by C. A. Larmer
And so they watched the film with an eye on the time, Alicia alerting Jackson to the exact scene when the film groaned to a halt, about an hour into the movie, just after the body of Arlena Marshall had been discovered and before Hercule Poirot pulled the shiny red hat up to reveal Arlena’s dead, distorted face.
Jackson made a note of all that, but she was more interested in his view on the plot. She waited until it ended and then turned to him with enquiring eyes.
He shrugged, choosing his words carefully. He had a feeling a lot depended on this.
“Look, I enjoyed it, really I did, but…” She frowned. “Well, it was a bit outlandish, don’t you think? I mean that kind of thing would never happen in real life now, would it? It’s pretty over the top.”
She blinked back at him. “But it’s not real life. It’s Agatha Christie.” As though that explained everything.
He nodded quickly and fled to the kitchen with the dirty bowls.
Eventually, with the food cleared away and cups of green tea in front of them, Alicia decided to forget Jackson’s derogatory comments and move on to Claire and Missy’s discovery. Yet before she got a chance to open her mouth, he was pulling her into his arms.
“I’m sorry if it feels like I’ve been avoiding you,” he said, “but it’s been depressingly busy, and by that I mean lots of work, no results. We’re getting nowhere fast.”
“That’s fine,” she said, pretending it hadn’t put her nose out of joint. “In fact, I may have some new information for you—might even help the case.”
“Oh?”
A deep breath and then she told him what her friends had learned from the Ladies Auxiliary. “We know it’s a long shot, but you’ve got to wonder—was Brandon’s mother mowed down by a drunken Kat Mumford?”
Jackson stared at her. Hard. She gulped.
“What are you guys up to?”
She bat her eyelids innocently. There was something in his tone that forced her to lie.
“Nothing. They just wanted to help out, and by help I mean the film group, not you, obviously. They had some craft stuff they wanted to drop in. That’s when they ran into Flo and got chatting.”
“Ran into her did they?”
She sighed. “Okay, maybe they—we—did have an ulterior motive. But you said it yourself, you’re getting nowhere and we wondered whether we might be able to, you know, find out more. And wouldn’t it be amazing if that angle worked out?”
Jackson was frowning, but it wasn’t really Missy and Claire he was cranky with. He recalled his conversation with Flo and Alice the week before, when he’d first spoken to the women from the Auxiliary. They had mentioned Brandon’s mother and her premature death. He hadn’t thought to enquire further.
What an idiot he’d been!
“They didn’t mean any harm,” Alicia was saying, misreading his frown.
“No, actually I’m grateful.”
“You are?”
“Well, I’m not happy you poked your noses in. I can just imagine what Indira will say about that. But you might be onto something there. I can’t believe I missed that.”
He released Alicia and got to his feet. “I knew Brandon was hiding something. Maybe this is it.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, watching as he pulled his shoes back on.
“I’ve got to get back to headquarters. I want to check out the incident report for the crash that took out Brandon Johnson’s mum.”
Five minutes later, Alicia sat staring at the empty space on the sofa beside her, feeling a little morose. She was glad Jackson had a new lead, really she was, but she had not expected him to dump her quite so quickly to chase it up.
Still, there was a silver lining in all this.
It was pretty clear from Jackson’s behaviour—his lack of genuine anger or annoyance—that he did need the book club’s assistance and was happy enough to receive it. It also justified her ulterior motive: the sooner they helped solve this mystery, the sooner she’d get her boyfriend back.
Reaching for her smartphone, Alicia tapped in a message to Perry.
“Still up for AA? If so, let’s meet outside the Centre tomoz at 5.20pm.”
It didn’t take long for Perry to tap her a reply.
“I’ll drink to that!”
Chapter 27
The driver’s blood alcohol level had come back in at 0.11, making her just over twice the legal alcohol limit. No wonder she’d crashed her Subaru Liberty station wagon into Brandon’s unsuspecting mother, Jackson thought as he scrolled down the screen, rereading the incident report.
Apart from a serious case of shock, the woman had sustained only minor injuries while Dana Johnson was killed instantly. She never knew what hit her.
It was now Tuesday morning, and Jackson was checking the information again, seeing if there was anything he’d missed from the previous night.
He felt a little foolish remembering how he’d rushed back to the office, almost elated, honestly believing that Claire and Missy were onto something. He fully expected to see Kat Mumford listed as the intoxicated driver who had caused Brandon’s mother’s death, or at the very least, Kat Mumford under another name.
But it was not to be.
The real culprit’s name was Laura Jan McGinty, age forty-five, a store clerk from Wagga Wagga. Height: five five. Weight: nineteen stone.
He studied the woman’s licence photo again. Whatever this driver’s sins, whatever her secrets, being Kat Mumford was not one of them.
He thought about the film he’d watched last night and scoffed. Chucking a bit of tanning liquid on someone might have worked wonders for an Agatha Christie suspect, but nothing was going to turn the middle-aged, morbidly obese Laura McGinty into sparrow-sized twenty-seven-year-old Kat Mumford.
He groaned. That would have been way too easy.
