Roxy stared hard at her. “Little Sunny? No way. I mean, I can understand her modelling, she was obviously very beautiful, but naked? You must be mistaken.”
“There’s no question, it was Sunny all right and in all her birthday glory. Turns out she did some modelling for Maroney, didn’t get paid a lot, but then again there’s not a lot of work around here.”
“Surely she was coerced! He must have forced her—”
“She’s smiling in them, Roxy. Doesn’t look like coercion to us.” She placed her hand on Roxy’s. “I was trying to tell you this yesterday.”
Roxy removed her hand and folded her arms back across her chest. “Okay, so, Sunny’s not as innocent as everyone thought. I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with Sam. The way he spoke about his sister, he clearly didn’t know about the photos. He thought she was as pure as snow.”
Gilda took a tentative sip of her tea then said, “Sam knew. A neighbour on Maroney’s M.O. recalls overhearing the two men having a shouting match about the photos about a month before Sunny died. Sam demanded the shots be erased, Maroney refused.”
Roxy picked up her cup and stared into it gloomily. “So? He’s looking out for his little sis. That’s normal. Max would do the same thing for Caroline.”
“Would Max come back one night and throw a rock through Maroney’s front window? Would Max threaten to kill him?”
Roxy dropped her cup back to the table, untouched. “Sam did that?”
“According to the neighbour, yes.”
“Can we trust this neighbour?”
Gilda groaned. “You’re missing the point, Roxy. You’re letting your heart get in the way of your head. You need to think clearly now, just try and meet me somewhere in the middle, okay?” Roxy didn’t reply, so Gilda said, “Here’s what we ... well, Wiles and Quick think happened. I’m trying to keep an open mind, but it’s getting increasingly more difficult.” She took a deep breath. “They believe Sam found out about the nude pictures around the same time that Sunny started her affair with Jed Moody. It must have crushed him, his innocent little sister, not so innocent anymore. Wiles believes that Sam overreacted and either killed his sister accidentally out of rage, or perhaps for what he saw as ‘her own good’.”
Roxy shook her head slowly. “This is extremely outlandish, you do know that, right?”
Gilda shot her a pleading look. “Just hear me out. Whether he meant to hurt his sister or not, Wiles believes that Sam couldn’t get over what he’d done and so he wreaked revenge on the two men he must have blamed for everything—Jed Moody and Macker Maroney.”
Roxy was still shaking her head so Gilda said, “Can you imagine how much Sam must have hated those two guys? They both used and abused his little sister for their own gain, one for sex, one for money.”
Roxy recalled the way Sam spoke of his sister, how he had put her so high on a pedestal. That pedestal must have made an almighty crash when it came tumbling down. “Okay, I get that he hated them,” she said. “Horrendous human beings, both of them and I’m not exactly their biggest fans either. But that doesn’t make me a murderer just because I despise someone.”
“Sam threatened to kill them both, on several occasions. There are plenty of witnesses including you, I believe. Didn’t he try to take a swing at Maroney just a few days ago, at the Goddess Café?”
“Hey, he was provoked! Besides, that’s what makes it so ridiculous, don’t you see? He did it all so publicly! Screaming blue murder isn’t proof of blue murder, right?”
Gilda sat back. “It gets worse.”
“Worse? What? You’ve got a smoking gun?”
Again her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but when Gilda flashed her a despondent look, she felt her heart plummet and her mouth go dry, so she simply sat there as Gilda told her what she knew: “The axe that was used to kill Macker Maroney belongs to Sam Forrest.” Roxy stared at her blankly so Gilda continued. “We found his fingerprints all over the handle. We have a witness who confirmed it was his. There’s absolutely no question.” She leaned towards Roxy then. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know you really liked him. I know this is really painful. We only confirmed the axe was Sam’s late this evening, but we knew about the pictures earlier. I was trying to tell you about it before Quick interrupted us. I would have stopped you from going over there if I’d known that’s where you were headed. I tried to call you...”
