by Andrea Drew
"I'll drive her home. Can you arrange something with security as far as her car is concerned, please?" Connor said to Ethan.
"Sure." Ethan pulled the cover back over Lauren’s face.
"I didn't drive," she squeaked. "I was going to catch the train to Sorrento. I don't know what I was thinking."
Her sobs increased in volume.
Connor waited as grief racked her body and her shoulders heaved. It took a couple of minutes before these quieted from obvious gasps to the occasional sniff.
When she paused to wipe her nose, he said, "How about I drive you back to Sorrento?"
"Yes, please. I'm going back to the holiday house."
"I'm sure we'll manage." He felt what probably appeared to be a pathetic smile cross his face.
Elizabeth may have noticed if she looked his way which she didn't, of course, too wrapped up the cocoon of the far too real evidence of her sister's death.
She slowly raised herself from the seat, legs still wobbly. He extended his arm to catch her just in case she fell.
"I'm okay,” she said. “I won't collapse on you."
For now. It would certainly be a quiet drive, punctuated most likely by her sobs and sniffs.
He placed his arm on her forearm and guided her back out through the doors, walked through the corridor, and pushed the button on the elevator.
"We don't need to talk,” he said, “just relax in the car as much as you can."
"Thank you. You've gone above and beyond the call of a private investigator, and for that I'm grateful."
"It's okay. Times like these are part of being human, and given the current situation, completely understandable."
Guilt moved through him, guilt at the gratitude he'd felt earlier at still having Gypsy with him. Elizabeth Metcalfe had just lost her sister forever, and if he had anything to do with it, she'd gain the closure she needed, identifying the person responsible for her death. A family had lost a sister and a daughter, and she would miss out on all those moments most people took for granted having a mother to guide and support them through.
They reached the car park, and once he settled her into the passenger seat of his car comfortably, he prepared for the drive of an hour and a half to Sorrento. Elizabeth didn't speak for the entire drive, lost in her own world of grief, and he wasn't about to begin a stream of inane chatter purely for the sake of something to say.
Eventually, they pulled in front of a quaint cottage, white with brown window frames, and a wild garden complete with rose bushes and wisterias. A silver Celica parked in the driveway with personalized number plates, NUMBER5. Normally, he'd view the location as a picture of serenity and relaxation, but the chances of his client gaining that today were close to zero.
She let herself out of the car and walked toward the front door. Connor followed behind her. He wanted to make sure she was okay, and get a look at the holiday home. The seed of an idea had formed in his mind but hadn’t yet begun to sprout, intuition guided him. It hadn’t let him down before and he wasn’t about to do so now, even if it meant taking Elizabeth on a long drive. She turned the handle. "It's not locked. Leigh's home."
The hallway was short and led directly into a comfortable living area decked out with retro furniture and tasteful throw rugs and cushions.
"Sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea," Connor said, and he began the hunt for supplies in the small kitchen, recently renovated, by the look of it. After the tea was ready, he moved back to the couch, moving slowly to make sure it didn’t spill.
He sat down beside her on the faded brown couch from the seventies. Her hair had escaped from her usual tightly restrained bun. She took off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. "Today was hell," she said quietly.
He wasn't sure how to respond so remained silent. After a moment, he said "Thank you for identifying Lauren. I know it wasn't easy, but now forensics can do their job. I'll work with them to find the person that did this."
"I did it for her, no one else. It's what she would have wanted. I don't know how I'm going to tell my parents, or Leigh, for that matter." Her eyes began to water again.
"Don't think about that now," he said, patting her arm. "Try and focus on making yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll never be the same again, but it’s probably best to focus on each day as it comes."
"Have you lost anyone close to you?" she said through tears.
"Yes, my brother, Dan, several years ago. I'll never forget the day I received the news. The Russell Street bombing you probably heard it in the media"
"I did," she said quietly.
