Dastardly Deeds (8 page)

I dealt with the emails that required replies and ignored the rest. The news of the death of an Australian woman at Gallipoli had clearly not yet broken. I pre-empted it with assurances that we were all fine, without mentioning my part in the discovery of the body. She had looked so forlorn, lying there. One moment waving that ten lira note around, making plans for the future, and the next everything had been snatched away. And for what? The senselessness of her death was almost as brutal as the deed itself.

I wrenched my mind away, instead turning to gaze at the view through the sliding door. I had run out of words with which to describe the sunsets. They were simply too magnificent. And the pancaked clouds had just made things worse – or better, depending on your perspective. Unfortunately, I had also run out of words with which to populate my column. If I had hoped that the cruise would act as a catalyst, I was to be disappointed. Which I had, and I was.

I used to call my writing style ‘word vomit’; I would decide on a theme and allow the words to simply pour onto the page. There didn’t seem to be a great deal of effort involved. I thought, and they came. I was dismissive of other writers who claimed to be suffering a block, or spoke about wringing blood from a stone. I had once even written a column about a pompous male author who had the chutzpah to compare writing with labour. Having given birth to several children, I still thought the guy was a twit, but now I rather regretted having been quite so harsh. It seemed that writing
could
be hard. Which would probably be a great idea for a column, if I could actually write it. I smiled grimly at the irony and went back to staring at the sunset. Lovely. Wonderful. Nice. Blech.

Somebody knocked softly on the door and I leapt up so quickly that I wrenched the laptop cord from the wall. I disentangled myself and hopped to the door. Deb stood on the threshold with a glass of wine in either hand. She was wearing silky striped pyjamas and a matching dressing-gown.

‘I come bearing gifts.’

‘Ah, I wasn’t going to drink tonight.’

‘You can’t not drink on a cruise. It’s the law.’

‘In that case.’ I took a glass and stood back so that she could squeeze past. ‘What’s with the PJs?’

‘I’m having room service later. Then an early night.’

‘Good thinking.’ I sat on the desk chair while Deb put her glass down and then flung herself onto Petra’s bed, staring at the ceiling.

‘Do you think I’m an awful friend?’

I blinked. ‘No. Why?’

‘Because I came on this cruise after April died, but those women have all stayed behind in Canakkale. Every single one.’ The words blurted from her, even as her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. ‘
They
were good friends. They were—’

‘That’s entirely different,’ I interrupted. ‘Their friend was
murdered
, and there’s an investigation in full swing. Plus, they’d be the only family she has here, whereas you guys handed over to April’s son. There was nothing more you could have done. And …’ I paused for a moment. ‘It was her choice.’

She continued to gaze upwards for a while and then sighed before rolling over to face me. Her dressing-gown was a puddle of silk on the doona. It occurred to me that this wasn’t her first glass of wine. ‘Have I interrupted your writing?’

‘No such luck. In fact, I think I’d better start job hunting.’

‘Bugger. But don’t give up.’

‘No. I won’t.’

Deb reached across to grab her glass and then awkwardly rearranged the pillows so that she could sit on the bed with her back against the wall. ‘Must have been terrible for you, finding that woman.’

‘Yes.’

‘Her poor friends. Such a shock.’

The door opened and Petra came through in her exercise gear. She flung a small towel onto my bed. It had an embroidered motif that read
Gym Towel: do not remove
. She raised an eyebrow at Deb. ‘You’ve stolen my bed.’

‘You’ve stolen that towel,’ replied Deb, pointing.

‘Yes, but that’s not going to keep you awake tonight. On the other hand, the image of you reclining on my bed in silk PJs isn’t going to help my sleep.’

‘Are you trying to say you fancy me?’

Petra snorted. ‘The least you could have done is brought wine for me too.’

‘I’ll get more!’ Deb leapt to her feet gracelessly, and hurried from the room.

Petra watched her go. ‘Has she been drinking?’

