by Sarah Bailey
Fleet kicks out his legs and relaxes into his armchair. ‘We’ll obviously be reviewing everything in due course, but from your perspective was any of the correspondence he received of concern?’
Wendy sighs and toys with the phone in her lap. ‘I knew you were going to ask me that. It’s hard to know what to tell you and of course I’ve been driving myself crazy about it ever since…this all happened.’
We look at her expectantly.
She holds out her hands as if in surrender. ‘I mean, he got everything. Nice messages, obsessive ones, threats. Career advice, criticism and film offers. Marriage proposals, requests for money, voodoo spells. The whole gamut. The world is a weird place full of weird and wonderful people. We don’t have any other clients who attracted the kind of attention that Sterling did. He was incredibly popular.’ Her voice wobbles dangerously.
I keep talking, trying to pull her away from the sadness. ‘When you say “threats”, what do you mean?’
Her phone starts buzzing. She looks at the screen and pulls at her lips with her fingers before saying, ‘You’ll see yourself that some of the stuff is pretty hard to believe but nothing he got was unusual. Even the crazy things. He got far more than our other clients but those types of message are pretty typical of what all our clients receive. From behind a computer screen, anything goes.’
‘Were direct threats ever made on his life?’ I ask.
‘No. A few times people said they were watching him. Following him. Or people described how they’d make love to him. Every now and then there were threats of violence.’ She looks between us, seeking our understanding. ‘But that is honestly so normal that I wasn’t worried. We couldn’t possibility report every threat—we’d never get anything else done.’ Her eyes brim.
‘Well, no doubt we’ll be in touch with any questions as we work through it all. We may need access to some of your company bank accounts too. I assume that won’t be a problem?’ Fleet says, his tone making it clear that it will be a problem if she refuses.
‘Of course,’ replies Wendy, looking slightly bewildered.
‘Wendy,’ I say, ‘you’ve known Sterling since he was a kid and you seem to have a good relationship with the Wades. What are they like?’
She clasps her hands together and bows her head solemnly. ‘They are a lovely family. Just good decent country folk. April was a teacher for a while, but really she’s all about the kids and the farm. Matthew is a lovely man. It’s them I can’t stop thinking about. They will never get over this.’
‘What about their other children?’ asks Fleet.
Wendy hesitates. ‘I don’t know them nearly as well,’ she says slowly. ‘And it was probably quite hard for them having a brother who was so famous. So perfect.’ Her eyes glitter as she looks between the two of us. ‘He really was, you know. I used to think how bizarre it was that a child with such X factor was born in the middle of this little farming town in Australia. I used to joke that he was the chosen one.’
‘Sterling wasn’t close to his siblings,’ Fleet cuts in.
It’s not exactly a question, but Wendy answers it anyway. ‘I’m not sure if that’s exactly fair. I think it was just hard for them to relate to him. They are so different. Always were. Plus, he moved away at a fairly young age and spent nine months of every year living with another family. A family that, if I’m honest, was more suited to him. Amy and Steve Beauford were very supportive of Sterling—they really understood him. I know April and Matt did everything they could for all their children, but Sterling was cut from a different cloth and they found his passion for acting challenging. He would have made it all the way, you know. There’s no doubt in my mind.’ Wendy leans forward again. ‘Do you know that just last week he was offered a lead role in a US soap and a smaller role in a major Canadian film? He said he wanted some time to think things over before formally committing, but I told him he should accept both offers. Those roles would have been a huge step for him and really put him on the map.’
‘I’m surprised he even needed to think about it,’ I say. ‘It sounds like a dream come true.’
‘He had a real homebody streak,’ Wendy replies, brushing tears from her eyes. ‘He knew that if he left, it might be forever. He just wanted to be sure he was ready.’
‘Back to the Wades,’ says Fleet. ‘Did he ever speak to you about his siblings?’
