“We were here together. We had breakfast around eight-fifteen. I went into Byron to my studio around nine. I call it a studio; it’s a shop front with an open workspace and office at the back.”
Dusty looked at Chris.
“I was working from home that morning and went into the office later,” he said.
“Chris likes to tidy up the house after I leave. I’m not a very good housekeeper. It’s just not my thing.”
“Mon has a creative mind. Apart from her excellent artistic creations, she also likes creating mess,” Chris said with a laugh. He reached across and held his wife’s hand in an affectionate caress. “It’s one of the things I love about her. I’m good at organising things, so that makes us a perfect match. Doesn’t it, darling?”
Monique smiled her agreement.
“What time did you get to your shop, Monique?” said Dusty.
“It only takes a few minutes from here.”
“Was there anyone else there when you arrived?”
“I hope you’re not suggesting I need an alibi for the morning of my mother’s murder. Or that Chris needs an alibi?”
There was a cool detachment about Monique. I imagined she was capable of the ruthlessness required to make it in the cut-throat business of fashion.
“Not necessarily,” said Dusty. “But I do need to be thorough and lay all the facts before my readers.”
“It’s all right, Mon,” said Chris. He smiled at Dusty. “I’m happy to give you any information you need. I left here around ten-thirty, called into a cafe for a coffee and arrived at the office around eleven. They’ll be happy to verify that and you can check the police files.”
“Thank you,” said Dusty. “That’s all very helpful. Since the police are assuming Marcia went for her morning walk as usual at around six-thirty and was assaulted sometime between six-thirty and seven-thirty, I need to ask you about your whereabouts during that time.”
Chris tightened his grip on his wife’s hand in anticipation of her objection.
“Mon’s the early bird in this family. She got up before me to do some work on her laptop. As usual, I stayed in bed for as long as possible and had a shower just before breakfast. Between six-thirty and seven-thirty I was snoring my head off.”
“You were working on your laptop here at home, Monique?”
“That’s right,” said Monique with a slight movement of her head.
“Here at this table?”
Monique tapped her impatience on the wooden table with the tips of her fingers.
“Yes. At this table. I always use that end.” She pointed to the end which offered a view of the outdoors. “That left the other end free for the breakfast things.”
Dusty nodded and made an entry in her notebook before continuing. “I also want to ask you about the family. Unearthing family secrets is something that often happens during a murder investigation. I’m sure you found that out when the police conducted their enquiries.”
“There weren’t any secrets to be unearthed,” said Monique, disengaging her hand from Chris’s and sitting back with her arms across her chest. Chris helped himself to a handful of pine nuts.
“Well,” said Dusty, flashing a winning smile, “this may not be a secret, but it is something I need to ask you about.”
I noticed that Monique’s hands tightened into fists.
Chapter 15
“It’s about something that happened when Fergus was a teenager,” said Dusty.
“A teenager?” Monique sounded surprised, as if she couldn’t imagine her brother being that young.
“Yes. Apparently there was an incident in the water with a friend of his, a boy called Luke.”
Monique’s clenched fist opened and closed again. “If you want to know anything about Fergus, I suggest you ask him.” She gave Dusty a hard stare.
“Of course. It’s just that I haven’t had a chance to speak to him about it and I wanted to clear it up as quickly as possible.”
“Why you feel the need to ‘clear it up’ is beyond me. What Fergus did when he was young is hardly relevant.” Monique started to gather our empty glasses as though getting ready to terminate the interview.
Dusty attempted to placate her. “Investigating your mother’s death is part of my brief. It’s the part the family wants most but the other part is the book I’ll be writing. For that, I need to have as comprehensive a picture as possible. I can’t afford to ignore the things I’m told.”
“Nevertheless,” said Monique, “the right person to speak to is Fergus.”
“Fair enough,” said Dusty. “What about Fergus’s wife? That’s a secret no-one is talking about.”
“It’s not a secret,” said Monique, a grim expression revealing her displeasure. “Penelope left him and the children to set up house with another man. We don’t talk about it because it upsets Fergus.”
“But how could she leave her children and not be in touch with them?” I said.
“Exactly,” snapped Monique. “What sort of woman would do that?”
“Marcia’s sons don’t have much luck with women,” said Chris.
Monique shot a warning look at him.
“What?” said Chris in that innocent tone someone uses when they have no idea why they are being reprimanded.
His wife’s answer was a shake of her head. Dusty, however, was not about to let it go.
“Something like this has happened to Brad? You mean Brad was married?”
“No. No. This happened a long time ago.” Chris hesitated and looked warily at Monique. Her expression was unyielding. “It was a long time ago, Mon. It hardly matters anymore.”
“How long ago?” asked Dusty.
Monique’s fingers once again tapped on the smooth surface of the table.
“Long before I met Mon. Brad was just a teenager – eighteen, something like that.”
Monique interrupted sharply. “That’s enough, Chris!”
Her husband held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Okay. Sorry, darling.”
