After Ariel: It started as a game (31 page)

‘I’ve never regretted my lifestyle, Pammie, but the one thing I wish I’d done was hitch up to Parry and have a child before...well, you know. It’s too late now for me to have a baby and I don’t know any bloke I’d want to get that close to.’

‘But Goldie, you’re only thirty-one! You might very well meet someone else one day. You can’t discount that possibility, and women are having first babies in their forties now!’

‘Oh Pam, don’t buy into that myth. We only hear about the successful births. They don’t publicise the thousands of IVF treatments that are failures.’ I remembered she had written a particularly poignant article which included an interview with a woman who had tried to have a baby in her late forties and left it too late. ‘My career was too important to me,’ the woman had confessed. ‘I always thought I had time.’

‘Well, I still say you have stacks of time, mate. You’ve barely scratched the surface of the men out there,’ I said, resolutely.

‘Yeah and where’s a decent one amongst them? You know I’ve not been celibate since Parry died, Pammie, but there’s not one that I wanted to sleep with twice – well, maybe a couple, but with our jobs it’s here today and gone tomorrow.’ She’d sighed and poured us another glass of port, making it clear that she didn’t want to pursue the topic.

What with our tangled schedules – my career had started to hot up, thank God – and Goldie spending little time in a place where we could meet, there hadn’t been many opportunities for uninterrupted time. Now, just when we’d gotten together again, a monster had taken Goldie’s life. I knew my cousin well enough to understand that wherever she was, she would be furious that a “common or garden” man had done what the Taliban had failed to achieve.

Meanwhile, there was Parry’s portrait to be packed up and that was a priority. That led to another speculation. Alex and Fiona would want access to the house to pick up mementos of their daughter. I would have to ring them and, please God, it wouldn’t be Alex who answered. I couldn’t cope with him. Perhaps he had always disliked me? But wouldn’t I have known if that were so? Could he have hidden his feelings successfully for the past four years? Much of the time I had been overseas and met Goldie at various sites around the world. Only twice had I come back to Brisbane and spent time with her here.
Now I come to think of it. I don’t really know him all that well...

Fiona and I were closer. An image from a couple of years ago flashed into my mind – a bird-leg thin arm with purple bruising around the wrist. ‘Caught my wrist in the strap of my handbag, dear,’ Fiona had explained, and changed the subject. Having just seen Grant in action and recalling Alex in a rage one of the few times I’d been in his house, I wondered.
Would Goldie have known if her father was abusing her mother? She wasn’t home much, but domestic abuse goes on for years and if indeed, that had been happening she must have seen something. Had it started later, after she left home? I’d heard victims were good at hiding spouse abuse.

I’d never know for sure now unless Fiona opened up to me and she was unlikely to do that. Would I find any evidence in Goldie’s home? Should I let the Humphries’ have full reign? No. I’d go through my cousin’s papers first and make sure there wasn’t anything there that her father could take, like diaries. Unless they already had...

Unless I refurbished it, I would forever see Goldie’s body lying at the foot of the stairs, but selling it would be even worse as far as Alex was concerned, as though I was so ungrateful I didn’t care what happened to it. Just then, I glanced up. Right in front of me, almost as though Goldie had sent me a message, was a locksmith’s shop. Five minutes later, I had made arrangements to meet one of their “smiths” at Goldie’s house later that afternoon. 

Just then, my mobile signalled a text message.  ‘Dinner 2nite? AH.’

My brain scrambled to compute who that was, then the “penny dropped.”

‘Lovely thk u!’

‘C u 7.30?’

‘G8. Wh 2?’

‘Chinese?’

‘Y.’

Anthony was taking me to dinner! I wondered how he had wrangled that, aware that anything could change and he might have to cancel. In the mean time, what was I going to wear? Knowing he didn’t want anyone, namely his work colleagues, knowing that we were together, meant most likely a suburban restaurant, so warm slacks, long-sleeved blouse and a sweater would be the thing. I shrugged. That was the least of my worries. My intention was to meet up with the group for lunch! I put the car into gear and pulled into the traffic.