‘Not really,’ she says. ‘I remember when his sister got married. He went home for a few days then. He felt a bit guilty sometimes—you know, with all the amazing things that came his way. And he was pretty good about keeping in touch with his parents. He spoke to them all the time and made sure they felt included in his life. They were proud of him, of course, even though it wasn’t their scene. I always tried to support them when they came to Melbourne, especially when Sterling was younger.’
‘And did Sterling stay close to the Beaufords?’ I ask.
‘They definitely stayed in touch,’ replies Wendy, confirming what Amy Beauford told me. ‘I know that Sterling continued to seek career advice from them, which made perfect sense. Creatively they have a lot in common.’
‘What about Lizzie Short?’ asks Fleet.
Wendy purses her lips as if deciding what to say. ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn,’ she says, ‘but I personally think Sterling had outgrown that relationship.’
‘What makes you say that?’ I ask.
Wendy blows out a breath and shrugs. ‘Sterling really carried Lizzie. I never understood it but he was incredibly good to her. He seemed to have a real soft spot for that girl. He took her under his wing and was her biggest cheerleader.’ She holds her hands up as if silencing us. ‘Now don’t get me wrong, she’s a sweetheart, but Sterling was on another level. It would have come to a natural end over the next year or so.’
Fleet raises his eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s strange. We’ve just been speaking with Lizzie and she told us that she and Sterling were engaged. Apparently he proposed last week and they were going to keep it quiet until after the shoot.’
I study Wendy’s surprised face.
‘The silly kid,’ she says finally.
‘So you wouldn’t have approved?’ I say.
She looks down at her hands, curled into a knot in her lap. ‘Honestly? No.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about proposing to Lizzie?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Wendy replies curtly. ‘Not a word.’
‘Weird he didn’t confide in you,’ Fleet comments.
She reels back a little. ‘I didn’t manage his personal life,’ she says pragmatically. ‘But engaged or not, I’m not sure it would have lasted. They were both caught up in their own romance sometimes. She’s an orphan, you know, and quite needy. She really clung on to Sterling. Their relationship became quite co-dependent. But I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.’ She lifts her shoulders in defeat. ‘Poor girl,’ she says as an afterthought.
‘Brodie Kent,’ I say.
Wendy straightens and looks warily at me. ‘What about him?’
‘What was he to Sterling?’ I press.
‘A leech,’ she says bluntly.
I don’t let my face show my surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’ She lowers her voice conspiratorially. ‘Look, that might be a bit harsh, but in this world you get people gravitating toward you for the wrong reasons. Brodie Kent was desperate to make something of himself, and he saw Sterling as a way to jump the queue.’
‘An opportunist?’ prompts Fleet, sniffing loudly.
‘Yes. That’s a good way to describe him. He’s not particularly talented but he has grand plans. I’m sure he thought he could get famous by association.’
‘He does claim to have been very close to Wade,’ I venture.
Wendy gives a dismissive laugh. ‘Him and everyone else. Honestly, the boy is delusional.’ She’s becoming more animated, the grief momentarily forgotten as her rant picks up. ‘I suspect he had feelings for Sterling. He was obsessed. But it was a one-way street.’ She
shakes her head. ‘I told Sterling that it was a bad idea, Brodie moving in with him and Lizzie. It wasn’t healthy. That boy was always giving him bizarre advice about roles he should take and brands he should partner with.’
‘It sounds like you don’t think Sterling had very good judgement when it came to relationships,’ I comment.
Wendy pushes her wild hair to one side as she considers this. ‘I’ve always been pretty protective of him, I admit.’ She looks sheepish. ‘He was very loyal, like I said. And kind. He wanted to help people. It helped him ease the guilt he felt about his success.’
‘So, he liked having a project—someone to help?’ I prompt.
‘Yes.’ Her phone lights up again, and she eyes it for a second. ‘That’s right. It was like he surrounded himself with people who needed him. He wasn’t often dazzled by celebrity. He was confident but very humble. Not arrogant at all.’
‘And what about Ava James?’ I ask. ‘We’ve heard the rumours. Was something going on there?’
