Mark Gordon’s face re-appeared in my mind. The lips I’d kissed were drawn back in a ferocious snarl and the stench of madness permeated my nostrils. As soon as he’d pounced on me in his study, I realised he was my attacker of four nights ago. He felt the same. He had been unconscious when taken to hospital, but when he’d revived, raved and screamed his motives.
After a takeaway dinner which no one felt like eating, David had taken me out of earshot of the girls and told me what they had uncovered.
‘Mark Gordon is the illegitimate son of Kathleen Robinson by Bob Jellicott. Ferna and her first husband knew the family well and because she couldn’t have children, they adopted him. When he was fourteen, kids in the family about the same age teased him about who he really was. Guess the little shits must have been eavesdropping on adults somewhere along the line. It must have been a terrible shock for him. From then on, he set himself to become a force to be reckoned with. And I guess he hated his dead father with a vengeance, because as far as we can make out, he transferred his feelings to Jack Harlow, who had a penchant for young women and teenage girls. Apparently, Jack sexually assaulted Daniella when she was a teen and Mark found out she was-is- his half-sister. Kathleen married and her husband was killed in an accident when Daniella was two. She never married again.’
The memory of the fleeting, haunted expression in her eyes when I first met Daniella, came to mind. David continued. ‘So Mark felt justified in shooting Jack, thereby keeping the family secret as well as revenge for his sister. I don’t think Daniella knew that Mark was her half-brother. She will now.’
Oh dear, such heart-ache for everyone concerned. If Mark hadn’t overheard Edna talking to me the day I visited her in hospital, she might well be alive.
‘Would you like a hot drink?’
‘No thanks, David. Just tell me rest.’
‘He reached the top echelons of the corporate world relatively young, thirty-five, but then he met a priest, who impressed him,’ says David. ‘But whether he went through an epiphany, or saw a faster path to power, is not clear. He couldn’t go any further career-wise in the corporate sector, so maybe he thought he needed a change. I suspect the cricketing twins may have been the ones who told him about Bob raping his mother and aunts, but we’ll probably never know. Brisbane CIB tried to get some sense out of Lily, but the old girl was sick and rambling when they tried to talk to her.’ David took a sip of my water. ‘Funny, her doctor said they suspected she’d ingested a small amount of rat poison, but they’re puzzled as to how she came by it.’
For some reason the memory of Lily sipping from the bottle of Scotch in her car comes to mind. Someone left that on the floor under the dashboard, knowing she couldn’t resist it. Mark? I tell David about our session with Lily outside the church.
‘Have you still got the bottle?’ he asks, eagerly.
‘Unfortunately, no. Briony threw it in the rubbish bin.’
‘Never mind. I’m told she’ll recover. And we’ve got him on the murders. We’ll be interviewing Gordon’s former employers and of course, his current colleagues. Apparently, he was expecting to be given a Bishopric, but of course, if the circumstances of the murder of Jellicott came out ... the church is very traditional. The resultant publicity would have hurt him and there’s not much doubt that his promotion would have been discreetly withdrawn.’
David shakes his head, smiling coldly. ‘The Historical Society hiring Briony Feldman tipped him over the edge. In my opinion he’s insane, and I doubt he’ll stand trial. We’ll need to talk to Daniella at some stage, but don’t worry, we’ll go gently.’
‘Did he ever marry?’
‘No, he batted for both sides, but I’m sure his boyfriend, if he has one, will melt into the woodwork. Gloria, his so-called secretary, told us everything. He terrified her, but she is addicted to him. He had a contact at the hospital, which of course was how he heard that John Glenwood had come out of his coma, hence the toxic card.’
His face settles into grim lines. ‘We’re questioning Sir Arthur about Jellicott’s murder, though I doubt we’ll be able to get enough evidence, despite Edna’s diaries. We’ll speak to the sisters, including Kathleen, though I doubt they’ll confirm what happened. Alice Tomlinson is still alive, but their generation understands how to keep a secret.’’
