by Chris Taylor
“I guess that’s up to us to find out. That’s why they pay us the big bucks, right?”
Lane’s wry smile was cut short by the reappearance of Detective Bennett in the open doorway of the master bedroom. He headed toward them.
“Excuse me, Detectives,” the man murmured, his voice low.
“What is it?” Jett asked.
“I have Marcia Willis in the living room. She’s a resident of the building. She told one of the constables downstairs that she saw someone outside the Cooks’ condominium earlier today. Do you have time to speak with her?”
Jett nodded. “Of course. We’ll be right out.”
Bennett left. Jett and Lane walked toward the door. On his way out, Jett spared Franklin Cook a glance. The man was still hunched over the bed, staring into space. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Jett felt a wave of sympathy. Poor bastard. With a determined effort, he blinked to clear his head and followed Lane out of the room.
Marcia Willis was a woman in her fifties, but time had treated her well. She was dressed in a pale pink linen pantsuit that skimmed the lines of her trim body. Her hair was cut into a stylish bob and dyed a tasteful honey-blond and her makeup was impeccable. A bright pink-and-blue-and-yellow scarf was tied with expert precision around her neck.
“Tell us what you saw, Mrs Willis,” Jett said, after making the introductions.
“I’m a friend of the Cooks. I live on the floor below with Trevor and Kiki.”
Jett raised an eyebrow and the woman hurriedly explained.
“My husband and dog.”
Lane nodded. “What brought you to the penthouse?”
“I hadn’t caught up with Sabrina and Marnie for a while. Trevor and I have been traveling overseas. We only got back a few days ago. With jet lag and everything else interfering, I hadn’t been up to see her.”
“Okay,” Jett said, making notes. “So, you came up to the penthouse.”
“Yes, but first I spoke to Sabrina on the phone.”
“What time was that?” Lane asked.
“About eleven-thirty, I guess. I asked her if it was convenient for me to come up and see them both before Sabrina put Marnie down for a nap.”
“When did you come up to the penthouse?” Jett asked.
The woman frowned, in thought. “It was about half an hour later. I received another telephone call right after I’d hung up from Sabrina and I got caught up for a while.”
“Did you see Mrs Cook?” Jett asked.
“No, but I saw Kevin Thompson outside her door. He’s the maintenance man. He had a toolbox with him. I assumed he was there to do some repairs. I decided to come back later.” She leaned in closer and whispered behind her hand. “He’s black, you know.”
Jett stared at her and frowned. Her attitude should have surprised him, but sadly, it didn’t. In his line of work, he came across racism and prejudice all too often. Instead, he gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement and jotted her information down. “Thank you Mrs Willis. We appreciate you coming forward.”
The woman shuddered. “I just hope you find the man who did this. It’s just terrible what happened to Sabrina and that poor little baby girl. I still can’t believe it.”
“Yes and we’re going to do everything we can to see that whoever did this is punished. Do you mind giving us your contact details, in case we need to speak with you further?” Jett asked.
“No, of course not,” the woman replied and hastily supplied them.
Jett fished out a card and handed it to her. “Here’s my number. If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
“Thank you, Detective. I will.”
“I’ll get someone to show you out, Mrs Willis,” Lane offered. “And thank you for speaking with us.”
After the woman left, Jett turned to Lane. “It sounds like we need to talk to the maintenance man.”
“Yeah. The morgue staff just arrived. We’ll be able to confirm a time of death.”
“What time did the husband find them?”
“The emergency call came in at one thirty-six. According to Bennett, Cook told him he arrived home for lunch about one-thirty. He left for work at seven this morning. Said good-bye to his wife and kid.”
“We know Marcia Willis spoke to Sabrina about eleven-thirty. Let’s hope the maintenance man can shed a little more light on the matter. If he spoke to her at twelve, that narrows the possible timeframe for her death to an hour and a half. Even if he didn’t, we’re still talking a very small window of opportunity.”
“Indeed,” Lane agreed, his expression grim.
“We need to move as quickly as we can,” Jett said. “I’ll leave you to track down Kevin Thompson. I’ll try and find the sister. If she’s not involved, I don’t want her hearing about the brutal deaths of her relatives on social media.”
Lane nodded grimly and Jett knew what he was thinking. At this early stage of the investigation, they couldn’t rule anyone out.
“I’ll meet you back at the station. We’ll compare notes,” Jett said.
On his way out of the penthouse, his gaze scanned the opulent furnishings, the amazing view and he couldn’t help but think where their wealth had gotten them. The Cook family had been torn apart at the seams and couldn’t be put back together again, no matter how much money was put on the table.
Sometimes, life just sucked.
CHAPTER THREE
“Dani, there’s someone outside waiting to see you.”
Dani looked up from her microscope and blinked at the receptionist.
“For me, did you say?” she asked, surprised because in the four years she’d worked in the pathology lab of the Sydney Harbour Hospital she’d never had a visitor. Not even her sister called upon her there. Sabrina understood Dani was often knee-deep in body tissues and fluids and couldn’t just drop everything at short notice.