‘I have no idea. But she would have been a wonderful match for him.’ Wendy gets a faraway look. ‘She’s an absolute star. Sterling would have learned a lot from her.’
‘I can’t imagine Lizzie being thrilled with that,’ says Fleet darkly.
‘Of course not, but their romance was purely puppy love.’ ‘They were engaged,’ I remind her.
Wendy shrugs. ‘Engagements end. I’m sure she pressured him into that.’
I find it interesting how dismissive Wendy is about Wade’s relationship with Lizzie. ‘Did Sterling ever speak about Ava to you?’
‘Yes. He loved working with her. This movie was a completely different level for him. Riley Cartwright is a lunatic but he’s a talented director. I went to a couple of the rehearsals last month—Ava and Sterling were magnetic.’
‘In what way is Cartwright a lunatic?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.
‘He’s up and down like a yo-yo, the way a lot of directors are. Probably on something, judging from the few times I’ve met him, but he gets the job done. Or seems to.’
‘Did he and Sterling get on?’
‘Mostly. Sterling mentioned being frustrated by his moodiness but put up with him well enough.’
‘We heard they had a bit of a falling out,’ I press. ‘An argument last weekend.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ says Wendy, looking confused.
‘So what will happen with the movie now?’ says Fleet, before she can ask us anything.
‘I have no idea. I just have to focus on getting through the funeral and supporting the Wades however I can. Everything else can wait.’ Her composure wobbles. ‘I’ve never had a client die before.’ She bites her lip and combs her fingers through her hair. ‘I just don’t want to believe it.’ Her phone is ringing again, and she glances at the screen and then looks back at us. ‘I really should speak to that person. Will we be much longer?’
‘We’re done,’ says Fleet. He gets to his feet, the movement exposing a surprisingly tan torso with thick dark hair.
I’m not quite done yet. ‘Wendy,’ I say, ‘did you ever get an inkling that Sterling was in danger?’
‘I worried about him all the time,’ she tells us, her grey eyes serious. ‘I loved that kid like he was my own.’ She swallows around a sob. ‘But never in my wildest nightmares did I think something like this would happen. I was more worried about him hitting the big time and leaving me.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘Even though it was probably inevitable.’
‘Had he ever mentioned he might do that?’ I ask kindly, recognising that in Sterling’s death, this woman has lost her own dreams.
‘He always said I’d be his agent forever—but I’m sure it crossed his mind. People would have been in his ear all the time. And it’s no secret that I’m not a young woman anymore.’ Her forehead creases as her face drops, the hopelessness palpable. ‘But he was so loyal. Probably too loyal.’ She takes a deep breath and wipes under her eyes, smudging her make-up. ‘The kid just always found the good in people. Even if it was invisible to everyone else.’
Friday, 17 August
2.27 pm
‘So, as well as playing a lead role in a major Hollywood film,’ says Fleet, ‘Wade was planning world domination while carrying on a secret relationship with his male housemate and a secret engagement with his girlfriend. Plus, he was gallantly confronting a sleazy director about coming on too strong with his secret starlet girlfriend in his spare time.’ Fleet whistles. ‘Obviously the guy was more organised than me.’
‘He did seem to be keeping himself quite busy,’ I agree, as I nose the unmarked squad car through a pack of frenetic reporters and direct it toward the St Kilda hotel where Wade’s family is staying. ‘Though we don’t know that Ava was anything more than a friend.’
I can feel Fleet roll his eyes. He must think there’s no way Wade wasn’t sleeping with the beautiful actress.
‘There’s quite a lot we don’t know,’ Fleet mutters. ‘Give me the nice and simple homeless man’s murder any day.’
I start to say something to challenge Fleet but decide against it. I don’t want to increase the tension between us.
Fleet insisted that I drive to the Wades’ hotel and is now looking moodily out the window while his personal phone vibrates in his lap with intermittent texts.
‘Going to get those?’ I ask stiffly.
He grunts in response.
