by C. A. Larmer
“What did you do?” he demanded.
“Shayna was desperate, Dad. She’s never owned an iPhone before. She begged me!”
“Another Jezebel, is that it? Another girl leading a man astray?”
Jackson stepped in. “Let’s take this down to the station, please, Rev Joves. We’d like to formally caution your son before we begin questioning, and we would like you to get some legal representation for the lad. If you cannot afford legal representation, a lawyer can be—”
“Yes, yes!” Jacob snapped. “I’ve already phoned my solicitor.”
Jackson felt a flood of relief. Good, he thought. The young fool’s going to need one.
As two uniformed officers escorted a very angry father and his jittery son down to the squad headquarters in Parramatta, Jackson and Pauly headed in the opposite direction. They needed to get hold of Kat Mumford’s stolen phone and fast, and so, after a few phone calls, they made their way to the home of a young girl called Shayna, whose dreams of owning an iPhone were about to come crashing down.
Chapter 24
“Yeah, we located the phone,” Jackson told Alicia over the landline that night. “But it’s not much use to the case. The only fingerprints on the device belong to Kat Mumford, Ezekiel Joves and Shayna Jones, which is what we expected to find.”
“No mystery prints like on the champagne flute then?”
“No, but it’s got me wondering about those glasses. Now more than ever I want to know where they ended up.”
“Maybe one of the other kids pinched them? Or a passer-by, someone who just saw the opportunity and took it.”
He sighed. “You could be right. I think I’m reading too much into it.”
“Could be a red herring, like the pipe!” said Missy, two days later at Book Club.
She was hosting the Sunday meeting for the very first time and was so full of nerves Alicia, the first to arrive, tried to keep her distracted with news of the case.
“Pipe?” Alicia said now, watching as Missy dashed from one end of the living room to the next, plumping cushions, removing old newspapers, wiping down dusty tabletops.
“You know, like in Evil Under the Sun?”
Missy picked up an olive-green cardigan and stuffed it behind the sofa.
“Remember in the book, one of the killers plants Kenneth Marshall’s pipe at the bottom of the steps at Pixy Cove where Arlena’s body was found, to implicate the husband?”
“Except the glasses aren’t planted, Missy, they’ve been pinched.”
“Yes, but maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe it’s either to implicate a thief or, as I say, just to get the cops looking in a different direction. Could be a deliberate ploy.”
Alicia considered that as she watched Missy continue to fuss and plump and panic.
“Don’t worry, honey, the place looks great.”
Missy glanced up from a side cabinet where she was now stuffing a jigsaw puzzle onto a crowded shelf. “Really? Do you think so?” Then she glanced around and frowned. “If only it really was my place, then it wouldn’t look so… drab!”
The club had never been held at Missy’s home before, largely because, as she said, it wasn’t strictly her home. It belonged to her parents, and it had taken some convincing to get them to decamp for the day. She’d received enough ribbing from Perry about the fact she still lived with her folks, and she was not about to have them loitering with their embarrassing questions and awkward smiles.
No, the plan was very simple. They were to go to her sister Henny’s place and remain there until Missy gave the all clear. Of course, Missy had tried this plan before, but something always came up, usually her father’s angina, forcing her to cancel. The other club members were always happy to step in on her behalf, but Missy knew it was time to step up.
The doorbell rang and she jumped.
“I’ll get it,” Alicia said, but Missy was already scrambling for the front door.
It was Anders, usually the first, and he asked, “How’s it going, Missy?” as he walked inside.
“Really good! I’ve managed to remove most of my parents’ mess, and I think I’ve made enough space…” She stopped. “Sorry, you didn’t mean…” She giggled. “Sorry, you just meant, like, generally, right?”
He smiled stiffly and was relieved when he spotted Alicia already seated inside. He strode across and gave her a hug. It was warm and unexpected, and she hugged him warmly back. Maybe they were moving on at last.
A loud knock heralded the arrival of Lynette, who had been working a morning shift, then Perry, followed quickly by Claire. Everyone was eager to get to the book club today, and this time it had less to do with Agatha Christie and more to do with the real-life mystery that had landed in their laps.
After Missy ushered them into the “good” lounge room, the one her parents reserved for special guests, she indicated a side table where a plate of chocolate-chip cookies and a pot of tea had already been placed.
“Best I could manage,” she said by way of apology. “Not much of a chef, I’m afraid. Not like Mum and Henny. Now they can put on a delectable spread!”
“It’s fine,” said Claire, helping herself to a cookie.
Lynette tried not to frown. She wished Missy had told her. She would have baked something or pinched some muffins from Mario’s on her way out.
“Shall we get started?” Alicia suggested, knowing they were on a tight schedule and had a lot to get through today.
And so they spent the next hour dissecting another Miss Marple favourite, and it wasn’t until the tea had run dry and the conversation began to peter out that Perry reminded them all they had a second murder to discuss, one starring a beautiful young woman and her shattered husband.
“How is Eliot Mumford?” asked Claire, closing her copy of Sleeping Murder. “Has Jackson had a chance to interview him again?”
Alicia smudged her lips to one side. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen Jackson since Friday morning.”