Tugging off her latex gloves, she tossed them in the trash can and then rinsed her hands in the sink. Patting them dry with some paper towel, she headed out of the lab. A tall, broad-shouldered man who looked about her age stood in the waiting room. His longish black hair fell across a wide forehead and concealed part of one eye. He wore a dark-colored suit and tie and a pristine white shirt. She walked toward him, wondering who he was.
“Excuse me? I’m Danielle Porter. I understand you’re looking for me.”
The man came to attention. He was tall, at least a head taller than her. Dark stubble that matched the color of his hair shadowed his cheeks, as if he was overdue for a shave. He brushed the hair from his eyes, revealing eyes so blue they reminded her of the ocean in the middle of the morning. Inexplicably, her heart picked up its pace.
“I’m Detective Constable Jett Craigdon. Is there somewhere else we might go to chat?”
Surprise held Dani momentarily immobile. Did he say he was a detective? Why would a detective be needing to see her? It had been more than twelve years since her last brush with the law. A sense of foreboding trickled through her veins.
“Um, sure. Follow me,” she managed and led him into a small room just off the waiting area.
Turning to face him, she jammed her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you the sister of Sabrina Cook?”
Her anxiety ratcheted up another notch. “Yes,” she replied cautiously.
His expression remained grave. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Dani stared at him. She saw his lips form the words and heard them echo in her ears, but she refused to grasp their meaning.
She blinked rapidly in an effort to clear her mind. “I’m…I’m sorry?”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Ms Porter, but your sister and her daughter were found murdered in their home this afternoon.”
Dani gaped in disbelief. Blood pounded in her ears, blocking out the rest of his words. Nausea swirled in her belly and she gasped for breath. She must have misheard. It couldn’t be right. Sab
rina and Marnie…dead? No, it couldn’t be true. She refused to believe it. There’d been some mistake. It was some other Sabrina Cook he was talking about, not her Sabrina. Her Sabrina was at home, enjoying life with her husband and baby daughter. Dani had seen the two of them just the Friday before. They couldn’t possibly be dead.
“I’m sure this has come as a shock,” the detective was saying, looking grave. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few more questions. Would you mind accompanying me to the station?”
Dani gaped again. Why the hell would he need to speak to her at the station? Couldn’t he speak to her here? It wasn’t as if she had any knowledge of what had happened.
“I’d rather answer any questions you have, right here,” she said, amazed she was even able to form the words. Her head spun. Her heart pounded. She didn’t want to accept it was real, even that he was real.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He pulled a notebook out of the inside of his suit jacket. Feeling detached from the news he brought, she wondered vaguely how he was faring in the mid-afternoon heat. She’d gone outside at lunchtime and had been hit with a blast of summer sun. She’d been pleased she’d opted for a short-sleeved cotton blouse and light cotton pants. Not that it mattered what she wore most of the time. The majority of her day was spent at her desk or poring over a microscope in the climate-controlled comfort of the pathology lab.
“Ms Porter, where were you between the hours of eleven-thirty and one-thirty today?”
* * *
For a third time, the woman who stood before Jett with the startling green eyes and over-large breasts gaped at him in shock. Her face paled momentarily and then twin spots of anger colored her cheeks.
“You… You think I had something to do with this?” she sputtered.
He schooled his features to remain impassive. With her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and the white lab coat giving her an implied authority, she looked more like a wise and kindly doctor than a killer, but he’d never been one to be taken in by the way a person looked. He’d more or less accused her of being involved in the awful crimes. It was important to note her reaction.
“The attack against your sister was personal,” he continued, leveling his gaze on her. “As a close family member with a key to their condominium, questioning your whereabouts at the time of the murder is standard procedure.”
The woman blinked and shook her head. She looked dazed and bewildered, exactly like he’d expect someone to look when they’d just discovered their sister and niece had been murdered. But was it all an act? He’d need to delve deeper to find out.
“I… I arrived at work at eight and was here until my lunch break,” she finally replied.
“When did you leave for lunch?”
“Twelve-fifteen.”
“What time did you get back?”
“My lunch break’s usually only half an hour, but today I took a little extra time because I…had an appointment.”
“Okay,” Jett replied. “What time was your appointment?”
“Twelve-thirty.”
“Where did you go?”
“I met a…friend on No.1 Oval at the Sydney University. It’s right behind the hospital.”
Jett’s curiosity spiked. She was being evasive. “Does this friend have a name?”
Her eyes flared with impatience. “Is this really necessary, Detective? I can tell you right now, I had nothing to do with my sister’s murder or the murder of my niece.” Her voice broke on the last word and her hand came up to cover her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears, as if suddenly recalling the reason for his visit.
