KK04 - Dingo Dilemma

by Claire McNab

  A few minutes ago when I was safely inside, searching the laneway had seemed a perfectly reasonable step to take. Now I was out in the darkness, it occurred to me it was actually a pretty dumb thing to do. I reminded myself Quip or Yancy could be bleeding to death while I dithered.

  Gritting my teeth, and with the golf club at the ready, I turned on the flashlight and, reminding myself that looking hesitant branded one a potential victim, I strode with apparent confidence down the lane, investigating any nook or cranny where a body might be slumped.

  I saw nothing except the occasional reflection from some small creature's eyes. My patrol finished, I returned to the open garage quite weak with relief. Remembering to check to make sure no one had snuck in and was lurking behind the Mustang, I closed the main door and let myself out into the welcome familiarity of the back yard.

  I punched in the code and opened the back door. Heartwarmingly, Julia Roberts was waiting there for me.

  "Back safely, Jules," I said. She twitched her whiskers to indicate her delight with the news. I was bending over to stroke her when my cell vibrated at my waist.

  "Kylie? It's Janette."

  "Fran got hold of you, then."

  "About Quip? I'm sure he'll turn up. That's not why I called. I'm with Ariana at the hospital. She asked me to tell you that this evening Natalie had a second, massive stroke."

  "Oh, Janette..."

  "She's not expected to live."

  "And Ariana?"

  "She's devastated, of course."

  I felt utterly at sea. What should I say? Do? What would help Ariana the most—my presence, or my absence?

  "Janette, tell me what's best for Ariana. Should I be there at the hospital?"

  Her voice gentle, she said, "Natalie's dying is between Natalie and Ariana. Do you understand?"

  "I think so."

  "Let her come to you, when she's ready."

  How could I even imagine the grief Ariana must be feeling?

  My eyes filled with tears. "Tell her—" I broke off, not knowing how to continue.

  "It's hard, isn't it, to find the words?" Tanette's voice was warmly sympathetic. "I'm her sister, and I don't know what to say.

  "Would you please tell Ariana that I'm here. That's all. Whenever, however she wants me—I'm here."

  Eighteen

  Before I went to bed I called Fran to see if Quip had been found. She sounded tightly wound, but more composed than earlier. Quip still hadn't turned up, but when, after checking hospital emergency rooms, she called the police, she was told Quip had been gone for far too short a time for the cops to consider him a missing person.

  "What can I do to help?" I asked.

  "Nothing, thanks Kylie. Bob's here. When I called him to ask if he'd seen Quip, he said he'd come over and keep me company."

  I was a little surprised. I'd never thought Bob Verritt was at all close to Fran. "Call me if I can do anything," I said. "Doesn't matter if it's the middle of the night."

  I went to bed, but only dozed, as the combination of worrying about Ariana and wondering what had happened to Quip made for a night full of distressing images. I told myself sternly that Ariana and Fran had it much worse than me, but that didn't help.

  On top of that I had Dingo to worry about. I wished I could discuss the situation with Ariana. Should I keep quiet? Or tell the police he'd called me? I was hazy about the law in these circumstances. Was I obstructing justice by not telling the authorities I'd spoken with Dingo?

  Then there was the problem of Gert and Harry O'Rourke. His parents probably had the bad news about their son already, but should I call them to say Dingo was OK, but had admitted to me he'd taken Darken?

  My restlessness was intensely annoying to Jules, who considered the bed hers, although she kindly permitted me to share it. About two o'clock I got up and made myself hot cocoa. I was wide awake, so I decided to call my mum. It was evening in Wollegudgerie, and most of the chores of the day should be over.

  "Mum, it's me, Kylie. How's Jack? Aunt Millie says he's having a nervous breakdown."

  "Doc Brady says Jack's nerves are shot." She sounded quite pleased, and when I commented on this, she gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Well, I have to admit it's bonzer not to have him interfering with everything. The Wombat is running like clockwork without his help."

  "Is he on the mend?" I asked. Jack had to be boss of everything, so it was hard to imagine him losing control for very long.

