The Year I Went Pear-Shaped (15 page)

Chapter 30: Fuzz in da House

Gordon’s hands were shaking so hard he could hardly press the numbers. His face was wet with tears of rage and grief. He had been sobbing so hard it had felt like he’d been choking. Dry, wracked sobs that tore at his throat. On his kitchen table were a pile of letters with red stains on their white envelopes.

A warm but efficient woman’s voice picked up at the other end.

“Good morning. NSW Police.”

“Yes, hi, De- Detective Warren Jenkins please.”

“Putting you through to his extension now Sir.”

Gordon listened to the phone ring four times. On the fifth ring a man picked up.

“Detective Jenkins.”

“Warren, hi, it’s Gordon Worsley.”

“Ah, good morning Gordon! How’s it going? Have you had another letter from the looney fan?”

“I wish it was just a letter. No, it’s a bit more serious this time Warren, I’m scared to be honest.”

He told Warren about the decapitated cat and the love heart written in blood on his back window.

“Jesus. I hate to say it Gordo but I think we’ve got a psychopath on our hands and she’s probably not going to just go away if you ignore her.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression myself but what the hell do I do about it Warren?”

There was a pause at the other end.

“Look, don’t panic. I’m going to come round right now with an officer and see if there are any fingerprints or other clues, just sit tight and don’t touch anything, ok? I should be there in about half an hour.”

Gordon checked the clock on the wall. 9.30am.

“Thanks Warren, I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for a fellow club man Gordo! Ok, see you soon.” And he put the phone down.

‘Thank God for the old boys’ network,’ thought Gordon as he fell into a seat at the kitchen table and, with his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands.

He had met Warren about eight years ago when he’d finally been allowed to join his father’s private and very exclusive men’s club. He’d been the youngest new member ever in the club’s history and his father had to pull hard on a few strings to get his son in about five years before some of the older members felt was appropriate. Club members included Sydney’s most influential men and membership was by invitation only but, once accepted to its inner circle, doors all over town magically opened and opportunities laid around every corner.

Gordon didn’t get very involved in the moving and shaking, apart from some discreet property speculation, he just liked having a spectacular golf course at his fingertips and somewhere that he could while away a few hours playing pool with his father and some of the other men over several glasses of the best whisky in Australia. Warren, like Gordon, was also fond of whisky and pool and on many weekends the two men were still competing to pot the black until 3 or 4am on a Sunday morning.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, reality suddenly came rushing back. Chairman Miaow had been murdered by some crazy bitch just to get his attention. Well, she fucking had his full attention now but she was going to be bloody sorry she’d ever even heard of Dr fucking Ramswell if he could get his hands on her. Gordon felt murderous. He’d had Chairman Miaow for 11 years and had loved that cat with all his heart.

‘Fucking, fucking bitch!’ He snarled to himself, the tears coming again. Just then the phone rang. Sighing, he walked over to pick it up.

“Hello, Gordon speaking.”

No one replied but he could hear breathing. White-hot rage filled his throat and belly.

“You fucking insane bitch!” He spat down the receiver. “I am going to ring your insane little neck if I ever get my hands on you. You’re a sick, sick fucking bitch!”

She laughed, it sounded mocking and ugly.

“Oh Gordon darling, you only have yourself to blame. I warned you. All you needed to do was write one little letter back to me. Hardly much to ask after the 300 or so letters I’ve written to you over the last three years. We’re meant for each other Gordon, I’m just trying to make you see that but you were being particularly stubborn so desperate measures were called for.”

“Listen to me you stupid, vindictive little whore. I hate you. Do you understand that? You’re vile. You disgust me. We will never ever be together. In fact, I want you to kill yourself. Will you do that for me? Cut your own fucking throat?”

The woman sighed. “You’re so passionate Gordon. I guess that’s why I love you. It’s one of the many things we have in common. Now, listen to me Sweetheart, unless you give in to me this is just going to get worse for you. The cat was just the start. And you should tell your mag hag girlfriend that I know where the bitch lives...”