Her obvious distress made him want to soften his tone, but something inside him rebelled at the thought. The woman might look like she could grace the covers of a glossy magazine, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of murder, no matter how upset she appeared. She could be an excellent actress. Until he had more evidence to the contrary, everyone he spoke to that had access to the deceased would be treated as a suspect.
He narrowed his gaze on her. “You seem to forget, Ms Porter, that I’m investigating a brutal double homicide. You don’t get to decide which questions are important. Right now, we’re trying to establish your alibi. I’d appreciate a little more cooperation. What was the name of your friend and what was the purpose of your…appointment?”
She looked away. Her bottom lip trembled and fresh tears slid down her cheeks, but eventually, she lifted her gaze to his and stared at him, almost defiantly.
“His name is Ben Fitzgerald and he’s my… My sponsor.”
Jett started in surprise. “Sponsor? As in AA?”
She lowered her gaze and nodded, her lips compressed. “Yes. I met him at a meeting ten years ago. I’ve been sober ever since.”
Jett noted the information, still trying to get his head around the fact the confident, intelligent woman before him was a recovering alcoholic. What other dark secrets did she hide?
“How long did you meet with Fitzgerald?” Jett asked, forcing the thought away.
“We talked for about forty-five minutes. Usually it’s longer, but I received a phone call from one of my colleagues. A tissue sample had gone missing. I was the last person with it, so I agreed to come back to the lab and help locate it. It meant I had to cut our visit short.”
“What time did you get back to the hospital?”
“The oval’s not far from my building. It was probably about one-thirty when I got back.”
“I’ll need Fitzgerald’s contact details to verify your story. Did you speak to anyone else while you were out?”
She shook her head and then paused. “Oh, yes. I bought a sandwich from one of those mobile vendors on my way back to the lab. He probably won’t remember me. It was lunchtime. He was busy.”
“Let’s hope for your sake he does. Right now, your alibi’s a little shaky.” Jett held her gaze.
She frowned. The movement caused a tiny line to form across the bridge of her nose. “If I’d known I was going to be a suspect in the murder of my sister and her child, instead of enjoying the sunshine, I’d have made sure I spoke to as many people as I could. In fact, I wouldn’t have gone outside at all. I would have stayed at my desk, like I often do, and ensured there were several work colleagues who could verify my presence. That is, if I were looking to cover the fact I’d dashed out over my lunch break to commit a double homicide.”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. It was reflected in the brilliant green of her eyes. Even her tense stance challenged him. He nodded grimly, a little embarrassed.
Okay, her alibi wasn’t watertight, but as she said, she wasn’t expecting to need one. It made sense that her movements during the relevant time didn’t exactly strengthen it. He changed tack.
“Tell me about your brother-in-law. What do you think of Franklin Cook?”
The defiance in her eyes slowly faded to be replaced with a look of sadness and concern. “Poor Franklin,” she murmured. “He must be devastated.”
Jett noted her reaction. There was no anger or resentment in her tone. In fact, just the opposite, but he needed to be sure.
“In cases such as these, the husband is always our prime suspect. Do you think he’s capable of murdering his wife and child?”
She was shaking her head vehemently side to side even before he finished. “Oh, goodness, no! Franklin doted on the two of them. I’ve never seen a man so in love with his wife and he was besotted with little Marnie. It’s inconceivable to think he could have done something like this!”
“Are you sure?” Jett persisted. If she was the murderer, this was her perfect opportunity to implicate her brother-in-law. The woman was close to the people involved. Her opinion counted.
“Of course I’m sure! Until recently, they’d never even had a major argument and they’ve been together for at least seven years.”
Jett’s attention snagged on her words. “They argued recently?”
The woman sighed and looked away. “Yes, but Sabrina was certain they’d sort things out and come through it stronger for the experience.”
“What did they argue about?”
Her gaze flicked up to his and then moved away. “Does it matter, Detective? They had an argument. Couples argue all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Jett stared at her. “Yes, except you’ve just told me this couple didn’t argue all the time. In fact, they never argued. I’d say any argument between them in that context could be important.”
She bit her lip and Jett could tell she was debating what to tell him. “Have you spoken to Franklin about this? I… I assume he…knows?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, he knows. He was the one who found them.”
“Oh, dear God!” She brought a hand up to her mouth. Her exclamation was laden with horror. “Poor Franklin.”
Jett compressed his lips and nodded. “I can’t imagine it was pleasant. Unfortunately, at this early stage of the investigation, everybody’s a suspect, particularly those close to the deceased. I met your brother-in-law at the scene and spoke to him briefly, but until now, I wasn’t aware of any specific argument between him and his wife. My colleague’s still at the scene, taking statements. I came to speak with you, break the news, before you heard it from the media.”
She stared at him and once again, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
Jett squirmed under the gratitude that shone from her eyes. He needed to stay impartial. Everyone was a suspect, although he’d already begun to doubt she was involved. He’d been a detective for years. He trusted his instincts and right now, his gut was telling him she’d had nothing to do with the terrible tragedy. He cleared his throat and asked her again about the argument.