by M. D. Archer
“Like what?”
“Like, someone climbing up into the second floor. Or anything unusual.”
“I mind my own business. And I’m always working. Online stuff. Don’t pay attention to anyone else.”
“Someone stole something valuable from her. We don’t think it was you,” Sophie added quickly. “We just want to know what you saw.”
“Uh...”
“It was the tenth of December.”
His hand dropped and he seemed to relax a little. “I literally never look out the window. When I’m not asleep I’m either on my computer working, gaming, or streaming. I couldn’t even tell you what my neighbours look like.”
“Okay, thanks for your time.” Sophie said.
He watched them turn and walk down the path, only closing the door when they were on the street.
Back in the car, they resumed their hunched down “stakeout” position.
“You think he’s telling the truth?” Paige said.
“I do. I believe that he spends all his waking hours looking at a computer screen and hardly ever leaves the house.”
“What a waste of time,” Paige said grumpily.
“Not really.” Sophie pointed as a car pulled out of Cecilia’s driveway. The shapes of both Cecilia and Martin were visible. “We had to wait for them to leave anyway. We can go talk to Gillian now.”
“Shall we go down the side and get the jump on her in the garden?” Paige said once they were out of the car.
“Probably best to knock on the door like normal people.”
“I guess.”
They went around the block to the front and Paige rapped on the door.
“Oh!” Gillian said when she answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Can we talk to you?”
“Well, I suppose so.” Pink rose in Gillian’s cheeks. “Is this about the manuscript?”
“Yes. And about your affair with Martin,” Paige said as she barrelled inside.
LEO PULLED HIS RED Toyota to the kerb where Zelda stood waiting.
“Took you long enough.”
“You really think you know who Jane is?”
Zelda buckled her seatbelt. “Let’s go see if I’m right.”
“I didn’t bring her with me,” Leo said, gesturing at the empty backseat.
“Obviously.”
“I thought it better to find out first and give her the news gently, in case it’s bad.”
“Fair enough,” Zelda said making an impatient gesture. “Let’s go.”
GILLIAN SIGHED AND set down her teacup.
“Both Martin and I are financially comfortable, and neither of us have any aspirations to be writers. It simply doesn’t make sense,” she said, the first traces of irritation finally entering her voice. Sophie was impressed it had taken her this long. Paige had been hurling accusations for nearly fifteen minutes now.
“How did you know it was a locked room mystery?” Paige said.
“Because Martin told me. As I already said.”
“Are you going to run off together?” Paige said suddenly, eyeing her appraisingly.
Sophie shot a look at Paige. That she was asking such a blunt question wasn’t a surprise. It was more of a surprise that she was interested at all in what Gillian was going to do about her romantic entanglement.
“Of course not,” Gillian said, not altogether convincingly. “Martin wouldn’t leave her.”
“But you want to,” Sophie said.
Gillian sighed a heavy sigh. “Yes. I suppose I do.”
“You used to work with Cecilia. Years ago,” Sophie said.
Gillian’s gaze shifted to the side. “Yes.”
“And then you ended up being her neighbour.”
“That’s a big coincidence,” Paige added.
“Not really. Auckland, despite being rather large, is actually rather small. You can’t go anywhere without bumping into someone from your past. At least, not when you get to my age.”
“Still...” Sophie mused. “You and Cecilia appear to be friendly now. What was your relationship like when you worked with her?”
Gillian shifted in her seat. “We weren’t friends. We didn’t know each other, not really. Cecilia was...” She looked to the side. “We moved in different circles.” Her face twisted as she shifted again.
“She was awful to you, wasn’t she,” Sophie said into the silence.
Gillian’s eyes finally met Sophie’s. “Yes. She was an absolute cow.”
BESS TULIPA HAD RETIRED a few years ago, but Leo had managed to find her through the Te Atatu Peninsula Facebook community group. Zelda had called ahead to check they could call around, and Bess had sounded pleased at the opportunity of a visit, even from two strangers.
She led them through her brightly decorated bungalow and into the living room where she had a tray of tea and biscuits waiting. From the garden outside, the sound of children playing, and some light guitar music could be heard. From the kitchen, the delicious smell of some sort of roast meat wafted in.
“I’m Zelda and he’s Leo and we work for an investigations agency.”
Leo’s eyes cut to Zelda’s. She’d said it so confidently that even he was starting to believe that they were colleagues.
Bess smiled. “Yes, you said on the phone. You want to talk about the baby girl that disappeared.”
“She was three years old, no?” Zelda said.
“Yes.”
“There were a few news stories when it happened, Zelda said, taking a manila file from her bag. “And you were interviewed twice.”
Bess nodded. “I can remember it so clearly.”
Zelda retrieved two sheets of paper. Leo looked over with interest. They looked like photocopies of newspaper articles. “Got them from microfiche,” Zelda explained to Leo. To Bess, she said, “Can you tell us what happened that day? We have the articles right here, obviously, but I know journalists take liberties and then editors slash details that don’t seem interesting enough.”