Roxy wasn’t listening to her now. She was recalling how Sam had been so reluctant to let her chop firewood earlier tonight. She’d thought it was a ploy to get her into bed. What if the truth was more sinister than that? What if Sam was trying to hide the fact that his axe was no longer at his property because he’d taken it to Cooleys Shoot and used it to bludgeon a man to death?
She dropped her head into her hands with a low, sorrowful moan. After a few minutes, she looked up at Gilda, eyes wide. “Who told you about the axe?”
“Sorry?”
“Who confirmed the axe was Sam’s?”
Gilda hesitated. “I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry. But there’s no denying it. The fingerprints are his.”
She frowned. “Why do they even have Sam’s fingerprints on file?”
“Quick arrested him last year over the rock incident. Took his prints then. Of course, you can’t easily obtain fingerprints from rocks, almost impossible, in fact, but Quick didn’t know that.” She rolled her eyes dramatically to show Roxy what she thought of Quick’s IQ. “But you can take them from the handle of an axe, and I’m sorry to say, Roxy, they match perfectly.”
“This is utter bullshit, Gilda. Someone’s obviously pinched Sam’s axe from his cottage and planted it there!” Her tone was turning feisty again. “He’s obviously being framed!”
“Oh, Roxy.”
“No, I’m serious. You have to consider it, Gilda, you have to keep an open mind.”
“That’s extremely hard to do, my sweet, when everything points to Sam. Just try and think about it logically the way you think about every other case you come across. Keep your emotions out of it. Sam hated both men, he had access to their properties, knew how to play with electricity, his own axe was found at the scene of the third crime, for Christ’s sake. He has no alibi for any of this. He’s the prime suspect.”
Roxy thought then of how she had scurried away from Sam’s house last night. She wondered now, if she had stayed over, if she had been with Sam this morning, could she have provided his alibi for Macker’s murder?
“My mind is open, Roxy,” Gilda said. “It’s yours that’s closed. Can’t you see that?”
“What about the Holloways? I thought Wiles was gunning for them. Maybe they set this whole thing up.” Gilda stared at her, deep sympathy in her eyes, but Roxy ploughed on. “Maybe Macker got pictures of them tampering with the gear and that’s why they killed him?”
“What pictures, Roxy? We have all his files. Where are these pictures?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that you’re talking like Sam is some kind of psychopath, and he’s not.”
“You’ve known him for less than a week, Roxy. You need to wise up!” Gilda was feeling terribly weary and finally losing patience with her friend. “I’ve met a few psychopaths in my time, they’re often the most charming person in the room. In fact, if I recall, you’ve met your share of psychopaths, too. You almost fell for another one, remember?”
Roxy’s mind shot back to a previous murder case, to an investigative reporter called David Lone who had breezily murdered a bunch of writers purely to create a plot for his next book. It was true, she had almost fallen for the guy, been charmed by his slick exterior, but something had stopped her, something instinctual had warned her to be careful, to hesitate.
Why hadn’t her instincts kicked in with Sam?
Because he’s not a murderer! She wanted to scream. He’s not!
But even as she thought those words, she began to doubt herself and wondered whether she really, truly knew him. Maybe when you spe
nd so much time around killers and death, when you stick your nose in time and time again, you lose sight of the light and forget what innocence looks like.
Maybe she could no longer spot a killer standing in front of her. Or worse, she thought now, tears trickling down her cheeks, when he’s kissing you so sweetly on the lips.
Chapter 40
Roxy awoke in the middle of the night with a panicked thought: What about Lunar? If Sam didn’t get bail and found himself locked up for the terrible charges that he faced, who was going to look after the poor dog?
She fumbled for her iPad and squinted at the clock. It was 3:08 a.m. She groaned. How would she ever get back to sleep now? Roxy suddenly longed to call Oliver, to pour out her heart and her anger and her refusal to believe what Gilda so desperately needed her to believe. But even he, a classic insomniac, would be asleep by now. Besides, Roxy knew what Oliver would say, how he’d take Gilda’s side without hesitation.
