Gone Guest, page 9
Singh stared at her blankly during all of this, then turned to Ronnie and said, “It’s so lovely to see you again, Mrs Westera, notwithstanding the circumstances. Is there somewhere you and I can chat privately?”
“Oh yes,” Ronnie replied, waving towards the study.
Singh followed her into the room and closed the door on Bethany, leaving her standing in the foyer, gaping like a goldfish.
Inside the study, Ronnie watched DI Singh chuckle to herself as she took the captain’s chair behind the desk.
“That woman looks like a lot of hard work,” Singh said, then winked and added, “We’ve met before, Mrs Westera. You and your friend Florence Underwood assisted with my enquiries regarding the homicide at the Balmain film night.”
Ronnie blinked. “Oh yes, that’s right. And please call me Ronnie.”
She nodded. “How are you holding up, Ronnie?”
“I’ve had better birthdays.”
“I’m sure you have.” Singh glanced at her watch. “Please take a seat. We haven’t got long before forensics arrive. Can I get you something? A tea? Water?”
Like Singh was the one who owned the house. And I guess she does now, Ronnie thought, dropping into the guest chair in front of Bert’s old desk. Her desk, in fact, for the past twelve years, not that Bethany ever got the memo. Or Singh for that matter.
“I’m sorry about my niece,” she said. “She’s never quite accepted me.”
“Oh I got that. How does she feel about the deceased woman and your missing nephew?”
Ronnie’s eyes were wide. “You can’t think Bethany had anything to do with it?”
Singh shrugged. “I always want to pin it on the nasty ones, but sadly life doesn’t always work out that way.”
She pulled out her notepad and flicked through a few pages. “Now, I’m across the basics, but there’s a lot of blanks. So, this is a family estate, I got that loud and clear too, but you don’t live here if I recall. Aren’t you in Balmain?”
Ronnie nodded, then glanced around. “This place is a little too dark and creaky for me, but my late husband loved it.” She smiled bleakly. “It’s a replica of his childhood home in York.” She glanced around. “I can always feel Bert’s presence here, and I like to look in on Biddy when I can, but the truth is, I would’ve sold it years ago if I didn’t think it was going to cause more headaches than it was worth. Not even sure why we were having my party here. Seems a very bad decision in retrospect.”
“So who else lives here, normally?”
“Just Biddy, although Bronson and Bethany are often here. Biddy’s Bert’s youngest and last remaining sibling. There’s also a full-time housekeeper and part-time nurse, but both have the weekend off.”
“Your sister-in-law has dementia?”
“Actually, no. She’s been intellectually handicapped since birth.” Ronnie dropped her head to one side. “Was young Greta really shot, detective?”
Singh did not answer. “Do you have reason to suspect anyone at this property? Any of your guests?”
She blinked, surprised by the question. “No.”
“Do you have any idea why she might have been targeted, or your nephew?”
“Absolutely not. She was a lovely young thing. Always polite to me. A preschool teacher, for God’s sake.”
How anyone could kill a preschool teacher was beyond Ronnie.
“What was her relationship to your missing nephew?”
“Sebastian? Oh they’d been dating for many years but…” Ronnie slapped her lips shut and tried to look nonchalant, but the detective was now watching her, pen poised.
“But?” echoed Singh.
Ronnie exhaled. “It’s not important.”
Singh cocked an eyebrow. “Everything is important in a homicide investigation, Ronnie. You were saying?”
Ronnie tried to sound nonchalant. “It’s just that Seb and Greta had recently broken up, that’s all. And Greta was now with Seamus.”
“Seamus Jones?”
“Yes, Sebastian’s twin, but really, it’s neither here nor there, Detective. They’re all very close.”
“Sounds very cosy indeed,” said Singh, writing away while Ronnie kicked herself internally.
Why did she even mention it? Surely it was irrelevant? The way Singh was scribbling gave her cause to wonder.
“And where is this twin Seamus now?” asked Singh.
“In the parlour. With everyone else.”
