A Time of Secrets

by Deborah Burrows

  It was very sweet, but it tasted wonderful. I stared at the floor as I sipped it and tried not to think of Eric, standing just out of view.

  ‘Is Rob sitting in on interviews of service personnel?’ It was Eric’s voice.

  ‘No, unfortunately. He had to excuse himself this time, because we’re suspects.’

  I was jolted out of my stupor. Suspects?

  Ross went on, ‘They’ll call us all in for interviews this afternoon in the brand-new police headquarters in Russell Street.’

  ‘I’m interested to see inside the building,’ said Eric. ‘It’s just been opened and I think –’

  ‘Shut up about the building,’ I said, sitting up and looking at them. ‘This is serious. Do you have alibis?’

  They exchanged glances.

  ‘Not really,’ said Ross.

  Five minutes later I was pacing around the office, glaring at Eric, glad to be feeling something again, even if it was fear masked by fury. Eric had spent the night, so he said, under the stairs at the back of Avoca. Ross had been in his car out the front.

  ‘You must have been freezing, Eric. If you were determined to keep watch over the flat, you could have at least asked for some blankets.’

  ‘I’ve been colder.’

  ‘Yes, I know. At the Prom. You were colder at Wilsons bloody Promontory.’

  I turned to look at the window, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears.

  ‘You know, I like it when Stella swears,’ said Ross. ‘It’s how you imagine Princess Elizabeth would sound, if she swore.’

  I forced the tears away and twisted around to glare at Ross.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been much warmer in the car, either.’

  He shrugged. ‘I found a rug in the boot.’

  Eric’s voice was indignant. ‘You didn’t say you had a rug.’

  ‘I’d forgotten I had it. I found it after you’d left. Fair’s fair. It would’ve been yours if you’d won the toss.’

  I broke in, confused. ‘What toss?’

  ‘We tossed a coin to see where we’d keep watch. I won and got the car, Eric got the backyard.’

  ‘And neither of you saw anything?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ said Ross. ‘It was quiet as the grave, all night.’

  ‘And you both left at dawn?’

  ‘It was about six. We went to my digs and got a little sleep, then turned up here to be told the news.’

  ‘You should have gone straight back to your lodgings after you left me last night. Then you’d have alibis. Then you’d be in the clear.’ I blew out a shaky breath. ‘How did he die, exactly?’

  ‘The cause of death was a stab wound to the medulla oblongata, commonly known as the brain stem,’ said Ross in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Apparently death was instantaneous and had occurred some six hours before. Looks like he’d been placed in the garden after he was killed.’

  I looked down, flicked a glance at the window and looked at my shoes again. I bit my bottom lip.

  ‘Spit it out, Stella,’ said Ross.

  I looked at Eric, then at Ross, then back to Eric.

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ said Eric. ‘Nor did Nick. I’m not sorry he’s dead. But I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘I hated the bastard,’ said Ross. ‘But I didn’t put a knife in his neck. I swear it, Stella.’

  ‘I had to ask.’ I looked at Eric again, became lost in that blue gaze. ‘You do understand?’

  He nodded. ‘Clears the air. Question is, if it wasn’t us, who was it? Because if they don’t get a suspect quickly, odds on they’ll try to pin it on me or Nick.’

  ‘They’ll think it’s you,’ said Ross. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his arms in a stretch. ‘That’s a commando killing. Quick, ruthless and effective.’

  Eric nodded again. ‘I’ve trained men how to do it.’ He half sat on the desk and turned to look out the window into the garden. He became very still and his shoulders slumped a little.

  Ross said, ‘They’ll probably think I helped, though.’

  I made a high, frustrated sound. ‘What can we do about this?’

  ‘Trust Rob Sinclair to find the killer,’ said Ross. ‘He’s working behind the scenes. The army wants this cleared up quickly.’

  ‘I don’t trust Rob Sinclair. I don’t trust anyone,’ I said.

  Neither of them replied.

  I took a breath, grimaced a little and said, ‘That’s a lie. I trust my father and my sister . . . and I trust both of you.’

