Do Not Go Alone (A Posthumous Mystery)

by C. A. Larmer

Wow, thanks for that, ladies. Hope that gets a mention in the eulogy.

  I glance back at the watching man and am not surprised to find that it is Vijay. Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome. He looks a little frustrated. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and brings one to his lips. It looks like he’s about to whistle when something makes him stop, and he shoves his hands back. A police officer with large buttocks and a thin ponytail has rounded the end of the laneway and is calling out to him to get a move on.

  “I’m on my way, Officer!” Tall, Dark and Handsome calls back, giving Una one more glance before turning away. Belatedly she spots him and raises her eyebrows, but it’s too late. She has no clue what he wants, but I do.

  Bad luck, bucko, you weren’t quite furtive enough. I saw what you shoved in your pocket then. I know what that is.

  It’s a light pink envelope, just like the one I saw on Dad’s desk earlier tonight. It looked a little pregnant, though, like it was “with letter.”

  Now we know who pilfered the stationery. The question, of course, is why?

  Okay, how are you doing? Are you keeping up? Because, yes, it is a little curious that a virtual stranger would steal a letter from my father’s study and then try to flag Una down with it. Is there something in the letter he wants to show her? Was he giving it to her? Or was he giving it back?

  He certainly looked suspicious—the way he concealed it the moment the officer called out—and Una looked equally suspicious when I caught her hovering near that envelope earlier tonight. I thought she’d just deposited the cash. Now I wonder if that money was like the proverbial red herring, distracting me from what was really going on. Was Una dropping a letter off for my folks? Or was she leaving it there for Tall, Dark and Handsome to discover?

  Are you as baffled right now as I am? We need to see what’s in that envelope, that bit is clear. We need to read that letter, assuming it is a letter, and well, what else would you put inside a mushy-coloured envelope? I stare hard at Tall, Dark and Handsome’s trousers (yes, bear with me, we have no choice). His pockets are camouflaged in the dark. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if only I had superpowers, I could see through pleated cotton.

  Tall, Dark and Handsome is now striding down the street, heading towards a red sports car (what else would he drive?), and Una is now chatting with Arabella, but this time I can’t hear a word they are saying. And, frankly, I’m relieved. If that last conversation is any indication, they’ve probably moved on to my karaoke skills (“like two cats screeching in the night”).

  A shrill ring cuts through my thoughts, and I am forced away from my friends and back to the centre of the action, which has now moved from my bedroom to the kitchen, evidence bags piled up on the round pine table that sits in the very centre of the room. It’s the place we usually eat our Corn Flakes.

  The kitchen has become a makeshift headquarters, by the look of it, and Ruth is now standing at the open doorway, surveying the action. (Kelly is still in my room, by the way, one hand holding a phone to his ear, the other poking about. It makes me feel a little violated, if I’m honest, and I wish he’d do it with a little more enthusiasm.)

  I watch as a young woman with a black bob furiously clicks away on a laptop at the table, Buzz Cut standing over her, notepad in one hand. Craig is leaning against the oven door, talking to someone on his own phone while Ruth darts glances between all three of them.

  She’s waiting for something, but I can’t tell what.

  Eventually she says, “Okay, guys, settle down, let’s see where we’re at.” She waits as Craig finishes his call, then she continues. “We still have far too many loose ends. We need to clear some up if we’re ever gonna get some sleep tonight. Craig, tell me that was good news.”

  He gives her a so-so motion. “Dubbo Area Command is getting back to me.”

  “Dammit. What’s the holdup?”

  “It is two in the morning,” he says gently.

  “So what? They get to sleep and we don’t?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Just keep on it, okay?” She runs a hand through her hair. Stares at Buzz Cut. “Tanner, how did your people go? Find any evidence of a break-in? Tampering with the office door? Anything remotely unusual or suspicious?”

  “Nope, sorry,” he says, sounding anything but apologetic. “No one saw a thing, and we can’t find anything interesting to report. Plenty of empty booze bottles, some joints, a couple of used condoms and some vomit out in the front garden—just your typical party paraphernalia. Well, apart for the stiff in the library, of course.”

