by C. A. Larmer
She jumped back, her heart thumping beneath her shirt.
“It’s okay,” came a deep voice, a familiar one, and she exhaled as Jackson stepped into the streetlight.
“What the hell, Jackson,” she said, “you scared me to death!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Then, “Where have you been all night?”
He tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but it was difficult. She’d clearly been out having fun, not stuck at home working on Lynette’s social media sites as she had previously claimed. As she had previously insisted, he thought sullenly, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets.
Catching this, Alicia stepped towards Jackson and reached for his hand.
“We, ahh, we went to see a movie.”
“Let me guess. Grease?”
Alicia’s eyes widened.
“I’m a detective, Alicia. Not an idiot.”
“Sorry,” she said. “We were…” She hesitated. How did she tell him she had lied to him? That she was meddling again?
“You were doing some investigating of your own, weren’t you?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah… I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well, it didn’t work out. I promise you, it was a complete waste of time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I…” She stopped. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jackson, it was silly, really. We had suspicions about Brandon—”
“Brandon Johnson?”
“Yes, but we got it all wrong.”
“What suspicions?”
“Nothing. It was stupid. Look, I’m really sorry. We just thought you’d be angry, that you’d try to stop us.”
“Like all the other times I’ve tried to stop you from helping in the past?”
She felt a fresh flood of guilt. He had a right to be angry. He might have been unsupportive in his office, but Jackson had never tried to block her from the investigation, not with any real conviction anyway, so why had she felt the need to keep this from him? At what point had she morphed into Anders, not trusting him, not keeping him in the loop?
“I’m really, really sorry, Jackson,” she said again. “I just didn’t want you to get into any more trouble with Indira, that’s all. I was thinking…”
“What? What were you thinking?”
She smiled coyly. “Two words, Mr President. Plausible deniability.”
He stared at her like she’d flipped. “Huh?”
“You know? Like in the movie Independence Day? The less you’re told the easier it is for you to deny it.”
He still looked confused, so she just shook her head and unlocked the front door.
“Come on. Let’s see if I make more sense inside.”
By the time the peppermint tea had grown cold in her cup, Alicia had brought Jackson up to speed on what the group was doing at the film night and what had transpired.
“Turns out Brandon was on his best behaviour, and absolutely nothing happened. It was all a complete waste of time.”
“No dead body under a blanket?” he said. “Did you really expect another one?”
She scrunched her lips up, and he smiled. It warmed her heart.
“I don’t know about Independence Day,” he said, “but it’s not Midsomer Murders either. There’s not a dead body after every commercial break.”
She smiled now, feeling her guilt ebb away. “I know. I’m a bloody idiot.”
Nah, he thought. I wondered the exact same thing. He asked, “So where is Lynette now?”
“On her way home, I presume.”
“You mean you left her there? With Brandon?”
Alicia felt a cold trickle down her spine. “Yes, why? I already told you, we got it all wrong. He wasn’t up to anything.”
“But you don’t know that for sure, right? He is still a suspect in Kat Mumford’s murder, Alicia. He might have been on his best behaviour tonight, but he’s not off the hook for that one yet.”
Now the trickle felt like a gush. “But… but she said Wally was still there and some other woman.”
He frowned. “Tell me again what Lynette overheard Brandon say on the phone that night.”
“Um… He said something about some woman he was going to take care of, how she wouldn’t know what hit her—”
“And you’re sure he wasn’t talking about Lynette?”
The gush was now a tsunami smashing against her head. She could barely hear him from the ringing in her ears.
She grappled for her phone. “Maybe I should call her… just in case?”
He nodded quickly. “Do that.”
As Alicia shakily stabbed the number in, she felt like she was drowning.
What if Jackson was right? What if Brandon’s victim was not some random moviegoer but a barmaid called Lynette who’d been poking her nose in where it wasn’t welcome?
She chewed mercilessly at her top lip and waited for her sister to pick up.
*********
Lynette felt the phone vibrate in her pocket but ignored it. She was almost back at the bar tent now and had just seen Brandon handing a wad of cash to Wally, who was still perched on the trestle table and was smiling back at him.
“Hello, boys,” she said boldly, stepping into the marquee.
Both men looked around with a start.
“I thought you took off,” said Brandon, an edge to his voice now, and Lynette narrowed her eyes at him.
“And I thought you said we were all getting paid tomorrow.”
She glanced at Wally, whose grin had been replaced by a bruising blush.
“Oh, Wal’s just a bit skint, so, you know, I’m just helping him out.”
She nodded, glancing around. Lynette noticed that the last of the security guards was packing up his things. He would be leaving the premises any minute. She didn’t have much time.
“So how’d you do tonight?” she asked.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“Sell as much as you’d hoped?”
He stared at her. “No more than usual.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “And how much do you usually sell?”
“Sorry?”
“Candy? Champagne and ice? How much?”
Both men shared a glance then, before Brandon stood up from the table. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how he loomed over her. How strong he looked.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“I’m talking about all that extra business you do on the side.”