“I was in the ER. I eventually gave it up because it was too manic, too temporary. I like to make connections with my patients, get to know them,” she smiled, “so I moved to a longer-term care facility.”
Zelda nodded. “You were working in the ER that day?”
“It was around nine o’clock in the morning when they came in. A young couple. A car accident. They were both unconscious and in really bad shape. I was just ending my shift, but I helped for a while, until...” She broke off, looking sad. “They both died.”
Leo frowned. What did a car accident from 25 years ago have to do with Jane?
“How did the three-year-old girl fit in?”
“No one knew the connection at first. There was a lot of confusion at the scene and there’s always confusion in the emergency room. People coming and going. I had no idea that the woman and the small child were related to the car accident.”
“What did you see?”
“They were waiting in the corridor. A woman in her thirties and little dark-haired girl with big green eyes. She was crying and she had a little graze on her arm and her t-shirt was ripped. I went over and asked if she was okay. The woman said yes, just a little accident, but the girl was upset so I got her a Band Aid for her arm and a lollipop. That’s when I noticed she had an unusual birthmark. I thought nothing of it until the next day when I showed up at work and the police wanted to talk to me.”
Leo leaned forward until he was literally on the edge of his seat.
“No one had realised the little girl belonged to the couple from the car accident. Not until the poor lady’s sister arrived at the hospital asking where her niece was. Later, when the police questioned the ambulance officers who’d attended the scene, they confirmed that a small child had been in the accident but had been unharmed. A few people saw a lady comforting the child and holding her hand. The police thought she was just a witness to the accident, a bystander.”
“What happened to the woman and the child?�
��
Bess lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “No one knows. They disappeared. Some reporter called the young child, Katrina Bellevue was her name, The Lost Girl, and there were a series of articles trying to determine who she was, but after a while the police gave up and the media lost interest.”
Leo sat back, a little dazed. Was his Jane the Lost Girl of 1997? Was she Katrina Bellevue?
“I know this is a long shot, but...” Leo got out his phone and opened up the photo gallery to find a picture he’d taken of Jane. “Do you think this could be the same little girl?” he asked, his throat tight.
Bess leaned over to look at the photo then sat back with a sad smile, nodding.
“Those pretty green eyes.”
17
Tammy’s address turned out to be a rambling villa in Grey Lynn. When she answered the door and saw Paige and Sophie on her doorstep, her eyes went wide.
“Who is it, Tammy dear?” an older woman’s voice floated out from somewhere nearby.
“We’re halfway through the game,” a man’s voice added.
“Just a second,” Tammy called back. “Just a... a quick doorstep survey. A political thing, you know.”
“Fine, we’ll wait,” the man said.
“Really, Phil?” the woman said. “She could be a while.”
“It’s fine, Deidre. Let’s have a cuppa. Those surveys are important. Civic duty and all.”
Tammy, eyes still wide and looking furtive, stepped out and closed the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“Phil and Deidre, huh. Do you live with your parents?” Paige said.
Sophie nudged Paige to caution her.
“And are you playing cards?” Paige continued. “Like, a lunchtime game? How come none of you are at work right now?”
Paige seemed genuinely interested.
“How did you know where I live?” Tammy’s voice quavered. But as soon as she’d asked the question, a realisation crossed her face. “Cecilia told you.”
Paige nodded. “Why have you been avoiding us? You obviously know we’re investigating the theft of her manuscript.”
Tammy shook her head. “I didn’t know, honestly.”
Sophie eyed her. “Tammy, I don’t believe that’s true.”
“We’re talking to everyone in the writing group,” Paige added.
“Including Geoff?” Tammy’s eyes went even wider.
“Are you two a thing?” Paige asked.
Tammy clapped a hand to her mouth. “He’s like, fifty.”
“What is the nature of your relationship?” Paige continued.
“We’re in that writing group together and...” Suddenly Tammy’s face crumpled. “I can’t, I can’t.” She turned and opened the door. “Dad. Dad! Can you help me? They won’t leave.”
“Yikes,” Sophie said.
“That’s probably our cue to go.”
ANNIE SINGH PAUSED outside the smallish brick unit and bit her lip. Could she do it, could she really go in there? It seemed impossibly daunting, but now was perfect because both Sally and Peyton were inside at this very moment. She knew this because she’d followed Sally from her office in Newmarket all the way here.
She took a breath and marched up to the door. She rapped loudly, twice.
A bewildered-looking Peyton answered the door a moment later. “You look familiar,” he said.
“My name is Annie, and I have a proposition,” she said boldly.
“Annie? Annie who? How do you know where I live?” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, weren’t you at Cecilia’s party on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“You’re one of her amateur writers.” He nodded, then shook his head. “Listen, I’m having a meeting with my editor at the moment...” He rolled his eyes. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want Sally to be your agent.”
“It’s more than that,” Annie said, lifting her chin.
“You’d better come inside, then.”
BACK AT S & S INVESTIGATIONS, Paige and Sophie set themselves up in the conference room to have a working lunch. It was Paige’s shout again because Sophie hadn’t yet been to the bank to pick up a new card. She’d cancelled her credit cards but she was still hoping she’d find her wallet somewhere so she didn’t have to replace anything else.
