A Royal Murder

by Sandra Winter-Dewhirst

  ‘Were there any other players—or anyone else for that matter—who disliked her intensely?’

  ‘None like Matilda Lambert. Everyone else just kept their distance or moaned about her behind her back. But golf can be very cliquey, and you can be criticised, even if you’ve not done anything to deserve it. Pixie often deserved it. She brought it on herself.’

  ‘What about her manager, Sol Semler? How did they get on?’

  ‘I think very well.’ Hideko hesitated. ‘Although recently they seemed to be getting on less well.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Ever since we played at the Shenzhen International about three weeks ago, Pixie and Sol have not been the same toward each other.’

  Gary shifted in his seat. ‘Do you know what happened in Shenzhen?’

  ‘Not exactly, but I did overhear them arguing. We were on the driving range, practising after the day’s round. I was in the practice bay next to Pixie. Sol came up and said he wanted to talk to her. They then walked off to one side to have their conversation in private. Pixie started to raise her voice. They were too far away for me to make out what they were saying, but I could tell from their body language and from their raised voices that they were arguing. They have appeared frosty ever since.’

  ‘Did you ever find out what they were arguing about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think this is important information, Ms Kita. If you discover anything about what they may have been arguing about, I want you to let me know immediately.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Detective Chief Inspector Jarvie,’ said Hideko as she bowed her head.

  ‘That will be all for now, Ms Kita. Please follow Detective Lee to forensics. We need to take fingerprints and DNA samples.’

  Hideko did as she was told.

  Ten minutes later Matilda Lambert sat across from the three police officers. Gary was taken aback at how dishevelled Matilda appeared. Her short dark hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in some time. She was still wearing her golf clothes, but the collar on her shirt was tucked under and her golf shorts were unironed. As for her footwear, she had discarded the golf shoes for a pair of old rubber thongs. Gary noticed her legs were unshaved.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Ms Lambert.’

  Matilda didn’t lift her head. She stared at the floor and said nothing.

  ‘When did you last see Ms Browning, Ms Lambert?’

  Matilda slowly lifted her head. Her eye sockets were sunken and grey and her eyes were dull. She looked off toward the window without appearing to be focused on anything. She didn’t answer.

  Gary looked at her and gently repeated the question.

  Matilda slowly turned her head toward him as if hearing him for the first time.

  ‘Yesterday, before the tournament. I saw her in the dressing room.’ She spoke in such a quiet voice that Gary found himself straining to hear her.

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  There was a long pause before Matilda replied, ‘No.’

  ‘I understand you didn’t like Ms Browning very much.’

  Matilda jerked her head toward him. Gary saw a flash of anger in her eyes. Matilda stared at him but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Is that true, Ms Lambert? Did you dislike Pixie Browning?’ asked Gary calmly.

  ‘What does it matter?’ answered Matilda in a much louder voice than her previous answers.

  ‘Well, it could matter very much,’ said Gary as he held her stare.

  ‘I thought she was wasting her talent. I tried to get her to see that. I was cross at her for caring more about making money than being the best golfer she could be.’

  ‘Witnesses have said you would often confront Ms Browning and yell at her. You would also denigrate her to others.’

  ‘So what? That’s just my way. I call it as I see it. But I didn’t want her dead!’ She spat out the words, with the last word, dead, coming out as a scream.

  ‘Okay, Ms Lambert. Just calm down. Take a few deep breaths.’

  Gary slid a glass of water toward her. He was finding it hard to work Matilda out. She was an obvious suspect, but she was too obvious. Her volatile temper made it harder for her to lie. He wondered about the state of her mind. He’d had a lot of experience with suspects who were insane. The prisons were full of people with mental illnesses who hadn’t received the right treatment early enough. But they were mostly convicted on drug charges brought about through a life of desperation and self-medicating, leading to crime because they couldn’t work, not for violence. Gary knew that despite the media hype, mentally ill people were responsible for far less violence than the general community. Gary had a hunch that Matilda wasn’t the murderer, but he would have to rule her out based on evidence.

  ‘Where were you last night, Ms Lambert?’

  ‘I was at my hotel getting drunk.’

  ‘Were you with anyone?’

  ‘No. Who would want to be with me?’

