After Ariel: It started as a game (16 page)

CHAPTER 16

Revelations

Pam

Sunday 2.15AM

The short drive to Fiona and Alex’ house was over before I could work out how to tell them that their daughter was dead, let alone how it happened. Detective Hamilton was no help, staring grimly ahead with not a word. Just as I was on the verge of panic, we drew up outside the house and he turned to me and touched my hand. ‘Are you okay? I can tell them if you like. You’ve had enough to cope with already.’

The skin on the back of my hand felt as though it had been branded. I could barely speak. ‘Thank you, I’d be grateful if you would. I don’t know how to face them. Only yesterday we were here, Goldie and I, and we were having...such a lovely time catching up.’ Tears poured down my cheeks.
Stop crying, Pam, for God’s sake.
  A white handkerchief appeared in front of me.

‘Do you have a secret supply of these?’ I wiped my eyes and went to pass it back, but he held his hand up with a wry smile.

‘Yes, my aunts are prolific givers of boxes of them and I actually had one on the back seat. It came yesterday.’

‘Was it your birthday? My mother said her aunts always gave her soap and face washers for her birthdays,’ I sobbed.

‘Er...yes, it was my birthday and yes, most of mine do too.’ His lips actually curled up at the corners and just for a moment, the Easter Island statue came to life. Before I could say anything further, he’d opened the car door and got out. In seconds he’d handed me onto the pavement, and I still had no idea of how we were going to handle this.

It took awhile before our knocking brought the sound of footsteps. The front door opened and Alex stood there, hair standing on end, tying the cord of his old green tartan dressing gown. I glanced down; his bare toes looked defenceless.

Before he could speak, Detective Hamilton introduced himself and asked if we could come in. My uncle’s eyes widened; he nodded and stepped back.

‘Alex, who’s there? Is it Goldie?’ My aunt’s voice floated down the stairs.

‘No, it’s Pam and...someone...’

Alex didn’t wait until she came down the stairs, instead ushering us into the lounge-room, sending worried glances in our direction. Hamilton glanced at me. I opened my mouth but nothing came out, so he stepped into the breach. ‘I think we should sit down, Mr Humphries.’

Thoroughly frightened, Alex plopped into the nearest chair. Fiona rushed through the door to stand beside him, a hand over her mouth.

Hamilton and I sat opposite on the lounge and he took the initiative. ‘We have some bad news and I’m sorry, there’s no easy way to tell you.’ He took at deep breath. ‘Your daughter, Marigold Humphries, has been found dead in her home.’

Alex and Fiona stared at him. Alex sat with his arms hanging down at his sides, helpless in the face of the worst news any parent could hear.

I jumped up and went to Fiona, but just then Millicent came through the door bent on finding her mistress. Before anyone could move, Fiona snatched her up and wrapped her arms around her. For a moment, the cat enjoyed being held, but then Fiona’s arms tightened. The cat struggled; Fiona held her even tighter. The animal cried and Alex was galvanised into action. He quickly stood and tried to loosen Fiona’s hold, but she squeezed harder. Millicent struggled and raked at the sleeve of my aunt’s dressing gown, her cries mingling with the Fiona’s keening.

Immobilised by the sight of two adults and a cat struggling, I didn’t immediately react, but the detective was made of sterner stuff. He leaped up, clamped his hands around Fiona’s wrists and gently prised her arms open. Millicent escaped and fled behind the sofa. Alex, relieved of grappling with his wife, cast a grateful glance at the sergeant and sat her down. Her wails faded to whimpers as I headed for the kitchen to make hot drinks. As I walked down the hallway I heard the hinge of the liquor cabinet door creak above her sobs.

By the time I got back, two glasses of brandy stood on the table, one less full than the other. My aunt and uncle, arms around each other, gazed at the detective as though he possessed magical powers which would bring their daughter back to life. Hamilton’s stoicism had been replaced by a kindly demeanour as he told them gently but firmly, what had happened and why the police thought Goldie’s death was not an accident.

I laid the tray down on the coffee table and poured without asking what anyone wanted. I figured they didn’t care what they got and according to the TV shows, cops would drink anything hot. I passed out the cups and then sat beside the detective, trying to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘...so we won’t know for sure how she died until forensics have done their work. I’m so sorry but I do have to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it now?’ He made eye contact with Fiona. She nodded slowly. The material of her dressing gown trembled on her lap. 