  I looked up. Ross seemed surprisingly disconcerted; Eric’s expression was more difficult to read.

  ‘Thanks, Stella,’ said Ross. He glanced at Eric and stood up. ‘I think that’s my cue to leave. Molloy wants to see me.’

  He walked over to the door, opened it and disappeared.

  I turned to look at Eric. He was still leaning against the desk, still watching me with that curious expression on his face. I thought it was one part fear, one part expectation and one part exultation. He cleared his throat.

  My voice was strained. ‘I don’t think you’re like Frank,’ I said. ‘You’re nothing like him at all.’

  He stood up straighter as I took a jerky step closer to him. I felt as if I was being pulled towards him by some invisible thread, tough as steel cable. It had been stretched, that invisible thread, in the past weeks, but it hadn’t broken. Perhaps it couldn’t be broken. And that was why I had to make him understand.

  ‘I can’t be with a man who tries to control me. Not again. Never again.’

  ‘I’ll never try to control you.’ He spoke seriously, entreating me to believe him.

  I took another step towards him. I was only two or three paces away from him now.

  ‘I don’t want Nick,’ I said. ‘I only ever wanted you. But you can’t protect me from everything bad. If you try to do that, then that’s controlling me, too.’

  We stared at each other. His lip twisted up into a grimace that he turned into a sort of smile. ‘I can’t help wanting to keep you safe. But I’ll back off, give you the room you need.’ His voice fell away. ‘I promise.’

  Two steps. Only two steps and I was in his arms, held tightly against his body, revelling in the feel and the smell of him, in hearing him say that he loved me and that I was his summer girl.

  *

  Rob Sinclair turned up at Goodwood at noon. He seemed to me to be a stereotypical lawyer: calm, methodical, analytical and distrustful. As reliable as an adding machine and about as warm. Ross and Eric clearly considered him a close friend, although I suspected they were also a little in awe of him.

  We met in Ross’s office, and Ross gave up his desk to Sinclair, who sat there, making lists. He was a list-making sort of man.

  ‘Who else wanted Cole dead?’ he said. ‘I need more names.’

  ‘Actually, he was well liked,’ said Ross. ‘Not by me, but generally.’

  Sinclair made a note on the page in front of him.

  ‘When do the police want to interview you two?’

  ‘Me at three, Eric at four.’ He glanced at me. ‘They want you after lunch, Stella, at one thirty.’

  ‘From what I’ve been told,’ said Sinclair, frowning at Ross, ‘the police see you and Eric as the most likely suspects. Why did you have to blab to all and sundry that you wanted Cole dead?’

  ‘He’d attacked Stella,’ said Ross. ‘We weren’t exactly thinking clearly.’

  ‘What about the men from the Kestrel mission? Stella overheard them planning to kill Nick. When she saw the body she thought it was Nick at first. Maybe someone killed Cole in the dark, thinking it was you, Nick.’

  Eric broke in. ‘They’re not idiots. They’d check who it was they had before they knifed him. Anyway, Tiger’s on his honeymoon and Spike went back to New Guinea last week. Sam de Groot works at APLO now, and a
ccording to Stella, he was in Cole’s pocket.’

  Sinclair wrote something down, looked up and pushed his glasses into place on his nose. ‘Maybe someone told Sam de Groot that it was Cole who was actually to blame for the mission’s failure and he decided to mete out his own sort of justice.’

  Eric waved his hand dismissively. ‘It’s not Sam. It’s not any of the Kestrel men.’

  ‘The method worries me, though.’ Sinclair pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. It was a habit of his and it was beginning to irritate me intensely. ‘It’s a commando method of killing.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why it was done that way,’ I said. ‘So that Eric would be blamed for it.’

  Sinclair considered this. ‘It’s possible. But the perpetrator would still have to know how to kill someone in that manner. I’ve had general army training, and I know the theory, but I couldn’t do it so neatly. That makes it more likely to be someone with commando training. And that means it’s most likely to be Eric, Nick or the Kestrel men.’

  ‘You’ve had commando training?’ My look at Ross was frankly disbelieving.

