Murder in Murloo, page 5
part #1 of Dusty Kent Mystery Series
“Around eleven, I think. The police asked me that, too, but I couldn’t give them an exact time.”
“What’s the name of your friend?”
“Chad Mathews.”
“What were you doing before you went to the Falls?”
Heath gave Dusty a look of scornful resignation and shook his head.
“You sound like the cops,” he said.
I looked at Dusty. She showed no signs of resentment. I imagine it wasn’t the first time she had been accused of being a cop, or worse. She’d probably developed a thick skin against it.
“People don’t know what it’s like,” continued Heath, “when someone close to you is murdered. It’s not enough that we have to come to terms with the loss, and come to terms with the violence, and beat ourselves up about why it happened, but we have to endure innuendo and gossip and suspicion as well. You should understand; it happened in your family.”
What! What did he mean by that, I wonder? Dusty’s face gave me no clues. When Heath continued, he was contrite.
Chapter 5
“I’m sorry. I know you have to write about what happened to Gabs and you need to have all the details for the book. I just want the book to be about her, about her life, not her death.”
“I know,” said Dusty. “I wish things were different, Heath. I promise you the book will celebrate Gabby’s life. The readers will remember her for the person she was, not just for what happened to her.”
Heath nodded and heaved a sigh. “That morning I got up around nine. Had breakfast. Listened to some music. Read the paper. I spent most of the morning doing the word puzzles in the paper. I didn’t take much notice of the time. I mean, it was Sunday morning—that’s one day I can forget about time. After that, I headed up to the Falls. I arrived at Chad’s campsite in the early afternoon.”
“You came down to Murloo to see Gabby when you got back?”
“Yes.”
Heath Johnson’s body tensed as though he were steeling himself for an attack of some kind. I recalled Dusty had mentioned that Heath was the one who had discovered the body. Dusty waited. However, it was evident that he wasn’t going to volunteer any further information.
“Heath,” prompted Dusty gently. “I need you to tell me what happened when you arrived at Gabby’s house. I know that it was you who found her and I know it is very distressing for you to recall that day, but if I am going to write a book that will be a credit to the memory of Gabby, I need to present an accurate and full picture. I need to hear it in your own words.”
He took a deep breath then started to speak slowly. “I drove down to Murloo, dropped Chad off then drove around to Gabs’ place and arrived there a few minutes before four o’clock. Gabs’ car was in the carport so I thought she was at home. I knocked on the front door but there was no answer. After a few minutes, I called her landline. I heard it ring but no-one answered so I called her mobile. I heard that ring too. I thought she must have gone out without her mobile which she often did; for a walk, to the shops or along the beach, something like that.”
Dusty interrupted him. “But she knew you were coming at four o’clock.”
“Around four o’clock, not necessarily exactly at four. I waited a little while. But she didn’t show so I decided to use my key. I’ve got…I had my own back door key.”
Heath paused. His body seemed to shrink. I realised the picture that he was about to describe to us was already in his mind. After a few minutes he seemed to gather his strength. He straightened, held his head up and continued with a determined look on his face.
“I walked along the side of the house and came round to the back. I looked across at the park in case Gabs was coming back that way but I didn’t see her. When I walked up the steps to the back patio, the first thing I noticed was one of the glass doors had been smashed and there was broken glass on the patio. The blinds were up so I could see into the living room. That’s when I saw the mess; the coffee table turned over, drawers open and papers all over the floor. I realised there’d been an intruder and I was afraid for Gabs. I got inside as fast as I could. That’s when I saw…”
His eyes glistened. At that moment I could not think of Heath as a possible murderer. He was definitely a young man grieving for the woman he loved.
“That’s okay, Heath. I don’t need you to describe any more of what you saw. I understand you called Claigan Police Station immediately and waited for Senior Sergeant Kennedy to arrive. Is that right?”
That reminded me of the phone call Dusty had taken earlier. I wondered what Kennedy had said to incite her.
“She never hurt anyone,” Heath said. “It shouldn’t have happened to Gabs.”
Dusty’s voice was gentle and sympathetic as she finished the story for him. “When the police arrived, they ascertained that Gabby was dead.”
Heath lowered his head and rested it in the palms of his hands. “I should’ve…I could’ve…I should’ve been there.”
“We can’t always protect the ones we love from the evil in the world.” Dusty’s tone was empathetic.
Heath Johnson shook his head, perhaps from the hopelessness of the situation rather than to disagree with Dusty.
“Heath, can you be more specific about your movements that Sunday morning, before you went up to the Falls?”
His body stiffened. He sat up. His eyes flashed anger at Dusty. He slammed his fist down hard on the table.
“Now you’re accusing me! You think I killed Gabs. Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that? The police accusing me. People in the town looking at me sideways. I nearly lost my job. I lost the woman I loved. Don’t you think that’s enough?”
He rose from his seat in a swift movement and headed for the door.
“I know you loved Gabby, Heath. I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
Dusty spoke quietly. Heath paused at the door with his fingers closed over the handle. Dusty took the opportunity to placate him further.