Alex, ashen-faced, took her hands in his. ‘We’ll be all right, Mr Hamilton, ask whatever you need to know.’

Just then, Millicent re-appeared and leaped onto the sofa beside Fiona who, on autopilot, removed her hands from Alex’s and took the cat into her lap. To our relief, stroking the dense fur seemed to calm Fiona. Millicent purred approval.

Hamilton took out his notebook and pen. ‘When did you last see your daughter?’

‘She stopped by this afternoon. Er, yesterday afternoon.’ Alex face crumpled as he realised that was the
last
time he would speak to his child.

‘Mrs Humphries?’ Fiona didn’t reply. Alex spoke gently into her ear and she raised her head.

‘This afternoon. She rode her bicycle over. I was watering the garden when she...’ She couldn’t continue.

The detective made another note in his book. ‘What did you talk about?’

‘She just said she’d see me tomorrow...and that was it. She didn’t kiss me goodbye.’ Fiona dropped her head onto Alex’s shoulder. The weary movement broke my heart.

Hamilton looked at them thoughtfully for a long moment. ‘Have you any idea who might wish Ms Humphries harm? Any people she might have upset lately?’

‘Call her Goldie...Mr...er...it’s better.  Easier. No, I don’t know of anyone who would want to harm our daughter. ‘Alex pursed his lips. ‘I would be surprised if she hadn’t made some bad friends over the years though. I doubt if any journalist would have everyone love them, but I can’t think of anyone here who would actually k...do something like that.’

‘What about that man who kept sending her flowers after Parry died?

‘You mean Adam McIntyre?’ Alex’s lips folded in a thin line.

‘Who’s he and where does he live?’ The pen was flying across the page.

‘He’s a fellow journalist, but I don’t know where he lives. Goldie said they had a fight over the phone the other day – last week sometime – and he was really nasty. She was liv–id.’ Alex’s voice broke. He turned his head to look at his wife, whose face was buried in the cat’s fur. Silver strands in his dark hair, which I hadn’t noticed before, glittered in the light, the furrows of his cheeks forming chasms in his colourless face.

‘Do you know what they fought about?’

‘Yes.’ Rosy colour flooded Alex’ face. ‘They had an affair a few months ago but Goldie broke it off. He’s been – I guess you could say – stalking her – ever since.’

‘Did she report it?

‘No, we wanted her to, but she said he was – ‘Alex’ lips curled down’– a right little ferret with no –’ he glanced at Fiona, who didn’t appear to be listening, ‘– no dick to speak of.’

I almost laughed. That was Goldie to the letter, but feeling guilty, smothered the second of levity. Nothing had sunk in. Goldie was going to walk in the door at any moment, laughing and ready to party. The coat she’d left behind yesterday was draped over the chair in her ‘writing nook’ off the lounge room, her spare hairbrush still upstairs in the guest bathroom, along with the toiletries she kept for when she stayed overnight with her parents and the change of clothes in her old childhood bedroom.

The only sound was the scratch of Hamilton’s pen as he made notes, his fist twisted into the peculiar angling of the left- handed. I realised, with amazement, that he was actually using a fountain pen. My feeling of floating detachment was surreal.
Had I dreamt the previous couple of hours?
Weariness seeped through my limbs. The ticking of the old-fashioned clock on the wall alerted me the fact that it was almost three o’clock in the morning. I had been up and on the go for almost twenty-four hours. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t prevent myself from yawning. I caught Alex’ eye, but didn’t recognise the angry man who glared at me. ‘Are we keeping you up, Pam?’

Recoiling from the sarcasm in his voice, I clapped the white handkerchief to my face to keep from retaliating. Anger wouldn’t solve anything.

Hamilton looked up from his notes. ‘Ms Miller found Goldie when she came back to the house from the concert. She called the ambulance and the police and she’s had to wait while forensics did their job and answer questions as well. I don’t think she’s had any rest since she got up yesterday morning, isn’t that so?’ He glanced at me for a confirming nod.

My aunt looked over at me, shocked. ‘We hadn’t realised...’ My uncle said nothing.

