I felt as though I was under siege. The television channels were full of the news of Ally’s disappearance. Early last night, Aunt Eloise phoned to say she was staying with James. Ally’s agent phoned, as did her accountant, who pretty much only crawls out of the woodwork around taxation time, and just about every friend she’s ever made. Skype ran hot with calls from overseas as conductors, musicians and ex-boyfriends phoned or wanted to chat. My email had to be emptied several times and my snail mailbox bulged with cards. Friends ringing the doorbell day and night have contributed to the manager of the units where I live complaining about the other tenant’s privacy being compromised. ‘Your lease is up next month, Miss Miller. We might have to consider our options,’ he rumbled spitefully. My eyelids twitched with exhaustion. I’m not good at keeping secrets, and “worry” has morphed from hobby to habit.
Sir James McPherson lurked at the piano talking to James Kirkbridge and John, the orchestra manager. Their faces looked haggard under the brilliant stage lighting. I sensed someone behind me and flicked a glance over my shoulder. Michael was crowding my personal space. Something alien glinted in his eyes, but then it was gone. He turned away, every line of his body saying, ‘Shuttered. Don’t pry.’ I felt as though I had climbed down a ladder and unexpectedly found a rung missing. Embarrassed, I turned back to my music.
Because Sir James was fart-arsing around talking to some of my colleagues, I allowed my mind to drift, inevitably, to the past.
After we graduated from the Conservatorium, Ally and Jess’s careers surged ahead. Fortunately my CDs are good sellers; old ladies in nursing homes are particularly partial to them I am told. ‘So cheerful, dear’ one wrote, but solo performances drive me insane. My nerves get so shot before a concert, the stage-hands leave a bucket next to the entrance just for me, Puking Pam. But as part of a large orchestra, I adore my career.
Would I be completely fulfilled if I had someone to love and who loved me? All my life, I’ve sensed an empty space beside me, with no understanding of why it should be so. The part of me which feels missing returns strongly in times of stress. Bobby, my imaginary childhood friend, filled a gap which even Ally was unable to do. Sometimes I still manage to summon him up from wherever he is domiciled while my back is turned. Am I such a desperate that I have to rely on a phantom? So alone that even as an adult, I revert to a childhood imaginary friend.
Most of the men I date are either divorced, getting over a relationship or commitment-phobic, and almost all shorter than I am. It’s no joke being 183cm and nor are the “funnies” people make about it.
Brie dated me a couple of times after we met, but when Jess joined the orchestra he lost interest. At first I was hurt, but to be honest, hadn’t seriously believed anything would eventuate from our three or four casual dates.
I rarely saw either Jess or Brie socially during their relationship. I think they only got out of bed to go to work, but as fast as it began, the affair burnt itself out. He was the one to break it off and I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit pleased. Yeah, I’m a vengeful hag. I saw him first, Jess. Not that that made any difference in the long run.
The percussionist Michael Whitby joined the orchestra from the Melbourne Symphony. My friendship with him appeared to be progressing well, when Guess Who loomed on the horizon? Overnight, he scudded out of my orbit into Jessica’s. Once again I felt abandoned, bereft and unattractive. Damn, stop whining, Pam. Get over it.
Now, Jess has found someone else while keeping Michael dancing on her g-string. ‘I’m keeping him to myself, Pammie,’ she confided, ‘but this time it’s the real thing!’
Each time the phone rang my heart jumped, but every call broke my heart. I had lost my friend, the only sister I would ever have. We were born on the same day, in the same hospital, Ally ten minutes or so after me. I try not to visualise the desolate years ahead, the birthdays we might never share, the bridal and baby showers we may never throw for each other if the worst has happened to Ally. Fear for her safety threatens to send me spiralling into a mass of pain from which there might be no escape.
‘Miss Miller? Are we to have the pleasure of your company, or are you planning on just being a pretty face?’
