Evil Under the Stars

by C. A. Larmer

  A good fifteen minutes and almost as many stops later, the bus reached a busy intersection and a skinny, white-haired boy jumped out.

  “Bingo!” Jackson said, pulling his own car into the curb behind the bus just as a short, tubby girl in a very different school uniform slouched past the car and approached Ezekiel.

  She was wearing a white blouse, an extremely short black-and-green-checked skirt, and a bashful smile on her face. They embraced for just a moment before she turned abruptly and skipped away.

  “What was that about?” Jackson asked and then, “Damn it.”

  Ezekiel was striding back in the direction the bus had just driven.

  Pauly turned to watch and said, “He’s turning down that first street.” He looked forward. “Chuck a left at this next corner and cross back.”

  Jackson manoeuvred the car back into the traffic, earning himself a blast from a nearby car horn and some vicious words from a passing cabbie.

  By the time Jackson had circled back a block, Pauly was the one doing the cursing.

  “We’ve lost him!” he said.

  Jackson wasn’t giving up so easily. He slowed the car down and ambled along the back street, his eyes searching the mixture of shop fronts and front yards.

  “There!” Jackson announced, just as they were crossing over another intersection.

  He braked swiftly and swung the car down the street. It was a familiar one, and now he felt like cursing.

  “He’s heading to his dad’s church,” Jackson said, pulling the car back to the curb.

  “Something to confess, you think?” Pauly asked.

  “Maybe, or maybe he’s doing penance.”

  Pauly looked at him confused but said nothing as Jackson switched the car off again.

  They watched from a respectable distance as Ezekiel loitered a few metres from the church gates, then glanced around, bent down and began removing his shoes.

  “What’s he doing now?” Jackson asked, watching as the boy pulled a black pair of shoes out of his school bag, then dropped the white ones he had been wearing into the bag and slipped the dark pair on.

  “Looks like he’s swapping his Nike trainers for school shoes,” Pauly said.

  Jackson frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. He’s just left school. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  They watched for a further minute as Zak zipped up his bag, straightened his tie and then strode the rest of the way to the church grounds, reaching the front gate and glancing around again before brushing his hair down and pushing the gate open.

  No sooner had he stepped into the church grounds than his father appeared from one side. Was it good timing, or had he been watching out for his son?

  Jacob had a long wooden stick in his hand and was waving it at the boy, barking something as he approached. Whatever he was saying, it was clearly a lecture, and he continued barking away for some time while the boy dropped his head and said nothing. Eventually the man thrust the stick at his son—a garden rake by the look of it—and then stepped back.

  As Ezekiel began sweeping up the leaves from the front yard, his school bag still fixed to his back, Jacob continued to watch him, his hands on his hips, frown on his face. After what seemed an age, he finally turned and strode inside the church.

  “That’s our cue,” Jackson said, stepping out of the car.

  The first thing Jackson noticed as they approached the boy was the size of his hands. They were large. Not extra large, mind you, but relatively big for a boy in year eight.

  Ezekiel stopped sweeping as they approached and stepped back, allowing them to pass, but they slowed down and Jackson held a hand out to shake.

  Confused, Ezekiel dropped the rake and returned the shake.

  Yep, Jackson thought. He could pull it off.

  He said, “Hi there, Zak is it?”

  The boy nodded tentatively.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Liam Jackson, this is Sergeant Paul Moore.”

  “Dad’s inside,” the boy said quickly, and Jackson smiled.

  “Yes, thanks we’ll head inside in a minute. Helping your dad out are you?”

  The boy nodded slowly.

  “Hope you get paid some decent pocket money for that.”

  The boy wasn’t nodding now.

  “You here about that woman?” Ezekiel asked.

  “We are indeed,” Jackson replied. “You remember her then?”

  He shrugged. “She was pretty.” Then a sly grin crossed his lips. “Shit-faced but hot.”

  “Oh yeah? You liked the look of her did you?” Jackson asked, trying to keep his tone light, and the boy smiled brightly.