  "Poor Jack finds it almost impossible to get out of bed, so I said to him, 'You'll be up and about when you're ready, love. Don't try to hurry things. Get up when you feel you can.'"

  "Aunt Millie wasn't very sympathetic about his breakdown," I said.

  My mother tut-tutted. "She's always been down on Jack."

  "And most men. But Mum, Aunt Millie said something so out of character I almost dropped the phone. It was along the lines that it could be nice to have a man around the house."

  I didn't need to point out this was an extraordinary change of heart on my aunt's part. Since the death of her husband—unkind family comments suggested he'd died to escape her—Aunt Millie had maintained her highly judgmental view of people in general, but reserved her very darkest observations for the male of the species.

  "That'd be because of Nigel," my mum said.

  "Nigel? The name sounds vaguely familiar. Who is he?"

  "Remember earlier this year, during her trip around the world, Millie did a bus tour to Bath in England? Nigel was on the tour, too, and he and Millie got on like a house on fire."

  "Surely you're not telling me Aunt Millie's got a beau!"

  "I wouldn't go that far, darl, but Millie acts quite girlish when she talks about Nigel coming to visit next week."

  "Strewth!" I could imagine many things, but Aunt Millie girlish wasn't one of them.

  "Of course he is a Pom, but even so, Millie seems quite taken with him."

  "Just because Nigel's English doesn't mean he can't be a regular bloke."

  My mother made a vague noise which meant she thought it unlikely, but wasn't going to argue the point.

  "You'll be able to judge for yourself when you meet Nigel," I said.

  "Jack thinks the bloke may be after Millie's money."

  It had long been rumored in the family that Aunt Millie had considerable sums salted away, but I'd never believed it. She certainly didn't have the lifestyle of someone who was well off—she drove an old car and lived in a simple house.

  "If that's the case, Mum, Nigel is going to be disappointed."

  "Hmmm."

  My mother was rarely non-committal, so I said, "Mum? Are you telling me that Aunt Millie is rich?"

  "She's made some very smart investments over the years, that's all I'll say."

  "Why doesn't she want anyone to know?"

  "And have every no-hoper in the family beating a path to her door for a handout?"

  Crikey! The idea that my aunt was secretly wealthy was quite a surprise.

  "Kylie, you're not to mention Millie's money to anyone. I should never have told you."

  "My lips are sealed."

  "Enough about Millie. What have you been up to?"

  "Mum, I've got a problem. It's to do with Dingo O'Rourke." I explained about Darleen's disappearance and how Dingo was the main suspect. I didn't mention Dingo's call to me, as the attempt to bug our building had made me wary of our land phones, which I reckoned could be tapped. "So what do I do about Dingo's parents?" I asked. "Maybe they know already, but should I call them and tell them what's happened?"

  "Better leave it to me, dark Gert's not likely to take it well—you know what a drama queen she is—and Harry's almost as bad."

  I rang off feeling almost cheerful. I'd had a conversation with Mum during which she hadn't begged me to come home once.

  ****

  After a couple of hours of fitful sleep, I got up at sunrise and went for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. I was in a jittery mood, and looked suspiciously
at the few individuals I encountered at this early hour. I was oppressed by the conviction something bad was about to happen. My mum would declare this was a premonition of impending doom, but I told myself it was my natural reaction to yesterday's events. As soon as I knew Quip was OK and Dingo had returned Darken, I'd feel better.

  I forced myself to face reality—it was Natalie who haunted my thoughts. Natalie dying, or perhaps already dead. Somewhere I'd read that critically ill patients often slip away in the hours before dawn. Had that happened this morning, while I slept? Had Ariana said goodbye to Natalie for the last time?

  Ariana. How would she react? Would she let me in, or would she retreat into the cool, contained persona that so effectively held everyone at arm's length? I yearned to see her, but at the same time was afraid to. How could I bear it if she'd changed towards me?

  Then I was disgusted with myself. Me? It was all about me, was it? Here was I whinging about my situation when real tragedies were happening to other people. I returned from my walk vowing to get things in perspective.

  I'd been given a number to call for a recorded message giving details of any changes to the day's schedule for Darken Come Home. When I checked I found that the soundstage was closed down for today, out of respect for Darleen's kidnapped status, so I had time for a leisurely breakfast.

