Murder with the Lot (16 page)

Nothing. I stood up. Waited some more. How long can a man talk on the phone, anyway? He'd left his notebook on the counter. Maybe Aurora's note was in there. I opened it, had a quick little rootle through.

‘What you think you're doing?'

I jumped.

Vern can truly slither when he wants. He doesn't make a single sound.

‘That's bloody personal property.'

‘Just looking for that girl's…'

He snatched the notebook from me. A photo of a naked woman fell out.

‘Get out.' Vern's face was hot red.

‘Vern, I don't care about your photos. That girl could be in mortal…'

‘Bloody industrial espionage.' He flung his arm towards his front door. ‘Get out!'

Yeah, right. As if there'd be anything in Vern's shop any self-respecting espionage person would care to expose. I picked up my drycleaning and sailed out.

I tried the official approach first, calling Dean, filling him in on Noel and Aurora's unexpected visit.

‘Right,' his voice was grim. ‘I'll cruise around again today. I've told everyone to watch out for the dog. Vern should have called me.'

‘Aurora could be Noel's hostage.'

‘Mum. I know you're worried about that dog. But try to keep your imagination in control. Put your leg up. Brad can run the shop today.'

Terrific. I hung up.

I checked my watch. There was time to call in on Logan before opening the shop, if I made it quick. I'd set Logan straight on a few facts, and possibly a few small unimportant fictions. A brief update on Madison's sexual health status, since Logan had been away in jail, and Brad's path to bliss would be swept clear.

A blissful Brad would be calmer, more pleasant and more accepting of our need to email Noel.

I rapped on Brad's door. ‘Mind the shop, Bradley.' He poked his head out. ‘And really mind it this time.'

‘What's that mean?'

‘It means stay here, unlike yesterday.'

He turned red, mumbled something.

‘What?' I said.

‘I said, yes. After all, I don't have anywhere else to bloody go, do I?' He slammed his bedroom door.

Logan lives in the old shearer's hut at the Ryan place, sixteen k's out of Rusty Bore. Passing the row of silos, I found my thoughts drifting back to Terry. The way he'd rushed off. Taylah would be able to update me on any wife-de-facto-infection situation, she knows everything about everyone.

Or was he somehow embarrassed? Why? The state of his assets? He had his own business. His ute. And there he was, helping out his brother, Sergeant Monaghan. A decent family man.

Discarded plastic bottles on the roadside rolled in the breeze. My phone rang. Terry! I pulled over, tyres skidding on the gravel.

‘Cass. Where are you? I want to apologise. Any chance we can start again?'

‘Look, are you married?' I might as well come straight out and ask.

‘What? Ah…I can see how it might have seemed. Nah, it's just…work. It's complicated. Can I tell you about it over dinner? Tomorrow night?'

I hesitated.

‘They do a decent roast at the Hustle RSL.'

It's never easy to resist a good roast. ‘Terry?'

‘Yes?' His voice was soft, eager.

‘You know anything about the Hocking-Lees?'

‘Not really,' he said.

‘Aurora? She in trouble with the law?'

‘Nah, Aurora's a good kid. Helped me with some tree planting.'

I pulled in outside Logan's place, behind a white car. An array of gas cylinders lay strewn across the yard, broken glassware in a glittering pile. I stepped out of my car. This place smelled seriously of cat pee.

I limped up the front steps of the house, pausing outside the door. A lot of shouting and banging was going on inside. I suddenly went off the idea of calling in on Logan. Brad could find his own solution to his love life. I started quick smart back down the steps.

The door behind me opened. A voice: ‘I suggest you give it some careful thought, Logan. You don't really have a choice. Since no one will believe you.' A voice I recognised.

I turned around. A tall man stood in the doorway staring at me. A very tall man in a long leather coat. Monaghan.

He strode over and grabbed me by the arm. ‘What are you doing here?'

He marched me to my car and stood, coat flapping in the wind. Smiled, a strained type of smile like he was working hard to be polite. Ravi must have reported Mona missing, surely. Was Logan involved? And maybe Monaghan was going to be a whole lot more polite to me, now he knew. ‘Let's get you home. It isn't safe here.'

He practically pushed me into my car.

