by Evans, Ilsa
Several woody rhododendrons edged his porch, with dried blooms that pushed against our legs as we mounted the few steps. I rubbed my hands as Petra rang the doorbell and we listened to it echo within the house. The only other sound was a faint throaty rumble, which suggested that the heating was on. I fastened the buttons on my coat, tucked in my scarf.
‘I’m going around the back.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are the worst detective in the world.’
‘Agreed.’ I walked to the edge of the porch as she rounded the side of the house and slipped the latch on the gate before disappearing through. A black dog loped down the footpath and crossed the road to pee against my back tyre. I frowned and made shooing gestures but this just seemed to encourage it. Quinn and Lucy had come outside and were staring at me. Quinn held up her mobile and began texting. Which wasn’t going to do her any good as I had left mine in the car, and it was probably off.
‘I don’t have it,’ I called.
‘You’re hopeless,’ she yelled back. ‘What are you doing? Where’s Auntie Pet?’
I held my finger to my lips, hoping she would get the hint.
‘What?’
The side gate banged shut and Petra appeared once more. ‘Do you think you could stop screeching while I’m undercover?’
‘No luck?’
She shook her head. ‘There’s a light on, and the heating, but no sign of him.’
‘He must be out. Probably likes his house warm for when he gets back. Let’s go.’
‘I’ll just check the garage.’
My sigh was wasted as she had already continued past the porch towards the driveway. Mark Tapscott, who lived next door with his wife and new baby, was now leaning against the fence watching us curiously. I walked towards him, intent on explaining, but was cut short by Petra’s gasp. She had bobbed down to peer beneath the corrugated roller door of the garage but now grasped it with both hands and attempted to wrench it upwards. The door shuddered noisily but stayed where it was. She fell backwards onto her butt, hard.
‘What the –’
‘The engine’s on! It’s not the heater, it’s the car!’
With a rapidity that I was later to look back on with admiration, Mark Tapscott sprinted towards his own backyard. Moments later the fence shook. I ran to Petra and dropped to my knees. We both grabbed the edge of the roller door and heaved. But it was caught fast. The oily smell of petrol caught in my throat.
The sound of a door being successfully wrenched open came from the rear of the garage followed by swift footsteps across the concrete floor. My heart slid upwards, throbbing against the base of my throat. We stood slowly.
‘Call an ambulance!’ shouted Mark from inside. ‘Quickly!’
Lucy and Quinn had joined us, with Lucy already jabbing 000 into her phone. Quinn looked from the garage to me, wide-eyed. Moments later the bolt slid across at the side of the roller door and it shuddered upwards. Inside stood Mark, looking pale, and beyond him was a metallic-blue sedan. The engine was now off and the car door stood open. I could see the back of Ned’s head, tilted slightly to the side. The air was thick with fumes.
Mark stared at us. ‘It’s too late.’
‘God.’ I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt like crying – not because I knew Ned that well but because I had known him that long. And because it was all so senseless, so much. Beside me Petra started coughing and stepped back. Now I could see a length of green garden hose, one end jammed into the exhaust and the other wedged into a sliver of open window. In between the hose coiled serpent-like along the concrete floor.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Quinn, moving a step closer to me.
I put my arm across her shoulders and propelled her back towards her aunt. ‘It looks that way. Why don’t you and Luce go pay Grandma a visit?’
‘Stop treating us like children,’ snapped Lucy uncharacteristically. ‘Well, me, anyway.’
‘And me,’ said Quinn, staying close.
‘Shit, I broke two nails.’ Petra was holding her hand out. She glanced across at me guiltily. ‘Yes, I know that sounded awful … but they were gorgeous.’
I concentrated on her nails, because it was easier. ‘No, they weren’t. They were ridiculous. No-one over thirty should wear leopard skin. Unless they are a leopard. Then they have an excuse.’