She stared hard at the clock again, doing the maths. It would be daytime in Berlin now. Perhaps she could call Max; chew over the case with him for a bit? She shook her head irritably. Her ex-boyfriend was never very big on chewing over the facts. The best person for that had been Sam. And now Sam was...
She grimaced, unable to finish that thought, and got up, wandered across to the window to look out at the white waning moon above the pond. Shivering, she pulled the duvet cover off the bed, wrapped herself in it and thought about how peaceful her night had been before Gilda showed up. She knew exactly where things were heading and she felt sick to her stomach now.
Had she been about to jump into bed with a murderer?
Shaking the thought away, Roxy tried to concentrate on the facts. Maybe, just maybe, she could imagine Sam lashing out at the low-life photographer, but could he really have killed the man who was once his best mate, let alone his own flesh and blood? Could he really have slaughtered both Sunny and Jed?
In Roxy’s head it vaguely added up, but not in her heart, and she wondered now what was happening to Sam. Had he been locked away? Would he be denied bail? And how was Lunar coping, all alone at Grears Crossing, without his master and his newfound friend?
By the time morning arrived, Roxy was bleary eyed and bad tempered. She had managed little more than five hours sleep and tried to straighten herself out in a hot shower before quickly getting dressed and scooting across the hallway to Gilda’s room. Another guest was just entering his own room and he looked at her, startled. Roxy realised she must look a horror but she didn’t care. She knocked loudly on Gilda’s door. There was no answer.
Downstairs, Roxy found Gilda finishing a cup of coffee in the lounge room, on her way out.
“Wiles wants me in straight away. They’re questioning Sam this morning.”
“So they kept him in all night?”
“That was the plan.”
“What about Lunar?”
Gilda stared at her. “What about her?”
“Him! Lunar is a male dog.”
Gilda exhaled loudly and decided to let that one ride. She understood that Roxy was hurting and would give her some wriggle room today. “I assume Lunar’s still at the house.”
“And my car? Can you at least give me a ride out there so I can pick it up?”
“You can’t go back there now, Rox. Wiles is getting a search warrant. The place will be crawling with cops. How about I organise for an officer to get your car delivered to you here?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t got time to wait around. I need to go and see Annika and Houghton first. Can you give me a lift there at least?” It was time to face the music and have another conversation about the doomed book. It was all becoming such a tangled mess, and with Alistair now facing charges of drug possession and sale, she wondered if it would all be called off again. And if she even cared.
“What will happen to Sam?” she asked. “Will he get released in time to feed Lunar tonight?
Gilda looked at her like she had finally cracked. “With all that’s going on at the moment, you’re seriously worried about a dog?”
“Yes!”
She sighed. “If Sam remains in custody, the attending officers will take care of the dog.”
“What do you mean ‘take care’?”
“They’ll feed it. Give it water, all the basics.”
“And what if Sam gets formally charged, doesn’t get out on bail?”
“Then Lunar will be placed at the pound. That’s all they can do, Roxy. I think Lunar is the least of Sam’s worries right now.”
“He loves that dog, Gilda.”
She stared at her. “He probably loves his freedom even more. Stop stressing about the blasted dog!”
No sooner had Gilda dropped her at the Moody property, promising to call her later with an update, when she came face to face with Annika who was now standing at the front door of the house watching her approach.
“Oh, it’s the ghost who talks,” she said, a little perturbed.
“Annika, I’m really sorry—”
“So you should be!” she snapped. “We’ve had nothing but grief since you arrived. We were happy before then. Everything was going really well. Jed was finishing his latest album, the tour was kicking off... Now ... now my husband is dead, Alistair is on drug charges and poor Sam is up for murder, which is ludicrous!”
Roxy was in a filthy mood herself and was about to remind Annika that this was not a happy house before she arrived—it clearly hadn’t been a happy house for some time—when the woman’s final words hit home.
“You don’t think Sam did it?”
She snorted. “Of course he didn’t do it! God, woman!” Annika strode back through the house and Roxy rushed to keep up with her, not even bothering to discard her shoes this time.