Singh underlined something in her pad, then sat back. “Are any firearms kept on the premises?”
The question caught Ronnie off guard again. She started behind her steel spectacles. “Goodness… um… I’m afraid I think there is. Or at least there used to be. My late husband was a keen hunter, back when it was still socially acceptable of course.” Ronnie’s mind wafted now to another time… Another place… She cleared a lump in her throat and continued. “I never disposed of them after he passed, so I guess they’re still around.”
“Where?”
“Check the observatory,” she said. “Top of the stairs, right next door to the master bedroom. Bert kept all his toys up there, his trophies, his guns too, I’m sure. But I haven’t noticed them in years. They would have been safely stored away, or at least I hope they were. Bethany and Bronson would know more about that.”
Perhaps it was more their house than hers, she thought now.
Singh watched her for a moment. “Do they also shoot? Bethany and Bronson?” Ronnie shrugged like she assumed so. “And your nephew? The missing one. Does he own a gun license? Can he handle a weapon?”
Ronnie bristled at that. Kicked herself again for even mentioning the break-up. She was no fool; she could see where the detective was heading. She sat forward, her steely look back.
“Let me tell you this, DI Singh,” Ronnie began, “unlike the actual Westeras, my nephews were brought up in the public school system. No fancy rifle ranges at their high school I can assure you.”
“So he doesn’t know how to use a weapon?”
She reached a hand to her pearls. “Well… I mean, I vaguely recall Bert taking the boys shooting once or twice when they were teenagers. But it was a lark, nothing serious. And Sebastian certainly wouldn’t own a gun.” Then she shook her ash-blond curls. “Now you think Sebastian did that to Greta? Please, Detective, it’s impossible. Absurd. You’re looking in quite the wrong direction.”
Singh chewed on her pen. “I’m exploring all directions, Ronnie. And right now all I can see is a homicide victim and a missing man who also happens to be the last person to see the victim alive.”
“But he’s a victim too, you must see that. Sebastian is not a murderer. Something horrific’s happened to him.” Her voice choked, and she cleared her throat. Begged the tears to stay put in the wells of her eyes. “We need to find Sebastian…”
“Let me assure you, your missing nephew is a top priority. There’s a search team already scouring the property, and sniffer dogs on the way. A chopper, too, if we can wangle it. I’ve also got a team ready to search this house, which is why I need you to join the others in the living room when we’re done here.”
As she spoke, Singh’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen and back. “Just a few more questions before I return to the tennis court. Did you hear any gunshots at any time this evening?” Ronnie shook her head, dislodging a tear, and Singh looked surprised. “No strange pops? Something you thought was a car backfiring?” Again Ronnie’s head was shaking. Singh asked, “When did you last see Greta and Sebastian?”
“Oh, let me think…” Ronnie swiped at the fresh tears now trickling down her crepey cheeks. “Um, Sebastian arrived early, at about five, I guess. Said hello, gave me a lovely big hug and a gold bracelet, then disappeared for a bit with Bethany and Seamus—probably to work on the speeches. He was like that, you see? Very thoughtful.” A quick sniff. “After that… Oh that’s right, we all gathered for family photos, as planned, at six thirty. As to your question, I’m not sure I saw him after that, but then I wouldn’t have. There were so many guests arriving, and I was busy greeting them.”
“And the deceased woman? When did you last see her?”
“During the photos, I think. She was watching from the sidelines, refused to be dragged into them… then Seamus ran off somewhere and she was chatting with Sebastian. That was just before seven maybe? Before the fireworks, I know that.”
Singh’s pen stalled and her eyes glanced up. “There were fireworks?”
“Yes, at seven thirty. Don’t stare at me like that, Detective. They weren’t very elaborate. Only went for fifteen minutes or so.” Then she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh who am I kidding? They were far too ostentatious. Quite unnecessary nonsense but Bethany insisted. She likes to make a statement. You met her. Sometimes it’s just easier to say yes.”