I jumped, sending my music score flying and kicking my instrument case across the floor. Sir James stood on the podium with his hands on his hips, glaring down at me, his baton clasped firmly in his left hand, sticking out at a mad angle like the tail of an animal. The orchestra waited with breathless anticipation for him to tear me to pieces. Embarrassed, I squatted and dragged my case back beside me, scrambling to pick up the sheets of music scattered around my feet.
‘Er, I’m sorry, Sir James, won’t be a moment.’
‘That’s all right, Miss Miller.’ He flashed a savage smile. ‘We’ll wait. After all, we have nothing better to do today.’
Somehow I got back onto my chair without causing any more trouble, picked up my flute and waited for his cue. I was startled when he glanced at me sympathetically before looking down at his score and raising his arms. I gathered myself, grateful for the glorious, comforting music of Bach.
Wednesday: 4.30pm.
By four o’clock we were all shattered; nobody wanted to linger. The stairs echoed with the sounds of racing feet, the lift shot up and down like a demented bathescope. Musicians burned rubber in their haste to get out of the underground car park.
Sighing, I picked up my gear and turned to leave. Jess, Michael and Brie were standing by the door waiting for me. Michael was reading something on a small piece of paper, but I sensed it was an excuse to avoid eye contact with us. As I walked slowly toward them my eyes met those of Jess and then skipped to Brie. A vibe passed between us, a feeling all was not as it seemed.
Suspicion had driven a wedge through our friendship the size of a Mac truck.
CHAPTER 27
A Precarious Position
Brie
Wednesday: 7.30pm.
A brisk breeze swayed the branches of tree under which I parked. I kept the window halfway down and listened to the sounds and smells of people living—a radio playing just inside the window in front of which I had parked and nearby, someone cooking.
A few dogs walked their owners around the block. People were still trickling home from work and some obviously leaving for a night out. Further along the street, a woman screeched with laughter and a car door slammed, followed by the purr of a very expensive motor. I ducked down as it sped past.
Light from the street lamp made it dangerous to lurk any closer to Jess’s house. A drive-by observation had revealed no more than a soft glow inside from the skirting-board light which would be on in the hallway. When she went out, it would be a good chance to collect the bug I stuck on the underside of her kitchen table.
I wriggled around, trying to stretch my legs. Rehearsals had been fucking terrible. We made stupid mistake after even stupider ones, which sent Sir James into a rage, and were all glad to finish the rehearsal. Pam, Jess, Michael and I headed gratefully for our vehicles, barely stopping to talk. In order to find out whether she was going to be home, I asked Jess if she wanted to go for a drink after work, but she declined and archly informed me she had a date. Assuming an expression of mild regret, I wished her good night. Michael dived into his vehicle and took off, sour-faced, with a squeal of tires. Obviously he was not the one she was going out with.
I wondered about the type of relationship Jess had with the people living on the mountain, particularly the bloke who nearly throttled me. Was he the new boyfriend? She had a sister, but the older couple couldn’t have been her parents. She hated them and would never have kissed her father. There was nothing to suggest those people had anything to do with Ally’s disappearance and I felt foolish now, stalking Jess. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Pam’s expression when she spotted the bruises on my throat. A couple of friends in the orchestra saw them too and teased me about my sex life. No one realised they were finger marks and guessed I had been attacked
, so for once, my randy reputation came in handy.
Fear and helplessness were driving me crazy. I was trying hard to have faith in the police, but I bet they didn’t know any more than I did. If I had arrived at the club sooner, if I had looked harder, if I … but she was taken before I even got there.
If I found anything to suggest Jess had something to do with Ally’s disappearance, I would tell Detective Senior Sergeant Prescott. I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but if Jess was involved, I wanted to kill her. I might have to settle for scaring the living shit out of her.
Enough. Time was slipping by. I started the motor, drove quietly to the dead-end, did a U-turn and stopped in front of the house. My plan was to walk up and knock as though I was expecting her to answer. If she wasn’t there I would use the spare key, which I found forgotten in a drawer. With any luck, she’d not changed the locks.
