Tom grinned. "He knows everyone who's, you know, like us."
Right then, Murphy walked in with plates of scrambled eggs with toast balanced on both arms. Once they were down, he brought in a coffee pot and several cups. I watched as Tom hungrily dug into his eggs.
O'Reilly asked, "How'd you like San Francisco?"
Tom shrugged. "It was cold! After a couple of weeks, I'd had it. I bought a plane ticket and got in this afternoon on the Qantas."
"Where've you been since you arrived?" I asked.
"Trying to decide what to do next."
I nodded. "But where have you been?"
He frowned. "I don't know that it's any of your business, but I was with a friend."
"Robert Stanhope?" I asked.
His eyes widened. "Bobby? How do you know about Bobby?"
Carter replied, "We met him last night."
"Wednesday night," added O'Reilly.
"Is he OK? Where's he living?" Tom looked close to the edge of tears.
"I think he said somewhere near the beach," replied Carter.
I reached over, put my hand on his, and said, "But, the important thing right now is for you to tell Carter where you've been since your plane landed."
Tom frowned at me again. I pulled my hand back.
Carter, who got what I was driving at, used his sweet Georgia voice and said, "That's right, son." He smiled.
As he did, Tom's eyes opened wide. He swallowed nervously. "Well, Mr. Jones—"
Carter put his hand on Tom's and squeezed it. "Call me Carter, son. Now"—he smiled again—"where were you this afternoon?"
Tom sighed. "Promise you won't tell Bobby?"
Carter nodded. "Promise."
"I was with Kevin Forrest. He's a bloke I know from school. We used to be, you know..."
Carter nodded. "And why did you go see him and not come to see your mama?"
Tom shrugged. "I guess I wanted his advice on what to say to her. She practically threw me out. And it's my house." He said the last part peevishly.
"So all y'all did was talk, then?"
Tom shook his head. "We talked. We went to eat down the street from where he lives in Kings Cross. Then we went to a bar for some drinks and to catch up with friends. And then we went back to his apartment. After, you know,"—he waved his free hand in the air—" we cleaned up and got to talking again. He loaned me his car and I drove out here."
I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes past 5.
"What time did you leave?" I asked.
He shrugged. Without looking at me, he said, "About 4, I think."
"How were the roads?" asked O'Reilly.
"Wet. Never seen so much water. Had to drive slow."
The timing checked out. He'd shown up here at about a quarter until 5. It had taken us close to forty-five minutes to drive from near that part of town to the house.
I looked up at Carter and nodded slightly.
He stood and said, "Tom, I have somethin' I need to tell you." Tilting his head to the living room, he said, "Let's you and me go sit on the sofa over there."
Tom looked at me, as if to ask my permission. I smiled slightly. "He's perfectly safe. I promise."
. . .
"Tell me everything that he said after you found him." That was Chief Inspector Hargrove.
It was just past 7 in the morning. Once Carter had told Tom about his mother, we'd waited until he'd had time to have a good cry and to get angry at us for not telling him sooner. Only then did I call the station. I related all of that to the chief inspector.
He shook his head. "This is what I warned you about, Mr. Williams."
I nodded. "But if we'd called you immediately, he might have clammed up. Now you have four witnesses to what he said. And his timing checks out, providing this friend of his in Kings Cross can verify everything he said."
"He's the right height."
"Yeah. But he wasn't nearby at 11."
"Or so he says."
I shrugged. I didn't blame the chief inspector for being upset. I had the impression that some of his talk was bluster, however. The station office was a large open room with several desks. Unlike the stations in San Francisco, Hargrove didn't have his own office with a door. The other officers were openly listening to our conversation.
Tom, meanwhile, was at the far end of the station in an interview room. He was alone. We were waiting for his lawyer to arrive. He'd called the man, who also worked for his mother, after I'd called the station.
At first, Tom had been angry with me for calling him in to the police. But the lawyer, a man by the name of Joseph Kenworthy, had advised Tom that it was the right thing to go down to the station on his own initiative.
