Evil Under the Stars

by C. A. Larmer

  “What is that? The celebrity green room?” She pointed at a stream of gold stars down one side.

  “They’re the Portaloos,” Alicia replied.

  “They’re stars!”

  “Yes, and if you were desperate to go, they were the star of the show,” she retorted. “They were the best facilities I’d ever seen—spacious, clean, and plenty of them.”

  “Okay, guys, that’s not really the point,” said Indira, coming to Alicia’s aid. “The general idea is intact.”

  She was right, almost to the person, they had the general positioning correct. With the screen at the top of each page and the main entrance at the bottom, it was clear that the Mumfords’ red blanket was towards the back of the circular park, on the right-hand side near the bar. No one recalled who was seated directly in front of the Mumfords, but beside them, on the left, was the pregnant woman and a man, and on the other side, closest to the exit and the Booze Bar, were two men with beers and wandering eyes. Just behind the Mumfords sat the family of seven, and to the right of them, also closest to the bar, were the two elderly ladies, Flo and Ronnie. The book club had been spread out across four rugs, just behind the two women and the family, two blankets back.

  Next to the club, everyone had sketched in Eliot Mumford, with words to the effect of “Hubby—2nd half.”

  Indira tapped one of the drawings where the words “2 slimeballs” had been scribbled.

  “Do any of you have any information regarding the two gentlemen who were seated to the right of the deceased?”

  “They weren’t gentlemen, I can tell you that,” said Claire.

  “Which is why I want to follow them up.”

  “I know they left early,” said Alicia, “like sometime before the lights came back on at the end. But I can’t tell you much more than that.”

  Indira seemed disappointed but let it drop.

  After clarifying a few other things, she then placed the sketches aside and asked each of them to recount what they could from that fateful night. And so, over the next hour, they repeated each other’s stories, although there were several important differences.

  It seems only Lynette and Alicia had overheard the Mumfords arguing by the bar, although the others had noticed the husband, Eliot, come straight from there and sit down on the grass beside Claire’s blanket. Everyone had noticed the two men leering at the amorous couple earlier in the evening, and everyone, except Alicia, had spotted the heavily pregnant woman making a dash for the toilets during the first half, clutching her stomach. Only Missy, however, had deduced that the two elderly ladies seated near the bar area were part of the organising committee.

  “At least I think they were,” she explained. “They had those thingamajigs around their necks, same as the security guys. You know those Access All Areas passes you see at music festivals and that kind of thing? My sister, Henny, got one of those when she helped out at the Carols by Candlelight at the Domain last year. It meant she could go absolutely everywhere, even into the Green Room, and, oh my goodness, I can tell you, possums, that was soooo exciting for her! You wouldn’t believe what stars she got selfies with—”

  “Thank you, Ms Corner,” Indira said, cutting her off abruptly and making her blush behind her spectacles. “We have spoken with the committee and have their statements.”

  “Speaking of green rooms, I wonder why those ladies didn’t get a better position?” said Lynette, not noticing Indira’s developing frown. “They could have been in the VIP section up the front. I saw a cordoned-off area there, with lovely plush beanbags and low deck chairs.” She then turned to Alicia and said, “That’s where I put my gold stars.”

  Alicia didn’t take the bait. She could tell Indira was fast losing patience with their banter.

  Indira said, “If we could just focus for a little bit longer, please, then I can let you get on with your Sunday. So, I want to get this straight, you all say you saw the deceased, Kat Mumford, return to her rug, alone, at about nine thirty-five last night, is that correct?”

  “I don’t remember the exact time,” said Margarita.

  “If that was just after the end of intermission, then yes we did,” countered Perry.

  “Can you recall if she was wearing glasses and a hat when you last saw her?”

  Most of them nodded but less assuredly this time.

  “Does anyone recall her carrying an iPhone, the latest model?”

  This time no one moved a muscle.