‘Clearly.’

‘Are you still annoyed with me?’

‘Annoyed is possibly not the right word.’ I pretended to mull it over. ‘More pissed off, or angry, or you could even say
really
angry.’

‘I get the picture.’ Petra sat down on my bed and folded one leg beneath her. ‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I promised Ruby.
She
wanted to tell you first. If it makes you feel better, the promise was made under duress.’

‘Oh, yes!’ I clapped my hands. ‘That
does
make me feel better. Thank you!’

A knock on the door heralded the return of Deb. She was holding a bottle of champagne and a box of crackers.

‘We bought this one from Rome,’ she said, brandishing the bottle. Petra took it from her to uncork, waiting for me to finish my glass before refilling it. She used a tumbler from the cupboard for herself and then returned to my bed as Deb had reclaimed the other one.

‘Cheers,’ said Deb, holding up her glass. Petra and I followed suit.

‘How awful was today?’ said Petra after a few moments. ‘Everyone was talking about it at the gym. That poor woman. You know what I keep thinking? It could have been any one of us. I mean, Nell went wandering down there afterwards, and then Quinn … Quinn and Griffin were sitting by the bus, just by themselves.’

This had already occurred to me but the thought silenced me once more. I took a deep drink. I kept seeing her rose T-shirt, such a happy colour, and imagining her plucking it from her wardrobe that morning, never imagining that she would finish the day on a slab in the morgue.

‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Deb brusquely.

‘Okay.’ Petra readjusted her legs. ‘What’s the go with that Donald? I swear he was flirting with me today.’

‘Donald flirts with everyone. He’s been that way as long as I’ve known him.’

‘Well, you’d think with that much practice, he’d be a little better at it.’

Deb laughed. ‘I know, it’s so sad. He’s absolutely terrible at picking up women, but I reckon he’d be great in an actual relationship. And then you’ve got Scott, who’s never had a problem meeting women but is hopeless at commitment.’

‘Is that what happened to his marriage?’ I asked.

‘That one, and the one before. Neither worked. Scott’s problem is that he’s exactly the same now as when he was twenty. Lovely guy, but he’s a big boy. Which doesn’t make for a great life partner.’

‘What about Donald then?’ asked Petra.

‘Never been married. Neither has Phoebe.’

‘He was flirting with me too,’ I commented. ‘Yesterday at Troy, and then a little bit at lunch today as well.’

Deb began to laugh. She clapped a hand to her chest, then sat up and started laughing again.

I stared at her, affronted. ‘What’s so bloody funny?’

‘No.’ She put up a hand. ‘I was just remembering his face when …’ She gave one more snort of laughter. ‘Oh, god. I’m not laughing at you, promise. I
know
he was interested in you. He even started doing research by reading through your old columns. But then when we were waiting on the bus before, he found one about …’ She started laughing even as she spoke, so that the final word was spat out with force. ‘Lego!’

‘Lego?’ I repeated, but I knew immediately what she meant. Some years ago I had penned a column about Lego, the building blocks, asking why the current offerings were so gendered. Girls, as I knew well, wanted more than squat versions of Barbie. I compared them with the Lego of my childhood, when the blocks had simply been blocks. To my shock, the hate mail had been almost instantaneous. I still got the odd Lego-related email today. Most of it seemed to come from adult men, who took my musings as a personal attack. They could be summed up by the very first email received, which read:
Stay the away from lego you feminazi bitch. Haven’t you women already done enough?

‘But that was
years
ago!’ said Petra, who was well acquainted with The Lego Affair. ‘And besides … Lego?’

Deb’s laughter finally subsided. She took a sip of wine. ‘Oh, now my brows hurt. I mean my temples. Anyway, yes, Don’s a bit of a Lego fan. He was a little incensed. He was still bitching about it when we were coming up in the lift.’

‘What was his problem?’ I asked, bemused.

‘Basically that you were trying to interfere with the magic of childhood.’