  “Yeah, man, she was, like, smokin’! Not like the stuck-up scrags at my—”

  The boy stopped suddenly and reached for the rake just as a booming voice called out, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  The detectives swung around to find Jacob standing at the entrance to the church, a book in both hands, his eyes narrowed.

  “Ahh, it’s you again is it, Detective…?”

  Jackson glanced back at Ezekiel, who had his head down, furiously sweeping away. Jackson sighed to himself and then walked down the stone pathway towards the pastor.

  “Yes, Detective Liam Jackson, and this is my colleague, Sergeant Paul Moore.”

  Jacob eyed them both suspiciously as they approached, then flashed a look at his son, who had almost disappeared around the side of the building now.

  “More questions, yes?” They nodded. “Then you’d best come inside.”

  “You’ve got a good lad there,” Jackson said as he followed him to a pew at the back.

  “And why do you say that?”

  “Well, you don’t often see kids helping out around the place do you?”

  Jacob smiled his sharklike smile. “He is weak, and he is easily tempted, Detective. And now he must learn the consequences of that.”

  “I’m sorry? What do you mean by easily tempted?”

  Jacob’s eyes narrowed again. “What can I help you with, Detective?”

  Jackson let it drop for now. He wasn’t in the mood for more word games with the man and suspected, from their first conversation, that it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway.

  He said, “We’re actually here to see your wife, Rev Joves. We haven’t had much luck getting hold of her.”

  That was a lie. They had not made any substantial attempt to track the woman down, but Jackson needed a reason for being there, and Jacob seemed to buy it.

  “She’s probably still on the school run,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why? What’s my wife got to do with any of this?”

  “We’d just like a word, that’s all.”

  “And what would that be about?”

  Jackson held his stare for a moment and considered telling him that it was none of his damn business, but he knew he needed to keep this man on his side. He didn’t want him rushing off to silence his wife.

  Maybe Indira was right. Maybe he did go in too hard sometimes. He softened his tone.

  “Just boring old procedure, sir, nothing more than that. Just crossing our Ts.”

  He glanced up at the figure of Jesus on the cross and wondered if that was a blasphemous term in a place like this.

  He smiled, nodding his head towards Pauly. “We’ve neglected to get statements from everyone who was seated near the victim that night. In fact”—he lowered his voice—“I’m in the dogbox with my boss.”

  Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “The angry Indian girl you were with?”

  What Indira’s ethnicity or gender had to do with anything was beyond Jackson, but he kept his tone light as he said, “DI Singh can be a little, well, grumpy.” He gave Pauly a conspiratorial wink. “She just wants us to get a statement from Mrs Joves, and then we’re off the hook.”

  “And what do you expect to learn from my wife?”

  “Probably nothing, sir. Really. We just need to see if she saw anything that maybe nobody else spotted.”

&n
bsp; “She saw nothing, I can assure you of that.”

  “That’s all very well,” Pauly spoke now, pulling out a notepad. “We just need to ask. Can you give us a contact phone number for her please, sir?”

  Jacob looked for a moment like he was not buying the detectives’ story, then simply glanced at his watch. “Now is not a good time. If my wife is home, she will be preparing the evening meal and seeing to the children’s homework. It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Not a problem,” Jackson said, catching Pauly’s eye. The younger officer looked ready to complain, but Jackson wanted to keep Reverend Joves on side.

  He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket. “If you could just ask her to call me as soon as she gets a spare moment, that would be terrific.”

  Jacob read the card slowly, then turned it over and back again. “Certainly, Detective Inspector Jackson,” he said eventually, his sharky smile returning. “See if we can’t get you out of that dogbox, hey?”

  Chapter 18

  A violin concerto tinkled gently across the marble foyer of the Sydney museum where Perry worked, barely audible beneath the loud chatter and laughter of the fast-growing throng, and Perry Gordon gave Alicia and Lynette a nervous smile.