  He smiled at my obvious surprise. ‘I certainly did. Froze with the best of them at the Prom. How could I have commanded Kestrel otherwise?’

  It had never occurred to me that he was trained like Eric. Nick Ross seemed too fastidious for that sort of fighting.

  ‘What’s happening with the police investigation?’ asked Ross.

  Sinclair pushed his glasses back into place. ‘I can tell you that they’re interviewing anyone who had a connection to Cole.’

  ‘Do the police know about Destro?’ Ross asked.

  ‘Of course not. Nor about Kestrel. But they’ve worked out that there was more to your dislike of Cole than his attack on Stella.’

  I broke in. ‘But they don’t have anything to connect Eric or Nick to the murder.’

  Sinclair raised cool grey eyes and looked at me over his glasses. I was reminded of Dolly’s fiancé, Stanford Randall. Like Stanford, Rob had a soft voice and an air of quiet watchfulness. Only, if you looked hard enough or if he wanted you to see it, behind his eyes you’d sometimes catch the flash of his intellect; it was like the spark of flint on steel, just before the powder catches.

  ‘There’s nothing not to connect them with the death,’ he said. ‘Nick and Eric were keeping watch outside your flat. Early indications are that Cole was killed about six hours before you found him, say between midnight and three am. Also, that he was killed somewhere else and the body was dumped in that garden. The police suspect that Cole came to Avoca late that night, possibly with the intention of attacking you again. Eric and Nick found him there, dispatched him and dumped the body where you found it.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said in a dull, stupid voice.

  The glasses were pushed up. ‘Mind you, they’ll have a job proving it. They don’t have enough to charge either of them, and nowhere near enough for a conviction.’

  Ross sat up straighter. ‘Let’s look at this from a wider perspective.’ He picked up an ornate letter opener from his desk and began to play with it. ‘It helps sometimes to look at everything you’ve got, no matter how trivial, or seemingly unrelated.’

  ‘Dolly,’ I said. ‘Tuck told me that Dolly had dangerous friends. Cole was threatening her about something. I saw him threaten her at work, and Mrs Campbell saw him threaten her at Avoca. Could that have something to do with the stolen silver?’

  Sinclair looked up, obviously confused. Ross told him about what we’d found in Dolly’s room. I told them about the visit to the jeweller in June.

  ‘She’s got a wealthy boyfriend,’ said Sinclair. ‘Why would she steal silver and sell it to a jeweller?’

  ‘Pay a blackmailer?’ said Eric.

  ‘Unforeseen expenses?’ said Ross.

  ‘Dolly took the transmission from Perth,’ said Sinclair. ‘What if she didn’t give it to Cole?’

  Ross raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Blackmail?’ said Eric.

  ‘Can’t you think of anything else besides blackmail?’ I asked. He gave me a smile that seemed to stop my heart.

  ‘Why don’t you have a chat with Sergeant Harper?’ said Sinclair to Ross. He sighed. ‘To be frank, you and Eric are the most likely suspects. You both disliked him, and you both had opportunity and no real alibi. The method makes Eric more likely than you, but you could have done it, Nick. Or the two of you could have been acting together.’

  ‘Are all lawyers this cheerful and optimistic?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, Rob’s a laugh a minute compared with others I’ve met,’ said Ross.

  Sinclair smiled, shook his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  *

  The gist of my questioning by the police was that I already knew Cole’s body was in the garden, because I’d helped Eric and Ross to put it there. I grew increasingly sullen as the questioning went on and I parted from Inspector McGurk on bad terms. As I left he warned me to rethink my attitude before I saw him again, because this wasn’t helping me or either of my boyfriends.

  Eric and Ross returned from their interviews later that afternoon, and refused to tell me how they’d gone. Eric took me out for an early dinner at a small cafe in Domain Road. Afterwards we walked back to Avoca, taking the short cut from Park Street along the lane and into the backyard. We found Lawrie Smith, Violet’s brother, about to mount the back stairs of the flats. He smiled at me, but he grinned at Eric, grabbing Eric’s arm above the elbow, in the way men sometimes do if they’re friends and they’ve not seen each other for a while.