  ‘Why were you getting drunk, Ms Lambert?’

  ‘Because I get drunk every night. It’s the only thing that stops the pain.’

  ‘What pain? What causes the pain?’ asked Gary softly.

  Tears welled up in Matilda’s eyes, but her voice remained hard. ‘I don’t know. It’s just always there. I can’t stop the thoughts.’

  ‘What thoughts?’

  ‘That everyone hates me! Everyone is saying awful things about me. “There goes the mad bitch.” “Who’s she kidding? She can’t play golf.” “What a fraud.” They all want me gone.’

  ‘Has anyone ever said these things to you?’

  ‘They don’t have to. I know!’ yelled Matilda.

  ‘Okay. It’s okay, Ms Lambert,’ said Gary, raising his hand as if he was stopping traffic. ‘I want you to listen to me very carefully. I don’t think you are well. You’ve had a big shock, and I think you need looking after. You need to feel safe. You need to find some peace.’

  ‘Yes, I want to feel safe. I want some peace,’ repeated Matilda, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Gary wasn’t surprised at Matilda’s reaction.

  ‘Detective Lee will take you to forensics for a routine DNA sample and a scan of your fingerprints. He will then take you to see one of our police doctors.’ Gary knew the time wasn’t right to use the term ‘psychiatrist.’ ‘I think you will find that the doctor will put you into hospital for a couple of weeks, so you can feel safe and be properly cared for. You’ll feel much better in a couple of weeks,’ said Gary.

  ‘Will I?’ said Matilda in a childlike way.

  ‘Yes, I’ve no doubt that the doctor will be able to prescribe something that will stop your negative and angry thoughts. You’ll no longer need to get drunk to get peace.’ Gary wondered if anyone had ever bothered to take Matilda Lambert aside and counsel her about her mental health.

  Matilda began to sob heavily. She sobbed so hard her shoulders and head bobbed up and down like a car bobble doll. Detectives Lee and White looked at Gary. Gary rose to his feet and walked around to Matilda. He put his arm around her shoulder and helped her to her feet.

  ‘It’s okay to cry, Ms Lambert, but you need to accompany Detective Lee.’ Gary gave Kym Lee a knowing nod.

  About half an hour later, Bruce Wells sat at the interview table. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. A young lawyer was with him—a lawyer Gary hadn’t seen before.

  Gary shook Bruce’s sweaty, limp hand and then shook the hand of the lawyer. Gary introduced himself and Detectives White and Lee.

  ‘Thank you both for your time, Mr Wells, and Mr?’ Gary looked at the young lawyer expectantly.

  ‘Mr Nathan Bird from Bird and Bird,’ said Nathan as he took a seat next to his client.

  Gary summed up Nathan Bird as a rookie, trying to be sophisticated, but in fact nervous and nerdy. He had a hunch he was the only Bird at Bird and Bird.

  As soon as Detective Alice White had finished the caution, Nathan Bird chimed in with, ‘Is my client a suspect?’

  Ga
ry could tell Nathan was lowering the tone of his voice to give it more authority, but unfortunately his voice broke on the word suspect.

  ‘Not at the moment, Mr Bird. At this stage we are talking to everyone who may be able to shed some light on Ms Browning’s movements or reveal to us something that may help us in our investigation.’

  ‘Why do you want to speak to me?’ squealed Bruce.

  Momentarily glancing at Bruce’s bad toupee, Gary said, ‘You are a person of interest, Mr Wells. You may be able to shed some light on what was happening in Ms Browning’s life that could lead to her being murdered.’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ insisted Bruce.

  Gary decided to go on the attack.

  ‘Why did you send Pixie Browning underwear, Mr Wells?’

  ‘I don’t like this line of questioning, Detective Chief Inspector. You are asking my client to incriminate himself,’ interrupted Nathan.

  ‘What? Well. Um. I don’t know,’ stumbled Bruce.

  Gary chose to ignore Nathan Bird.

  ‘Try again, Mr Wells.’

  ‘Don’t answer the question, Mr Wells,’ said Nathan.

  Bruce Wells looked dumbstruck.

  ‘Well, I thought she might like them.’

