Gone Guest, page 7
Hell, he couldn’t believe they were cops at all. They didn’t look old enough or ugly enough to lead an investigation. Had they even graduated from cop school? And why the voluptuous brunette was not pursuing a modelling career was beyond him. She looked like an Aussie Jennifer Lopez—all lips and hips and high, slick ponytail.
“Sorry if we alarmed you,” she said, striding out of the changing room and clicking off her torch. “I’m Constable Eva Sanchez, and this is Probationary Constable Luke Markovic.”
Probationary, mouthed Perry to Lynette. God help us.
Lynette introduced them as friends of the homeowner, Veronica Westera.
“You’re guests? Actual civilians?” said Markovic, also too young and pretty to be any use. “We assumed you were staff.”
“No, we just drew the short straw,” explained Perry, and they nodded uncertainly, then unlocked the sliding doors that led to the court.
“Please remain here,” said Sanchez, clicking her torch back on and stepping out and across to the corpse, her partner trailing behind.
After several minutes surveying the scene, they returned to the pavilion and began firing off a stream of questions—mostly about when Perry and Lynette had arrived, what brought them to the court, who exactly had been present when the body was discovered.
After dutifully answering each one, Perry said, “Shall we hand over to you now and scoot back to the house?”
“Actually…” Sanchez glanced at a police radio that was clipped to the side of her vest. “We’re still waiting on backup to arrive but need to get up there ourselves, check things over.” Her dark eyes darted to Markovic and back. “And I’m supervising officer, so… You two good to hang here a little longer?”
“Really?” said Lynette. “You want civilians protecting a crime scene?” She winked. “No worries. Go, do your thang, we’ll lock the door after you.”
Sanchez looked relieved as they exited the pavilion.
As soon as they were out of sight, around the bend in the pathway, Lynette threw the sliding door open again.
“Bugger this for a joke. Come on, Perry, let’s stop cowering like children and start acting like Poirot.”
He hesitated but only briefly. Having police on the property did make him feel bolder, even ones as cute and callow as those two, and he didn’t want the others to think they’d missed a chance to collect clues, so he braced himself and followed her out.
The court lights were now blindingly bright, and he felt like they were in a theatre, standing centre stage. On one side was the dense forest of native gums, like a shadowy audience, shifting and fidgeting in their seats, invisible yet clearly there. And on the other side was the lower, bushier garden that led back to the house. He was surprised you could see the McMansion all the way from here, the top level rising above the shaggy wattles, a few solitary lights on upstairs. He wondered if Biddy was still up, checking for the time, perhaps. Wondered if the grim news had now filtered through and how they would all take it. Ronnie especially.
“Oi!” Lynette broke through his thoughts. She was kneeling close to the body and pointing towards the woman’s hip. “I think I can see her mobile phone. It’s in her pocket. If I’m very careful, I could—”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Perry. “Jackson will throttle us if we touch anything.”
Then he wrapped his arms around himself as he glanced around again, this time away from the house and back across the court where something caught his eye. It was shiny. Just catching the light.
“What is that?” he asked, squinting across.
“Hmm?” said Lynette, now inspecting the clotted hole in Greta’s back.
“There,” said Perry. “Can you see it? That sparkly thing on the matting. It’s… odd.”
He made his way towards it and noticed a tear in the court surface, something shiny wedged inside. He bent down and went to touch it when his instincts kicked in and he leapt backwards.
“Oh my goodness me,” he said, fluttering a hand at his chest.
“You okay over there?” Lynette called out.
He nodded. Blew out a puff of air. Then said, “Lynny, you need to come see this. I think I’ve just struck gold. Or should I say lead.”
Chapter 8 ~ Rapunzel’s Tower
Ronnie’s niece glanced around the gathering, feeling a mixture of concern, frustration and utter disappointment. The evening had started with such purpose, things were going so well, thought Bethany. But now everything felt like it was slipping away…
And after all her hard work!
Were the cops going to search the house? Would they cart things off for evidence? If so, where would that leave her and all her planning?
Damn it, Greta, you’ve ruined everything.
It had taken some time to get the guests off the patio and into the blasted parlour, and for the life of her, Bethany didn’t see why they should. They hadn’t prepared this room properly. Chef Kenji’s delicious spread was outside, so too all the beverages, and there weren’t anywhere near enough chairs for Veronica’s decrepit friends. They’d had to cart in extras from the dining room.
She exhaled loudly. If it were up to her, she would never have mentioned the body in the first place. Really, what was the point? The woman was dead; no one could help her now. And the court was well out of the way. Surely they could have contained the drama down there. But oh no, for some bizarre reason, Veronica was now taking orders from her book club and had insisted she and Bronson toe the club line and ask the guests to assemble inside.
Most had done so happily enough, assuming as you might at a birthday party that there was more frivolity to come. After they had squished into the assorted lounge suites and chairs, half the men perched up around the bar on one side, Ronnie had stepped in front of the now roaring fireplace and announced that there had been a “terrible, terrible incident—a shooting by the look of it.”
That quickly killed the vibe.
