Disguising Demons

by Brigid George

  When Jake turned and faced the room, I saw the strain in his face only momentarily; he was quick to pull himself together and return to where Louisa Penrose was standing.

  Dusty first became suspicious of Rocky when he said he hadn’t been in Port Douglas at the time Four Mile Resort was built.

  “He corrected himself and explained that he meant he was only a child at the time and couldn’t remember the event,” Dusty told me. “His explanation was perfectly plausible but I filed it away. The other thing I noticed that day was his use of the word ‘buddy’. I know men in Australia sometimes use that word but I associate it more with America. When we were looking for Lena, who’d gone to the United States, I wondered if Rocky had ever been there.”

  Those two seemingly insignificant things had opened Dusty’s mind to the possibility that Rocky could be hiding something. When she saw him strumming his guitar outside the cafe the day we took Joyce there, a mental image of Lena playing her guitar as described by Abbie, flashed before her eyes. It was not the tune which had so absorbed her attention that day as I had supposed, but Rocky’s features. She realised Lena’s young face, when Abbie showed her the photo of the three girls, had reminded her of Rocky, not a film star as she had thought at the time. At first she thought he was somehow related to Lena; maybe a half brother or a cousin.

  On her instructions, I had thoroughly researched Angelo Tibaldi. When I eventually worked out he had been living on the streets in Melbourne under an assumed name and died of a drug overdose, we knew Rocky was not who he said he was. During one of my many phone calls to Melbourne in search of the truth I learned Tibaldi had been close to a teenager called Lena.

  That’s when Dusty had yelled ‘Arabella’ and told me about her ‘crazy idea’ of Lena undergoing a sex change.

  The pieces fell into place after that. It wasn’t too difficult to track Lena Patterson using my ‘highly developed’ cyber spying skills although it had been risky hacking into some of the websites with confidential medical information. Lena had had ‘transgender reassignment surgery’ in Thailand before going to the United States as a man. I’d been right flummoxed when I discovered Lena and Rocky were one and the same.

  In the silence that followed Rocky’s departure, images of Ram’s magnificent paintings rolled across the screen. Kimberley and Abbie watched the slides with tears in their eyes. The slide show stopped with the final painting, the one of the coffin in the tamarisk tree, remaining on the screen.

  Chapter 46

  Dusty was standing next to my table when Jake and Louisa, approached. Jake opened his mouth to speak. Dusty ignored him and looked directly at Louisa.

  “Why were you stalking me?”

  A soft pink blush tinted Louisa’s cheeks.

  “Dus,” said Jake. “This is Senior Constable Penrose.”

  “You’re a cop?” Dusty looked at Jake, her eyes demanding an explanation.

  Jake cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t blame Louisa, Dus. It was my idea. I wanted you to have some protection while you were on this case. I knew you wouldn’t agree to it so I sort of did it without telling you.” Seeing Dusty’s nostrils flare, he rushed on defensively. “I was worried the killer might come after you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to spot me,” said Louisa with a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I stuffed it up. I wasn’t good at being an undercover protection officer. I’m so sorry if I caused you any concern.”

  Dusty looked from one to the other, hands on hips, eyes blazing.

  “Protection! Me?” Her scathing glance swept over Louisa from head to foot, dismissing her suitability as a bodyguard. Dusty’s next words were fired straight at Jake. “How dare you! You condescending…”

  Jake interrupted what might have been a thoroughly entertaining description by putting his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m an arrogant prick.” An expression of chagrin clouded his face. “It wasn’t like that though, Dus. I reckon I’ve been in the police too long; always seeing people at their worst, witnessing violence on a regular basis. After a while, you get into the habit of expecting people to be hurt or murdered. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  I saw Dusty relax and knew Jake had managed to extinguish her fire. She beckoned me to join them. As I stood up she said, “I’ve got all the protection I need. Why do you think I chose a six foot Irishman for my research assistant?”

