Dirty Weekend (13 page)

‘I would have rung,’ I lied, ignoring the offer and moving further into the room, ‘but I didn’t have your home number.’ Getting straight to the point, I said, ‘I’m concerned about a number of things, Dallas. All the time I was at your laboratories on Tuesday, I had the distinct impression you weren’t being straight with me.’

I paused, but he remained silent.

‘And you did a curious thing,’ I continued.

He looked even more uneasy.

‘We were talking about a problem at the Ag Station,’ I said, watching him intently, ‘and in the same breath you asked if the death at the Blackspot was anyone we knew.’

I waited, letting the pressure of silence grow.

‘Why did you think you’d know this person?’

Dallas picked up the newspaper, closed it, folded it and put it down.

I took it up again and found the story about Claire Dimitriou’s death with its accompanying photo of a pretty, vibrant woman, which contrasted sharply with the lifeless corpse I’d turned over in the old Level Four lab.

‘Why do I have this very strong sense that there’s something you’re not telling me?’ I said, tapping the report in the paper.

Dallas shoved his hands in his pockets, walked over to the marble mantelpiece and fixed his attention on the fox-hunting English gentleman. When he turned, his expression was miserable and I saw he was looking past me, through one of the tall windows that ran along the northern side of the room. I followed his gaze to the end of the garden, where a figure was visible near the round summerhouse, through the lattices of autumn roses.

‘This is a murder investigation,’ I said. ‘A woman—two women—have lost their lives. I’ve been conducting a line of inquiry that has resulted in some very specific information. I know a lot more than I did when I came to see you. Now I’ll ask you again: is there anything else you should be telling me?’

A long silence ensued during which Dallas Baxter continued to stare out into the garden.

‘There was .
 
.
 
.’ he finally started, his face looking grey. ‘I mean there is .
 
.
 
. a group of people, from the department and the university .
 
.
 
.’

I stood unmoving and silent, my back to the French doors, waiting.

‘.
 
.
 
. who enjoy a fairly liberal interpretation of marriage.’

Exactly what the bartender from the Cat and Castle had said, in his own way.

‘The swingers?’ I asked. ‘The partner-swapping group?’

Dallas looked shocked. ‘Who told you?’

‘Was Claire Dimitriou one of them?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘In a place as small as this, people notice things, Dallas. Various staff and patrons of the Cat and Castle have been helpful. I’ve been told by more than one source about a group of people from the university and the Ag Station who played a certain game involving envelopes and coloured paper.’

Dallas shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, looking even more miserable. ‘Oh, dear. I’ve been dreading something like this.’ He looked up at me. ‘It’s all consensual, adult business, you know. And we prefer to call it share-mating.’

The term sounded like something in animal husbandry. ‘Was Tianna Richardson also a member of the group?’ I asked.

‘The woman who was murdered at the nightclub? I don’t know. There have been locals involved over the years. She could have been one of them,’ he said.

‘I think you suspected that and that’s why you asked me if she was anyone we knew. Isn’t that so?’

His silence was the answer I sought.

‘Was Cheryl Tobin part of the group?’

Dallas blinked. ‘Cheryl Tobin?’ he repeated. ‘What’s she got to do with it?’

‘That’s something I’d really like to know,’ I said. ‘I didn’t even know she existed until I’d spoken to Annette Sommers. Was she one of the share-mates?’

‘But that was over two years ago,’ he protested.

‘Was she one of the share-mates?’ I repeated.

‘No, as far as I know. I’m surprised you’re interested in her.’

‘Peter Yu put her off from the laboratory and possibly also out of his bed. Then he took on Claire Dimitriou. Don’t you think that might create a motive to murder?’

I could see the idea shocked him. ‘But Cheryl was only a little thing,’ he said.

‘When it comes to handling firearms, Dallas, size really doesn’t matter. And furthermore,’ I continued, ‘the reason you know so much about the group is pretty clear too.’

A movement from the garden took my attention and I watched his wife, hatted and wearing gumboots, appear from behind the summerhouse, pushing a wheelbarrow of grass cuttings over to a compost pile near the fence.