  Ruth flinches at that, which is nice of her, but she doesn’t pull him up on it, just congratulates herself for recruiting Craig to her team instead of this “buffoon.”

  “What about the brothers?” she persists. “Have we at least found one of the brothers yet?” The buffoon shrugs, so she turns to Black Bob. “Louise?”

  The woman at the laptop shakes her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving the screen as her hair slaps across each cheek.

  “Hey, guys, I just spoke to the Day Street police,” Kelly says, pocketing his iPhone as he strides into the kitchen. “They’ve checked at hotels neighbouring the InterContinental and several of the better ones in the city, and Peter May hasn’t booked into any of them.” Under her glare he quickly adds, “I’ve also located a mobile number for him, but it appears to be switched off.”

  “Oh for goodness’ sake. It’s like the entire family has gone into hiding.”

  Ruth sighs and I sigh along with her.

  I was happy they were sleeping peacefully, really I was, but now I think it’s time for them to wake the hell up!

  Ruth reaches for one of the evidence bags. “Right, first things first. We need to get this firearm down to forensics and get some fingerprints off it. Mickey is checking gun residue on Maisie’s fingers as we speak.”

  Ah, good. She’s got her priorities straight, and the trifle has come out second best.

  “We should’ve tested everyone at the party, made them all give us their DNA,” Tanner says, taking the bag from her, and Ruth shoots him a frown.

  She’s thinking it’s high time he pissed off back to his cave. “That’s not how we do things, mate. We find our suspect first, then we look for DNA. Better use of resources. And it’s kind of polite not to treat everyone like a suspect.”

  He shrugs again.

  “So you think there is a suspect, boss?” says Kelly. “It’s not just suicide?”

  “Just suicide?”

  “You know what I mean.” He saw the antidepressants. He thinks it’s open and shut.

  “I don’t know anything at this stage and neither do you. The victim was found with a fatal head wound that could have been self-inflicted, granted, but we don’t know that for a fact. Until Mickey comes back with a bit more substantiating evidence, we keep an open mind, and until I talk to the parents about their daughter’s state of mind, I’m not making any assumptions.”

  “Her friends did say—”

  “I know what her friends said, Tanner.” She interrupts. “But maybe it’s in the interests of those friends to say what they said. Ever think about that? You can’t believe every single thing you’re told in this business, right? We need to hear it from several sources before it becomes ‘fact.’” She makes air quotes with her fingers, then drops them to the marble bench top and starts tapping away. “I really need to speak to the family.”

  And then, as if on cue, one of them starts screaming like Stanley Kowalski from the front of the house.

  Chapter 10

  “Peter!” comes a loud cry. Then more dramatically, “Peeeeeeeter!”

  Goodness, it really does sound like something out of a Tennessee Williams play, raw and heart-breaking, except that’s my brother Paul down there bellowing his lungs out while a uniformed officer attempts to restrain him. It’s the ponytailed woman who told Vijay to clear out.

  Glad you could make the party, Paul, I think, but why are
you screaming for Peter when I’m the one with the bullet in my head? Peter isn’t even here; we’ve already established that. Well, neither am I, now that I think about it, but he doesn’t know that.

  “It’s my home!” Paul cries to Door Bitch out the front. “It’s my sister! I’m going in!”

  “Your sister’s body has now been removed, sir,” the copper says calmly, one hand still on his chest, but it has the opposite effect.

  “What? No! I didn’t get to see her! I didn’t get to say goodbye!”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I can give you details for the morgue.”

  “Morgue?” He looks at her horrified.

  Ruth appears then, Kelly close behind. “What’s going on?” she calls out.

  Ponytail goes to speak, but Paul pushes past her and up the remaining driveway to the front door.

  “I’m Paul May,” he cries out. “This is my parents’ house. I heard that my sister… she’s…” Then his face crumples and he looks ready to drop.

