by Mark Dryden
He looked mournful. "Yes, I suppose so."
"And you certainly didn’t love your wife, did you?"
"I’m afraid I stopped loving Beverley a long time ago."
"And that’s why you showed Waiting for Rain to Alice and not your wife, isn’t it?"
He looked stunned. "Christ. W-what do you mean?"
"I mean you’re Richard Olsen, aren’t you?"
"No, I’m not."
"Yes you are."
He nervously sipped his beer and scanned the room before trying, unsuccessfully, to look Robyn in the eye. "I’m not. But why do you think I am?"
She pressed forward remorselessly. "Because Alice didn’t tell Beverley - her closest friend - the real identity of Richard Olsen. I think she with-held that snippet of info because you’re Richard Olsen. If Alice had told Beverley that you wrote the novel, Beverley would have wondered why you show it to Alice and not her, and immediately realized you two were having an affair."
Tim shook his head vehemently. "That’s ridiculous. I didn’t write it."
"Yes you did. I also know you’re Richard Olsen because the cops found, on Alice’s computer, several e-mails you sent to her about the book."
Robyn was bluffing, but fairly confident Tim sent Alice some e-mails about the novel.
Nolan gave Robyn a long nervous stare, and opened and closed his mouth several times, before looking annoyed. "This is none of your business."
"Maybe. But if you don’t talk to me, you’ll be talking to the police."
He shuddered and splashed beer on his jacket. "The police? What about?"
"Oh, about your affair with Alice, about you being Richard Olsen and about where you were on the night Alice was murdered."
His voice turned shrill. "I had nothing to do with her death. Nothing."
"Good. Then you’ve got nothing to hide, have you?"
"That’s right," he said petulantly.
"Then tell me the truth: you’re Richard Olsen, aren’t you?"
"I don’t have to tell you anything."
"True. But like I said, if you don’t talk to me, you’ll be talking to the cops."
He anxiously studied and re-studied her face before shifting on his stool and licking his lips. "OK. I’ll tell you the truth. But if I do, you’ll keep it to yourself?"
"Of course," she lied. "I just want to sort this stuff out in my own mind."
After resurveying the room and fidgeting some more, he sighed and nodded reluctantly. "OK, if you must know, I’m Richard Olsen. I wrote the fucking thing. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t. But I did."
Robyn was delighted she’d finally cracked the mystery. "Good. And tell me this: why’d you write about a country town, in a drought?"
"Why? I grew up in the country. I’ve experienced droughts. I mean, I tried to write a couple of novels before Waiting for Rain, but they were lousy. Felt false. Waiting felt honest and real. It arrived like a gift."
"And you concealed Waiting from your wife, didn’t you?"
"That’s right. I told her nothing."
"Was it hard to conceal?"
"No, it was easy. At home I often wrote articles for the paper or ghosted autobiographies. I didn’t talk to her about them, because she wasn’t interested, and I didn’t tell her about Waiting."
"And you published under a pseudonym to keep her in the dark, didn’t you? You wanted to create a secret bond with Alice? That’s why you showed Alice the novel and not your wife. In fact, concealing the novel from your wife was a pretty aggressive act, wasn’t it?"
He frowned and avoided her gaze before nodding glumly. "I suppose so. I know it sounds corny, but I really thought Alice was my soul-mate. I also published under a pseudonym because, if I used my name, nobody would have taken the novel seriously. I mean, I’m just a sports writer. Then the book was successful and I was stuck with the pseudonym."
"Didn’t you want some public acclaim?"
"Of course, but I could live without it."
"So what were you and Alice planning to do after she got divorced? Live together?"
He sighed. "Maybe. We talked about that. Certainly, I wanted to."
"You were prepared to leave Beverley for her?"
"Yes, of course. Like I said, I stopped loving Beverley long ago."
Robyn had wondered if he killed Alice because his great passion for her soured when she didn’t like his second novel. It sounded far-fetched, but Robyn had to know.
