‘Did Matilda try to top herself or is there something suspicious about her near drowning?’ asked Rebecca bluntly.
‘The police officers on the scene don’t suspect any foul play, and I understand the hospital called the police this morning saying Matilda was missing and that they found a suicide note. She’s a very sick woman, Rebecca.’
‘The poor woman,’ said Rebecca softly, all her anger at Gary melting away.
‘Let me drive you home. Detective Lee can follow me,’ said Gary as he led her to the passenger side of her car.
Aussie Tucker
As Rebecca showered later that morning, she was still thinking of Gary’s kiss. She smiled at the thought. After doing her make-up and hair, she pulled on a cotton shift dress and slipped on a pair of sandals. It was now forty-three degrees outside. It was too hot to walk to the office, and she couldn’t be bothered waiting in the heat for a bus, so she decided to drive. The car seat was so hot she had to put a towel down before she could bear to sit. She removed the reflective sun protector from the steering wheel, put the air conditioning on full blast, and drove the short distance to the office.
‘About time you put in an appearance,’ muttered Reg as he looked up at the clock on the wall. It was after ten.
Rebecca had already decided not to rise to the bait. ‘I don’t think fingerprint evidence is going to be enough to convict Sol. I told Gary about the triad link.’
‘Glad you can be so helpful to the police. What information did you get in return?’
‘Nothing of course,’ said Rebecca, throwing her bag onto the floor and bracing herself for an argument. ‘Now, Reg, about Matilda Lambert—police are treating it as an attempted suicide. She’s mentally ill. I don’t want to do a story on her trying to top herself. I’ve already filed a piece on the fact that she nearly drowned. I want to leave it at that.’
‘Of course. We don’t write about attempted suicides.’
Rebecca looked surprised. ‘But I thought because Matilda Lambert had been a suspect in the Pixie Browning murder, you would want more.’
‘What made you think that?’
Rebecca wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the day or the stress that she’d been under that made her blurt out, ‘Because you’re a heartless bastard.’ She tried to stop the words but couldn’t.
Reg looked shocked. ‘Jesus, Rebecca. Where did that come from?’
Rebecca stared at him, not confident to say anything more. There was a pregnant pause. She could feel all the eyes in the office on her and Reg.
Reg slammed his hand on the desk and roared with laughter. ‘Good call. I’ve been an arsehole. Sorry. Now let’s get on with it.’ His laughter stopped just as quickly as it had begun.
Rebecca thought it best to get back to business quickly. ‘So did that private detective dig up anything on Sol or Yong?’
‘Not much as yet, except he followed Sol into that dive of a strip joint in the city that has that motto, “Better and Wetter.”’
‘Oh gross! Some people are base.’
Reg shrugged. ‘Sol certainly had a good time. He almost filled a pint glass watching Chesty Bazookas do her stuff.’
‘Oh please, Reg. Too much information!’
‘I thought you’d react that way. So I know you’ll be pleased that I’m writing this story.’
‘What, that he went to a strip club?’
‘Yeah. It goes to the character of the man.’
Rebecca shook her head. ‘Fine. I’m going to catch up with Sue Barker shortly. See what she’s been hearing on the ground.’
‘That would be over lunch, I suppose,’ said Reg in a cynical tone.
‘It would be actually. We’re going to Orana. I’m going to do a food review on it, and I’ve decided to take Sue as my guest. They’re doing a special media lunch for food writers from around the country. I need some balance in my life,’ said Rebecca defiantly.
It was a couple of hours before she was to meet Sue, so Rebecca sat at her desk and turned on her computer. She needed to take her own advice and check her emails. She groaned when she saw 457 downloading.
It was the 355th email that stopped Rebecca in her tracks. The sender details were generic, and the subject heading was blank, but the content of the email read:
I think you need to check out Sue Barker. There’s more to Sue than meets the eye. Ask her about her affair with Pixie Browning. Just another jealous lover or something more sinister?