As we'd driven down to Bondi, I'd told Tom to tell the truth, whatever it was. He'd grunted but when Carter repeated the same thing, he'd nodded and promised he would. We'd left O'Reilly and Murphy at the house.
"What's next?" I asked the chief inspector.
"What's next is that I want you and Mr. Jones to return to the house on George Street and wait there."
I nodded but didn't move.
"What?" he asked in an exasperated voice.
"Maybe we can wait until his lawyer arrives."
Hargrove rolled his eyes. "Fine. But, here in Australia, Mr. Williams, they're known as solicitors."
I nodded and smiled as we both stood. His men were behind me and couldn't see my face so I winked. Hargrove rolled his eyes again and huffed. "Please wait in the hallway with Mr. Jones."
I turned and waited for him to walk by me. As he did, he very quickly and very quietly grabbed my ass.
. . .
Carter and I were talking about nothing much. It mostly had to do with our neighbors from Hartford Street, our first house that had burned down about eight months earlier. Pam and Diane (Carter called them a "lady couple") had lived next door to us for five years. They had two small dogs, Mitzi and Trixie. He was wondering how the two small terrors were doing. I didn't much care. They loved him and ignored me.
Right as Carter was reminiscing about all the fun times he'd had in the backyard with the two beasts, a man walked in the front door of the police station. He had wavy chestnut hair, light brown eyes with horn-rimmed glasses, and a closely-trimmed beard. He was wearing a dark brown suit and coat with a red tie that didn't really go together. As he walked towards us, carrying a satchel, I noticed that he was quite tall. He walked up to me and offered his hand. I stood and shook it.
"You must be Nicholas Williams."
I nodded. "And you must be Mr. Kenworthy, Tom's lawyer."
He smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. "Solicitor, to be quite fair."
Carter stood and offered his hand. "Carter Jones."
The man nodded. "Pleasure." As they stood across from each other, I guessed that Kenworthy stood right at 6'5". Like Carter, his shoes added an inch to his height. I wondered if the chief inspector had met the man. Surely he had. Everyone seemed to know everyone else in those parts.
As Kenworthy glanced around, he asked, "Where's Tom?"
I replied, "He's in an interview room."
Kenworthy looked down at me. He peered down over the top of his glasses as he did. It reminded me of an English teacher I'd had at St. Ignatius Prep back in San Francisco. He'd also been tall and sported horn-rimmed glasses. And, unlike Kenworthy, I'd had a crush on him. I'd often wondered if the feeling had been mutual since he was always friendly with me. Kenworthy, on the other hand, reeked of being at the low end of the Kinsey scale, probably a 1 or a 2. He had a well-worn gold band on his left ring finger. And he seemed friendly enough but I had a feeling he was putting on a show.
"Well then," he said, "I'd best find the chief inspector." Looking at Carter, he said, "Thank you for convincing young Tom to come down on his own account. Should make things much easier."
Carter nodded and replied, "That was all Nick's doing."
"Right. Well, I'm off. Thank you, gentlemen." Without as much as
looking at me, he walked down the hall and into the larger room where the chief inspector was at his desk.
Carter whispered, "And we have another suspect."
I nodded. "And I don't like him."
Carter nodded but didn't reply. He didn't look happy. I wondered about that.
. . .
The drive back to the house took a long time. When we left the station, we first drove down to the beach to see what there was to see. It was empty and there were small whitecaps on the water.
The main street that connected Bondi to Dover Heights was known as Military Road and part of it was blocked due to a wreck. We waited for about twenty minutes without moving. Finally, a policeman in a rain slicker had waved us around to a side street. We followed the line of cars in front of us and finally arrived at the house just before 9.
When we walked through the front door, we found O'Reilly and Murphy on the sofa reading the newspaper.
They both looked up. "How is he?" asked O'Reilly.
I pulled off the light windbreaker that I'd bought from Mr. George and hung it up. "Fine. His solicitor showed up."