She said: "You wrote a second novel, didn’t you, and showed that to Alice?"
He looked surprised. "Yes, that’s right."
"And she didn’t like it, did she?"
His eyes widened. "I wouldn’t say that. She thought it needed some changes and I agreed with her. In fact, I recently put it back on the workbench and started tinkering with it. I think it’ll end up being quite good."
"You didn’t argue with her about it?"
He looked perplexed. "Oh, no, definitely not."
She was afraid to ask where he was on the night of the murder, but couldn’t hold back. She gulped some air. "So, just out of curiosity, where were you when Alice got killed?"
He looked stunned, then angry. "What?"
Her mouth turned sub-Saharan. "Umm, where were you when she died?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Her stomach churned. "Oh, I’m just curious. I’m not implying anything."
"Bullshit. But if you must know, I was at my parents’ house, in Bowral, with my kids. I drove up there for the weekend."
"With Beverley?"
"No. She doesn’t like my parents. She stayed in Sydney."
Robyn was shocked. She’d expected him to corroborate his wife’s claim they spent the night together in Sydney. Instead, he’d hung her out to dry. Why? It sounded like the Nolans, who were getting divorced, hadn't bothered to co-ordinate their stories.
Certainly, if Tim was telling the truth, Beverley might be the murderer. In fact, all of a sudden, the finger of suspicion was pointing right at her. "You know, I’m surprised about that."
"Why?"
"Beverley told me you were both at home together."
He looked genuinely surprised. "You’ve spoken to her about this?"
"Yes. And she said you were both at home."
"Did she? Well, she’s wrong - very wrong. That’s not true."
"But if you’re telling the truth, she could have murdered Alice."
Tim looked flustered. "You’re joking, right?"
"No."
"Why would she kill Alice?"
"Why? Because she found out you had an affair with Alice and wrote Waiting for Rain under her nose but didn’t show it to her. Keeping your novel secret showed your total contempt for her and your marriage. Her rage must have been terrible - terrible enough to make her kill. And, of course, like most wives, she blamed the mistress more than her husband."
Tim hunched over as if he might be sick. It was a long time before faint words emerged. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Robyn leaned forward, close to his left ear. "Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m saying. In fact, you’ve suspected Beverley for a long time, haven’t you?"
"No I haven’t?"
Robyn raised her voice. "Come off it. You’re not that stupid."
He looked at her angrily. "Look, I don’t know what happened, OK? I was in Bowral when Alice got killed. I don’t know what happened in Sydney. I just don’t."
"OK. But it’s true, isn’t it, that Beverley found out about the affair, and that you wrote Waiting for Rain, well before Alice was murdered?"
Tim sighed deeply and croaked, "Yes, yes, she found out before. For some reason, she looked in my computer and found a draft of Waiting for Rain. Then she pieced everything together and confronted me."
"And you confessed?"
"Yes, yes, I did."
"And she was angry?"
"Incandescent."
"And all that happened shortly before Alice was murdered?"<
br />
"Yes."
"OK. And have you asked Beverley about the night Alice was murdered?"
He shook his head savagely. "No, no, I’ve never asked her about that. Never."
"Why not?"
Tim glared. "Because I don’t want to fucking know."
"You mean, you were afraid she might say she killed Alice?"
He frowned. "Yes, I suppose so. So, you see, I don’t know who’s responsible. All I know is that I didn’t do it. I’m innocent."
He was innocent of murder, but not much else.
He gulped down half his beer and gave her an anxious look. "So what are you going to do? Talk to the police?"
Robyn now knew that Beverley had an excellent motive and fantastic opportunity to kill Alice. The only uncertainty in her mind was whether to contact the police tonight or tomorrow morning. But why risk his anger by telling him that?
She got to her feet: "No, of course not. The last thing I want to do is get involved in their investigation."
He looked relieved. "Good."
"Well, thanks for the beer. Sorry I dredged this up."
He looked at her with bleary eyes. "You know, this has been a nightmare - a total nightmare."
