No More Secrets No More Lies

by Amos, Gina

  She dug her phone out of the side pocket of her jeans and answered the call.

  ‘Brennan speaking.’ She raised her voice over the noise of the chopper and pressed her left hand over her ear to blot out the noise.

  ‘Hello Jill, it’s William Phillips. Sorry to disturb your weekend. What’s that noise? Where are you?’

  ‘A chopper’s flying overhead. It’ll be gone in a minute.’ Jill waited for the sound of the rotors to fade. She screwed up her eyes and watched the helicopter bank to the right and head off down the coast. ‘That’s better,’ she continued. ‘Sorry about that, what were you saying?’

  ‘I said I’m sorry for disturbing your weekend.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay, I’m not doing anything special.’

  ‘Look Jill, the reason for my call is because I’ve got some information that proves what I’ve thought all along, that Rose didn’t commit suicide.’

  Jill was surprised. There wasn’t the slightest doubt in her mind that Rose Phillips’s death had been anything but suicide. She thought William was just clutching at straws.

  ‘Can I meet you somewhere?’ William asked.

  ‘Well, I’m at Bondi at the moment, standing on the edge of a cliff. Do you want to meet for a coffee?’ she smiled into the phone.

  ‘I’ll be there in about forty minutes. I’ll meet you at Café Utopia on Campbell Parade. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yeah I know it. I’ll see you soon then.’

  Jill was puzzled. What information could William possibly have that was so urgent that he had to see her on her day off. She looked at her watch and made her way back down to the beach. She walked passed her car on the way to the café and fed the parking meter; enough to satisfy it’s appetite for another two hours.

  When she arrived at the café, Jill went straight to the bathroom and applied some makeup and brushed her hair. She wished now that she had worn her snug fitting jeans instead of the faded, baggy ones she was now wearing. Using some liquid soap from the soap dispenser, she dabbed at the grease stain from the bacon and eggs she’d had for breakfast that morning and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Well, that’s the best I can do,’ she said back at herself. A toilet flushed and an overweight teenager with dyed jet black hair and spiky orange tips opened a cubicle door and joined her at the wash basin. She looked at Jill and smirked. Jill ignored her, embarrassed that she had been caught talking to herself.

  She chose a table for two outside the café on the footpath so she wouldn’t miss William when he arrived and picked up the menu tucked between the salt and pepper shakers and realised that she’d not eaten since breakfast. A shadow fell across the table as she tried to decide between the Caesar chicken salad or the pancakes with maple syrup. The aluminum chair next to her scraped against the concrete and she shielded her eyes against the sun as she looked up to see William Phillips towering over her. He pulled the chair away from the table and sat down.

  ‘Waiting long?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just got here.’

  William caught the attention of the waitress and ordered. ‘Just coffee for me, short black,’ he said.

  ‘Same.’ Jill decided she could do without the pancakes and the maple syrup. ‘Well, William what’s all this about. What’s this information you’ve got to show me?’

  William leant forward in his chair and pulled out the crumpled letters from the inside pocket of his jacket and pushed them across the table towards her. Jill laid the letters out flat and used the palm of her hand to smooth out the creases. He looked at her hands; they were small but strong, freckled and he noticed that her fingers were bare. William studied her carefully noticing the golden highlights in her hair as she read Isabelle’s letter addressed to Rose. When she finished reading it, she transferred it to her left hand and began to read the second letter, the letter from Tommy to his mother, Isabelle Dwyer.

  Jill frowned as she put the letters down on the table. ‘Interesting. I’ll show them to my boss and get his take on them.’ She folded the letters and tucked them into an inside pocket of her backpack which was sitting between her feet beneath the table. ‘Tell me William, what do you know about this Tommy Dwyer anyway? He’s one of the beneficiaries to your mother’s estate, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s a long story. You got time to hear it?’

  Jill sat back in the chair and smiled at William, ‘All the time in the world.’