Carter said, "He's about an inch taller than me."
Murphy whistled. "Another to add to the list, then."
I said, "How are you two doing?"
They both looked at each other. O'Reilly put down his paper and took Murphy's hand. "It's hitting us both pretty hard. How about you?"
I looked up at Carter. "I don't know what happened to me but I decided I needed a cigarette."
O'Reilly nodded. "Johnny told me about that. Did you find one?"
I sighed. "In her bedroom."
Carter put his hands on my shoulders reassuringly.
"I was a man on a mission."
Neither of them spoke. I could see a wave of disapproval pass over their faces.
Carter said, "I think he was in shock."
Murphy looked down at the paper. "Seems that this rain is causing some trouble up north of here."
O'Reilly stood up and walked into the kitchen. For some reason, I decided to follow him as Carter sat down and asked, "Is it far from here?"
The captain was filling the kettle with water from the tap as I walked in.
"Captain?"
"Yes, Mr. Williams?" He was facing the window and didn't turn. His tone was cool.
"Something you want to get off your mind?" I asked.
He turned off the tap and carried the kettle over to the stove. Taking a match from the box I'd used, he turned on the gas, and lit it.
"Captain?"
He walked back to the sink and doused the match with the water from the tap. He stood at the window and looked out into the wet, gray gloom of the morning. Shaking his head, he said, "I'm angry with you, Nick. I'd like nothing more than to pound in your smug face."
I nodded. "I understand."
"No, sir. You do not understand." His tone was even and measured and chilled me to the bone.
"Tell me about it."
He turned to face me. There was fury in his eyes. "Such a dishonor to go through a dead woman's things like that. I'm ashamed to know you." His Irish brogue was as thick as I'd ever heard it. I had a sense that he wasn't talking to me or about me.
I nodded. I had no desire to fight back. I was willing to wait and to hear him out. I think that surprised him.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well, what?"
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
I looked at him, right in his eyes, and replied, "I'm sorry. It was a terrible thing to do."
He wasn't expecting that response. That much was obvious in his expression, which softened a little. "Well then," he said, "why'd you do it?"
I sighed. "I don't really know. I was talking to Carter one minute, bawling like a baby the next, and then desperate for a cigarette. Carter said something about Mrs. Tutwiler being like my mother. That set me off." I shrugged. "But I don't really know."
If I'd slugged O'Reilly on the jaw, I don't think he would have looked more surprised than he did. "Your mother?" He staggered over to the table and sat down. He pulled out his pipe and tobacco. After a moment, he lit up and got the thing going. He finally exhaled and looked at me. I walked over and sat next to him.
He put his hand on my arm. "Sorry about that, Nick. She reminded me of my mother, too." He puffed on his pipe for a moment and then exhaled again.
"It's hard to be an orphan, isn't it?"
He nodded. "That's very true. It's hard, indeed. You never quite know when the rug will be pulled out from under you." He smiled and pointed his pipe at me. "Of course, you have your man who loves you very much. Such a wonderful thing to see, the love between the two of you. Always makes my heart happy when I see it."
I smiled. "I'm happy to see you and Johnny together."
He shrugged a little. "But for how long?"
I didn't try to answer that question as the water in the kettle began to boil.
Chapter 11
2 George Road
Friday, February 25, 1955
Half past 10 in the morning
We pulled out the Monopoly game to pass the time. After a few rounds, Murphy stood up and said, "My heart's not in this." He walked into the sunroom. I could smell the smoke from his pipe as he lit it.
Captain O'Reilly sighed and began to pack up the game.
Carter looked at me.
I stood. "I'm going for a walk. I don't care if I drown."
Carter said, "Sounds good."
"Well, we know who among us has had to work in this kind of weather, now don't we? You won't catch me or Johnny taking a stroll in this muck."
I said, "Fog and gloom I can take for days on end. This rain is about to send me over the edge."
