After Ariel: It started as a game (23 page)

We’d been unable to track him down for questioning. His paper said he’d left Friday morning for a job out west, but as he wasn’t answering his mobile and hadn’t been back to his motel since Saturday night, we had Roma police searching for him. He could have gotten back to Brisbane, killed Goldie and headed back out overnight, but he’d have to be pretty slick about it. I turned to Anthony Hamilton, who hadn’t contributed anything to the debate so far. ‘So how is Pamela coping, Anthony?’

‘She’s pretty cranky, actually. With being attacked on all sides over this, she’s not very happy.’

What do you mean, attacked on
all
sides?’ The room turned to look at him.

‘Well, her uncle, Alex Humphries was a bastard to her the other night and again yesterday morning. Seemed to think she didn’t care about her cousin. I got the impression that if Pam had died instead of his daughter, he’d have been delighted. Of course, that could be natural under the circumstances, but his hatred of Pam – Ms Miller – is over the top, in
my
opinion.’

Hm. Was Alex Humphries looking for a scapegoat or trying to point the finger of blame away from himself?  ‘How is Fiona Humphries behaving toward Pamela?’

Anthony took his time to reply. ‘Well, she’s a traditional wife –’ we female officers bristled; the males grinned, blast them – ‘in that she’s under his thumb. She’ll probably go along with whatever he says. She’s in that age-bracket,’ he explained hastily, no doubt realising a lynching party was imminent. He smiled ruefully and we women melted.
I bet he has sisters.

‘Do you think it’s possible that either of
them
could be responsible? I know Fiona couldn’t tackle Marigold, but what about Alex?’

‘Stranger things have happened in families.’ Oh yes, we all knew the consequences of domestic violence. I looked at Hamilton. ‘What did Pam say about the relationship between Marigold and her family?’

‘She didn’t talk about it much, but she did say that Alex has a hasty temper and that her aunt is always placating him,’ he replied, sheepishly. ‘I’ll ask her about it again t –’ He stopped abruptly.

After handing out assignments for the team, I took Anthony Hamilton in tow. ‘Hold everything,’ I told one my admin assistant. ‘Give me ten minutes?’

She smiled, nodded and went back to her computer screen.

‘Come in, Anthony.’

He looked at me warily and stepped into what I laughingly referred to as ‘my office.’ I cleared some papers off the only chair available, invited him to sit and squeezed into my chair on the other side of the desk. 

‘So what gives with you and Pam Miller?’ I placed my elbows on the desk, fingers steepled.

He wriggled. ‘Nothing’s going on with Pa – Ms Miller.’

Yet, you mean.
‘You could have fooled me! Listen, Anthony, you know she’s a suspect, purely because a) she found the body and b) she’s the heir to Humphries’ will. So tell me why you know she’s innocent?’

There was quite a long pause, while my new Senior Sergeant gathered his argument, visibly struggling with what to say. Finally he gave up. ‘I don’t think she’s that sort of person!’

My eyebrows mingled with my hairline.  Suddenly his mobile chirped. “Excuse me, Ma’am.’

I watched as Hamilton took a call, puzzled when he broke into what was for him, a huge grin.
Hm.

‘That was West End Uniform. They stopped Pamela Miller on her way home from the city twelve minutes before she rang Triple 0 from Humphries’ house!’

Relief swept over me. ‘How come they didn’t tell us before?’ 

‘I left a message with traffic patrol to check how many people they had to turn back after the Jane Doe was found. There were quite a few, but he’d run all the number plates through the motor registry. Pam’s name came up driving Humphries’ car. He recognised her in the reports.’

‘Good thinking, mate!’ The corners of his mouth twitched, indicating extreme pleasure in my praise. ‘Okay, so you have feelings for Pamela?’

‘I only just met her at the Humphries house.’
Cool as the proverbial cucumber.
‘My behaviour has always been professional and it will remain so, Ma’am.’

‘I know you were, are and will be, Anthony. Okay, carry on.’

CHAPTER 23

Boadicea on the Rampage

Susan

Monday, 2PM

Exhaustion hit. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes.
I’m so very, very tired.
How am I going to get through this? At my age? How would David feel about it?