  ‘G’day, Staff. Stella told me she knew you,’ said Lawrie. ‘How’s it going? In Melbourne for long?’

  ‘Long enough. You?’

  ‘Few days. Then I’m back up there.’ He grimaced slightly and shook his head. ‘You know, I can’t wait to go back. Never thought I’d say that, but it’s been a tough time here . . .’

  ‘How is Violet?’ I asked, as we started climbing the stairs.

  ‘Regained consciousness on Monday for a short while, but then she slipped back into the coma.’ He was ahead of us on the stairs. He stopped abruptly and when he twisted around to look at me, his expression was bleak. ‘She’s a beaut girl.’ He frowned. ‘Didn’t deserve this.’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ I said.

  At the top of the stairs he turned towards Violet’s flat, and pulled a set of keys out of his trouser pocket.

  ‘Are you sleeping here tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. Makes sense. I need to sleep somewhere. Mum and Dad are staying with my aunt.’

  As he inserted the key I remembered the scene of horror I’d faced on the morning I’d found Violet.

  ‘Have you cleaned up Violet’s room, Lawrie? Do you want me to help you?’

  Lawrie blinked quickly a few times; I thought it was to hold back tears. Then he shook his head. ‘Stella’s a beaut, too,’ he said to Eric. ‘Treat her right, mate, or you’ll answer to me.’ He opened the door and disappeared inside.

  I touched Eric’s arm, simply for the comfort of feeling hard muscles under rough wool. He looked at me and smiled, and that was comforting, too.

  When we were in the flat I shrugged out of my greatcoat, hung it on the hook and turned to Eric. ‘You heard the man. Treat me right, mate, or you’ll answer to him.’

  In one quick movement he pulled me close. ‘Like this, you mean?’

  ‘It’ll do for a start.’

  Thirty-nine

  A broad band of morning sunshine lay across the floor of Ross’s office as he and I sat there the following morning. Dust motes floated in the brightness, twirling like dancers in the air. Ross hung up the telephone and sat back, lounging on his chair behind the desk. The silver we’d found in Dolly’s room was spread out in front of him.

  ‘
Dolly will be here in a moment,’ he said. ‘So . . . things are going well between you and Eric?’

  I was surprised at the question. ‘Yes.’

  He sat up, grimaced a little. ‘Stella –’

  The tentative knock on the door made us both start. He leaned back in his seat. ‘Come in.’

  Dolly paused in the doorway to Ross’s office. When she saw the silver her eyes seemed to flicker. The look she threw me was like that of a frightened child. My quick, reassuring smile was almost involuntary; I was so used to treating Dolly as a friend.

  She stood to attention, sketched a salute to Ross and rubbed her lips together to smooth her lipstick. Ross rose slightly to acknowledge the salute and asked her to sit down. She sank into the seat next to me and crossed her legs.

  ‘May I have a cigarette?’ she asked Ross. It was her flirty voice.

  He got up and walked over to her and held out a box of American cigarettes. She took one, fitted it carefully between her lips and waited for Ross to light it. Once it was lit, she drew on it slowly.

  ‘Why am I here? What do you want?’

  ‘You had stolen property in your bedroom,’ he said.

  She gave a quick, dismissive look at the pieces on the desk.

  ‘Those? I’ve never seen them before.’ There was bravado in her voice, but her eyes were darting around, looking for an exit.

  ‘In June, you sold some silver to a jeweller in Little Collins Street, Paul Breck. Rob Sinclair has spoken to him and he remembers you. Remembers that you sold four pieces of antique silver. A snuff box, a salt cellar and spoon, and a cruet, all of excellent quality.’ He gestured towards the silver. ‘We could get the inventory from Mrs Campbell’s solicitor and search her flat, but really we just want information.’

  ‘I’m not –’ she started to reply, then stopped, obviously trying to hide her thoughts as she played with her cigarette. When she spoke, her voice was cool. ‘What do you want to know, Nick?’

  ‘On the tenth of July you transcribed a message from a code-intercept station in Perth, saying that it thought Destro was compromised. Did you tell Lieutenant Cole about this?’