Singh looked suddenly invigorated. “Exactly what time were these fireworks?”
“Like I said, they started at seven thirty, and I guess they ran until seven forty, seven forty-five at the latest.”
“And both Greta and Sebastian were not present for those, as far as you could tell?”
Ronnie shook her head. “But you can’t think it all happened during the fireworks? The tennis court was dark as Hades at that time. I’m the one who turned the lights on, and that was a good hour or so later.”
Singh looked up from her pad again. “It doesn’t require a lot of light to shoot a woman in the back, Ronnie. But it is noisy, so the fireworks sure would have helped. Might explain why you never heard the gunshots.”
Ronnie thrust jittery fingers to her lips. Didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Tell me more about the relationship between the deceased and your missing nephew. Were things amicable?”
“Yes! In fact, so amicable I never even realised they’d broken up. Not until Seamus mentioned it tonight.” Ronnie frowned, her brow like criss-crossing train tracks. “Look, Detective, I really don’t approve of this line of enquiry. We’ve known Greta for more than a decade. We’re all very close. But the twins were the closest of all, and I’m positive they’d never let a woman get in the way of their relationship.”
“Except she’s not in the way now, is she?” said Singh, her smile grim.
Chapter 10 ~ Ballistics and Butterflies
The forensic pathologist was standing by the corpse, in full protective wear, staring grimly towards the house when DI Singh returned to the tennis court. Next to him a similarly dressed photographer snapped away while two more plastic-shrouded forensic officers inspected something on the far side of the court, Pauly beside them.
“Welcome to the party, Scelosi,” Singh called out as she stepped closer. “Like the gift I left for you?”
Frank Scelosi smiled dimly. “I would have preferred chocolates.” Then a glance back to the body. “I expect she would have too.”
Singh nodded sagely. “I know it’s early, but please tell me you’ve got some answers for me. Or do I have to bring in Henryhan? Don’t make me call Scaryhan.”
“Too late, I’ve already called him.”
She groaned as a butterfly suddenly flittered inside her stomach.
“Sorry, Singo, but you’re gonna need Ballistics for this one. I can confirm that’s a bullet wound, but that’s about all I can confirm. You know I don’t see many of these. Until I get her back to the lab, Henryhan’s your man.”
She groaned louder. “What’s the point of you again?”
He smiled. “I can give you time of death if that helps.”
“Go on then.”
“She’s been dead at least two hours. No more than four, I’d say.”
Singh did the maths. Greta was last seen by Ronnie at the party just before seven. Her body was found by the book nerds at nine. It was now close to eleven. “That fits,” she said. “I have a hunch she was shot around seven thirty during the birthday fireworks.”
“Perfect time to do it,” he agreed, then added, “Who gets fireworks for their birthday?”
She glanced around. “The same people who get private tennis courts. What else have you got?”
He pointed at the victim’s shattered back and said, “That is not a close-range wound as far as I can tell. Massive tissue destruction. Exit wound. My guess—and it is only a guess—is that she was shot from a distance.”
Singh’s eyes lit up. “Interesting.” She glanced around. “Okay, let’s see if we can do this without Scaryhan. We know she was standing this way when she was shot in the back…” She faced away from the net, in the opposite direction of the house, staring into the taller forest. She then turned and looked outwards. “So, what kind of distance are we talking? Could the shooter have been at the pavilion?”
“Wrong angle,” he said, and she glanced back, then shifted her gaze a little.
“On the pathway? Hiding in the bushes perhaps?”
“Further,” he said again, and she frowned, then followed his gaze all the way back to the house.
“Seriously?”
He pointed upwards. “With the right weapon, the only place they could have got a clear shot, over all those scrubby trees, is one of those top-floor windows or maybe from the roof. Anywhere with a clear view across to the court. But that is only a guess, I can’t stress that enough.”
Singh wondered about the observatory that Ronnie had mentioned. That’d be a top spot to take a few potshots, except… wouldn’t that be facing the other way? Out towards the sea?
