Ill-Gotten Gains

by Evans, Ilsa

  ‘Meeting Sam? Is this about your daughter’s project? Not sure if he’ll be here yet.’

  ‘I’m early,’ I repeated. ‘Is it okay if I grab a coffee?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Will thrust a key towards the deadbolt on the front door, hit the rim and dropped his entire key ring onto the footpath. ‘God! This whole celebration has got me wired. It’s so important, and there’s so much to do, but very little time to do it.’

  ‘At least you have plenty of volunteers.’

  ‘That’s half the problem.’ Will bent to collect his keys and try again. ‘The funding guidelines ask that everybody feel involved, but juggling the different people and their ideas is a full-time job by itself.’

  I thought of the well-hung crochet horse. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Here we go.’ Will swung the door open and waited for me to pass through. He flicked on a bank of switches and the cold, cavernous hall was immediately bathed in light. ‘Now I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t keep you company but I’d better get to work.’

  ‘No problem.’ I walked slowly towards the centre’s kitchen, listening to my footsteps echo and marvelling at how different the place felt when it was empty. I made coffee and carried it back out into the hall. The unfinished horse was now draped over a table, beside a pile of papier-mâché balloons. Another table held assorted jars of jam and marmalade, each with a cheerful scrap of material covering the lid. At the far end of the hall, in a haphazard circle reminiscent of Stonehenge, stood a series of display boards similar to those I had seen yesterday in the Historical Society’s room. I took a sip of coffee and then wandered over.

  I soon realised that several of the boards were not just similar, they were the ones from upstairs, now moved to join their fellows. Alongside those was a pair that featured Sheridan House through the years. Sepia servants with uniformly grim expressions, a group of convalescing soldiers, and a starched nanny beside a perambulator, the occupant of which was only just visible amid a flurry of frills and lace. I stared at the tiny pudding face and felt my stomach fist. Not now.

  The next boards were about Majic itself, views down the main street, town functions, sports teams. I moved from one to the other, drinking my coffee, taking particular interest as I reached the post-sixties. There was Petra, alongside a line of awkward adolescent girls with hockey sticks thrust forward, and now my mother, standing outside Renaissance on opening day. I stared at the latter and then backtracked chronologically until I found him – my father, in striped apron, grinning at the camera from the counter of the short-lived Forrest & Son Butchery. For a moment I could actually smell the sawdust on the floor, the clean meat, the pewter of his blade.

  Suddenly I missed him. Not the man he was today, sending a Christmas card that contained an updated photo of his new family in England, but the hearty man who would sweep me onto his shoulders. There you go, Nelly girl, I’ve got you. Daddy’s got you. The marvel being that from so precarious a position, the world had never felt so secure. The fist in my stomach clenched and I moved away from Forrest & Son, but not without a final glance.

  ‘Nell? Back so soon?’

  I turned to see Deb Taylor, who had paused by the stairs. ‘Just to see Sam. I’m early.’

  ‘Well, he’s in now if that’s any help.’ She nodded towards a double row of hooks on the wall, one of which held a yellow tag. ‘At least someone is, because that one’s theirs.’

  ‘Good system.’

  ‘Yes, Will put it in place a few years ago. It means everyone can see at a glance who’s upstairs. Anyway, join me, I’m headed there too. Love what you’ve done with your hair.’

  I frowned, mainly because I hadn’t actually done anything with my hair beyond wash it. Which didn’t seem particularly noteworthy. Nevertheless I put my mug down on a side table and followed her into the stairwell. We started up the stairs in silence, but that didn’t last.

  ‘Look, I apologise if I came over a bit rude yesterday. I meant the exact opposite. I thought I should just put it out from the get-go that I was Tessa’s sister.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘If we’d started chatting and what have you, then it came out, it might have seemed that I was being underhand.’ She slowed to face me. ‘You know?’

  ‘No problem,’ I repeated, wishing I was fit enough to take the stairs two at a time.

  ‘I always put my foot in my mouth. Always. And it probably didn’t help that I was a little star-struck. I love your columns. Absolutely love them.’

