Dusty nodded. “Yep, what they’ve done up there is impressive.”
Rocky picked up his guitar and ushered us into the cafe where I joined Joyce at the wall.
“Interesting reading?”
Rocky had told me on a previous occasion that he’d asked local people to write a word or short phrase about Port or their lives, or just anything at all, on slips of paper. The result was a collection of intriguing random messages that he’d pasted on the wall: Crossin’ Macrossan. Pitchfork Betty. Grandma died today. Cane cutters can!
“Yes.” Joyce answered my question with a smile. “Although, to tell you the truth I haven’t taken it all in. My mind has been elsewhere.”
“Perfectly understandable.” As I turned to guide her to the table Rocky had selected for us, one of the notes on the wall caught my eye. I hadn’t noticed it before. Now it stood out like a neon light. Ellen. It was written in the same distinctive script I had seen on the footpath.
I asked Rocky about it. “Yeah, sometimes Ellen is written in several places around town. Not sure what that’s all about. Bit of a mystery.”
Lunch was another excellent meal; local reef fish accompanied by fresh salads to which yellow hibiscus petals and basil had been added. All served by the smiling, obliging Nathan.
Apart from a couple of locals who recognised Dusty and offered us friendly waves, most of the clientele were tourists. Snippets of animated conversation about experiences diving off the Great Barrier Reef and touring the rainforests filtered through to my ears. The tourists were waxing lyrical about ‘crystal clear creeks, breathtaking scenery, gorgeous butterflies and beautiful birds’. I must have missed all the beauty while I was focusing on avoiding dangerous flora and fauna.
While we were waiting for our coffees at the end of the meal, Dusty excused herself to make a call.
“I’ve just spoken to Detective Sergeant Jake Feilberg,” she told Joyce when she returned. “He’s arranged for a driver to take you to Cairns when you’re ready. He’ll meet you there and answer any questions you have about your son’s death and take a sample from you for DNA comparison. But before that, we’ll drive you up to the Sanctuary.”
On the drive to Sunyarta, Joyce revealed that allegations made against Colin Walker had been hushed up by various schools where he’d worked for fear the truth would harm the school’s reputation.
“What?” Dusty and I were both horrified. Was I being naive in assuming schools would put the welfare of their students as their number one priority?
“I know,” said Joyce. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? He was my son but I would never have wanted his crimes covered up. I knew nothing about any of this. I only started to put the pieces together after Colin died.”
At Sunyarta, we introduced Joyce to Saya. He accepted the news that Ram had not been an abuser after all with a dismissive wave of the hand indicating he had known all along. He invited Joyce to view her son’s paintings, ushering us into the office but discreetly remaining just outside the door.
Dusty pointed to the picture with the coffin. “I thought this one symbolised his confession. Obviously I was wrong.”
Overcome with emotion, Joyce stared at the painting in silence. She remained quiet and still for so long that Dusty and I made to tactfully leave the room. We were at the door when Joyce turned, her eyes glistening, and called us back.
“It’s the Egyptian story of the god Osiris.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Ancient history is one of my areas of interest.” Joyce turned back to the painting. “This is the ancient tamarisk tree. In its trunk is the coffin of Osiris. He was murdered by his younger brother Seth who was jealous of Osiris’s popularity. Seth tricked Osiris into lying in the coffin then slammed the lid shut, locked it and threw it into the River Nile. The coffin was carried down the river and eventually became lodged in a great tamarisk tree which grew around it. Osiris died inside the coffin. He was eventually rescued and brought back to life but was never the same again and could no longer live his former life.”
“So the painting represents Colin’s betrayal of Paul. Colin being Seth and Paul being Osiris.”
Joyce nodded. “That’s what I think. One aspect of Osiris is worshipped as the Ram God.”
“Serious? So that’s why he chose Ram as his monk name.”