Before he slunk out of my bedroom and never looked back.
They were all watching her now, one or two looking worried, and she pushed her lips into a smile. “But I did speak to him today, so I have a general overview of how things are going.”
“Oh that’s a relief,” Claire said, and she wasn’t referring to the investigation. She was thinking this group had a dreadful track record when it came to relationships.
“So how is it progressing? The case I mean.”
“Not great. Basically, they’ve questioned all the potential suspects who were seated in the area, all except that man sitting next to Maz Olden, the older guy with the black moustache.”
“And?” asked Perry impatiently.
“And nothing. Jackson says they’re all a bit too smug, but they just don’t have enough evidence to pin it on anyone. It’s been over a week since the woman was killed and still no conclusive answers.”
“Tell them about Zak!” Missy said, having already heard the gossip.
And so Alicia filled them in on the iPhone theft, adding, “They don’t know whether Ezekiel pinched it while Kat was sleeping or if she’d already been killed at that point.”
“Urgh, gross,” said Lynette. “His loopy dad will have him saying Hail Mary’s until the cows come home.”
“I know, poor kid.”
“Poor kid?” said Anders. “He did steal someone’s property, people. He’s no innocent.”
“He’s like Linda from the book,” retorted Missy, and as several of them rolled their eyes she said, “No, I just mean, he’s probably not a really bad person, he’s just reacting to his circumstances.”
“I agree,” said Alicia, “and so do the detectives, who expect he’ll get treated fairly lightly. But that still leaves the missing spectacles.”
“He must have taken them too, surely?” Perry said.
“Well, they did a full search of his home and school locker and so far, no glasses.”
“Maybe they got lost in the chaos of
that night?” said Claire.
“Or maybe the killer took them as a trophy!” said Missy. “Killers do do that, you know. That’s how that creepy serial killer Ivan Milat got caught. You know, the one who buried those backpackers in the Belanglo State Forest? The cops found souvenirs he’d kept from his poor victims in his house.”
“Thank you, Missy,” said Claire. “Are we not all creeped out enough as it is?”
She shrank back. “Sorry.”
“No, Missy’s right,” said Alicia. “That’s what DI Singh believes. She thinks the killer took the glasses as a souvenir. There’s no other explanation.”
“And they’re convinced the kid had nothing to do with her murder?”
She nodded. “They have to keep an open mind, and apparently his hands are sizeable enough, but Jackson’s gut feeling says no. He doesn’t even think the nasty father did it either. He now thinks that all the yard work Zak was forced to do at the church was penance for selling iPhones at school the week before. Jacob insists he knew nothing of his son’s theft of Kat’s glasses, and Jackson believes that too. Reckons Zak would have got more than a bit of raking work as punishment for that.”
“Poor kid,” Claire repeated.
“He’s a thief,” Anders reminded them. “I know his father’s super strict, but can we not glorify the wayward kid please?”
Lynette rolled her eyes. “So what happens now? Where is it all at?”
Alicia shrugged. “I think Jackson’s hit a brick wall and he’s too ashamed to admit it.”
She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. “I’m wondering whether we can’t bash through that wall for him.”
“What are you saying?” said Missy, her eyes lighting up.
“I’m saying, it might be time for the Agatha Christie Book Club to start meddling again.”
She turned straight to Anders who, she guessed correctly, would be frowning and said, “Jackson has never had a problem with us helping in the past, as you will recall. He even asked us to keep an eye out for suspicious things on the night of the crime. Took me along to the Jolly Codger that night. So I really don’t think he’d mind.”
“But you haven’t checked with him,” said Anders, and it wasn’t a question. He knew what Alicia was like.
“I can’t. He’d be obliged to tell me to back off whether he wants to or not.”
“It is still early days in this case, isn’t it?” said Claire, who wasn’t sure which camp to be in at this point. “The murder only happened a week ago.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t help,” said Alicia.
Besides, she had an ulterior motive. The sooner the Mumford mystery was solved, the sooner she would get her boyfriend back.
“I agree with Alicia,” said Missy. “We’ve been very well behaved until this point, but if the police are lost and can’t see a way forward, perhaps we can help shed some light on a few things.”
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Anders, quickly holding his palm out. “Sorry, I know I sound like a broken record, but they’re the police. They have all the information, the leads. We have nothing.”
Missy held her own palm out. “That’s where you’re wrong. We have our ‘leetle grey cells’ don’t we, possums?” She tapped her head, and bravely ignoring Anders’s exasperated expression, she added, “I bet you any money we can solve this thing before the police do.”
He looked at her sceptically.
“Seriously!” She turned to Alicia. “Didn’t you say that the suspects are being tight-lipped? Lawyering up and refusing to speak to the authorities?”
“Which is their legal right,” Anders said.
“Yes, but maybe they won’t be quite so tight-lipped with a few friendly civilians who happen to ask a few casual questions.”
Alicia smiled. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Missy. We spoke about this last time. It’s Miss Marple’s hidden strength—the ability to sneak impertinent questions to unsuspecting suspects. In fact, I have a plan up my sleeve.”
