Chris and Monique had given each other alibis, cleverly doing it in a natural way so that it didn’t look contrived. In fact, they didn’t really have alibis at all, which could be a very clever, or devious, way of looking innocent.
It became clear to me in a flash. Monique was guilty, and worse still, Chris was too. I had to tell Dusty as soon as possible. In my excitement I turned to her, but Fergus already had her attention.
“You once said I have means, motive and opportunity and that makes me look guilty,” he said. “But in Monique’s case there’s means, motive, opportunity and evidence. Things don’t look good for my sister.”
As I closed my mouth I realised Fergus had saved me from putting my foot in it. This was hardly the time or the place to expound my new theory about Chris and Monique.
Giving Fergus a searching look, Dusty placed her empty glass on the table before responding. “Someone has made sure there’s evidence against Monique.”
“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed in a frown.
“The most damning evidence against her is the jewellery which could easily have been planted for the sole purpose of framing Monique.”
With my new theory in mind, I silently negated this. Dusty had said the jewellery had been ‘cleverly concealed in a cavity in the window frame’. Surely someone trying to frame Monique would not have hidden it so well?
“Framing her?” Fergus’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, I believe the real murderer is trying to frame Monique.”
“If that’s the case, isn’t it about time you produced the real murderer?” Fergus challenged.
Dusty gathered up her things. “I intend to do just that, Fergus. You can count on it.”
I thought I saw a flicker of fear in Fergus’s eyes.
Chapter 32
“Look at this,” said Dusty, sliding a photo across the coffee table to me. “Tell me what you see.”
We had returned from the meeting at Fergus’s place and were sitting in the living area at Ardem with the glass doors open to allow the warm breeze to waft in.
I told her what I saw. “A sweeping solid timber staircase which leads up to the bedrooms, white wall with garage door on the left, timber floor, and a side dresser on the right with a large expensive looking lamp, magazines and a couple of knick knacks. That’s about all that’s in the shot really.”
“Yes. As Fergus says, it looks very ordinary. And yet, did you see his reaction when he looked at this photo?”
I nodded.
“He knew he’d given himself away,” said Dusty. “His comment about the photos stirring personal memories was just to try to throw me off the scent. It didn’t work. I know he saw something. I’m betting it was something that might incriminate him. Then, all of a sudden, he’s changed his tune about Monique – even tries to get me to doubt her innocence. What he doesn’t realise is, he gave himself away in more ways than one.”
“What do you mean?”
“That comment of his about needing more than means, motive and opportunity, about needing evidence as well.” She paused to tap the photo with her forefinger. “It’s revealing when taken with his earlier reaction to something in the photos. He saw evidence in those photos and he’s afraid that evidence will convict him. He didn’t realise it, but he was expressing his fear when he made the comment about evidence.”
I wondered if Dusty was reading too much into Fergus’s comment. There was no doubt that something in the photos had unsettled him, but he might have seen something that sparked an unwelcome memory. On reflection I dismissed that idea; it had seemed more like he’d seen something to make him fearful. Was he disturbed because he saw something incriminating? It occurred to me that he might have seen something that would implicate one of his siblings.
“If I can just figure out what it was in the photos that spooked him,” Dusty continued, “I reckon I’d have him cornered. I’m going to get this guy, Sean. He made a big mistake when he made it personal by playing this game.”
“Game?”
“Yes. He invites me to solve his mother’s murder, not because he wants to find the killer. No. He thinks he’s committed the perfect murder. He’s decided that he’s so smart he can break my one hundred percent strike rate. What an abominable cheek! He’s playing a game. That’s what he’s doing. Well, he’s chosen the wrong opponent.”
“If he’s been playing some sort of game, he’s probably been feeding you false information to lead you astray.”
Dusty shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that. He’s so sure of himself he thinks he can beat me fair and square. Besides, he knows I can access most of the information through the police files. The way I see it, up to this point he’s been absolutely confident, but now he knows he’s made a mistake because of something in those photos. He’s rattled and he’s trying to point the finger at Monique. I don’t think it was part of his plan to have one of his siblings convicted of the crime, but it looks like he’s happy to take advantage of the opportunity to use her as a scapegoat.”
“What a scumbag!”
“Exactly,” said Dusty. “And he’s not going to get away with it.” She tossed her head and jerked her chin up to emphasise her determination. “Mind you,” she added. “I’d feel a lot better if I had some evidence to prove he did it.”
This was my chance to present my own theory.
“What you are saying sounds very plausible and you’re probably right…”
“But?”
“But… What if the comments Fergus has been making about Monique are not deliberate attempts to fix guilt on his sister?”
Dusty widened her eyes and opened her hands in a gesture that demanded further explanation.
“What if his comments were clumsy attempts to express his concern about Monique?”
“Are you serious?”
I was beginning to regret I’d mentioned this theory, but it was too late to back out now.
