Gone Guest, page 10
They all nodded as Seamus approached. He leaned down and hugged his aunt. “Any news?”
She shook her head. He scratched his, then knelt on the floor beside her. “Listen, Aunty Ronnie, Hugh said something to me, about the family tree.”
“Family tree?” echoed Alicia.
“Oh, Seb was researching my side of the family,” Ronnie explained. “The Joneses. He was intending to put a book together, for Christmas I believe.” She dabbed a tissue at her eyes. Gave herself a shake. “What about it, Seamus? What’s that got to do with any of this?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what Hugh was trying to say because every time someone came close, he shut down and changed the subject. The guy’s all over the place.”
“That’s understandable, darling,” said Ronnie. “It’s a tremendous shock.”
“Well, I don’t know about Sebastian’s book,” said Missy. “But has anyone else noticed how this event is turning into those books we were going to read? Gone Girl and The Guest List?”
“Excuse me?” said Claire.
“I’m not sure…,” began Queenie.
“Think about it,” said Missy. “Gone Girl is all about a missing person and we have a missing person. Plus there are twins in that book too.”
“Oh, the missing person wasn’t a twin in Gone Girl,” said Ronnie. “That was the husband, dear. And he had a sister, not a brother.”
“What about The Guest List then?” Missy persisted. “There was also a shooting in the middle of a big celebration, and it was set in a remote location, during a storm…”
“There was no storm tonight, Missy,” corrected Queenie.
“No, but there were fireworks—which is kind of similar to lightning if you think about it. They can sound ominous.”
“If your mind is dark and loopy, sure,” said Perry. “How many times must we say this, Missy? Not all murders match fictional ones, honey. Stop trying to make it all fit.”
She groaned back at him. “You guys are no fun.”
“That’s because this is no fun,” said Queenie, her eyes darting across to Ronnie and Seamus. “This is somebody’s life we’re talking about here. Real life, yes? Not fiction?”
Missy gulped, blushed, said, “Of course, yes. I didn’t mean to make light of it. I’m so sorry, guys.”
But Ronnie and Seamus didn’t appear to be listening. There was another sound now, one more serious than Missy’s prattle, more ominous than fireworks.
“Oh dear,” said Perry. “Things just got even more real.”
And they all looked out the large bay windows and towards the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead.
~
DI Singh stared up at the search helicopter, which was sweeping its powerful beam down and across the property, sending leaves and debris in all directions, and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail as she walked back to the house. The winding path between the court and McMansion was probably a delightful one during the day when you didn’t have a gusty chopper overhead, a silly bloody dress on, and a homicidal maniac to locate, and Singh was already over it.
As the crow flies, it had to be less than eight hundred metres, but some drongo had thought to make it wind through a densely planted garden, and so the trek seemed interminably long.
“Wasn’t that a golf buggy I noticed at the front gate when I arrived?” she called back to Pauly as they trudged.
“Yes, ma’am. Belongs to the security guard, I think.”
“Not anymore it doesn’t. Requisition it for me, will you? This walk is getting very old, very fast.”
“I’m on it,” he said, pulling out his phone to call one of the uniformed officers he knew was keeping guard at the gate. “Er… no signal… Ooh, okay, I have a bar… Nope, no, lost it.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. All the money in the world and they can’t even make a simple call.”
They had just reached the house when Senior Constable Zion Goldstein appeared on the path with a smile on his moustachioed face.
“Are you just happy to see me, Zion, or has one of the staffers confessed to everything and we can all go home now?”
His smile deflated. “Oh, no, it’s just the ballistics guys. They’ve arrived, ma’am. Henryhan says he’ll meet you at the court.”
“The court? I just came from the blasted court!”
She straightened her tangled ponytail and turned, pretending it was the long walk that was flustering her, not the thought of seeing Scaryhan again.
~
Alicia’s stomach fluttered like a seagull as she tapped out the text to Jackson. She wasn’t sure why she was nervous, but something was off. She could sense it.
“Everything okay?” she wrote. “Singh’s here. Where are you?”
She added a thinking emoji followed by a love heart, then pressed Send and waited a beat. Waited a few beats more.
Jackson was famously good at replying to Alicia’s texts. He knew how vivid her imagination was and never kept her waiting long, lest her mind go into panic mode, usually imagining him dead in a dark alley somewhere, incapable of replying.
Finally she saw the phone do its little dot dance, indicating he was replying, and her heart lifted. Then the dance stopped, the dots vanished, and her screen went still again.
Alicia chewed at her lower lip. That was weird, she thought, now picturing that urine-drenched alley…
~
DI Singh was a grown-up, of course she was. And yet there was something about the ballistics team that left her feeling like a child. Or, more specifically, the chief ballistics expert Miles Henryhan. There was a reason she called him Scaryhan. Because he was. Incredibly. And his military buzz haircut and sharp, angular jaw didn’t exactly help. Nor did his deep, gravelly voice, which had a way of making you feel like the dimmest person in the room.