  ‘I said don’t answer, Mr Wells,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Were you in love with Pixie Browning?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I was. I knew it was a long shot. Her liking me back, I mean. But you have to try. Don’t you?’ blurted out Bruce.

  Nathan Bird stood up and said, ‘Mr Wells, I think it’s time we left.’

  ‘You thought sending her underwear would win her over?’

  ‘Yes. Women like that sort of stuff,’ said Bruce lamely, not rising from his chair.

  Gary looked at Bruce Wells, once again letting silence hang in the air. He couldn’t help but think Sol’s assessment of Bruce was correct. This guy was an idiot.

  ‘Well, how else could I show my love?’

  Gary could see Nathan Bird was frustrated and had now grabbed Bruce by the arm. Bruce shrugged him off.

  Gary went on. ‘But you sent the underwear anonymously. How was Ms Browning expected to know it was you?’

  ‘I was leading up to it. I wanted the mystery to build. But her manager guessed it was me and told me to stop. So I did. I’m not weird,’ said Bruce.

  Nathan now raised his voice. ‘I must insist, Mr Wells, as your lawyer, I must insist you stop answering these questions and leave with me immediately.’

  Bruce didn’t appear to hear Nathan Bird. He was staring at Gary. A clearly exasperated Nathan didn’t appear to know what to do, so he just sat down again.

  Gary chose to change tack. ‘When did you last see Ms Browning?’

  ‘Yesterday on the golf course. On the second tee. I followed her when she walked off the course after being treated so badly by that Hendy guy.’

  ‘Did you follow her to her beach house?’ asked Gary.

  ‘What beach house? I thought she was staying at the Grand, the same hotel as her manager, Sol Semler,’ said Bruce.

  Gary couldn’t tell if Bruce was lying or not. Gary was wary.

  After a full hour of questioning, Gary brought the interview to a close.

  ‘Detective Lee will take you to forensics to get samples of your fingerprints and DNA,’ said Gary.

  ‘I must object. If you aren’t charging my client, you can’t take samples,’ said Nathan Bird.

  ‘Yes I can. And just to be clear, I now find that your client is a suspect, Mr Bird. Mr Wells can decline to have his samples taken, but I can get a court order. You’d only be delaying the inevitable by a few hours. If we don’t charge him, we are obliged to destroy the samples after six months. But I’m sure you know all this.’

  Nathan Bird just looked at Gary and said nothing.

  Bruce Wells and his lawyer were led from the room, to be replaced by an annoyed Mee Po.

  ‘I’m sorry to delay your flight out of Australia, Ms Po, but this is a murder investigation, and we are asking a number of people on our list to remain in Australia until we have interviewed them and cleared them to leave.’

  In English laced with a heavy Chinese accent, Mee replied, ‘Thank you for your apology, Detective Chief Inspector, but you can’t seriously think I have anything to do with the murder.’ She looked Gary straight in the eye before adding, ‘You know I’m number one in the world in women’s golf?’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that fact, Ms Po, but I can’t see how your being number one has any impact on this investigation one way or the other. And at this stage you are not a suspect, but you may be able to assist us in our investigations,’ replied Gary politely, remaining cool and professional despite his dislike of Mee Po’s superior attitude.

  ‘In what way?’ asked Mee.

  ‘Did Pixie Browning have enemies?’ asked Gary.

  ‘Plenty,’ replied Mee.

  Gary decided not to ask her to elaborate. He wasn’t going to play her game. He’d wait.

  After a couple of minutes’ silence, Mee eventually said, ‘Don’t you have any more questions?’

  ‘I repeat, did Pixie Browning have enemies?’

  Mee glared at Gary. ‘Matilda Lambert hated her. They were always arguing in the locker room. Matilda would scream obscenities at her. But a lot of the girls didn’t like Pixie. She was a bitch.’

  ‘I’ve been told you didn’t like her, either.’

  ‘I think I’ve already made that pretty obvious in my answers. There was no love lost between us.’

  ‘Why did you dislike her, Ms Po?’

  ‘Because she wasted her talent. She could have been a much better player than she was, but she was undisciplined and only cared about the money she could earn from the marketing side of the game.’

  ‘Did you ever argue with Ms Browning?’