"Losing someone you love is devastating, and there's always a part of you that remembers. Of course, the memories never leave which is some consolation, but somehow, focusing on getting through each day helps."
"You understand." Her voice trailed off and she stared into the empty room.
"I deliberately didn't say I understand because so many people at the time told me they did. The truth is, I don't think anyone can truly understand what we each go through. The best we can hope for is acceptance, and remembering all they brought into our lives."
He'd never tell her that the moment he'd lost his brother would be etched forever in his memory, the aching need never quite leaving. That the ragged, gaping open raw wound never completely healed, that it covered over slowly inch by agonising inch, and that although it had been more than fifteen years since he lost him, he thought about his brother nearly every day. The loss never went away, it simply faded with the passage of time.
"That's true," she said. "I hope I don’t seem rude, but I think I might take your advice. I'm probably going to lie down."
"Good idea. I might go and talk to your husband before I leave."
Although Elizabeth had specifically asked him to stay behind, Connor had assumed that although a conservative type, he'd be waiting at the door for them, to ask how everything went. Even if he and Lauren hadn't got along, as was often the case with in-laws, wouldn’t he want to know what happened? If nothing else, his wife needed his support now more than ever. He remembered the look between husband and wife in his office the day before. The marriage had probably decayed to a point of no return, crumbling into a state barely salvageable.
"He'll be in the den," Elizabeth said.
"Where's that?"
"Back of the house, down the corridor and to your right." She pushed herself up from the couch and padded away on stockinged feet.
He walked through the corridor. The second door on the right had been pushed ajar. Through the doorway, he saw Raleigh sitting in an office chair, a strong light and magnifying glass on a large desk of dark wood.
Connor tapped on the door. "Sorry to interrupt. I thought I'd pop in to let you know Elizabeth's home." Boxes were piled precariously on the old desk, some of them open and lined with ribbon and various adornments with coins and stamps nestled safely within them.
Leigh immediately stood, as if surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you don't think me rude, I didn't hear the car pull up. It proves a welcome distraction, as I'm sure you understand. It's a time of major upheaval, and well, when the going gets tough, the tough turn to their stamp and coin collection." Raleigh managed a thin smile.
"You're a collector?"
"Yes, it might sound strange, but I find it relaxing after dealing with the current stresses. Focussing on each piece’s history and uniqueness seems to help me unwind."
"Looks like you've been at it for a while."
"Yesm I'm a part of the local club, and some of the pieces I've acquired are quite rare. Like this one for example. It's called a Penny Black. There's only a few left in existence."
He gazed down at a case which contained a black stamp, with a white silhouette of the Queen of England prominently featured.
"Worth much?" Connor said, leaning against the doorway.
"Priceless and absolutely rare. I'd never part with it, never."
"I see.” Connor wondered where the hell an Accountant had got
hold of priceless stamps, and had them squirrelled away to be admired at will. “Well, I'll leave Elizabeth in your care now. She seems to have recovered from the shock."
"I'll check on her now. It's been a very trying time for the entire family. Was the victim Laura?"
"Unfortunately, yes it was. A terrible shock."
Leigh's face paled. "Terrible news. Such a loss. She was such a bright outgoing person. Poor Elizabeth. I'll see what can be done for her."
Connor nodded and left the den. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found, so he let himself out. On the drive home as Black Betty cruised smoothly along the road, he thought about his life, the loved ones surrounding him—Gypsy, Mark, his daughter Christie, his son-in-law Ryan— and the luxury of spending time with them working from home. Some people lost those most precious, their loved ones. Each time he'd notified a family of a tragic incident, it had reminded him of how much he took for granted. His chest ached.
The beauty of Sorrento and the surf coast couldn't be ignored, even while driving. Waves surged against the rocks, and the sun peeked through clouds, creating a magical view. He took an occasional peek, once the curves in the road subsided.