‘He’s a man in his forties,’ said Petra. ‘What’s he doing dabbling in the magic of childhood anyway?’

‘He collects Lego. He even belongs to a club.’

Petra grimaced. ‘I’m sure he does. Well, I was considering a little dalliance in that direction. I think I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Poor Donald.’ Deb started to laugh again.

I wasn’t feeling as sympathetic. In fact, I felt pretty irritated. I hadn’t been interested in Donald that way, but to be rejected over Lego was ridiculous. Especially when I’d been right. No wonder his relationship back home was in trouble. I turned away but unfortunately that meant I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I had serious hat hair. I ran my fingers through but that just resulted in a helmet that had the occasional tendril standing to attention. I could hear Deb’s laughter surge.

My laptop pinged. There was another email from my editor, which didn’t do much to help my mood. There was also a new
Stay Afloat with Lew’s Crew News!

‘Something wrong?’ asked Petra, who was watching me.

I shook my head as I continued reading, then turned to Deb. ‘So you’re not joining us tomorrow?’

Her grin faded. ‘No. More’s the pity.’

‘Why, you going to miss us?’

‘Yes. I mean, I love Scott and Don and Phoebe – I’ve known them forever – but it’s been rather nice having, well, a bit of a buffer. And I’ll tell you a secret.’ She glanced around, as if checking that we wouldn’t be overheard. ‘They’re a little annoyed with Lew for coming along on our trip. They think he muscled in and invited all you lot. But it was actually
me
who insisted he come. I mean, I like them but I
love
him.’ Her eyes misted. ‘He did it for me. God, I love that man.’

Petra shot me a glance before turning back to Deb. ‘Well, if you need a buffer, you can always ask Donald to build you one. Out of Lego.’

Deb gave a snort of laughter, making a mercurial leap from maudlin to manic. Even she must have realised how odd she sounded, because she then made an obvious attempt to control herself. ‘Don’t be too hard on him. He’s a nice guy really. Just a little … quirky.’ She paused to gulp some wine. ‘Anyway, it’s really Phoebe who’s doing my head in. I never noticed it as much with April around, but she’s just so … needy.’

‘Is that why you’re here, drinking with us instead?’

‘Abso-bloody-lutely.’

‘So have you got your own tour for both Istanbul days, or just tomorrow?’

‘Both days. Apparently a vacancy opened up.’

I stared at Deb, who seemed to realise at the same time just why a vacancy had opened up. Her mouth was still open, as if cut off mid-sentence. Petra had also fallen silent. I knew we were all thinking of those three women who had booked a two-day tour of Istanbul, but were now going to spend their time in Canakkale instead, mourning their friend.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Petra suddenly, finishing her tumbler of champagne.

Deb brightened. ‘Room service! Come on! We can order something decadent and finish the champagne!’

‘Well …’

‘Here!’ Deb scrambled off the bed and grabbed the room service menu. She flipped it open as she returned, dropping it on Petra’s lap. ‘Look! Lasagne! Salmon! And we can have chocolate gateau for dessert!’

Petra had reared back. ‘Are you the room service ambassador or something?’

‘Come on! It’ll be fun. What d’you say?’

As my sister perused the menu, I considered the suggestion. There were some drawbacks, such as needing to persuade Ruby to keep an eye on her sister for the evening, plus I had made a tentative arrangement to meet Ashley for dinner. But eating here also had some serious advantages. First, I would not have to move, second, I would not have to do anything about my hair, and third, it would give me more time to enjoy the
anticipation
of spending time with Ashley. It was a state of pleasurable, pressure-free stasis. But the real reason I was tempted to remain in the cabin was more difficult to articulate. Even with Deb’s obvious inebriation, there was something that just felt right about the three of us spending the evening together when there were three women in Canakkale who were doing the same. There was solidarity there, a sense of unity and support. Even though I didn’t really know them, and they didn’t know me, it just felt right.