Rebecca said out loud, ‘Oh shit.’ On one level, she thought, So what if Sue is gay, and so what if she was having an affair with Pixie? But the complicating factor was that Pixie had been murdered. There were a number of questions running through Rebecca’s head. Did Pixie and Sue have an affair? If so, for how long? Did it end badly? Why didn’t Sue admit to the affair, or did she admit to the police that she had an affair with Pixie but thought it none of my business? Fair enough. Now Rebecca was on edge about lunch, but she couldn’t ignore the lead, even if it turned out to be a red herring. She concluded that the information was only suspicious if Sue lied about the affair. Other than that, it didn’t matter and was no one’s business.
Despite the heat, Rebecca walked to Rundle Street, hugging the wide verandahs on King William and trying to keep out of the sun along Grenfell before cutting through Adelaide Arcade. She looked up at the colourful depiction of the Australian coat of arms on the building’s domed roof. As an Adelaide girl, Rebecca knew the story of the kangaroo and emu being on the wrong sides of the shield. The design of the country’s coat of arms went through different versions before the final design was chosen in 1912, fifty-seven years after the unofficial but prescient coat of arms was installed on the Adelaide Arcade in 1855. Rebecca lingered in the coolness of the arcade with its brown-and-cream tessellated tiles, cedar-framed shopfronts, intricate iron banisters, and domed skylights. Then she walked down busy Rundle Mall through to Rundle Street. She often visited the precinct, with its many alleyways and shops. But today she was heading to Orana Restaurant, upstairs in one of the Victorian buildings at the eastern end of Rundle Street.
By the time Rebecca arrived, she was perspiring heavily. Noticing Sue Barker wasn’t there yet, Rebecca decided to go to the bathroom to freshen up rather than head straight to the table. It was a good thing she did. Rebecca took off her sunglasses and was horrified to see that her mascara had run. Panda eyes, she thought as she hunted for a clean tissue in her handbag.
Having rescued her face and hair, Rebecca emerged from the bathroom looking refreshed.
‘Hi, Rebecca,’ said Sue as she rose from her chair.
‘Hi, Sue,’ replied Rebecca, giving Sue a kiss on the cheek before sitting down.
‘Nice place,’ said Sue, looking around.
‘Yeah, it’s not bad,’ said Rebecca as she looked up at the circular copper-coloured artwork on the far wall, took in the parquetry floors, light-coloured walls, and the wooden shutters on the casement windows. ‘Very simple.’
‘So I understand Sol Semler has been charged with the murder of Pixie? I heard it on the radio,’ said Sue excitedly.
Rebecca wasn’t surprised the subject had come up so early in their conversation, but she was now viewing everything Sue said through a prism of doubt.
‘Yes. But I think it is purely forensic evidence at this stage. The police will need more,’ said Rebecca.
‘Why? Isn’t forensic evidence enough?’
‘Forensics are notorious for bungling evidence,’ said Rebecca as a waiter handed them the set degustation menu for the day, and poured them both a glass of Ruinart champagne.
Rebecca took a sip, licked her lips, and reached for her handbag to retrieve her notebook and pen.
‘I hope you don’t mind if I take a few notes today during our meal. I’m doing a review on Orana.’
‘Not at all. I’m just grateful to be here. I’ve heard the food is very good and matched with beautiful wines.’
‘Yes, the chef is doing some interesting
things. He’s a Scotsman searching for the essence of Australian cuisine. An interesting combination. Expect lots of native foods and spices.’
Just then the waiter brought them potato damper and a dish of butter. The damper was on a ceramic dish of hot coals and was still cooking.
‘Yum. I love this stuff,’ said Rebecca as she turned her damper before judging it to be cooked. She tore the damper open and smothered it with butter.
They had hardly finished the damper when their first course of Goolwa pipis arrived.
‘This smells just like the sea,’ said Sue as she bowed her head closer to the dish and sniffed deeply.
‘Yes, they’re delicious, but there’s the name pipi instead of cockle again. It’s happening all the time now,’ said Rebecca, deciding she’d put off the difficult conversation she needed to have with Sue until after the messy-to-eat cockles.
A plate of Coorong mullet with Geraldton wax and watercress was placed in front of them, and their glasses filled with Lake Breeze Chardonnay from Langhorne Creek.
As Rebecca cut into her fish, she sat up a little straighter and shifted in her chair. ‘I have a difficult question to ask you, Sue.’
