Fatal Liaison

by Vicki Tyley

  When he took his hands away and looked back, the person was gone. A second later, he glimpsed a tall figure dressed from head to toe in black striding down the wide footpath, away from him and towards the main gates. Something about the man looked familiar. Only the hand of his mother searching for his prevented Greg from taking chase.

  Progress had been slow. The weather was closing in and there were still a number of people waiting to speak to them. His mother looked weary, her face grey and haggard. Knowing that friends would understand, he placed his hand in the small of her back and gently propelled her in the direction of the car.

  The first drops of rain fell just as they reached the black limousine. Opening the car door for his mother, he happened to glance back. Amongst the mourners darting for cover, he spotted Megan Brighton. By the time he’d helped his mother into the rear seat, closed the door, and turned around, she’d disappeared from sight.

  CHAPTER 31

  Within minutes of returning home, Megan stood naked in her bedroom, her clothes abandoned in a heap on the floor.

  Running the shower as hot as she could stand it, she eased her body under the jets of steaming water. For a few moments she stood motionless, her eyes closed, letting the water wash over her, rinsing away the uneasy, almost tangible taint left by the funeral.

  What had prompted her to go to the cemetery in the first place? Unless she’d known the deceased person intimately, she normally would’ve found any excuse to avoid a funeral. She hadn’t even met Samantha Jenkins. Funerals are about the dead, Megan reminded herself, but they are meant for the living. She’d been there as a mark of respect for Greg, right? So then why had she been so reluctant to approach him? That she couldn’t answer.

  She scrubbed her body from head to toe, emerging from the shower with her skin pink and tingling. After wrapping one towel around her body and another around her head in a turban, she cleaned her teeth. Only after she’d gargled and spat out a mouthful of foul-tasting mouthwash did she begin to feel remotely human.

  Exchanging the towel around her body for a freshly laundered toweling robe, she headed to the study for a notepad and pen. She was due back at work, but work could wait. Something in her head was still not adding up. Writing it down on paper might help.

  She made a cup of Earl Grey tea and settled down at the table. Using both hands to cradle the cup, she sipped the hot aromatic liquid, staring over the rim at the lined but blank notepad in front of her. Greg was the one with the analytical mind, not her.

  But he’d just buried his sister. To expect anything from him in his time of mourning was unthinkable. He’d call when he was ready, she reasoned. It could be hours, days, weeks, or even months. Everyone handled grief in his or her own way. When her grandmother had died, she’d become a workaholic, working day and night for weeks on end. It wasn’t until sheer exhaustion caught up with her that the grief had really set in.

  Besides, Greg’s search was over. What interest was it to him that her best friend was still out there somewhere? He owed her nothing.

  She set the cup down in its saucer and picked up the black ballpoint pen. In large capital letters in the middle of the page, she wrote Brenda’s name. She stared at the faint blue lines, gnawing the pen top as she tried to pull her thoughts into some semblance of order.

  Removing the pen from her mouth, she wrote Linda’s name near the top of the page and then without pausing, shifted her hand to the right and wrote Sam’s name. Three women: two murdered and one still missing. As much as Megan hated to admit it, the chances of finding Brenda alive diminished by the day. She circled each of the names, connecting them to make a triangle. Somewhere inside that empty space lay the answer.

  But what made her think that she, a recruitment consultant with zero detective training, could find that answer if the police and the private investigator Greg had hired couldn't? If what she’d been told was right, the police had questioned everyone associated with the dinner dating agency multiple times. That included Pauline Meyer, her small staff, current and past clients, consultants and suppliers. Even the poor old milkman hadn’t been exempt from their interrogations.

  She tore off the top page from the pad and started afresh on the next page. Maybe if she wrote down what she knew about each person, she’d be able to figure out what was niggling at her.

  The first name that came to mind was Robert Lockwood or, as she preferred to think of him, Mr Ginger Moustache. No question, he’d sexually assaulted Brenda in that vacant warehouse, but did that automatically brand him a killer? The police certainly didn’t think so.

  Megan clenched her jaw, thinking about the business card Robert Lockwood had given to Brenda. Megan recalled having doubts, but regrettably, hadn’t pushed the issue with Brenda at the time. According to Greg, Mr Ginger Moustache was an unemployed laborer living at home with his elderly parents. A different story from the one he’d given Brenda.

  Neville Crooke’s report stated that Robert Lockwood had only left the house twice during the surveillance period, both times to walk to the corner shop. Even if he knew where Brenda was, he obviously wasn’t going to risk going near her.

  And what about the elusive Lawson Green? So far, neither she or the PI had been successful in tracking him down. He hadn’t been at work for weeks apparently, and no one at his job was prepared to give Megan his home address. She couldn’t find a listing for him. But then she remembered how frantic Pauline had been that day outside Brenda’s place and realized she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been able to find him. He’d turned up since and had been subsequently arrested for the murder of Linda Nichols. How the court saw fit to release him on bail, Megan would never know.

  No charges had been laid for the murder of Samantha Jenkins yet the existence of the plastic cable tie pointed to one killer. Why hadn’t the police at least revoked Lawson’s bail?