Istanbul was foreign. Not in a familiar way like Rome but with an exoticism that spoke of mystery and difference. Buildings tumbled over the hilly horizon, with majestic spires framing plump minarets that swelled above the mosques. For some reason I was reminded of a family favourite,
The Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Book
, and a castle cake that each of my children had chosen at some point in time. Even though Istanbul looked nothing like it.

Our tour had started much later than scheduled, with each passenger having to fill out a statement regarding his or her whereabouts the day before. The casual attitude of the police officers collecting this information suggested that it was just procedure, and they were already concentrating elsewhere. Nevertheless it had meant two hours stuck in the ship’s theatre with a couple of thousand other people, none of whom were happy about the arrangement, and a small minority were very vocal about this. There had even been threats of legal recourse. If I’d had a rock handy, I may even have beaten a few heads in myself. Somebody had died and they were concerned about a few hours lost.

Apparently the Russos were going through a similar routine onshore, having to report to the local police station. Lew received a call to say that therefore they had decided to do their own thing for the day and would catch up with us tomorrow. Quinn’s mood darkened even further.

We got underway shortly before noon and almost immediately stopped for lunch. Our new tour guide introduced himself as Ali as well. I was beginning to suspect they simply didn’t want to divulge their real names. Either that or they didn’t have a high opinion of our pronunciation skills. However, I preferred this Ali, not least because thus far he had not once mentioned olives. Instead, after lunch, he took us on a tour of the famous Blue Mosque, where all females were given scarves with which to cover our heads. I now had an entertaining photo of my mother looking like a very cross babushka.

This was followed by a trip to the Spice Market, which fortunately sold much more than just spices. We arrived back at the ship laden with souvenirs and, in Enid’s case, a brass lamp with a stained-glass shade. Her brother did not look impressed. But purchases and experiences were not the only things that made their way back on board. A passenger with a relative in the constabulary brought the information that Kim’s purse had been found, not far from her body. It had been empty. Her camera, it turned out, had never been missing. It had simply been hidden beneath her body with the strap still around her neck. The information swirled around the ship, with the occasional elaboration. Halfway up the stairs I overheard a woman telling her friend that the attack had included sexual assault. In the foyer of deck nine, a group was sharing the news that the last photo taken had been that of the looming murderer. Having seen the body, I knew that neither story was true.

But, while interesting, all of this took second place to my plans for that evening. I had a date. I showered and then doused my hair with product to keep it under control before slipping into my orange shift dress and a pair of heels. Lastly I draped a strand of black jet beads around my neck. I fancied that I was channelling both the roaring twenties and the flower-power sixties. I tripped down the stairs to the casino deck and walked all the way through to the outside bar that hugged the rear of the ship. This was not an area that our group had frequented, and so it was our best chance for an uninterrupted evening.

Ashley was already there, standing by the door and dressed in a charcoal suit and open-necked shirt. He looked very nice. He smiled when he saw me, and immediately looked even nicer.

‘Hey. You’re gorgeous.’

‘Thank you.’ I resisted the urge to smooth my dress or run my fingers through my hair. I always had a problem with compliments. They made me fidgety.

We got drinks at the bar and found a table by the railing. A stream of frothy water trailed behind the ship. It glistened in the setting sun.

‘So what did you tell Petra? And the girls?’

‘That I wanted some time to myself. To do some work.’

He regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Why didn’t you just say you were meeting me?’

‘I don’t know.’ I was being honest.

‘Ah, well.’

The silence settled uncomfortably. This was not a good start.
Studies indicate that silence is in fact not golden. More a tarnished silver.

‘Are you embarrassed about being seen with me?’

‘No!’ I might not have been able to articulate my issues, but that wasn’t it.

‘Then you’re still hung up on your ex-husband and don’t want to hurt him.’

‘No!’ That
definitely
wasn’t it. ‘I’m
more
than happy to hurt him!’