The captain looked up at me. He stood and walked over. Putting his arm around my shoulder, he said, "I'm a lot older than you, boyo. And I know that even this infernal rain has to stop sooner or later. The sun will shine again. I promise." He kissed me on my cheek and then winked at me.
I kissed him back. "Thanks, Captain."
He smiled and walked over to finish putting away the game.
Carter and I both slid on our windbreakers. Fortunately, they were the kind that came with a hood. I led the way down the stairs and into the thick of it. I once again noticed an older Holden that was parked right where the pavement ended. I wondered if that was the car that Tom had borrowed from his friend. It had been there when we'd driven him to the police station and still there when we'd returned.
There was a path that ran along the cliffs. I'd noticed it when we'd first seen the house. I led the way as the path gently sloped downhill. We passed the house across the street from ours and then a second one. As we approached the next street, we had to ford a small stream that was channeling all the runoff from the pavement over the cliff and down to the ocean below. After we'd passed another couple of houses and another road, Carter tapped me on the back. I turned and stood with him as we both looked out over the ocean.
At the base of the cliff, the water was calmer than I would have thought. Compared to Big Sur, south of Monterey on the California coast, the waves were almost flat. As we'd seen at Bondi, there were small whitecaps but nothing much more than that. The rain was falling at a slight angle but it wasn't driven by the wind. There was just buckets and buckets of it and it wasn't letting up.
Carter said, "It's majestic. I feel like I'm on the edge of the world."
I laughed and looked down at the rain-soaked ground beneath our feet. "If you're not careful, you'll fall off."
We both took a step backwards.
. . .
When we got back to the house, we changed our shoes and trousers as they'd gotten soaked. I was combing my hair in the bathroom when there was a knock at the door. I heard Captain O'Reilly say, "Come on in, gentlemen."
I heard two male voices but I couldn't understand what they said. I walked down the hall and into the dining room. Chief Inspector Hargrove, another police officer of some s
ort, and Mr. Kenworthy, Tom's solicitor, were shedding their coats and hats. Hargrove looked at me. I couldn't read the expression on his face but he seemed to be trying to tell me something. I asked the first question that came to my mind. "Where's Tom?"
Hargrove pursed his lips. "Held pending further investigation."
I nodded. "His story didn't pan out?"
Before Hargrove could answer, Kenworthy said, "Unfortunately, no. I'm afraid Tom is lying about something. Or protecting someone. I'm here to pick up a change of clothes and, perhaps, a book or two for him to read. Where would I find those things?"
I shrugged. "Probably in the storage room downstairs."
O'Reilly added. "There are a few books in the small bedroom. I'll grab a couple the lad might like."
"Thanks, Captain," I said as he walked past.
"How does one enter the storage room?" asked Kenworthy.
I said, "Follow me. I'll show you."
. . .
Once Kenworthy was down in the storage room, accompanied by the police sergeant Hargrove had brought along, the chief inspector said, "I do need your services, Mr. Williams."
We were in the kitchen. I was looking out the window for any hint of the rain coming to an end.
"Oh?" I turned, leaned against the sink, and crossed my arms with a smile.
"Unofficially, of course." He smiled back. Carter was right. The man was quite attractive when he smiled. It lit up his whole face. "Could you and Mr. Jones go to this particular bar tonight? He walked up and handed me a small card. "See what you can find out about Tom's activities there last night." He lowered his voice. "He's definitely lying. I don't think he killed his mother but, for other reasons, I'd rather hold him."
I tilted my head. "Protective custody?"
"You could say that."
"Do you have an idea who did it?"
"I have a couple of ideas."
I nodded and looked at the card. It said: Long Bar, Australia Hotel. I laughed as I slipped the paper in my pocket.
"What?"
"We'll go but we were practically thrown out of the hotel."
He said, "There's a street entrance for just the bar. Use that."
I nodded and looked at the floor. That gave me a thought. "Is it customary for the police to clean up a crime scene?"
The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12) Page 10