The tall, slightly stooped figure of Uncle Jim materialised on my other side, taking in the scene silently. He wasn’t my real uncle, but a family friend for so long that the title was more than earned. He had even been around in the days of my father, and the two had been good friends. Luckily ours was not a particularly tactile relationship, otherwise I may well have flung myself against him. After a few moments, he sighed. ‘Ah, bugger it.’
Trudy Tapscott also appeared, leaning against the fence in the same spot her husband had so recently stood. It occurred to me that Ned would have loved all this drama, and the attention.
‘Okay, young Quinn,’ said Uncle Jim in a no-argument voice. ‘Let’s head over to your grandma’s house. We’ll get some coffee organised. Luce, want to join us?’
‘Scotch, please,’ said Petra. ‘Or anything with bite.’
Quinn frowned but, for once, obeyed without debate. Lucy hung back until they were halfway across the road and then followed. They had barely reached my mother’s front porch, the sensor lights reacting with a burst of illumination, than the mournful wail of the ambulance could be heard in the distance. The sound swelled, becoming impossibly louder, until it came into view and then rolled to a stop by Ned’s letterbox.
I looked back towards Ned’s head, willing it to have moved, perhaps glanced around with avid curiosity. I wondered how long he had waited after killing Sam. Had he driven straight home from the centre last night and gone right ahead? Or had he sat inside for a while, maybe the whole day, head in his hands, trying to narrow down his options? Even before that though, why had this course of events unfolded? Two men dead, and for what?
The ambulance officers surged into the garage, equipment briskly organised as they checked Ned’s vital signs. As with Sam, the sense of urgency soon abated. One of them walked off to the side with his phone in hand. The police had now also arrived, a middle-aged man and a younger female with a surprisingly generous chest. Trudy Tapscott gestured from the fence so I walked over, glad to move away from the action.
‘Isn’t this awful, Nell? Just awful.’
‘Yes, it certainly is.’
‘Although if someone was going to do this, then I’m not hugely surprised it was Ned. I mean, he didn’t have much, did he?’
‘Depends on your perspective.’ I felt unaccountably cross. ‘He was probably quite content.’
‘Really?’ She examined the scene at the garage and raised her eyebrows. After a few moments of silence, which clearly made her point, she changed the subject. ‘Anyway, I was going to ring you. You know how I wanted to write a book? Well, I’m just about finished! Once I started, the words just flowed.’ She made an expansive gesture with her hand. ‘So would you mind having a read? Let me know if I’m on the right track?’
‘No problem. And I’ll even give you a discount, considering you’re my mother’s neighbour.’
‘A dis– Oh … Um, thanks.’
‘Glad to help. You tally up the words and I’ll put together a quote.’
‘Let’s go get that scotch,’ said Petra in a low voice. ‘I feel like we’re rubber-necking.’
As we set off, I glanced back towards the activity at the garage. The policewoman held up her hand and then came over. ‘Excuse me, ladies, could I just get your names and contact details before you leave?’ She took out a pad and pen. ‘Someone may need to speak to you later on.’
I swallowed my sigh, knowing who that someone would be. I wanted to add a rejoinder, beside my name, explaining that yes, I realised that I seemed to be present at every crime scene in rural Victoria. But, believe me, it wasn’t by choice.
Chapter Eight
LOVED your column about hot flushes! I’ve been suffering these for years now, and they show no signs of stopping. They are RELENTLESS. But now whenever my temperature surges, I think of your column and smile. Plus I’m trying to see the positives. For instance, the other day when our central heating broke down at work, I was the only one who was periodically warm!
I was sitting at a table with Frilly Willy, Ned and the big-breasted policewoman. I’m not sure why the latter was there, given it was a school reunion, but she had provided the last round of drinks so nobody was complaining. I was wearing a black crushed-velvet hat with a short brim and soft crown that was shot through with threads of burgundy. This in itself was unusual but I had received plenty of compliments so was feeling rather chuffed. In the middle of the dance floor was an intricate two-storey wrought-iron rabbit hutch, its occupants feasting on a mound of grass. Every so often one would put its paws up on the cage and push a quivering nose through the mesh. A black dog stood guard. Just before midnight, a bus pulled up at the double doors to the side, which was something of a feat given we were nowhere near a road, and Darcy disembarked. He immediately made his way over to our table.
