The Celibate Mouse (21 page)

‘Yes, Mrs Harlow!’ a voice called back, as two men bobbed up amid the sea of greyish-white blobs at the far end of the shed.

‘Everything okay?’ she called.

‘Yes, no problems. We’ll be finished here very soon.’

Penelope turned to the detectives. ‘They’re just checking all their dressing-gowns are on and then this flock will be let out for fresh air. We sell the wool for $16,000 and more per bale, so you see, every care is taken to make sure our babies are well cared for.’ She smiled. ‘These animals are priceless. Last year, we made over a million dollars after tax. And that is why we have security at the gate. We also have dog fences around the place.’

Maguire looked at her thoughtfully.
Worth killing for to get the farm?
Maybe.
Perhaps Jack was killed for control of this ... but what about Edna?

‘Tell me something, Mrs Harlow. I meant to ask you the other day why they had such a huge audience at the dog trials on Saturday? To most people, sheepdog trials are like the old cliché, as exciting as watching paint dry.’

She laughed. ‘Well, for one thing, it was the championship trial and we always get more people there, but also our committee finally got their finger out and did some advertising on TV and radio, really hyped it up, hired rides, a mouse circus for the kids and sold family tickets, kids under ten free. If they hadn’t done that, only the competitors’ families and members of the Association would have attended. Jack was very pleased there were so many ...’ her voice wobbled and trailed off.

‘She’s more upset than she’d like us to believe,’ Maguire realised. ‘Well, Mrs Harlow, we won’t trouble you further if we can help it, but if you think of anything, please ring me.’ He handed her another of his cards which she slipped into her pocket.

‘Right. Good-bye Inspector,’ she said vaguely as, surrounded by her swarm of border collies, she headed toward her staff. Shrugging, Maguire and Hansen left the shed, carefully closing the door behind them.

‘Waddya reckon, Dave?’

‘I don’t think she had anything to do with it, but I do think she knows a lot more than she’s prepared to tell us, and–’

His phone rang again.

‘Hi, dearling, I’ve taken a room at the motel, got some champagne and I’ll wait for you there–naked!’ Donna screeched, lustfully. A spurt of anger shot through him. Dearling? The expression of affection, once cute, made him feel as though his balls were being rubbed with sandpaper.

‘Donna, I told you I can’t see you. Look, I’m staying at the fa–’

‘Byeee!’ she trilled, and was gone.

‘She hung up.’

Pete laughed outright. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, mate!’

‘Jesus wept. Bloody women. Susan and the girls are expecting me to stay at the farm and I can’t leave them on their own, not with this bastard around.
And
I want to spend time with my daughters.’

‘Surely Donna will understand, Dave?’ asked Hansen, tongue in cheek.

‘Not bloody likely. She’ll kill me,’ Maguire said, as Hansen turned the car onto the main road and set course for the police station. Just then his mobile rang again. At first he was disinclined to answer it, but then snapped it open without checking the incoming number and roared. ‘Donna, for fuck’s sake, I told you I couldn’t see you–oh, it’s you, George.’

Hansen struggled to contain his laughter, as Maguire listened to Senior Sergeant Harrison and turned a glittering glance on Hansen.

‘John Glenwood’s regained consciousness.’

CHAPTER 29

An Inconvenient Child

Susan

Friday: morning.

M
y fragile calm wavers, reminding me that my resurgence in emotional strength is only twenty-four hours old. The sound of my husband’s voice shocks me as does the reason for his call.

‘She arrived last night. What do you mean?’ I sink back into the chair and rest my elbows on the table. The last thing I need is an argument with him, especially in such a public venue as a coffee shop. ‘In what respect was she making trouble, Harry?’

‘At first she was fine, she and Sharon and the kids got on well, but it didn’t take long before she was sniping at Sharon and bossing the kids around, especially Juney. They always seemed to be crying. Then I caught her pinching and slapping them!’

‘You took her with you, Harry, without my permission and you know she’s very possessive of you.’

‘Susan, she’s over sixteen–’

Ear-splitting screams rip through my head and the sound of smashing glass sends me whipping around in shock. I expect to see, at the very least a hold-up at the cash register, but all eyes are riveted to the floor beside my table.

A girl of about five is throwing a full-blown tantrum. A few short months ago, I would have coped admirably with the noise, but now white-hot rage flares, not only with Harry’s cavalier attitude, but by being unable to hear what he’s saying.

‘Please, shush, darling,’ pleads the child’s mother. ‘You can’t have more ice cream because we need to go and meet daddy.
Please,
Jada, darling, be a good girl for mummy.’

The child rolls across the floor, legs kicking and arms flailing. Her shrieks are deafening. My fellow customers cringe. The proprietors appear at the counter, obviously wondering just how far they can legally intervene. The strap of my handbag is hooked by one flailing, grubby paw and the bag is hurled across the tiles, scattering my belongings through the pool of liquid and shards of glass.