  “She had a jacket on,” said Lynette. “Was probably in her pocket, why? Is it missing?”

  Indira ignored that question and asked, “Did anyone notice her get up again in that second half?”

  There were vague looks.

  “She might have,” said Missy. “Sorry, I can’t remember.”

  “And none of you saw Mr Mumford, the deceased’s husband—or anyone else for that matter—approach Mrs Mumford again after she returned to her rug post-intermission, is that correct? No one just sort of drop down next to her, lean in or anything?”

  This time there were head shakes all round except for Margarita, who wanted to clarify, yet again, that she could not account for Mr Mumford’s whereabouts at any time, nor did she want to.

  “I can’t say what I did not see,” she stated.

  Indira exhaled loudly. “Well, that’s very inconvenient. Jacko assured me, if anyone was going to spot a killer lurking, it was going to be you lot. You’ve really let me down today.”

  They stared at her, a little taken aback, before she smiled.

  “I’m just pulling your chain. You’ve been very helpful, thank you.” She stood up, shook her shoulders out. “Okay, so this is the bit where I tell you not to skip town, we might still need to question you further, yada, yada, yada. Oh and if you do think of anything, get in touch immediately, okay?”

  They agreed to do just that, then gathered their things and followed the young detective, who showed them out.

  ********

  “That DI Singh’s an efficient operator,” said Claire as they made their way to a nearby café for a deconstruct.

  “I found her a bit frightening, actually,” said Missy. “There was something about her tone, don’t you think? Reminded me a little of an old English teacher I used to have. Mrs Tantlepiece. We used to call her Mrs Terrifying Beast, she was so intimidating!”

  “DI Singh is a detective, Missy, and she does have a job to do,” Alicia replied, selecting a table on the sidewalk and dropping down into a wooden chair. “I thought she was quite nice.”

  Perry said, “And why wouldn’t she be? We are her most useful assets after all.”

  “Or so Mr Jackson tells everyone. He’s our biggest fan, huh?” said Lynette, but Perry scoffed.

  “I think it’s a different Finlay sister we can thank for that.”

  “Not true,” said Alicia, plucking a stray menu from a nearby table. “He was really impressed with our help on that cruise ship. It’s genuine, Perry.”

  “Sure it is, honey.” He winked at her. “But I ask you, what is that Spanish woman’s problem? I think she’s got it in for poor Eliot Mumford.”

  Margarita had not chosen to join them at the café, and it was just as well because Perry had a few things to get off his chest.

  “And talk about Ms Contrary. She’s obviously been hanging out with our grumpy doctor too much. Did you see the way she glared! Could wipe out an entire army with one lift of those bushy eyebrows!”

  “Put the claws away, Perry,” said Claire. “Margarita’s just being candid about what she saw. She’s absolutely correct. She can’t say the husband never moved if she wasn’t watching him, now can she?”

  “Nah, I’m with Perry on this one,” jumped in Lynette. “That woman definitely didn’t want to be the husband’s alibi. Seemed almost determined to smash his alibi, in fact.”

  “Which is madness,” said Perry. “As if the man could have slipped away from all of us, scooched across two blankets full of people and murdered
his wife, then slipped back without anyone noticing. That’s ridiculous! Besides, what motive could he possibly have? The way he and his wife were carrying on, they were clearly smitten.”

  “We did see them argue,” Alicia said. “Which is why he moved next to Claire.”

  “A lovers’ tiff, sure,” said Perry. “But that’s nothing. Goodness, my lovers would all be six foot under if every lovers’ tiff ended in murder!”

  He snatched the menu from Alicia and said, “So what are we having?”

  A waitress appeared soon after, and they all ordered coffees except for Missy, who insisted she needed an iced chocolate and a blueberry muffin to get over the interrogation. By the time their orders had arrived, they were back to dissecting the case.

  “So what do we all think?” Claire asked, reaching for her ristretto.