He looked forward to seeing Gypsy and Mark, loosening up his tie and sitting back to spend the rest of the afternoon with them. He pressed the play button on the in-car stereo system and the soothing sounds of Santana filled the car, as he pulled up to the lights to enter the Geelong freeway.
While he was at the lights, he decided he'd give Katrina, the sister, a call from the Bluetooth.
She answered it on the third ring. "Wealth building systems, Katrina speaking."
"Katrina, it’s Connor Reardon."
"Liz said you might call. You have a nice voice. Deep and rumbling." Connor figured she hadn’t heard about the confirmation of her sister’s death yet.
"Did Liz mention the reason for my call?" he focused on the road ahead.
"Of course she didn't. Let's just say my sister and I aren't exactly close."
"I see. Did your sister-in-law ever express concern to you?" Connor tried not to react as an idiot in a red hatch back cut him off.
"About what?"
"Her husband’s financial dealings, namely his payments to Paradise Investments a couple of months before her death."
"Yeah, I heard about that. She was a breath of fresh air. I take it you've met Raleigh? Let me tell you, we all dread being stuck next to him at a family function. Good for those of us that suffer insomnia, though." He turned his head to look for traffic in his lane as he entered the ramp to the freeway. He hit the accelerator and Black Betty growled in response.
"Were you close to Lauren?"
"Kind of, although she was definitely a closed book. Weird talking about her in the past tense like that. It still hasn't sunk in, but then they say the grieving process takes time. Still seems like it's happening to someone else." Connor realized Katrina had heard of Lauren’s death.
"Understandable."
"She did mention something unusual, though. She said she couldn't live with a man who preferred dressing up and experimenting to her."
"I see. Anything else occur that seemed unusual to you?" he sighed as he braked, flashing signs indicating roadworks ahead.
"Yeah, she said over her dead body would he get the house, and she mentioned a second mortgage or refinance that she wasn't happy about. Every time she asked when the renovations were going to happen, he made excuses. Some builder guy came over to see them but it was all talk."
"All right. Did you meet this builder guy?" Sunlight streamed through the windscreen and he rubbed his right hand down his jeans.
"Nah, she said he was a bit older, though. I think his name was Harold or Hugh or something like that."
"Hugh Fraser?"
"Yeah, that's him. She said she worried that Jarrod had siphoned off the money they refinanced and she wondered if he gave it to this Hugh character. Sounded dodgy as hell to me"
"Did you make any recommendations to her?" he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I told her if Jarrod was paying this Hugh character, and no building took place, depending on what was dug up, she could possibly have him done for fraud."
"Did she go any further with her enquiries?"
"I don't know. She disappeared not long after that. Last time I saw her, she was quieter than usual, withdrawn almost which wasn't like her. She'd had her hair done but she looked pale, pinched almost. I wondered if she was sick. Didn't ask her, though, thought it might worry her more, but she looked terrible."
"Did Lauren speak to your brother-in-law about her concerns?" He flicked on the indicator to change lanes.
"Hardly. In case you haven't noticed, he's not exactly Mr. Personality. He's a pompous old stuffed shirt. I don't know what Elizabeth sees in him. I can't imagine he'd be a tiger in the bedroom."
"They weren't close?"
"No. I'd like to get close to you if that sexy deep voice is anything to go by."
Now he understood the oblique references Elizabeth had made earlier. Cougars weren't exactly on his wish list, and a woman like Katrina would be accustomed to getting what she wanted. Not in this case, though. He considered himself well and truly taken.
"Thanks for the information,” he said, ignoring her advances. “It will assist with my enquiries."
"Okay, bye then. Maybe you could drop by in person sometime soon, really soon."
Sheesh. The woman didn't let up. He gave her some begrudging credit; she was nothing if not persistent.
He hung up. The interview had rocketed from professional to ridiculous in a matter of minutes.