‘You’d better tell me everything,’ I said finally.

He walked away and I moved to block him, thinking he was going to leave. But all he did was pick up his jacket from the back of a chair.

‘I’ll tell you,’ he said. ‘But not here.’

Not long after we were back at the Ag Station in Dallas’s office. A stiff brandy had helped him regain some of his gloss. I declined his offer of one and watched as he put the bottle back on the shelf above his desk.

‘You’re not really on duty,’ he said. ‘Not like a police officer.’

‘It’s not that. I don’t drink.’

‘I’m not sure where to start,’ he said, ignoring my comment.

‘Try the beginning,’ I answered.

‘There were about half a dozen of us originally,’ he said, standing by the window looking out at the the nearby holding paddock. ‘Not Ellen, of course. My wife is very straight-laced about that sort of thing. She doesn’t like sex much at all.’ He looked at the remaining brandy in his glass, swirled it around and then tossed the lot down. ‘Or, at least, sex with me.’

Genevieve had discovered the same disinclination towards me.

‘I don’t know about you, but as far as some things go, I’ve found marriage unsatisfactory,’ he stated, putting the empty glass on the windowsill. ‘And from asking around, I find that a lot of people—men and women—have the same problem.’

Memories of Genevieve surfaced like a rolling shark. I would have used something stronger than unsatisfactory myself. The word ‘impossible’
came to mind
. ‘
Intolerable’ and ‘unbearable’ were more like it.

‘So tell me how it worked and who was involved,’ I said.

‘There was me,’ he said, then paused, picking up his glass and going back for a refill. ‘Are you sure you won’t have one?’ he asked.

‘Very sure,’ I answered. I’d never forgotten where bottles like this one had once taken me.

‘Like I said, there was me and Anthony Dimitriou and Claire. Although, as I recall, Claire wasn’t as keen as the others. It started up about three years ago,’ Dallas continued. ‘Peter Yu was a pretty active member, together with whatever girlfriend he might have had at the time. If she was willing. I guess you could say that we were the founding members.’ He looked up at me and his distress was palpable. ‘There’s still been no word on Peter?’

‘I want to know how it worked,’ I said, not letting him get off the hook, thinking of the small white envelopes and the coloured flint paper the bartender had mentioned.

‘Did you write names down on bits of paper?’ I asked.

Dallas shook his head. ‘No. No names. Not in writing. I was paranoid about Ellen ever finding out and a couple of the others were just as cautious. I never went to the hotel meetings for that reason. The younger ones didn’t worry about that sort of thing.’

‘You said there were six of you originally, but you’ve only mentioned three men and two women.’

‘Yvonne Abernathy was also a member,’ said Dallas. ‘She was
particularly
concerned about secrecy.’

‘She rang you the morning I found Claire’s body,’ I said, remembering Dallas’s evasive manner. ‘She must have heard something about Claire already.’

‘I’d actually rung her first,’ Dallas confessed. ‘I’d asked her if she knew anything about any extra involvement Claire might have had.’

‘The coloured paper? Was that part of the code?’

‘Yvonne’s idea. She’s a primary school teacher and she was the one who brought the flint paper along. She chose red, I was white and Anthony was purple. I only remember his colour because he hated it. I can’t remember Claire’s colour because she used to pull out more often than not.’

‘Who was blue?’ I asked.

Dallas shook his head. ‘Sorry. It was a while ago.’

Someone had seen blue. Someone had seen him or her at a place he or she shouldn’t have been—perhaps a motel or a hotel. At last, Claire Dimitriou’s cryptic cry was making some sense. Was that why she’d had to die?

‘What about the other envelope? With the plain cards?’ I asked.

‘They each had a number written on it and each number stood for a motel or hotel. We tried to use places a bit off the beaten track. But it was still risky.’ He paused. ‘That was part of the excitement. You’d pick a number to see where you’d go that night. And a colour.’

So much for Canberra being dull.