Joyce smiled at the painting, the affectionate smile of a mother looking at the achievement of a much loved son. “Not that he would have seen himself as a god. He was too humble for that.” She paused to study the painting further. “I think it represents his pain. Being an abuser was so against the person he was; he couldn’t bear the thought of people believing that of him. He wanted to somehow tell the world who he really was.”
Joyce raised a hand to the painting and caressed it gently. “He wrote to us you know, after he left; a handwritten note. He understood that seeing his handwriting would be more personal than an email, especially as it would be the last communication he would send.” Joyce’s voice trembled. She paused briefly to recover her composure. “He wanted us to know he was okay, that he loved us but that it would be better for everyone if he went away.”
“Did the postmark give any indication of where he was when he sent the letter?” The detective in Dusty was never far from the surface.
“He posted it from the airport.” Joyce’s tone might have reflected the sad finality she must have felt when she received that last letter from her beloved son. “We had no idea where he went.”
After that, we left Joyce to wait in the car while she spoke privately with Saya.
“I wonder why Saya didn’t mention the different coloured eyes when we asked him to describe Ram.” Dusty paused before almost immediately answering her own question. “I suppose Ram’s eyes just became commonplace after a while so they didn’t stand out in his memory.”
When Joyce joined us around thirty minutes later, I was struck by the change in her. She seemed at peace; it’s the only way I can describe it.
Back in town, we waved goodbye to Joyce as the unmarked police car pulled away from the kerb on its way to take her to Cairns.
“You know what? I’ve got a better idea.”
Sometimes Dusty does that. Her mind seems to be always active with several ideas even when she is doing other things. She’ll suddenly comment on one of those ideas as if she’d been having a conversation with me.
“Better idea about what?”
“Kimberley. Instead of flying down to see her, I think I’ll invite her to Port Douglas for an all expenses paid holiday. She should be able to get a few days off. I’ll book her into Four Mile Resort. It’ll make the invitation too tempting to pass up. Maybe I should add a little bit of intrigue – tell her there’s someone up here who’s been asking about her.”
Noticing the look on my face, she said, “What? It’s true in a way. Abbie would love to catch up with her old school friend.”
The mischievous glint in her eye gave away her hidden agenda. No doubt Dusty planned to use that moment of surprise when the two friends were reunited to catch them off guard and possibly cause them to let something incriminating slip.
Chapter 39
In the following days, Dusty and I saw little of each other.
At one point Dusty popped in to see how I was going. To her triumphant satisfaction, I had discovered the testimonials on Louisa Penrose’s website were false and in all likelihood the so-called journalist was not using her real name. Although I’d been able to find birth records on the Queensland Registry for a Louisa Penrose who would now be thirty-one, roughly the age of Dusty’s stalker, I had been unable to confirm the existence of an Australian journalist by that name.
“Just as I thought,” said Dusty when I told her. “She’s borrowed someone else’s name to hide her true identity. Now why would she need to do that?”
“She doesn’t want the brilliant Dusty Kent to know who she is.”
“Exactly. I’ll ask Jake if he can find out anything about her.”
On another occasion when Dusty came in to check on me, she experienced a light-bulb moment and became very excited.
“Arabella!” she yelled. “Arabella!” I had no idea what she meant. “I have a crazy idea. I need your magic skills to confirm it.”
After that, I was kept busy with cyber research. I also needed to spend quite a bit of time on the phone to various people and organisations in Melbourne.
By Monday morning my research was finished. After listening to my report, Dusty picked up her shoulder bag and headed for the door. “Come on, Mr Maze Master, you deserve a nice big Italian lunch.”
Once in the town centre, we parked the car in a side lane and walked along Macrossan Street toward Rocky’s Cafe, enjoying the warm tropical air.
“I just need to check something with Carmen,” said Dusty as we drew level with the quaint cottage belonging to Rocky’s neighbour. “I have a feeling she’s an early riser. She might have seen something on the morning of the murder.”
