Heart of the Outback (53 page)

“Did she admit responsibility for Richard’s death?” Steve asked.

“I accused her of it, but no, she laughed and said I was silly to think such a thing. I guess that’s when I snapped. As I recall, I hit her and she fell to the ground. Then my hands were around her throat, pressing down. She struggled, tried hard to pull my hands away but the more she did the tighter I squeezed. I held on until she stopped struggling.” His expression was concerned as he looked at Steve. “I experienced no sense of remorse and I still don’t. I felt I’d done the right thing. Natalie was a sick, evil woman who didn’t deserve to live. She’d taken away the best thing in my life, my only living son, and I … I felt justified in doing what I did.”

Steve’s gaze narrowed on the dying man. He
sounded sincere, and it kind of made sense. Rough justice according to the law of CJ Ambrose, and so typical of the man to do his own dirty work. “What did you do then, CJ?”

“We were near the pool. I rolled her into the water and went back inside. I thought people might think she’d hit her head, fallen into the pool and drowned.”

“Why didn’t you come forward and tell me straightaway?”

CJ moved restlessly against the pillows. “Time, Steve, time. I don’t have much left. I thought I’d wait, see which way the investigation went —”

“So, when you saw that it looked bad for Francey you decided to own up?” Steve interjected.

CJ nodded. “She’s innocent. You know Francey. Do you really think she’s capable of murder?”

“In my line of work I’ve seen people do extreme things under extreme conditions. Almost everyone is capable of committing murder if the circumstances are right.”

“Take Francey out of the equation. I’m the guilty one, I did it. What more do you want me to tell you?”

For a moment or two Steve didn’t answer. Relieved that Francey was off the hook he couldn’t think of a single question. CJ’s confession changed everything. The woman he loved now had a timely reprieve but … something niggled, some small sense of doubt, just below the level of his consciousness. CJ’s account of the murder was pat, almost rehearsed. For Christ’s sake, cut it out. You’ve got your man. Don’t make unnecessary waves.

“I think I’d better get this to Inspector Clarke. You’ll have to come into the station to be formally charged, but in your condition …”

“I can do that, I’m not totally incapacitated. Today. This afternoon. I’ve spoken to my solicitor in Brisbane and he’s recommended a top criminal lawyer. Les is flying him in this afternoon.” CJ grinned at Steve and Neil. “Besides, it’s not like I’m well enough to do a flit, is it?”

“I guess not. Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll go call Inspector Clarke.”

“Yes, do. Use the phone in Lisa’s office. Oh, would you ask her to come and see me. I need to organise some things.”

Like telling Shellie and Francey and Les. Waves of exhaustion moved through his body, draining him. The telling had taken more out of him than he’d thought it would. He wanted to sleep, which he did increasingly as each day passed. Another sign that the tumour, with ruthless efficiency, was taking over. Barry had said that was part of the pattern as his body slowly and inexorably began to shut down — like an overworked engine. But not yet, he prayed, he still had a few things to do.

Francey stared hollow-eyed at the pile of newspapers spread across the coffee table in the living room. The headlines were permanently etched into her brain.

THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN TOUCH LOSES IT

DYING AMBROSE CONFESSES: I KILLED MY STEPDAUGHTER

POLICE CATCH MULTIMILLIONAIRE. “NO-ONE IS ABOVE THE LAW,” SAYS INSPECTOR REG CLARKE

Looking up from the papers as Les came into the room with two cups of coffee she made a space for them on the table. Thank God for Les. He had been CJ’s strong right arm for years and now he had become hers. Yesterday afternoon, Les and a lawyer CJ had brought in to represent him, Colin Maxwell, had accompanied CJ to the police station to make a statement. He was charged, fingerprinted and due to his illness he had been released on bail of half a million dollars. The excursion had exhausted CJ. These days it didn’t take much to do that. He’d been in bed ever since, mostly sleeping, and stubbornly unwilling to discuss his confession with her or anyone else.

“How did the newspapers get onto this so fast?” Francey queried, her expression puzzled as she skimread a recount of Natalie’s murder and the subsequent investigation.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if CJ tipped off his mate Roy, which got the ball rolling.”