He took a deep breath, and squeezed my hand. ‘The circumstances of Mark Gordon’s birth were not his fault. Many people get hard starts in life, but they don’t murder people on the strength of it.’ He turned to face me. ‘What are you going to do, Susan? You are going back to work when your leave’s up?’
‘I don’t know what to do. I love being a police officer. I’ve enjoyed my career and worked hard for it, but David,’ I looked at him, willing him to understand,’ I can’t forgive myself for letting Danny Grey down.’ Tears welled in my eyes.
He remained silent for awhile, then reached over, gently pushed a lock of hair away from my face and stroked my cheek. ‘You let Danny Grey go into that warehouse, didn’t you? In fact, you told him to?’
‘Er, no. But I should have stopped him.’
‘How? The inquiry found that you expressly ordered him not to go to the warehouse and he disobeyed you. People heard what you said to him. So how is it your fault? What more could you have done? You were too far away to stop him and didn’t even know he’d gone in until he called.’
‘I should have realised that he would go,’ I cried.’ I knew he was a hot-headed kid. If we’d have taken him with us that night, he wouldn’t have gone after Crimmons on his own and he would still be alive.’
‘Susan, listen to me. You issued an order and it was deliberately disobeyed. Grey knew he should not have gone in without backup. You have to move on or this will destroy you.’
I nodded. There were other considerations as well. ‘I do need to spend more time with the girls, even though they’re seventeen and finished school. Harry was right. I put too much time and effort into my career, to their detriment,’ I said slowly, trying not to cause my mouth any more angst. ‘But I don’t want to go private or become a security consultant.’
Here come the tears. I grope under the pillow for a wad of tissues and proceed to blow my nose in the robust style for which I am famous throughout the CIB.
‘You could transfer down to my team,’ David says, with a beguiling smile. ‘We worked well all those years ago and we could again. I have a slot on my team for a Senior Sergeant. Pete’s transferring to Toowoomba. His wife has a teaching job up there.’
‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’ Senior Sergeant sleeping with the DI?
‘I’ve got my own team back in Brisbane and I don’t want to leave them.’
‘You’ve still got four months leave, so there’s plenty of time to think about it. You need to get some rest and have some fun.’ That sounds good to me.
‘I’ve made new friends down here. Briony, Daniella and maybe even Penelope, if she will forgive me for harassing her at the wake. I want to see those incredible, up-market sheep, which David described in awed tones. I’d like to meet Senior Constable John Glenwood too, poor man.
David clicks his fingers. ‘Oh yes, Lady Ferna gave Sir Arthur’s cat to Daniella with strict instructions to ‘get rid of her.’ Daniella said she can’t keep it, but she wondered if perhaps you ...’
‘What am I? A repository for unwanted cats?’
‘I suppose because of him,’ replies David, jerking his head in the direction of Fat Albert, who is eavesdropping from a vantage point on the dressing table.
‘I’ll think about it.’ An image of the huge, badtempered Genevieve slides into my mind. Perfect; a soul mate for Brit.
‘And then there’s us.’
I look at him doubtfully. Much as I want him, I need to make certain of his situation. ‘What about Donna? And Leanne? And whoever else you’ve got hovering around you?’
He actually blushes. ‘I promise you, Donna is history. Believe me Susan, I broke that relat
ionship off before I came back down here. All that nonsense,’ he looks even more sheepish, ‘was desperation on her part. And in the morning I’ll phone Leanne and end things with her. She won’t be too upset. We only met two weeks ago.’ He turned to face me. ‘I’m so sorry I was such an idiot all those years ago. I didn’t give us a chance, because I didn’t want to understand what you were going through after you had the babies. But we’ve got everything going for us now and I want you for a lot more than just sex.’
I can’t think straight. The thought of us starting a serious relationship again takes my breath away, but the sex will do very well to begin with. Marriage is definitely not an option at this stage. ‘We could date and see if we have much in common anymore.’ Harry’s defection has left me with an alarming lack of confidence.