“What if he saw something in those photos that would incriminate Monique?”
Dusty tilted her head to one side. I took that to be a sign of interest so I launched into an exposition of how I thought Chris and Monique had planned the murder together. Dusty listened attentively.
“Interesting,” she said when I’d finished. I had expected a more enthusiastic response to what I believed to be the solution to the mystery. “So you’ve changed your mind about Chris?” she added.
“Not entirely,” I said. “I think the plan was devised by Monique and Chris has gone along with it. He obviously loves his wife and would do anything for her.”
“I see, he’s a good guy at heart,” she said with a teasing grin. “Just the victim of an evil woman.”
That made me squirm.
“All right,” said Dusty. “I’ll keep your theory in mind. It’s true that both Chris and Monique had means, motive and opportunity. However, I think it more likely that Chris would be the mastermind, not Monique. And while we’re opening up the field of possibilities, let’s consider who else had the opportunity to kill Marcia. I mean, we could say they all had motive because they would all like to get their hands on Marcia’s money – with the possible exception of Brad. They all had means because each of them is capable of the murder in terms of strength, even Lucy. So we really need to focus on who had opportunity. I’m ruling Lucy out. Because of her alibi, she didn’t have opportunity.”
“But we thought Monique had an alibi too.”
“True. You’re right. We shouldn’t rule anyone out. But the men are the most likely suspects and none of them has an alibi.”
“You haven’t seriously considered Brad as a suspect yet.” I confess I suggested Brad, knowing Dusty had a soft spot for him, in a fit of pique because Dusty was not as excited about my theory as I thought she ought to be.
“Yes. Brad,” said Dusty, cradling her chin in one hand in thoughtful consideration. “He doesn’t have an alibi and he disappeared before I had a chance to question him. He doesn’t seem to ca
re much about money, but there might be a reason he needed a lot of money; a reason we haven’t unearthed yet. Or he might have had another major disagreement with his mother over something. His disappearance has caused a problem. I mean, I can’t rule him out because I don’t know enough about him.”
She reached for the bowl of pistachio nuts on the table, scooped up a handful and singled one out for attack. “On the other hand, maybe Fergus has murdered him.”
I rolled my eyes. “You keep coming back to Fergus.”
Dusty held the pistachio between her forefingers and thumbs to widen the crack until the shell fell away in two halves.
“I can’t help it,” she said with a laugh. “I’m going to have a look at the digital version of these photos. I should be able to zoom in and then I might see what it was Fergus didn’t want me to see.”
She popped the stripped pistachio into her mouth and reached for her laptop.
Chapter 33
A short time later she jumped up from the table and grabbed her bag.
“Let’s go,” she called as she headed for the door. I scrambled to follow her.
“Send Chris a text,” she said as she reversed the car out of the driveway.
When I pulled out my phone, I noticed I had a new email. I hoped it was the one I’d been waiting for. Not wanting to be distracted, I decided to check it later. Chris responded in the affirmative to my text asking him if he had Monique’s spare key to Marcia’s house.
“You could have asked Fergus if he murdered his mother and used your famous lie detector test to see if he was telling the truth,” I said to Dusty as we drove along the winding roads on our way to Chris’s office to pick up the key.
“You’re forgetting that Fergus Nixon is an actor. What’s more he’s a good actor. He understands things like body language and tone of voice.”
“You’re not telling me that he could actually beat the Dusty Kent lie detector test?”
“As I’ve said before, if you remember, my lie detector test is not infallible and I don’t always get a clear reading. It’s when other indicators combine with the change in tone of voice that I often get a decisive result.”
“Other indicators? Like your gut feeling?”
“You can take the Mickey if you like, Sean O’Kelly, but if you think about it, a gut feeling is a pretty good indicator. After all, what is a gut feeling really?”
“A hunch?”
“It’s a message from your subconscious. There’s an enormous amount of information in the brain that’s not accessed by the rational mind. In my case, I’ve interviewed so many people, many of them murderers, and even more of them liars. All that I have learned about such people, including what my subconscious has picked up, is in storage in my brain. The subconscious mind has the power to hone straight in on what you need. Most of the time we’re too busy thinking to allow it to display its power. But when my subconscious sends me a message, I know it’s important.”
She pulled up outside the offices of Bay Traders and waited in the car while I ran in and collected the key from Chris. With my new theory of Chris as murderous accomplice, I didn’t feel inclined to linger and chat so quickly retrieved the key and hurried back outside.
“What about body language?” I said to Dusty, returning to our previous conversation as I slipped back into the passenger seat. I was interested in learning more about her methods. “Do you read people’s body language when you’re interviewing them?”
“Yep. Body language is also an important indicator,” said Dusty as she released the handbrake and pulled out from the kerb. “But I probably place the strongest emphasis on tone of voice because listening was so important in my family. You know that my grandmother brought me up?”