She nudged her eyebrows up and down and added, “And it involves at least one of us becoming an alcoholic.”
Chapter 25
“You want to sign up to AA even though you’re not an alcoholic?” said Claire, aghast.
“I have to do it!” Alicia replied. “Jackson and Indira tried to investigate that angle and got shown the door. Actually, they never got anywhere near the door. It’s all anonymous and confidential, so the second their badges were out, they were out. If I go in undercover, well, I might have more luck.”
Anders said, “Is that ethical?”
“I’m trying to help a murder victim, how can it be wrong? And besides, how would they know I wasn’t really an alco’?”
“Because you’re a ‘straighty 180,’” laughed Lynette. “They’ll smell your sobriety the second you sit down in the circle.”
Alicia glared at her sister. “I drink, thank you.”
“A few glasses of bubbly does not an alcoholic make,” Lynette retorted, as though her sister’s usual restraint was a bad thing, but Perry was holding a hand up to silence them.
“Alcoholics aren’t just wild, party people, you know. Alcoholism is a disease, an addiction that afflicts all types, all ethnicities and socioeconomic backgrounds. You’d be surprised how many middle-aged housewives have got drinking problems, or respectable accountants for that matter.”
Lynette raised an eyebrow at him. “Easy tiger. I was just joking…”
He wasn’t finished. “In any case, that’s completely beside the point. It’s very, very easy to infiltrate AA, and the reason’s in the name. Alcoholics Anonymous, people! They don’t make you walk a straight line when you get in there, you know? They don’t do background checks and ask for three referrals from local barmen. Anyone can just waltz in and take a seat. Hell, you can sit there for weeks and not say a single word if you want. It’s all strangely, rather oddly, relaxed.”
Now the eyebrows were all raised, and he rolled his eyes.
“Oh fine, I confess!” He took a deep breath and put his hand to his heart. “Hello. My name is Perry. And I am not an alcoholic, thank you very much! But my brother was.” He sighed. “Still is, I suppose. I don’t think they ever get cured.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the point is, I attended a few sessions with him about ten years back, just for moral support.”
Alicia smiled at him pointedly.
“What?” he said, and then, “Don’t even think about it.”
Her smile widened. “Come on, you’d be great! You’re an old hand, you know how it works, and you’re a self-confessed drama queen. Come with me. You’ll help me fit right in.”
He glared at her. “I refute your use of the word ‘old,’ but you got the rest right.” He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“That didn’t take much convincing,” she said, laughing.
“Hang on a minute,” said Anders. “Can we just back up a bit here.”
Alicia’s laugh caught in her throat. Oh dear, here we go…
“I’m confused about what it is you hope to achieve by attending the AA meetings of a woman who is now deceased. What is the point?”
“I don’t know, just poke around, ask a few questions, see if there isn’t a stalker type who might have done this.”
“And you think he’ll just be sitting there, looking guilty?”
Now she let a scowl rip. “We could recognise someone from the film night, someone the cops didn’t spot. Plus!” She began waving her fingers around. “Don’t forget Kat had a sponsor. Jackson says Eliot was pretty evasive about it, but did refer to a ‘Tim or a Tom’ or someone.”
“So?”
“So the cops are wondering whether Kat’s sponsor might be the elusive man with the moustache. At least that’s what Jackson was thinking. We saw the guy with the moustache so we could clear that one up for him in two seconds flat. But even if it’s not him, it’d still be useful to chat to her sponsor.” She glanced at Perry. “Co
rrect me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t Kat have told her sponsor all her little secrets? If there was someone dangerous in her life, or she had a jealous lover or something, wouldn’t her sponsor be the ideal person to blab to about that? Maybe they have some information that really should go to the police.”
“Oh you’re doing this for the police, are you?” Anders said, and Alicia glowered.
“Actually, I’m doing it for Kat.”
But Perry was unsure. “Sorry to burst your bubble, honey, but you probably won’t get a sponsor to tell you any of that. They’re supposed to keep all the dirty laundry to themselves.”
“Can’t hurt to try.”
“How are you even going to find the right AA? There must be hundreds of groups across the city.”
“Jackson reckons she attended one in Rozelle. Can only be one in that suburb, surely? We just have to look it up.”
“I’ll do it!” said Lynette, pulling out her smartphone.
As she tapped away at the screen, Anders continued to frown. “You don’t think someone’s going to spot you a mile off, asking questions about a deceased woman? You’ll be booted out after the second question.”
“Give us a little more credit than that, Anders,” said Perry. “You keep forgetting we’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“Okay, but then what?”
“Then we tell Jackson and he takes it from there,” said Alicia. “I’m telling you, if we do find some important information, he’ll be secretly glad I butted my big nose in.”
“Well, you said it, not me,” was Anders’s final word on the subject.
“It’s at the Rozelle Neighbourhood Centre,” Lynette announced, swiping at her phone. “Says they meet at five thirty every Tuesday, Thursday and… Sunday. Oh, you could go this evening!” She stopped, deflated. “Damn, no you missed Sunday. That one was on this morning.”
“Tuesday, five thirty it is then,” said Alicia, nodding at Perry.