Rebecca climbed down the ladder and went to her bag and took out her driver. She took the tee from behind her visor and set the ball up. She had a couple of practice swings.
‘Well, here goes,’ said Rebecca.
Don’t go into the crater, she thought as she took her swing. She topped the ball, and it darted along the ground and disappeared into the crater. Rebecca dropped her head.
‘Ha-ha.’ Sue let out a maniacal laugh. Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh too.
Rebecca shoved her driver back into the bag and pushed her buggy up to the edge of the crater. She looked down but couldn’t see her ball. Leaving her buggy at the edge, she carefully climbed down the steep face of the crater. Rebecca had been looking for her ball for a couple of minutes before Sue peered over.
‘Can’t you find it?’
‘No. I was sure it would be just lying at the bottom of the crater, but I can’t see it.’
‘Okay. I’ll come down and help you look,’ said Sue as she stepped backward down the steep decline. ‘Argh!’ Sue slid, lost her footing, and ended up face down on the stony face of the crater.
Rebecca rushed to her aid. Sue’s shirt had bunched up, and Rebecca feared that she could have nasty gravel rash on her stomach from the fall. As she bent down to help her up, she couldn’t help but notice a tattoo on Sue’s lower back. The tattoo spelled out a single word, Pixie.
As Rebecca helped Sue to her feet, Sue straightened her shirt up and brushed herself down. ‘You saw it, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Try me.’
‘It was a practical joke. A pretty bad practical joke. And it gave me yet another reason to dislike Pixie, but not enough to murder her.’
‘Go on,’ said Rebecca, not confident she could believe anything Sue told her.
‘A couple of years ago, a few of us girls were out having some drinks at the end of a tournament in Las Vegas. Pixie and I ended up in a tattoo parlour in the early hours of the morning. We dared each other to get a tattoo. I’d do it if she did it. We chose a golfing theme. I watched as Pixie had an image of a golf club and ball tattooed on her lower back. I was supposed to have the same image, but unbeknown to me, Pixie had paid the guy a wad of money to put the name Pixie on my lower back. I didn’t know anything about it until I looked at my back in the mirror the next morning. I was horrified. I’ve thought about getting it removed or tattooed over, but I’ve heard horror stories about botched jobs, so I haven’t done anything as yet.’
Rebecca looked at Sue. ‘What’s the name of the tattoo parlour and the tattooist?’
‘He won’t admit he did it. Says I must have been so drunk I didn’t even know which tattoo parlour I visited. I’ve already investigated suing him, but he denies everything, and Pixie was never going to be a witness. The lawyer said I had no hope. It’s pointless giving you the name.’
‘Well, that’s convenient.’
‘So you don’t believe me?’ said Sue mournfully.
‘Would you?’
‘Probably not.’
‘I’ve had enough golf today,’ said Rebecca as she began her climb out of the crater.
Lovers and Liars
Rebecca shoved her clubs and golf buggy into the boot, got into the car, and dialled up Gary’s number on her phone.
‘Hi, Rebecca, what’s up?’
‘I think Sue Barker and Pixie Browning were lovers, and Sue’s lied about it all along,’ blurted Rebecca.
‘And why do you say that?’
‘I received an anonymous email tipping me off, which isn’t credible, granted. But added to that, I’ve just seen Sue’s lower back, and she has the name Pixie tattooed on it.’
‘Can I ask how you managed to see Sue Barker’s lower back?’
‘We’ve just played golf together at Royal Adelaide. She slid climbing down the side of a crater, trying to find my ball, and her shirt was pulled up.’
‘You do get yourself into bizarre situations. What was her explanation?’
‘That it was a practical joke played on her by Pixie when they were pissed one night in Las Vegas. She thought she was getting a tattoo of a golf club and ball. She said Pixie paid the tattooist to tattoo her name instead. And conveniently, Sue says the guy won’t own up that he was the tattooist, so there’s no way of verifying her story.’
‘That actually sounds plausible,’ said Gary.