A stream of inane questions followed, and Ronnie fluffed about trying to answer them before that Alicia woman took over, far too comfortable, it appeared, in a crisis.
She would need to be watched, that one.
Eventually the guests all got the gist, and now everyone’s faces reflected each other’s—confusion, shock, sorrow. No one could quite get their heads around how a young woman could be shot at a birthday celebration. She noticed Bronson also wearing that expression and tried to meet his eyes. But he was already half-soaked, staring into Bert’s good whisky like it contained the answers. That’s what he always did—turn to someone else’s liquor to solve his problems.
Typical, she thought. Her typically useless brother…
From her side of the room, Missy also watched the guests keenly through her zebra-print spectacles. Like Alicia, who was squashed on one lounge with the book club, Seamus on the rug nearby, Missy had done the odds and suspected someone in this room was a killer.
But who? Who knew Greta well enough to want to harm her? She asked that question aloud now, keeping her voice low lest Queenie frown at her again. (Queenie didn’t seem to like her; she wasn’t surprised. Making friends had always been tricky for Missy.) What possible reason could someone have to take a young woman’s life so violently and in such strange circumstances? And why, oh why, did they have to go and do it in the middle of Ronnie’s almost-perfect birthday party?
“Except it wasn’t in the middle of the party, was it?” said Queenie, who was indeed frowning. “It was on the other side of the property, far from any witnesses.”
“You think it was premeditated?” whispered Missy. “You think they dragged her there? ’Cause I was thinking it feels more like a crime of passion.”
Seamus caught this conversation and glared across. “I’m telling you, my brother did not hurt Greta.”
“Of course, Seamus, I didn’t mean—”
“So where is he?” asked Queenie, shaking her perfect, symmetrical bob. “Why hasn’t he run back to the house?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we shouldn’t be in here, hiding away. I need to get back out there, look for him!”
“All in good time,” said Alicia, soothingly. “Let the police do their job. They have better resources.”
Missy nodded along, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t do a little sleuthing of their own. The key was to learn more about the victim. That was one of Hercule Poirot’s tactics, and she explained that to Seamus as her eyes darted back across the assembled guests.
“We need to work out who had it in for your darling girl.”
And so they all began scanning the room.
There were thirty-five guests in all, some family, some long-time employees of Westera Holdings, most Ronnie’s old friends from school and her volunteer work on the Balmain Ladies Auxiliary (several of whom Missy recognised from a previous case). There were also fifteen staff, including the band, the chef, the barmen and the waiters, most of whom were still working as though nothing had happened, dragging in trays of Japanese cuisine, saké, wine and beer, which most people waved away.
“Apart from Aunty Ronnie, no one really knew Greta that well,” said Seamus.
“What about Bethany and Bronson?” asked Claire.
“Sure, they’d met a few times at family get-togethers, but why would they want to hurt her? Barely gave her the time of day, those two.” His head was madly shaking. “It must’ve been a stranger… She must’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Claire adjusted her white silk taffeta skirt and shook her head. “The random psychopath angle is not going to wash, sorry. It’s a private property with a rather imposing wall around it from what I can see. And Pete was guarding the gate the whole time, wasn’t he, Alicia?”
Alicia wavered. “Except he couldn’t have been watching every minute. When Perry and I went to see him before the speeches, he was inside somewhere, didn’t even notice us walk up. Maybe the killer hung in the bushes and waited for him to make a cuppa or use the loo and snuck in then.”
“But how?” Claire asked. “Wasn’t the gate closed? And why would a stranger jump the wall and then randomly shoot someone? If he is an outsider, it had to be planned, but why do it here at a party? With potential witnesses? And how did this outsider know to find Greta at the tennis court?”
“He might’ve lured her there,” said Queenie. “Maybe he prearranged a meeting with Greta, and Sebastian went along for protection.”
“He?” said Seamus. “Who is this he? I’m telling you, Greta didn’t have an enemy in the world. She works with kids for God’s sake. This is crazy talk.” He sat forward, jittery. “We just need to find Seb. He’ll know what’s happened. We need to get back out there… He could be bleeding… Could be dying… We need to search.”
“It’s okay,” said Missy now, reaching out to brush his arm. “The police will find him. I promise you. It will all be okay.”
As Missy made promises she was in no position to make, Alicia understood Seamus’s sense of urgency. She felt it too. They were all just sitting here, like Rapunzel in her high tower, looking fabulous but foolish, waiting to be rescued.
Surely there was more they could do…
The doorbell suddenly chimed through the house, causing half the room to jump, including Alicia. She hoped that was her prince arriving, not the evil sorceress. She locked eyes with Ronnie, who had been slowly making her way around the room, placating her guests. Before either of them could react, Bethany was on her feet.
“Finally, the cavalry have arrived. I’ll unlock the door and let them in.”
Bethany strode through the parlour’s large double doors and across the foyer, flicking on the hidden downlighting as she went, bringing it into the twenty-first century.
Alicia gave Ronnie an assured look and followed her out, disappointed to find two uniformed officers at the front door, neither of them DI Jackson.
