Outside, the media frenzy rose in a crescendo as the loaded gurney was trundled to a waiting van to be transported to the city morgue.
The room was cold and felt spiritually empty, not only because it was, but because the energy of its owner had fled. The lounge suite looked as though the stuffing had shrunk, the papers on the coffee table abandoned. The gallery of photographs stared back at me, blank-faced and meaningless, but the eyes of the man I’d been told was the love of Marigold Humphries’ life watched with gentle amusement, privy to a secret which only those in the afterlife shared. Did spirits find each other as soon as the host died?
Evan paused to examine Humphries collection of CDs and DVDs, most of which appeared to be copies of news programs. ‘Doubt if any of these are relevant, but we’ll get her boss to have a look,’ he said, making a note. A shelf of beautifully carved African animals looked on from a shelf above the fireplace.
Seeing that some of SOCO were packing up, I enquired if we could go upstairs. “Fingerprints’ll be here any minute,’ advised the young Forensic officer as she packed up her kit.
Knowing the house would shortly be a disaster area, we hastily ascended the stairs. After “cottage” style lounge room, the upstairs quarters were a surprise. Ms Humphries had made up for the Spartan furnishings with bold primary colours in all the rooms. We found Pamela Miller’s belongings in the guest room. She hadn’t been able to confirm that with the exception of Humphries’ very expensive new Nikon camera, anything was missing.
The main bedroom boasted an un-made double bed, built in wardrobes, a dressing table and a chair. Painted all in white with multi-coloured curtains and a few pictures of wildlife on the walls, the pile of clothes strewn across the bed, knickers half under the bed and scattered underclothes indicated that the occupant was not the perfect house-keeper. Then, why would she be? Living on one’s own means you can do what you like.
The office next door housed a large desk, chair on castors and the walls lined with bookcases, crammed with everything from chick-lit, crime and non-fiction, with books piled on top of each other. Papers were heaped next to a clean rectangular space where a laptop had rested. Presumably relating to photographic work, they were likely to be outside my sphere of knowledge.
‘We’ve taken three cameras in for examination, Ma’am. I’ve come for the CDs and her handbag. We got her appointments from her mobile. There’s a list of calls made and received.’
I whirled around. A young constable stood in the doorway, eyes glittering with anticipation.
‘I didn’t hear you come in!’
‘Sorry Ma’am.’
‘Hm...okay. Let me know what you find, and let me know the contents of the handbag particularly. ’ I’d muttered, trying to cover my tracks. It would never do to drop my guard at a crime scene.
So, who would want to kill the photojournalist? Could a former lover or enemy have ambushed her? Perhaps her colleagues would have some ideas. Nothing downstairs or up here had been disturbed as far as we could tell. That suggested that she’d answered the door, let someone into the house and been killed there and then. Was it someone she’d “outed” in one of her investigative articles? We could only assume it was something she knew or had witnessed. I’d officiated at many murders but understanding the psyche of a killer wasn’t getting any easier to cope with.
Awakening from memory lane brought me into the present. My gaze ranged along the rows of officers, waiting attentively for me to start the briefing. The new face was missing. ‘Where’s Hamilton?’
‘On his way in, Ma’am.’
‘Right, we’ll –’ I noticed the eyes of my female officers tracking the sublime bum of our newest Senior Sergeant. I, of course, never notice such things.
Our resident “assassin,” seemingly oblivious to the interest he incurred, took his place at the end of the front row. Evan prepared to adjust the timeline of Marigold Humphries final hours on the adjacent whiteboard, as Jacob recited her known movements.
‘Okay, Operation Lima Photo. Marigold Humphries, aged 33, single, freelance journalist. Parents, Alexander and Fiona Humphries, of 5 Hampton St, West End. So far, we know cause of death was a broken neck. No DNA under her fingernails – apparently she kept them clipped short – but a small amount of blood in her mouth and teeth which was not hers, so she bit him somewhere, but probably not enough to send him to a doctor or hospital, unfortunately, Ma’am. On the other hand, DNA when we catch him.’
‘Well, that’s something. Continue, Jacob.’