‘But what about the email tip-off to the fact she was having an affair with Pixie?’
‘You yourself said the email wasn’t credible. It could just be a coincidence. But look, I’ll include the angle in our investigations. If they were having an affair, someone must surely know. However, even if they were having an affair, it doesn’t necessarily link Sue to the murder.’
‘Well, I think it’s suspicious if she is lying about it. It’s not a strong motive, but it’s a motive.’
‘Agreed. But the big question is, is she lying? And besides, as I keep telling you, we’ve charged Sol Semler with the murder. We have strong forensic evidence.’
‘And what about Philip Hendy?’
‘What about him?’
‘All that stuff I found out about him. Aren’t you still looking into him?’ said Rebecca.
‘All that stuff you found out doesn’t link him to the murder. And as I keep saying, we have our murderer Rebecca.’
‘What about Hendy’s diary or whatever it is? He’s always writing in his little book.’
‘What are you talking about, Rebecca? Do you seriously want me to confiscate his personal diary because you have a hunch that it might contain something incriminating?’
Rebecca hung up, slammed her car into reverse, and took off. She was angry.
As was her habit, Rebecca threw her handbag on the floor in Reg’s bolthole in the Tiser office and slumped onto an ottoman.
‘What’s up your nose?’ asked Reg, looking at his watch. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until lunchtime.’
‘Well, I’m here now.’
‘Any progress on any of the leads you’re chasing?’
‘No!’ yelled Rebecca. ‘Every lead goes nowhere. They’re all tenuous. I can’t link anything to anything, and it’s giving me the shits! And besides, the police believe they have the murderer.’
‘Welcome to investigative journalism, Rebecca. If you think the police haven’t got the full story, if you’re still suspicious of people, you have to follow your instincts and keep investigating until you can definitely rule them out. It wouldn’t be the first time we have solved crimes for the cops and stopped an innocent person being convicted. You just have to go down every rabbit hole. You’ll find a bunny in one of them. But very rarely is it the first or even the second hole. You might have to go down a thousand holes.’
Rebecca groaned and put her head in her hands. She wasn’t sure if she was groaning at Reg’s tortuous metaphors or through frustration. Probably both. She told Reg about the Pixie tattoo on Sue Barker.
‘Well, she could be lying, but it sounds possible to me. I’ve done plenty of dumb things when I was pissed.’
Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I haven’t. I like a drink, but I’ve never been so plastered that I would get a tattoo.’
‘Sure. And you’re sounding very self-righteous. It seems like Sue Barker knew what she was doing; she just couldn’t see what she was doing,’ Reg said with a laugh.
‘Very funny.’
‘What about Lambert? I’ve been thinking there may be more to her attempted suicide. It looks a little too obvious. Have you done any digging on whether there was anything suspicious about her near-drowning?’ said Reg.
‘No. It looked like a straight-out suicide attempt to me and we agreed we’d leave it at that.’
‘If it is definitely suicide, I agree but with so many loose ends around these murders, we can’t take anything for granted. Sol might be the murderer, but there might be other stuff going on. Go and see her
. Check it out. I have a hunch.’
Rebecca slowly rose to her feet. ‘Okay, you have a hunch. May as well follow another rabbit down another hole.’
Waltzing with Matilda
Rebecca walked into the foyer of the hospital and up to the desk behind a glass petition. A couple of nurses and an administration staff member stood behind the glass talking. No one acknowledged Rebecca. She stood politely for what felt like a long time but in reality was only about a minute.
‘Excuse me?’ she called into a small hole in the glass petition. They looked at her momentarily before resuming their conversation.
Rebecca was now angry. She had visited psychiatric hospitals before for work, and while there were some very kind and dedicated nurses, she often found the culture to be poor.
Rebecca raised her voice even louder. ‘Excuse me, sorry to break up your conversation, but I wish to see a patient.’
‘Who?’ replied the male nurse. She knew he was irritated at the interruption.
‘Matilda Lambert.’
‘Room eighteen.’