  William ordered another coffee for both of them and began at the only place he knew where to begin - at the beginning. He described how his mother had raised him in a boarding house in an inner-city suburb; of the close relationship they had shared when he was young and how that changed once he crossed the divide and moved into the world of big business, big money and big demands. He told Jill of the regret he felt that he had abandoned his mother at a time when she had needed him most. He then went on to justify his actions, of how he felt that she was equally to blame because of her lack of honesty and how she wasn’t prepared to meet him halfway. How she turned her back on him by not wanting to or not being capable of understanding that he had moved on with his life, and that his life had evolved into something more complex and sophisticated than hers. He told her about the secrets and lies his mother had been guilty of, how she had picked up a photo of a soldier in a secondhand book store and cast him into the role of husband and father to cover up her moral indecency.

  ‘So where does Tommy and Isabelle Dwyer come into all this?’ Jill Brennan asked.

  ‘Tommy Dwyer is my half-brother, he squirmed out of the woodwork after my mother died - just showed up out of nowhere.’

  Jill shifted in her seat.

  ‘Rose wasn’t my biological mother - Tommy’s mother, Isabelle was. Isabelle gave birth to me in London and took Rose along for the ride. Rose’s name was recorded on my birth certificate. Rose was thirty and desperate to have a child of her own. She knew she would probably never have the opportunity again, time was running out for her. After looking after her elderly parents, the prospect of marriage and family seemed so out of reach.

  The secrets and lies started with Isabelle. It was 1955, a different era, and she had her reputation to consider. She’d married a very wealthy man, with a large family fortune and she didn’t want to have to explain to her husband how she managed to become pregnant when he wasn’t capable of producing another heir. Two years after Tommy’s birth, when they were trying to have another child, he came down with a severe case of mumps which made him sterile. But there’s more to this sordid story. It also seems that my wife, Suellyn was having an affair with Tommy and they were planning to run away together. They were in this together. Tommy was trying to get Suellyn to find out what Rose was doing with the money she inherited from Isabelle. That’s why Suellyn was so desperate to get Rose to move out of the house in Eden Street. She wanted Rose out of the way so she could have a thorough look through the house. When they found out that Rose made Tommy a beneficiary to the estate, well, that upset everything. Tommy realised that he was going to get his share after all. But that still wasn’t enough he wanted the Eden Street house as well.

  ‘But the house wouldn’t be worth much though, would it?’

  ‘Don’t be put off with the way it looks. I know it’s rundown but the land is worth at least twenty times the value of the house. The suburb’s becoming popular with young families and they either want to knock the houses down and build two storey mansions or else renovate them, bring them back to their former glory.’ William fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers on the table and looked across at Jill. ‘But it’s now got a whole lot more complicated with these letters turning up. Suellyn found them when she was rummaging through Tommy’s things. He’s got a beach house up the coast and he’s just sold it. I think the two of them were about to do a runner, at least Suellyn was until these letters turned up. Seems like my wife has a conscience after all.’

  ‘So what part do you think Suellyn played in all of this? Do you
think she was capable of harming Rose?’ Jill asked

  ‘I really don’t know. Suellyn can be impulsive and quick-tempered at times and she doesn’t always consider the consequences of her actions. The fact that Rose left a large part of her estate to Tommy might have swayed her to leave me and run off with Tommy. She tells me she’s been unhappy in our marriage.’ William rubbed the back of his neck and felt a huge knot. ‘As far as Tommy goes though, he’s a real concern. In my view, if you’re looking for a motive as to why he would murder my mother, I mean Rose, you only have to remember that Isabelle cheated him out of his inheritance by leaving everything to her and he probably didn’t have the faintest idea that Rose intended to leave almost half to him.’

  The autumn sun had all but disappeared and shadows from the neighbouring buildings crept along the footpath to where William and Jill were sitting drinking their second cup of coffee. Jill began to shiver through her thin cotton shirt. The beach was almost deserted and the café was getting ready for the dinner crowd.

  ‘I guess we should be making a move. I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,’ Jill said as she looked over at the owner standing by the cash register.