‘It’s fine. Shall I make some more tea?’ I was determined to keep the peace.

Alex declined for himself and his wife. I turned to the detective with an enquiring lift of my eyebrow. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m almost finished here.’ Hamilton turned back to my aunt and uncle. ‘You say this Adam McIntyre might have had a grudge. Anyone else you know of?’

Fiona looked at him, her white face ravaged with grief, her eyes dark with shock. ‘Harry, one of the journalists she knew at the Courier Mail might know. She was pretty thick with
him
and she has several girlfriends she always caught up with when she was home. Alex, get the black and red phone book would you? I know a couple of their numbers are in there.’

He went to get the book and Fiona bent her head over Millicent and resumed crooning. I remembered my bag and music case in the cop car. Hamilton raised his head and looked at me; we spoke over the top of each other.

‘I’d better get –’

‘You’d better get –’

We stopped together as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll get your things out of the car while your uncle’s looking for the numbers.’

While he was gone, I moved over to Fiona and put my arm around her shaking shoulders. She felt diminished, as though the life-blood had seeped out of her body. For a moment, she rested her hand on mine and then dropped it back onto Millicent who lay patiently, as though sensing her presence was holding her mistress together.

As Alex came back into the room holding a piece of paper, the detective came through the front door with my belongings. ‘Where can I put these?’

Alex looked daggers at me, but didn’t say anything; Fiona didn’t appear to understand what was going on.

‘I’d better go to a hotel,’ I said, embarrassed.

My uncle, perhaps not wanting to look bad in front of the detective, took an ostentatious look at his watch and said, ‘You’d better stay what’s left of the night.’

As he left the room, I caught the detective flashing Alex’ back an angry glance. ‘I can take them. I’ll stay in the guest room upstairs,’ I replied.

‘Which room?’

I hesitated, then told him where. Without a word he took my bags up and was back in moments.  Alex came back into the room and handed him the list of numbers. ‘I’ll try and get Fiona up to bed. She won’t sleep, but she needs to rest.’

‘Someone will be in touch tomorrow. We’ll need you to look through Ms Humphries house to see if anything is missing.’ Hamilton turned to me as my uncle shepherded my aunt, still clutching the cat, to the stairs.

‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there for a couple of years.’

‘You were there only yesterday, so you might have observed more than you think. We’ll be asking her parents to do the same. Can you come outside for a moment?’ He opened the front door and ushered me out. ‘Can you think of anything else in the light of what they said about McIntyre and the journalist?’

‘No, I can’t think straight anyway now. Will I see you tomorrow?’ I wanted to bite my tongue. It sounded like I was asking him for a date.

His remarkable eyes crinkled at the corners; I think he knew I felt uncomfortable and why. ‘Maybe. Someone else might come round to take a statement...how come you know Inspector Prescott?’

A chill wind wafted along the porch; I folded my arms firmly across my midriff
.  Here we go again.
‘I met her a few years ago after my best friend was kidnapped. So you can ask Susan – Inspector Prescott – about it or I suppose you could look it up. There was lots of media crap about it when the Esposito’s came to trial.’

‘I seem to remember that.’ He looked concerned. ‘Are you over that now?’

‘Does one ever get over something like that?’ Pain, so long damped down, swept through me as though it had happened the previous week. ‘Oh, I forgot! I was going to go down to Emsberg and see my mother tomorrow afternoon. She’s going into hospital early Monday morning for a cancer operation.’

The detective looked stern. ‘I’ll have to check with DI Prescott as to whether you can go after you’ve made your statement. I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. Can you see your mother at the hospital before her operation?’

‘I hope so. I’ll have to ring my stepfather early tomorrow morning and let him know what’s happened so
he
can tell Mum.’
If the media doesn’t do it for me.

Hamilton leaned close. ‘Try and get some rest. It’ll be a bad day tomorrow.

CHAPTER 17

Preliminaries

Susan

Sunday, 6AM

‘Susan...
Susan
!’

The voice came from the end of a paddock.

‘Susan! You need to wake up now.’ 

‘Evan?’ My head felt like a ton weight on my neck. I squinted at the wall clock – six. Day or night? It was impossible to tell with the lights on. I slumped against the back of the chair. Dopey and disoriented, I stared at my partner.