  “So far so good,” he said, reaching in to air kiss them as they joined the rest of the book club who had gathered near the entrance. “No Jackson?” he added, his lips pouting.

  “Sorry, he’s a bit stressed with the case. But I can see a couple of my colleagues over there, looking very content.” She waved as she caught the eye of three women from sister publications who were swigging on glasses of wine.

  “Great crowd,” Lynette said, also looking about, and Perry beamed.

  “Did you catch the Lord Mayor? And at least three federal politicians have arrived!”

  “I’m more impressed with the celebrities,” said Claire. “Was that Cate Blanchett I saw gliding past?”

  “Where?” squealed Missy as Perry waved a passing waiter over with a tray full of Prosecco punch.

  They each helped themselves to a complementary glass.

  “I’ll have to flit like a butterfly in a second,” Perry told them, refusing a glass, “but first I want the goss!”

  “Goss?” Alicia replied, realising he was talking to her.

  “Yes. How is the case going? What has luscious Liam discovered?”

  “Not a lot at this stage, hence the reason he’s so stressed. I think it’s stalled.”

  “Stalled? How?” asked Claire, and Alicia looked around to find everyone staring at her.

  “Oh, just a lot of loose ends, lots of missing suspects.”

  “Like?” said Anders, oddly interested, and she took a step back.

  “Guys, this is hardly the time and place. The focus should be on Perry and his fabulous museum tonight. We can talk about the case later.”

  “She’s got a point there,” said Perry. “Plus I really do have to spread myself about, so if you discuss the case in too much detail now I’ll miss out.”

  “How about we meet at our place later?” Alicia suggested, glancing at Lynette.

  “I’ve got a much better idea,” he said. “Hang around and enjoy the event, then I’ll take you into the bowels of the building. We can chat about it all properly then.”

  They agreed to do that and then left the host to tend to his other guests while they spent the next two hours enjoying fine champagne and canapés while ogling the extraordinary displays, which included Aboriginal artefacts, Theban mummies, and some rather imposing woolly mammoths. For some reason that got her thinking of Margarita, and she wondered why she wasn’t hanging off Anders’s arm tonight.

  It was a pity Perry was so busy—he would have had the nerve to ask.

  “Probably couldn’t stretch the budget that far,” whispered Lynette, reading her sister’s mind as she stared at a 42,000-year-old calf. “Or maybe Margarita’s on another escort job?”

  Alicia slapped her lightly across the arm. “Stop it! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Still, it made her laugh, and she was in the mood to laugh tonight. It had been a pretty harrowing few days, and she relished the chance to forget about blanket-creeping stranglers and enjoy the glittering, star-studded event.

  Sadly, for Alicia’s imagination at least, the respite was short-lived.

  Before she knew it, the party was over and Perry was back, ushering them out of the expansive foyer and down the endless, wide corridors to the southern end of the museum, a conspiratorial smile on his lips.

  “Let’s slip into somewhere more comfortable,” he said with a wink.

  “That was a lot of fun, Perry,” Alicia said as they walked. “Are you happy with how it all went?”

  “Delighted and so were the people who mattered. The patrons were all thrilled, and the museum director even took me aside before he left and said, ‘Brilliant job, Perry.’ I didn’t even know he knew my name! Okay, here we are.”

  They’d reached a set of elevators, and he pressed his ID badge against a button, causing the doors to glide open.

  “Take the lift down to the lower basement, chuck a right and head to the office at the very end. That’s my hovel. It’s open. I’ll see you there in ten.”

  By the time Perry got to his office, the friends were all settled in chairs around his desk and on the tiny faux leather sofa near the door, chatting happily. It was a plush office, plusher than they had been expecting. He’d griped so much about work they anticipated a dark broom closet.

  “Let’s get this party started!” Perry said from the doorway, holding a glistening bottle of Veuve Clicquot in each hand.

  Lynette cheered and Alicia said, “Got glasses?”

  “Cupboard to the left of the desk.”