  Jake seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Louisa did manage to solve one mystery.” Dusty gave him a quizzical look. “She begged for a chance to redeem herself. I suggested she might be able to track down Ram’s missing thong.”

  Louisa smiled self-consciously. “I roped in my husband to help. We posed as a tourist couple.” She glanced at Dusty. “This time I was wearing a blonde wig and I stayed well out of your way.”

  Dusty’s icy stare challenged her to continue.

  Louisa swallowed. “I found out there’s been a shoe thief operating in Port Douglas for the past twelve months or so. People taking an early morning dip at Four Mile Beach sometimes returned from their swim to find one of the thongs they’d left on the beach had gone missing. So all I had to do was lie in wait in the early morning. It didn’t take long to catch the thief in action.”

  “So you’ve arrested a thong thief?” quipped Dusty.

  “Not exactly. I found the cache of stolen thongs, including Ram’s. They were all piled up in a hollow log.”

  “A hollow log! What sort of thief are we talking about?”

  “A forest kingfisher.”

  “A kookaburra?”

  “Not exactly. The forest kingfisher is a more colourful bird than the laughing kookaburra. It has a blue head and turquoise feathers on its back.”

  “Turquoise?” A faint smile crossed Dusty’s face. “I think I like this thong thief.”

  Moose interrupted us to give Dusty a vigorous slap on the back. “I had my money on you to prove the police were wrong about me.” He shot a scornful look at Jake and turned to go, almost bumping into Saya as he did so.

  Saya stepped back deferentially. Moose paused as though undecided whether to pass the monk without speaking or let loose a tirade of abuse. Before he had a chance to do either, Saya disarmed him.

  “You are a good man, Mr Mulligan,” he said quietly.

  Moose straightened and jerked his head up, temporarily taken aback. He recovered quickly and growled at Saya. “Me? You got the wrong bloke, mate. I’m no angel. I’ve done a lot of rubbish things; been behind bars for some of them.”

  Saya inclined his head. “It does not matter. You are a good man.” It was a sight to see this bulky, tattooed, self-declared criminal begin to melt before my eyes. His stance relaxed. He shifted from one foot to the other and scratched his clean shaven scalp.

  “I am sorry we are on your land,” continued Saya.

  Now Moose’s bravado completely evaporated. He opened his mouth to respond. The words seemed to stick in his throat. Finally, he licked his lips and managed a gruff reply. “I reckon I’m gonna do all right out of the land I’ve got. I heard on the bush telegraph that Australia’s about to legalise cannabis. Can’t wait!” A sarcastic grin spread across his face. “Got the perfect land to grow it on.” As his embarrassment ebbed away, Moose became more cordial. “It’s all good, mate,” he said to Saya. “I might not like the way you people got the land but I was wrong to blame you. I know that.”

  He cleared his throat, seemed to be about to say more but stopped as though afraid he might say something to weaken his tough guy image. Moose headed toward the door, turning briefly to announce to no-one in particular, “They’ll be paying me to grow pot. How good is that!” He winked over at Carmen on the other side of the room.

  As Moose departed, Nathan bustled over to tell us coffee was being served on the balcony. Clearly upset about Rocky, he was unsmiling and solemn-faced but determined to carry out his catering duties efficiently.

  Saya and Jag left soon
after Moose, politely declining the offer of coffee. They needed to get back to Sunyarta. As they were taking their leave, Dusty told Saya how she feared for his safety after her sightings of the black crow at the Sanctuary which she took to be a sign of imminent death.

  Saya looked surprised. “Crow? I have not heard this bird at Sunyarta.”

  “Really? It must be a quiet crow,” said Dusty. “I saw it a few times; on the track leading up to Sunyarta and in the big tree near the gate.”

  “Ah, the big tree. The black bird that sits there visits us regularly. Its colour is like a crow but it is more beautiful, like blue-black. This bird is the spangled drongo.”

  “Drongo?” Dusty laughed. “I guess I’m the drongo then!” The monks smiled. They all seemed to be sharing a joke I was not privy to. I hate that!