Monique, eyes narrowed, turned to Dusty. “You seem preoccupied with digging up the past and turning simple secrets into sinister sins. I’m beginning to think you’re more interested in writing some sort of exposé on the Nixons rather than finding evidence. What occurred in our family twenty odd years ago doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to my mother.”
Dusty retreated. “You’re probably right.”
Despite her conciliatory tone, I knew Dusty wouldn’t leave it there. One way or the other, she would find out what it was Monique didn’t want her to know. For now, however, she played along.
“Let’s focus on what happened to Marcia,” she said. Monique, who had half risen, sank back into her chair, apparently relieved to move away from the subject of Brad’s past. “The last time you saw your mother was a few minutes after nine on the Friday evening when she drove past here after dining at Fergus’s house. Is that right?”
“Yes, we often sit out on the front deck in the evenings.” Monique gestured toward the deck we had passed on the way in.
“Do you mind if we go out and have a look?” said Dusty.
Chris and Monique led the way out onto the deck.
“Which chairs were you sitting in?” asked Dusty.
Monique indicated two chairs side by side overlooking the road. Dusty sat in one of them and gestured for me to sit in the other. We had a good view of the road from where we were sitting. Rainforest birds chattered in the tropical garden surrounding us. Monique and Chris remained standing, leaning against the waist-high glass wall. They stood within touching distance, as though to give each other moral support. Although it was probably more a case of Chris showing his loyalty by staying close to Monique. That made me wonder why he felt the need to reassure his wife.
“You saw your mother drive past along the road down there and she waved to you. Is that right?”
Monique nodded. “Yes. She gave a toot of the horn and waved. Mum alw
ays did that if she saw us sitting on the deck.” Turning to her husband, she added, “Didn’t she, Chris?”
Chris smiled and nodded. “She did. Marcia always did that.”
Sadness clouded Monique’s face. Chris put his arm around her shoulders.
“I’m so sorry this has been upsetting for you, Monique.” Monique inclined her head in acknowledgement of Dusty’s comment. Dusty continued. “I do have to ask you one more question.”
Monique straightened, a guarded expression on her face.
“What is it?”
“The thing that’s puzzling me is the baby card, apparently written by Marcia and delivered to her gardener, Julie Jones. Do either of you know anything about that?”
“No,” said Monique. “The police mentioned that as well. It’s just bizarre. Some sort of warped message from the killer.”
“It looks that way,” said Dusty.
We were interrupted by a strange sound in the garden: a low ‘crawk, crawk, crawk’.
Chris grinned. “That’s a tree frog. You might be able to see him, but he’s the same green as some of the leaves so you’ll have to look carefully.”
To my disappointment, we left without a sighting of the frog that was well camouflaged in his sanctuary of moist green plants. While wending our way down the stone steps, Dusty caught me off-guard when she revealed her doubts about Chris.
“Is he really the doting husband he seems to be?”
I’d almost forgotten about her tendency to view everyone with suspicion.
“Why shouldn’t he be?” I demanded, believing Chris to be a sincere person who was exactly what he appeared to be.
Dusty gave me a sideways glance which I ignored.
“There’s something he’s not telling me,” she said. “That makes me suspicious. He’s married into a rich family, don’t forget. That gives him good reason to stay on the right side of his wife.”
I was indignant on Chris’s behalf. “He appears to genuinely care for Monique. Men are capable of sincere feelings you know.”
Dusty paused momentarily on one of the steps feigning disbelief. Rolling my eyes in response caused her to chuckle.
“Besides, how do you know Chris doesn’t have plenty of money of his own?” I said.
“That’s your job, Mr Maze Master. See what you can find out.”
I could see by her furrowed brow that something was still bothering her.
“What’s up? Are you worried about his alibi? There doesn’t seem any way he could have left the house that morning without his wife seeing him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not that. It’s something about what Monique said. There’s something wrong, but I can’t quite isolate what it is.” She shook her head, causing her mass of auburn curls to bounce. “Not to worry. It’ll come to me.”
Chapter 16
Norman Roach was sitting on a park bench near Byron’s main beach engrossed in something in the ocean. Following his gaze, I saw a spectacular sight. Several dolphins were leaping over the waves alongside surfers. Some of the surfers were young women in bikinis and they were probably of more interest to Roach than the dolphins. Neither the surfers nor the dolphins appeared to be disturbed by each other’s presence. Dusty and I stood and watched. One surfer rode a wave in the midst of the pod of dolphins. In that moment I wished I could surf. I’d grab my board and paddle out to join in the fun.
When the dolphins had finished playing and moved on, accompanied by cheers from the people on the beach, we turned to Norman Roach who greeted Dusty with a leer. I was reminded of one of my grandmother’s sayings: He needs to clean his mind out with soap. It took all my restraint to stop from placing myself between Roach and Dusty just so that she would not be touched by his lascivious glance which swept her body from head to toe.
“We went to see your mum this morning,” said Dusty, ignoring his gestured invitation to sit on the bench.
“Oh yeah. How is the old girl?”
Dusty gave him a reproachful look. I half expected her to berate him, school teacher style, for not being more respectful toward his mother. However, she maintained her self-control and answered his question.