She felt little sympathy, because it had been a bigger nightmare for Alice Markham and everyone wrongly accused of murdering her. "I bet it has."
She considered telling him how much she enjoyed Waiting for Rain, but the words went sour in her mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Robyn left Tim Nolan and arrived home just after dark to an empty terrace, Veronica obviously still at work.
She made herself an omelette and washed it down with a couple of glasses of red while pondering whether to telephone Detective Inspector Holloway that evening. He’d probably gone home; she’d call him in the morning.
She’d just tidied up the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Veronica? No, she had a key. Then who?
She padded down the hallway and looked through the eye-hole. Beverley Nolan stood on the porch in jeans and a sequined T-shirt, clutching a handbag and rolling nervously on the balls of her feet. Her slightly demented expression reminded Robyn of Mavis Vandervelt. Christ. What the hell did she want?
Robyn didn’t want to let her in. After all, she was fairly sure that Beverley killed Alice Markham. So it was nice to have a couple of inches of wood between them.
Beverley semi-shrieked, "Robyn, I know you’re home, so open the door."
Robyn considered staying mute. But that wasn’t her style. "Beverley, I’m here. What do you want?"
"I want to talk," Beverley said in a whitish tone.
"What about?"
"There are a few things I want to explain."
"Like what?"
"Please let me in - please."
Robyn already felt guilty for wrongly accusing Hugh Grimble of murder. What if Beverley was also innocent? Maybe she should listen to her before calling the cops. Beverley was small and alone. Surely she couldn't cause much trouble.
With a trembling hand, Robyn opened the door and stood back. "Hi."
Beverley shook with anxiety and relief. "Thank you, thank you."
Robyn watched apprehensively as Beverley brushed past her; she nervously pointed towards the lounge room. "In there."
Beverley stepped into the lounge room and perched on the edge of the couch, still clutching her handbag, face bloodless.
Robyn eased into an armchair and grabbed the armrests in case she had to move fast.
Beverley leaned further forward. "Umm, you spoke to Tim this evening, didn’t you?"
"Yes. He called you, did he?"
"Yes, and told me what you two talked about." Beverley’s eyes shone. "Are you going to talk to the police?"
Robyn already regretted opening the door and putting herself in peril. She took a few deep breaths. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On what you tell me."
"About what?"
"For a start, about Tim’s affair with Alice. You found out about it a lot earlier than you pretended, didn’t you?"
Beverley gave Robyn a long and uncertain stare before dropping her head and speaking softly. "Yes, I did."
"How’d you find out?"
"I was looking for something in Tim’s study and found some scraps of paper with parts of Waiting for Rain. So I looked on his computer."
"And found the whole novel?"
Beverley’s voice barely carried. "Yes."
As Robyn extracted more information from Beverley, her nerves subsided. This was just like a cross-examination. Stay calm and try to sound sympathetic. "And that was when you realized Tim was having an affair with Alice, wasn’t it?"
Beverley’s face flushed and her voice grated. "Yes. I mean, can you imagine how I felt? Tim wrote a wonderful novel - just wonderful - and told me nothing about it. Nothing. In fact, he hid it from me. But he showed it to that bitch and told her everything." Beverley’s face crumpled and she emitted a few dry sobs. "Tim and I were married for ten years. We had our problems, but I thought we had a real connection. Then I realized it was all just a sham - a joke - and he really hated me - hated me."
"So you confronted him about the affair and the novel?"
"Yes."
"And he admitted both?"
"Of course, and we had a huge fight. In fact, that’s why he went up to Bowral that weekend: to get away from me."
"And you went to see Alice?"
"Yes."
"And she let you in?"
Beverley smiled at a fond memory. "Oh, yes. Didn’t suspect anything."
Beverley's admissions were making Robyn very, very nervous, because Beverley obviously didn't think Robyn would survive this conversation and repeat them to anyone.
"And you told Alice what you’d found out?"
"Yes. Everything."