Carmen, wearing a magenta turban and a dress of matching colour that hugged her body and fell to her ankles, stood in the doorway fare-welling a couple of guests. It wasn’t until the elderly couple escaped Carmen’s effusive hugs and turned around that I recognised the English octogenarians Dusty and I had seen at Four Mile Beach from time to time.
The woman looked up at me, beaming in recognition. “Hello, love.”
“Aha. You have come.” Carmen extended a bejewelled arm toward us. “You must meet my very good friends. They go quickly to catch the bus.” She eased herself between the couple, wrapping her arms around their shoulders. “I am introducing you to my dear, dear friend, Sylvia and her most dashing husband, Eric.”
The mysterious Sylvia and Eric! Remembering how we’d conjectured they might be pet dogs or caged birds made it hard for me to keep a straight face.
Eric nodded as if in agreement with Carmen’s assessment of him as ‘most dashing’, straightening his body slightly.
Sylvia dazzled us with her smile. “Isn’t Port Douglas beautiful? It’s our favourite place in all of Australia. Our favourite place in the world, really.” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t it, ducks?”
“Yes.” Despite the shortness of his reply, her husband’s shining eyes and radiant expression confirmed his enthusiasm for Port Douglas.
“We can’t stop,” said Sylvia, with an apologetic glance at Dusty and me. “We mustn’t be late for the shuttle.”
As on the first occasion I’d seen them, I felt a desire to help them. “I can drive you if you like.”
Sylvia looked up at me, beaming her appreciation. “We’re only going along Macrossan Street. Our bags are already at the coach pick-up. Thank you anyway, ducks.”
As I watched them make their way along the path, I felt a childish flush of pleasure at being elevated from ‘love’ to ‘ducks’. On impulse, I strode forward and caught up with them.
“I’ll walk with you.”
Dusty called after me. “Meet you at Rocky’s in five minutes.”
Rocky’s Cafe had become a regular drop-in place for us since we’d arrived in Port. Not only was the food excellent but so was the coffee and Rocky did his best to supply us with local knowledge and answer any questions we had about the area and its people. We’d also discovered Nathan was ‘a walking plantopedia’ – to use Rocky’s words. Our smiling waiter would point at plants through the window of the cafe and effortlessly reel off the names of each one. He even knew their correct botanical names. Whenever Dusty saw a plant that interested her, she would snap a photo of it and later ask Nathan what it was called.
That’s what she was doing when I joined her at the cafe after escorting Sylvia and Eric to the coach.
“Cyrtostachys renda,” Nathan said, smiling triumphantly and pointing at the photo on Dusty’s phone of one of the pink-trunked palms we’d first seen near Sunyarta and had since noticed in several places around Port Douglas.
When I sat down, Dusty grinned at me as if I’d passed some sort of secret test.
“Common name is lipstick palm.” Nathan was proudly showing off his knowledge. “Lots of palms here: Alexandra palm, fan palm, African oil palm. And ferns: basket fern, tree fern, bird’s nest fern…”
Fearing Nathan was about to name all the ferns he knew, possibly all the plants he knew, Dusty interrupted.
“You know a lot about plants, Nathan.” He grinned and nodded. “You’re observant, too.”
“Observant, yes. I observe plants carefully. I look at the leaves and the flowers. Then I know what plant it is.”
Dusty looked at Nathan thoughtfully, as though seeing him in a new light.
“The monastery has lots of plants, doesn’t it?” she said.
Nathan nodded his head vigorously. “Heaps and heaps. Every day I go to the hill to see the plants.”
“Every day? Is it just plants you notice?”
He inclined his head, as though not fully understanding what Dusty meant. “I like plants.”
Dusty rephrased her question. “When you go to the monastery to observe the plants, do you see people you know there?”
Nathan giggled. “I know lots of people. They wave to me.”
“Did you know Josh, the vet’s son?”
Nathan’s face clouded over.
“Did you ever see him when you went to the monastery?”
“One time. I saw Josh one time. I waved to him but he didn’t see me.”
“What was Josh doing the day you saw him?”