Ashley took a sip of his wine and then tapped his fingers on the edge of the glass. ‘So you’re telling me that if Darcy came up to you tonight, told you it had all been a mistake, apologised on bended knee and asked for a second chance, you wouldn’t give him one?’

I shook my head without hesitation, not just because I knew hesitation would be fatal, but because it wasn’t required. ‘I wouldn’t take him back if he was trussed up and offered to me on a platter.’

‘Hmm.’ Ashley leant back in his chair and suddenly smiled. ‘I’m intrigued by the fact that particular analogy even occurred to you. Indicates a robust imagination and also suggests that our previous relationship ended far too soon.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Not a fan, by the way.’

‘Of what? Being trussed?’

‘
That
would depend on the context.’ His smile stayed in place for a moment, and then faded. ‘No, I meant your ex-husband. This is the most I’ve ever spoken to him. Seems like a nice-enough guy but a little self-centred.’

I pushed aside a flash of defensiveness. ‘I think that’s the first time in history that a woman’s new partner wasn’t keen on her old one. I must notify the authorities.’

Ashley’s grin was back. ‘Did you just call me your new partner?’

‘What?’ I blinked as I replayed the conversation. Fuck.

‘Well, well, well. And here was I thinking I would have to ply you with wine and food and compliments.’

‘I was referring more to the period of time when we went out. Not now.’

‘Okay.’ He was still grinning.

‘You’re infuriating.’

‘Well, that can happen in a relationship. Although if it becomes an issue, we’d best seek couples counselling. Work through it.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Speaking of relationships, what happened to yours? Didn’t you take up with that Holly female after we broke up?’

‘Only briefly.’ He shrugged. ‘Nice woman but she had this really annoying habit of sucking air through her teeth. She looked like a manic rabbit. What about you?’

‘I don’t
think
so.’ I pretended to give this some thought. ‘No, I think I breathe normally most of the time.’

‘I’m glad you said
most
of time. Because I’ve certainly seen instances where—’

‘Thank you. I think that’s quite enough.’ I sounded like my mother.

‘And I meant have you been seeing anyone since us?’

I shook my head and then picked up my glass to have something to do.

‘Okay then.’ He finished his own drink and stood. ‘I’m going to get us some more wine and how about I order while I’m at the bar? They use the room service menu. Want me to grab one?’

‘No, that’s okay. I’ll have the salmon Wellington, thanks.’

I watched him walk over to the bar. There were a few other men there but he was definitely the best-looking. If you liked that tall, craggy, been-around-the-block type. I turned away before he could see me watching. The man already seemed to have an inflated sense of expectation.

The view from the rear of the ship was breathtakingly beautiful. The sun was like an egg yolk that had just burst, seeping yellow-orange across the horizon. A plane flew far overheard, leaving the faintest trail of vapour. I wondered if Kim had left behind a partner. He, or she, would now be on their way to Turkey, sunglasses firmly in place to hide their swollen eyes.

It seemed a little odd that the only thing emptied had been her purse. If the robber had just been after money, then surely pickpocketing the milling crowd of live tourists would have been more time-efficient. And less likely to attract a lengthy prison sentence. The robber wouldn’t even have known how much money she had. On the other hand, the small knapsack had seemed quite weighty when it bumped against me in the toilet queue. It probably contained camera bits and bobs. Even if it hadn’t, then what about her camera itself? It had looked expensive, yet it hadn’t been taken either. Neither had the Pandora charm bracelet. I sat up a little straighter as I thought this through. It didn’t make sense.

Ashley returned with our drinks. ‘Dinner’s on the way.’

‘Listen, that poor woman who was killed – Kim …’

‘Kim Satchwell?’

I was momentarily sidetracked. ‘How do you know her full name?’

‘Must have heard it somewhere. What about her?’

‘Oh, um, well, I was thinking: why didn’t the thief take her camera?’

Ashley took a sip of wine. ‘If it was under her body, maybe he didn’t see it.’