  After William paid for their coffees they left the café together and walked at a leisurely pace along Campbell Parade to where Jill had parked her car. Jill was cold and she crossed her arms across her body to try to warm herself. She didn’t think to bring a coat when she left home earlier in the day.

  ‘This is my car here.’ Jill was relieved to see that she still had ten minutes on the meter. The parking rangers were notorious on this part of the strip. ‘I’ll be in touch William. We’ll have to discuss these letters with your wife and do some digging around to find out the circumstances surrounding Isabelle’s death.’

  Jill unlocked the car and William held the door opened for her as she slipped in behind the wheel and threw her backpack onto the passenger seat. As she drove off she looked at William in the rear view mirror. He was standing on the footpath with his hands in his pockets staring out at the ocean.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  ‘What's the low down on these two, Brennan?’ Rimis asked.

  Jill referred to her notebook. ‘Okay, I’ll start with William Phillips. He’s a corporate counsel and works for a merchant bank in the high end of town. Ruthless in business, a workaholic by all accounts, but generally well respected and liked by his clients and work colleagues. Only son of Rose Phillips who is not his birth mother, father unknown. Lives with his wife Suellyn, married for about thirteen years, not so happily recently, I gather, no children. Apparently there was a fallout between William and Rose over a paternity matter. They weren’t on speaking terms. The wife has had brief contact over the years with the deceased but apparently wanted her out of her Eden Street house. It is understood that she was the one responsible for disconnecting the electricity to the house and gave instructions to a local real estate agent, Ambah St John to sell it.’ She paused and looked over at Rimis. ‘She was the woman who found Rose’s body.’ He nodded. He remembered the young woman with the legs up to her neck and the blonde hair.

  Jill continued. ‘Not much is known about Suellyn Phillips, attractive, a social butterfly I suppose is a good description, flits around the place, likes the long, boozy lunches with the girls. If you don't mind me saying so Sarge, a bit of a selfish bitch is probably a good description. Known to hit the booze regularly and hard. Two counts of DUI over the past three years. Tommy Dwyer is on the scene and could be a person of interest. Dwyer’s mother committed suicide about six months ago, interesting, same MO as the deceased.

  ‘Okay, I've got the gist of it. The beneficiaries of Rose’s estate are William Phillips, Thomas Dwyer Kevin Taggart, the next-door neighbour and Max Grey, an elderly neighbourhood gardener, correct?

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’ve met Mr Taggart. Strange fella that one. I’ve got my eye on him. Seems to have some sort of fascination for little old ladies.’ He cocked his eyebrows. ‘Most murder victims, if we are talking about murder here Brennan, are killed by people they know. Nine times out of ten, the murderer is someone who the victim knows, not a stranger. Murder is not usually a random act, the victim is someone who knows something, who has something, who’s got money, get the picture? Always look at the family first though, that’s usually where you’ll find the perp, Brennan.’

  ‘Here we are now, Sarge. Visitor parking is next to the entrance.’

  Rimis parked in one of the visitor spaces and they walked to the front of the building. Brennan pressed the intercom. She introduced herself and the lock was released. Brennan and Rimis travelled in the lift to the eighth floor in silence. They flashed their IDs at Suellyn when she opened the front door and followed her as she led them into the lounge room where she invited them to take a seat.

  ‘Can I get you something to drink? A coke, mineral water or something a little stronger?’ Suellyn asked.

  ‘No thanks, Mrs Phillips.’ Rimis took a seat on a lounge and made himself comfortable. William walked into the room and looked straight at Jill, ignoring the hard-faced detective with her. Brennan introduced William to Nick Rimis.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here Mr and Mrs Phillips. Always fancied myself living by the beach - plan to take up surfing one of these days.’ Rimis stood and flashed his ID card in William’s face.

  ‘With respect, let’s get on with it Detective Sergeant, as you know this isn’t a social call.’ William looked at Jill and then back at Rimis.