Sue looked at Rebecca expectantly. ‘Yes? What?’
‘Were you having an affair with Pixie Browning?’
Sue dropped her fork and knife. ‘What?’
Rebecca looked her straight in the eye. ‘You heard me.’
‘What sort of question is that?’
‘I’m sorry, Sue, but it is my job to ask. Were you and Pixie in a relationship?’
‘No. We bloody well weren’t. I’m not gay, for one thing! Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Where the hell did you get the idea I was (a) gay and (b) shacked up with Pixie?’ said Sue in a raised voice.
‘A source,’ responded Rebecca coyly.
‘What source?’
‘I’m not going into that, Sue,’ said Rebecca, now starting to feel embarrassed. She did not want to own up to the fact that she didn’t really have a source but an unsourced email that she couldn’t verify. She knew it was a gamble, one that looked like it had backfired.
‘You can’t just accuse me of having an affair with Pixie and not say where you got the information.’
‘I was duty-bound to ask, as this is a murder case. If it were true and you lied about it, it wouldn’t look good for you.’
‘But I’m not lying about it, and in addition to that, they have the murderer. What the hell are you playing at?’ asked Sue, not having taken a bite to eat since Rebecca’s question.
Sue stood up. ‘I need the bathroom.’ She stormed off.
Rebecca picked up her glass of Chardonnay and took a couple of big gulps. What had she done? She’d really stuffed up. How was she going to extricate herself from this mess? There was a distinct possibility that Sue wouldn’t even return to the table.
But she did return. By then Rebecca had finished off her glass of Chardonnay but hadn’t touched anymore of the fish. She’d lost her appetite.
Sue sat down. She seemed much calmer. ‘Okay, Rebecca. I understand you won’t tell me who the source is. I understand you are just doing your job. I might not like it, but I understand. All I can do is tell you the truth. I’ve never had a relationship with Pixie Browning. I’m not gay. Not that anyone should care either way. But just because I don’t have a man in my life doesn’t mean I’m gay. It’s very hard on the circuit to maintain relationships, whether you’re gay or heterosexual or transsexual or bisexual or no-sexual. I happen to be heterosexual, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I haven’t lied about having a relationship with Pixie. I haven’t got a motive to kill her.’
In the absence of any evidence apart from the gossip of an anonymous emailer, Rebecca didn’t have much choice but to take Sue at her word and feel ashamed. She knew it wasn’t her best work.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Rebecca as she grabbed Sue’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry for asking such a tactless question. All these murders take you to places you’d rather not go. I was following up a lead, but it wasn’t a strong one. Sorry to place you in such an awkward position to have to defend yourself.’
Sue smiled graciously. ‘That’s okay. If that’s the worst that happens to me during these grisly murders, when people are only trying to do their job, I can’t really complain. Let’s forget about it and toast to life.’ Sue held up her glass of Chardonnay before she noticed Rebecca’s was empty. Rebecca lamely held up her water glass.
‘I have an idea,’ enthused Sue. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day tomorrow after the cool change later tonight. Why don’t we play a round of golf at Royal Adelaide tomorrow? I need the practice, and I bet you’ve been working nonstop without a day off since last Thursday. Can you get tomorrow off? It’s Saturday, after all. And I’m sure I can pull rank on the Saturday-morning comp and get us a game.’
Rebecca loved the thought of taking the day off to play golf but wasn’t sure Reg would let her take a break during a multiple-murder investigation. ‘Let me check with the boss. I’ll let you know later today.’
The Royal Tattoo
The third hole at the Royal Adelaide Golf Course was a tight par four, with the course’s signature fir trees lining both sides leading to the leg-of-mutton green. Reg had only agreed to Rebecca having the morning off, so she and Sue had hit off early, just after seven o’clock.