‘We used lots of motels and hotels in the district—some as far as Queanbeyan. Then, as other people became involved, we used even more colours. Lime, aqua, orange, gold—I forget now. But everyone had a different colour or shade.’ He paused and his voice when he spoke sounded tired. ‘It sounds pathetic now, like kids playing cloak-and-dagger games. But at the time it somehow made everything feel more exciting, pulling out a number and a colour. Riskier.’

I recalled the old board game, Cluedo—Mrs Plum in the library with the candlestick, Miss Prim in the dining room with the revolver. ‘So you’d get a colour and a number. You might pull out number four and then the red?’

Dallas nodded again. ‘Red meant you met Yvonne Abernathy and I can’t quite recall where four was—could have been the motel off the highway near Collector.’ He looked away into the distance.

‘You said you
used
to be part of the group,’ I said, considering his earlier words. ‘What happened?’

‘One of Peter’s girlfriends got a crush on me,’ he said, not sounding too displeased about this. ‘Suzie started ringing me at work, wanting to see me. Then she started ringing the house and hanging up if Ellen answered. My wife suspected something was going on. She started asking questions. I told her it was one of my Hong Kong postgrad students, having a hard time away from home, seeing me as a father figure—which was largely the truth.’

I saw him look at the brandy bottle again, consider another drink, then think better of it. Thinking better of it was something I’d never been able to do.

‘I started to panic,’ Dallas was saying. ‘I couldn’t afford any scandal. It was getting too dangerous for me. I’d never intended to put my marriage in jeopardy.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m very fond of my wife. You get used to a person. We’ve got along very well for a quarter of a century now. I know my wife—she’s a proud woman. If I made a fool of her, played up on her—especially with a student from the university—she’d divorce me in a flash. And I couldn’t afford that. It’d ruin me. Airlie House means a lot to me. It’s listed among the ten most famous colonial residences in Australia in private hands. And it all belongs to Ellen. If she divorced me, I’d lose my beautiful home. The children would never forgive me. After the Hong Kong student, I got scared. So I pulled out of the group. That was last year. I don’t really know how things stand these days.’

I wondered what he did for sex now. Probably what most men did, with a stash of pornography hidden somewhere. The only magazines I could see in the room were some journals on genetic improvements in merino sheep.

‘It was only ever supposed to be a bit of fun,’ said Dallas, ‘with willing people who would be as discreet as I was. It was just meant to be a bit of sex on the side.’

A bit of sex on the side. The phrase made it sound so harmless, like a green salad or a bowl of chips with the main meal.

‘So Tianna Richardson
could
have become a member of the group after you left?’ I asked.

‘It’s quite possible. I knew that people from town joined even when I was still active in the group. She could easily have become part of it.’

‘That’s why you sacked Kevin Waites,’ I said, suddenly understanding.

‘When he told me what he’d overheard, I immediately imagined Claire’s words referred to the colour code. I didn’t want him repeating that anywhere. He’s getting too old for the job, anyway,’ he said. Dallas spread his beautifully manicured hands and the ruby winked on the little finger of his left hand.

‘The words Claire used were “Sixteen blue”,’ I said.

‘Perhaps Claire
was
alluding to someone in the group then .
 
.
 
. Although we usually put the colour first. She could have meant Blue Sixteen. Like I told you,’ Dallas said, ‘I haven’t been involved for nearly a year now. If it had come out that I was involved with a student, anything could have happened. You don’t know what it’s like these days. A complaint from a student about harassment can end an academic’s life. There are plenty of hungry young associate professors coming up through the system ready to take my place.’

Outside, kookaburras were laughing raucously.

‘Dallas, you’re hardly like an academic in a position of trust with a student. It’s not like that. This girl joined the group as an equal player.’

‘Even so, I got scared.’

Scared that the good life you’ve made for yourself might all start to unravel, I thought. ‘That’s why you didn’t find it very funny when I suggested earlier that Claire Dimitriou and Peter Yu might have eloped.’

‘It
wasn’t
funny. A couple of people got a bit too serious once before,’ he said. ‘That was one of the things we discussed at the beginning. It was all meant to stay light-hearted, not end up in the bloody divorce courts.’

The phone rang and Dallas picked it up while I made a mental note to talk to Jerri Quill, Claire Dimitriou’s postgrad student.