  ‘That’s Detective Senior Sergeant,’ Rimis scowled at William as he returned his ID to the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He didn’t like the tone in William’s voice and he wasn’t accustomed to being told how to conduct an interview, especially by some smart-arsed barrister.

  Jill led Suellyn away to the kitchen to make coffee.

  ‘Let’s make a start then Mr Phillips. For the record, please state your full name and address.’ Rimis noticed the drinks cabinet and drifted towards it. He picked up the bottle of Highland Park. ‘Nice drop William, expensive too.’

  ‘Can we just get on with it?’ Rimis turned around and faced William.

  ‘By all means,’ he replied.

  William approached the sideboard where Rimis had been standing only a few moments earlier. ‘My name is William Seymour Phillips; address Panorama Apartments, Marine Parade, Manly.’ William poured himself a Scotch from the bottle and picked up his glass. He raised his eyebrows pointing the glass towards Rimis. The Detective Senior Sergeant shook his head.

  ‘Mr Phillips, Detective Senior Constable Brennan has shown me, as you know, the letters written by Isabelle and Tommy Dwyer. That’s why we’re here of course. But before we get onto the letters, there are some questions I need to ask you. First, can you tell me a bit about the relationship between your late mother and your wife. From information gathered already, there seems to have been some sort of animosity between the two of them. Can you tell me about that Mr Phillips?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think there was any real animosity. At least no more than what you would expect between two strong-willed and headstrong women. Suellyn looked in on her occasionally to check to see if she was all right and coping on her own.’

  ‘And how did your mother cope living on her own, Mr Phillips?’

  ‘Well, it appears not very well, doesn’t it? The house is in bad shape. It’s pretty run-down and she was living there without electricity. But of course, you would already know that.’

  ‘Can you tell me about your relationship with your mother and when you saw her last?’

  ‘I didn’t have a relationship with my mother I’m ashamed to say. I haven’t seen her for years. We had a falling out over a family misunderstanding.’

  Rimis scribbled down a few notes in his notebook and left William sitting on the lounge. He walked into the kitchen to where Jill and Suellyn were drinking coffee. Brennan was leaning against the kitchen bench, talking to Suellyn, playing the role of ‘soft cop.’ Br
ennan left Rimis to do his job and went to join William in the lounge-room.

  ‘I’m not asleep. If that’s what you were wondering.’ William opened his eyes and unfolded his arms from across his chest. His feet were resting on the coffee table and his legs were stretched out in front of him. Jill smiled and sat down in the lounge chair opposite him. The apartment was tastefully decorated. The walls were covered in original artwork, rich red and royal blue Persian rugs were thrown across the glossy white tiled floors. The painting above the dining table was an Arthur Boyd. The pair sat in silence, neither of them knowing what to say to each other.

  Rimis began his questioning. ‘Mrs Phillips, I'm going to have to ask you some questions about the death of Rose Phillips. Anything you say or do will be recorded. Do you understand that?’

  Suellyn replied that she did, surprised that she was being given a formal caution.

  ‘Can you tell me your full name and address for the record, and your movements between the hours of one pm and seven pm on the 20th May this year?’

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ she asked as she picked over a bowl of pistachios on the bench.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Phillips, this is necessary. This is a police investigation and we are trying to establish the facts.’

  ‘We’re supposed to be discussing these letters I found, aren’t we? Isn’t that why you’re here?’

  ‘Please just answer my question Mrs Phillips.’

  ‘I don’t have to answer him do I, William?’ Suellyn called out to William at the top of her voice.

  ‘Look, it’s up to you Mrs Phillips, if you don’t want to talk to me here, we can take you down to the station and ask the same questions there.’

  Before Rimis and Brennan arrived, William had warned her that she should just state the facts and tell the police everything she knew. He warned her not to get emotional.

  ‘Okay, okay, if you really must know, I was out with a friend. We went shopping all afternoon and then went on to have dinner at Eccos in the city. I remember the date because it was Rosalind’s birthday.’