  Then there was some suggestion that Lawson had suffered or was suffering from a mental illness. Unfortunately, Greg had come up with nothing more substantial than an inpatient admission to a psychiatric ward eight years earlier. Was Lawson a raving lunatic? He certainly came across as normal enough. Morose perhaps, but nothing more. As one of his bail conditions, the court had ordered Lawson to undergo a full psychiatric assessment. But perhaps that was standard practice. Megan’s experience and knowledge of the legal system was extremely limited, after all.

  The next name she wrote down was Nick Poulus. When he’d taken the seat next to her at the first Dinner for Twelve function, rescuing her albeit fleetingly from Mr Hotshot Property Entrepreneur, Megan had thought he was interested in her. Looking back, she realized he’d had his sights set on Brenda all along.

  It wouldn’t have surprised Megan if Brenda had agreed to have a drink with Nick just to make Lawson jealous. That or she’d never had any intention of turning up for the drink. Megan had lost count of the number of men Brenda had stood up over the years. For some reason, she found it easier than turning them down when they asked her out.

  Recalling how Nick had found Brenda’s home address, Megan opened the White Pages app on her mobile phone. Two could play at that game. It took her less than a minute to find an address and phone listing for one N Poulus. She only hoped it was the right one. A male voice answered on the fourth ring.

  “Is this Nick Poulus?”

  “Yes…” He didn’t sound so sure.

  “Nick, it’s Megan Brighton, Brenda’s friend.”

  “What can I do for you? Do you have news about Brenda?”

  Megan shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Nick couldn’t see her. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I wish I did. Can you answer me something?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “When Brenda accepted your invitation to have a drink with you, was Lawson within earshot?”

  “What sort of—”

  “Please.”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. He could’ve been, I suppose. There were a lot of people around that night.”


  Something that Greg had said tugged at her memory. “Were you the man who witnessed Lawson and Linda getting into the taxi together outside the restaurant?”

  “I don’t see what business it is of yours or why you’re even asking, but yes. Maybe you should be talking to the taxi driver. He was the last person – besides the killer, that is – to see the woman alive.”

  Megan circled Lawson’s name, then Linda’s. “Are you saying you think the man she got into the taxi with killed her?”

  “I don’t think anything. That’s for the police to decide.”

  “Did you ever meet a Samantha Jenkins?”

  “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Dark, curly hair. About my height, but slimmer—”

  “No. Look, I’ve given my statement to the police. I don’t know what more I can add—” A chime in the background interrupted him. “I have to go, sorry. I expect Brenda will turn up soon enough.”

  She hung up and scribbled “witnessed getting into taxi” next to Nick’s name, adding arrows to Linda and Lawson.

  Then there was Joe Renmark. Even though she’d only met him on her second Dinner for Twelve outing, she’d no way of knowing if he had been present at the earlier dinner function. She certainly didn’t remember seeing him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there. With more than a hundred people spread over ten or so tables, she’d have been hard pushed to recognize even a small fraction of the faces from that evening. Joe certainly couldn’t be discounted, but nor could the other ninety-odd people.

  Megan sighed. Whom was she kidding? Her theory that writing down her thoughts would somehow make everything clearer wasn’t panning out. If anything, she was more confused.

  She gazed vacantly at the words on the page, her hand occupied with doodling criss-crosses and other odd patterns in the margin. Her mobile phone beeped.

  1 message received.

  How R U? Pls ph soon. YF Joe.

  YF? She huffed, assuming the two letters stood for “Your Friend.” Cursing, she pressed the menu button, consigning it to the deleted box along with the thirty or more other SMS texts she had received from Joe in the past few days. When was he going to get the message that she didn’t want to see him?

  Knowing she wasn’t entirely blameless didn’t help the situation any either. Regardless of her reasons, she should never have phoned him. In one fell swoop, she’d undone all the work put into letting Joe down softly. Once again, he thought he was in with a chance.

  Not now, not ever, she thought. Damn men. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.

  Angry with herself, she slammed the phone down on the table. It made a strange tinny brrr-ing sound that stopped just as she picked it up. Frowning, she peered at the small screen – no missed call. Then it rang again. Not recognizing the phone number, she pressed the end button, diverting the call to her voicemail. If the call was important, they’d leave a message.

  A glance at the time reminded her she was late for work. There’d been no objections to her taking a couple of hours off work for the funeral, but Megan didn’t want to push her luck. The day Brenda disappeared, Megan’s productivity had come to a screeching halt. Sure, she clocked in each day, but whilst she may have been there in body, her mind was elsewhere.

  The previous week her boss, Karla Madden, had urged her to take some of her accrued annual leave. To do that would mean letting go of what Megan saw as her last bastion of normality. Her work, if nothing else, gave her a reason to get up each morning. But she knew she couldn’t carry on as she had been. If she did, sooner or later, the decision would be taken out of her hands.

  Jump or be pushed…

  CHAPTER 32

  Less than a week after his sister’s funeral, Greg was making arrangements to sell the family home. It’d taken a lot of convincing, but he'd persuaded his mother to sell up and buy a smaller property closer to him. Somewhere he could keep an eye on her.