I wound down my window. ‘What's the problem?'

‘Get out of here, for God's sake,' he shouted.

I looked in my mirror as I drove off. He stood at the roadside watching me.

When I got home, I realised what the ‘it' must be that Aurora had said she needed. I charged into my lounge.

The briefcase wasn't where I'd left it on the couch. ‘Brad?' He shambled up the hall.

‘Did you move the case?' I said.

‘No.'

The curtain flapped at the window. I looked at Brad, at the window, back at Brad. My windows are the ancient kind, not entirely lockable. ‘You hear anyone open the window?'

He shook his head.

‘You been here the whole time?'

‘Bloody
yes
, Mum.'

Who? When? I could have kicked myself. Why didn't I just lock the damn thing away?

Well, I wasn't going to let a stolen briefcase get to me. Investigative setbacks are a given for any criminologist. Dean would find that out when he transferred to Homicide. Maybe I could help him prepare for it emotionally.

‘It confirms the briefcase is important, Brad.'

‘You'd better open the shop, Mum. It's already eleven.'

‘In a minute. Good thing I kept the key. Maybe they'll come back for it once they see it's missing. We could set a trap.'

Brad sighed. ‘You want me to open the shop?'

‘Could you, love? Now I think of it, the leg is hurting. I suppose I should rest it a bit.' I gave him a valiant little smile. ‘I'll join you in a tick.'

He scuffed off into the shop, the connecting door closing with a click. I leapt off the couch, crept down the hall, popped my head around the doorway of Brad's room.

There was the laptop on his desk, up and running. I thought about my wording for a moment.

Noel. If you're interested in nesting Major Mitchells, meet me 8 a.m. Monday at Perry Lake. And I've got something else you're looking for.

I hit send, then headed into the shop.

After the lunchtime rush, three customers, my phone rang. Dean.

‘Mum, Sergeant Dale Monaghan is here. Mrs Mona Hocking-Lee has been reported missing. We need you and Brad to come in and answer some questions.'

Finally.

Dean's station is on the southern edge of Hustle, a weatherboard place with a metal fence framing the dusty yard. His house is out the back.

I opened Dean's gate. ‘Now, don't mention the briefcase. It won't help Dean that you lost it.'

Brad scowled. ‘Who lost it?'

‘We haven't got time to go into all that now.'

Dean met us at the counter. ‘Brad, you wait in the cell while we interview Mum.'

‘The cell?' said Brad.

‘Don't argue with me.' Dean grabbed his arm and marched him down the corridor. I heard a key grate in a lock, then Dean was back.

‘The cell?' I said.

‘No arguments from you either, Mum. I've had it up to here with you.' He jostled me into the interview room. Not quite the way I'd expected to be treated, given that I'd been right all along and he'd been plain old wrong. Still, maybe it was procedure, locking up Brad, jostling me.

I sat down, gave Dean a deluxe star-witness beam. He didn't smile, just sat next to Monaghan, facing me across the white table. White walls, white ceiling, fluorescent lights. Dean seriously needed to redecorate.

I got myself ready for Monaghan's apology. That eye was still oozy. Nothing too transmissible, I hoped. He was sitting close by Dean and Dean needs both eyes operational.

‘We're recording this interview,' said Monaghan. ‘State your name and address please.'

I did.

Dean fiddled with a pen.

‘Interview conducted by Senior Sergeant Monaghan and Senior Constable Tuplin.'

‘Leading,' I said.

‘Sorry?'

‘
Leading
Senior Constable Tuplin.'

‘Of course. Now, Mrs Tuplin, please describe your relationship with Mrs Mona Hocking-Lee.'

‘Relationship? I hardly knew her.'

‘Knew? Past tense?'

‘Like I said, I found her on Monday, dead, in Ernie's shed. Then she disappeared.' No need to mention I'd found her the day before as well, no need to embarrass Dean.

‘Senior Constable Tuplin…Leading,' Monaghan corrected himself, ‘advised that you told him something similar on Sunday morning,' he looked at a notepad, ‘at Perry Lake. Although there is no police report of that matter.' His lips tightened.

I looked at Dean, staring at his pen. I knew he should have believed me and written up that report.