  ‘Oh. Really?’ I looked at her for the first time since we began our ascent. She was more tailored than her sister, and less showy. I guessed she was the older, although not by much, despite the grey roots.

  ‘Absolutely.’ She reached the door and held it open. ‘I put the really good ones up on the noticeboard at work.’

  ‘Where’s work? Here?’

  ‘No – although yes at the moment. I’m the council’s arts and entertainment officer, but I’ve been seconded to give Will a hand until after the commemoration. The council’s invested quite a bit in the whole thing, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen the billboards.’

  She laughed. ‘James can’t miss a photo opportunity. Here we go.’

  We paused before the Historical Society door and Deb reached out to give it a push. When it didn’t budge she tried the handle, then knocked sharply. We stood in silence for a few moments and she tried the handle again, as if the time delay might have made a difference.

  ‘That’s funny.’ She knocked once more. ‘Maybe he forgot to take his tag down.’

  ‘No problem, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. I’ll just go back down–’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll grab the master key so you can wait inside.’

  I watched her set off back down the corridor at a trot and disappear into the stairwell. She seemed a lot more pleasant today, and not just because she admired my work. Although that certainly helped. I wondered whether the two sisters got on, and if she knew about the prospective addition.

  Minutes later she reappeared with a large key ring in one hand. It was the one Will had dropped earlier. ‘Here we go.’ She unlocked the door, pushing it open for me to pass through. ‘I’ve just got to grab some stuff then I’ll leave you to it. Make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I stepped into the room and saw him immediately. My surprise burgeoned into shock, bringing me to an abrupt halt. Deb bumped against my back.

  ‘God, sorry, Nell. I didn’t –’

  Urgency surged, as if it had required a two-second suspension, jerking my limbs to life. He was sitting at a desk, slumped forward with his head almost face down on the keyboard, one arm hanging limply with fingers trailing on the floor. I seized the hand, knowing even as I felt frantically for a pulse that it was too late. His flesh was frigid.

  ‘Ambulance, please,’ Deb was saying behind me. ‘Sheridan House. Third floor. Looks like a heart attack. Debra Taylor, from the council.’

  I let my fingers slip from pulse to palm, and then clasped his hand between both of mine. It felt like defrosted chicken.

  ‘Will? It’s Deb. I’m upstairs and it looks like Sam Emerson’s had a heart attack. I’ve called an ambulance but, well … no.’

  I let go of Sam’s hand, placed it gently on his lap.

  ‘Are you okay, Nell?’

  I nodded, my eyes burning. ‘Bloody hell. I wonder how long he’s been here, like this?’

  ‘Since last night, I’d guess. That’s why the tag was still there.’

  ‘I’m surprised his wife didn’t call. Oh, poor Loretta.’

  Deb bobbed down beside the chair. ‘Look.’

  I followed her gaze to the computer screen. A frenetic blur of the letter D ran across the screen, speeding to the edge and then flashing into a new line, over and over. Deb reached out towards Sam’s head, hesitated, and then moved it, just slightly. The D barrage stopped, the cursor blinking expectantly beside the final one. Now I could
see Sam’s left eye, half closed.

  ‘He looks like he’s asleep,’ whispered Deb. ‘I want to reach out and shake him. Wake him up.’

  I nodded. I had known Sam Emerson for as long as I had been alive. He was part of the fabric of Majic, to be met walking down the street, or glimpsed on a variety of committees, or seen in the pages of the local newspaper. Always involved in something.

  Will appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He was actually, literally, wringing his hands. He took a step forward, stopped. ‘Is he …?’

  Deb nodded. ‘Heart attack maybe. His tag was still up so probably last night.’

  ‘God, I don’t believe this.’

  Sam’s right hand suddenly juddered, stilled, and then juddered again. I gasped.

  ‘It’s his mobile,’ said Deb, reaching forward to move the hand. Beneath was his phone, now vibrating cheerfully. The screen said Loretta. After a moment it stopped and Loretta’s name was replaced with 5 missed calls.

  ‘God,’ said Will again, speaking for us all.

