Johnno was on the outskirts of the crowd, pacing back and forth. He looked like a caged animal, and if what Tane said was true, Lentford was his prison. A young woman nearby waved to him. He responded by raising his head once. She ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck and they walked away, their figures swallowed up in the shadow of the oaks.
Before it got too dark Miller took her camera from her bag and took photos of the gathered crowd. Seeing Eric, she lowered her camera and watched him slowly moving forward, face blank, staring at nothing, ignoring the chatter around him. As people passed him, a space opened up and she saw him pushing a wheelchair. A woman, dressed in a thin cotton dress that looked like a nightgown, sat in the chair, a thin blanket on her lap, her bony hands resting on the back of a Yorkshire terrier that barked and snapped at anyone who dared look in its direction. The woman looked up at Eric in what Miller could only describe as adoration, her mouth moving. Eric bent down and gave her a stiff smile. The smile was gone before he’d righted himself.
Lou and Jay were standing on the outside of the crowd that was coming together.
‘Hi, Miller,’ Jay said with a smile, which Miller returned.
‘How about a photo you two?’ She raised the camera.
Lou held his hand up to his face. ‘God no.’
She laughed and lowered it. ‘How are your hands?’ she asked Jay.
He held up his left palm, which was covered with a large beige plaster. ‘Not too bad. And you?’
Miller did the same to him. ‘Fine.’ He inspected her knuckles, his hand lightly brushing hers, causing her to blush and change the subject. ‘I’m not sure about the idea of a candlelit vigil in this kind of weather.’
Jay raised his eyebrows. ‘Good point. Not sure if I’m up to putting out any fires tonight.’ He smiled at Miller. ‘What do you think, Lou?’
‘Bloody ridiculous,’ Lou grumbled. ‘I told Maggie, but she said everyone would be responsible. We’ll see.’
‘I’ve just been talking to your lovely wife about her interview for the paper, Lou.’
‘What’s this?’ Jay asked.
‘Mags has just been appointed president of the Lion’s Club,’ Lou said, his chest pushed out in pride.
‘Good on her,’ Jay said. ‘I remember my dad being in the Lions. Been around for a while, eh?’
‘Over sixty years, so Mags tells me,’ Lou said.
‘Miller,’ Jay said, turning to her. ‘I read your article on Cassie...’
‘Hughes,’ Miller said, when she saw he was floundering.
‘Right. Good read. Sad story, though.’ He shook his head.
‘Very,’ Miller agreed. ‘We’re hoping someone will come forward with some new info.’
‘Been a while hasn’t it?’ Lou asked. ‘I remember when they found her body. Jeez, the uproar it caused. Although it had nothing on the circus of the last couple of weeks.’
‘Well, I hope something comes from it,’ Jay said. He looked away and over Miller’s head. ‘Looks like it’s starting.’
‘Ah jeez, I don’t even know why I’m here,’ mumbled Lou.
‘Um, to support the community, Lou? To remember three murdered women, maybe?’ Jay’s tone was teasing. ‘Cmon, it’s the least we can do.’
The three of them walked into the crowd. Miller stood behind Cassie and Tiff. They were standing close together, bare shoulders touching. Tiff turned and noticed Miller staring. Her top lip curled into a snarl and she turned back to face the front.
There were two teenage girls standing to Miller’s right. They pointed at Cassie. ‘That’s her,’ one said in a whisper that really wasn’t. ‘Cassie Hughes. The one in the paper.’
The friend nodded knowingly. Miller noticed other people looking in Cassie and Tiff’s direction. The whispering started: ‘Margaret Hughes.’ ‘Murder.’ ‘Old dairy factory.’ ‘Body.’ ‘Karl Taylor.’ ‘Never found him.’ As the information was passed around, Cassie was oblivious, deep in conversation with Tiff. When Tiff nuzzled Cassie’s neck, Miller heard the two teenage girls giggle. One of them said, ‘Oh my god! She’s gay!’ Cassie, obviously hearing this, stepped away from Tiff, her hands clenched at her side.
