Evil Under the Stars

by C. A. Larmer

  Jackson looked around for a box of tissues, but the woman was reaching for a toilet roll at the edge of the sofa and breaking off a few squares. She blew her nose discreetly and then looked up at them apologetically.

  “Sorry about that. Doc says I’m just hormonal.”

  Indira nodded knowingly, and then Jackson cleared his throat.

  “Are you okay to answer some questions, Ms Olden? About the other night?”

  She wiped her nose again. “Yep, let’s get it over with, hey?” Then, “I did tell you lot everything a few times now. I don’t know what else I can say.”

  Jackson said, “That’s my fault, sorry. I wasn’t in on the initial interviews, so I just want to hear it all myself. DI Singh is kindly humouring me.”

  Maz gave an acquiescent nod, so he forged on.

  “From what I hear, you were the person sitting closest to the victim. Your rug was just to the left of Mrs Mumford’s, is that correct?”

  Maz’s eyes darted back to Indira. “But… but I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t!”

  “No, no. Detective Jackson just wants to get a clear picture of where everyone was sitting, the lay of the land, so to speak,” she replied, thinking, Honestly, Jacko. Bulldozer, china shop!

  “Besides,” Jackson added, “we’re almost certain Ms Mumford was killed by a man. The strangulation marks are very clear. Large hands, brutal force.”

  Maz’s eyes were like saucers, and Indira turned to Jackson, giving him an “Are you kidding me?” glare.

  Jackson held a palm out again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.” He glanced at the bump under her dress. “I’m just trying to get things straight.”

  Maz nodded slowly. “Okay, sure, yeah, I was there. Well, only half the time. The other half I was in the loos throwing up.”

  “Bad morning sickness?” he asked, and now it was her turn to glare.

  “Well, it wasn’t all the water I was drinking, that’s for sure.” She shared a subtle eye roll with Indira before adding, “And it certainly wasn’t from grog. I reckon I was about the only sober person in the park.”

  “The victim, she was very drunk, is that right?”

  “Hell yeah. Him too, the husband, but not as bad.”

  “Did you notice the two have an argument during the intermission?” Indira asked, and Maz shook her head.

  “And did you see Mrs Mumford return to her blanket alone in the second half?”

  “Yeah, I told that other officer this. I was lying down, feeling pretty sick at that stage, and I remember her coming back on her own. I remember thinking, poor thing, she’s been ditched, but then she kinda just scowled at me, like I’m white trash, you know? So I thought, good on him. I’d ditch her sorry arse too. Silly cow.”

  Then she blushed, realising how mean her words must have sounded and looked down at her hands which were now wrapped around her stomach.

  “Did you see where the husband went?” Jackson asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you see the husband return to his blanket at any stage during that second half? Before the end, that is, before he found her?”

  “No.”

  “Did you notice anybody else approach Ms Mumford? Anyone at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about the two men who were seated on the other side of her blanket, the side closest to the bar?”

  She thought about that. “Dunno. I mean, they could’ve, I suppose. I kinda wasn’t watching by that stage.”

  “Yes, I hear it’s a great film,” said Indira, trying to keep things light, but Maz just shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t know. Wasn’t feeling crash hot, so spent most of it moaning to myself.”

  “So why did you stay?” asked Jackson. “Why not go home with your partner?”

  “Partner?” She almost giggled at the idea. “What partner?”

  He couldn’t help his involuntary glance at her bump, and she blushed suddenly.

  “Oh! No, he’s… We’ve…” Her blush deepened. “We’re not together. I’m on my own.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Indira, also not able to wrench her eyes from the woman’s pregnant belly and the new life that was forming in there.

  Maz’s eyes took on a defiant glow. “It’s fine. We don’t need him anyway.” She rubbed her stomach gently. “We’ve got this under control, haven’t we, bub?”

  “Do you have a solid support network?” Indira asked.

  Maz looked at her as if confused for a moment and then said, “Mum’s coming in a few weeks, if that’s what you mean, and I’ve got the girls from work.”

  “You’re still working?”

  “Just a few shifts at Bob’s Backyards & BBQs, you know, the new place that’s opened up in Birchgrove?”

  “Oh yes!” said Indira. “I love that place. You guys have stunning outdoor furniture. I almost bought a wicker lounge set there just the other day.”

  “The four-piece setting? With the striped scatter cushions?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Jackson coughed discreetly. This was all very lovely, but he wanted to get back to the case at hand. The women looked at him as though he were an annoying intrusion.

  “Sorry,” he said, “but something’s not quite adding up. If you weren’t there with your partner, Ms Olden, who was the man you were sitting with during the movie?”

  Jackson was sure the book club had mentioned a pregnant woman and her companion.

  Maz looked at him blankly for a moment, and then the penny dropped.

  “Oh him.” Her face softened. “He was on his own as well. Real sweetie. Helped me get up a few times, offered to fetch me water, that kind of thing.” She smiled wistfully. “Pity I can’t find a good man like that. Pity I always attract the scumbags.”

  “Pity you didn’t get his number,” Indira quipped, causing the younger woman to giggle, but Jackson didn’t find any of that amusing.