“That would have been really bad policing,” Indira added after she caught him staring at the screen soon after. “Don’t you think someone would have joined the dots by now? We always do a thorough background check of all our victims at the start of every investigation, you know that.”
“Yes, but I just wondered whether she’d changed her name since the crash. I just hoped…” He stopped. “It was worth checking.”
She looked unconvinced. “You’re chasing shadows now, Jacko. What’s going on?”
“I’m angry,” he snapped back. “We should have caught the bastard by now. He should be behind bars.”
“It’s been a little over a week, mate. Cut us all some slack.” She lightened her tone and added, “Including yourself, hey?”
“It’s been ten days. Ten whole days and nights. There’s another film showing at the park this Saturday.”
“So?”
“So aren’t you even a little concerned?”
“You think our guy’s going to strike again?”
“How do we know we’re not dealing with a psychopath? A serial killer?” He swung around in his seat. “Has anyone checked whether there’s been similar murders at film festivals before?”
Now she looked at him sideways. He really was shadow-boxing, but even she had to concede it wasn’t the craziest idea she’d ever heard. She picked up the phone in front of him and stabbed a number in.
“Pauly? Got a sec?”
It took a good hour before Sergeant Paul Moore returned to Indira, a notepad in hand, a defeated look on his face.
“You’re not going to like it,” he said, glancing at the notes he’d been making. “As far as I can tell, there’s been nothing but misdemeanours and minor infringements. A bunch of people were caught with marijuana at a film festival in the Domain, and there’s been some stolen handbags, that kind of thing at almost every event.”
“No deaths?”
“One guy had a bad reaction to some dodgy MDMA at a jazz night in Bondi about two months back. Left him clinging to life in hospital, but he survived.” He sounded disappointed. “But no homicides, no strangulations, no sexual assault—nothi
ng even remotely resembling this case. Sorry.”
Indira thanked him and turned to Jackson. “Happy now?”
Jackson nodded, but he wasn’t feeling happy, not at all. He had a creeping feeling in his gut that just wouldn’t dissipate.
“I’ll go read through the witness reports again,” he said, trying not to pout.
**********
Alicia was trying very hard to look a little more “rock and roll” and a lot less “straight,” Lynette’s words echoing through her head as she smudged a bit of eyeliner around her eyes and pulled a dark T-shirt over her head.
“Honey, I keep telling you—alcoholism doesn’t discriminate,” Perry told her when she met him on the corner near the Rozelle Neighbourhood Centre where the AA meetings were being held. “Some of my poshest friends are pisspots.”
Still, it didn’t stop her from feeling out of place as she studied the dilapidated food van on one side of the street and the graffitied wall on the other, several scruffy smokers leaning up against it. She also spotted a homeless man slouched nearby, swigging from a brown paper bag, and wondered if he ever found his way into meetings, then shook the sad thought away as she stepped inside.
This evening an Open Discussion Meeting was being held, and Perry assured her that didn’t mean she had to discuss anything, and he reiterated this as they slipped into empty seats at the back of the old hall.
She had been expecting a circle of chairs, but here there were three rows, most seats already filled with people of various ages and ethnic backgrounds, some chatting as though old friends, others stiff-backed and looking more bored than bleak. Every single person offered them a heartening smile as they settled in.
The rich aroma of coffee enveloped the room, and Perry nodded towards a table on one side where he could see a half-empty plunger of coffee as well cups, milk and an urn.
“Refreshment?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“Let’s wait until later. It’s a good excuse to chat to people then.”
He nodded, whispering, “Good plan.”
At exactly five thirty, one of the men who had been chatting stood up and pulled his chair out, turning it back to face the group. He was in his midsixties, with thick, white-grey hair, flowing purple pants, and one dangling earring. Your classic “urban hippie” Alicia decided, with the warm eyes and nonjudgmental smile to match.
“Hey, everyone, great you could make it. Let’s start with the Serenity Prayer, shall we?”
The rest of the group began reciting the words, their heads bowed, their eyes closed, and Alicia used the opportunity to check them out.
There were thirteen people here today, not including the chairperson, herself and Perry, and there were a wide variety of ages, from about twenty-five to seventy. There were more men than women, and some were dressed in business suits, others in T-shirts and jeans. Perry was right. It was a mixed bunch.
When the prayer was over, the chairperson introduced himself as Trevor and then asked, “So, anyone new to AA?”
Everyone turned to look at Perry and Alicia, and she felt flummoxed for a moment, but Perry was already raising his hand.
“Please introduce yourself,” said Trevor. “But no surnames, please.”
“Sure. Well, hello everybody. I’m Perry,” he said, “and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hello, Perry,” they all chorused back.
Then they stared at Alicia, who batted her eyelids for a moment until Perry gave her a nudge.
“Oh, yes, um, I’m Alicia and I’m… well, I’m…”
“It’s okay,” said the Chair, gently. “You don’t have to say it. Not if you’re not ready.”
“Hello, Alicia,” the group called out in return, completely unfazed by her behaviour, reading it as nerves, no doubt, not guilt.
She smiled apologetically at Perry. Lynette was right. She was so straight she couldn’t even pull off their first lie.