Thank God he SMS’d me. All police officers know that an investigation – especially undercover – can go arse-up in minutes. Negative thoughts weren’t going to help; I didn’t have good vibes about David’s safety, for all his pretence that it was a normal secondment.

‘Susan?
Susan?
’

Evan stood before me, hands full of papers. ‘Are you okay? How long is it since you slept?’

‘I went to Melanie’s to have a shower and change.’

‘But you didn’t have a kip. Typical. So what’s with Hamilton?’ Evan plopped himself into the chair. ‘Is he going to be a problem?’

‘No, not at all, Evan. He’s fine. He’s doing the right thing.’

‘Yeah. Why don’t you go home and this time get some rest? I’m here, Hamilton’s here. You get some “shut-eye.” Peterson and I are going to do the press conference shortly. You don’t want to be around for that!’

A cracking headache had started behind my eyes.

‘You know what? I think I will...’

No matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. I’d driven home desperate to dive into bed and pull the covers over my head. Barging past the weekly wash piled in the laundry tub I tripped over the dog’s water bowl, stopped to re-fill it and mop up the mess, then raced into the kitchen intent on a sandwich. The lady we employed to housekeep a couple of days a week was on holidays and her replacement sick.
Damn, I’ll have to find time to do it myself.

The animals were delighted to see me. ‘Wow, the pushover’s here! Let’s eat! Let’s play!’ For a short time we did, but all good things come to an end. Soaking in the bath with a couple of cats sitting on the end is not my idea of fun. They’re always so darned impatient, and they can’t help swatting each other. More than once one of them has fallen in. The prospect of towelling off a soggy, angry cat before I managed to dry myself, didn’t appeal. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you two. I’m having a shower, so get over it!’
Am I reduced to talking to the cats now? Yep.

I bolted to the bathroom, threw myself under the shower and out, then pulled across the blackout curtains which David and I had hung especially for when we were on “nights.” Even wearing my husband’s pyjamas I couldn’t settle.
What’s David going to say when he hears my news?
My thoughts squirreled around, interspersed with Pamela Miller and our little Jane Doe and the photo journalist, Marigold Humphries. I squinted at my watch in the gloom: 3.30pm.

Then the dogs started barking. I crawled out of bed, went to the window which overlooked the front of the house and pulled the curtains.
Oh no.

My mother, a modern-day Boadicea, was charging – sans chariot – toward the front door, her expression boding ill for anyone in her path. Well, right now, that would be me. What had I done now, or more likely not done? Sighing, I dragged my dressing gown on, slipped my mobile phone into the pocket and headed downstairs to find out. Mother and I are – to say the least – incompatible.

There is no mistaking the signs of a disappointed woman; my mother was classic in that regard. Her mouth had been turned down with disdain so often over the years it had achieved permanency. A woman who plays favourites as expertly as she plays bridge, mum is a master of manipulation. Set for a career as a classical pianist by our grandmother, her expectations had been cut short by her hand being broken in a car door when she was twenty. That she had been throwing a tantrum at the time and brought it on herself was something our grandmother made known on frequent occasions.

Mother’s disgust at what she regarded as our worthless careers, when my sister Melanie and I became respectively a vicar and a police officer, tempers my compassion considerably. My father, ground into submission over the years, took the line of least resistance and kept a low profile, “doing his own thing.” An architect by profession, he indulged our mother, because deep down I think he really did love her and supported her in her music teaching and overseas trips.

Melanie’s husband had been terrified of mum, but David was made of sterner stuff. He wouldn’t tolerate her “put downs” and verbal abuse of me or of Melanie. Mother couldn’t contain her satisfaction when our marriage broke down. ‘It serves you right, Susan, marrying that lout. You might have known a man like that’ – she meant so good-looking – ‘wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off other women!’ 

Mother’s reaction when I re-married David had to be heard to be believed. So this was the woman who was currently demanding admittance.
How did she know I was here?
Normally I would have been at work, but she lived en route to our house and probably saw me trying to “tip-toe” past.