“I do.”
“Well,” continued Dusty. “Nan was a storyteller. She would never tell a story unless her audience, such as a group of children from my school, was ready to listen. Nan taught me the value of listening.”
I remembered an incident in the Australian bush with Dusty’s godfather, an Australian Aboriginal man whom she called Uncle.
“Uncle taught me the value of listening,” I said, recalling how he had patiently waited while I listened to native birds. I eventually realised that what I thought was one basic call was actually a symphony of melodies.
“Yes, I remember. You were listening to the calls of the currawongs,” said Dusty with a smile. “I also learned a lot from Uncle about listening. When I was at Uncle’s place, I was treated just like one of his own children. Aboriginal children had to learn proper listening skills, not just to understand the birds, but to listen to the stories of the elders as well. They used oral stories to pass on vital information.”
During our visit with Uncle it was evident to me that he knew Dusty as well as any father might.
“Uncle told me you closed your heart to people,” I said, continuing tentatively, unsure whether she would allow me to explore Uncle’s insights. “Because of what happened to your father; because of the way the people in the town turned against him and believed he had murdered your mother.”
Dusty’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and her nostrils flared but her response was not the outburst I expected.
“Uncle is wise. And he’s probably right.”
“He is a wise man,” I agreed. “He also said when you opened your heart; it was only to people in need of protection.”
She nodded and said, with a wry smile, “That’s why I always choose the wrong men. I’m attracted to strong men but I don’t open my heart to them, as Uncle would say. Instead of choosing the strong men I’m attracted to, I end up picking someone weak and vulnerable. Then I lose respect for him and that’s the end of the relationship. That’s why I’ve given up on love affairs; they just don’t work for me.”
“They might,” I said, “if you opened your heart to a strong man.”
She grinned at me and slowed the car to a halt. We had arrived at Marcia’s house in Panorama Drive. Before I got out of the car, I checked the email that I had noticed earlier. It was exactly what I’d been hoping for. I hurried after Dusty, keen to break the news to her. Before I had a chance to do so, I was ambushed by a Drop Bear. At least, I thought it was a Drop Bear.
We had just turned into the back area of the property which was abundant with palms and tropical trees. A rustle of leaves in the branches of the tree I was passing under was too late to warn me as I felt a soft bump on my head. Lying on the ground at my feet was a cushion featuring the image of a pink owl with a white heart on its chest. Its landing was followed by a ripple of giggles. I looked up to see Coco straddled on one of the tree’s branches, her hand across her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter.
“Did you think the sky was falling in?” she asked, as she skinned down the tree and dropped to the ground from one of its lower branches.
“Coco,” said Dusty. “Are you here with your mother?”
Coco skipped away, calling over her shoulder. “No.”
Dusty and I followed and sat down next to Coco at the top of the steps leading to the back decking.
“Mum’s at home in her den working on her book. She stays in there for hours sometimes.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here?” I asked.
Coco shook her head.
“Doesn’t it make you sad, being here?” asked Dusty.
“Happy,” said Coco with a grin. “It reminds me of Nan. Sometimes I pretend she’s inside while I’m out here playing.”
“Coco,” said Dusty. “Do you remember when the police asked you and your mother about what you were doing the morning your Nan passed away?” Coco nodded. “And you told them you woke up at six o’clock and your mother was in bed next to you then you and your mum stayed in your bed until after seven o’clock that morning.”
“We often do that. Sometimes I go to her room and sometimes she comes to mine. Then we talk and play games and laugh a lot.”
“How did you know it was six
o’clock when you woke up? Did you look at the clock?”
“No. Mum told me.”
“When?”
“Before the police came. She was giving me a lecture on telling the truth. She said the police would ask me what Mum and I had been doing the morning that Nan died and I should just tell them I woke up at six o’clock and we stayed in bed until after seven. I told her I wasn’t intending to lie to the police and Mum said she knew that but sometimes children feel frightened when talking to the police and make mistakes about what they say.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t frightened.”
Dusty smiled and showed Coco the spare key to Marcia’s house. “I’m going inside. Would you like to come?”
“Yes!” said Coco, jumping up and heading for the door.
I decided to retrieve Coco’s cushion before following them. The falling cushion had put the idea of Drop Bears in my head so I inspected the trees in Marcia’s garden. I inadvertently scared away a couple of beautiful lorikeets but saw nothing else lurking in the trees. By then Dusty and Coco had come back outside. Dusty gave me a slight nod which I took to mean she had found the business card Monique had mentioned.
Coco would only agree to being driven home after Dusty promised not to tell Lucy about her secret visits to Marcia’s house.
“All right,” said Dusty, eventually. “You drive a hard bargain, young Coco.”
It wasn’t until we were on our way back to Ardem that I had the opportunity to tell Dusty about my email.
A Devious Mind Page 21