He looked at his watch. Still early afternoon. He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the couch, allowing his thoughts to wander. Today's information provided conflicting lines of enquiry. Lauren knew about the blackmail and therefore her husband’s secret, potentially opening her to foul play, but her pregnancy indicated an affair with person's unknown. Motives were aplenty, but evidence remained scarce.
Soon he'd go back to the timeline of events, and see what floated to the top as far as suspects went.
Given the lack of evidence tying either Whitehouse or Fraser to the murder, he needed to approach things from a new angle.
The room faded to grey. Next thing he opened his eyes to was a darkened room. Gypsy must have laid the blanket over him.
He pushed himself up from the couch. "Gypsy? You there?"
Her voice echoed from the kitchen, "Yeah, I'm here."
She walked over and stood beside him, an amused smile playing across her face.
He sat up on the couch.
"Bit of a nanna nap then?"
"I can't believe I fell asleep," he said, rubbing his face with his hands.
Shit, he should have been working on the case, not dozing off. He pushed himself up from the couch, throwing the blanket aside, and stood up. He massaged his lower back.
"Maybe you should take tonight off, take it easy for a change." Gypsy said.
"Not sure about that. There's something I haven't found yet. I'm close. I can feel it. I tell you what, though, something smells good."
"I'm cooking dinner, your favourite, pasta carbonara."
"Great. I'll open a bottle of wine." He turned on the stereo and put on an L J Hooker CD.
The smooth tones washed over him and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. He loosened his tie.
"I think I'll get changed," Gypsy was still in the kitchen judging by the clang of pots and pans.
Once he put on his old comfortable clothes, the relaxation process began in earnest and the tension of the day gradually rolled away.
As he returned to the dining area, he reached the table and took a seat to the left of his son. Mark sat at the table in his high chair. Gypsy brought over a large steaming bowl and then sat down across from Connor. After the day that was, sitting with his family like this seemed like a welcome release, a return to the every day.
"Thanks, honey, this looks
fantastic," he said, serving pasta onto his plate.
She placed a bowl of cooled pasta onto Mark’s highchair and began eating.
After a few mouthfuls, she dropped her fork and said, "So, what's the plan from here?"
"I'll talk to Ryan. He'll be pushing through the autopsy results as fast as he can. They've been fast tracked. Whitehouse and Fraser will be questioned."
"Oh, to be a fly on the wall," she said, her fork almost touching the bowl of steaming pasta.
"Ryan should call either after dinner or in the morning. He knows I'm waiting for the results. One plus side to today was the potential to gain fibres and other evidence from the body."
"Will Whitehouse be charged?"
"Hopeful, but still unknown. It all points toward fraud, blackmail maybe, but not murder. Ryan's best hope is for a confession, and I don't think it'll come easy." He grabbed a bread roll from the middle of the table and began buttering it.
"No." She tilted her head and smiled at him. "It's nice to have you with us, instead of locked up in your office."
"Yeah, part of my new plan."
"New plan?" she put a forkful of pasta into her mouth.
"To spend more time with my family."
"I like the sound of that." She smiled without baring her teeth.
"Thought you might." He smiled and wondered why they hadn't married.
It wasn't because he hadn't asked her. After she got out of rehab fully healed from the after effects of the shooting, he'd got down on bended knee to propose, and with tears of joy she'd said yes. Months later, when they'd set up a home together and after Mark's birth, he'd tried setting a wedding date. She'd brushed him off, claiming they didn't have the money for a wedding.
He knew it was more than that, and he didn't think it was him, more like the idea of marriage. Being conservative, tied down, a middle-class existence didn't appeal to her the way it did to him. He wanted to hide and enjoy the comforts of home, but she still hung on to the streak of rebellion that ran in her a mile wide, especially the night they met. He should have known early on, when she'd put herself in harm’s way during an attempted abduction in a bid to rescue the woman, that adventure and danger would follow wherever she went. Yet at some point, she'd need to reconcile the life they lived, with the future she didn't want to think about.