The Naked Room

by Diana Hockley

  ‘What did you do that for? Now he’s going to wonder what was so important that you had to attack him. You could have fucked up the whole operation if he’d gone to the cops!’

  ‘How was I to know? Anyway he had no business coming in here,’ his son replied, truculently.

  ‘He probably just came to the wrong address. I would have re-directed him and he’d have gone off, none the wiser. But no, you had to be the big hero.’

  But as far as they knew, there had been no repercussions. The driver might have good reason for not going to the cops, such as he’d been spying on them, or maybe the bloke thought he had stirred up an irate householder and wasn’t going to make an issue of the it.

  They just needed to sit tight. Almost a million dollars had poured in already. They had made the second phone call and Ally Carpenter’s father agreed to everything they asked, more money drops and keeping on with eBay. The family laughed, as he mimicked the father’s strained tones. It was good to keep him on the run and busy, because there wouldn’t be much danger of them going to the cops.

  Everything appeared to be going to plan, but now they had a situation on their hands: the murder of the violinist. He struggled to contain his anger and fear. This latest hiccup might blow their plans wide open.

  ‘She found out why we really snatched the girl. She threatened me,’ Angel growled, his eyes glittering.

  Even the father felt a moment of unease; his eldest child was dangerously unpredictable. The stepmother watched impassively. Her own father, the fourth member of the group, cracked his knuckles and turned his head away. His favourite possession, his shotgun, stood propped by his side.

  Her husband continued to scold his son. ‘You could have brought her here again. We would have talked her around, reminded her it was her own idea to begin with and we were only helping her to ruin the Carpenter girl’s career. Doing her a favour. You didn’t have to go off half-cocked and kill her, you stupid bastard!’

  He jumped to his feet and began to pace, his mouth tight and angry. He should have bashed the kid more often when he was little. The boy had always been violent and whereas that was occasionally handy, this time it was a liability. Mind you, when they got rid of the pianist, Angel would do it, no worries, but for now he had to be kept under control. That meant calming him down. In spite of everything, he loved his son, and you didn’t cry over spilt milk. You got on with the job.

  He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Okay, okay, it’s done. Now we have to decide what to do. You’re sure you left no fingerprints? No traces of anything?’

  The son shook his head, tossed off the remains of his drink and slammed the glass down on the table beside him, wincing from the pain in his arm. The flesh was deeply bruised when the intruder crushed it in the window of the car.

  His stepmother leaned forward anxiously. ‘What about the knife? Where is it? You should have got rid of it!’

  He didn’t answer, just smiled, bent to the battered backpack resting on the floor beside his chair and undid the buckles. Slowly he retrieved something bundled in bloodied material, which he unwrapped with care. The fishing knife lay wickedly in its bed of lilac-coloured towelling, its eight-inch blade and soft rubber grip smeared heavily with congealed blood. The sharp tang of it filled their nostrils. The father didn’t want to look too closely at something grisly, which remained caught on a serrated point.

  ‘Whose towel? It was one of Jess’s?’ He wanted to be sure.

  ‘Yep, but they’ll never know it’s missing.’ The son smiled pitilessly. A memory of Jess, wrapped in it, flashed across his mind, all the sweeter for the last time he had seen her. He licked his lips as he re-wrapped his favourite knife and handed the bundle to his stepmother. He knew she would do a perfect job.

  ‘We’ll clean it up and keep it for next time, darling,’ she smiled. Her short, black hair gleamed in the fire-light and her eyes glowed with love as she looked at her stepson. She had removed the theatrical cheek pads and discarded the nondescript wig before she left for the mountains. Ally Carpenter would have had trouble recognising her as the masked woman who accompanied “Scarpia” on his bi-daily visits.

  They would hold their hostage until the last possible moment while they milked her father for everything they could. A couple more days and they’d get rid of the girl, but for now the money was flowing in smoothly. The wife needed to wreak her revenge and the son had plans for her, pre-death.

  There were really no problems, apart from the murder of the violinist. All they had to do was keep their heads down and not attract attention to themselves. Satisfied, they listened as the woman turned on the taps in the laundry.