“I don’t believe he did it, Les,” she said with a shake of her head. “CJ didn’t kill Natalie, he couldn’t have.” Her expressive gaze reviewed the headlines then returned to him. “I know what made him confess, he wanted to protect me. But as I, too, am innocent, the gesture’s wasted.” Her eyebrows lifted questioningly. “What are we going to do about it?”

Les remained silent for a while. “I don’t know if there’s a lot we can do. Maxwell says it’s all pretty straight forward. CJ has made a confession and the police have accepted it. What he said appears to tie in or concur with their investigation and I guess they debated whether he was confessing to get you off the
hook and rejected the idea. Besides, with CJ’s health deteriorating fast, Maxwell’s certain the case won’t even go to court.” He grimaced. “Which probably suits the cops too. Saves the expense of a trial.”

“But … don’t you think it’s all a bit too neat?” Francey ruminated, half to herself. “The revenge angle, payback for Richard’s death. I don’t believe he knew that Natalie organised that stampede. I think CJ put two and two together
after
her death — when the rifle surfaced — not before it.”

“Maybe, but as Steve admitted, we’ll never know why or if she really did the deed. She and Richard may have had a serious row over something. Siblings often do. We know that Natalie had strange mood swings too so it’s possible.” His gaze locked onto her harried features as he reminded her, “Look what she tried to do to you in the bush. I think it’s reasonable to assume that Natalie, if pushed, could have been capable of murder.”

Francey shook her head. “I still don’t believe this,” she gestured towards the newspapers. “Nothing will make me believe that CJ killed Natalie. Nothing.” Suddenly she had to blink back a tear, in fact, several tears. It seemed as if she was involved in an ongoing nightmare. CJ dying was a daily, moment to moment pain she coped with as best she could, but it was unconscionable that he’d go to his grave a murderer. It just wasn’t right. She knew one thing, she had to do all in her power to stop that stigma being attached to her father’s name. Her only problem was finding someone to help her? Steve!

He’d been so cool and controlled towards her since the party. Almost like a stranger. She missed the
old Steve … so very much. The next instant her jaw squared and her chin tilted at a stubborn angle. To hell with her pride and waiting for him to come to his senses, she would go and see him, ask for his help, beg him if necessary. Tonight, after dinner.

“It’s natural for you to think him innocent, you’re his daughter and you love him,” Les interrupted her train of thought. “But you, we, have to be realistic. I’m sorry to sound repetitive but CJ’s adamant about his guilt and the police are satisfied. The best we can do at the moment is to limit the press from turning this into a media circus. We mustn’t let it get out of control. For years several journalists have bayed for CJ’s blood, now I’m sure they think they have him.” He expelled his breath in a sigh. “The fact that he’s dying may not grant him impunity from their antics, but at Murrundi at least they can’t get to him physically.” He thought for a second or two. “However, they might try to harass others who work here, looking for a story angle. You know what they’re like.”

She didn’t have Les’ years of experience in dealing with the press but Francey agreed with him. “We’d better talk to everyone. Could you organise it? Bring the staff into the conservatory before dinner and I’ll address them, let them know what’s going on and tell them to be wary.”

“Sure.”

Les relaxed in a cane chair on the side verandah of Murrundi’s homestead as he watched Francey back the station’s Range Rover out of its space. She had seemed preoccupied over dinner, more so than usual
considering the circumstances. He wondered what she was up to? He could tune into her moods easily nowadays, that’s how he knew she had something on her mind. She was so much like CJ it unsettled him sometimes. The same stubborn streak, the same determination. And when she got an idea in her head she didn’t let go. Just like old CJ.

As he stroked his jawline the stubble rasped against his fingers. His expression in the near darkness was contemplative. He’d keep a close eye on Francey over the next week or two, as CJ deteriorated. Stay close to the homestead. Most of all he didn’t want her trying to organise anything that would upset the status quo. Hell no, he’d worked too hard to make it so.

Les smiled complacently at his own cleverness and then congratulated himself. So far it had all gone to plan, his plan. Getting CJ to confess to Natalie’s murder had been easier than he’d thought. The old man, being so sick, had been more amenable than he normally would have been. All he’d done was plant the idea in his head that if someone confessed to the murder then Francey, the prime suspect, would be off the hook. And what did it matter to CJ? He only had weeks to live, that was obvious from the look of him.