  Too much had been happening for me to give a thought to Lonnie and Pauline, but when Lonnie joined me in the kitchen just as I was finishing my porridge, I realized any moment now he'd ask me if I'd had a chance to speak to Pauline about him.

  Lonnie was carrying a paper bag bulging with doughnuts. "Want one?" he said, waving the bag under my nose for inspection. "There's this new doughnut shop that's opened up near me, and I figured it was my duty to support local small business."

  I declined the offer. Lonnie declared, "All the more for me," and selected one smothered in chocolate.

  "Did you hear about Quip?" I asked.

  Lonnie nodded. "Yeah. Fran called me last night to see if Quip was with me."

  "Do you know if he's turned up?"

  "Haven't heard. And I didn't like to disturb her this early to ask." He took a large bite of chocolate doughnut, and a look of bliss filled his face. "Heaven," he said indistinctly.

  "Lonnie, could you tell if our phones were being tapped?"

  "Maybe, but if it's the government doing it, probably not, because these days the phone companies roll over and play dead the moment national security is mentioned, and it's mentioned all the time, whether it applies or not."

  "What about cell phones?"

  "Cell phones? No security at all. Child's play to pick up the signal. And if you're using it in a car, the transmission's transferred from cell to cell as you drive, so tracing the vehicle's route is simple."

  This was not welcome news. I told Lonnie about Dingo's call to me on my cell phone. "So now you're telling me that anyone could have listened in."

  "Sure, but who'd be interested in calls you're receiving, any-way?

  "Maybe the same people who had a lash at bugging our building. Any idea yet who they are?"

  "I'm on it," said Lonnie. "I traced the limousine company. Just waiting to hear from a contact in the business. I should know later this morning who those guys were working for."

  I thought I'd escaped the Pauline question, but Lonnie fixed me with a soulful look. "I know you saw Pauline yesterday. Did you ask her?"

  "Sort of."

  "What did she say?"

  I looked at his hopeful expression and my heart sank. I couldn't lie to him, but I also couldn't be cruel and tell him how Pauline had hooted scornfully at the very idea of a long-term relationship with him.

  "She said you were a sweet guy, but..."

  An anxious frown appeared on Lonnie's chubby face. "But what?"

  "Pauline said opposites attract."

  "It's true we're opposites—we could hardly be less alike. That's good, though, isn't it?"

  It wouldn't be fair to let him get his hopes up, so I said, "In the short-term it is good, but not in the long-term."

  He looked stricken. "Pauline said that?"

  She hadn't put it in those words, so I evaded a direct lie by saying, "It's what she believes."

  Lonnie's shoulders drooped. He tossed the doughnut he'd been eating onto the counter. "So she didn't say she loves me?"

  "No, she didn't." I felt dreadful. I said bracingly, "Live for the moment. Seize the day."

  "Pauline said that?"

  "Not exactly, but she said you were having fun together. I think that's what she really meant, Lonnie—that you should enjoy your time together and let the future take care of itself."

  Lonnie was obviously not going to let the subject go, so I started getting ready to provide additional tactful paraphrasings. I was saved by Bob Verritt, unshaven and rumpled, who came into the kitchen saying, "Christ, what a night."

  "Quip's been found?" I asked.

  "The good news is yes, Quip's turned up."

  "And the bad news?"

  "It looks like he's going to be charged with murder."

  ****

  An anonymous phone tip at two-thirty this morning had led the police to Quip. Dazed and confused, he had stumbled out of a large self-storage complex not far from Bellina Studios. There had been blood on his clothes, and a search had revealed Yancy's body inside the half-open roller door of one of the storage units.

  His full name, I now discovered, was Yancy Grayson. His head had been hit with such force that his skull had broken open. A heavy steel crowbar lay beside the corpse, the hair and clotted blood on it indicating it was almost certainly the murder weapon.

  Quip claimed to only hazily remember getting into Yancy's car. After that everything was a blank until he came to on the floor of the storage unit. There had been enough illumination from the security lighting outside for him to see that Yancy had been seriously hurt. He'd tried to find a pulse without success, then, feeling sick and dizzy, he'd attempted to go for help.

