The Celibate Mouse

by Hockley, Diana

  He peered crankily into his almost empty coffee mug. It was too much trouble to get up, re-heat the electric jug and make a fresh cup. His mind went back to Edna. How long, he wondered, had the killer stood there, watching and waiting for an opportunity to get the poor old thing? When his chance came, it wouldn’t have taken long. Say, two minutes at most to suffocate her, a minute to check he’d left no trace and get out of there. The monitor must have been turned off before the killing. To do all that without being seen? An idea fluttered at the edge of his consciousness ...

  He shook his head, unable to retain the thread. Frustrated, he got up to make yet another mug of coffee and root through the caddy, disappointed to find all the chocolate biscuits gone. Thinking dark thoughts of his colleagues, he selected a shortbread and carried his coffee to the end of the corridor. A police cruiser and four nondescript sedans were the sum total of vehicles in sight. The station OIC’s goats grazed in the paddock behind the car park, stopping occasionally to rear up and grab leaves off the lower branches of the wild apple trees. An idyllic scene which had nothing to do with hatred, greed, jealousy or secrets.

  He finished his drink and went inside to stare at Edna’s gentle, sheep-like face on the whiteboard, side by side with the long, horsey face of sly Jack Harlow, who had left a large superannuation and generous life insurance policy, which was inherited by a noisy wife, ten dogs and some sheep. The insurance company would no doubt be praying that Penelope would prove to be the murderer so they didn’t need to pay out. Beside that stood the diagram of the trajectory of the bullet and photos of the outlines of Jack and Edna’s bodies–though the old woman’s was safely tucked into a bed at the time of her death. The diagram of her room showed there was no way her killer could have hidden until the doctor and nurse left on their Code Blue emergency.

  Heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of three detective constables, who gave verbal reports then clustered around the coffee maker, mourning the paucity of biscuits. After they left to follow up more interviews, Maguire re-read a copy of Edna’s will.

  She left a more than comfortable bank account, a cottage on forty acres, antique furniture and some valuable rings. Worth doing her over for? ‘People have been done over for less,’ he reminded himself. She had left her property to Libby and divided her cash and investments between the RSPCA and her son. ‘Can’t see one of them knocking Edna off,’ Maguire muttered, ‘but we’ll check the grand-daughter.’ Daughter-in-law, Beatrice Eams. Hm.

  He’d heard that Libby had screamed the hospital down when she’d heard about her grandmother’s murder. Fake? Unlikely, but possibly in partnership with someone? She was engaged to Dr Jason Hardgreaves but fortunately for him, the doctor’s alibi had been provided by two nurses and a patient. They’d also established that the two victims, although related, hated each other’s guts. Their only point in common seemed to be their membership of the same family, and Edna had strongly disapproved of Jack’s extra-marital activities.

  ‘There has to be a good reason why the old girl was killed, but what in God’s name could she have done?’ he muttered. The only person, other than hospital staff, to have spoken to Edna on the day she died was Susan. A giant hand had squeezed his heart when he saw her standing at the top of the steps to the farm house. The past thirteen years had been kind. Her glossy hair smelt of flowers. Her skin, always fine and clear, looked as smooth as silk. He had wanted to reach out and run his hand across her cheek.

  ‘Jesus, don’t go there ...’ He shifted uncomfortably as he felt the beginning of a boner. Having just broken off a recent relationship, he had fled to the southeast to escape recriminations. The last thing he needed was more complication in his private life.

  The phone beside him rang, startling him out of his reverie. He was soon brought down to earth by a lengthy discussion with CIB headquarters, during which Adam Winslow came into the room.

  Maguire observed the young constable from the corner of his eye as he finished his conversation. Young and ambitious, it could have been himself standing there, jittering while a senior officer set him straight. Unbidden, a former Superintendent’s voice flashed its unwelcome way into his mind. ‘Maguire, you’re too quick to judge. You don’t listen to what people, Susan included, are trying to tell you. And one day that’ll be your downfall.’