  Chapter 47

  It was nearing evening when Dusty and I strolled along Macrossan Street down to the water. We sat for a moment’s reflection under the ancient tree where we had interviewed Abbie.

  Only a few of us had stayed for coffee on Carmen’s balcony. David, Abbie and Kimberley decided they needed ‘something stronger’. Before they left, Dusty assured them she would not use their real names in the book.

  “I’m sure you’d rather get on with your lives without the whole world knowing who you are and where you live,” she said.

  “We’ll raise a glass to you at the pub across the road,” said David. “Before we get down to serious business. Abbs and I want to convince Kim to stay.”

  “You mean, you want to convince her,” said Abbie, giving her brother a good natured jab in the ribs.

  “Well, why not? Plenty of room at my place.” David met Kimberley’s eye and grinned.

  Kimberley’s blush and answering smile suggested she was giving the invitation some consideration.

  Louisa had excused herself as her husband was waiting to drive her back to Cairns. Jake left soon after to conduct the formal interview of Rocky.

  “Let’s meet up later,” he said to Dusty as he was leaving.

  “Of course.” I thought I detected a hint of coolness in Dusty’s response.

  Out on the balcony we saw no sign of Rumba and Samba but I did notice the grand bird bath Carmen had provided for them. In a shaded corner stood an elegant cane peacock chair and on its seat a glass float bowl such as might be used to display water lilies in the foyer of a luxury hotel.

  We were a quiet group as we sipped our coffee. Even Carmen’s exuberance had been dulled by the events of the afternoon. Her sorrow at discovering she had unwittingly played a role in Josh’s death had been compounded by the shock of learning the neighbour she regarded with much affection was a murderer.

  “I am sad for Rocky. He was a girl. It is true?” Carmen looked around for confirmation of this startling fact. We all assured her it was true. “That is strange for me to think about but it does not matter. It is murder that is wrong. To kill the monk, that is bad.”

  Later, her smile returned when Kellie offered her a heartfelt apology for accusing her of being responsible for Josh’s death.

  “I’m so, so sorry for what I said.” Kellie reached out to Carmen, clasping her hand. “You have never been anything other than a good friend. You were not in any way responsible for what happened to Josh.”

  Kellie turned to Dusty. “I owe you an apology, too. I don’t know what came over me, attacking you like that. I think I always feared Josh might have been responsible for his own death but I just couldn’t face it.”

  Dusty graciously accepted Kellie’s apology, assuring her no harm had been done.

  “What will happen to Rocky’s Cafe now?” I asked.

  “The cafe, it is mine.”

  Carmen explained that the terms of the lease with Rocky were such that if he ever gave up the business whether by choice or circumstances the business and the premises would revert back to Carmen. She had wanted to maintain control of the premises and who occupied it. In exchange for agreeing to these conditions, Rocky had taken over the prime position premises at an extremely low rental.

  Carmen explained that she would keep the cafe going, beaming across at Beth and Nathan. She had insisted they join us for coffee, waving away their protests about tidying up and washing the glasses.

  “I am thinking these two lovely ones will help me.”

  Beth and Nathan immediately gave their enthusiastic agreement.

  “You can change the name to Carmen’s Cafe,” I suggested.

  “That is a good idea you make,” agreed Carmen. “Rocky, he call it ‘La Cucina di Rocco’. That is false. No?”

  “False?” I wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “Rocco, it is not Rocky’s name.” She wagged a finger in disapproval. “It is not good to use the name that belongs to someone else.”

  Dusty and I looked at each other and laughed. Neither of us dared to point out to Carmen the irony of her statement.

  The memory brought a smile to my lips now as I gazed out at the Coral Sea.

  “I’ve accepted that my mother is dead.” Dusty’s eyes followed a catamaran returning from a day out on the Reef. “I know the DNA results will just be a formality.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to those softly spoken words. “Will you go back to Claigan now that we’ve finished here in Port? To work with Ken on your mother’s case?”

  Dusty shook her head firmly.

