by C. A. Larmer
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s just an itch I need to scratch.”
She thought about that for a moment then said, “Can’t you just ask Eliot Mumford? Isn’t he the one who beat the man to a pulp?”
“Yeah, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather check with an independent party.” Then to her developing frown he added, “Just trust me on this.”
She nodded. “Fine. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, but hell, at least you’re barking at something.” Then she turned to address the rest of the team. “See, people? This is what I’m talking about! Let’s try to think outside the square today, hey? Let’s try to think laterally! And let’s try to catch this killer before his trail goes colder than my mood is going to be if we get through another week without solving this thing!”
**********
Zara Cossington-Smythe couldn’t think why the homicide detectives were dragging her back to their office, the novelty of being involved in a murder case now officially worn off. She smiled blandly as she was shown into a seat in front of DI Jackson and then watched as he placed an A4-sized print on the desk in front of her.
He didn’t need to say a word. Almost immediately she gasped.
“Brian! What an ugly licence photo.” She looked up at Jackson. “Why are you showing me a picture of Brian?”
Jackson had to swallow back his smile.
“You know this man, Brian Donahue?’
“I just know him as Brian, but yeah, sure, from AA. I already told you guys about Brian.”
“This is the man who attended your AA, the same AA that Eliot Mumford attended?”
“Yes!”
“And this is the Brian that Eliot Mumford beat up after AA one night?”
She glanced at the photo and then back. “Um, well, that’s what I heard. Why? Don’t tell me Brian wants to press charges! What a lowlife. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything. Eliot doesn’t deserve to be arrested, he deserves a medal!”
Jackson took a deep breath. “Brian won’t be pressing charges anytime soon, Ms Cossington-Smythe. Brian is dead.”
She took a moment to digest that, then said, “Wow, okay. That’s not too surprising, I suppose. So what happened? Bar fight?”
“He was found the same night as Kat Mumford. Heroin overdose.”
Her eyes lit up. “I knew it! He should’ve been at NA! I told Trevor he was in the wrong group and should sign up for Narcotics Anonymous. I could tell he was a junkie.” She bristled with pride, then caught herself and dropped her smile. “Oh, well, may he rest in peace and all that, but I can’t say I’m too sorry. He was not a nice person. So what does this have to do with your other death? Eliot’s wife?”
What indeed, thought Jackson, taking the picture from the table and placing it back in its folder.
“You mentioned that Brian confessed openly during your meetings to beating up his wife, is that correct?”
“Well that’s what he told us, yes.”
“Do you recall his wife’s name?”
As far as Jackson knew—as far as Jackson was told—Brian Donahue was not married. His parents were adamant about that, and there were no signs of a partner in the dingy bedsit he rented.
“Who’d want him?” the mother had said without sorrow or regret.
Zara was giving it some thought, shaking her head as she did so. “Sorry, I never actually met her; can’t recall a name. I think he called her ‘my girl,’ like he owned her. He was a creep. I mean, it’s sad for him, I suppose, but there’s a very relieved woman out there somewhere I can assure you of that.”
Indira Singh agreed wholeheartedly with Zara. She was now leaning on the edge of Jackson’s desk, studying the printed picture of Brian Donahue closely.
“If there is such a thing as karma, this bloke got what was coming to him, and his wife is probably breathing a lot easier these days.”
“Yes, except who is this elusive wife?” said Jackson, irritably. “Nobody’s come forward to claim him, and I just spoke to his folks again. They’re as surprised to hear about it as we are. Says if he really was married, he kept that one quiet. We didn’t see any signs of a woman’s presence in his life either.”
“No wedding photos at his house, or on his phone?”
“We couldn’t find a phone. Figured it’d been nicked while he was out of it, unlike his Rolex which was so fake even a thief would’ve—” He stopped. Sat up straight. Then he began rifling through his in tray. “Where is it? Where did I put the bloody thing?”
“What?” said Indira.
“What is it?” said Pauly, who had also wandered in.
“The bag with his stuff.”