  Chapter Five

  I’ve just finished an online writing course and am now looking for a gig like yours. Any advice?

  The police arrived at the same time as the ambulance and the room instantly became crowded. Deb and I moved to the table while Will stood at the periphery of the action, still rubbing his hands together. Within minutes the sense of urgency dissipated and I felt my stomach hollow. Deb had put on a pair of red-framed glasses and was scrolling through her phone, pausing every so often to tap rapidly against the screen with a stylus. I turned slightly, so that Sam was not even in my peripheral vision, and then picked up one of the sheets of paper spread across the table. It was the printout of a genealogical tree, with the tiny font almost impossible to read. I put it aside and picked up the one beneath, a copy of a marriage certificate for James Sheridan and Kata Dragovic dated 1867. I stared at it for a few minutes, startled.

  ‘Nell?’

  I looked up and recognised the young policeman with some surprise. ‘Matthew! I didn’t realise it was you there.’

  ‘Quite understandable. I believe you were one of those who found the body. You okay?’

  I nodded and turned to Deb, who was watching with some interest. ‘Deb, this is Constable Matthew Carstairs. He’s going out with my daughter.’

  Matthew flushed. ‘Yes, that is … yes.’

  ‘What’ll happen next?’ Deb gestured towards Sam, who was now hidden from sight.

  ‘The coroner should be here shortly. She’ll take over.’

  ‘Heart attack?’

  ‘Not sure.’ Matthew removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, revealing a decent V-shaped receding hairline. I wondered if Lucy realised that her boyfriend was going to be bald before he was thirty. ‘The coroner should be able to give us some idea. Listen, ladies, can I ask you a few questions? Just routine. Like what time did you find him?’

  ‘Eight fifty-six,’ said Deb briskly, checking her phone. ‘I unlocked the door with the master key.’

  ‘You were looking for him?’

  ‘Yes. I needed some paperwork and Nell had an appointment.’

  ‘Did you try to revive him? Touch anything else?’

  I chimed in. ‘I took his pulse. Other than that …’ I paused, thinking. ‘Oh, the computer. He had his head on it.’

  ‘I moved his hand when his phone rang,’ added Deb. ‘It was underneath. But I didn’t answer it.’

  A sturdy middle-aged woman entered, followed by a younger man who was carrying a plump briefcase. The woman headed straight for the ambulance officers, who began their report while she was still on the move, both stepping aside so that she had a complete view of Sam. I gazed at his slumped body, the one arm dangling, and remembered the feel of his flesh. My stomach constricted, sending a rush of bile upwards. I swallowed.

  ‘Sure you’re okay, Nell?’ asked Matthew, frowning.

  ‘Actually, no. I’m going to go and get some fresh air.’ I rose quickly, before he could respond, and moved to the door. One of the ambulance officers glanced at me sympathetically and just past him I could see the side of Sam’s face, his eye still half closed as if caught in a wink. Just joking. Did I fool you?

  Out in the hallway I took a deep breath and hurried towards the staircase, taking the steps two at a time and only slowing when I reached the ground floor. There were a lot more people now, standing in clusters talking in low voices that fell away as I appeared. They glanced hopefully in my direction and then away again as if a lack of answers was written on my face. Not an unusual occurrence.

  ‘But I spoke to him last night. He was fine.’

  I followed her voice and found Loretta with Will by the crochet table. He was leaning in close, his hands on her shoulders. As I watched, she knocked one of the hands away, shook her head in denial.

  ‘He’s done this before you know, once or twice. Got all wrapped up in something and fallen asleep there. Last time I brought him a mug of tea in the morning. That’s all he needs. Tea.’

  ‘Loretta …’ Will propelled her gently forward with one hand still in place. ‘Come into my office. You’ll be more comfortable there.’

  ‘No. I need to get Sam tea.’ Her voice rose. ‘Just tea. White with two.’

  Will slid his arm around her and continued to move towards his office. ‘I’ll help you with that. In the meantime, is there anyone I can ring? Your son perhaps?’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Elsa Poxleitner, materialising by my side. ‘Is he really …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh my god. Poor Sam. Poor Loretta.’