  He had assumed, foolishly as it turns out, that the pregnant woman had previously been questioned with her partner. Now, suddenly, they had another missing suspect?

  “Did you catch that man’s details, Indira? Did any of the first responders?”

  She looked doubtful.

  “I think he left early,” said Maz. “Before the film finished. Don’t reckon he was digging it much.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, he just seemed so distracted, yeah? Kept asking if I wanted anything at the snack bar, got up a few times for a smoke. I wasn’t real surprised when he said he was taking off.”

  Indira looked more focused now and was pulling out a notepad.

  “Can you give us a description of the man please, Ms Olden?”

  She looked a bit startled. “Okay, yeah, I think. I mean it was kinda dark. But, um…” She gave it some thought. “He was big, greyish hair, peppery-black moustache.”

  “He was older?” Indira asked, and she nodded.

  “Yeah, maybe mid to late sixties? Wearing blue, I think. Maybe like a blue shirt and jeans or something.”

  As Indira scribbled away, Jackson sat back, stunned.

  How on earth had they missed this guy?

  “Do you think this older bloke is really a person of interest?” Indira asked as they made their way back to the car, another interview completed leaving more questions than it answered. “As far as I can tell, he was seated on the other side of Maz Olden, so he would have had to scoot across her to get to the victim.”

  “Except Maz has already confirmed that she spent half the time heaving in the portable toilets, remember? He had so much access it wasn’t funny. Just had to shift across her blanket subtly and wrap his hands around a sleeping Kat Mumford’s neck.”

  She frowned. “I want to know who the hell he is. Maybe there’s a connection.”

  “I want to know why he took off so fast and why the first attending officers didn’t even make a note of him.”

  “Hey don’t blame them. It was an impossible crime scene—
people coming and going in all directions. And he left early, yeah?”

  “Still, you think she might have mentioned him to someone.”

  “Except she wasn’t with him, so it probably didn’t even occur to her. Plus she wasn’t exactly in top shape that night; she wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

  Jackson groaned, running a hand across the back of his head.

  “What I don’t get is, if the film was so brilliant as Alicia says, why did so many people piss off before it finished? Think about it. You’ve paid the full ticket price, why not stay the final ten minutes or so? It was a mystery, for God’s sake. Why wouldn’t you hang around to find out whodunit? What’s the hurry suddenly? It’s not like it was a giant stadium packed with thirty-five thousand punters and you needed to beat the rush.”

  “Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the film, that’s for sure.” Now it was Indira’s turn to groan. “Instead of ticking suspects off, we seem to be adding a new one every day. We still have to track down the guys in caps, we haven’t even got to Mrs Joves and young Ezekiel, and now we have to start hunting for some mystery man with a dark moustache!”

  She groaned again as she swung the car back towards the office.

  “I’ll drop you at HQ, then I want to have a word with those security guards from the film night. They were manning the exits, the only place smokers were allowed. If Maz’s mystery man really did head that way for a ciggie, and not once but several times, they must have noticed him, might even have had a chat.”

  “Smart thinking. But forget HQ, drop me at the lab. I want to ask Scelosi about those handprints around Kat’s neck. Could a man pushing seventy leave those marks?”

  “While you’re there, you might as well check if a fourteen-year-old lad could also pull it off.”

  They both groaned at the thought of that.

  Chapter 17

  Lunch time had long passed, but Alicia had a hunch Jackson would not have found time to stop to eat today—despite his boasts to the contrary—so she grabbed two chicken salad sandwiches and then jumped in her old Torana and headed for his office.

  Just a few minutes earlier, he’d texted to say he was back at his desk and would call her in the next half hour for a quick chat, so she assumed he would still be there and was rewarded with his smile when she was escorted in by an officer from the front desk.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, jumping up to embrace her.

  She held out the sandwiches. “One for you, one for your boss.”

  “I thought a juicy red apple was the usual bribe.”

  “Nah, that’s just for my vegan stars.” She indicated a chair. “Have you got a minute?”

  He nodded and waved her into it.

  “I know it’s extremely late notice, and I cannot believe I keep forgetting to ask you this, but do you want to come to Perry’s PR thingie tonight? We’re all getting there around seven.”

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. That was four hours away, and he couldn’t make any promises. He told her as much.

  “I thought you were the renegade, the rule breaker, the one who didn’t let work get in the way of your social life.”

  Jackson pulled the wrapping from one sandwich and took a large bite, chewing as he spoke. “I’m also the man who gets really pissed off when a cold-blooded murderer still wanders the city freely.” He swallowed hard.

  “Fair enough. So it’s not going too well, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  He glanced at the door, then jumped up and closed it before sitting on the edge of his desk and filling her in on the latest developments.

  He finished by asking, “What do you remember of the guy sitting near the pregnant woman? The one you thought was her partner.”

  “Not much to be honest. I vaguely recall a moustache now that you mention it, but not much else.”

  “And you never saw him approach the victim?”

  “No, or I would have said something. But then I thought he was with Maz, so that’s how observant I am.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. It sounds like everyone got that impression, the way they were interacting.”