  “You mean whodunit?” asked Lynette, and Claire nodded. “Goodness, that’s a hard one.”

  “Could’ve been almost anyone,” Perry agreed. “Except for the husband, of course. It definitely couldn’t have been him. I don’t care what that Spanish vixen thinks.”

  Alicia smiled. She had a feeling Perry’s animosity towards Margarita had more to do with his friendship with her than the woman herself, and she appreciated the sentiment.

  “I just can’t believe a woman could have been lying there and no one spotted a thing,” Claire was saying now.

  “Like a corpse in a morgue,” added Missy, taking a bite of her muffin.

  They all glanced up from their cups, and she giggled, spluttering crumbs everywhere.

  “Sorry, luvies, I’m just recalling that line from the movie last night. Don’t you remember?”

  They shook their heads. Nobody’s memory was as good as Missy’s; they had learned that a long time ago.

  “He said something like, ‘Look at them all lying in rows like corpses in a morgue. They’re not men and women, there’s nothing personal about them, they’re just bodies, like butcher’s meat.’”

  “Like steaks grilling in the sun,” Alicia said, finishing the quote as Missy clapped, delightedly.

  Alicia’s eyes widened. Yes, she did remember that bit, and it sent a fresh wave of chills down her spine.

  Kat Mumford had been lying half-comatose on a blanket in a park, as though spread out on a platter, as though meat on display. And some butcher had seen his opportunity and taken it. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered again.

  Chapter 9

  The restaurant ticked all Alicia’s boxes. The room was dimly lit, with individual candles on each table, the ambient music was a soft twelve-string blues, and the prices were low enough to ensure you could indulge without breaking the bank.

  “It’s my old faithful,” Jackson explained after he’d sent the waitress off with their wine order. “And not just because it’s close to headquarters. The food’s terrific.” He indicated the menu. “Asian fusion, I think they call it.”

  “Asian Confusion, according to Lynette. She says few Aussie chefs can pull it off properly, herself excluded, of course.”

  “I thought she was waiting tables at Mario’s Café in Paddington?”

  “Wash your mouth out, Mr Jackson, that’s a temporary glitch in Lynette’s grand plan to become Master of the Culinary Universe. She’s still waiting for her ship to come in.”

  “She doing anything about it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just going to land in her gorgeous young lap! Actually that’s not quite fair. She has been setting up some social media pages to show off her cooking, but it’s just a start.”

  She shook her head. She had given up on lecturing her sister about old-fashioned cooking courses and—heaven forbid—commercial cookery apprenticeships long ago.

  “Speaking of which, the starters look amazing.”

  He smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”

  They made time to order, then sat back and drank their wine, smiling at each other across the candlelight.

  Alicia couldn’t believe Jackson had time to meet for dinner, just a night after two bodies had been discovered, and told him as much. He shrugged.

  “I told you when we met, I don’t play by the rules. If I’m hungry, I’ll stop and eat, and not just a sandwich at my desk, thanks very much. I’m not going to starve for this underpaid job. And if I like someone, well, I’m going to see her, dead bodies or no dead bodies.”

  “Such a romantic sentiment,” Alicia quipped, and he laughed.

  “Don’t get too excited. I do have to run off after this. But I wanted to touch base and see how you guys are all coping after last night. I would’ve invited the others along, hell I would’ve shouted Anders dinner—he did a bloody good job under trying circumstances.”

  “He done good?”

  “Better than good. He did everything right, really protected the integrity of the crime scene. I know he’s a doctor, but I can’t tell you how many medicos get that part wrong—moving bodies, letting loved ones paw all over them. I owe him big time, but I figured I’m not exactly his favourite person right now, so dinner with you and me mightn’t go down so well.”

  Alicia was glad he’d come to that conclusion on his own. “So what’s the goss? Did the doc get his diagnosis correct?”