  At some stage, he’d have to repeat the exercise for Sam’s house. Worse than that would be the sorting and clearing out of all her personal belongings. Something he wasn’t looking forward to. At least the request from the police to defer putting the place on the market would give him some breathing space.

  After entering the contact details in his BlackBerry for the real estate agent he was scheduled to meet at two-thirty that afternoon, he washed up the few dishes in the sink and ran the vacuum cleaner around the lounge room. Straightening his surrounds helped him think.

  No matter how he added up the facts, he couldn’t come up with an answer. Everything pointed to Lawson. In Greg’s mind he was quite sure Lawson had been the “tall dark and drop-dead gorgeous” man involved with Sam. Lawson’s reaction to the photo of Sam and the way Pauline Meyer had jumped to his defense only added more fuel to that thinking. Despite that, twice now Lawson had been in police clutches, and twice they’d released him. If it wasn’t him, who was it? Where was the evidence?

  Unplugging the vacuum cleaner, he continued mulling it over in his head. The thought that Robert Lockwood, the man who’d bailed up Megan’s friend and sexually assaulted her, could be the killer had crossed his mind a number of times. But if that was the case, why had the sick bastard let Brenda walk away? That didn’t follow the pattern, if you could call two a pattern.

  With the vacuum cleaner stowed away in the hall cupboard, he started closing windows and locking doors in preparation for his trip up-country to visit his mother and meet up with the real estate agent.

  He considered phoning Megan, but then thought better of it, deciding he would call her when he returned home. On the day of the funeral, after glimpsing her at the cemetery, he’d tried her mobile number, almost thankful when the call diverted to her voicemail.

  She’d called him back the next day and they’d spoken a couple of times since. However, each time they talked the emotional quaver in Megan’s voice threatened to undermine his composure. Grown men didn’t cry. Knowing from experience the ordeal Megan was going through only made it more difficult. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Too much rode on him staying in control.

  He needed to stay strong for his mother. But more than that, he had to remain focused and level-headed for Sam. He’d require all his wits if he hoped to make any headway in tracking down his sister’s killer. The restraint required to stoically sit back and let the police do their job just wasn’t in him. After all, how many unsolved cases sat in the police archives?

  He owed it to Sam. No matter how long it took.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Quick, turn on the news. They’ve found another body…”

  The blood drained from Megan’s face. She snatched up the remote control from the sofa arm and pressed the power button.

  “…grisly discovery of skeletal remains in a shallow bush grave in the Yarra Ranges National Park 90 kilometers east of Melbourne has sparked fears of a serial killer. Police have confirmed that the unidentified remains were found less than a kilometer from where murder victim Samantha Jenkins’ body was discovered three weeks ago.”

  Sam’s vivacious smile, a now familiar image, filled the screen. The newsreader continued, reiterating the gruesome circumstances surrounding Sam’s murder. The news feature concluded as the grim-faced reporter, using the fading light and the backdrop of dense forest to full effect, announced that police were extending the search area. The implication was obvious; they expected to find more bodies.

  An immense weight pressed down on Megan’s chest. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Megan? Are you still there, Megan?”

  “Brenda,” she croaked as air rushed back into her lungs. “It can’t be.”

  “It’s not.” Greg’s voice was low and calm.

  “How do you know? How can you be so sure?” Megan said, her words coming out as a squeal as she tried to rein in her hysteria.

  “Just think about it for a minute. They found a skeleton, which suggests the body has been there for a lot longer than Brenda has been miss
ing.”

  Megan paused, considering Greg’s words. He was right, of course. Brenda wasn’t some pile of bones left for wild animals to scavenge. Any time now, she would appear at the door with a cheeky smile wondering what all the fuss was about. Even though her head told her the likelihood of that happening was infinitesimal, her heart refused to let go. “Yes, but—”

  “There’s no but about it.”

  “But…” Megan’s voice cracked. “But what if Brenda is out there somewhere, too?” she managed, voicing her greatest fear.

  Several long seconds passed before Greg answered. “I’m sorry, Megan. I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I did.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but choked on the words. Unable to talk, she hung up.

  Leaving the television blaring sports results, she headed for the study. She’d only caught the end of the news report. Hoping the Internet would be able to fill in the gaps, she brought up News.com.au and clicked on the link to “Breaking News.”

  The skeleton’s discovery was the top story, but the brief article added little to what she already knew from the television newsflash. The police had been asked whether any clothing, personal items or identification had been found in the area but had declined to comment. Crime scene police were working into the night to complete their preliminary investigation. The cordoned-off scene and surrounding areas were under heavy police guard. A full grid search was scheduled for the next day.

  Re-reading the news article, she wondered if somewhere out there a family was finally going to have the answers to what had happened to a loved one. But what if the person whose decomposing body had lain concealed under a mound of decaying leaves and branches hadn’t been reported missing? What if there was no one who cared enough to miss them? How would they identify the bones that had once been a living human being? Was the body that of a male or female? The news bulletins had been thin, raising more questions than answers.