The two loudspeakers to the left and right of the small group at the front let out deafening feedback, which caused some to cover their ears and the assembled group to quieten. The mayor, Keith Walker, began to talk, welcoming everyone, especially Lorraine and Emmeline’s boyfriend Adam, who were both standing at the front with him. Adam looked straight ahead, his eyes lifted, looking over the crowd. Lorraine pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger, blinked rapidly then looked around the crowd, nodding at different people, drawing, Miller thought, strength from everyone. Miller took a few more photos and then put the camera in her bag.
Lorraine whispered something to Adam. He squeezed her hand and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and stepped forward, taking the microphone from the mayor. ‘For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Lorraine Jenson, otherwise known as Tamara’s mum,’ she said with a smile, and the gathering smiled along with her. ‘My beautiful, caring girl was taken from us almost three weeks ago. The way in which she left this world was... horrific, and one that I don’t wish to dwell on. Tonight we are here for her, not for the person who took her. He doesn’t deserve to be in anyone’s thoughts. He doesn’t deserve to be known.’
People nodded and murmured their agreement.
‘Tonight is for Tamara, for Emmeline.’ She turned and looked at Adam. ‘And for Madi. Three women taken too soon in the most violent way. We remember them for who they were and not for how they died.’
People made their way around the crowd lighting the candles. Almost immediately someone dropped a lit one. Miller held her breath as the dry grass ignited but it was dampened by a gumboot-clad foot.
‘Thank you for coming tonight. It means so—’ and that’s when she broke down. Maggie was at her side, an arm around her as the closing-in darkness was lit with hundreds of candles. Adam stood on the other side, candle in one hand, the other on Lorraine’s shoulder.
The minister from the Anglican church said a prayer which was punctuated with shouts and screams from younger kids who had been dragged along and were playing tag on the perimeter of the gathering. ‘Can we please now have a moment of silence for Tamara, Madi and Emmeline.’
And after a few last shouts of laughter from the kids and a few grizzles from tired babies, there was silence, as if even they knew this was important. Miller turned and looked towards the back where Beatrice, William and Logan were standing. Logan, separate from his parents, his lit candle held close to his face, illuminating his doughy features. He was looking around, then met Miller’s gaze with a glimmer of a smile.
‘Thank you so much, everyone,’ the minister said, and turned to Lorraine, talking in low comforting tones.
The mayor took the microphone. ‘I know this is a hard time for Lentford,’ he said. ‘But we need to stick together. There’s no point in blaming and gossiping. It does us no good. This person will be found, and he will be brought to justice.’
Ngaire had told Miller that Keith Walker had been the mayor of Lentford for the last twenty years. He was almost seventy and had kept the job because no one else wanted it. He carried on speaking, his expressionless voice reverberating around the village green. He spoke about Lentford being held hostage. How no one was safe. Especially women. His speech had gone downhill and people were starting to murmur, uneasy.
‘Women need to take precautions,’ he said. ‘These women were attacked in their own homes, where they should’ve felt safe.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Women of Lentford, you need to be aware of what is going on around you to keep yourselves safe.’
‘So we just add that to the list, do we?’
The woman who had spoken was a few metres away from Miller, towards the front. She was in h
er thirties, black cropped hair, a head taller than many around her. Her voice was strong and rang out loud and clear as the murmuring stopped. ‘So as well as jamming our keys between our fingers as we walk to our car or front door, checking the back seat of our cars before we get in, as well as not walking home by ourselves after dark, or going running by ourselves. As well as taking self-defence classes all to get home safely – where apparently, we should be worried about our home now too if, god forbid, we’ve chosen to live alone. We’re to lock ourselves up at night in our homes. Ignore the sweltering temperatures and close every window just in case some psycho’s going to break in and attack us.’
Miller heard shouts of agreement around her.
‘Here’s a thought,’ the woman continued. ‘How about the cops catch this son of a bitch so we can get our town back?’