“Lynette,” said Wally, his tone wary, but she held a hand up.
“You think I’m a moron, don’t you?” Then she chuckled, but there was no joy in it. “I guess I have been. Talk about ‘straighty 180’! Can’t believe I didn’t pick it up earlier.”
Brandon’s expression had darkened, and he took a step towards Lynette, but she was too busy piecing it all together to notice. She was glaring at Wally now.
“You must have had a real laugh when I tried to send that guy to the snack bar for ‘candy.’ You must have thought I was a moron when I didn’t get the ‘ice’ request. Have a chuckle at me, did you?”
“Lynette,” Wally tried again, but she was shaking her head at Brandon now.
“Here I was feeling sorry for you! Thinking how great it was that you’d sorted yourself out so well after your mum died. But selling drugs to customers on the sly?”
“Shh!” said Wally, glancing around, but Brandon was looming in front of Lynette now, an ugly scowl on his face.
She felt her heart skip a beat, and she stepped back, but he had her cornered. She glanced around furtively. They were now wedged into one side of the white tent. If the security guard was still around, there was no way he could see them. She wondered if he was within earshot.
“Take one step closer,” she told Brandon, “and I’ll scream.”
He stopped and held a palm up. “Just chill, okay? Just chill the hell out.”
She watche
d him. “So this is your little business on the side, is it?” She glanced around. “Where did you stash the stuff?”
“It’s not important, Lynette,” Brandon said. “This doesn’t involve you, just walk away.”
Lynette’s heart began racing trying to keep up with her head, which was now connecting dots at a rapid pace. “Did Kat Mumford catch you selling drugs? Did she threaten to tell? Is that it? Is that why you killed her?”
Now it was Brandon’s turn to step back. “What the hell?”
“I know you had something to do with Kat’s death.”
“I had nothing to do with it!”
“Then why did you run off so quickly that night, why—” But she knew the answer even before he replied.
“Because I needed to get my stash out before the pigs started searching the place, why do you think?”
She turned to look at Wally, who had remained exactly where he was the entire time.
Wally nodded. “It’s true. Brandon had nothing to do with that dead drunk chick. She didn’t even buy any gear from him.”
“But she did buy a champagne.”
“So?” said Brandon.
“So you really didn’t kill her to avenge your mother?”
He looked like she was insane, but she pressed on.
“You didn’t kill her to try to stop her from drink-driving?”
Now Brandon was looking at Wally. “Did you give her some candy? She’s lost the plot.”
Wally shrugged no, but Lynette was not finished yet.
“So… so when you said, ‘She won’t know what hit her?’ What did you mean by that?”
“Excuse me?”
Lynette forged on. “I overheard your phone call the other day. You said…” She stopped. The pieces moved around suddenly and were now clicking into a different place. She exhaled. “Oh, okay, you meant the bride, right?”
He seemed baffled for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, Jeanie. Who else? The maid of honour phoned me. I’d sold her some…” He stopped, glanced around and dropped his voice. “Let’s just say she got some party favours from me last time and wanted the same again tonight, but this time she wanted something special for her friend who’s getting married. She wanted to surprise her with it.”
“Some ‘candy’?”
He nodded. “Yeah, some ‘candy.’ So I arranged it. That’s it.”
Lynette’s shoulders dropped. She felt like a fool. As bad as it was, all she had done here was stumble on a sleazy drug trade. There was no conspiracy to murder, no case to answer with Kat Mumford.
Brandon had stepped right back now and was leaning against the table. “What are you going to do, Lynette?”
“You going to rat on us to the cops?” added Wally, his blush back.
She pulled her jacket tightly around her body and secured her bag onto her shoulder.
“None of my business,” she said, watching as their faces flooded with relief.
Lynette stepped away from the men and out towards the tent exit again. “But I do know a lovely group of elderly ladies who might just think it’s theirs.”
Brandon held a hand out. “Please, Lynette, don’t tell them.”
She just shook her head and left them both staring at the wad of cash in Wally’s hands like it had morphed into a tiger snake and was about to bite.
*********
The herbal teapot was now abandoned as the trio helped themselves to a stiff drink, Alicia needing it more than her sister, who showed up at home just as Jackson was putting a call through to the Balmain Area Command.
As he called off the troops, Alicia rounded on Lynette.
“You gave me the scare of my life! Why didn’t you answer my call?”
“Sorry, I was a bit distracted.”
Tumblers of whisky in hand, they sat in the lounge room, Max asleep between them, as Lynette poured out the details of the night.
“You’re just lucky they’re amateur dealers,” said Jackson. “I’ve seen plenty of people who accidentally stumbled onto the real deal, and let’s just say most of them were lying horizontal on a slab.”
Lynette shrugged nonchalantly, but Alicia shuddered. He was right. It could have gone so much worse. Yet it did throw a very different light on the Mumford case.