‘NAFIS reports no matches to any of the prints found in the house.’ He paused, presumably to let that sink into our consciousness. ‘Ms Humphries travels –- travelled – the world taking jobs, mainly under contract to media organisations. She was in Afghanistan on an assignment for –’ He named a leading television station – ‘and then in a UK hospital until a month ago, when she arrived back in Australia. She spent two weeks in Sydney partially on holiday and then arrived in Brisbane. For the last two weeks, according to colleagues, she’s been doing a series of articles on local politics. They say she’s well-liked and were genuinely horrified to hear about her death.’
He paused while the team made notes, and then recounted Pamela’s statement of what had occurred that morning. ‘Humphries arrived back at her house around seven and they had breakfast together. Miller says her cousin didn’t discuss her photographic session and that they talked about the concert. Miller left at approximately 10.30am in Ms Humphries’ Golf for the concert hall at Southbank. Humphries’ laptop and emails show that she worked on the article for Kings River Life magazine for an hour and sixteen minutes.’
‘King’s River Life? What do we know about it?’
‘An American online magazine, Ma’am. Specialises in local news, the theatre restaurants, concerts, book reviews and it’s very big on animal welfare issues, animal shelters and rescue organisations.’
‘We know she was into exposing animal abuse, factory farms and puppy mills. It’s a bit of a long shot that someone associated with those issues in America would break her neck here in Australia and in her own home, but we’ll keep it in mind. Go on, Jacob.’
He turned the page. ‘CCTV footage taken at 4am from down at the ferry terminal shows Marigold Humphries walking along the path through the park. She stopped here and there to take photos, but then she heads in the general direction of the top end of the park where the boat shed is. No CCTV.’
‘Did we check out the rowers on the river?’
‘Yes, Ma’am. The first crews came by at about 4.30 and they said they hadn’t seen or heard anything.’ It didn’t surprise me. That lot wouldn’t have heard a cannon going off when they were training and they’d have been in the middle of the river.
‘Okay, anything from Humphrey’s mobile or house phone?’
‘No Ma’am. There’s a list here. Nothing significant, just calls to her workplace, colleagues, clients – Pamela Miller and her parents. There was a text from Harry Brown telling her to meet him out the front of the concert hall, that there was a murder in West End. She replied, “OK.” That was when she went to the murder scene at the park and that’s the last activity on her mobile. She doesn’t appear to have kept her financial records on her iPhone.’
‘Right. So that’s all we have from the mobile, how about her laptop? iPad? Blackberry?’
‘Techs are still examining those, Ma’am. We’ll have a record of all her financial and business transactions shortly.’
‘What about her handbag?’
‘The usual things, Ma’am. Make-up, small hairbrush, receipts, notebook – more about that later – address book which we’re following up now. A Kindle with 1230 books on it! Bottle of water, half-full, a nail file set, keys to the house and car. Tissues – unused – purse with credit cards, licence, photos, discount cards from dress shops and camera outlets...’ So, the traditional woman’s gear. I’d be interested to hear what the notebooks contained, but no doubt the techs would let
us know if there was anything significant in them.
As Jacob finished, I advised the team of my connection with Pamela Miller, her mother and stepfather. ‘According to Ms Humphries’ solicitor, Pamela Miller is the chief beneficiary and the Humphries parents are the recipients of a large separate superannuation. Apart from that, there are a few bequests to friends. Obviously, Ms Miller doesn’t know about this as yet and I must caution you to keep it in this room.’ I lowered the paper and looked at the team.
‘So Pamela Miller is the main suspect?’ someone asked.
‘Before I could answer, a grim-faced Hamilton piped up. ‘There’s no way Pamela killed anyone!’
Shocked silence greeted the announcement. Sidelong glances flew around the room. I glared in the general direction of the back row to quell a titter. ‘Why do you say that, Anthony?’ His angry expression intrigued me. Just what had gone on after he left with Pam to inform her uncle and aunt of her cousin’s death?
‘Because she couldn’t have killed a woman of Marigold Humphries’ physique. There was evidence of a struggle and Humphries was an Amazon. Miller would have been no match for her even though they’re the same height.’