“She looks fine. Very generous of her to give up her time to volunteer in the shop.”
Roach shrugged, apparently losing interest in his mother.
“You like watching dolphins?” I asked, although I was sure dolphins were not all he watched.
“Haven’t got any money for the pokies today. Nothing else to do.”
“You could read a book,” said Dusty. “Maybe one from the op shop where your mum works.”
Roach’s mouth twisted in a reptilian sneer. “Not much of a reader really.”
“So you haven’t read any of Marcia’s books?”
“Who?”
“Marcia Hamilton. The lady who was murdered on the track that morning. The one the police think you murdered.”
A supercilious grin spread across his face. “Do you think I murdered her? Are you going to put that in your book?”
“Not unless you confess.”
His grin broadened.
“Norman, did you follow Marcia that morning, strike her over the head and push her body into the gully?”
“You think I’m stupid? I’m not gonna confess to you.”
“Fair enough. But you did see Marcia walk past that morning?”
“Course I did. Yeah, I saw her walk past. I was there wasn’t I? I’m not hiding that. That guy – the jogger – saw me, didn’t he? Everybody knows I was there.”
Odd. I was pretty sure that when we first spoke to him, he said he hadn’t seen anyone except Morehouse.
“Everybody thinks you were there,” said Dusty.
“Wha’dya mean?”
“Let me put it this way, Norman. I’m looking for a good story to include in my book. Something dramatic. I mean, it would be really cool if I could prove the police have it all wrong, if I could pull a rabbit out of the hat like a magician and say ‘da… da… the police are wrong’. That would be something else, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah. That’d be cool; cool as. The police don’t have a clue. They just wanna lock a dude up.”
“Have you got a rabbit in your hat, Norman?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you waiting for the right moment to pull it out of the hat?”
“That’s right. It’s gotta be the right moment, hasn’t it? You gotta build up the suspense, get the audience wondering. The lights go dim. The spotlight is on the magician. The drums roll and then …”
“Da… da…” Dusty finished the scenario for him.
Roach clapped his hands and laughed as though at some secret joke.
“That’s just the sort of thing I’m looking for, Norman, for the book. If you have something like that for me, you could be famous. Everyone will read about you. They’ll know how clever you are.”
A gleam lit up his eyes.
“When are you planning on pulling that rabbit out of the hat, Norman?”
“When the police arrest me for murder.” Disappointment clouded his face. “Trouble is, doesn’t look like they’re going to do that. They’re so useless.”
“Never mind, you can still show everyone how stupid they are.”
“Yeah?” Roach’s expression brightened.
“Yes. Let me pull the rabbit out of the hat in the book. I’ll make sure you get the proper credit. I might even be able to do a whole chapter on it – a chapter all of your own, Norman.”
“My name would be the title of the chapter?”
“Could be.”
“Yeah, that would be cool as.”
Dusty waited in the silence that followed his last remark, but Roach wasn’t forthcoming with any more information. He appeared to be anticipating the thrill of being famous.
“But you have to tell me what it is, Norman,” said Dusty. “If I have to work it out for myself, I’m not going to give you the credit, am I?”
&nb
sp; Roach hesitated. “Righto,” he said eventually. “Have it your way.” His upper lip expressed his annoyance at having to give in by curling into a snarl.
Three girls in their early teens, wearing cotton shirts over their bikinis, strolled by on their way to the beach. Roach’s eyes followed them.
Finally, he told Dusty what she wanted to know. “I wasn’t even in Byron that weekend.”
“The weekend Marcia Hamilton was murdered?”
He nodded.
“Where were you, Norman?”
“I was with Dave, a mate of mine.”
“Where?”
“Coolangatta, dude.”
Only a slight grimace betrayed Dusty’s distaste at being called dude.
“For your information, Sean,” she said, “Coolangatta is a coastal town around seventy kilometres north of here. Actually, it’s across the border in Queensland.” She turned back to Roach. “Are you telling me you went to Coolangatta on the morning Marcia Hamilton was murdered; the Saturday morning?”
Roach shook his head. “Went up on the bus on Friday night. Dave picked me up from the depot when I got there. Came back Sunday afternoon.”
“Why didn’t your friend Dave come forward and tell the police?”
Roach, with a sly smile on his face and a knowing glint in his eye, put me in mind of a toad that had just eaten a stolen meal. “I told him not to. Told him we had to wait for the right moment.”
“When the police arrested you, you mean. Dave was your alibi: your rabbit in the hat?”
Roach nodded and giggled. “Pretty neat, eh? You gonna put it in the book, aren’t ya?”
“I’ll have to check it out first.”
“I’ll ring up Dave and tell him it’s okay to talk to you.” He thrust a sly sideways glance at Dusty. “Might need some money to top up my phone, though.”
Dusty gave him a look that made it clear she didn’t believe him, but reached into her bag for her purse, extracted a ten dollar note from it and handed it to him. At least I think she did; Roach twitched it from her hand and stuffed it into his pocket so quickly I couldn’t see the note clearly enough to distinguish its value.
A Devious Mind Page 10