“Please don’t think I am accusing you of hurting Gabby. It’s just that I have to put as much detail as possible in the book. The readers will need to know what everyone was doing at the time of…during the hours that police estimate Gabby’s death must have occurred: between 8.50 and 11.00am.”
Heath turned slowly. The anger in his eyes receded, to be replaced with despair.
“When my Gabs was murdered I was relaxing, enjoying myself. That’s what I was doing!”
His voice had risen and his tone expressed grief and self recrimination.
“I’m so sorry to put you through this. Please let me finish the interview…for Gabby’s sake,” said Dusty.
Heath’s lips set in a firm line. He returned to us and lowered himself back in the chair. Dusty continued.
“There is some mystery about a wood carving of a potoroo found in Gabby’s home. The police think it might have been left by the murderer as some sort of message. Do you know what that message might be?”
“No.”
“Did Gabby have a special affection for potoroos?”
“Yes. It was her favourite animal.”
“Heath, do you know anyone who works in wood, makes wood carvings and that sort of thing?”
“Plenty of people around here work in wood.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Heath, but I had to ask. I only have a couple more questions and then we’re done. When was the last time you saw Gabby?”
“Friday afternoon. I called in at the bank to see her briefly.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing much. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. I mean she’d told me she was having a quiet weekend and I was concerned about her…thought she might have been unwell or something.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she needed time to think something over. It had nothing to do with us but wouldn’t tell me anything else. Actually, she said she couldn’t say anything else.”
Dusty paused, apparently trying to evaluate the veracity of what Heath had said.
“Do you have any ideas about who killed her?” she asked.
“No.”
“Was there anyone, anyone at all, who held a grudge against Gabby?”
“No.”
“Anyone who had quarrelled with her?”
“Not that I know of and I doubt it.”
“What about the two surfers who were here at the time? Did you and Gabby know them well?”
Heath shook his head. “Not that well. They’d only been here a few days.”
“But you went surfing with them?”
“Not really with them. They were just in the surf when we were there, that’s all.”
Dusty persisted.
“But you had conversations with them?”
“We talked to them on the beach sometimes, about surfing mainly.”
“Were they good surfers?”
“Very good. They loved it, that’s for sure. They spent practically all day, every day in the water.”
“What else do you know about them?”
Heath sighed. “I told the police everything I could about them. I wanted them found as much as everyone else. We were all pretty certain one of them must have done it; still do think it was them. Why else would they have taken off like that?”
“It does look suspicious,” said Dusty.
“If you can track them down, it would…well, it would just change everything. You know, to get the bast…to get them…to find out why they did it. Why Gabs? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I intend to track them down, Heath. Their descriptions were not much help to the police; almost every surfer in Australia is tanned, muscular with sun bleached hair. And a lot of surfers drive white Volkswagen Transporter vans. It’s not hard to see why the police were inundated with apparent sightings of them which led nowhere. Isn’t there something more specific you can tell us about them? Any idea of their last names?”
“No idea at all.”
“Any idea where they came from?”
“Somewhere on the coast, close to a beach. They said they’d been surfing all their lives.”
“Did Gabby socialise with them?”
“What do you mean by that?” There was a sharp edge in his voice; a warning to Dusty which she ignored.
“According to witness statements, one of them tried to chat Gabby up one evening in the bistro here.”
Heath shook his head. “Gabs told me about that. He wasn’t really trying to come on to her. He just bought her a drink to thank her for letting them use her mobile phone to check their emails. They had only one old phone between them. It was just for emergencies and they didn’t have internet access.”
“I can’t imagine anyone going far without a smart phone these days,” said Dusty.
“Apparently, they’d decided not to take anything like that. They didn’t want to have to worry about anything that might be worth stealing.”
Dusty nodded. “That makes sense.”
After Heath left, I asked Dusty if he had an alibi for the time of the murder.
“His parents gave a statement to the police that his car had not moved from the property that morning. They waved to him as he left to go up to Raymond Falls and, although they didn’t check the time, they agree with Heath’s estimate that it was around eleven. Why do you ask? Do you see him as a murderer?”
“Not really. He seemed genuinely grief stricken,” I said.
“Yes, but he could still be grieving for Gabby even if he killed her, especially if he killed her because he was jealous. His mind might have dissociated him from the act. And he didn’t mention to the police that Gabby was worried about something. Why was that?”
“He was probably in an emotional state. His childhood sweetheart had just been murdered—and worse than that—he’d just found her dead body. You can’t expect him to be thinking clearly under those circumstances.”
“Granted. But we cannot ignore the fact that he is easily roused to anger. If it wasn’t for the alibi his parents provided I might have to consider Heath Johnson as the prime suspect. Especially as he didn’t pass the Dusty Kent lie detector test. At least, not totally.”
“What, pray tell, is the Dusty Kent lie detector test?”
“That, Sean O’Kelly, will remain my little secret for the time being,” said Dusty. “Take my word for it; Heath is not telling the whole truth.”
Chapter 6
It was a large low slung Californian bungalow with a sloping roof and gable ends. Grouped timber posts set in red brick colonnettes supported a deep verandah. A solid home for a solid family with no hint that murder had shattered their secure lives. That was the impression I had of the Peters family home.