The street was deserted. Next door was listening to something on TV in which sirens played a significant part. Their dog barked, unheard in his kennel on the other side of the fence. Jess’s verandah boasted a canvas blind which was at half-mast on the western side. A small shoe rack placed to one side of the door held sandals and a pair of joggers.
No one answered my knock.
I glanced over my shoulder as a man came out of a house across the street and got into his car. My hands shook a little as I put the key into the lock, turned it then twisted the knob and pushed it open. Technically, I was not breaking in, but I knew I had no right to be there.
The dim night light above the skirting board illuminated the length of the hall all the way to the back of the house. I slipped inside.
My senses tingled.
Nothing stirred.
Something felt wrong.
For a moment, I couldn’t work out what it was, then I realised—Jess always left music on when she was out, but there was only silence. A sliver of fear shivered its way into my gut.
I moved slowly forward, glancing into each room, wincing as a floorboard creaked.
A figure stood against the far wall of the spare bedroom. My heart leapt and I held my breath. Then I remembered Jess’s dressmaking dummy. I leaned against the wall, sucking air as I waited to recover my nerve. The wind had picked up outside, rattling the canvas blind. I jumped as it bounced hard against the verandah railing.
Someone sighed, so faintly that for a moment I thought I’d imagined it. The sound came again, a slight sob. I stopped in my tracks, listening and then edged forward. Was Jess still there? Perhaps she was in bed with the new boyfriend. If they came out of the bedroom, how could I possibly explain why I was in the house? And how the hell could I get out again without getting the crap beaten out of me?
I was about to turn around and sneak out, then realised a keening sound was coming from the direction of the kitchen. I edged forward, trying not to let the floorboards creak and stopped in the doorway. A coppery stench permeated the air and made me gag. I tried not to breathe. Her electric kettle shone in the glow from the pilot light on the stove; the clock ticked loudly.
The sighing sound came again, low down. I switched the light on and scanned the room.
Nothing. I moved forward, skirting around the side of the table.
My foot touched something.
Jess was lying in front of the stove, blood flowing in rivulets from her stomach, pooling massively around her. Stunned, I dropped to my knees. ‘My God, Jess, what’s happened?’ I asked, stupidly. Her glazed eyes stared dully back at me, her hands clamped over her stomach and blood-soaked white t-shirt. She shifted lightly; blood welled up over her fingers. Her mouth opened.
‘Jess, don’t try to talk. Just stay still.’
Something to wad it with. Where did she keep her tea towels? I couldn’t think straight. ‘I’ll get an ambulance, hold on!’ I begged her.
Every second counted. I wrestled my mobile phone off my belt and half-rose to dial. She flapped a weak hand on my arm. ‘Brie…stop…listen…’ Her bloodied hand scrabbled at my sleeve. I dropped to my knees again and leaned over her, trying to hear what she was saying. ‘…meant to be a joke…Ally…teach her a lesson… they…I didn’t know they…meant to hurt her… ‘
She gasped and began to choke. Blood welled out of her mouth; she plucked at my arm.
‘Don’t try to talk! I’ll just—’stop the bleeding. My hands shook violently. I ripped my jacket off, threw it aside then dragged my t-shirt over my head, rolled it into a ball and wadded it against the wound in her stomach. Blood saturated it in seconds. I reefed a handkerchief out of my pocket and tried to wipe her chin and neck. Weakly, she batted my hands away. More blood bubbled up. She started to speak again and I could only just make out the words.
‘But they wanted revenge…the money, too…but I didn’t know why…too late.’
A great flow of blood streamed out, her body rippled and her soul left her eyes. I stared down at her in horror. She couldn’t be dead. I had placed my hands in the CPR position in the middle of her chest when I sensed movement behind me. I started to turn; help had arrived.
‘Thank God. Phone an— ‘
Something crashed into my head.
I was lying on a large, bumpy, soft pillow. My skull threatened to split open, my nostrils filled with the stench of blood. I opened my eyes slowly, cringing in the light. Jess’s dead face was inches from mine, her dark eyes blank.