The air was heavy with pine scent. Rebecca crunched over the thick blanket of needles lying on the loose, sandy soil and picked up a cone that sat in front of her ball. ‘Bloody hell!’ she muttered. She was annoyed at herself for slicing the ball off the tee. Now the ball was lying on muck in the rough on a steep slope to the right of the fairway without a clear line of sight to the green. Rebecca knew hitting the ball cleanly wouldn’t be easy. She eyed the low branches blocking a clean shot, walking over to her buggy and choosing a five iron from her bag. She then stood behind the ball and picked out the line she wanted to take, picking out a twig in front of her as a close target for squaring her clubface. She followed her routine set-up but positioned herself so that the ball was further back in her stance than normal, in the hope that it would keep low and avoid the branches. She brought the club back in a three-quarter swing and gave a short follow through, hitting the ball sweetly. It flew low, landing about a hundred metres short of the green. ‘Thank God I didn’t stuff that one!’
‘Well done!’ said Sue.
‘You know that this hole is the only hole left that is true to the design of Dr Alister MacKenzie, the first course architect?’ added Sue as they both walked off down the fairway toward Sue’s ball, which had landed only about eighty metres short of the green.
‘Well, no. Funnily enough, I didn’t know that,’ said Rebecca sarcastically.
‘You know what, Rebecca?’
‘What?’
‘You need to lighten up a bit. You’re a social golfer. You’re not expected to play like a pro. Just enjoy yourself.’
‘Well, it’s a bit of pressure playing with a pro! I don’t want to embarrass myself.’
‘What, you’ll be embarrassed if you don’t play as well as a professional golfer like me? That’s setting yourself up for failure, given you’re lucky if you play more than once a month.’
‘I know I can’t play as well as you, but I want to play my best, not my worst. I just don’t get how I can play so well one day and so badly the next.’
‘It’s all in the head. My psychologist says when you hit a bad shot, you should laugh. Or if you can’t manage that, at least smile.’
‘What the hell for? You’d look like a nutter, surely. I don’t see you laughing when you hit a bad shot during a tournament.’
‘Well, I might not laugh out loud, but I’m trying not to indulge in negative self-talk. I try to let it go, and I do try to smile. The theory is if you get upset, you tense up. Good golf is all about having a relaxed swing that is perfectly timed. If you start getting upset, putting yourself down, swearin
g, or even going as far as throwing your club, you can bet your next shot will be a poor one too.’
‘Okay. I’ll give it a go. Ha-ha-ha-ha.’ Rebecca let out a forced and ridiculous laugh. Before she knew it, the ridiculous laugh turned into a genuine laugh, and Sue was laughing with her. Once started, Rebecca found it hard to stop.
‘It’s laughter therapy!’ said Rebecca.
Sue walked up to her ball, took a practice swing, and then hit. Rebecca watched. It was like watching ballet. Sue’s ball flew high and landed on the green, taking a divot. The ball spun back a metre toward the hole and stopped within a few centimetres of the pin.
‘Wow, great shot! You’re a cert for a birdie.’
Rebecca took out her sand wedge and chipped on with the ball landing at the back of the green, a good ten metres from the hole. She then three putted. ‘Six!’
‘Well done,’ said Sue as she addressed her ball and tapped it in for the birdie Rebecca had predicted. ‘I always play better when I’m practising. It’s because I’ve got nothing to lose, and I’m not tense,’ said Sue as they both walked off to the fourth tee.
‘Oh God, this is the crater hole with a blind shot to the fairway,’ groaned Rebecca.
‘You’ll easily clear the crater. Don’t stress.’
‘We’ll see. It’s that mind thing again. Don’t think of the pink elephant! Now you have the honours. I’ll climb the ladder to the lookout to make sure no one is in striking distance and to watch for your ball.’
Rebecca climbed the ladder and glanced back at Sue as Sue did a practice swing. It was a beautiful day. After the heat of the last couple of days, it was a relief that the temperature was in the mid-twenties with a cool sea breeze. ‘It’s all clear. You’re safe to hit.’
Rebecca watched from the lookout as Sue hit her shot. She watched the ball fly through the air, dead centre, with a slight draw. It whistled past the pine trees, carried the sixty-metre-wide crater, and landed just past the bunker, leaving only about a fifty-metre chip shot to the pin.
Rebecca clapped. ‘You’ll be pleased with that. You’ve gone a long way down the fairway and have a nice easy chip shot to the green. Could be another birdie.’
A Royal Murder Page 12