Jackson yanked open a lower drawer and began sifting through the contents, then gave a yelp, dragging a plastic bag out and dropping it onto his desk.
“This is the stuff Scelosi sent back from the lab, the stuff the Donahues didn’t want.” He picked the bag up and studied it. “Scelosi said something about sending back Brian’s wedding band. It just looked like an ordinary ring to me, I thought he’d just made an assumption, but maybe he was basing it on something more tangible than that.”
He opened the ziplock bag and reached in to grab the ring. Indira leaned over the desk to watch, her eyes wide as Jackson turned the ring around and then peered inside the rim. He squinted.
“There’s something engraved here. It’s tiny. Hang on.” He pulled his desk lamp closer and switched it on. Then he frowned and sat back with a start.
“What?” said Indira.
“What?” repeated Pauly.
Jackson looked a little shell-shocked. He scratched the back of his head. “I think it says ‘Maz xo’.”
He stared into Indira’s saucer-shaped eyes. “What the hell is going on?”
Chapter 36
Maz Olden looked confused, maybe even a little frightened, as the young sergeant showed her through to an interview room and left her sitting at the desk to sweat it out.
While she did so, Jackson, Indira and Pauly watched her through the one-way mirror.
“Mightn’t be her, you know?” Indira was saying. “She can’t be the only Maz in Sydney.”
“It’s her,” Jackson replied. “She already told us she was glad her partner wasn’t in the picture anymore.”
“But she didn’t say he’d died.”
“Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she still doesn’t.”
“Maybe she killed him?” suggested Pauly.
“Oh wake up to yourself, Pauly,” Indira shot back. “She was at the Balmain film night the same time he was taking his hot shot. Dozens of witnesses saw her.”
“So why are we wasting time on this?”
Indira turned to Pauly. “We’re letting Jacko scratch his itch.”
Jackson frowned. “It’s more than that. I told you before, I don’t like coincidences, and this is a whopping great one. Think about it. What are the chances that the woman sitting closest to a murder victim is also the woman engaged to a man who ends up dead on the same night. And the woman whose dead husband attended the very same AA as the victim’s husband?”
“Well, since you put it all so clearly like that,” Indira quipped. “I know it smells fishy, but from a strictly logical viewpoint, these two deaths simply can’t be related. If Brian Donahue is Maz’s partner, he died by his own hands an hour or two before Kat died. So he can’t have been involved in Kat’s death. And Kat, Eliot, or even poor little Maz here can’t have been involved in his death. All three were at the Balmain park.”
“We need to check all the times again,” said Jackson. “See exactly when everyone showed up at the park.”
“You need your head checked is what is needed,” was Pauly’s assessment.
Jackson said, “Brian might have sought revenge on Eliot for beating him up. Maybe he organised a hit on Eliot’s wife and then, I don’t know, felt bad about it and tried to drown his sorrows with a hit of heroin that night and accidentally killed himself. Look, I know it’s a
bit wishy-washy, but it’s a theory, right?”
Both Indira and Pauly looked at him like he was certifiable.
“Come on,” said Indira, “let’s see if we can’t blow Jacko’s ridiculous theory out of the water and get back to the Kat Mumford case.”
The wave of relief that washed across Maz Olden’s face seemed too genuine to be an act. Jackson and Indira watched the woman carefully as they produced the picture of Brian Donahue and placed it on the table in front of her. And both had to agree, she was either a very fine actor or genuinely relieved.
Her first reaction, like Zara, was to proclaim in a startled voice, “Brian!” Then glancing up at them innocently, she had added, “That’s my fiancé. Ex-fiancé. What’s going on?”
Jackson said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Maz, but he died of a drug overdose two weeks ago.”
And that’s when her look of surprise morphed into a look of sheer, unadulterated relief. Maz dropped back in her seat, and her eyes welled with tears, then she buckled over her pregnant belly. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”
The two detectives watched her, trying to hide their surprise.
She looked up and said, “I’m sorry, it’s just that he was so… cruel, so… violent. I… I know I should be sad he’s dead. But… I… Oh, thank God!”