‘We have two daughters together, that’s an excellent start,’ reasons David. But how does he envisage our geographical logistics?
I try him out. ‘I love this area and this house. And in spite of all the trouble, I’ve become attached to it. And what about the girls? How will they accept our, er, dating?’
He’s full of confidence. ‘I think after today, they’ll be far more receptive to the idea,’ Hm. He’s got quite a shock coming if he thinks Brittany has had a miracle sweetness cure overnight.
My subconscious has been harbouring a decision since my sister-in-law’s phone call. ‘Eloise and James want to be in the UK near their daughter, Ally. Their first grandchild is on the way, so they’re offering me first option buying this house and I’d like to accept.’
‘Want to go halves?’
What I see in his eyes sends heat storming through my body, consigning my aches and pains to oblivion.
‘And we have unfinished business,’ he adds, dropping gentle kisses on my shoulder, up my neck and across to my face...
THE END
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Aussie words in order of appearance in the novel.
Mob – crowd
Wanker – idiot, fool.
Underdaks – underpants
Copper – police officer
Yabby – freshwater crayfish found in Australian creeks and dams.
“Had all their marbles” – mentally competent.
Fit the bill – measured up, were right.
Twigs – understands
Cicada – locust.
Don’t give a monkeys – don’t scare
Chateau Cardboard – wine in a box, a delightful Australian invention.
Big wigs – the higher ups.
DISCLAIMER
Emsberg is a typical Australian town, no doubt inspired to a certain extent by the lovely valley in which I actually live. Those who wish to tar and feather me, please use only the very best of plumage, preferably those of a frizzle hen. The characters in this novel are products of my fevered imagination. If you think you recognise yourself in there, you would be well advised to keep it secret.
Sample chapter of
Diana Hockley’s next
Susan Prescott Novel,
After Ariel
AFTER ARIEL
CHAPTER 1
The Pickup.
Friday 5pm.
He shouldn’t have squeezed the baby. He had known that for twenty years, a six year old’s recollection. His mother’s voice returned, like a fragment from a radio play–‘You must always be gentle, my darling heart.’– words imprinted on his mind to surface when he least expected, bearing no relationship to any of the tangled events which coursed through his REM sleep.
He jerked into wakefulness, momentarily disoriented until he got his bearings. The movement of the train reminded him of his destination and his reason for going before his sleep-befuddled mind cleared. He winced, as piercing ring tones flared from the seat opposite. His brow crinkled in annoyance, but when the mobile phone was answered, he forgave the intrusion.
The clear bell-like sound of her voice took him back to the Australian bush where he had spent his childhood. He closed his eyes and allowed her words to wash over him, before his attention focused on her face. She was small, dainty and dark-haired, with the Bailey’s Irish Cream liquor complexion and velvety skin enjoyed by many English girls which he always longed to touch, but didn’t dare. He wasn’t too charmed by the ring in her nose, but the multi-coloured jewellery shimmering in her ears fascinated. He wanted to skim his fingertips over the mirrored shards, to glide across her milky skin.
‘I’m on the train ... yes, on my way home ... no, I’m having a night in on my own, because mam and dad want me to be there to look after the house and answer the phone, but thanks lots. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you–’
The elderly woman sitting next to him by the window gave what sounded like a hiss of disapproval and muttered to herself, drowning out some of the girl’s the words, but he’d caught the most important part. She would be home alone. He glanced at his fellow travellers, each pretending not to have overheard the girl’s conversation, though her clear enunciation made a mockery of their pretensions.
She snapped off her mobile and thrust the plug of her iPod past the dangling trinkets into her ear, where it spouted incongruously, like black fishing line and pulled a somewhat lurid paperack out of her tote bag. Then she stuck her little pink tongue out and moistened the tip of a forefinger, with which she flicked the pages until she found her place in the novel. He watched through half-closed eyes as she became engrossed in the story, her foot tapping in time to a rhythm which danced in her head. The facing seats were so close that her knee occasionally brushed his.
