After Ariel: It started as a game (36 page)

‘Can I go back to my unit then?’

‘Yes, we’ve finished with your place now. No fingerprints, but they found a skerrick of surgical glove on the lounge room floor. Should be able to get DNA from it and they got some from the pillow. I’ve left your keys with the reception desk downstairs. Talk to you later. Take care.’

I sat down, shaking all over. Of all the people I would never have guessed. Grief and disappointment that someone I knew, liked and admired for his brilliance could do something so terrible not once, but twice – for I had no doubt he had killed my cousin as well – overcame me. Heartbroken, I put my face in my hands and wept.

It wasn’t more than ten minutes later there came a knock on the door. I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and peered out of the window. A uniformed police officer was standing outside, so I opened up and handed over the USB, after which I sat for a few minutes, silently trying to get my thoughts in order.
You’ve not only murdered two women but you’ve ruined the lives of those people and our family, hurt me beyond belief and destroyed your own.
How could you?
My family and that of the young girl would never recover from the loss of our loved ones.

I called a taxi to take me back to my unit to collect the car and change my clothes. After that, I’d see mum, then go and collect my altered dress. It wasn’t far from the coffee shop, but I figured far enough away to not be seen, especially if I raced in and out before...
Dingo
...arrived to meet me.

The fingerprint dust and chaos in my unit was a real turnoff. I scrabbled amongst the pile of my clothes on the bed, found something that wasn’t creased and got out of there as fast as I could. I knew the Body Corporate would be waiting with a tiger net for me. Luckily I owned my unit, but things would get ugly. My lovely home had been violated and I just didn’t know what to do. I just couldn’t live there after what had happened. I decided then and there to sell it as soon as possible, but living in Goldie’s house was not an option either.

Mum was sitting in a chair when I got to the hospital, John by her side. They were drinking tea and laughing when I walked in. Their smiles disappeared the moment they laid eyes on my red swollen eyes. I told them about the break in, but not what and who was on the message stick. I knew enough to keep quiet about that, even though John was a retired copper.
Would it be all over yet? When would they go for him?

Not wanting to be near the action, I cut my visit shorter than I’d intended and went to collect my dress. Finding parking spots has never been easy for me, but this time there was actually one a few doors down from the dress shop. I locked the car and glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before I headed up the street. As I reached the door of the shop, Tia came out of the back office, self consciously touching her battered face. ‘Hi Pam. Come for the dress? It’s ready but you need to try it on again just to be sure it’s okay.’

She ushered me into the dressing room. I stripped off my top and jeans and took the dress she handed through the door. It looked just the right length but I wanted to check the hem length in the long mirror. I smoothed it over my hips and backed up to the door. Not far enough to gauge the length, I opened the fitting room door and backed away, but then I glanced at Tia. Her pinched little face and terrified eyes staring at the shop front window rang alarm bells.

Wild-eyed, hair standing on end, he looked as though he had slept in his clothes for a week. Dark circles under his eyes, ashen faced, he rushed into the shop, panting. ‘Pam,
please
. I saw you coming in here, but I couldn’t wait. You must tell me –
the camera
–’

A figure burst through the door behind him and launched itself at us.

As I went down over the brocade chair, my last sight was of Grant’s vicious face, lips drawn back. Screaming invectives, he threw wild punches, hitting Dingo anywhere he could land them.

I fell heavily on my shoulder. The chair legs tangled in the curtain covering the doorway to the back of the shop and my weight pulled it down. The pole whacked the  stitches and I wound my arms around my head, as the bodies crashed on and around me.

They rolled, kicking and grappling to fall through the dress racks. A manikin went flying and crashed through the glass shop-front. Grant was being choked when I saw something glitter. The two men collapsed onto the floor, rolling over and over, smashing against the counter, knocking over the hat stand, surging into the dressing room and out again. A cascade of costume jewellery poured out of the smashed display case, scattering in a shower of plate glass. Someone was screaming.