‘Yes, dear,’ Dallas was saying. ‘No, I remembered later and didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll be home soon.’

He put the phone down and stood up. ‘I’ve got to go. Please God, I can’t have a scandal, Jack,’ he said.

I felt sorry for the poor sod. I must have been getting soft in my middle years. First Earl bloody Richardson and now this fellow. Men of my vintage were starting to get to me. Did I see myself reflected back in them? It was not a comfortable thought. Maybe once I’d had a break, I’d be back to my usual self. Spending time with Iona could only do me good.

‘My interest in your personal life is purely professional. If it’s possible, I’m happy to be discreet,’ I said. ‘But you must get the names that go with the colours for me. That’s non-negotiable. And the corresponding numbers for the venues. It’s essential that I know who Blue Sixteen is. Or was.’

‘It’s been a long time,’ he said. ‘They’ll think it’s strange if I start asking questions like that.’

‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what they think, Dallas. I’m sure you can get that information somehow. Otherwise I’ll lean on you and blow the whole group wide open.’

He flashed me an angry glance then pulled out a very large handkerchief and wiped his glistening brow. I wondered if his agitation was simply the result of anxiety or whether he was still withholding something important.

He shoved the handkerchief back into a pocket. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘You get me that information. All of it.’

‘Jack, I only just hung onto my job in the most recent reshuffle. Ever since the amalgamation of the Agriculture Department with Fisheries and Primary Industry, things have felt tenuous at work. If I lose this position, I’m finished. Men of my age aren’t being hired anywhere. And then if Ellen divorced me .
 
.
 
.’

He didn’t have to tell me. After my divorce, I’d had to start again, like a young man in his twenties. If it hadn’t been for the windfall from the dealer, I wouldn’t have been able to buy a house.

‘So I’ve been wondering,’ said Dallas, interrupting my thoughts ‘if .
 
.
 
. you know .
 
.
 
. now that I’ve told you everything .
 
.
 
. you might be able to see your way clear to ruling a line under the information about my part in it.’ His voice faltered. ‘I can’t see how I could be related to anything that might be going on now. Surely my name can be left out of it?’

I didn’t envy him his beautiful house or his head-of-department salary package right this minute. Right this minute, Dallas Baxter was just a sad, frightened middle-aged man trying to wring out a favour.

‘Dallas, this is a murder investigation. Nothing and no one can be left out of it. Surely you realise that.’

Dallas went a paler shade of grey. ‘I just hoped, you know .
 
.
 
. I never thought that the share-mate business would end up becoming involved in something like murder. What’s happened is horrible.’

Millions of women have died at the hands of jealous men, I thought. And women, too, have wreaked vengeance on men they considered faithless.

‘You’ve lived too long in your academic ivory tower. You’re out of touch with reality,’ I said as I pulled out my notebook. ‘Okay. If someone wanted to join the group, what would they have to do?’

‘They need to be nominated by a member.’

‘Like joining a club?’

‘That’s right. And the first time someone
partakes
of a partner .
 
.
 
.’ He hesitated.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘It’s like an initiation—they don’t know who they’re meeting. They have to go to the nominated place and see who’s there.’

The lucky dip game, I thought. ‘How do they know what the nominated place is?’

‘They meet up with the group and take their chances by picking a number and a colour at the pub, or if they don’t want to go out, someone does the selection for them and then rings through with the information,’ said Dallas. ‘It’s always up to the lady to leave a message at Reception so that her visitor can find her.’

I thought about that a moment and got up. ‘Okay, Dallas. I’ll do what I can to keep your name out of this.’

‘That’s good of you, Jack.’

‘You can do something for me.’

‘If I can .
 
.
 
.’

‘Give Kevin Waites his job back. You said yourself how hard it is for men of your age—his age—to get another job.’

‘If I do, you’ll keep quiet about this business?’

‘I’ll do my level best,’ I said. ‘And as to the swingers group .
 
.
 
.’

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Get me those names and place numbers.’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘And one more thing?’

‘Anything I can do, Jack. I swear.’

‘Get someone who’s still a member to nominate me.’