Or in this case, the tennis court.
“Evening, Detective,” he said, his voice lower than she remembered. His expression serious.
“Evening,” she managed. “So…” A quick breath. “What do you think?”
He launched into his “preliminary analysis” but didn’t share much more than she and Scelosi had already deduced.
Yes, the entry wound suggested the victim had been shot from a distance, using a high-velocity long-range rifle.
Yes, she had been standing, facing away from the house when she was hit.
And yes, the angle of the wound suggested the shooter had been in one of the top northwest windows of the house. Or the roof. He couldn’t tell yet. “I’m good, but I’m not that good, DI Singh.”
She glanced across but he wasn’t smiling, and she wondered again which side the observatory was facing…
“As for the bullet holes in the court?” he said, striding across and forcing her to scurry after him. “Apart from the exit shrapnel back near the corpse, these ones, I believe, were done afterwards. Probably aimed at your missing man.”
“So the perp kills the woman, then tries to kill the man and misses?” said Singh, and he looked at her blankly.
“Either that or the bullets went through her, left no mark and found their way to the asphalt.”
He smiled finally, and she tried to smile back, but her lips weren’t cooperating this time. She turned and waved Pauly over. “Pauly, get back to the house, make sure the search team focus on the top floor, the rooms facing away from the ocean, back towards this court. I want that entire northwest wing roped off. Oh and also check the roof and the observatory.”
“Would you like to know the weapon?” Henryhan asked. “Or do you not care about the finer details?”
She tried not to be offended. “Go on then.”
“Judging from the heterogenous pattern of the entrance wound, not to mention the bullet fragments we’ve found, it was a sporting rifle of some sort, probably a .243 Winchester. That one has a decent rifle scope and would do the job easily enough. In the right hands. Matches one I was informed is kept on these premises. That makes your job nice and easy, Detective.”
She disagreed. If it had been another gun, any gun, they might have been able to trace it back to someone who wasn’t its original owner and now lying six feet under. It also meant any of the guests, or the staff for that matter, could have popped up to the observatory and helped themselves to that rifle at any time during the party.
“Thanks for your time,” she said to Henryhan.
“Always a pleasure,” he replied. Then he leaned in and said, “Can I ask you something?”
As he lowered his voice and posed his question, Singh’s stomach was suddenly swirling with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
When the detective returned to the house ten minutes later, she noticed Zion back at the door, the same smug smile under his dopey moustache.
“Don’t tell me someone else has shown up at the court,” she said to him. “Because I am not going back.”
Singh was using the buggy now, but that didn’t mean her legs weren’t still wobbling. Not after Henryhan’s unexpected question.
“Oh, no, this time I do have good news for you, ma’am.”
She stepped off the buggy. “Oh yes?”
“Two lots of good news, actually. We’ve searched that upstairs room they call an observatory and spoken with that old security guard down at the gate. He told us there should be three weapons stored in there, but one of them is missing.”
“The rifle,” she said, and his smile deflated as she beat him to it. “Does the observatory face northwest, back towards the tennis court?”
“Er no, ma’am, it’s on the eastern side, bang in the middle, got the most amazing view out across the water. You should take a look. I’d kill for a—”
“What’s the second bit of news?” Singh was grumpy, had hoped they’d located the shoot site.
Now Zion’s smile was back as he produced the bag with the designer-cased mobile phone inside. “Jarrod just cracked the password. Was a cinch. Sebastian Jones was using part of his birth date.” He scoffed. “And Australians wonder why they get scammed so—”
“Get on with it!”
“Right, well…” Zion’s smile was now Sydney Harbour Bridge-wide. “I think we have our perp.”
And now Singh’s butterflies were caught in a whirlpool, but for all the right reasons this time.
Chapter 11 ~ The Cold Shoulder
“Indira knows something,” whispered Alicia as she watched the DI stride into the parlour, two juniors at her heels.
“How can you tell?” asked Claire.
“I know a smug look when I see one.”
“Detective!” came a shrill voice from the side of the room. It was Bethany, of course. “You cannot expect our guests to sit here like naughty schoolchildren waiting to speak to the principal. This is completely unacceptable. It’s late; you must let them get home to bed.”
“Agreed,” Singh said. “In fact, the sooner your guests vacate the premises the better.”
“Oh,” said Bethany, gaping like a goldfish again.
DI Singh held up a finger and then crossed to the fireplace and turned to scan the group, doing so slowly, methodically, as though soaking up all their fears and concerns. Then she began to address them, her tone softer now as she introduced herself.
“I appreciate this has been a very harrowing experience, and thank you for your patience. You have all now provided statements?” A quick glance at Sanchez, who nodded. “Keep in mind that you may be questioned again at a later date, so please don’t jump on your Learjets to Barbados just yet.” She paused but no one even cracked a smile. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might assist our enquiries—anything at all, no matter how insignificant you think it might be—please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Bethany. “This is my family home. You can’t kick me out of my bed.”