“I guess Brandon had nothing to do with Kat’s murder then?” she said. “I mean, if he was willing to let you walk out after catching him.”
“I don’t know for sure, of course, but that’s the vibe I got. He’s obviously been selling drugs at those events on the side, and I think his only concern that first night was getting his drugs out of the park and away from the police, not avoiding a murder charge.” She glanced at Jackson. “What are you going to do now? I did say I wouldn’t take this to the police.”
He slugged the drink back and blew out a breath of air. “But you did say you’d take it to the Women’s Auxiliary, right?” She nodded. “Then I’m sure we’ll hear about it pretty fast. As protective as they are, I can’t imagine Flo tolerating that kind of nonsense.”
“So much for the drink-driving crusade we thought he was on,” said Alicia, staring into her glass.
Lynette glanced pitifully at Jackson. “So this leaves you back at square one, hey?”
“Not at all. We still have a few lines of enquiry.”
“Such as?”
“Nuh-uh. I’m too exhausted to think about that now.”
He stood up and held a hand out to Alicia, who was still nestled into the couch. “Now will you let me apologise properly?”
She let him pull her up, then she glanced back at Lynette.
“You going to be okay?”
“Always was,” she replied, smiling.
As the couple headed upstairs, Lynette looked down at Max, who was sleepily thudding his tail near her feet. “That just leaves you and me, Maxy,” she said softly before looking up and out through the window to the dark night beyond. “Not to mention a killer, who’s still out there somewhere, free as a bird.”
And then the smile slid off her lips.
Chapter 35
Monday morning dawned bright, but Detective Inspector Indira Singh’s mood did not match the cheerful blue sky outside.
“There’s a killer out there, people, and we are no closer to finding him!” She stepped towards a large whiteboard at the front of the conference room. “And what have you lot been doing? As far as I can tell, having a wonderful weekend and delivering me no results!”
“Somebody woke up on the wrong side…,” began Pauly in a hushed whisper to a colleague, before catching a venomous glare from his boss. He closed his mouth.
“I don’t know about you, but I find it completely unacceptable,” she continued, slapping a palm against a picture that had been magnetised into place. It was a headshot of a pretty blonde in thick white glasses.
“It’s been over two weeks since Kat Mumford was brutally strangled in a public park, and what do we have? Bugger all!”
She pointed now to a large piece of paper that had been attached to the board. It was Missy’s sketch of the crime scene, the one that best resembled the general layout.
“We have over a hundred people present during the murder, over a dozen witnesses—”
“Including one homicide detective,” said a ponytailed woman at the back, and Jackson shot her a smirk.
“Hey, Gertie, watch your mouth! I’d left the scene long before the homicide.”
“Let me finish!” Indira interrupted them, dragging both sets of eyes back to the board. “We have scores of suspects, at least ten of them viable, and yet we are not one inch closer to solving this thing. Why do you think that is, hey?”
All eyes had suddenly lost focus and were darting to the floor and to the ceiling, hoping their cranky boss would not pick them.
“What do you think we can do about it?” Indira persisted.
“We could get that book club back in,” suggested Pauly, and Jackson winced, glancing back at Indira, waiting for the ex
plosions.
Indira smudged her lips into an oversized smile. “The book club, you think? The Agatha Christie Book Club?”
Pauly went to nod, then sensing her vibe, stopped and played dumb.
Her smile was now almost a leer. “Great idea, Pauly.” She turned to the room of detectives. “Let’s give that man a medal!”
All eyes were now on Pauly, most brimming with pity, but Pauly was not sure whether to smile or shrink further into his seat.
Indira waved a hand around the room of six detectives and five support staff. “Who needs you lot when we’ve got the Agatha Christie Book Club? If only I’d thought of that earlier, Pauly! We should all just pack up and go home, leave it to the experts, hey?”
“No, I was just thinking—”
“No, you weren’t thinking! This is not St Mary Mead, and Miss Marple is not about to come cycling in to save us! It is our job to reconcile this case, not a pack of amateurs. Do you understand?”
He nodded quickly and stared at his feet.
She sighed loudly. “Has anyone else got any bright ideas this lovely morning?”
You could have heard a pin drop.
Eventually someone said, “We could get those two perverts back in. They were dodgy.”
Indira thought about that and stepped back to the board, pointing to the mug shots of Scotty and Davo. “And what would be the point of that, Jarrod? Do you have some fresh evidence I can chuck at them? Some extra questions we forgot to ask?”
He shook his head as his eyes followed Pauly’s to the carpet.
Jackson cleared his throat and said, “I know this is a long shot…” Indira turned to glare at him. “…but I want to get Zara back in, the woman from AA. I want to see if she can ID Brian Donahue for me. See if her Brian is the same as my Brian, the guy who overdosed.”
“I thought you were doing that last week.”
“Er, no, you told me to give it up and focus on this case, remember?”
“That’s right, because we’d already determined that Brian Donahue was dead long before Kat Mumford was strangled. So what would be the point of getting Zara in to ID him?”