‘I’ll find it myself, then, shall I?’ said Rebecca, her words dripping in sarcasm. I pity the patients, she said to herself.
Rebecca wasn’t surprised that no one asked her who she was or if she had permission to see a patient being kept in a psychiatric hospital at the request of the police. It was par for the course. Even the fact that Matilda had brazenly left the hospital and tried to commit suicide only a couple of days before didn’t seem to alter the nurses’ routine. Of course, Rebecca knew that if she’d been with a police officer in uniform, all sorts of questions would have been asked. The staff wouldn’t have wanted to look slack when police visited.
She walked down the linoleum-floored corridor. The place seemed deserted. The doors to the bedrooms were closed, and the open lounge areas were empty. She thought the walls could do with a fresh coat of paint.
She came to a door with the number eighteen handwritten on it in texta. She knocked.
‘Hello?’ came the meek reply.
Rebecca opened the door and saw Matilda lying on the bed, her head slightly raised as she looked toward the door. Her eyes were puffy.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Rebecca Keith, a journalist with the Advertiser. I played with you in the pro-am. You probably don’t recognise me without the sun visor and sunglasses. I’m investigating the murder of Pixie Browning and wondered if I could ask you a few questions.’
‘Okay. Do you want coffee?’ asked Matilda as she swung her legs off the side of the bed and rose. ‘Let’s go to the café.’
Rebecca was surprised to see Matilda so calm and willing to talk. She followed her through a number of corridors until they reached a large room with Formica tables and a self-serve espresso coffee machine.
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘I’ll just have a black tea, thanks,’ said Rebecca, thinking hot water and a tea bag would be the safest bet.
As they sat down, Matilda asked, ‘So what do you want to know?’
‘Firstly, you don’t know this, but I was one of the people who brought you ashore the other day. At Henley Beach.’
Matilda looked at her. ‘You were there?’
‘Yes. I was lying on the sand when I heard a commotion, and I swam out and helped a young man bring you ashore.’
Rebecca watched Matilda stare out through the dusty venetian blinds to the blurred image of a gum tree outside.
‘Why did you save me?’
‘Because you deserve to be saved.’
Rebecca could see tears pool in Matilda’s eyes. One tear escaped to run down her weathered cheek.
‘What happened?’ asked Rebecca gently.
‘I thought that was pretty obvious. I tried to kill myself. I grabbed a bunch of pills and ordered a taxi. No one here tried to stop me. They’re pretty slack. I got to the beach, swallowed the lot, and went for a swim,’ said Matilda matter-of-factly.
‘Was there anything that happened that triggered this?’
Matilda frowned at Rebecca and said angrily, ‘Perhaps Pixie being murdered might have something to do with it.’
‘Did you kill Pixie?’ asked Rebecca, deciding to just get it out there.
More tears welled into Matilda’s eyes. ‘Perhaps I did. Mee Po thinks I did.’
‘Sorry, Matilda. I don’t follow.’
‘As I told that detective guy, me and Pixie were secret lovers. She was frightened it would ruin her career if news got out, so we were very careful. But Pixie couldn’t handle my moods and my outbursts anymore. I don’t blame her. She left me.’
‘So why does Mee Po think you killed Pixie? And why did you say that perhaps you did?’
‘Mee Po came to see me the other night. She had found out about Pixie and me. I don’t know how. She knew that Pixie had left me. Mee Po said I was so angry that Pixie had left me that I killed her. She said that I was mentally unstable and did mad things. She said I could have killed Pixie and not even remembered doing it. She was cross at not being allowed to leave Australia. She said I had to give myself up so she could be allowed to fly out,’ said Matilda, beginning to sob heavily.
‘Have you ever had memory blanks before?’
‘Not that I know of. I don’t remember,’ sobbed Matilda.
Rebecca would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.
‘Is that why you tried to take your own life—because you believed you may have killed Pixie without knowing it?’
‘Yes!’ wailed Matilda.