‘It’s all a mistake,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Menopause, not pregnancy!’
I moved over to make room. ‘So what does that mean?’
‘It means he wants you back,’ said Ashley Armistead. ‘You have to make a decision.’
I didn’t answer, mainly because Darcy had slid his hand inside my dress and was cupping a breast. His fingers bulged against the silky material as he began to knead my nipple. Well, this was embarrassing. I looked up and realised that he was staring past me, towards the big-breasted policewoman. He gave her his slow, somnolent smile. Now I did have to make a decision. I could pretend that I hadn’t noticed, which meant the kneading could continue, and it felt nice. But if I called him to task, it would all come to an end. I felt a wave of irritation, because it wasn’t fair.
Ned’s mobile phone began to ring, with a repetitive buzz that fed my irritation. Now my nipple just felt sore, and Darcy’s fingers rough and callused. I shrugged him away but his hand followed, so I flipped onto my side and opened my eyes to stare at my own mobile. This was why I rarely used the thing. It had vibrated its way across the top of my bedside chest and was now juddering against the lamp as if trying to mate. Whatever, it was still getting more action than me. I reached out. ‘Hello?’
‘Mum!’ said Quinn excitedly. ‘I can’t believe you answered!’
I tried to concentrate. ‘Then why’d you ring? Where are you?’
‘In the kitchen. And there’s no milk.’
‘What?’
‘There’s no milk. I wanted cereal.’
‘For god’s sake. Have toast.’ I hung up, tossing the mobile onto the spare side of my bed, and then rolled over to stare at the ceiling. My nipple still felt sore. Bloody Darcy.
The events of the previous day slid into my consciousness, slowly at first and then gathering momentum. Sam Emerson. Edward Given. Both dead. The truth was, with all the shock that remained, I was also a little relieved that there was not some manic killer on the loose. Or Petar Majic’s ghost, determined to keep Beloved hidden for another hundred and fifty years. My mobile began vibrating again on the bedcovers.
‘Hello?’
‘There’s no bread either. I thought you went shopping? I had to have a hot cross bun from the freezer!’
‘So why are you telling me this?’
‘I’m not. That detective bloke is here to see you.’
This news brought me upright. I tossed the phone again as I scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom. There I brushed my teeth and hair, sparing a moment to wish fervently for the fetching hat of my dream, before replacing my baggy T-shirt with a pair of satin pyjamas that felt like oil. Lastly I shrugged on my dressing-gown. I tied the cord as I hurried through into the family room, taking a moment to breathe before entering.
‘That hot cross bun was stale.’
‘I’m not surprised, given it’s over three months since Easter.’ I turned from Quinn to Ashley Armistead, who was squatting as he patted the dog. The detective was dressed very casually, in jeans and a light windcheater that had Carpe Deim written across the chest. I pointed. ‘Dead Poet’s Society. Robin Williams.’
‘O Captain, my captain,’ replied Ashley.
‘So sad when the young guy killed himself.’ The words had barely left my mouth when I realised their inappropriateness. I flushed.
‘I’m going to school,’ announced Quinn. She picked up her schoolbag. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Aren’t you early?’ I glanced at the clock and back at Ashley. ‘And you too?’
‘I told you the other day. We’ve got a breakfast for outdoor ed. Caitlin’s mum’s giving us a lift.’ She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and loped through the doorway. Gusto pulled away from Ashley to follow. Moments later the front door slammed shut, hard.
‘Is she angry?’ asked Ashley.
‘No, just fourteen. It’s par for the course.’
He grimaced sympathetically. ‘And yes, I know it’s early. Sorry about that but this is actually my RDO and I’m heading down to Greensborough for the day, visiting friends. Thought I’d take a chance and see if you were up.’
‘Barely. I’d offer you coffee but we’ve run out of milk.’