There was more to this than met the eye. Could our resident hunk have a little something for Pamela? Did she know? Well, he’s not married, but he’ll have to be careful. Hm...I would have a word with my Senior Sergeant after the session and see what was going on. ‘You’re right about that. It’s pretty unlikely –’ I turned back to the board, hoping to divert the team’s attention away from Anthony – ‘but we have to leave her in the mix. SOCO says there was evidence that someone wiped the wall at the bottom of the stairs successfully smudging any prints. However, they are hopeful of DNA and that’ll be good if we can only match it to someone. Now, what about the neighbours and bystanders?’
‘We doorknocked the whole street, but no one saw anything, heard anything or speaks ill of the dead.’
‘Okay, so it’s business as normal. What else?’
‘There is nothing to show what she did for the rest of the day, though she called on her parents around 3pm and left about half an hour later. Miller says Humphries was not at home when she arrived back from rehearsal at the Concert Hall about 3.30pm. She stopped to buy a dress on the way apparently. Jack Boode Thompson, a fellow journalist, says he met Humphries around 4pm to talk about an African program they were to do together, and then they went to a pub and had a session with colleagues. This is confirmed by the group and there’s a list here.’ Jacob waved his notebook in the air. ‘They said she caught a taxi home at about 5.30pm. Yellow Cabs tracked down the driver, who maintains he dropped her off at 5.45pm. There was no one with her and no sign of anyone waiting for her when she got out of the cab. She went straight in and he left.’
Jacob took a deep breath. He looked about as fresh as we all felt. ‘Harry Burke, a reporter from the Courier Mail said he picked Humphries up at home and gave her a lift to the concert hall at 7.30pm. They were going to meet later, but he sent her an SMS at 8.15pm to say that he was going to a murder scene. Humphries insisted he swing by the Concert Hall and pick her up out the front and she accompanied him to the park where the Jane Doe was found and then he dropped her back at the concert just as it was finishing at around 10pm.’
He went on to relate Pamela’s statement about Humphries’ activities at the concert that night. ‘We’re getting the tapes from the security cameras in the foyer of the Concert Hall later this morning. Witnesses say that Miller stayed for photographs and to talk to fans, after which she went to the city with a couple –’ he named the Mochries’ – of musicians. The restaurant confirms they were there and time of leaving.’ Jacob closed his notebook and sat down.
‘Well, we know one thing. Ms Humphries’ main camera, a Nikon 4, is missing so we don’t know what photos she took. We now know that she lent her second string camera, a Nikon 2 to Pamela Miller and it had a new card in it. The question is, did Ms Humphries take a photo of something she shouldn’t have seen on the Nikon 4?’
We all stared at the timeline and then at each other. Speculation broke out. Something was nagging me...’Anyone check the view of the river and surrounds from the park crime scene? Remember, there’s nothing to say she was anywhere near the old rowing shed and her house is streets away.’
No one had. ‘Okay, so what else might Humphries have taken photos of? Would she have gone as far as the shed on foot?’
‘Jane Doe?’ Anthony Hamilton picked up my thoughts immediately.
My team pounced on the possibility that not only had Humphries photographed the girl but also the man – or woman – she was probably with. There was nothing to say at this stage whether the DNA around her mouth was male or female, but my gut said, “male.”
‘But if it was connected, how did he get to do the journalist over late Saturday night? And unless he spoke to her, how would he know where to find her? Was he in fact, one of the mob at the park crime scene? We need to ask Harry Burke why Humphries didn’t speak to one of the officers at the Jane Doe crime scene and say she was there early in the morning.’
‘Perhaps she never went that far. Maybe she saw them further back toward the terminal? She could have given him – or them – a card and said to call her later, perhaps to give them the photos?’
‘But there’s nothing on her mobile or her emails to show that anyone did. The girl may have already been killed and the body covered up before the journalist arrived in the park.’
Back to the drawing board, literally. I sent Jacob to trundle the whiteboard in from the Lima Astro Incident Room. He parked it next to the Humphries board. I took a pointer and followed the action through, working along the timeline.’