Nathan shrugged. “Just sitting.” He put his head to one side in an effort to remember more. “Looking at a book.”
“Maybe he’d found a secret place in the gardens where he could read without being interrupted.”
Gratified Dusty understood, Nathan’s eyes shone with pleasure. A customer at another table called him and he hurried away to fulfil his duties. Dusty turned to me.
“That was nice, what you did. Walking with Carmen’s friends to the bus stop.”
So I had unwittingly passed a test and been awarded brownie points. I was pleased if a trifle embarrassed.
“They’re from Berkshire in England. Migrated to Australia almost fifty years ago. A really nice couple. But quite different from their friend Carmen.”
“Yep. And I bet they don’t know Carmen is a secret marijuana smoker.”
“A secret marijuana smoker?” Dusty quickly put a warning finger to her lips. In my surprise I’d raised my voice.
“When I popped in to see Carmen, I detected a distinctive aroma wafting through her house.” Dusty raised her eyebrows knowingly.
“Right. Maybe she takes it for medicinal purposes. Was she able to give you any information about the morning of the murder?”
Dusty tapped her nose and grinned mischievously. “A very important piece of information; which I’ll tell you about later. Carmen has also agreed to host a little get-together, or fiesta as she calls it, on Wednesday afternoon in honour of Ram.”
Before I could explore that revelation further, Rocky emerged from the kitchen and joined us at our table.
“Great to see you both again. How’s the case going?”
“We’re getting close to wrapping it up.” Dusty couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.
Rocky nodded. “Jake mentioned that when I spoke to him this morning.”
Dusty’s brow furrowed. “He did?” She seemed disconcerted. “What did he tell you?”
Mindful of the people sitting at nearby tables, Dusty had lowered her voice and indicated, with a warning look, that Rocky should do the same.
Rocky obliged, speaking in almost a whisper. “He said the police were swooping on properties, including Moose Mulligan’s, in search of a shoe.”
“Did he also tell you the police found a partial shoe print at the scene of Ram’s murder and made a copy of it?”
Dusty turned to me. “Did you know a shoe print can be just as distinctive as a fingerprint? Police can make a mould of a sho
e print found at the scene of a murder and match it to the shoe worn by the killer.”
“Didn’t they search for the shoe at Mulligan’s house during the original investigation?” I also kept my voice low.
“Being the sort of bloke who knows a lot about police forensics from his experience with the law and from watching crime shows on TV, Moose is smart enough to know he should dispose of all the clothing he wore during a murder including his shoes. But he’s also the sort of guy who’s tight with his money. Rather than destroying the clothes he would be more inclined to hide it all somewhere until the heat died down.” Dusty was in a state of heightened excitement as she usually was when she was closing in on the murderer. “This is a Cinderella search with a twist; when we find the shoe to match the print, we’ve found the murderer.”
Dusty closed her fist and brought her right elbow down in a gesture of victory. Then a serious look crossed her face. “I know you guys go way back as friends, Rocky, but Jake shouldn’t really have told you about the searches.”
Rocky’s tiger’s eye bracelet slid along his wrist as he raised his hand, palm up, to show he understood Dusty’s concern. “Don’t be mad at Jake for telling me,” he said with a smile that must have charmed many women. “If it makes you feel any better, he swore me to secrecy.”
Dusty seemed appeased, whether because of Rocky’s smile or his explanation, I wasn’t sure.
Chapter 40
On the day of the fiesta, while Dusty and Carmen were greeting and mingling, I was at a desk at the front of the room setting things up on the computer. We were in what Carmen called her rooftop lounge which had floor to ceiling glass doors leading out to a wide balcony overlooking Macrossan Street. Being a mild day, the doors were open. Abbie and David had already wandered out onto the balcony with their drinks. The balcony was where the ‘pretty birds’ visited Carmen daily. Rumba and Samba were not pets or caged birds but two wild sunbirds, stunning in appearance with bright yellow feathers on their bellies and a band of iridescent blue on their throats.
Disguising Demons Page 18