“I can if your bed happens to be in one of the west-facing rooms upstairs. That area is still out of bounds. That and the observatory.”
“Oh, well, no, we’re in the guest house outside.” A glance across at Bronson, then a wary look at the book club, whose bags were in that top west wing.
Singh returned to addressing the group. “The rest of the house has now been searched and you may move about freely, but I would prefer that anyone who does not officially reside at this premises, leave the property immediately.”
“But hang on.” Seamus gasped. “What about my brother?”
Singh turned her brown eyes towards him. “Seamus Jones?” He nodded. “I can assure you we are still searching for your brother.” Then, eyes on the gathering. “That search is now underway on the exterior, so I ask that you all go straight from this room to the parking area where you will find several officers ready to inspect your vehicles.”
“Whatever for?” called out Hugh.
Singh did not answer. “Once you’ve been given the all-clear, please depart using the main driveway and head straight out. Do not take any detours.”
“She sounds like door bitch Pete,” whispered Perry.
Singh locked eyes with him. “Mr Gordon, I will need to speak with you and your friends again, but that can wait until tomorrow. For now, you’re also free to leave.”
“But we’ve planned to sleep over,” he told her.
“Their bags are in the no-go zone,” added Bethany, offering Singh a conspiratorial look.
Singh shook her head firmly. “Even more reason to leave. This is still an active crime scene. Anyone who was intending to stay over, using that part of the house, must vacate now. If you’re not able to drive, we can arrange for lifts.” Then, before anyone else could object, she crooked a finger at Seamus and said, “Mr Jones? Follow me please.”
Seamus looked surprised, then worried, and his eyes darted across to Ronnie.
“Why do you need to speak to Seamus?” she demanded, but Singh was already halfway out the door.
“It’s okay, Aunty Ronnie,” said Seamus, getting to his feet and following the detective out.
“Nothing about this is okay,” said Alicia, chasing after them.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the room sprang to life as the guests rushed for the door like they were afraid the DI would change her mind. Or perhaps they were keen to put some distance between themselves and what had turned out to be a very unpredictable evening indeed.
Alicia caught up to Singh at the entrance to the study. “Why are you sending the book club away?” she demanded. “We were the first to search for Sebastian. We could have some crucial information. We can help.”
Singh smiled slimly. “Do I look like I have overgrown sandy hair and bad taste in women?”
“Sorry?” said Alicia, not following.
“I’m not DI Jackson. I like to investigate my own homicides without a bunch of amateur detectives breathing down my neck. I have this in hand, thank you very much.”
“Huh,” said Alicia, just realising she’d been insulted. “If you’re so damn clever, tell me who did it then?”
Singh sighed with exasperation. “You’re not getting it, Alicia. I don’t have to tell you diddly squat. This is a police homicide investigation, and you are civilian. A witness at best. I will speak to you tomorrow when I am good and ready to speak to you. Until then, pack up your books and your buddies and get the hell off my crime scene!”
She then waved Seamus into the study and slammed the door firmly on Alicia’s startled face.
“The hide of the woman!” said Alicia, now back in the parlour, which had emptied of everyone except the book club and Hugh.
Bronson had gone to check on Biddy while Bethany was making sure the staff got away, muttering something about how “mortifying” this all was for their celebrity chef.
“I thought we’d become friends,” continued Alicia, “but she was so rude. I can still feel the dent mark from the study door.”
Alicia stroked her nose as Missy gave her back a soothing rub. “Singh’s never really been our biggest fan though, has she?”
“She’s a bloody fool then,” said Perry. “Because we can help her. Why can’t she see that? We’ve helped so many times before.”
Alicia glared at her phone. “I need to find out where Jackson is. We need a friendly face around here.”
This time she didn’t bother texting. She pulled up his number and pressed Call.
~
Back at his apartment in the city, Detective Inspector Liam Jackson stared at his ringing phone and shrank back and into his armchair. He knew he should be answering. Knew he was being a coward. But he didn’t want to explain things over the phone. He at least owed Alicia that.
He’d tell her tomorrow. Face to face.
So he let it go to voicemail, then he put his phone on silent, as if that would subdue the guilt that was now ringing through his bones. He reached for the TV remote and tried to focus on the footy, but all he could think of was Alicia and her book club and how things would never be the same again. They’d had a good ride, but it was officially over.
And he was pretty sure Alicia would never forgive him.
Because he could barely forgive himself.
~
As she stood at the desk in the study, Singh took some long, deep breaths, trying hard to quell her anger. She should not have lashed out like that at Alicia. It was so unprofessional. Jacko would be furious with her. But it was because of him that she did it.
Somebody had to cut the apron strings.
Singh groaned, catching Seamus’s eye as he stood by the open fireplace, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, waiting. Offering him a disarming smile, she sat down at the desk just as Pauly appeared with two mugs of tea. He handed one to Seamus, then placed hers on the desk before closing the door and standing to attention beside it.