‘Harry, stay on the bloody phone or I’ll send Brittany back to you on the next plane!’

I leap to my feet and loom over the wretched child, who has settled into her Academy Award performance with practised ease. The mother is wringing her hands and bleating.

‘Shut up!’ I roar at the top of my lungs. Everybody freezes. The brat gapes at me, tonsils on display. I address the mother in my iciest voice, combined with my favourite death stare. ‘Madam, you will control your child. If you’re going to give in and give her another ice cream, which is what I suspect is your normal way of rewarding her for this type of behaviour, then go ahead. Failing that,
get out.
We do not need to listen to this
appalling racket!
Any more of this and I will have you arrested for disturbing the peace.’

She is so shocked that she doesn’t think to question my authority. In the ensuing silence, I stalk through the glass, scoop up my sticky belongings and stuff them into the soaked handbag. I dump it on my table and snatch a handful of serviettes from the dispenser and wipe it, focusing all the while on the pair, like a hawk on a clutch of chickens. A rustle of something which could be approval goes around the room. I can hear Harry’s voice squawking from my mobile.

The child’s red-faced mother gathers up her things and drags her sour-faced daughter off the premises, watching me out of the corner of her eyes like a fear-crazed horse. I glance around at the relieved faces in the cafe, nod acknowledgement, pick up my mobile and sit down. For once, I will be happy if this roomful of witnesses says they’ve ‘seen nothing.’

‘You were saying, Harry?’

‘What was all that yelling?’ he asks, momentarily diverted from the matter at hand.

‘A child having a tantrum in the cafe. Now, what am I supposed to tell Brittany? Don’t you care that you’re going to hurt her a great deal?’

‘Hurt
her?
You must be joking!’ he scoffs. ‘That’s impossible! No, you keep her there, Susan. If you won’t co-operate, I can make sure our final financial settlement is delayed.’

This is the man I loved enough to marry? The fun-loving hunk who clapped onto me at a pub fourteen years ago and wouldn’t be shaken off because he said he couldn’t live without me? I can’t give any quarter in this fight. Although Brit’s revving up for revenge on David and me, I can’t bear to see my child’s pain and disillusionment when she finds out about Harry’s rejection of her.

‘Just try it. Your behaviour is outrageous, Harry. You and Mary Jello have a lot to answer for. I’ve discovered how you two have been intercepting David’s letters and gifts for the girls. You
stole
his children. I’ll bet you would have prevented me receiving his maintenance as well if it had been possible!’

‘Not bloody likely, Susan. At least I didn’t pay for their music and ballet lessons and those endless school camps. Maguire did!’ he crows. If I could lay my hands on a knife or a gun and Harry was standing in front of me, I’d take him down right now. Two months ago this man almost caused me an emotional collapse. All right, Danny Grey’s death played the major part, but crying over Harry as well? Oh my God, what was I thinking?

‘Why should I be the one who has to tell her you don’t want her anymore? It’s your decision, not mine.’
I’ll be dealing with the aftermath.

Then Harry, true to form, laid it on the line. ‘They’re your girls, Susan, and if it wasn’t for Mary, those girls wouldn’t have had nor done half of what they’ve experienced.’

Harry was only too happy to enjoy the benefits my salary brought to our family over the years. ‘Harry, stop the guilt trip. I’ve always tried to take them to sport and parties and shopping, not to mention appointments, whenever I could. And it’s not as though I joined the police force
after
I met you!’

He is silent for a moment, while he gathers his arguments into one tight, nasty jibe. ‘If I’d known what I was getting into with you, Susan, I’d have found someone else with children. I used to think David was a fool to leave you, but now I understand why. You’re too much.’ With that, he hangs up.

I close my mobile and stare into space, exhaustion creeping over me like a fog. Now Brittany is superfluous to his requirements. David and I need to tackle this together. I fear the fallout from Harry’s rejection of my daughter is not only going to break her heart, but destroy her credibility. She’ll think she’s lost face with the three of us. I wonder if Marli can help with this. All around me, the lunch time crowd is arriving. I decide to go to the station and see if David is there.

Gorgeous Adam Winslow greets me at the front counter. ‘Mrs Prescott, how are you? Mum was going to ring you today. I think she wanted to ask if you are going to the funerals with her tomorrow.’
A social occasion?

‘I’ve been out all morning, Adam. I’ll ring her later. Is Da–DI Maguire in?’

‘I’ll find out, ma’am, if you’d like to take a seat?’

The reception area is bare, apart from the usual rogues gallery of ‘missing and wanted’, notices about licensing. A teenage girl is preparing to have her photo taken for what is obviously her first driver’s licence. She runs her fingers through her spiked hair, gives me a ‘What?’ look, grins and puts her cosmetic pouch into her shoulder bag.