  “Ken is one of the best detectives I know. He wants to find out who killed my mother almost as much as I do. Besides, he promised that if it got to the point where he felt they had the guilty person but didn’t have enough evidence to make an arrest, he’d call me in as a consultant to help close the case. I’ll go to Claigan though; to see Uncle. He doesn’t know about the latest development in my mother’s case yet.”

  Even though she had had the dizzy distraction of re-igniting her relationship with Jake, it must have been difficult for her to carry a burden of sadness the whole time we’d been here. She had not allowed it to show or to interfere with her determination to solve Ram’s murder. When I acknowledged this, she dismissed it with one of her characteristic cheeky grins.

  “You’ve gotta be tough when you grow up in the bush.” By ‘bush’ she meant her hometown in the far east of Victoria.

  “By the way,” I said, “how come the police report didn’t mention a footprint had been found at Ram’s murder scene?”

  “Oh, didn’t I say?” She affected an air of innocence. “No foot print was found at the murder scene.” She grinned at me. “The mould was made after the police retrieved Rocky’s shoes from the water. I must have forgotten to mention that to Rocky.”

  “And to me!”

  “Because I know how you love surprises.”

  I don’t have any particular affection for surprises but Dusty insisted I did.

  A boisterous group of children raced past us to the water’s edge. Smiling after them, Dusty suggested a walk.

  “One thing puzzles me,” I said as we strolled along the footpath. “Why did Rocky come here to the hometown of the real Rocky? Surely, he risked being exposed as an imposter.”

  “Not really. When he was Lena, he was close to the real Rocky and would have learned that Mr and Mrs Tibaldi, the people most likely to unmask him, had died in a car crash. Lena probably had enough information about the real Rocky and the people he knew when he lived in Port Douglas as a child to know there was little risk of being found out.”

  “But he could have chosen to live anywhere.”

  Dusty looked at me thoughtfully. “You have enjoyed a lifetime in a close and secure family environment so it would be hard for you to understand the desolation someone might feel without a family. Think about Lena’s situation. By not believing her when she revealed she’d been the victim of sexual abuse, her family hadn’t supported her when she needed it most. Then Lena suffered the turmoil of a gender identity crisis. Imagine how dispossessed and alone she must have felt. It’s no wonder she, I mean he, gravita
ted to a place where he would find warmth and acceptance in the form of old school friends of the real Rocky and local people who knew the Tibaldi family.”

  I was still mulling that over when there on the footpath we saw the name Ellen in familiar calligraphy.

  “Now that’s a mystery that hasn’t been solved,” said Dusty, as we stepped over it.

  “These people might know.” I pointed to a sign ahead which read Old Court House with the subheading Douglas Shire Historical Society.

  Surrounded by a white picket fence, the Old Court House was a simple timber cottage with verandahs on all sides supported by white posts. Sitting on the front verandah in an old fashioned rocking chair which was moving slowly back and forth was an elderly man, eyes closed.

  “Seems a shame to disturb him,” whispered Dusty as she pushed open the gate.

  As we approached, the chair stopped rocking. The man’s eyes opened. He sat up and greeted us amiably.

  When we asked the man if he knew who Ellen was, he pointed to a rack of books near the door. “Top shelf. Book with the brown cover.”

  A grim-faced woman, wearied by a troubled life and aged by hard work stared out from the cover of the book.

  “That’s Ellen. Ellen Thomson. The woman who brought an end to capital punishment in Queensland.”

  “Was she an activist?”

  “She was hanged.”

  Dusty frowned. “That’s an awful irony if she campaigned against capital punishment.”

  “She didn’t campaign. She and her lover were hanged in 1887 for the murder of Ellen’s husband.”

  “How did she bring about the end to capital punishment in Queensland?”

  “They’d never hanged a woman in this state before Ellen Thomson. It was a pretty gruesome hanging. People were so outraged a public campaign against hanging began. As a result, in 1922 Queensland became the first place in the British Commonwealth to end capital punishment.”