  She jumped up to grab some while he switched on a table lamp and killed the overhead neon lights, then picked up a remote control from his desk. The room was instantly filled with the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald.

  “Wow, you sure know how to make things cosy,” said Claire.

  “Honey, I do so much unpaid overtime, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

  Then he popped a cork and poured them each a drop.

  “Now, since it’s late and a school night, I won’t bother with any preamble. Alicia, you’ve got the floor!”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. As the group watched on, Alicia spent the next half hour talking them through the case or at least as much of it as she knew. She told them all about the missing barman and how he had eventually been tracked down and interviewed.

  “And?” said Lynny, hoping the guy was in the clear. He was cute, if she recalled, but her sister was nudging an eyebrow high.

  “He was acting a little too cool for school, and Jackson’s spidey senses were on red alert. Reckons he could be hiding something. Unfortunately, there’s no DNA evidence so they can’t pin him to the body, and the toxicology report came back clean—well, apart from champagne of course—so their theory that she may have been drugged doesn’t pan out.”

  “So how did someone manage to strangle her so quietly and in such a public place?” asked Claire.

  “And how did they manage to tear her clothes without her crying out?” added Missy.

  Alicia lifted her shoulders, telling them about her AA hunch and how it had reaped rewards.

  “But even for an alcoholic, she had a staggering amount of alcohol in her system,” said Alicia, before glancing at Anders. “Could alcohol render you so paralytic you wouldn’t notice a stranger climb on top of you and strangle you?”

  Anders shrugged. “She may have been aware what was going on, but the alcohol’s effects on her motor skills meant she simply wasn’t capable of resisting, I’m afraid. I mean, she may have tried, but if he was very strong and had his legs or torso restraining her arms, she would have found it almost impossible.”

  The women all squirmed at the thought.

  “Who would be so stupid to do such a thing in such a
public place with so many people around to notice?” asked Missy.

  “Good point,” said Lynette. “Aren’t there enough lonely women wandering dark streets you can pick on privately?”

  Missy giggled nervously, not sure if Lynette was having a go at her, but Alicia was shaking her head.

  “Except we didn’t notice, did we? We were all there, and we did not see a thing.”

  They chewed on that for a bit, sipping their champagne and feeling the mood drop considerably. It was a shocking thought. One they could not escape from.

  “There are two more suspects,” Alicia said, reenergising the group.

  First she filled them in on Jackson’s recent conversation with Maz, the pregnant woman, and her description of the mysterious moustached man sitting beside her.

  “Can you guys remember much about him?” she asked, but no one had anything new to add to Maz’s description.

  “And then there’s Ezekiel Joves.”

  Alicia hadn’t spoken with Jackson since his chat with Jacob and his son, but she filled them in on Eliot’s damning accusation against the teenage boy.

  “No way that little boy did this thing!” said Claire.

  “He’s bigger than me, Claire,” Perry retorted.

  “I still don’t believe it. They were such a lovely family.”

  Lynette and Alicia swapped a look but said nothing.

  “Good Christians, too, by the sound of it,” said Missy, reminding them of how the elderly ladies had spotted them praying by the toilets.

  “Doesn’t mean the son didn’t do it,” snapped Perry. “Criminals come in all shapes, sizes and religions, I’ll have you know.”

  “I’d be hunting down those two sleazy men first,” was Claire’s final word on the subject.

  “You know I was thinking,” said Lynette. “Could Kat Mumford have been drugged with Rohypnol? I remember last time, Anders, your saying that it goes through the system quickly and is hard to detect.”

  “We found Kat’s body very quickly, postmortem, Lyn, so I don’t think that’s an issue here,” he replied. “But it’s a good question. Roofies aren’t the only date rape drug available. People use all sorts of nasty tranquillisers now, like GHB—or liquid Ecstasy—and other benzodiazepines, scopolamine. I wonder if they checked for everything. I know the Chief Pathologist, and he’s good, but toxic substances are not his forte. Perhaps I should take another look at the report.”