He shook his head and swallowed hard to rid himself of the sudden lump in his throat. Christ, he hated to see the old man go down this way. The CJ he knew and remembered had always been so strong and vibrant. A man who’d tamed his part of the outback to his will and who’d created a formidable reputation and a business empire to match it. He loved him like the father he’d never known and, if he
had ever thought about how CJ might die it wasn’t like this — a slow extinguishment of life and energy. He’d expected him to go out in an explosive fashion like a shooting star.

Les was a fatalist and he marvelled at how things had in the last month or so fallen into place for him. He’d always been ambitious though he took great pains to hide the fact from everyone. Initially, that’s what had driven him to want to marry Natalie. She’d been the easy and quick route to eventually controlling CJ’s empire — even if Richard had lived. Natalie’s half-brother had always been easy to manipulate.

He’d been fond of Natalie in his own way, been prepared to put up with her shallowness and her moods. He shook his head as he remembered that night, almost three years ago, she had told him of her sexual preferences and refused his offer of marriage. He’d seen his dreams start to fall apart. All the years of sucking up, learning the business, ingratiating himself and making himself indispensable to CJ and Richard to get the inside track into the family had been in vain.

Until Francey came along and turned out to be CJ’s daughter. What a stroke of luck. He was in the race again and this time he’d win it now that she’d sorted herself out with Parrish. The man was a fool. He hadn’t been able or willing to handle the
new
Francey. Good! Now all he had to do was to play it cool and to wait. Soon nature would take its course with CJ, and Francey would need him more than ever — he was the only person, apart from Lisa Dupre, who knew the ins and outs of CJ’s empire.

Then it would only be a matter of time before she fell into his arms and he married her. He grinned into the darkness as he relished what was to come, the imagined feel of her in his arms, in his bed. His body hardened at the thought of her melting against him, and a wave of impatience raced through him. He wanted her now, badly. Steady on. He calmed himself slowly, allowing a few erotic fantasies to filter through his mind as he did so. Patience was what he needed at this point, and to have stayed on for so long as CJ’s whipping boy he was certain he had plenty of it.

Another thought came to him as he turned the collar of his jacket up against the evening chill. If Francey had killed Natalie, would it matter to him? He debated the pros and cons of that for a minute or two and then decided. No. The bitch had, most likely, killed Richard, his best friend. She’d got what she deserved.

He got up from the chair and went back into the living room. Time for a chat with CJ before bed.

Francey pulled the Range Rover into the kerb on the opposite side of the road from Steve’s house. All was in darkness and his car wasn’t parked under the carport. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 8.15 p.m. With a sigh, she turned the radio on and settled back into the padded seat to wait.

A myriad of thoughts raced through her head as the quiet of the country town enveloped her. She hadn’t thought about what she would say to Steve, or how to frame her request for him to continue investigating Natalie’s murder. Somehow, she had to make him
believe that CJ and herself were innocent. The people close to CJ did not believe him capable of murder. Sure, he had a reputation for being ruthless in business, and she’d seen examples of his anger on many occasions … But murder was a far cry from being a hard-headed and sometimes bad tempered businessman.

All day she had fielded phone calls from local people, from politicians and colleagues, including Nikko Yakismoto, from her parents and even Meredith. They’d all rung to express their concern over his confession. Lucia and Carlo wanted to come up on the first plane to be with her but she had convinced them not to. She loved them dearly but coping with CJ’s business, his imminent death and now the furore in the media was as much as she could deal with at present.

Her patience was rewarded when an hour later Steve’s blue Ford utility turned into the driveway and parked. She waited until several lights were on inside before she left the Land Rover and crossed to the front door. She had a key but didn’t consider it appropriate to use it so she knocked on the timber door and waited to hear his approaching footsteps.

“Francey.” Steve’s surprise was genuine and his eyes opened wide as he recognised her.

“Hello, Steve. May I come in?”

“Of course.” He stood back to let her pass and as he did, a whiff of her perfume assailed his nostrils. She looked so beautiful. He wanted to touch her desperately but instead he thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets to control the urge. Why was she here? What did she want? He followed her down the hall into the lounge room.