  “Yep, according to the preliminary forensics report, Kat Mumford died of asphyxiation by manual strangulation sometime between nine thirty-five p.m., when she was last seen returning to her rug to watch the second half, and ten thirty-five p.m. when her body was discovered. One or two witnesses said she may have got up at some stage in that second half, but we can’t confirm that. Must have been a gripping plot by then. In any case, she was definitely murdered during the latter half.”

  Alicia thought about that. “Could the hubby have done it at the end of that second half? When he went to check on his wife?”

  “Good question, but we don’t believe so. We have enough witnesses who saw Eliot Mumford approach the body and then jump straight back—including you, yes? No one believes he lingered long enough to place his hands around her throat. Manual strangulation does take a little time and effort. I know she was a sparrow of a thing, and he’s a big boy, but I honestly don’t believe he could just throttle her in one second and no one would notice.”

  There was a small cough, and they both looked up to find a waitress hovering by the table with a plate of roast duck and rice paper rolls in her hand. She didn’t look at all perturbed by their morbid conversation, just impatient to get the plate down and away.

  “Thanks, Penny,” he said, then to Alicia’s raised eyebrows added, “She’s used to this kind of talk. Singho and I have come here a few times to dissect cases.”

  Alicia smiled. She waited. Where was the pang of envy? Why was she not rattled by that comment?

  He breezed on. “So, definitely killed sometime during that second half. And definitely by bare hands.” He placed his own hands at his throat. “There was clear circular bruising around the neck and some obvious contusions where the fingers and two thumbs were pressed into the surface.”

  She grimaced. “Poor thing. Could it have been a woman by any chance?”

  “Not unless she was very large and very strong. According to Frank Scelosi, that’s the coroner, the bruising from the digits was wide, about two centimetres. The fact that no one heard her struggle indicates that whoever it was, he had control quickly and it was over in less than two minutes. But not two seconds, which is why we have to eliminate the husband from our enquiries.”

  She smiled. “It’s not always the husband then.”

  He smirked back. “Pity that. There’s a half-decent life insurance policy and a couple of properties in the will, but no, that would’ve been way too easy.” His smirk turned sullen. “There was something else though, something pretty disturbing that points to a random stranger.”

  “What’s more disturbing than strangulation?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Probably shouldn’t be telling you this…”


  “…but you will because you know I won’t take it any further.”

  He looked at her sideways.

  “Okay, I might mention it to the book club. But you know we won’t take it any further.”

  “Make sure you don’t, or it’s my head on the chopping block. Indira’s strictly ‘by the book’.”

  He took a good gulp of his wine, and she wasn’t sure if he was dragging it out to tease her, but she bit her tongue and waited.

  “The thing is, there is some indication of sexual assault.”

  Alicia dropped her glass to the table and sat back with a mental thud. She hadn’t been expecting that.

  “How… on earth?” she managed after that horrendous thought had settled in.

  Jackson reached out and took one of her hands.

  “Sorry, that’s not exactly pleasant dinner conversation.”

  She waved him off. “How?” she asked again.

  “As I said, it’s not confirmed yet. Scelosi’s doing the full autopsy tomorrow, but her clothes had been disturbed. One of the straps from her camisole top was broken and”— now he was lowering his tone—“her skirt line was up near her waist. Everything else was still in place, but well, it makes us wonder.”

  “Makes me feel sick!” Alicia blinked madly. “She was right there in front of us! How did no one notice?”

  He squeezed her hand tighter. “It might be nothing. I probably shouldn’t have told you.”

  She almost wished he hadn’t. She was struggling to believe it.

  “You said that the couple had been quite frisky, right?” he said, and she half nodded.

  “But that was the first half, and she looked perfectly decent when we saw her at the bar during the break. At least she looked fine to me.” She paused. “I think she might have been wearing her jacket then though. Maybe I didn’t notice the broken strap.”

  “Yeah, her suede jacket was located near the body. She’d obviously taken it off at some stage in that second half. Can I ask, was she wearing her glasses when you last saw her?”