With that Gordon slammed the phone down. For a moment he couldn’t move his legs and his whole body shook with disbelief, fury and fear. His heart hammered inside his ribcage and he realised he was going to throw up. He rushed over to the kitchen sink just as the bile, acid and partly digested food rushed up his throat and erupted out of his mouth, splattering the silver basin with yellow and brown slime. Three more times he felt his esophageus contract and convulse until there was nothing left in his stomach to come out and he was dry retching. Finally, it was over. Still leaning over the sink, he turned on both the hot and cold taps and watched as everything that had been in his stomach minutes ago, swirled down the plughole. Taking a glass from the dish rack and filling it with water, he rinsed his mouth out and spat the water into the sink, before taking several long swallows of warm water to soothe his throat.

His mind was in a whirl. The stark realisation that this woman was extremely dangerous had hit him in the gut like an iron fist and he was reeling from the knowledge. Gordon wasn’t used to feeling so out of control and for possibly the first time in his adult life he felt scared and desperate. He knew he needed to warn Darla but he wanted to do it face to face. He’d wait till after he had spoken to the police.

About twenty minutes later, there was a firm knock at the front door. He closed his eyes and sighed with relief before going to open it.

“Thank God it’s you,” he said, smiling at Detective Jenkins and the young officer standing behind him, motioning for them to come in.

“Jesus Gordy, you look bloody awful old man. You could do with a drink, don’t suppose you’ve a bottle of anything stiff sitting around?” Jenkins said as he entered the house. “Ah, this is Officer Richmond by the way; Richmond let me introduce Gordon Worsley.”

The younger man gave Gordon a small respectful nod. “Pleasure to meet you Mr Worsley, please call me Patrick, ” he said, offering his hand. Gordon stepped forward and the men gave each other a short firm handshake.

Somewhere in his mid twenties, Patrick was at least six foot and had the broad shoulders and thick neck of a rugby player. His jet-black hair accentuated his milky white skin not often found in Sydney. His earnest blue eyes shone with health but a long red scar ran down the right side of his face starting at the corner of his eye and finishing just a couple of centimetres from his jaw line. His nose appeared to have been broken at some stage.

“You too Patrick, call me Gordon. And thanks for coming round at such short notice.”

He led the two officers into the living room at the back of the house and headed for the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Glenfiddich Reserve and three small glasses.

“Ah, not for Richmond thanks Gordo, he’s on duty,” Jenkins said, turning to smile at the younger officer. “Sorry Paddy, no drinking on the job till you’re at least chief inspector.”

“No problem Sir,” he replied.

Gordon poured two neat whiskies and passed one to Jenkins. The men clinked glasses and threw the contents down their throats in one movement.

“Ahhh. That’s better. Now, lets get on with it. Show me what you found Gordon,” Jenkins said.

“Ok, well I found the Chairman’s head first. Like I told you on the phone, it was in the mailbox. I didn’t see it at first because there were a few letters covering it that must’ve been put there by the postie this morning. I saw the head when I picked them up. I’ve left it there. I don’t want to touch it to be honest. Anyway, I figured his body must be around somewhere so I went looking for it, I think I was in shock to be honest. I found the body out there,” he said, pointing to the big glass doors that stood open at the back of the room. The men walked over and stepped outside to inspect the carcass still lying in a circle of semi-dried blood. Looking at the love heart, Jenkins turned to Officer Richmond, “Paddy, have a good look around, take polaroids before you touch anything then see if there are any fingerprints, foot prints, detritus he or she might’ve dropped, whatever. Go talk to the neighbours, see if they noticed anything unusual or different last night then prepare the body and the head for taking back to forensics. I’m going inside to sit Mr Worsley down for a chat.”

Jenkins headed towards the door and motioned for Gordon to follow him. “Come on Gordy, it’s time to tell me absolutely everything.”

Chapter 31: Nip and Tuck

Monday morning. 10am. I sat quietly as Naomi, Roxy and Arabella discussed me like I wasn’t sitting right next to them.