  Kelly rushes forward and grabs him under one shoulder while Ruth wraps a protective arm around the other, and together they shepherd him through the door and into the hallway, Ruth shooting a ferocious scowl at the officer at the front as she does so. Moron, that look says. Idiot, imbecile.

  It’s official. I’m in love.

  “I am so sorry about that,” she says gently, directing Paul towards the living room before realising the SOCOs haven’t cleared that space yet. She steers him into the kitchen where she nods at Louise, who’s still tapping away. The woman scoops her laptop up with one hand and, still tapping, scuttles out. Tanner and Craig have already vanished. Paul drops into the chair Louise just vacated, then places his elbows on the tabletop and his head into his hands.

  Ruth gives him a moment, fetching him a glass of water, then flashes a final scowl in the general direction of the officer outside before saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr May. We’ve been trying to contact you and your family for the past two hours.”

  He looks up. Frowns.

  “Isn’t Peter here? Didn’t he…” He lets that sentence dangle.

  She waits a beat, then says, “Your brother left the party sometime ago, before your sister was discovered. We haven’t been able to reach him either.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Do you know where he might be? Have a contact number? We’ve tried him at the InterContinental, but we’re told he hasn’t booked in yet.”

  Paul looks confused by this before he starts to vigorously nod. “Yes, no, um, he’s… he’s staying at the Comfort Inn this time. The one just down the road.”

  Really? Peter’s standards are dropping. Paul has other thoughts. He’s thinking, He’s been through every chambermaid in the city, has to start afresh on a new lot.

  He doesn’t say that, thankfully, just adds, “Wanted to be closer to home.”

  And the wrinkle that suddenly appears between his eyebrows reveals what he thinks of that. He shakes himself a little and pulls out his mobile phone.

  “I’ve got his number here somewhere.” He begins scrolling through his device, finds it and then looks up at Ruth, who is still hovering over him protectively. “Should I…?”

  “It’s best we deliver the news in person, sir. Face-to-face.” She calls Kelly over, who checks the number on Paul’s screen and nods.

  “That’s the number I’ve got. It’s not picking up.”

  Paul looks even more startled by this and starts plucking at his lower lip as though trying to draw blood.

  Ruth tells Kelly to get someone across to the Comfort Inn, pronto, adding, “See if Pippa is free; she’s good at that kind of thing. Oh and get that evidence bag off Tanner if it’s not too late.”

  Kelly departs while Ruth turns to Paul again.

  “We still haven’t reached your parents either. They are currently staying in Dubbo, is that correct?”

  He nods, a plump tear dropping out of one eye as he does so. “Yeah, they needed to be closer to the hospital, to my grandfather. He’s… well, he’s the one who’s supposed to be…” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence.

  Ruth nods now. “We do have a mobile number for them, but they’re not picking up.”

  “No, they’re useless with their mobile. Never charge it. Probably haven’t even switched it on.”

  Probably haven’t even taken it with them, I want to add. Or at least not the Samsung I gave them. I don’t know what that iPhone’s all about.

  “Do you know the name of the hotel where they’re staying? Maisie’s friends weren’t much help there.”

  “No… Sorry. I can’t help you either.”

  “No ideas at all?”

  He shakes his head. Looks stricken.

  Great family, you got here, Maisie. Real close, she thinks sarcastically, and I can’t blame her.

  We used to swap contact numbers and itineraries; we used to know each other’s business. When did that stop?

  “And you?” she says.

  “Me?” He blinks back.

  “Where have you been for the past two hours? I had an officer stop at your place on Dulwich Road, and there was no response.” It looked derelict, she wanted to add but held her tongue.

  “Oh, yeah, no, we… we’re not on Dulwich anymore. Sale goes through next week. We’re at a smaller place now, down on the other side of Chatswood. Shit. No wonder… right.”

  She frowns and checks her notes. “And your mobile? You weren’t answering that either.”

  He stares at her, still looking so confused. It’s like Ruth’s talking at chipmunk pace and he can’t keep up. Eventually he registers what she says and looks at his mobile again, then clicks something on the side.