‘Perhaps the couple – Jane Doe and her companion – were people she knew already?’ someone asked.
‘Even if they did, the girl was killed in the morning and the journalist late at night and by the appearance and age of Doe, it would be unlikely that the women knew each other socially, although anything’s possible. As far as we know, the only things they had in common was that it was the same day, they were female and found in roughly the same area. Robert Simkins’ dog found the shoe at around 8 – 8.15 this morning and Humphries left her house at 4.30am according to Pamela Miller. Of course, we can’t rule out the possibility that this was a random attack by a predator, but there was no evidence of rape and she was fully clothed.’
The team were silent for a moment. Predator attacks on women jogging or walking listening to their iPods were more prevalent these days.
‘So has anyone anything to add?’
No one had any suggestions. Evan frowned. ‘We’re canvassing backpacker hostels and hotels. Collins and Freeman are going to the colleges, and Brown and Douglas to the universities. That only leaves workplaces, but if someone doesn’t turn up sooner or later a boss will send someone to her home.’ Groans rippled around the room. ‘So let’s get back to Humphries for now.’
Theories abounded, from the traditional random break-in which had gone wrong to the ex-boyfriend out to make up with Marigold Humphries and retaliating after rejection. In the middle of the sometimes excitable discussion, David texted me – ‘All okay. Luv u. X.’ Refreshed, I entered into the fray, directing a question to the team at large. ‘So what makes you think it wasn’t a random break in?’
The room stopped talking. Jacob looked earnest. ‘Well, why would a perp choose that particular place to break and enter? It’s not particularly outstanding. I mean, there’s other houses which look richer.’ He looked around for support.
‘He’s right,’ broke in Sym, short for Symphony – what gets into some parents? – bright-faced and a Jacob groupie. ‘There’s no indication the victim had money or even that she was famous. Surely that shows she knew the perp?’
‘Not necessarily. She could have been followed home. The taxi driver could have done it for all we know.’ Sym wasn’t about to let her theory go.
I thought it unl
ikely. The skinny, old ferret with nasal drip we’d interviewed didn’t look capable of over-powering a big, strong girl like Marigold Humphries, who would be too street-smart to let him even get near her.
‘Any known enemies? Apart from this Adam McIntyre who was allegedly stalking her?’
We’d been unable to track him down for questioning. His paper said he’d left Friday morning for a job out west, but as he wasn’t answering his mobile and hadn’t been back to his motel since Saturday night, we had Roma police searching for him. He could have gotten back to Brisbane, killed Goldie and headed back out overnight, but he’d have to be pretty slick about it. I turned to Anthony Hamilton, who hadn’t contributed anything to the debate so far. ‘So how is Pamela coping, Anthony?’
‘She’s pretty cranky, actually. With being attacked on all sides over this, she’s not very happy.’
What do you mean, attacked on all sides?’ The room turned to look at him.
‘Well, her uncle, Alex Humphries was a bastard to her the other night and again yesterday morning. Seemed to think she didn’t care about her cousin. I got the impression that if Pam had died instead of his daughter, he’d have been delighted. Of course, that could be natural under the circumstances, but his hatred of Pam – Ms Miller – is over the top, in my opinion.’
Hm. Was Alex Humphries looking for a scapegoat or trying to point the finger of blame away from himself? ‘How is Fiona Humphries behaving toward Pamela?’
Anthony took his time to reply. ‘Well, she’s a traditional wife –’ we female officers bristled; the males grinned, blast them – ‘in that she’s under his thumb. She’ll probably go along with whatever he says. She’s in that age-bracket,’ he explained hastily, no doubt realising a lynching party was imminent. He smiled ruefully and we women melted. I bet he has sisters.
‘Do you think it’s possible that either of them could be responsible? I know Fiona couldn’t tackle Marigold, but what about Alex?’
‘Stranger things have happened in families.’ Oh yes, we all knew the consequences of domestic violence. I looked at Hamilton. ‘What did Pam say about the relationship between Marigold and her family?’
After Ariel: It started as a game Page 17