Rebecca put her hands on Matilda’s. ‘I don’t think you killed Pixie, Matilda. Sol Semler has been charged with her murder, and his fingerprints are all over the body. Your fingerprints aren’t. You can rest easy.’ Rebecca was more than happy to lay the blame at Sol Semler’s feet for the sake of easing Matilda’s mind, even though she was still convinced the police didn’t have the whole story.
‘Really, you don’t think I killed her?’
‘No, I don’t think you killed her. As you said, you loved her.’
Rebecca helped Matilda to her feet and returned her to her bedroom. ‘You’re going to be okay. Just keep taking the medications and getting plenty of rest.’
‘Am I going to be okay?’ said Matilda pleadingly as she held Rebecca’s hand tightly.
‘Yes, Matilda, you’re going to be okay.’
As Rebecca walked out to the street, she thought, What the hell are you playing at, Mee Po?
Dinner Guests
Rebecca tapped Lisa Harrup’s name in her favourites on her phone. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘Hi, Bec. Not much. Looks like you’ve been busy again.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. Listen, what are you doing tonight? Are you free?’
‘You know Saturday nights are always big in my world. I was planning to stay in, order takeaway, and lounge around in my PJs. Can you offer me a better deal than that?’
‘Why don’t you come around to my place for dinner? I haven’t cooked in ages, and I need the therapy.’
‘Sounds good to me. What time?’
‘Make it six so you can help me prep. I’ll also see if Penny is free, although she probably won’t want to give up a Saturday night with the family.’
‘And what about Gary? You gonna ask him too?’
‘No, I wasn’t thinking of it. Despite what he thinks, this murder business has got in the way again. It’s awkward,’ answered Rebecca coolly.
‘Mmm.’
‘What does “mmm” mean?’
‘It means “mmm”. But if I was to elaborate, it means for God’s sake, you can be so precious. You like the guy. He obviously likes you. Just get together. Invite him tonight, and you have me to keep things casual if that’s the way you want it, and Penny too if she comes.’
‘I’ll think about it. See you at six,’ said Rebecca, hanging up.
She dialled Penny. ‘Penny, I know it’s late notice, but I’m cooking tonight and Lisa�
��s coming over. Are you free?’
‘Cooking on a Saturday night, hey? You must be stressed. Want me to help prep? Can I bring dessert?’
Rebecca knew that Penny probably had a million other things on but would drop everything if she knew Rebecca needed her. Rebecca smiled to herself and thought, True to form, Penny’s picked up on the needy thing.
Rebecca was just pulling into the car park of the Central Market when her phone rang. She saw Gary’s name pop up on the screen of her phone. ‘Hi, Gary.’
‘Hi. How’s it going?’
‘Good, how about you?’
‘Oh, let’s just cut to the chase, Rebecca. Are you free tonight?’
‘No,’ she replied, probably too succinctly.
‘Oh, right. Okay then. Perhaps another time?’
Rebecca heard the hurt in his voice and relented. ‘I’m just staying in and cooking a meal for Penny and Lisa. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.’
‘Great! I would have preferred just you and me. But I’ll take what I can get.’
‘Yes. I think that’s wise. See you at seven o’clock, and make sure you bring some good grog.’
Rebecca hung up before Gary could reply.
It was just before six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Rebecca walked the long corridor to the front door, knowing that it would be Lisa. Lisa was always either early or exactly on time. She was never, ever, ever late.
‘Howdy, Lisa. Oh, those herbs look magnificent!’ Rebecca took a bottle of wine off Lisa and the bouquet of herbs wrapped in wet newspaper. ‘You’re such a green thumb.’
‘Only with edible stuff. Only grow ornamentals in the front garden and then not much. But the back garden, that’s a different story,’ said Lisa as she followed Rebecca up the hall and into the large country-style kitchen.
Rebecca knew Lisa’s back garden well. It was dissected in a grid pattern by cement paths Lisa herself had laid. Half the garden was fruit and nut trees, netted to keep the birds off. The other half was vegetables and herbs. It looked like an Italian immigrant’s backyard.
A Royal Murder Page 13