  ‘We’ll have a cup of tea when you’ve finished with that!’ called the father, as he switched on the television. The three men settled down to watch the soccer, having re-assured each other nothing could connect them with either crime, as long as they held their nerve.

  CHAPTER 30

  Dark Aura

  Ally

  Thursday: dawn.

  At first light, the little room takes on a surreal glow and it’s possible to pretend each day might be the one they let me go. They’ve warned my father against calling in the police or they’ll send him bits of me. Will my fingers be next? They would love the chance to ruin my career and my life. My terror of that is so great, I can’t allow myself to dwell on it.

  Pain stabs through me if I try to take more than shallow breaths. I think my ribs might be broken. My face is so sore I can hardly bear to touch it. My left eye is feeling better. I can open it a little bit now.

  I try to remember every single note of music I’ve ever learned, but even Schubert’s glorious Litany cannot calm me.

  God, please keep the police hunting for me.

  ‘What if mum can’t get to my father, or he thinks it’s a scam and won’t pay? Perhaps he doesn’t believe I exist. Could she get DNA done on my hair and blood in time to convince him to save me?

  My mind scuds willy-nilly, seeking ways I might escape, but who am I kidding? My body aches. I force myself to roll over, reach out and break my fall to the floor, as the stretcher tips me out. It’s only centimetres, but feels like falling through forty feet. I struggle onto my knees, bracing my hand against the wall. ‘You can do it…come on, Ally.’

  Was that someone talking? Where? I struggle up, totter to the window and squint through the grill but see nothing different. Am I hallucinating now? Outside, everything is still the same, acres of lawn and distant trees. I press my face gently against the metal, wincing as I try to get an angle view. There is no other building in sight, no one to signal to and no one can see me.

  Nausea again. Crush it. I grab the window sill with both hands. Bloody arms are shaking. They didn’t speak or acknowledge me in any way last night. The woman leaned through the door and dumped a sandwich on the floor, while he stood in the entrance. The silence is more frightening than his taunts. It’s as though there’s nothing more to say.

  The seal on the water bottle’s not broken and I can’t feel a pin hole anywhere on it. I twist the top open and take a cautious sip. The wind is rushing across the top of the building, making a piece of tin clatter somewhere. My mind flips around, unable to let go of the obvious. What reason, other than money, could there be for someone to kidnap me and hold my father to ransom? Spite? Revenge for a business defeat? Jealousy? Maybe it is just about the money.

  They’re here again. It’s too early in the day. The door opens, the woman stoops and places a packet on the floor. The expression in her eyes is like a leopard stalking its prey, daring me to run so she can bring me down, sink her teeth into my neck and tear out my life.

  Scarpia stands between us, assessing me through the eye sockets of his balaclava, knowing me. I was drugged when he attempted to have sex with me, but I know what I felt. The shame of my body’s betrayal crawls through me.

  He won’t touch me while she’s close by, but there’s no comfort in that. We make eye contact. Dark
energy emanates from him; there’s something he wants me to understand. I don’t want to know what he’s done now.

  I can’t bear this, day after day. Will they ever let me go? No.

  I’ve seen his face.

  I need to hide inside myself in this naked room, an unlikely sanctuary most times, but one which they invade at will.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dubiety

  Brie

  Thursday: 2.00am.

  I woke up and couldn’t get settled again. Images of Jess’s staring eyes catapulted me from one scenario to the next on a searing round trip in limbo, with Armageddon along for the ride. The smell of death flared in my nostrils making me inhale carefully, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my stomach. I dropped off to sleep again, but only minutes seemed to pass before I jerked awake, heart pounding as I fought sweat-soaked sheets. At 3.30am, I crawled out of bed and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee and find some panadol for my aching head.

  I couldn’t believe only eight hours had passed since Jess died. It was unlikely she had been found, but fear rippled through and around me. Would anyone remember seeing the old hatchback parked down the road? It still had to be collected. Christ almighty, how are we going to get out of this?

  Images of happier times jostled memories of the night before, Jess laughing up at me in a park—she loved luxury picnics with wine and strawberries—a flash of her sitting beside me in a cinema, hiding her face in my shoulder when the murderer took another victim. Oh, God.