  Not long after he’d left his marriage and four years later, lost his children. ‘Damn. Why is it all of a sudden I can’t function without thoughts of Susan?’ The realisation that maybe he had never stopped loving her, was unpalatable.

  After Adam had explained that the senior constable appeared to be AWOL, Maguire followed the constable to the front office to make soothing noises to Glenwood’s wife, but was saved by the Sergeant George Harris’s arrival. After expressing his concern, Maguire left them to it and trudged back to the computer, only to be recalled because his daughter had arrived at the front desk.

  ‘I know you said you’d call, but I couldn’t wait to talk to you. Am I interrupting your work?’

  Maguire pulled a chair forward and gestured for her to sit. ‘Nothing that can’t wait. Coffee?’

  ‘I’d love some, white, no sugar,’ she replied shyly. He made two cups, set them on the desk and sat down. He felt nervous, unable to think what to say to this child he had not known since she was a toddler. They stared at each other, and then Marli took the initiative. ‘Will you be here in town long?’

  ‘I don’t know. It depends on the cases we’re working. Of course, that makes no difference to you and me. Now I know how to contact you, we can get together. And I’m living in Ipswich now.’

  She smiled and relaxed. He listened to her chattering, between sips of her coffee about her life, sister, pets and friends. His heart twisted with regret because he’d not been around to share all those things. Damn you Susan, and damn me for not forcing the issue years ago.

  Harris bustled into the room. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Dave, but can I have a word?’ His look said, ‘Outside.’

  Maguire stood up. Harris nodded to Marli and backed out into the passageway. Her father placed a re-assuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I won’t be a moment. Wait here, okay?’

  ‘We’ve had a message that John Glenwood’s car was found down the side of an embankment on the road to town. The ambulance is on its way and I’m going have to go and tell his wife.’

  ‘How badly hurt is he?’

  ‘Not good. It appears he was there all night. Significant head injuries.’ They shared a few words, and Harris accompanied by an officer, face tight with worry, hurried out to the car park. Moments later, the cruiser left.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Marli asked, when they were alone again.

  Maguire, knowing the word would be out in no time, filled her in on the details ‘We’ll have to wait and see how he is. Did you know him?’

  ‘No. We’ve only been here since Saturday afternoon, remember.’ Maguire could see her hands trembling.

  ‘A lot’s happened since then, Marli. I’ll need to talk to your Mum again. Is she home today?’

  ‘She was, but she phoned me and said Mrs Winslow asked her to come with her to old Mrs Robinson’s cottage. I’m going shopping with Carissa after this.’

  ‘Constable Winslow’s mother?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marli replied, puzzled.

  ‘Why would Mrs Winslow take your mother over there?’ he mused, chewing his lip. Susan getting together with the Winslows could be very useful, if only she would co-operate.

  ‘Apparently she wanted mum to keep her company while she packed up Mrs Robinson’s stuff. None of the family wanted to go over and mum thinks Mrs Winslow was scared to go by herself.’ She rolled her eyes.

  Would Daniella Winslow want Susan to attend Edna Robinson’s funeral? The wake would be at Sir Arthur and Lady Ferna’s property. Sir Arthur was still in hospital, but Maguire would bet his pay cheque on the old knight hosting the party. From what he remembered of his ex-wife, she’d had a strong sense of what was right
and felt confident she would regard it as her duty to attend the funeral. He realised his mind was wandering, when Marli tugged his sleeve. ‘So you will phone me won’t you?’

  He looked down at her, surprised by a great rush of tenderness for his child. ‘Of course I will. In fact, if I can manage it, I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night. Where would you like to go?’

  Her face suffused with pink and her eyes sparkled. ‘That’ll be fabulous! Have you heard of the Dale Restaurant?’ she asked, naming a trendy place up the road which he’d heard was the latest excitement in town.

  ‘Okay, Dale it is. I’ll have to confirm it with you, though. Anything could crop up.’