There was a loud cheer. Miller had to admit, she was with the woman. Lorraine walked away with Maggie and Adam towards the main street. They didn’t need to hear this. They’d already lost their loved ones. No safeguarding had worked for Emmeline or Tamara.
‘Well,’ said Walker, looking around, a drowning man well out of his depth, ‘maybe Detective Prata could come up and say a few words.’
Miller winced at the mispronunciation of Kahu’s name. She hadn’t seen Kahu, but he must have been close to the front as he walked forward, took the microphone without his usual easy smile and looked out into the crowd.
‘Kia ora koutou,’ he said to the crowd, catching Miller’s eye and then moving on. ‘You need to know that we’re doing everything possible to catch whoever’s doing this. I am well aware the process seems slow, but we have many leads we’re looking into.’
Miller knew he hated doing stuff like this and wasn’t about to do what people wanted: make a promise that this man would be caught. He’d never get people’s hopes up like that.
‘What fuckin’ leads?’ someone yelled from the back. ‘You go on about these leads. But you still haven’t got him.’
This started the crowd off again.
‘I understand your frustration,’ Kahu said, ever diplomatic. ‘But if you just let the police do their job, we’ll do our best to get this guy.’
‘Fuckin’ bullshit,’ someone else called back.
That’s when the yelling and shouting started. Anyone with any kind of grievance against the police, be it to do with the Scarf Killer or something else, started hurling abuse at Kahu. Someone threw a bottle that hit Kahu in the face. He dropped the microphone and turned away from the crowd. Ash sprinted off in the direction of the main street in pursuit of two men, and Bull moved into the crowd, getting everyone to disperse.
Walker grabbed the microphone and in a slightly panicked voice told everyone to move on. Candles were blown out, plunging the village green into darkness, leaving the lights up on the main street to guide people back to their cars.
Miller got her phone out, turned on the torch function and made her way against the current of people leaving. She reached Kahu, who was on his feet. She shone the light in his face to check for damage. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, annoyed. ‘Bloody idiots.’ He ran a hand over his cheekbone.
‘You were lucky the bottle didn’t break.’
‘Yeah, lucky.’
A man in a St John’s uniform came over. ‘I’m Hamish Masters. You okay, detective? You need me to check you out? Our station’s just a block over.’
‘Thank you. I’m fine. Really,’ Kahu said. Miller knew he hated the fuss.
‘Sergeant Wirihana got him,’ Hamish said. ‘The guy who threw the bottle. Tamara’s cousin, I believe.’
Kahu sighed. ‘She can let him go. I won’t press charges. I’m going to head back to the hotel. Thanks, Hamish.’
‘I’ll walk you back,’ Miller said, linking her arm into Kahu’s.
The Riverview was only a couple of hundred metres down the road. ‘Want to come in?’ Kahu said as they reached reception and nodded hello to the manager. ‘Not sure if I can sleep any time soon after that.’ He rubbed his cheek and winced.
‘Sure,’ Miller said and turned to the manager. ‘Are you able to send some ice up to Detective Parata’s room, please?’
The manager glanced at Kahu, clearly curious about what had happened, but nodded. If it had been Aubrey, she’d have got the whole story out of them in a minute flat.
They got up to Kahu’s room and the ice arrived in a bowl soon after. Miller grabbed the tea towel on the bench and wrapped a few chunks of ice up and handed it to Kahu. They both sat at the small table in the corner of the large room. ‘Nice digs,’ Miller said. ‘Have you been home recently?’ There was a suitcase on the floor, a jumble of dirty dress shirts and trousers, and an open wardrobe showing two clean shirts and a jacket.
‘Only when I need clean clothes. But there hasn’t been time lately. Cases like this are twenty-four seven. I need to be here.’ Kahu pressed the ice against his cheekbone. ‘We found some trace. What we thought was bits of dirt on the floor in Madi’s room.’
‘Okay...’ Miller wasn’t sure how dirt was supposed to solve a murder case.
‘We got it tested.’
‘And?’ Miller said, hoping there was more.