We had been invited to a barbecue, commonly referred to as a barbie, in Gabby’s honour. At least, Dusty had been invited. She had suggested I go along with her as it would be an opportunity to meet some of the people she would be interviewing for the book.
During the short car trip from Murloo, Dusty enlightened me about Senior Sergeant Kennedy’s phone call.
“He had the nerve to tell me,” she said, her eyes gleaming with anger, “that I should not stir things up with my ‘investigative nonsense’. Can you believe that? Investigative nonsense!”
“What was his objection?” I asked.
“Hah! Concern for the community.” She delivered this with a derisive snort. “Concern for the community, my foot! He’s just afraid I might do what the police couldn’t do. Doesn’t want to look bad. That’s his problem.”
“But the local police didn’t conduct the inquiry, did they?”
“Nup. But you know what they say: ‘touch one, touch all’. What annoys me the most is that he doesn’t give two hoots about the Peters family and how important it is for them to have some sort of resolution. You know what he said? They’ll accept it in time; lots of families have to live without knowing who murdered their loved ones. That’s what he said. What a cheek!”
She was like a firecracker when her anger was ignited; releasing a sudden dazzling display that disappeared as quickly as it came. I waited a few moments for the sparks to die down before speaking.
“And of course, you’re going to take the good Senior Sergeant’s advice and cease all this investigative nonsense forthwith.”
This produced a grin from Dusty. “That’s right,” she said. “I’ll stop immediately. Yes, sir!” A ripple of laughter followed the last comment. We arrived in Claigan a short time later.
“Keep your ears open. See what you can find out about our mysterious surfers,” she said as she parked her ‘iconic’ FJ Holden in the street at the front of the house.
A hand printed sign on the gate directed us along the drive. The buzz of conversation and the aroma of cooking meat drew us around the corner into the back yard. Groups of people stood around talking. In one group I spotted Heath, who looked in a sombre mood.
Dusty introduced me to two of Gabby’s friends. Bec Williams, with short black hair swept forward to frame her heart-shaped face and brown eyes that reflected warmth and passion, welcomed me with a friendly ‘G’day, Sean’. By contrast, Sarah Davies—a honey-blonde with blue-grey eyes that reflected confidence, intelligence and a hint of wariness greeted me with a polite ‘Hello’. Bec’s petite but curvaceous body was clad in a strapless dress the colour of mangoes while Sarah, as slender as a reed, was dressed in what I judged to be designer jeans. Her smart cotton shirt was probably from the same designer. Long legs extended her height to within a few inches of my six feet.
It was with a degree of reluctance that I heeded Dusty’s instruction to move away from those two lovely young women to meet our host and hostess, both of whom I recognised from their photo in the newspaper. Hans greeted me with a firm handshake and a smile that could not erase the grief still evident in his face. Irene’s welcoming smile transformed her face so that the echo of the vivacious young girl she must once have been lingered there for a moment or two.
“Dusty,” she said, taking Dusty’s arm. “I want to introduce you to everyone here.”
“I think I already know some of them.”
“I know, dear, but I want them to know what you are doing—with the book I mean. Also, I want to encourage them to give you every possible assistance.”
Irene and Hans led Dusty to the steps of the back verandah. The three of them stood on the landing facing the crowd as though on a stage.
In response to a gesture from Irene, a young woman stepped forward. I shall never forget the first moment I saw Lisa Peters. Large, round eyes of deep blue were set off by her porcelain complexion. Her white-blonde hair fitted her scalp like a cap in a short style that came to just below her ears. I could see a family resemblance to her sister, but Lisa was a more glamorous version of the young woman I had seen in the newspaper photo. In my mind I visualised Gabby as calm and serene but not striking. I’m not sure whether I had gleaned that impression from the one photo or from the information I had heard about her from Heath. I leaned toward the woman standing next to me.
“Is that Gabby’s sister?” I asked.
“Yes; Lisa. Older sister by two years.”
“Strong resemblance,” I said.
“Physically maybe.”
She was a woman of middle age with short silver hair. Perhaps an aunt, I thought, or a family friend.
“They weren’t alike then?” I asked.
“Gabrielle was gentle and kind and…and gracious. Yes, that’s what Gabrielle was: gracious.”
“And Lisa?”
“Oh, well,” she said, casting a disparaging look in Lisa’s direction.
Before I could ask the woman to elaborate, Irene gave two sharp claps with her hands. Conversation ceased. Heads turned in her direction. Silence settled. Hans stood on one side of his wife and Lisa on the other. Dusty positioned herself slightly behind the family.
“Thank you all for coming this evening and thank you all so very much for caring about our Gabby,” said Irene Peters. She caught her breath when she mentioned her daughter’s name but continued without allowing emotion to overcome her. “I…we…Gabby’s family do not want you to be sad tonight. We had our time for sadness, for tears and for reflection at the memorial service this morning. This evening we want to remember our beautiful girl in two ways. The first is by having fun together the way that Gabby loved to have fun with us. The second involves someone most of you know well. Some of you know her as a local Claigan girl. I’m sure all of you know of her as a fine investigative journalist and bestselling author.”