Then she grasped her stomach again and whispered, “We’re safe now, bubba. He’s gone.”
Indira gave her a moment and then said, “You really had no idea your fiancé had died?”
She looked up, her eyes awash with tears. “No! I… Like I said, we weren’t together anymore. I always thought he’d return. I knew he wouldn’t ever let me go, but when he hadn’t come back, I began to wonder.” She sobbed again. “I began to hope…”
“Did you know he was attending AA meetings in Rozelle?” Jackson asked, and she nodded.
“NA in Surry Hills as well,” she said, adding, “Fat lot of good that did.”
“What is your relationship with Eliot Mumford?”
“What?” she said, sounding startled, and then, “You mean the man whose wife was killed the other night?” He nodded. “I… I don’t have a relationship with him.”
“So you had never met him or seen him before that film night?”
“No, never. Why? What’s he got to do with Brian?”
Jackson left that question unanswered and asked, “So when did you first meet this man?” He indicated the photo. “Brian Donahue.”
“About three years back. He was in a band back then. He was so cool, or I thought he was.” She sniffed. “That was before he turned violent.”
“When did he turn violent?” Indira asked.
“The minute I fell pregnant. The first time.”
Maz gulped and her eyes filled with tears again. “He bashed me so hard during my first pregnancy I lost the baby early. But he was so sorry, so apologetic.” She gulped, then frowned. “I really thought he meant it. He was so sweet after that. He wrote me a love song, serenaded me outside my door…” She sniffed. “That’s when he signed up for AA and NA, and I thought…” She sniffed again. Sighed. “Well, I was wrong.”
“He turned violent again?”
“I should’ve left him, I know that. When I fell pregnant again, I tried to hide it, but he worked it out. He wanted me to get rid of it… of my beautiful boy.” She rubbed her belly as the tears began to stream down her face. “He never wanted kids, said they ruined everything, but I wouldn’t… I couldn’t! I’d already lost one; I wasn’t going to lose another. So Brian… He tried to get rid of him for me, like last time.” She rubbed a hand across her nose and wiped at her face. “He punched me in the belly a few times. Threw me down a set of stairs.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?” asked Jackson.
“I did! Over and over. He kept finding me. It got worse each time.”
“Why didn’t you report him to the police?” asked Indira.
“I did that too! They just said he was struggling with the idea of fatherhood and told him to clean up his act. The fact that he was doing AA… well, they just let him off. They didn’t give a shit.”
Indira shook her head angrily. “Who said that? Which area command?” Then she held a hand up. “Never mind, we’ll get onto that later.” She softened her tone. “I’m sorry Brian did that to you, Maz, and I’m sorry the police did not have your back, but we’re trying to connect Brian to Kat Mumford’s murder.”
She glanced up at Indira, a look of alarm in her eyes.
“We don’t believe he killed Ms Mumford directly, but I do have to ask, is there any way he might have known Kat? Did he ever mention Kat or Eliot for that matter?”
She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “No.”
“Did he ever tell you that Eliot Mumford had beaten him up after AA one day?”
Maz almost smiled then, had to catch herself. “No, but… wow, good on him.”
“You didn’t notice Brian’s bruises?” Jackson asked.
She glared back at him. “It’s hard to see straight with two black eyes, you know.”
He bowed his head by way of apology, then he had a thought and asked, “How come Brian’s parents have never heard of you?”
“Parents?” She blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know they were still alive. He said they died when he was like five. He went into foster care. I figured that was why he didn’t want kids…”
“No, they live about two suburbs from his bedsit.”
“What? Really?” She looked genuinely shocked by that and slumped back in her seat. “I… I never knew.” Then she patted her stomach and said, “Fat lot of good they did us, hey, bubba?”
But this time, there wasn’t just sorrow and relief in her eyes, there was a palpable sense of anger and betrayal.
********
The Orient Express restaurant was bursting at the seams, surprising for a Monday night, and Alicia was relieved when the waitress led them to a pokey table at the back, just near the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.