“First time to AA or just to AA in Rozelle?” Trevor asked, and Perry cleared his throat.
“Just to the Rozelle branch,” he said, speaking for both of them.
“Then you know how it works. There’s a list of names and numbers over at the refreshment table if you need to phone one of us. Feel free to do so any time. And just let me know at the end if you need a fresh copy of the Big Book.”
He was referring to the AA bible, the one that contained the seminal twelve-step method, and Perry said, “Oh no, we’re fine, thank you.”
Trevor smiled. “Good-oh. So, before we start, is anyone celebrating an anniversary today?”
There was silence for a moment before an older man with a receding hairline called out, “I’m on 355 days—almost there!”
The group clapped and Trevor smiled. “I look forward to celebrating with you in ten days, Timothy.” He paused. “Now, before Jenny reads the preamble, I wanted to remind you all that we’re discussing gratitude today, so be sure to have your thoughts on that ready to go. Okay, Jenny, take it away…”
As a middle-aged woman with dimples and a kindly smile stood up and began reciting something from a piece of paper, Alicia felt a cloak of warmth slowly slip around her shoulders, and it remained there for the duration of the evening.
She had never considered herself an alcoholic, nor had she felt the need to attend such meetings, but now that she was here, she could see the attraction of joining such a tribe. They seemed so sweet and supportive, and she wondered why Kat Mumford had dropped out of the program. Not one person had given her a judgmental look. They seemed kind and open to helping a complete stranger.
About thirty minutes and several emotionally charged discussions later, Trevor called a break to proceedings and suggested everyone “grab a cuppa.”
“And drop some change in the tin by the urn if you can,” he added. “Every bit helps.”
At last, thought Perry, who wasn’t feeling as enamoured as Alicia.
His brother, Theodore, still struggled with his addiction, and no sweet talks at a community centre seemed to be making a jot of difference. Last he’d heard, Theo had fallen off the wagon. Again. Perry wondered if his brother would ever see sixty; was certain he’d be on dialysis by then.
“Come on,” Alicia whispered, “it’s game time.”
He shook the bleak thought away and followed her over to the table where a fresh pot of coffee was being prepared and the urn was bubbling away. They both selected a green tea bag from a glass jar beside it and made a cup, then gave each other a “good luck” smile.
While Perry followed some men outside, Alicia pocketed a copy of the attendees’ names and numbers, then made her way to a group of women standing near the front, deep in conversation with Trevor. They were around Kat Mumford’s age, and one looked similarly dressed, in a flowing paisley dress.
She and Perry had already prepared their backstory, and she mentally rehearsed it again as she slowly walked up. Trevor noticed her approach and said something quickly to the group before stepping away.
“The poor darling,” the Kat lookalike was saying now, and the others were nodding along.
Alicia felt a prickle of excitement and wondered if they were discussing Kat’s death, but as soon as they sensed her presence, they stopped talking and swung around with wide smiles.
She smiled back. “Mind if I join you guys?”
“No worries,” said one woman, a tall brunette with wide, brown eyes.
“How are you doing?” asked the Kat lookalike, opening the circle to her. “Elsa wasn’t it?”
“Alicia, actually. I’m okay. It’s… well, it’s been a tough month.”
She cringed inside, feeling like a fraud. Anders’s words echoed through her brain again. This was deeply unethical. There was no two ways about it.
“It’ll get better,” the third women said. She was very short with long, strawberry locks “Always does.”
“Yeah, sure, right before it gets bad again!” said the copy-Kat, and she was smacked across the arm for that one.
She laughed. “Sorry,” she told Alicia. “I’m Zara, the realist.”
“The cynic more like it!” said the first woman, who then introduced herself as Mia.
“And I’m Mia too,” said the strawberry blonde, causing Alicia’s eyebrows to rise.
“I know,” said Zara. “How positively unoriginal of them! So, just moved to the area then?”
Alicia shook her head, taking this as her cue. “No, but my friend Perry and I aren’t loving our local AA, so another friend suggested we come here. Said this group was really supportive.”
“Oh? Who was that?” one of the Mias said, and the other Mia held a freckled hand up.
“Hey, guys, anonymity, remember?” She turned to Alicia. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Oh no, it’s fine.” She wanted to answer that. “A woman called Kat.” She waited but there was no visible reaction. She continued, “Kat loves this group.” Alicia pretended to glance around. “Although I don’t see her here tonight.”
The three women were still staring at her blankly.
“Cat, like the animal?” one of them said, and Alicia nodded.
“Sounds a little familiar,” said Zara, chewing on her bottom lip.
“I don’t remember her,” said the first Mia, the taller one. “Has she been in lately?”
“To be honest, I think she may have dropped out.”
They all nodded knowingly.
“It happens,” said Zara. She lowered her voice. “I notice we haven’t just lost Mary this week. Brian hasn’t been in lately either.” She was addressing this to the others.
“Good riddance,” spat tall Mia, earning a dark look from her shorter friend.
“Could just be having a bad week or a busy one,” she suggested.
“Or maybe he’s getting his fists patched up,” said Zara, and she scored another swipe across the forearm for that one.