  “It was on silent.” He sighs heavily. “Ruby… our youngest… she’s got, well, she’s got a bit of a cold. We haven’t been getting any sleep. Didn’t want to wake the house.”

  It makes more sense now. A sick kid trumps a dead sister any day I guess.

  “So how did you know,” Ruth begins. “How did you hear about Maisie?”

  He shakes himself as if still trying to keep up, then mumbles something about his wife and breastfeeding and Facebook.

  “There was a post, um, about Maisie. Freaked Jan out. She… she woke me. All hysterical. Looked like she’d been to hell and back.” He sighs. “I should call her. See if she’s all right.”

  Ruth holds up one palm. “That will have to wait.” She drags a chair out and finally takes a seat across from him.

  “I know it’s a very difficult time, Mr May. I know it’s a tremendous shock.” She offers him a slim smile. “But I do have some more questions, if you feel up to it.”

  He drops his head in his hands again and mumbles, “Yeah, sure.”

  She nods at Kelly who has returned, a plastic bag held low against his thigh.

  She says, “I’m sorry but I have to ask, do you have any reason to believe someone might have wanted to harm your sister?”

  “Harm her?” Paul looks up, the wrinkle between his eyes now a deep ravine. “But I thought… I thought it was suicide.”

  I want to scream. Why is everyone so quick to pin it on the victim?

  Ruth watches him for what seems forever, then replies, “At this stage of the investigation, we are treating it as suspicious.”

  She holds one hand out to Kelly, who places the evidence bag in her palm. It’s the gun, of course, and Paul glances at it and away and then back at it again.

  “That’s Dad’s gun,” he says, his tone almost matter-of-fact.

  She nods. “We assumed as much. It was hanging on the wall in his office? Is that correct? On the two hooks?”

  “Um, sure, yeah, I think so.” His forehead smooths over. I think he’s starting to comprehend even though he says, “I don’t understand. What’s Dad’s pistol got to do with—?” His eyes widen, his lips part. Oh yeah, he gets it now.

  “Your sister received a fatal head wound, Mr May.”

  “Head wound?” he r
epeats.

  “She was shot in the head. With this gun, we believe. It’s not confirmed yet of course, but it was located close to the body. I’m so sorry.”

  She’s watching him closely now, but if it’s signs of guilt she’s looking for, she’ll be disappointed. Paul seems completely thrown by the revelation, his brow furrowing all over again. It’s like a sand dune, that strip between his eyes, rippling with every emotion, giving everything away. His eyes dart back and forth from the gun to the detective and back again.

  Finally he says, “Shot? Are you sure?”

  Ruth looks at him with the patience of a mother. “Yes, it’s conclusive.”

  I can tell Paul’s mind is racing away. I can see that from the deepening furrow and the darting eyes and the fact that he’s now pulling at his lower lip again (he’d be an atrocious poker player), but I am not privy to his thoughts and it’s both exasperating and a little worrying, to be frank. Why doesn’t Paul want me to read his mind? What’s he hiding from me?

  Ruth’s thinking the same thing. “Do you know how to use a gun, Mr May? Does your brother?”

  He stops torturing his lip and meets her eyes. “Sure. I mean, we did some target practise at the farm, but that was years ago. That was with the rifle. Gramps taught me when I was twelve, but… but I’ve never…” He gulps painfully. “You don’t think we… You don’t think I…? I didn’t shoot my sister! I could never do that to Maisie!”

  “Which is why I have to ask again. Do you have any reason to believe someone might have wanted to harm your sister?”

  Paul snaps himself out of it now. He’s heard her loud and clear. As his forehead straightens out, he folds his arms across his chest, sits back in his chair and says. “No. No I do not.”

  And, sadly for him, Ruth and I don’t believe a word of it.

  Chapter 11

  Ruth is called away—something about the office computer and a “suspicious post”—and I am tempted to follow her, but my brother’s behaviour is just too extraordinary to dismiss.

  He looks dodgy. Why does he look so dodgy? I need to keep watching.