  Last, Jess the brilliant violinist sending notes glittering from her bow to standing ovations. Another picture popped into my mind; Jess puce with rage and disappointment, after I broke off our relationship. ‘Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry.’

  A moan preceded a muffled curse from the third bedroom. My hand jerked, splashing hot liquid over the bench. It was a moment before I remembered that Pam had stayed for what was left of the night.

  The bedside lamp clicked on, followed by rustling noises. I made another cup and carried it to the door of the room. She was lying flat on her back, struggling to get the bed clothes untangled, knickers well and truly on display. One boob had flopped out of her bra. I moved a discreet distance away.

  ‘Pam? Pam?’

  ‘Whaaat? Oh, Brie. Uh, what’s happening?’

  ‘Can’t sleep. Worrying about Ally, thinking about Jess.’

  I took my time returning. She sat up in bed, fully covered, gazing at me with haunted, dark-ringed eyes. Her hair stood on end and she looked like I felt, deranged. Sweet, loyal Pam, so damn talented and laid back, cutting her CDs, playing with the orchestra and so afflicted by stage fright she might never achieve her full potential. ‘It’s not fair,’ I thought, savagely. For a moment, I wondered, with regret, what might have happened had I not been side-tracked by Jess. Would Pam and I have—but then I met Ally and no other woman meant a romantic damn.

  ‘Here,’ I held out the cup. ‘ I heard you thrashing around. I can’t sleep so I thought some practice might help.’

  ‘I’ll get dressed and join you,’ she announced.

  ‘Righto.’

  I wandered to the music room, stood the mugs on a shelf and turned on the light. Pam shuffled in as I was fingering a few notes on the piano, a work I was currently composing, swooped on her coffee, took a great gulp and grimaced.

  ‘Ouch! Too hot!’ She put it back on the shelf and plopped into a chair. ‘I kept having nightmares. How’s your head?’

  ‘Still aching, but not as bad now I’m up. God only knows where we go from here. There’s not much we can do except sit tight.’

  ‘You know the police are going to want to talk to us, don’t you?’

  I wriggled uneasily. ‘Yep. But since you cleaned everything…’

  Pam’s words tumbled over each other. ‘I’m not infallible, Brie. Like, I think I got it all, but who knows?’

  ‘Now you tell me?’

  ‘Brie, if we’re cornered, all we can do is tell the truth, but I hope it won’t come to that. Whatever happens, we don’t tell them about Ally. Got it? And I told you about her father in strictest confidence.’

  ‘Yeah, I got it.’

  ‘And don’t let on you know who he is! You know why Aunt Eloise and James need to keep it a secret.’

  ‘You mean, you and Aunt—Ms Carpenter—want us to keep it secret,’ I snapped. ‘You know I think telling the police is the best thing to do!’

  She cast me a liverish glance and then narrowed her eyes. ‘Ally’s life depends on us keeping quiet.’

  ‘Yeah, and for how long? Until the kidnappers—’ I must have been shouting, because Pam started shushing me—’ get three million dollars? And just how much time do you think that’s going to take? What will happen to Ally after that?’

  ‘Brie, calm down, for God’s sake.’ She patted my arm. ‘It won’t help.’

  The cops would be interviewing Ally’s mother and they would soon find out for themselves, but there was one more thing to be said. ‘Pam, I know I owe you for tonight. You believed in me and you put yourself on the line. You could get into serious trouble on account of my blundering.’

  She smiled. ‘Brie, what are friends for?’ Then she looked at me, eyes narrowed and assessing. ‘You’re in love with Ally, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t know how she feels. We were going to…uh…talk about it after we’d been to the club.’ I raised my eyes to Pam’s face. ‘And now she might not be…’

  The sentence which neither of us wanted to finish, hung in the air. ‘She will be safe, Brie. Hold that thought. Now, how about we keep ourselves occupied?’

  I got up and lifted my instrument out of its case. Pam moved to the piano stool and began to play an accompaniment to Saint-Saens ‘Cello Concerto No 1,’ I joined in and we tried to stave off our mutual demons.

  Thursday: 10.30am.

  Hammering on my front door brought me upright, disorientated and trembling with fatigue. The police?