Silvers Restaurant is an upmarket, glamorous establishment. Situated behind lattice work to protect its precious customers from the hoi poloi, it features lots of trendy statues which look as though they would be more at home in a cow paddock. Greenery and running water merely made me want to go to the loo. I sidled into the foyer to be greeted by a glamorous twenty-something young woman – is there a run on “Miss Worlds” in West End? – who looked at me as though I was something she’d scraped off the pavement. Before she had time to enquire whether I was meeting someone, I was hailed from behind a jungle of ferns.

‘Pam! We’re here!’ A face from the violins popped through like the Cheshire Cat. I scurried around the Greek urns, passing a table full of what appeared to be office girls, all texting on their mobiles.  A hug from Ally and Brie, who looked relaxed – no doubt because the twins were with his parents, who definitely wouldn’t be relaxed – a surprising kiss from Vlad the Impaler (perhaps I should be honoured?) a big smile from Bill Seymour and happy hellos from the rest. Some I recognised but one or two were new to me. Lance Macpherson, looking like everybody’s favourite grandson, hailed me from the bar.

Someone pulled a chair out for me and I plopped myself down next to a tall, handsome lad new to the orchestra. He introduced himself as Craig Douglas. On the other side of the table, Vlad leaned back in his chair and bared his teeth in a wolfish smile.
Crikey, the man was not only dangerous but a work of art!
In spite of the fact that he wasn’t “into” me, I could tell that my long conversation with Craig annoyed him. Always the little prince, Rezanov obviously thought he warranted special attention. I deliberately let him wait while I checked out Douglas, who you wouldn’t kick out of bed for scattering biscuit crumbs either.

Three women whom I’d observed around the music scene giggled and told funny stories about people they’d met. Ally obviously wanted to come and sit by me, but contented herself by wiggling her eyebrows appreciatively at the men flanking me. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she signalled, in the way that only lifelong friends and sisters understand. Finally, Vlad and Craig each got up and went to talk to other people; a woman I had met once or twice moved into the chair to my right. We were happily surprised to discover that we would be in London at the same time and made arrangements to hook up. Bill Seymour joined us and added in some amusing anecdotes from his time playing with the orchestra and then taking up his job as manager of the concert hall, before moving over to talk to a violinist whom I knew had recently joined the Pacific. From the expression on his face, he might be about to make a move on her.
Thank goodness.

At first I thought I was just being paranoid, but something felt “off.” It wasn’t anything I could put my “finger on” so to speak, but someone either in our group or nearby, was paying attention to me. A sudden movement nearby felt furtive. Had someone put something in their pocket or said something? I couldn’t be sure. A chill settled in my gut. I debated whether to bolt to the restrooms.
No, don’t show you know you’re being watched.
Should I tell Ally? She was deep in conversation with Craig Douglas.
Careful Pam, be normal. Show nothing
.

I allowed my gaze to roam the room. The girls at the table next to us had given up texting their friends for the time being and were actually talking to each other. Wait-staff rushed to and fro with meals. No one made eye contact. I ducked my head and scooped up the last of my meal, then blotted my lips with my table napkin – the movement was so infinitesimal as to be non-existent, but it had happened! Halfway to my right...as I turned, the configuration of bodies changed.
Damn. Should I tell Anthony tonight?
He might want to charge around and arrest everyone here. More likely he’d tell me not to be so silly.

All appeared to be normal again, but someone was far too interested in me and not in a good way.

CHAPTER 33

Getting Closer

Dingo

Tuesday, 1.30PM

Dingo’s underground life as a child and teenager had long trained him in the art of utilising his peripheral vision to his best advantage. Frances’ lightning blows had taught him to dodge like a boxer, her verbal assaults bouncing off him like summer rain. When his mother’s death had finally cast off the shackles of incarceration, in spite of – or even because of – his teenage nocturnal lifestyle, initially he thrived.

His fellow students were too juvenile to hide their emotions. In spite of his open and charming public profile, Dingo
knew
how to be a non-person, having learned over the years to cloak himself in invisibility, to vanish into the woodwork merely by being still, allowing others to focus on themselves and their companions rather than himself. The moment when they forgot him was when their secrets came out.

Dingo “did” secrets well.