Bethany was equally disappointed. “Where’s the lead detective?” she demanded. “I want to see your superior.”
“We’re from the local station, ma’am. I’m Constable Eva Sanchez,” said the young woman, “and this is Probation—” She swallowed back that word and said, “Officer Luke Markovic. Detectives from the Serious Crime Squad have been informed and are on their way. Until then we’ve been asked to lock down the premises and take statements from everyone present.”
“Are you implying that someone at the party had something to do with this?” asked Bethany, her tone haughty.
“Well, no, I mean, we don’t exactly know at this—”
“I know,” Bethany retorted. “And I can vouch for every guest here. There are no murderers at this party. The idea is insulting.”
Sanchez offered a patient smile. “Just have to take statements, ma’am.”
“Oh? And we just have to sit here, do we? While you treat us like common criminals? What happened to the presumption of innocence? Hmm?”
“Bethany, it’s standard procedure,” Alicia said, trying to help the young officers out. She stepped forward. “I’m Alicia Finlay. One of the guests who found the victim’s body.”
Constable Sanchez exhaled. “Okay, great. We definitely need to speak to you. But first… I’m sorry, I need to address the group.”
“Don’t apologise for doing your job,” Alicia told her as they made their way back to the parlour.
Inside the living room, the guests had gone deathly quiet, all staring through the doorway as though waiting for slaughter, and Ronnie was standing front and centre, like she could somehow protect them all. The two officers walked in, jangling their gear and offering grim smiles.
They glanced around the luxuriant Gothic interior like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing, then Sanchez addressed the group.
“Thanks for your patience,” she called out, her voice echoing despite the hanging tapestries and plush Persian rugs. “We need you all to remain in this room for a little longer while we take down your contact details.”
“I could’ve given you those,” snapped Bethany as she dropped down beside Bronson, forcing him to shove over in his chair while Seamus bounced to his feet.
“My brother’s missing,” he said. “Did they tell you that? Sebastian’s still out there. You need to find him!”
Sanchez held up one palm. “We have been informed of the missing man and are bringing in extra officers to start searching the property, Mr…?”
“Jones. Seamus Jones.”
She nodded. “We’ve also called in the dog squad and have detectives on the way. I can assure you we’ll do everything we can. Do you have a recent photograph of the missing man?”
“Oh, I do,” said Ronnie, stepping forward. “I’m Veronica Westera, Sebastian’s aunt. There’s one in the study.”
“Good,” said Sanchez, holding up a finger to stall her as she returned to addressing the guests. “Officer Markovic will make his way around the room. Please furnish him with your full name, best contact number, and current residential address. If anyone believes they saw or heard anything suspicious this evening, please also let him know.” Then she glanced at Alicia. “I believe there are two of you here who found the deceased?”
Seamus said, “I was there too.”
She nodded at him, Alicia and Ronnie and said, “If you three could come with me.” Then she turned to Markovic, leaned in close, and said, just loud enough for Alicia to hear, “You’ve got this, Marko. Don’t take any of their crap.”
When they reached the foyer, well out of earshot of the parlour, Sanchez turned and asked, “Has there been any sign of a disturbance up here at the house? Anybody injured or—”
“Not at all,” Ronnie said, sounding almost offended. “It’s been a thoroughly lovely birthday party… until now.”
Sanchez pulled a small notepad and pencil from her vest and jotted something in it. She then took down their details before turning to Seamus.
“I believe the deceased was your girlfriend?” she asked. He nodded. “Can you confirm her full name and address for me? Also, her next of kin so we can contact the family.”
He paled. “Oh God, I’d forgotten all about Greta’s folks. This will destroy them.”
Ronnie wrapped an arm around him while he furiously scrolled through his phone, providing the details while Sanchez wrote it down.
She thanked him and turned to Alicia. “And what was your relationship to…” She glanced at her notes. “Greta Granger?”
Alicia blinked. “Oh, I don’t have one. I’m just one of the guests, a friend of Ronnie’s.” She nodded across to Veronica, then explained how they’d arrived late and been asked to search for Sebastian, whom they also hadn’t met.
“Seb’s still missing by the way,” said Seamus. “You need to get out there and look for him!”
“As I said, sir, we are working on it. What was your brother wearing, can you remember?”
“Of course I can remember.” Then he hesitated, blanched again, looked at Ronnie.
“He was in a midnight-blue tuxedo,” she said swiftly. “White dress shirt. Can’t recall the shoes.”
“Black derbies!” said Seamus, sounding suddenly jubilant. “He was wearing his favourite black dress shoes. I remember because they didn’t match his suit…”
Then he winced, realising how nasty that sounded, as Sanchez scribbled it all down in her pad.
She closed the book and said, “That’ll be all for now. If you two could return with the others where my partner will question you further.” Then, eyes on Ronnie, she said, “Now, about that photo?”
~
Claire’s eyes followed Officer Markovic as he made his way around the room. He had started with a trio of elderly ladies propped close to the roaring fire, all smiling up at the young man, at least one of them batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.