 A heavy grunt flowed into a long drawn-out moan.

 Deathly silence.

 A rivulet of blood flowed from under the bodies, spreading and seeping into the plush carpet.

I tried to sit up, but my legs were entangled in the broken chair. I could hear shouting in the distance. Tia had disappeared.
I have to get of here.

Before I could work out how to do that, the tiny shop was flooded with police. Grant was dragged off his victim, howling like a wolf. One of the cops told him to shut his mouth or he’d do it for him. They rolled him onto his face, handcuffed him, hauled him to his feet and bundled him out the door.

My head swam; my limbs wouldn’t unlock from the wood. I couldn’t remember why I’d even come into the shop.

A forest of highly polished black shoes, long, dark blue legs topped with male backsides and cop hardware stood facing away from me. Then a pair of jeaned legs arrived just as paramedics carried in their bags to attend to the prone figure left.

No one appeared to have noticed me lying in the broken chair, half covered in curtain. I was about to shout for help, but then I heard Anthony’s voice:

‘Vladimir Marcus Rezanov, you are under arrest for the murder of Ariel Maxwell and Marigold Humphries. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may later be used in court...’

CHAPTER 39

Promises

Susan

Friday, 9PM.

I’d been right all along, but there was no comfort in it. Two beautiful young women dead, their families and friends devastated. The police prosecutor would collate our evidence; the solicitors and barristers would work up the case. What a pity such talent was going to waste, but maybe he’d teach music in prison and rehabilitate a few.

After Rezanov was delivered to hospital under guard, suffering from a knife wound in the top of his thigh, the scientists had taken over the shop, much to the disgust of the owner, who roundly berated the young assistant and had to be forcibly restrained from throwing her into the street. Finally, the woman contented herself with sacking the girl, publicly and with relish.

Statements taken and paperwork done, hours later I dropped Pam into the more than eager clutches of my Detective Senior Sergeant. She’d talked about putting her lovely unit on the market. ‘I’ll never feel comfortable there again, Susan.’

No prizes for guessing what the future held for her. Rumour had it that Anthony Hamilton had a rather nice stone cottage in New Farm, just large enough for two and a couple of pets. She’d offered to get me four tickets to her Saturday night concert in Ipswich, promising to wear the fiery dress and golden shoes about which we’d heard so much in the media. Apparently, Pam would be asking our Anthony – awash with sisters, one of whom works in the Concert Hall office – to help her talk the manager into giving Tia the job of junior office assistant.

The fallout from Rezanov’s arrest for murder was immense. The world of music – classical and otherwise – had been rocked since his arrest and social media fizzing with disbelief. Current affairs programs analysed ad nauseam, each “talking head” having a different spin on his motivation, ranging from a thwarted love affair with either woman, Marigold Humphries being the prime candidate, to insanity. I favoured insanity.

Earlier, I’d watched the TV news on which the whole drama was played out for the umpteenth time. There was the team, including Evan, Anthony and myself, with our two prisoners. Vladimir Rezanov, renowned concert pianist, pitifully dazed and disoriented, was surrounded by paramedics, after
swee
t,
gentle
Grant Winslow, was handcuffed and dragged out, screaming with rage. Waving her arms in the background, was Pam’s young friend and fan, Tia from the dress shop, sporting a great black bruise down the left side of her face and a bleeding nose, crying her eyes out.

Pam had told us that Grant had previously beaten Tia up for exchanging a few words with the pianist in the street, as well as talking to her boss’s son. When he’d seen Rezanov go into the shop, Grant had jumped to the conclusion that young Tia was cheating on him. At least the little monster couldn’t get to her again – for now.

Still no word from David, but I was too exhausted to stay up waiting for him to call. Deciding that I would apply in the morning for a week’s leave, hopefully effective immediately, I let the dogs out and waited for them to finish their business. ‘Bedtime, you lot!’ I poured myself a hot drink, checked that the rats had been fed, made a mental note to pay the kid next door for her work and buy more food for them. Then, ordering the dogs to their beds in the laundry, I tottered off to my own, where Fat Albert and Genevieve lurked, plotting to push me out to whichever edge they could manage.