“And what about the noise?” she asked Scelosi. “There were about fifty people at the house. How could they not notice gunshots? Could they have used a silencer?”
He shrugged. “Even silencers make some noise; that’s why we prefer to call them suppressors. However, you did mention fireworks. Even more reason to believe that’s when they took the opportunity to shoot.”
She nodded. Glanced backwards. “That’s a fair distance. They’d have to be a crack shot.”
“Or just lucky.” He pointed now to the gashes in the court surface between them and the tall forest on the other side. “They obviously tried a few times, missed at least twice.”
Singh’s lips squished to one side. “Would’ve been dark then though. I’ve been informed the court lights were off during the fireworks. Could the ambient light from the pavilion have lit the vic up enough for such a long shot?”
He considered it. Squinted up towards the tall lights. “You sure these weren’t on?” She nodded, and he turned his eyes to the bullet holes on the surface. “Might explain why they missed.”
“Okay, but I guess this rules out my missing man. Because he was here with her, by all accounts. Either that or he lured her here, returned to the house, took a few shots before hitting the mark.” She groaned. “This is frustrating. The way I see it, there are only two reasons Mr Jones is still missing. He fled from the shooter and met a similar fate to the vic, in which case he might be dead or bleeding out somewhere. Or he did a runner because he’s our perp. Are we looking for a victim or killer? Whose blood do we think that is, dripping across the court?”
“We’ve taken samples, won’t know until—”
“Yeah, yeah, yada, yada.” She exhaled heavily, looking around again. “Where the hell is the missing guest?”
Scelosi smiled. “You’ll have to determine that for yourself. But I do think you need to put your big-girl pants on and work with Henryhan. He’ll tell you precisely where the shot was taken, judging by the angle of those bullets, the wound and the way this body has fallen. But like I said, I’d put money on one of the top windows of the house.” Then, as though to cheer her up, he added, “At least we’ve recovered some bullets that can point you to the weapon.”
She scoffed. “I suspect the weapon went over that very conveniently located cliff a few hours ago.” She groaned. “Damn it, Scelosi, you’ve just cracked the case wide open, because if the shots were fired from the house, it means anyone at the party could be responsible. That’s a shit-tonne of suspects I’ll have you know.”
“Consider it my gift to you,” he said, trying not to chuckle.
~
As Officer Markovic continued making his way around the group in the parlour, Sanchez now supervising beside him, the book club huddled around Ronnie, trying to digest what she had told them.
“They’re searching the house?” said Perry, glancing upwards. “Why? Do they think the killer’s lurking upstairs in a cupboard?”
He was joking, but now Ronnie’s lips were quivering as all eyes shot towards the ceiling.
“Indira can’t really think your nephew killed Greta, can she?” asked Missy.
Perry and Lynette exchanged grimaces. “Sorry, Ronnie, but we got that vibe from Singh too. Not sure why she’s got it in for Sebastian.”
“Actually,” said Ronnie, voice heavy as she glanced across to Seamus, who was beside the bar, deep in conversation with Hugh. “I might have stupidly blurted about Greta switching brothers. I guess Singh’s reaching for the most obvious motive, jealousy. But Seb would never hurt a woman. It’s absurd. I’m not sure that DI knows what she’s doing.”
“Oh, she’s okay,” said Alicia, almost reluctantly. “Jackson swears by her.”
“Speaking of whom,” Ronnie shot back. “Where is he, Alicia? I thought you said Jackson was coming.”
“I thought he was too. I’m as confused as you are. I tried phoning, but it’s going straight to voicemail. He must have got called to another job.”
Because she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that her boyfriend had handed this case over to his snarky colleague so willingly. Lynette gave Alicia a curious look but said nothing, while Ronnie looked disappointed.
“More’s the pity,” she said. “Jackson knows me, he knows… Oh look, Seamus is coming over.” She lowered her voice. “Please don’t mention DI Singh’s suspicions to him. He’s shaken up enough as it is.”