  ‘Yes.’

  At the far end of the hall, Will was now ushering Loretta into his office. Minutes later Karen Rawlings came bustling across to the kitchen. No doubt to fetch that cup of tea, although it wouldn’t be for Sam. The hall was much warmer than it had been earlier and suddenly my jacket felt constrictive. That fresh air seemed even more imperative. I nodded to Elsa and made my way through the knots of people towards the exit. Somebody put a hand on my arm as I passed but I didn’t dare stop or even acknowledge their compassion. I pushed the door open and burst outside. It was colder here, with a welcoming breeze that buffeted my body. I wiped my eyes roughly.

  ‘Nell? Nell Forrest?’

  I kept my fingers in front of my eyes for a moment and then lowered them slowly. My eyesight was blurred but I knew who it was by the voice. ‘Hello, Ashley.’

  ‘Are you all right there?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ I stared at him, my vision clearing to reveal a man who had barely changed since I had seen him last, before Christmas. Detective Sergeant Ashley Armistead. Tall, a little worn, with sandy hair and dark eyes currently creased with concern. I felt a shaft of regret for having rejected him back then even if, according to my eldest daughter, he was just a player. A bit of play might have been just what the doctor ordered. And it wasn’t like I could have fallen pregnant.

  ‘Are you growing your hair? It looks nice.’ He coughed, as if wanting to swallow the compliment. ‘Did you know him? The victim?’

  ‘Yes, he was a friend.’ I paused, frowned. ‘The victim? Hang on, what are you doing here anyway? You’re homicide. This was a heart attack.’ I paused again, hoping he would fill the gap. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Just routine,’ replied Ashley. ‘I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by.’

  Still frowning, I examined his face, but the expression remained inscrutable.

  ‘Besides, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I found the … body. I had an appointment with him.’

  ‘Good god. Is there a death in this town where you’re not present?’

  I decided to treat the question as rhetorical. ‘And is there one where you don’t show up? Seems like a waste of police resources to me. As a taxpayer I’m a little concerned.’

  ‘In that case I’d best go earn my keep. But could you stick around, Nell? I’d like to talk.’

  ‘Would you now
?’ I replied in my best flirtatious manner. ‘Is that appropriate?’

  He stroked his chin, as if thinking. Finally he nodded. ‘Yes, I believe it is. Given it’s about the victim, and your finding him. But we can always take the discussion down to the police station if you’d prefer. If you’re concerned about being appropriate.’

  I stared at him narrowly, then watched as he strode into the community centre. Only an hour ago I had stood there, waiting for Will to unlock the door, completely oblivious to the fact that upstairs Sam Emerson already lay dead. Why was Ashley here? Could there really be any question about the death? I was still staring at the door when something began nudging at the corner of my mind. I closed my eyes until it burst into being, swelling into knowledge. That door had been locked also. Sam had been inside, dead, and the door had been locked. And that was why Ashley Armistead was here. Sam Emerson had been murdered.

  Chapter Six

  Dear Eleanor A. Forrest, allow me to introduce. My name is Omar Sherrif and I am lawyer for Mrs P. Williams who has been recently widowed and left $1,000,000 by her deceased husband taken tragically. We entreat your assistance to obtain said monies. For this service, we will pay you 25%.

  ‘It was the plaque,’ said Quinn emphatically. She put her menu down and slid it across the table towards Lucy. ‘I’ll have the Petar Majic parmigiana. With chips. No vegies.’

  ‘Just like he would have had it, no doubt.’ I passed my own menu to Petra and sat back. ‘And sorry, but I don’t think the discovery that Mr Parmigiana was beloved is quite enough to incite murder.’

  ‘You said he sounded all excited on the phone. Mr Emerson, not Mr Parmigiana. And that he’d made a discovery. Obviously someone wanted to, like, shut him up.’

  Petra drummed her fingernails on the table. They were French-tipped, with leopard print across the ends. ‘It does seem a bit too coincidental. He tells you that he’s found something … what word did he use? Huge?’ She waited for me to nod. ‘The day before being found dead. Murdered.’