Adam Winslow lifts the counter flap for me to go into the office. ‘He’s down the hall, last room on the right, Mrs Prescott,’ he says, and turns back to the girl at the counter, who eyes him like a python sizing up a succulent mouse. Her tongue flickers over her gleaming lips. Adam’s shoulders straighten as he moves behind the camera.

David pops out to greet me. My heart gives a giddy jolt; sexual energy sends delicious shards of excitement into my erogenous zones. My breasts tingle, warmth spreads in my nether regions. I can feel the blush starting around my waist. A sharp memory of his beautiful, tanned hands moving over my naked body causes me to almost forget why I’m here, but his brilliant blue eyes show no more than calm pleasure in my company. The teasing, laughing companion drinking cocoa in the kitchen at one o’clock this morning has vanished like Scotch mist.

He ushers me into the Incident Room, gives me a chair and offers me a drink, which I decline. He then tells me that Senior Constable John Glenwood is conscious, but unable to say who caused his accident. ‘He hasn’t remembered who he was going to see that night, but the doctors seem confident he’ll regain his memory soon. He’s not speaking properly, but he did manage to get across to us something about a green light.’ He looks puzzled.

There is something I should –‘Could he be talking about a laser beam? The perp had to make him swerve somehow.’

David’s eyes widen. ‘You know, that could well be it. You’re a genius, love!’ David has always given credit where it’s due. He leaps at the whiteboard; the pen squeaks as he writes the word beside John Glenwood’s name on the timeline and circles it. ‘We’re not letting it out that he’s out of the coma. We need to wait until he remembers something. If he does then we might set a trap. Whoever this bastard is, knows if Glenwood talks, he’s toast. The doctors believe he’ll remember faster if he’s not pushed. Young Smenton is showing signs of coming back to us as well, but he’s not awake yet. Did you get anything useful from Briony Feldman?’

As I recount my conversation with her, David takes notes and then pulls another whiteboard out from behind the current one. ‘Well, that may confirm the 1947 connection,’ he says, as he writes the date at the top of the board, then starts adding the players.

After we have had a run-through of the information on the white boards, he launches into their second interview with Penelope Harlow, finishing with an enthusiastic account of their visit to the sheep sheds. ‘You should have seen those sheep dressed in pjs, Susan. When this is all over I must arrange to take you and the girls out to the farm to see the operation. It’s really something!’

Could the perpetrators Edna was trying to tell me about still be alive? If so, it would certainly cause a scandal. The media would love it. Again something tugs in the recesses of my mind and then vanishes. I’m suddenly aware that David has pinned the note onto the board and is staring at me. I’ve been ‘wool-gathering. My tummy gurgles, breaking the silence.

‘Come on, I’ll take you to lunch! Where shall we go?’ He finds a piece of paper and writes something on it. ‘I’m leaving a note for Pete.’ He flings the pen down, grabs his leather jacket and picks up my bag.

‘Oh, Cafe 21 will do,’ I answer. This will be my opportunity to tell him about Harry’s call.

The young constables are agog as we walk through the station. David advises them of where we are going, then tucks my arm into his and marches me across the road to the cafe. We pause at the counter and order a salmon salad each, his with chips, and cold drinks. He opts for a table at the back of the room against the far wall where the down lights are few and far between. He glances around warily as we settle in our chairs. What’s he up to and who is he avoiding? Am I camouflage for something or someone? ‘Now tell me what’s bothering you, Susan? Something else has happened, so what is it?’

‘Harry rang this morning. It seems Brit has become an inconvenience.’

‘Just what did the prick say?’

As I recounted my argument with Harry, David’s expression darkened. ‘You mean he had the hide to demand you keep Brit here after dragging her away with him in the first place?’

‘That’s right,’ I replied, ‘and she’s going to be heartbroken now.’

‘Yeah, poor little devil and she’ll take it out on us.’

‘Well, she’s taking her angst out on us anyway, so what’s new?’

‘You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Susan? He’s a cuckoo in someone else’s nest again. I’ve a good mind to find out who the woman’s ex-husband is and warn him. When they get back here to Queensland, we’ll find out what’s going on. We must make sure Brit knows we want her and it’s no hardship to keep her with us,’ he promises, not altogether honestly. Our lunch arrives and we tuck in, discussing the case amicably, but not reaching any conclusion. We’ve finished eating, when a shadow falls over the table.

‘Well, isn’t this cosy, dearling? You knew I was going to the motel to wait for you. Are you going to introduce me?’ The tone of her voice could slice rocks in half.

Dearling?
Good grief! She’s all blonde hair and cheekbones, intimidatingly beautiful and obviously furious. If looks could kill, I’d be splattered across the wall. Hurt and anger rip through me, but I’ve only myself to blame for allowing myself to be sucked back into David’s sexy charm.

‘No need, I’m leaving now.’ I get to my feet with what I hope is dignity and stalk out. Let him explain why he has committed himself to spending nights with his ex-wife and daughters.