s rich boyfriend, and he liked children. The man had raped her and come back a second time, but this time she struggled harder, screamed louder and the man stopped—as if afraid to continue. And the bad mother was angry—whispering threats, hurting her. Still Nat resisted. Mother glared, but, smiling at the man, she led him to a beautiful boy. Mother gave George to the man and moved away. Nathalie wanted to wake—make it stop—but she couldn’t move, and George looked at her in desperation, tears rolling down his cheeks. And he was begging and struggling as the man used him.
She covered her ears and closed her eyes, warding off her brother’s plaintive cries—but she was too terrified that the man might turn to her again if she tried to help him. Fear for her brother and for herself, shame that she’d let it happen and relief that it wasn’t her, overwhelmed her. But it was the shame of her cowardice that would stay forever.
This time there was no struggling or screaming when she woke, just tears of self-loathing and the knowledge that this was an actual memory. It was the first time Mother had offered her and George to her boyfriend—pretending to the children that it was part of a game.
The lights made no difference now, because the memories were still alive—right here, right now. Staggering to the kitchen, her body lathered in sweat, she ripped the cap from the bourbon and poured it down her throat, coughing and spluttering as it hit the spot.
It had been the beginning of a permanent arrangement involving both of them, and it was how she and George had come to find comfort with each other. Over the years, Mother had taught them to embrace a new reality—one that reconciled sex with fun, sex with love, sex with making money—a reality that espoused that society’s attitudes were inhibiting and anachronistic. Most importantly, she’d enforced the reality that refusal to participate carried a very heavy and painful price.
The memories brought bitter anger—most of it self-directed. She’d not only participated, but as they got older, had, with George, actively recruited other young teens—but they’d never been involved with the children. They’d suspected there were others after them, but they couldn’t know—didn’t want to know.
Nausea washed over her and she only just made it to the bathroom. Slumped on the floor, her head inches from the bowl, Nathalie acknowledged that she needed help. Yet if she sought it she not only stood to lose her job but also would have to share with a stranger the vile and disgusting things she’d been involved in, including her culpability in recruiting other young people.
Cleaning her teeth and washing her face, Nathalie made her way back to the bedroom. Stripping off her soaking nightwear, she stood looking in the full-length mirror. Her body was slim and athletic, her breasts small and firm and her face dark and serious, but when she looked into those deep gray eyes all she could see was her guilt reflected back.
* * *
“Jesus Christ, girl, were you partying all weekend?” asked Bella worriedly, as she dropped into the chair in front of Nathalie’s desk on Monday. “You look exhausted.”
“And would I tell you if I was?” she responded defensively, hoping to change the subject.
“If you’re not careful you’ll end up looking older than me,” Bella said with a smirk.
“And that’s bad,” they responded together. It was a routine they followed whenever Bella picked up on one of Nathalie’s rough nights. It kept things nicely impersonal, but let Nat know that Bella had noticed.
“How’s things with Jack?” Nat asked, not sure that she wanted to know.
Screwing up her face, Bella made a swishing movement with her hand, indicating not great. “She came over Sunday, but didn’t stay the night,” replied Bella, looking surprisingly upset. “We had lunch. I sometimes wonder if the girl’s on drugs, she’s so vague. But she did ask about you, and she’s still on about doing some volunteer work at the center.”
“I’m sorry—” began Nat, before Bella waved away her sympathy.
“Don’t be. I really don’t know why she made such a big play for me. I guess when she finally gets around to finishing with me I’ll head back to the clubs. But there are worse fates.”
Nathalie told Bella of Josh’s offer.
“You’re good detective material and you’ve been wasted tucked away here.” Then with a sad smile, Bella said, “Looks like I’m going to lose you
as well as Jackie, but it’s you I’ll miss the most. Now I’ll really have to get my finger out and decide what I want to do and do some serious networking to get there.”
* * *
It was Wednesday before Josh rang to say he’d got approval for her transfer and Thursday before she was notified officially. That night she and Bella went for a farewell drink, assuring each other they’d remain in touch.
When Nat got home there were two messages on her answer machine, one from George asking her to ring the house and the other from Alex Messner. It was nine o’clock, so she took a chance that it wasn’t too late and rang Alex first.
“How have you been?” Nat asked quietly, remembering the cool way she’d treated Alex last time they met.
“Busy,” she replied quickly. “But I went to the center for an hour on Wednesday and saw that young client I had last week. She’s not good and I’m worried that she’ll get herself into serious trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“Legal trouble for starters. I’ve recommended she talk to you, but I’m not sure she’s listening.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I presume she’ll be there tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan.”
The silence that followed was awkward, as if neither wanted to end the call, but the information had been passed and the purpose achieved.
“Look, I just wanted to apologize if I upset you when I asked you out last week,” Alex said quickly. “I like you, and I don’t want it to be awkward between us.”
“It didn’t upset me. And I do like you. It’s just…”
“I know. You don’t want to go out with a woman.”
“No, that’s not it,” she replied slowly. “It’s just that I’m not easy to be with, and I don’t want you to end up hating me. I’m not a nice person.”