‘Lucky I brought some then, isn’t it?’ Ashley gestured towards the bench where two takeaway coffee containers sat. ‘I was hoping they’d sweeten the early arrival.’
‘They certainly do.’ I moved over and collected one. It was tepid, but divine.
‘Now, to business. I’m told that you and your sister were at Edward Given’s house when his body was discovered. There’s a surprise.’
‘Actually, you may remember that my mother happens to live in that street. And my sister now lives there also, next door, while the house on the corner is currently occupied by two of my daughters. So there was ample reason for me to be there.’
‘Actually, unless you also happen to have relatives camping in Edward Given’s backyard, a few questions still remain.’
I took my coffee over to the couch and waved Ashley towards the armchair. ‘Okay, but it wasn’t me in the backyard. See, we’d all gone out for dinner and I was designated driver. So we were discussing poor Sam, and I remembered in that phone conversation I told you about he used the word “we”, which suggested he had company at the community centre that night. By the process of elimination, we thought it might’ve been Ned.’
‘So you thought you’d pay him a visit?’
‘Spur of the moment, when I dropped everyone off. We knocked on the door and Petra went round the back to see if he was home. We were just leaving when she decided to see if his car was in the garage. That’s when we realised …’
He nodded. ‘Yes. We’ve got a statement from Mark Tapscott. So did either of you enter the garage at all?’
‘No. Mark said it was too late. There was no point.’ I tucked my feet beneath me and regarded Ashley. ‘Okay, my turn for questions. Do you know when he did it? How long after he got home?’
Ashley rubbed a finger between his eyes slowly. ‘We don’t know he did anything yet. There are some … anomalies.’
I stared. ‘Like what?’
‘Like a large peri-mortem bruise on his right buttock consistent with being dragged over the handbrake from the passenger seat into the driver’s seat.’
I slid my feet back to the ground and leant forward. ‘You mean someone else put him there, that they set everything up? Tried to make it look like a suicide?’
‘Don’t go leaping ahead. Usually, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, then it’s a duck. All I’m saying is that the investigation is ongoing, and there’s a few inconsistencies we need to sort out. Each of them will probably have an explanation, such as he may have begun in the passenger seat and then decided to change seats himself, for some reason. Of cours
e, the two autopsies will bring more information. But in the meantime, given the anomalies, we are going to treat both deaths as having some suspicious circumstances. And your pyjama top is open.’
I blinked, and then registered this last part. I looked down and sat straight in almost one motion, although he hadn’t been quite right. My pyjama top wasn’t open, it had just been gaping. Much like me. ‘In other words, what you’re saying is that it’s possible someone killed Sam Emerson at the community centre, before driving Ned back to his house and setting it up so that we’d think he killed Sam but couldn’t live with the guilt.’
‘I think I just stressed that I wasn’t saying anything of the sort.’
‘It’s between the lines.’ I took a sip of coffee, thinking. ‘Which would mean we’d be back to the most likely motive being the discovery they both made that night. About Petar Majic and Beloved. The one I told you about yesterday.’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘So we’d have a third person on the scene. Or … no, most likely it would be someone he rang to tell them the news. After all, he was bursting with it. Now who would they ring?’
‘You?’
‘Apart from me.’ I put my coffee down and curled back, hugging a throw cushion. ‘We’ll have to get the Historical Society membership list.’
‘We’ll have to do nothing. I, on the other hand, will follow correct investigative procedures. I may throw you a piece of information every now and again, if you keep your nose clean, but that’s it.’
‘My nose is always clean. I’m strict about that. And you don’t need to throw me anything, I am quite capable of uncovering information on my own.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen your capabilities.’ He gave me a half-smile which then settled quizzically. ‘Okay, my turn for questions now. Why did you blow me off last Christmas?’
‘I’ve always hated that expression.’ I grinned. There was no response so I picked up my coffee, buying time. But the question wasn’t going anywhere. I sighed. ‘Okay then, I think I panicked. I’ve been married for twenty-six years. That’s a long time.’