  She looked resigned. ‘Yeah, like, same old same old. I’m used to it with mum. It was nearly always da–Harry or sometimes his secretary, grumpy old Mary who filled in when she had to stay at work and there was something on at school.’

  His heart ached with guilt. He knew he could have changed the situation at any time over the years if he’d really tried. He put his arm around Marli’s shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t shake him off and walked her back to the main office where they paused, riveted by a tirade from Adam Winslow. His colleague was listening, open-mouthed.

  ‘ ... old bastard Jack. I just know he said or did something to Carissa at Caroline’s wedding a couple of years ago. She won’t say what or I’d have done him over by now. I hated the bastard.’ He pulled up short, flushing when he saw his audience. Maguire dropped his arm away from Marli and walked over to lean close to him. ‘I’d be very careful of what you say, son. I’ll see Marli to her car and then we’ll have a talk.’

  He ushered his anxious daughter out to her mother’s car, saw that she was strapped into her seat belt and promised to confirm dinner. From her expression as she drove away, he knew she was hopeful, but bracing herself for a disappointment.

  The angry expression hadn’t left Winslow’s face when he walked back into the office. Jerking his head in the direction of the Incident Room, Maguire stalked off followed by Winslow.

  ‘Now, what else do you know about Jack Harlow, Adam? And for fuck’s sake, this time tell me everything!’ snarled Maguire.

  ‘There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but ...’ Adam went on to describe a possible incident involving Harlow at a family wedding previously, emphasising that he hadn’t been able to get his sister to confirm Jack had actually made a pass at her.

  ‘And she didn’t tell anyone else that you know of?’

  ‘No, I didn’t see her talking to anyone after that. It was more of an impression I got because she was shying away from Jack. He was drunk, but not out of control I would have thought. It was more that Carissa was in tears at one stage and she didn’t go near Jack again that night.’ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes as he searched his recollection of events, past and present. ‘In fact I don’t think she ever went near him again. We didn’t see much of him, except at family events.’

  ‘How often do the Robinson’s have gatherings of the clan?’ Maguire asked quietly. Weddings could have been a fertile hunting ground for Jack; lots of tipsy women.

  ‘We had one recently for Lady Ferna and Arthur’s anniversary.’

  ‘And did anything out of the ordinary happen at the anniversary party?’

  Adam frowned. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Then his face lit up. ‘Hang on! There was something different. There was a private meeting between the oldies which might have ended in a row. Now I come to think of it, Aunt Edna and Jack left early.’

  Maguire was all ears. ‘What? Jack and Edna? Together?’ The first possible connection between them. ‘Did anyone else see them?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. It was all over and they were gone before most realised the meeting had even taken place. Aunty Edna didn’t actually leave with Jack, because they don’t like–didn’t like each other. I was nearby when they came out of Arthur’s office. There was Ferna, Arthur, Edna, Connie and Kathleen and of course, John. I think the meeting might have had something to do with Arthur’s autobiography and the Order of Australia.’

  David could cheerfully have wrung Adam Winslow’s neck. The whole bloody coven was there, and this young idiot hadn’t thought to mention it? ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before? You knew we needed to know everything about Jack and Edna. Did your mother and sister know about this meeting?’

  Winslow straightened, flushing. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I really did forget to mention it. They knew, but they weren’t included, only the older family members. And they didn’t say anything about hearing the row.’

  ‘Right. Go and write a report for me and for Christ’s sake, put everything in it. Who said what to whom, who was doing who under the rhododendrons. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’ He scuttled back to the front office.

  ‘Now we’ll have to start questioning the Robinson tribe all over again.’

  Maguire cursed, contemplating the bearding of Lady Ferna in her den for a second time. ‘Perhaps I can get her in to the station and scare the bejesus out of her,’ he muttered, with grim relish.

  He’d been working on paperwork for over an hour, when his mobile rang.

  ‘Maguire.’

  ‘Dave, it’s George Harris. Listen, John Glenwood was attacked with what they think was an iron bar, possibly a tyre lever.’

  ‘What? I thought he had a car accident!’ His gut metamorphosed into a cold, hard ball.