Christ, she’s gone. Who would…? I braced myself on her body, pushed up and back onto my knees and then tumbled on my arse. My chest was smeared with blood, my jeans and hair soaked. Blood splattered my face, up my nose and in my mouth. My head felt as though it would explode any moment, while my stomach considered whether to hurl where I stood or allow me a moment to get to the laundry.
I struggled to stand, but my feet slipped in the huge pool. I grabbed the table, levered myself up and skittered to the sink. Seemingly everything I’d eaten in the last twenty four hours came up. I was trembling, sweating and icy with shock. My head ached; breathing was a struggle. A row of clean glasses were upside down on the shelf above the sink. My hand shook so badly I only just managed to grab one and turn on the tap, taking several tries to get it aligned underneath the stream of water.
My teeth chattered on the rim of the glass. I rinsed my mouth and spat into the mess, letting the water flow, trying to flush the vomit down the drain. It wasn’t going fast enough. I grabbed a serving ladle out of the utensil caddy and stirred. Whoever hit me over the head must have killed Jess, someone who had been in there all along, waiting for her to die, and I walked straight in, stupidly, innocently.
I turned the tap on harder, dodging the splashes as the water gushed, then pulled a tea towel from the drying rack to wipe my face. I had to ring the cops, but as I staggered over and slumped into a chair on the far side of the kitchen table, it began to dawn on me I was in a precarious position. How was I going to convince them, or anyone, I hadn’t killed Jess?
I ran my hand carefully across the back of my throbbing head, into the sticky mass on my scalp. A lump was forming rapidly. The only sound was the clock ticking. Incredibly, just twelve minutes had passed since I got out of the car.
Remembering what I came for, I took a tea towel and wiped my hand before furniture-surfing weakly around the table, bending down and peering underneath. The top of my head felt as though it was coming off. I almost pitched face first onto the floor; my vision danced. I could just see the device. Some belated instinct for self-preservation prompted me to wrap the tea towel around my hand before I touched it. After a couple of wrenches, it came unstuck and was stuffed into my pocket. I was freezing; bouts of shivering set in. I got up and wobbled over to my jacket and picked it up, trying not to fall face first onto the floor.
Jess. Beautiful, quixotic, all that talent gone. It was unbelievable…terrifying. No matter what she had done, she didn’t deserve this. ‘Shit, now I’ll have to ring the police,’ I muttered aloud, as I began to shrug myself awkwardly into the jacket.
/> ‘Oh no, Brie, you’re not ringing anyone,’ a familiar voice said quietly. I jumped and spun around.
She stood in the doorway, staring at me, narrow-eyed, her face as cold as winter.
Pam.
CHAPTER 28
Damage Control
Pamela
Wednesday: 8.26pm.
It was a stand-off. We each waited for the other to make the first move. He stood there, half-dressed, holding a white red-splattered t-shirt, blood smeared all over his chest, up to his throat and splashed around his ashen face. His skin shone luminous in the light, eyes dazed with hair sticking up, all gelled with blood. The stench of it filled the kitchen; nausea rose in my throat. Looking for air, I realised all the blinds were down and the curtains drawn.
Jess was lying on the floor, one arm flopped by her side, the other across her stomach. I could see something horrible poking through her blood-soaked clothes. Her face was half-turned away, eyes blank. No one was home anymore.
My heart beat faster. Would he turn on me now? I looked back at Brie, my lips so stiff I could hardly form the words. ‘Why did you kill her?’
He stared at me as though I was speaking a foreign language. ‘What?’
‘Why did you kill her?’ I couldn’t seem to get through to him.
He was silent for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I might ask you the same thing!’ he muttered. ‘Why did you kill her—and hit me?’
‘I didn’t kill her. And what do you mean, hit you? I just walked in here now and found you like this.’ I gestured to the floor. ‘Jess dead, and you covered in blood. What am I supposed to think?’
Don’t look at Jess…you can’t help her now and you are in danger too…keep your eyes on Brie. Get ready to fight or run.
The Naked Room Page 17