 ‘Susan! David has to sort out our neighbours,’ she shouted. With barely a glance at me, she threw her handbag onto the lounge in passing and headed for the kitchen, where she tutted over my crockery and utensils in the sink. ‘I do wish you would keep a tidy house!’ She swung around to face me. ‘Tidy is as tidy does. You should know that, being a
detective
.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘And that dog shouldn’t be in the house!’

She lifted a sensibly-clad foot to boot our border collie, but I caught him by the collar just as his lip lifted and shoved him out the back door. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Mother should have known that when I am using correct English, I’m at my most intractable.

‘I was passing and saw your car in the driveway. What are you doing at home? ‘Without waiting for me to answer, she carried on. ‘The next door neighbours are selling drugs and I want David to do something about it! And they’re building a pergola right next to our fence and a swimming pool! I won’t have it. They’ll be swimming in the nude and goodness knows what else.’

Mother’s intense dislike of David could always be overcome when there was something she thought he could do for her. As her neighbours are a young couple with lots of upmarket friends and throw uproarious parties, her suspicions were not as unlikely as they sounded.

‘Mum, that’s not David’s area of expertise. He’s Major Crime, not on the Council. You’ll have to go there to make a complaint about the pool. The matter of the drugs is the Drug Squad’s area of expertise. How do you know they’re dealing or doing drugs? Have you seen anything which might be the case?’
Better pass it on if she has.
I ran my hand through my hair, debating whether to make coffee for us both – it would keep mother here longer – or to just get her out the door again as fast as I could. She took a little run at me and I backed into the pantry doorway.

‘They have some strange-looking plants in the garden and they’ve always got people coming to visit. It’s not rocket science, Susan. The council won’t listen to me, you know that. Well, can’t
you
ring them?’ Her eyes bulged with excitement.

 ‘Mum, I’m busy. I have two murders to investigate, I’ve only slept for a few hours since Saturday morning. I’m exhausted and haven’t got the time to be phoning the council and arguing with bureaucrats. Put a formal complaint in writing and leave them to sort it out. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?’

‘Yes, they’re building a mosque in Hitchins Street!’

I couldn’t believe she’d left this titbit until last. ‘
What
?’

‘You heard me, Susan. Those Muslims are planning to build a mosque at the back of us! There’ll be thousands of cars coming and going, not to mention that shouting they do. You know, the one where they call everyone and his dog to prayers five times a day. We’re getting up a petition for the Council. They just can’t do it.’

For once I agreed with Mother. ‘Okay, I’ll sign it. Goodness knows what David will say about it.’ Now I understood her concern. We too would be swamped in cars and traffic. Mother’s lips mouéd into a superb cat’s bum, but what she would have said next got lost in the ring tones of my phone.

Anthony Hamilton’s voice thundered down the line. ‘Susan, West End just advised us a couple came in to report their daughter’s missing!

CHAPTER 24

The Visit

Dingo

1994.

It was so exciting! Visitors for the first time he could remember and they had children for him to play with. He’d been too young to remember any playmates when Daddy was there and Mummy wasn’t so angry. At first he’d been frightened and then so shy that they had to push him into the group, but it wasn’t long before he got over-excited. The adults had to calm him down. They made him sit in a circle with the others and play a game where everyone skipped around and dropped a parcel behind someone who had to take a turn to skip. Somehow though he waited, no one dropped the parcel behind him, so he had to pretend it didn’t matter even though he wanted to cry.

In the background, his mother and two ladies drank wine while a baby slept in the pram parked in the corner of the room. For awhile everything went well. The children were given cakes and red cordial which tasted so sweet that he could hardly swallow it. He spilled some down the front of his new white shirt, but – apart from a look which he knew boded badly for later – his mother didn’t say a word. Then the other children wanted to go outside, but he wasn’t allowed. ‘You
know
you can’t leave the house!’ his mother hissed, as she dragged him back into the lounge room by his shirt sleeve. Her guests stopped talking. Something about the way they looked at his mother made him uneasy, but within a few moments they turned back to the table.