  ‘Coming!’ I croaked, swinging my jean-clad legs to the floor. I squinted at the clock, hung-over from lack of sleep. The events of the previous night flooded back and fear joined the churning in my stomach.

  ‘Brie! Hey mate, are you there?’

  Michael. What the fuck was he doing here? I went to open up. He surged over the doorstep, looking unnervingly cheerful, clutching a pile of music and a large paper bag of something greasy. I could smell doughnuts.

  ‘Geez, you look shite!’ he announced, dumping his armful on the kitchen table. ‘Coffee on?’

  ‘Nah, jug’ll boil in a minute though.’

  I trailed after him and propped myself against the bench watching as he grabbed the milk from the fridge, got mugs out of the cupboard and spooned coffee from the jar I’d left open in the early hours. He babbled away about nothing in particular as we waited for the jug to boil, and then made it himself.

  ‘Do you know where Jess is?’ he asked, as he turned to hand me a steaming mug. ‘I rang her before I left home, but there was no answer.’ So that’s it. You want to make sure she’s not here with me.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Just then, Pam sauntered into the kitchen, dishevelled and sleepy. ‘I smell coffee,’ she moaned piteously, nose twitching. Michael’s eyes widened; I could see the wheels turning.

  ‘Pam stayed the night in the spare room,’ I announced forcefully. She blushed and turned away. ‘We were practising and got on the piss. She couldn’t drive home.’

  He looked at me doubtfully, then at Pam who was rooting with apparent unconcern in the cupboard for a clean mug. Shrugging, he went on to talk about the music he’d brought over, jazz promised to me for the Friday night quartet.

  Cat created a diversion by leaping onto the counter looking for her breakfast. I opened the fridge and rummaged for her food, hoping Michael wouldn’t mention Jess again, but of course, he did. ‘So, when did you last see Jess? I tried to ring her. Do you think she’s away with that new boyfriend of hers?’

/>   I wasn’t aware that he knew he’d been made redundant. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t best pleased by the situation.

  ‘Or she could have gone to the shops?’ Michael continued, as he poured hot water into the mug, which Pam held out like a begging bowl.

  ‘What do you know about her new boyfriend, Michael?’ she asked, casually.

  ‘Not much. I saw him a couple of days ago, but I didn’t realise she was sleeping with him while she was still with me, ‘he said, angrily. ‘He’s an Italian-looking type. Kept looking around to see if anyone was eyeing her up.’

  If what I suspected was true, the bloke didn’t want to be seen with her.

  ‘He looked familiar somehow.’ Michael took a deep draught of coffee, glaring at the floor.

  ‘Where were they when you saw them?’ I asked, as I put Cat’s food down, fussing over her, trying not to betray too much interest in the answer.

  ‘Outside that new pub in Wellington Point the night of the cricket awards. They got into a black Audi.’

  Michael played cricket with one of the suburban clubs. Pam and I looked at each other. The boyfriend must have had his work cut out to keep a low profile, because Jess hadn’t been the sort of woman content to stay at home eating takeaway pizza too often.

  It was about then there was more hammering on the front door accompanied by a chorus of voices. Pam rolled her eyes and Michael brightened visibly. Two of my sisters had arrived.

  As I went to open it, I thought Pam’s designs on Michael were doomed. He and Lara, my liveliest sister, had always fancied each other, even throughout his dalliance with Jess. From the anticipatory gleam in his eye, I realised they were both single at the moment. I wasn’t happy about it. Michael was a little too fond of the weed and I suspected he used stronger stuff on occasions.

  The girls tumbled over the threshold, chattering and exclaiming as they realised who was there. Pam’s face fell when she saw Lara, who trilled a beeline for Michael. Karen wanted to know who in the orchestra had died?

  For a split second, Pam and I froze. She threw me a warning glance, before edging behind the girls. Michael hadn’t heard her question, but as Lara talked I could see he was being brought up to date. ‘There was a brief announcement on the 10 o’clock news this morning that a member of the Pacific Orchestra was found dead,’ she turned, and informed us all. ‘We thought it was Ally for a moment, but then the announcer said “violinist.”