  "There's no way Quip's a murderer," I said. "It's a set-up."

  "He hasn't been charged with anything yet," said Bob, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "That's because Quip's got Sidwell Porter in his corner."

  "Does Harriet know?" Lonnie asked.

  "Harriet arranged it."

  "I don't believe it," said Lonnie. "They haven't spoken for years."

  "Who's Sidwell Porter?"

  They both looked at me. "The best defense lawyer in Los Angeles," Bob said. "The go-to guy for every celebrity in trouble."

  "And Harriet's estranged father," Lonnie added. "He can't cope with the fact she's gay, and worse, that she is openly living in a lesbian relationship."

  "Fran woke Harriet up and begged her to approach her father," Bob said. "I've never heard Fran so close to hysterical. Harriet finally said she would, although she told Fran it was unlikely he'd agree. Seems she was wrong—Harriet called back to say he'd represent Quip."

  "Why the change of heart?" Lonnie said. "Porter's daughter hasn't stopped being gay."

  Bob shrugged. "Maybe the fact that she's about to make him a grandfather. Harriet's his only chance of that, as she's his only child."

  Lonnie nodded moodily. "I'll never be a grandfather," he said.

  Bob's long, thin face split with a grin. "You're putting the cart before the horse. You have to be a father first."

  "That too," said Lonnie. "I won't be a father, either." He picked up the bag of remaining doughnuts and handed it to Bob. "Want these? I've lost my appetite."

  Head down, he shuffled out of the kitchen. Looking at Lonnie's retreating figure, Bob said, "What's the matter with him?"

  I wasn't going to betray a confidence, so I said, "Search me."

  Bob tried a doughnut. "Hey, these are good. Want one?"

  "No thanks. Bob, can I ask you something?"

  He laughed. "Nothing's ever stopped you before."

  "It was so nice of you to stay all night with Fran."

 
; "I wasn't alone. Fran's mom turned up just after twelve, so there were two of us rallying around."

  "Still, it was bonzer of you."

  He gave me a shrewd look. "You're thinking Fran and I don't always see eye to eye, aren't you?"

  "It did cross my mind."

  His expression bleak, Bob said, "I've experienced what Fran went through last night. I know what it's like to be frantic with worry, and what a comfort it is when someone's there to share the waiting. And at least Quip's alive."

  "Who was it?"

  "My sister. Fifteen years ago. She was going to have dinner with me. She left work, got in her car, and simply vanished. There was no suggestion she'd disappeared voluntarily. Kerrie was in good spirits. She'd just got the promotion she'd been working hard to achieve, and was engaged to someone she adored."

  I was chilled by the forlorn sorrow on his face. "She was never found?"

  "Never. It was if she'd never existed."

  Lonnie reappeared, even more doleful. "You'll never believe it, but those two clueless guys, Morgan and Unwin, are with Homeland Security." He paused, then added dramatically, "And they're investigating Kendall & Creeling as a terrorist organization."

  Nineteen

  It was mid-morning, and Melodie, Harriet, Lonnie, and I were holding down the fort. Bob had gone home to snatch a few hours sleep, and Fran, of course, was occupied with Quip's dire situation as chief suspect in a violent murder. I hadn't heard from Ariana and had decided not to try to contact her, but to let her decide when she wanted to talk with me.

  Murders were not a rare occurrence in Los Angeles, so it took something extra to get the media's concentrated attention. Unhappily, Yancy's death had two media bonus points. First, he had a connection to real estate mogul Norris Blainey, and second, the chief suspect was not only involved in the entertainment industry, always a point of keen interest in this city, but also happened to be writing a novel skewering a thinly disguised Blainey. The fact that Quip was married to the daughter of the well-known artist Janette—like Cher, Janette only used her first name—gave the story an added boost.

  So Yancy's murder got the full media overkill, and Darleen's snatching became very much yesterday's news, even though a quarter-million-dollar reward had been offered, and the dingo-snatcher had been named definitively as Douglas "Dingo" O'Rourke.