  “Yeah, but strangers are friendly at those kinds of events, aren’t they? You get wedged in together so tight it’d almost be weird if you didn’t speak to the people around you. We even got chatting to Eliot at the end, before he got up and found his wife.” Her face clouded over. “So what did the coroner say? Could an older man or a teenage boy have strangled her?”

  Jackson waved his hand in a so-so motion. “Depends on their size. Which is why I need to work late tonight. I need to find both suspects and cross them off this ever-growing list or, even better, lock one of the buggers up!”

  Alicia got to her feet. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” She glanced at the sandwich. “Want me to drop that into Indira’s office?”

  “No!” he said quickly, a little too quickly for Alicia’s liking. “I’ll, um, I’ll give it to her a bit later, but thanks.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Okay, cool.” Then she leaned down to give him a quick kiss. “We will all miss you at Perry’s soiree, but we’ll survive. Unlike Ms Mumford. Good luck, hey?”

  Then she left him staring glumly at the sandwich on his desk.

  Jackson wasn’t thinking about Indira though or how a sandwich from Alicia would be received (not good was his initial guess), he was trying to decide how to track down a teenager without incurring the wrath of his kooky dad.

  He glanced at the wall clock again. It was now close to three fifteen. School knock-off time.

  He called out, “Pauly!” and grabbed his jacket.

  ********

  Ezekiel Joves was a lanky boy with knobbly knees and pointy elbows. He had the standard short-back-and-sides hairstyle to match the stiff private school uniform, which looked a little too small and certainly overwashed, the light grey shirt fraying near the collar, his blue trousers more faded than most of the boys who were rushing past him and out of the school grounds.

  The end-of-school bell had just chimed when Jackson first pulled his vehicle into the no-stopping zone, earning him a glare from a volunteer traffic warden who began to approach. Pauly, who was seated beside Jackson, quickly held out his police badge.

  The warden’s glare turned anxious, so Pauly waved her over.

  “Everything okay?” the woman asked.

  She had that jittery thing that many people get when encountering law enforcement.

  “Just looking for one of your students,” Jackson called across the car. “Ezekiel Joves, know him?”

  She looked at him, doubtful. “Year?”

  “Eight, I think,” Jackson said, hoping she wouldn’t enquire further, and she didn’t.

  She simply called out, “Ella! Ella Horton-James, come here, dear!”

  A startled-looking girl of about fourteen or fifteen looked up from a gaggle of similarly aged girls, frowned and then skipped over.

  “These gentlemen are looking for an Ezekiel Joves, dear. He’s in your year, I believe. Know him?”

  “Ezekiel?” The girl looked unsure for a moment, then said, “Oh, Zak! Yeah, I know Zak.” She also didn’t ask any questions, simply looked around, scanning the crowd.

  After just a minute, she began to point. “There! Just coming through the gates now, the skinny one with the really white hair.”

  The three adults all stretched their necks to watch as Ezekiel loped away from the school gates and towards a rumbling school bus.

  Jackson vaguely recalled the boy from the park on Saturday night but was glad he had a positive identification and thanked them both.

  “You will need to move your vehicle, officers,” the woman ventured now, her tone more assured. “There’ll be another bus pulling up any second.”

  “Just doing that now, madam,” Jackson replied, starting the vehicle and doing a slow U-turn, missing several scuttling children by centimetres, to settle into another no-stopping zone on the
other side of the street.

  “Can we question him without his parents’ permission?” Pauly was asking, and Jackson shook his head.

  “But we can check out his hands. That might be enough.”

  “Hands?”

  He nodded, recalling the coroner’s words from earlier that day.

  “It depends on the size of the lad,” Scelosi had told him. “If he’s small for his age, like I was, he’d be lucky to break a twig. But if he’s a big boy, like the bullies I used to face, well, then maybe.” Scelosi had smiled almost wistfully at that, then added, “It’s all in the hands. If they’re man size and there’s a fair bit of teenage angst behind them, they could do the job.”

  From this angle Jackson couldn’t tell just how man-sized Ezekiel’s hands were, nor could he assess how much anger was brewing behind his blank expression, but the way he was standing, hunched over, suggested he was ready for battle. The queue certainly resembled a war zone. There were kids pushing and shoving, some cutting in, some boys throwing punches, some girls throwing arms around each other, all yelping and squealing and moving about. And all the while Ezekiel stood quietly in line, hands in his pockets, not interacting with anyone, his eyes downcast.

  Jackson wished the kid would give someone a high five or swing a punch at least so he could assess the hands, but he was clearly a loner. Either that or his mates didn’t catch that particular bus.

  “Come on,” he told Pauly, switching the car off and stepping out. “We need to get closer.”

  They waited impatiently while a convoy of shiny SUVs purred past, most filled with moody-looking teenagers and merrily chatting mums, then sprinted across the street just in time to see Ezekiel board the bus.

  “Damn it,” Jackson said, motioning for Pauly to follow him back across the road to their car. “Now for Plan B.”

  It was a slow plan.

  Not knowing exactly where the lad would end up—was he heading home? Basketball practice? An S&M parlour?—the detectives settled in and followed the school bus as it meandered its way from Drummoyne through the back streets of the inner west.