“So we’re agreed. Tammy is not acting at all like an innocent person, and Gillian is most definitely on our suspect list.”
Sophie nodded. “Gillian was at their house that day and she’s obviously got old resentments that are not quite dead and buried.” Sophie tapped her pen against her notebook. “Maybe it was a coincidence she became their neighbour, but once she realised who she was living next to, I think she probably set out to seduce Martin.”
“Revenge.”
“Yep. The question is, how much revenge does she want? Maybe running off with Martin isn’t enough. Maybe she needs to mess with Cecilia’s career too.”
“Okay.” Paige wrote Revenge and Martin affair on the whiteboard next to Gillian’s name. “Still on the To Do list,” Paige said, reading from her notebook, “is to interview Peyton.”
“And we have to talk to Geoff. Get to the bottom of what’s going on with him and Tammy.”
“Leo should be able to give us an official deletion date soon.”
“I called that friend I told you about. I went to school with her. She’s a self-published author on Amazon.”
“Nice one. What did she tell you?”
“She took a look at the book listing and the thing that didn’t look right to her was the reviews the book had received.”
“What was weird?”
“Apparently getting reviews is hard for an indie author, unless you have a really good network or you’re really established.”
“So?”
“The Bonds of Death has a bunch of reviews from popular authors.”
“Which makes it more likely that J. J. Wonder is an established author.”
“But if they are, and reached out to their friends to write reviews, then wouldn’t the reviewers then know who was behind the nom de plume?”
“I guess, but it probably doesn’t matter. Remember, there’s no evidence it was stolen. Hardly anyone even knows. So even if Cecilia was to announce to the world that it’s actually her book, she has no proof.”
“She’d look like the liar.” Sophie nodded. “I wonder if any of the authors who reviewed the book would tell us who J. J. Wonder is. Could it be that simple?”
“Doubt it. But we should try.”
“I’ll see if I can find out the name of their publishers or agents and send them an email. Maybe Sally could help us. She must know people.”
“That reporter hasn’t called us back, you know,” Paige said out of the blue. “The one that said the SOS Agency solved the Radsworth murder.”
“I’m not surprised, really,” Sophie replied, setting down her phone to pick up their empty salad containers. She took them over to the bin and squashed them down onto the rest of the rubbish. “They got the facts wrong. It must be embarrassing.” She returned to her seat.
“That’s their problem. I want a retraction. Or a follow-up article explaining the truth and announcing to the world how awesome we are. I can’t stand the thought of this SOS Agency taking the credit for our work.”
“Are they even a real agency, though? I thought it was just a typo?”
Paige stared at Sophie. “I didn’t think to check.”
“Maybe we should—”
There was a knock at the door.
“I’ll see who it is,” Paige said, standing, but their visitor had already appeared at the entrance to the conference room.
DS Roman Leconte.
“Roman,” Paige said. “We were just talking about that stupid reporter who got it all wrong. Sophie told me that you said S & S Investigations to them, but—”
“Paige?” Roman interrupted. “Sorry, but that can wait... I need to talk to Sophie. Alone. Can we have a
minute?”
Paige turned wide eyes to Sophie. She raised her eyebrows as if to ask, OK? And after a moment, Sophie nodded.
“I’ll go, uh...” Paige frowned. Sophie shrugged and pointed at the bin. “That could go downstairs,” she offered.
Paige made an irritated sound and stomped over to the bin. “Fine.”
A few moments later she was gone. Sophie lurched upward, suddenly unable to be seated. She felt jangly, as if her limbs might start doing things out of her control. She turned her focus to Roman, taking in his serious expression.
“What is it? Roman. What’s wrong?”
“This is a little awkward, Sophie. There’s no easy way...”
Sophie swallowed. “Just say it.”
“Are you okay?” he said, taking a step closer. He stopped suddenly, lifting his hand to run it through his short hair.
“I’m fine, why?”
“The Fort Lane thing, I... it seems out of character.”
“Fort Lane?”
“But that’s... I mean... people need blowouts everyone once and a while. It’s just, I can’t imagine it.”
“Roman, I—”
“But that’s not really... I mean. The reason I’m here... showing up at my house.” He shook his head. “It was so late. That wasn’t cool, Sophie.”
Sophie frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Anya was upset, seeing you at the front gate, and then in the backyard. It unsettled her. I’m not sure what you—”
“The front gate?” Sophie said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You think I was at your house?”
“I, uh.” Roman pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up so she could see the photo, but Sophie couldn’t focus. She was shaking.
“Are you serious?”
“Anya and I are having—”
“You think I’d show up at your house in the middle of the night like some psycho stalker?”
Roman drew his head back. “But—”
“What night was this taken?”
“Saturday.”
“I was at a barbeque at Paige’s house and I stayed at Wade’s house that night. Call him to verify if you like.” She swallowed. “Go on, call him. I know you have his number from the last time you interrogated him. When you showed up and interrupted our date.”