  ‘Yes, he did, but the doctors think he was attacked after the crash. That someone tried to kill him.’

  ‘Tried?’

  ‘Yes. He’s in a coma, and not expected to live.’

  CHAPTER 16

  The Best Laid Plans of...

  The Killer

  Tuesday: midday.

  The murderer enjoyed porridge with honey and cream, two soft-boiled eggs and hot toast with English marmalade for a late breakfast. He’d slept well; with the exception of sex, nothing ever disturbed his repose. Jack Harlow deserved to die. His hatred of the man almost overcame him, but he managed to force it down. On the other hand, he hadn’t given Edna a thought from the moment she’d ceased kicking.

  John Glenwood’s death had been so easy to carry out. He had stowed his mountain bike in the bush a good kilometre from the fatal bend, hiked in and set himself into position behind the boulder with the equipment. All he needed to do when the Landrover hove into view, was point and press the switch. He had blinded John Glenwood with the device as he drove into the bend and watched avidly as the senior constable’s vehicle swerved and then rolled down the hill. He’d scrambled down the embankment and shone a torch straight into Glenwood’s eyes, before whacking the man over the head with the tyre-lever.

  Twice.

  Bone had crunched under the impact.

  He leaned back in his chair, sipping a large mug of cappuccino, as he listened to the news on the radio. The announcer’s voice washed over him. A disgraced politician was going to retire in order to spend more time with his family, the director of a well known bank had been booted out, taking millions of customers money in “bonuses” and a country policeman had been seriously injured when his 4WD ran off the road on the way to Ipswich.

  Injured?

  Pin-points of ice swarmed over his skin, penetrating folds and orifices like an army of ants. His handle trembled, as he leaned over to turn up the volume of the radio. The voice went on and on, the words ricocheting around him like bullets. ‘Senior Constable John Glenwood is in a coma ... deliberate attack with a blunt instrument ... ’

  Glenwood was alive.

  Fear rippled through him. What if the man awakened and remembered what he had seen? No, the torch had taken care of that. But what if he remembered who he was going to meet? But Glenwood hadn’t suspected him. Even if John did remember, there was nothing to connect him with the shooting. All he needed to do was to be as shocked as everyone else by the attack.

  The murderer stood up, carried his plates and coffee cup to the sink and placed them carefu
lly in the bottom, turned on the cold tap to rinse, then methodically wiped his fingers on a handtowel.

  ‘Keep calm,’ he told himself, ‘John Glenwood will die, no doubt about it. But first things first.’

  Comforted, he moved to the window and stood for a long time, gazing out over the garden, an aura of calm wrapping around him like the arms of a lover.

  ‘Now for the Prescott woman. My alibi’s ready and everything’s set for tomorrow night.’

  CHAPTER 17

  A Moment of Inattention

  Susan

  Wednesday: evening.

  Fat Albert watches me cynically from his look-out post on the top of a bookcase. I was concerned he would fret for Edna and that strange dogs might frighten him, but Albert is made of sterner stuff. Having established his superiority in the household with one swipe of his paw across the nose of the leader of the pack, he slept on my head last night. We came to an amicable arrangement the first night he arrived; ninety-five percent of the bed belongs to Albert.

  Marli spent the day trying on all the combinations of clothes she possesses and sending images of herself to her girlfriends on her mobile so they can give her the thumbs up and or down on her appearance for dinner with her father. Facebook chatter, emailing, washing her hair, doing her nails, playing with her rats and pup has been interspersed with worry that David might not be able to make their date. Finally, he rang late this afternoon to confirm their outing, so she was beside herself with excitement.

  I was exhausted, though I had been sitting down most of the day with Edna’s photos. I tried to phone Brittany but her mobile was switched off. She probably wouldn’t have spoken to me anyway, but I had to try. I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes as Marli appears, looking gorgeous.

  ‘Love the black skirt and funky top, darling. Where did you get that outfit?’

  ‘The shop at the far end of High Street,’ she replies.