‘He's probably got it all typed up.' I smiled. ‘Dean has terrific typing skills. One of his best subjects at school. He's just in the process of remembering exactly where he put the report, aren't you, son?' I gave Dean a significant nod.

Dean gazed out the window, like he was hoping he'd be abducted out of here.

Monaghan made one of those steeple thingies with his index fingers. ‘I searched Mr Jefferson's shed, after your call on Monday night. I found no dead body anywhere in the vicinity.' His voice was slow, like he was talking to a child. ‘And no sign of one ever having been there.'

‘Well, the murderer moved her. Obviously. Probably while I was chasing Aurora.'

‘Senior Constable. Did you find a body when you were called to Perry Lake? Was a body mentioned in the report you can't locate?'

Dean shot a look at Monaghan, shook his head.

‘You'll need to speak for the recording.'

‘No. I didn't find a body.'

‘How would you explain that, Mrs Tuplin?'

‘Like I said, she must have been moved.'

‘Twice?'

‘She was definitely there.'

A pause. ‘According to the senior constable, you phoned on a previous occasion, six months ago, to report a suspicious death. You phoned and said,' he read from his notepad, ‘“Come quick, Dean, Ernie's been strangled.” For the recording, Mr Ernie Jefferson resides at the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home.'

‘A misunderstanding,' I said. Bloody Dean didn't need to have winched that one out and slung it on the shore.

‘And was Mr Jefferson dead?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Yes or no.'

‘No.'

‘No. Happily, Mr Jefferson wasn't dead or in the least bit strangled. And I'm pleased to say we've located the relevant police report. It states quite clearly he was asleep.'

Well, I knew all that.

‘Did you check Mr Jefferson's breathing? Feel for a pulse?'

‘Look, there's no need to hash over this old history…'

‘Yes or no?'

‘No.'

‘Did you alert the staff at the nursing home?'

‘No. I was bit upset.' I squirmed in my chair.

‘And Brad? Was he with you?'

‘Brad was parking the car. When I saw Ernie, I rushed out, grabbed Brad's phone and called Dean.'

Monaghan moved the steepled fingers to his chin. ‘Whose idea was it to phone?'

‘Mine.'

‘You're sure? It wasn't Brad's suggestion?'

‘No.' I paused. ‘Look, this was all a long time ago.'

‘Did Brad try to stop you from phoning?'

‘It was over so quickly. Anyway, we need to focus. On Mona…'

‘We're getting to that. So, at Perry Lake, whose idea was it to phone the police?'

‘Mine.'

‘You're sure? Take your time answering.'

‘Mine,' I said firmly.

‘Brad didn't try to stop you?'

‘Of course not. He wasn't even there. Look, I'll admit that business with Ernie was a mistake. But Mona's really dead.'

‘There's a big difference between someone sleeping and someone dead, Mrs Tuplin. You're aware of the difference?' He'd slowed his voice again.

‘Of course I am.' Bloody man.

‘Did you try waking Mr Jefferson that day, six months ago?'

Oh for God's sake. ‘I don't remember.'

Monaghan read from the report. ‘“I didn't try to wake him. I was a bit worked up.”' He looked at me. ‘Could you have been worked up at Perry Lake?'

‘It was completely different. There was a bullet hole in her head. And her eyes were missing.'

Monaghan unsteepled his fingers, then flicked through some files on the table, took one out. ‘I have another police report featuring you, Mrs Tuplin. A rather worrying one. It states you shot someone, twelve months ago. Samuel Jenkins of Rusty Bore. A shooting that could have easily been fatal.'

‘Showbag? But that's got nothing to do with anything. Just an accident. I was learning how to use a gun.' I glared at Dean, who maintained his stare out the window. Dean had done a whole lot of deep-sea bloody dredging for Monaghan this afternoon.

‘Whose gun?'

‘Ernie's. He said I should learn how to protect myself.' Ernie and his good ideas. Look where they got him. After all the fuss, Dean insisted on putting Ernie in the home.

‘You pointed a loaded gun?'

‘No one told me it was loaded. But, look, Dean knows all this.'

‘The gun was discharged accidentally. My mother isn't an expert with firearms. The matter was investigated in detail.'