Lunch was a blast. Renowned for its seafood menu, the smell of succulent prawn pasta, great chunks of salmon and hot chips wafted from the plates of his companions. Surrounded by fellow musicians, catching up with the latest gossip and in-jokes served to both excite and calm him. He made sure he got the opportunity to sit next to Pamela Miller during the shuffle of positions between courses.

‘Hey Pam, how’re you doing? You excelled yourself Saturday night!’ He leaned close, smiling into her eyes, trying to ignore the small bandage peeping out from under her riotous curls. ‘I know you have a couple more concerts here, but where to after that?’
As if he didn’t know.

‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’ She beamed back at him, eyes twinkling, as she gave him her overseas itinerary, culminating in a performance before royalty. Clearly excited by the prospect, she was going to keep talking, but he couldn’t have that.

‘You’ll get your photo taken with them, that’ll be something to remember! But you’re a bit of a photographic nut yourself, aren’t you?’

Pam looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Yes, I like taking photos but my cousin, Goldie –' she closed her eyes momentarily and swallowed. ‘– was an expert. It was in all the papers.’

‘I’m so sorry. You got my messages? It must be very hard for you.’
And it’ll be a lot harder for you if I can’t find that camera...
‘I guess your cousin must have taught you a lot about photography then?’ He smiled in what he hoped was a beguiling manner and seeing her glass empty, picked up the nearest bottle of chardonnay.

‘I’m driving! No more thanks, but I will have some juice. Yes, Goldie did give me some tips, but I’m strictly amateur.’

He stood and leaned across the table for a jug of orange juice. ‘Would you like to go out to dinner some time?’

Pam touched his hand. ‘Thank you, but I’m actually seeing someone right now.’

He forced a grin. ‘Lucky bloke! So what sort of camera do you have?’

Confusion swept across her face. ‘I don’t actually have a camera, but Goldie lent me hers the other day. I thought I might – ’ 

Just then, Ally Mochrie bounced around the table and inserted herself between them. ‘How’re you doing, Dingo? Saturday went well for our girl, didn’t it?’ She nudged him in the ribs and laughed. Rage surged through him. Just as he was getting to the point of the camera, fucking Ally Mochrie had to interfere. 
Thanks a lot. Now I’ll never know what she’s done with the damn thing. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven...

‘Dingo?’ Pam’s eyes widened. ‘But – ’

Ally roared with laughter. Dingo wanted to strangle her there and then. ‘Oh, that’s his nickname from the UK! So how’ve you been, mate?’

The moment was lost, but he now knew she had the journalist’s other camera, the one that
had
to have his and Ariel’s photos on it. He smiled at Ally, to all intents and purposes, carrying on a lively conversation, but a lifetime of hiding his feelings meant his brain was working at lightning speed...there was only one thing left to do.

.

CHAPTER 34

Breakthrough

Susan

Tuesday, 2PM

Fear sent me into a state where I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that David was hadn’t phoned me. I’d left countless messages begging him to ring. Pete Moffatt wasn’t answering either and no one at Toowoomba seemed to know where he was. If they did they were only saying he was busy on a case.

My stress levels were far too high.

I moved papers around on my desk. Reports on Ariel Maxwell and Marigold Humphries couldn’t hold my attention for more than a few minutes at a time. I debated whether to call in my Senior Sergeants and confess that I could no longer function as the leader in these murders. I still hadn’t spoken to Pamela Miller after meeting her outside the Humphries’ house. The perp hadn’t ransacked the house. Perhaps the camera was clearly visible after the attack. Maybe he was too scared to touch anything else, or maybe it was just a case of being interrupted.

‘Susan?’

Anthony Hamilton loomed in the doorway. I swept aside the reports and swung around, delighted to see he was holding two containers of what looked like hot coffee in his hands. ‘Just pop them there, Anthony. How did you guess I was dying for a cup?’

A dark chocolate chuckle burst out of him. ‘We’re cops. It’s in the training manual!
’ Oh, you’ll go far my lovely. Now, what are you up to?

We sipped our lattés in silence for a few minutes before he came to the point. ‘Pamela Miller would appear to be no longer a suspect, Ma’am.’ He looked me straight in the eye.