We creep along St Kilda Road, the windscreen wipers working double speed to keep up with the heavy rain. The radio presenters are talking about the Jacoby investigation. They’re using the word ‘allegedly’ a lot and staying just on the right side of the law. The case sounds so glamorous when you listen to it from their point of view—all drama—which is in stark contrast to the piles of paperwork in the case room and Nan’s gloomy recount of the dead-end witness statements.
Unfortunately, despite the resources we’ve thrown at it, we’ve turned up little hard evidence. Meanwhile the media has delighted in confirming that Sasha, the key witness, is a walking cocktail of substances after years of chronic abuse. The situation hasn’t been helped by the revelation that the dead woman, Ginny Frost, attempted suicide at the beginning of the year. Despite the incredible science we can now apply to our cases, so much of it still comes down to who saw what; we desperately need another pair of eyes, ideally more credible ones, to back up what Sasha claims she saw that night.
The young blond man who Sasha says also witnessed Jacoby arguing with Ginny has never come forward. And Jacoby denies having been on the balcony at all that evening. ‘She was a very troubled young woman,’ he’s fond of saying, with a sad expression.
‘He said, she said,’ I mutter.
‘You losing it over there?’ grunts Fleet, typing furiously on his phone.
‘I was just thinking about the Jacoby case. How it’s really just his word against the escort’s.’
‘Isn’t it bloody always in these cases?’
‘I guess.’
’Well, I suppose it would help if the mysterious hot man that woman claims she saw hadn’t disappeared into thin air.’
Fleet is right. Despite being very drunk and not perceiving his facial features in the dark bedroom, Sasha provided a decent description of the young man—around twenty-five, fair-haired, athletic—but apparently none of the other guests can remember seeing him. Most of them are in their forties and fifties, and there’s conveniently no video surveillance on the penthouse level or the lifts. No one fitting the description Sasha provided has shown up on any of the footage secured from the entryway either. Much to Jacoby’s delight, the mystery man is increasingly looking like a figment of Sasha’s imagination.
I stab at the buttons on the dash, trying to turn up the heat. ‘God, it’s freezing.’
‘Get used to it,’ Fleet says ominously. ‘They reckon there’ll be snow on the mountains this weekend. It’s enough to make me miss my home town.’
‘You’re not from here?’ I say, su
rprised. I tend to assume that I’m the only outsider.
‘Nope,’ says Fleet, clearly not wanting to elaborate.
I turn my attention back to the road. ‘Okay, so where am I going?’
‘Some poncy joint off Fitzroy Street,’ Fleet says. ‘Left up ahead, after that white parked car.’
I steer us awkwardly into a narrow car park. Outside we pass another huddle of reporters, their eyes glued to their phones, and a few cameramen with their lenses trained on the hotel entrance.
‘I wonder what Sterling’s siblings will be like,’ I say.
Fleet shrugs, his fingers on his phone again.
Water runs theatrically down the glass wall behind the reception area, and a woman with a glossy ponytail and a blindingly white smile greets us. ‘Checking in?’ she inquires.
‘No,’ I say quickly as Fleet smirks. ‘We’re here to see the Wade family. We’re from the homicide squad.’ I show her my ID.
Her smile vanishes. ‘Oh, of course. Those poor people. Such a tragedy.’ She leans forward conspiratorially. ‘I just read online that he and his girlfriend got engaged last week too. It’s so sad.’
Fleet makes an exaggerated coughing sound.
‘Well, anyway, it’s just awful,’ the woman says, seeming to take the hint as she shifts to the other side of the desk and picks up a phone. ‘I’ll let them know you’re here.’
‘Engagement news spread quickly,’ Fleet comments to me under his breath.
‘I guess with no development on the case, the media will snap up everything they can.’
‘Like crocodiles,’ he agrees. ‘But I guess Lizzie told them?’
I think about this. ‘She must have. The media have been at her since the attack. Maybe she just decided to put it out in the open. And she probably wants people to know.’
He stretches his neck. ‘Sterling might have told someone else and they could have gone to the press?’
‘I wonder if the Wades know yet.’