“But why? Do you know something I don’t?”
“I know Sam, dummy!” Then she stopped and turned to face Roxy. “You know the world didn’t start revolving when you turned up, Roxy Parker. I’ve known Sam most of my adult life. He was Best Man at our wedding, and he had been Jed’s best friend forever.”
“Not over the past eighteen months, he hadn’t.”
She scoffed. “Oh, Sam was getting over that. So, Jed slept with his little sister. He was moving past it. I mean, if I could forgive the bastard, he could.”
Roxy squinted. “Why did you forgive him?”
“Love,” she said, turning away again to continue down the hallway. “It’s a bitch, right?”
Roxy stood still, stunned for a moment, before racing after her. “So you really don’t think Sam’s guilty?”
Annika laughed as she made her way into the living room and towards the bar. “Sam is all bark, no bite. Hasn’t got it in him.”
“He did throw a rock into Macker’s house one night.”
Annika snorted. “Says who? That idiot Quick?”
“I thought you liked Quick.” She remembered how friendly the detective had been that night Jed was killed.
She snorted again. “He’s a sap! You know the first time we met him, he’d come to investigate Sunny’s drowning and was more interested in getting Jed’s autograph than anything else. Asked for a tour of the studio.” She rolled her eyes. “How embarrassing is that? No, Quick’s a fool... He couldn’t even find Sam’s fingerprints on the rock. The witness gave some vague description, could’ve been anyone. Everyone hated that Maroney character. There’s a hundred people who wanted him dead, but there’s no way Sam killed him.” She reached into the fridge and produced a jug of homemade orange juice. “OJ?”
Roxy shook her head, so she poured herself a glass before saying, “Sam’s just a big softie, always was. That’s why his sister’s death cut him to the core. No, the cops have got that wrong. Again.” She took a long sip of her juice, leaning against the bar. “What a pack of amateurs. They seem to be working through each one of us. They’ll haul me in next.” She smiled at Roxy. “Don’t look so stressed. Your boyfriend will be out before you know it.”
/> Roxy wondered how Annika knew about that but suddenly didn’t care. She had never liked the woman as much as she did right then. She could have hugged her and, sensing this perhaps, Annika pointed her glass towards the veranda and said, “Houghton’s at his usual spot. He’d like a word.” She smiled more wryly this time. “You’re lucky. He’s barely speaking to me.”
When Roxy stepped out to the veranda, she saw Houghton deep in conversation with Doug and Alistair. While Doug looked as relaxed as always, Alistair’s face was deeply sullen, grey bags under his eyes, his jaw tense. Houghton, too, looked like he’d been to hell and back, but when he caught sight of Roxy, he pushed his chubby cheeks into a smile and waved her across.
“Hey, Roxy,” he squeaked. “So glad you’re here, we need to talk.”
She nodded and said hello to them all, noticing that Alistair’s expression remained tense. She took the seat Houghton was offering her and waited.
“About the book,” Houghton began.
“Off again, is it?”
He blinked. “Nah, ’course not!”
Yet again this mob had managed to surprise her. Roxy glanced at Alistair who was no longer meeting her eyes.
Catching her glance, Houghton said, “Oh, Al’s been a bloody fool, but wouldn’t be the first time someone from the band was up on drug charges.”
Doug cackled. “Yeah, I got done a few years ago, Jed before that. No biggie.”
“Okaaaay,” Roxy said, still feeling hesitant.
“We just don’t want you to mention anything about Al and...” Houghton stopped, swallowed hard as though having difficulty digesting the thought, his face crinkled with disgust, “about Al and Annie. That stays right out of it, got it?”
So that’s what all the tension was about! She nodded, but had a feeling the gossip would already be doing the rounds at Govinda’s café by now.
Houghton said, “That’s all Jed’s fans need to hear, that Al’s been playing up with Jed’s child bride. They’ll turn on Al like wildfire and we’ll never sell a single bloody ticket, let alone a book. So it’s a no-go zone, got it?”
Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6) Page 26