“Ok,” said Roxy, “Some serious liposuction I think. I mean, obviously, she’ll have to go and talk to the surgeon about what’s realistic and what he’s willing to do but hopefully he’ll be fine with sorting out her thighs, a bit off the upper arm and under her chin but most of all, that stomach has got to go.”

Rox paused for breathe and checked her notes.

“At the same time as the lipo, I want her to have an eyelift, a bit of botox in the forehead and around the mouth, plus collagen injections to give her decent lips. And I don’t think it would hurt to have a bit of dermabrasion on her face to get rid of few faint acne scars, fine lines and freckles.”

Naomi and Arabella nodded solemnly punctuating Roxy’s monologue of my physical shortcomings with the odd ‘mmm’ or ‘yes, quite’. Occasionally they’d look at me but only to check something like just how deep the wrinkles were around my eyes.

“And how do you feel about breast implants and a little lift?” Obviously Roxy wasn’t asking me. Naomi and Arabella turned to check me out again, turning their heads to the left and right as they scrutinised my chest.

“Ummmm, yes, well why not I guess,” Arabella said. “If she’s going to be on the operating table anyway, I suppose it can’t hurt to sort her tits out.”

Cheers Arabella. No really. Thanks. Thanks a bunch.

“Then of course there’s the laser hair removal, I’m thinking bikini line, half leg and armpits. That would be all the big stuff sorted really, then it’s just a case of polishing her up with a fake tan, funky hair cut and colour -- I’m seeing very short platinum blonde -- the brow and lash tints, fake nails and so on.”

“That all sounds brilliant Rox,” said Arabella, smiling. “Any questions from you Darla?”

“Oh. Um, well, I...”

“No? Good. It is pretty straightforward I think and you’ll be under anaesthetic for most of it so nothing for you to worry about at all really. Right, I think that’s it then. Rox, just let Darla know when she’s due in hospital. She’ll need to make sure she’s filed all her other copy in advance in case her surgery falls around deadline.”

Jesus. Typical.

“Ok, I’m trying to get her in about ten days from now...that ok with you Darl?”

I couldn’t seem to speak so I just nodded. After all it was only surgery, how bad could it be?

Chapter 32: Where’s Brad?

Brrrrriiiiiinnnnnng.

“Telstra Directory Assistance. What name please?”

“Harley and Harley Architects,” Gordon enunciated slowly.

“Answering Yes or No, did you say, Taronga Zoo?”

Gordon slapped his hand to his forehead and gritted his teeth. “No!”

“Please wait while you are transferred to a Telstra operator.”

A male human voice picked up the line.

“Hi, you wanted Harley and Harley architects? What town are they in?”

“Yes, Sydney, thanks.”

Gordon waited.

“Hmmm, can’t find anything in Sydney, let me do a NSW search...um, no, nothing in NSW either. How are you spelling Harley?

“H. A. R. L. E. Y.”

“Yep, that’s what I had, I’m sorry Sir, there’s no listing for an architectural firm called Harley and Harley.”

“Ok, thanks,” he sighed,  “I’ll try something else.”

Putting the phone down, Gordon got out the A - K Yellow Pages and looked in the directory under Architect. Turning to the page listed, he ran his index finger down the listings but there was nothing even remotely similar to Harley and Harley. Oh well, he’d just choose one at random. Apart a couple of calls and ‘just a minute, I’ll put you through’s, he ended up talking to a older guy called Russell who said he could come round the next day. Gordon wanted a complete redesign and build of the back of his house. He wanted all reminders of the way Chairman Miaow died to be erased.

Just before hanging up the phone he said, “hey, do you know of an architectural firm with a name like Harley and Harley?”

Russell thought for a moment. “Nope, I’ve been in the business about 35 years and I’ve never heard of them.”

“Thanks.” Weird, thought Gordon. Darla must have the name wrong. He smiled for the first time in about 36 hours, so much for the devoted girlfriend!