"And she denied it?"
Beverley scowled. "No. In fact, she taunted me about it - said it was my fault if I couldn’t keep my husband happy. Jesus, the bitch. For years she pretended to be my best friend while she slept with my husband, edited his novel and treated me like shit."
Small crazy eyes peered out through a mask of sanity. But Robyn was too engrossed to feel any fear. "So what did you do?"
Lines snaked across Beverley’s forehead. "I didn’t mean to kill her. I slapped her a few times and she ran into the kitchen. So I ran after her." Beverley’s eyes went foggy and she started mumbling. "There was a knife on the bench. I grabbed it and stabbed her, and stabbed her again." Beverley snapped out of her deep revere and glared scarlet. "She deserved it - fucking well deserved it, the bitch. I hope you understand that. You do, don’t you?"
Robyn looked at the handbag Beverley was clutching and wondered if it contained a knife. Fear lit up her whole system. She tried to sound conciliatory. "Of course I do. Of course."
"So, you won’t call the police?"
God, she really was mad. Robyn said: "Oh, no, of course not. I understand your reasons, I really do. You were justified."
Beverley looked suspicious. "You’re lying, aren’t you? You’re going to call the police."
Robyn shook her head. "No, of course not."
Beverley’s eyes glinted like daggers. "I can’t let you do that, understand? She deserved it and I’ve got two kids. Why should our lives be ruined because of that bitch?"
Robyn showed her palms. "Don’t worry, I’m not going to call the police. Definitely no police."
"I don’t believe you. You are, aren’t you? You shouldn’t have been so nosey."
Beverley produced the demented expression Alice must have seen just before she died, then reached into her handbag, extracted a long knife with a bone handle and dashed forward. Terrified, Robyn watched the knife rise high in the air. Instinctively, she jumped to her feet and stepped sideways, using her forearm to ward off the descending knife. It slashed a long groove down her arm which sprayed blood. Adrenalin blocked out the pain.
Robyn desperately wan
ted to run, but that would have given Beverley more elbow room. She seized the wrist holding the knife and grabbed Beverley around the waist.
Beverley had crazy strength. She put her foot behind Robyn’s ankle and tripped her. Robyn fell over backwards with Beverley on top. But Robyn clung to the wrist. If she let it go, she was dead.
Beverley sunk her teeth into Robyn’s shoulder. Robyn screamed and was about to release the knife when Veronica dashed into the room, grabbed Beverley around the neck and rode her face-first into the carpet. Beverley yelled and dropped the knife.
Robyn rolled out from under Beverley, scooped up the knife and crawled away, gasping for air. Her back hit a wall and her bloodied forearm throbbed.
Veronica lay on Beverley’s back and used the strength gained from three gym work-outs a week to choke her hard. Beverley wasn’t going anywhere.
Veronica was breathing heavily, but looked remarkably composed. She stared at Robyn. "What the fuck’s going on? Who is this bitch?"
Robyn looked at her and was, for once, relieved to be living with a future managing partner of a major law firm.
CHAPTER FORTY
Robyn’s relationship with Veronica improved markedly after Veronica saved her life. True, she still thought Veronica a cold and manipulative cow. But Veronica showed plenty of strength and courage when she held Beverley until the cops arrived and made the arrest.
Indeed, Robyn was so grateful that, the next day, she sat in a café with Veronica and Brian, and told them how she discovered Beverley killed Alice. Robyn even managed to be polite when Brian revealed that he and Veronica had decided to get engaged.
"Oh, congratulations."
Veronica smiled like a ruthless general who has just sacked a wealthy city. If Robyn had any pity, she would have told Brain to run for his life. But she said nothing.
Brian said: "Thank you. You know, I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us. But Veronica’s a wonderful girl - wonderful. I’m sure we’ll be happy."
Robyn thought that unlikely. "I’m sure you will."
"And I hope we can all stay friends."
"Oh definitely," Robyn said, while wondering how she could avoid these two in the future.