I wonder if she’d like to go to the movies tonight ... but would she want to meet me?
Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? He flushed and risked a glance at the travellers sitting in the collection of four seats. No one appeared to have reacted. The long-legged, blond woman in the window seat diagonally opposite was trying to avoid contact with the bulging shopping bag invading her personal space as it spilled off the lap of the old woman sitting beside him. The geriatric’s elbow bumped his ribs as she wriggled, trying to get comfortable. He edged toward the aisle, trying not to obviously avoid her plump arm and generous hip.
The eyes of the blond met his, commiseration in her twinkling gaze. Confused, he stared blankly at her for a moment before responding but he was too late. She had returned to the book in her lap, a music score. “Mozart” was typed in big letters on the top of the page, but he couldn’t read the title of the piece. There was something familiar about her face.
Before he could recall where he might have seen her, his attention snapped back to the dark-haired girl who had taken her iPod out of her ear and was speaking on her mobile again.
‘Hi, it’s me, Ariel. Doing anything tonight?’ Her face scrunched as she listened. ‘Oh, well it’s like, I can’t go out. Have to be home on my own ... yeah, it sucks.’ She listened for a moment or two more, then trilled, ‘Okay, by-ee.’
As she snapped her mobile shut, their eyes met. A thrill shot through him. Heat spread throughout his body, sending pulses of fear and longing flooding along his limbs, chasing prickles of perspiration out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He clenched and unclenched his huge hands, overcome with shyness, averted his gaze and shifted in his seat, unable to decide if she intended to send him a message.
Did she want him to say something? To introduce himself? Sometimes he wasn’t sure if girls liked him or not. ‘Don’t be so ready to assume, love. Not everyone wants to play.’ The stricture floated into his mind and was angrily dismissed. Get away from me, mum.
He stole a look at the blond woman who appeared to have abandoned her study and was watching the houses and factories pass as their train crawled through the outer suburbs of Cardiff. Automatically, he began to count the houses as they flashed past. No, stop. You know what the doctor said.
He forced his mind back to the woman. Was she a musician? He liked classical music. The final performance in the Australian flautist, Pamela Miller’s tour was on in the
concert hall the following night. Would the blond woman be attending as well? As though picking up his thought processes, she looked straight at him. They assessed each other for a moment, after which she blinked slowly, a feminine acknowledgement of his attention. Embarrassed by being caught staring, he glanced down at his hands. When he got the courage to peep at her again, she had laid her head against the padded backrest and closed her eyes.
He realised he was holding his breath, exhaled slowly and allowed his gaze to wander nonchalantly back to Ariel. She was watching him again! ‘Don’t get excited, love. You’re too impetuous!’ Shut up, mum.
He became aware that the train was pulling into Cardiff Central. Ariel stood and stretched to the luggage rack, but the rack was too high for her to reach the faded denim zip bag crushed into the meagre space. He leaped to his feet, stumbling over those of the blond. The older woman hastily swung her knees to the side to avoid clashing with his long legs as he stepped across and dragged the bag off the parcel shelf.
Ariel’s hazel eyes, framed by long lashes met his. ‘Thanks. It’s like, too high for me,’ she said, grinning appreciation of his help. He heaved the heavy bag onto the seat and nodded.
‘I’ll help you get it out’ His voice came out in a squeak.
‘Thanks millions.’ She threw him a laughing glance as she stuffed her iPod and the paperback into her tote bag, picked it up and prepared to race ahead toward the doors of the carriage. The train slid to a stop. People on the platform peered in the windows, hunting for friends and rellies. He picked up the zip bag, hastily gathered his backpack and turned to follow Ariel down the aisle.
The blond had pulled her case down from the rack and waited patiently for him to move off. Startled by her extreme height, he hesitated, about to step aside, but she gestured for him to proceed. Behind her, the old girl scowled and pushed forward with her shopping bag. Ariel, a good way along the carriage, turned to see where he was. He hefted her bag above the seats and surged forward.
The Celibate Mouse Page 30