‘It’s a type of fertiliser. Pony poo basically. Used in gardening.’
‘Huh,’ Miller said, underwhelmed. ‘And?’
‘It’s something. But not a lot.’ He walked over to the kitchenette and got a glass of water.
‘Lou,’ Miller said.
‘What?’ Kahu said, sitting back at the table.
‘Lou, who owns the lawnmowing business.’
‘Oh yeah, I know him. Maggie’s his wife. She introduced herself to me tonight. Pretty full on but a nice woman.’
‘He does gardens, stuff like that.’ Miller knew she was reaching, knew better than to do that around Kahu.
‘Is that it, Miller? Do you actually know him?’
‘No. Not really. He does my lawns. I know him to say hi to and have a chat.’ Miller thought back to the Doddses’ house, their perfect garden and William and Logan’s lush vegetable beds. ‘How about Logan Dodds? Do you know him?’
‘No.’
Miller told Kahu about Logan’s group and the true crime tours.
‘Creepy,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t make him a murderer, though.’
‘He gardens,’ Miller said. ‘Him and his dad have a big veggie patch. He’d use fertiliser like that.’
‘So because he’s a gardener who uses fertiliser, he’s the one who did it.’
‘There’s something about him,’ Miller said.
‘This fertiliser’s just one small piece of trace evidence from Madi’s house. We didn’t find anything like that at the other two. You can’t just grab at something and accuse someone, just because they look or act a bit funny. You know what small towns are like – the gossip, the rumour. You know first-hand how that can ruin a person’s life.’ Kahu took a sip of water. ‘I tell you this stuff because it’s what we do, isn’t it. We talk about work. We bitch and we complain and then we get on with it. I don’t share this stuff with you so you can start a wild-goose chase. I know you’re in on this. More than anyone else because of the letters. But you’ve got to keep things in perspective.’ Kahu wiped a hand over his face and got up to put the wet tea towel in the sink.
Miller flushed in embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I just—’
‘You just didn’t think. You get a whiff of something and you’re like a dog with a bone.’ Kahu shook his head.
‘I know, I know. Comes with the job, I guess.’
‘Miller,’ Kahu said, sitting back down at the table with her, ‘we’ll look at everyone. Almost anyone could be a suspect. But we do it quietly and we do it thoughtfully. No rushing head-on and accusing someone of murder when we don’t have all the facts.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Kahu shook his head, putting a hand on Miller’s. ‘It’s just, this one’s getting to me. It’s taking too long. It’s Tuesday today, and I’m scared there’s going to be another one, and then another one after that.’
‘Will you look into Logan?’ Miller rose from her chair, knowing she was pushing it.
Kahu snorted. ‘You really are like a dog with a bone.’
‘Sometimes I’m right, though.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Kahu admitted. ‘Get out of here. I’ve got an early start. Have you got your car? You’re not walking, are you?’
‘No, it’s just down the street. I’ll be fine.’ Miller got her keys out and jammed them between her fingers, a ready weapon. ‘This is Lentford, after all.’
Miller got back to her car and cursed as she turned the ignition – nothing. She loved her old Triumph but hated how temperamental it was. She tried a couple more times with no luck. She’d call Steve the mechanic first thing in the morning for a jump-start. He’d done it three times since she’d been here. Home was only a fifteen-minute walk. The main street was quiet; everyone from the vigil long gone.
She passed the Royal which looked as if it was just closing. People were scattering to cars or walking home. Fifty metres up, she turned left off the main street. It got darker here, the residential streets not as well lit. The heavy sound of footfalls came from nowhere, chasing the comfortable silence away.
She turned, her heart thumping. Two men were racing towards her. There was no doubt in her mind they were coming for her. She deliberated for a few seconds – run back to town, to the Riverview, or run home? She was closer to home. She turned and broke into a sprint, but those few seconds of deliberation had cost her. Even at a sprint, the two men were on her. One grabbed her shoulder, halting her stride, making her stumble.
The Murder Club (A Miller Hatcher Novel Book 2) Page 22