‘No, that can’t be it. It was a pretty sizeable camera, with a chunky lens as well. He would have seen it when he followed her down there for starters, and then, when she was standing in the clearing, the most likely scenario is that she had it raised, pointing at the view. He
must
have seen it.’

‘Maybe he was the squeamish type. So when she fell on top of it, he wasn’t real keen on manoeuvring it out from underneath her.’

I scoffed. ‘So he was fine with beating her head in, but drew the line at pulling out a camera?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’ Ashley leant back, regarding me evenly. ‘Why the sudden interest?’

‘It just doesn’t make sense. We’re saying it was a robbery, but he left behind the most expensive thing she had. Plus she was wearing this
gold
Pandora bracelet, loaded with charms. Those things cost a fortune.’

‘He probably thought it was fake.’ Ashley waved his hand dismissively. ‘And maybe he was just after cold, hard cash. It’s easier to hide, for starters.’

‘He could have got that from anyone. Or he could have just made her hand the purse over.’ I was thinking even as I spoke. ‘And that’s another thing. He did a
lot
of damage to the back of her head. The sort of damage you’d do if you were angry, not if you just wanted someone’s money.’

Ashley stared at the setting sun for a moment. ‘You realise that if you follow that train of reasoning, you end up pointing the finger at someone she knew? Someone who was not only seriously pissed off at her, but was calculating enough to rifle through her purse and make it look like a robbery afterwards?’

I thought about the other three women, and re-examined their shock. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re doing it again.’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘Just drop it. You’re on holiday. The police have got it in hand.’

‘Have they? It seems to me that they’ve simply decided it’s some pickpocket.’

‘Which it probably is.’

I felt a surge of irritation. ‘Come on, where’s your sense of investigation?
You’re
the detective.’

‘Not any more.’

‘What?’ The change in direction was as confusing as the news.

‘I retired last week. That’s why I couldn’t join the cruise right from the start. I had a goodbye party in Melbourne.’

‘Wow. What brought this on?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about it on and off for a few years, and then about six months ago we had a nasty case.’ He paused, took a sip of wine. ‘Bloke who killed his kid as revenge against the ex-wife. Gut-wrenching stuff. And I thought that’s it. Enough’s enough. Time for something new.’

I was stunned. Ashley had always seemed so
right
as a police detective that I had never pictured him doing anything else. Not until he was old and grey anyway, and then it would be straight to a retirement village for elderly detectives. Where no doubt they would wander around effortlessly solving crimes that the young whippersnappers were struggling with. Maybe they would make a sitcom about them.

‘Here’s our dinner.’ Ashley moved the glasses over to make room for two plates of salmon Wellington. He thanked the waiter.

I reclaimed my wine. ‘So what’s the plan then?’

‘Got something in the wind,’ he said mysteriously.

‘What?’

‘Don’t want to say too much in case it doesn’t come off.’ He pointed at my meal with his fork. ‘Come on, dig in! It’s delicious.’

I ate slowly, thinking. I was very curious about whatever it was that Ashley had in the wind but didn’t want to betray that curiosity. Instead I gazed at the view. The sun had now all but set and a cool breeze had sprung up. I hadn’t brought my wrap, mainly because it had a decent-sized tear at the back. I shivered.

‘Here you go.’ Ashley pushed his plate aside as he rose. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

I felt a flush of warmth, and not just from the jacket. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ve always liked seeing you in my clothes.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Funny. I’ve never had an urge to see you in mine.’

‘What, not even that time I modelled your black—’

‘Maybe then,’ I interrupted briskly. ‘But only because you looked ridiculous.’

He gave a lopsided grin and then took a sip of wine, but without taking his eyes off me. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’

‘Really?’ My stomach tightened. ‘How exciting.’

‘Potentially. See, I had some time to think, when you stood me up last night, and it occurred to me that when our relationship ended, we never had break-up sex. And that’s a damn shame, almost a crime, because you have to admit the sex was pretty damn good.’