  ‘I couldn’t be bothered. I ignored her and froze her out. That is how I deal with bad people.’

  Gary was getting irritated. He had had enough for today.

  ‘Well, Ms Po, I think that will be all for now. Please follow Detective White to forensics,’ said Gary dismissively.

  ‘Great. So I can fly out this afternoon?’

  Gary couldn’t see any reason why not, but he had a sense that Mee Po was holding something back.

  ‘No, Ms Po. Not just yet. I would like you to stay in Adelaide for the next few days while we make more enquiries. You may be able to assist us further.’

  ‘But that’s not fair. I’m not a suspect. I’m going to get a lawyer,’ exclaimed Mee.

  ‘Ms Po, as Detective White said at the beginning of this interview, you are free to seek a legal representative, but you will find that police have the power to keep you in Adelaide for a few days, even though we are not classifying you as a suspect. And besides, the tournament wasn’t due to finish for another two days. If I have to, I will get a court order to formalise my request, but I’d be obliged if you would just cooperate, Ms Po. It makes it easier for everyone.’

  Mee Po didn’t answer. She stood up and walked out of the room followed by Detective White.

  Chinatown

  Rebecca

  The interview with Sue Barker at the television studios was over in twenty minutes. Rebecca thought Sue was remarkably professional for someone so new to interviewing. She noticed that Sue wasn’t scared to deviate from her list of questions, depending on Rebecca’s answers. Always a good sign, thought Rebecca. Rebecca was an old hand at interviews and warmed to the task. She knew the ESPN audience would be interested in a top American golfer being dispatched in such a macabre way. She hammed it up, while attempting to remain respectful—a difficult juggle. She was pleasantly surprised to see Walter Mildren hovering around in the background.

  ‘Great interview, Rebecca. Your descriptions were vivid. I really felt like I was there with the body bag myself,’ said Walter.

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ replied Rebecca.

  ‘And you too, Sue. Good questioning. You just guided Re
becca with your questions and didn’t dominate. The sign of a good interviewer,’ said Walter.

  ‘Thanks very much, Walter,’ said Sue. She was definitely chuffed.

  ‘So, what are you ladies up to tonight?’

  ‘We’re going to a bar to meet up with some old friends,’ replied Rebecca.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Of course not. You’re more than welcome,’ said Sue.

  ‘Of course. Bar Torino on Hutt Street at seven o’clock,’ added Rebecca politely, unsure if she was pleased that Walter would be joining them, or not.

  Ten minutes later Rebecca was driving her car up the steep incline into the Central Market car park. Being a Friday, the busiest market day of the week, the car park was chock-a-block. She headed toward ‘the outlands,’ as she dubbed the car park that sat atop the market mall and Chinatown. It was a bit further away from the main market, but that didn’t matter as Chinatown was her destination today.

  Stepping out of the lift on the ground floor, Rebecca negotiated her way through a throng of people heading toward the Asian supermarket. She weaved her way past the Indian stall selling colourful silk saris and scarves, past the halal butcher, the Vietnamese baker, and the Australiana shop selling UGG boots and misshaped toy kangaroos, until she reached Chinatown’s main alley, flanked at either end by giant red pagodas and white stone lions.

  She walked under the pagoda and made her way up Gouger Street to Concubine restaurant. It had just gone three o’clock, and the lunch trade was nearly over with the staff prepping for dinner. As she walked in, she saw Fen Wang clearing a table. Fen smiled a broad smile. She came over to Rebecca while still holding a couple of dirty plates.

  ‘Hi, Rebecca, how are you?’ Fen said enthusiastically as she managed to kiss Rebecca on the cheek without dropping any of the dirty cutlery balanced on the plates. ‘Chin said you were coming to see him this afternoon.’

  ‘Hi, Fen. Yes, I need to pick your brother’s brain about a matter,’ said Rebecca, regretting the cliché as soon as it was out of her mouth.

  ‘Ha, good luck with that! Go up to the Shanghai Room. It’s empty. I’ll go to the kitchen and tell Chin you’re here. Can I get you something to drink? Or are you hungry? I could get you some prawn and pork wontons or shallot cakes,’ said Fen, raising her beautifully shaped black eyebrows as if to say, ‘Go on—you know you really want to.’