“Last table,” the woman told her. “Sorry, all we can do.”
Alicia assured her it was fine. She just needed somewhere to touch base with Jackson. They had gone part of the way to making up last night, but they needed some more quality time, some decent conversation, and a chance to rebuild the trust.
Jackson helped her into a seat and then sent the waitress off to open the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc he had brought along.
“Are we really okay now?” he asked after the wine had been poured, and she reached over and took his hand.
“We’re fine.” Then she smiled. “I get why Indira is angry. I do understand. I know my book club can be a total pain in the neck and we overstep a lot.” Then to his pointed look she added, “Okay, all the time.”
He laughed. “That’s the understatement of the century. Still, I should have stuck up for you. I should have. I’m sorry. I’ll do it in future, I promise.”
Now she laughed. “Be careful, Jackson, that sounds like you’ve just given us the green light again!”
He groaned and then shook his head. “Somehow I get the feeling you’ll do exactly what you want to do regardless of what I say.”
She grinned and drank from her glass. That’s what she loved about Liam Jackson, she decided. He wasn’t trying to control her. He seemed resigned to the fact that Alicia Finlay and her friends were the world’s nosiest book club, and love it or loathe it, it wasn’t his job to change that. He also seemed to accept that she needed to stay informed, and no sooner had they ordered, he was filling her in on the latest developments in the Mumford case. It left her head reeling.
“Brian from AA is your overdose Brian. Well, that is quite the coincidence,” she agreed. “So what do you think it means?”
He gulped his wine. “Beats me. According to Eliot Mumford, it means nothing.”
“So you questioned him about it?”
“Of course, although this time instead of gently lobbing questions in his cosy kitch
en, Indira finally hauled his butt into the station.”
“And?”
“And it’s another dead end. Eliot admits to beating up Brian Donahue but insists he never met Maz Olden outside AA or at any other time and says it’s a complete coincidence that she was sitting so close to his blanket that night. Reckons he never even saw the woman before that film night. Not even on that film night, in fact. He just vaguely recalls a pregnant woman on a blanket nearby. Recalls almost falling on top of her and getting a filthy look, but that’s it.”
Alicia blinked. Something he said made her synapses zap again, but this time an image was forming in her head. She let it go for now and asked, “Do you believe him?”
“No, he’s a liar. He’s lied to us several times now, but what evidence do I have? Maz wasn’t a member of AA, her fiancé was, so it’s highly probable that they didn’t meet. Zara never met her, so why would Eliot?”
He chewed on the lip of his glass.
“What?” Alicia asked, knowing he wasn’t finished with this topic.
He placed the glass back on the table. “I just know he’s lying. I’ve sensed it almost from the start, but I don’t know about what, and I don’t know how to find out.”
“What about Maz Olden?” Alicia asked. “Could she be lying?”
“Absolutely she could.” He stopped to enjoy the first course that was being placed on the table then, and after a few mouthfuls said, “I have a mad theory if you’re interested.”
“Yes, I love mad theories. Shoot!”
He smiled and wiped his mouth with his serviette. “Okay, so what if Maz really loved Brian?”
“Brian the bully who threw her down a set of stairs?”
“Wouldn’t be the first domestic violence victim to forgive and forget. We tracked down the officers who investigated the domestic incident she mentioned, and they say it was Maz who refused to press charges, not them.”
“What? Why?”
“Some domestic violence victims do that for their own safety, understandably terrified of the repercussions. But I’m wondering whether we’ve got it all wrong. What if her tears of relief are all an act? You have to remember, this is the guy she is about to have a child with, the one she was engaged to, the one she gave a ring to with a kiss and a hug on it. You don’t give someone an engraved ring if you despise them, do you? What if she loved Brian Donahue, faults and all, and was furious with Eliot for scaring him off or turning him suicidal or whatever. In any case, she discovers he’s dead—maybe he sent her a text saying goodbye, I’m not sure. I have to look into all that—but what if she is so furious she somehow tracks down Eliot and Kat to the Balmain park, slips down next to their blanket, and takes her revenge.”