I was out like a light the moment my head hit the pillow.

*

It was the sound of footsteps which alerted me to someone in the house. Fearful, I sat up and reached for the bedside phone, surprised the dogs hadn’t barked. I heard the laundry door open. ‘Susan?’

‘David!’ I scrambled to get out of bed, but suddenly he was there and the light was on. He bounded over to the bed, sat down and swept me into his arms.

‘You’re safe. Oh thank God you’re safe! And you didn’t ring.’ My voice came out scratchy; tears ran down my cheeks.

‘No time.’ His cold face pressed against mine. As he squeezed me, something squeaked. He stepped back and reached into his pocket to pull out a minute ginger kitten. ‘Got left behind after the RSPCA cleaned out the animals at the dog fight. One of the blokes found him in the grass! I know I promised to phone you, I’m sorry.’

What
...? ‘You
were
under-cover. And what am I? A repository for unwanted cats?’ I gathered the tiny animal to my chest...my eyes snapped open. It was pitch black. Where was David? The kitten? I wriggled across the bed and switched on the light. The cats raised their heads to look at me in disgust. My heart pounded; nausea welled. It had been a dream! Did this mean that he had appeared because...
No no! A dog fight?
Terror shot through me; perspiration broke out over my body
.

Imprisoned in the sheets, blankets and cats, I couldn’t get close enough to the bedside clock to read the time without my glasses. I rolled as close as I could. 4am.
He still hadn’t phoned.
I picked up the receiver to check that nothing was wrong with the line. The dial tone burred in my ear. Disgusted, I slammed it back into its cradle. If he’d called my mobile it would have rung downstairs on the charger and when it didn’t answer, he would have dialed the phone in the bedroom.

I cupped the growing mound in my tummy. Panic swept me into a maelstrom of fear for my husband, my lover, the father of my soon to be four children.
Please God, I promise never to doubt you again if you just let him come home safely.

The future stretched ahead, barren, empty, without hope...

And then the phone rang.

THE END.

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****

A DARK AND LONELY PLACE, The next in the Susan Prescott novels.

With just 24 hours left to live, Marcus Gerald Haynes drew up his bucket list. It was done with much laughing and good humour around a roaring fire, quaffing good wine with a group of five friends. He wouldn’t have laughed quite as loudly or long if he had known that one of those friends would cut his list lamentably short.

If you asked anyone who knew Gerry well, they would have said he was a meticulous worker, a good friend and a good listener.

In fact, Gerry was more than a good listener. He was an avid one, a trait which would prove to be his downfall.

(Hopefully to be published in 2016)

***

BIOGRAPHY

Diana Hockley lives in a Queensland country town, with her husband, Andrew and two pet rats and Andrew’s tiny tyrant budgerigar. She and her husband once owned a mouse circus which travelled throughout Queensland and northern New South Wales. The Hockley’s bred Scottish Highland cattle until their retirement seven years ago and are dedicated animal welfare supporters of the Animal Welfare League, Destiny Donkey Farm/Rescue, RSPCA, SPANA, Animals Australia and Animals Asia

The Hockleys have three adult children and three grandchildren.

Diana is an avid reader, and produces and presents a weekly classical music program on community radio. She has written a considerable number of short stories and articles some of which are available on Amazon. Her work has been showcased in Australia, the UK and USA, and she edits, writes and reviews for the Californian online magazine, Kings River Life, and has had work published in Mezzo Magazine, Honestly Woman (Australia) the Highlander, Austin Times (AUS & UK) It’s Rat’s World, Solaris (UK) Literary Journal, University of Michigan (USA) Foliate Oak (USA) and children’s website, Billabong. In 2006 prizes in Scenic Rim Arts Festival for Poetry and fiction.