Liars, page 13
CHAPTER 23
Viv was at the epicentre of a force field of gloom. Those up the other end of the hall were chatting and laughing like they would at a party, but the closer people were to him, the more solemn and depressed they seemed to feel they had to act. Periodically, they would tap their partner on the shoulder, nod in his direction and slowly, as enthusiastically as if coming to give blood, shuffle toward him and start moaning about how tragic it was. If he was the one who was supposed to be the most bereaved, surely they should be trying to cheer him up, not drag him further down. A few minutes ago Ethel Turner had opened with, ‘Such a shock’. Really? Most addicts relapse. Sometimes they overdose.
When he was racing in a pack with riders who talked too much, he just sped up until they either fell back or didn’t have enough breath to speak. Here, though, he was trapped.
Over by the bar he saw Leanne grab a glass of wine. He’d always liked Leanne. Not in a romantic way. She was just one of the few women he felt relatively comfortable around. They had both been outsiders in the band, her because she was a year younger, him because he was two years older, and because he was him. One of the many reasons he had grown angrier with Joe over the years was because of the way he had dragged Leanne down with him.
Next to her was a group from his cycling club. Why were they here? They didn’t even know Joe. He realised it must be to offer him support. Unless it was to assess his condition before Sunday’s forty-kilometre race from Ettalong to Terrigal and back.
He had been the undisputed champion of the Southern Central Coast Cycling Club for the last few years. He loved racing; working out tactics, hiding in the pack until the optimal moment to make a move, riding hard enough to break away, but not so hard that two or three others couldn’t come with him so they could share the lead, until it was time for him to make another move, usually up a steep hill close to the finish. He was twenty-nine, which he had discovered was two years past his physical cycling peak, but he still won more than he lost. Until recently.
In the last six months his win percentage had dropped from fifty-eight per cent to twenty-one per cent, purely because of new member Sam Delaney, twenty-two, very fast and irritatingly friendly. Viv was training harder than ever, but Sam kept beating him. Worse, Sam was still approaching his peak as Viv slid down the other side.
‘Hey, Viv, sooo good to see you,’ soothed Dev, almost elbowing someone else out of the way and placing her hand on his arm. ‘You poor, poor darling.’
Her dark hair was swept back, and as always her long-lashed eyes, deep red lips, curvy figure and overpowering confidence made him feel unsteady. She smelled of something good. He was just over six feet, but in heels she was nearly as tall. She wore a black pantsuit tighter than some might think appropriate for a funeral, and looked broad-shouldered and gym fit. He quickly raised his gaze. He found eye contact difficult at the best of times, but knew it was important not to glance below neck level.
She leaned in and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘How are you doing?’
He felt her warm, sweet breath.
His mouth seemed to have gone dry.
*
Gary kept moving, flitting from one group to another, staying long enough to graciously receive compliments about both his eulogy and Which Duck?, but not long enough to get sucked into anything boring. It was nice to be back on top. He deserved it. Yes, he had been born with talent, but he had also worked bloody hard. Most comedians were too lazy or too precious to be successful. Or not talented enough.
When he started doing stand-up he had thrown himself into it. He knew how to work a crowd, but struggled writing good jokes. He wrote loads of material, and performed the hell out of it, but he knew it wasn’t quite good enough to get his head above the throng of comics striving for recognition.
Then he had a thought. Yes, comedians were supposed to write their own material, but was that really essential? He knew stealing jokes from other comedians was frowned upon. Every group of backstage comics formed their own unit of the comedy police, naming and shaming thieves. ‘He stole that sports bit off Bill Burr.’ It was a fine line, though. Comics were always looking for material, and there are only so many subjects. As long as you didn’t lift a joke word for word, you had plausible deniability. ‘Bill Burr also does a routine on sport’ was very different from ‘That’s a Bill Burr joke’.
He started watching and listening to comics online, but not the famous ones. More obscure ones, with good material and poor stage presence, ideally with not many YouTube views, sometimes from Europe, Asia and South America with subtitles on. He picked the best jokes, kept their essence but reworked the words, and started to get bigger laughs. He even made a Spanish comic’s routine about siestas work for him. Even if the comedy police caught him, he made his routines different enough to plausibly be parallel invention, not theft.
He started to get noticed. He was booked to do paid spots – fifteen-minute supports at first, then thirty-minute headlines. It happened fast. Other comics got jealous, which he didn’t mind at all. Then a television producer approached him after a gig, invited him to audition to host a new prime-time panel show, and he got it. The big break. He knew television lifted you above the chaff, shone a light and made you a ‘name’ that, even if the show bombed, you could trade on for years.
Now, seven years later, he was a seasoned television performer. A safe bet, in the networks’ eyes. He had worked out fast that in television, compromise was part of the game. Television existed to serve your profile and your wallet, not your art. Take his new show. Many comedians would turn their nose up at hosting a late-afternoon game show. Well, they were welcome to keep trying to get laughs from drunk punters at Toukley RSL for one hundred and fifty dollars a night. Meanwhile, he had a house, a boat and a potentially lucrative investment in Dev’s development, although that depended on Viv now.
He felt fairly confident that Viv would sell, but … what if he didn’t? Could he actually lose money? How much? He scratched his wrist hard. Calm down. Dev would work her magic on Viv. He looked around. There she was, talking to him now. Good. If there was a prize for Hottest Wake Attendee, Dev had it in the bag. Poor Viv didn’t stand a chance.
A late middle-aged woman he didn’t know was eagerly pushing her way through the crowd toward him, eager smile and puppy-dog eyes. He would have to get used to that again, now he was back on the box. Which reminded him, ratings from last night would be in. As she reached him, he pulled out his phone. ‘Sorry, urgent text from the producers,’ he said, rolling his eyes. He turned and fled to an empty corner where he opened his tax-deductible ‘Real Time Ratings’ app.
Down a bit. Fuck. What if this was the beginning of the end? What if ‘down a bit’ became ‘down a lot’, became a trend, became a disaster? What if his re-rising star had reached its zenith, run out of whatever it was that powered stars, and was about to plummet?
He stopped himself. What had the therapist said? Try to relax. But that was a contradiction in terms. Was there a routine in that?
What else had she said? Distract yourself from worrying thoughts by thinking about something else. Something nice, like … pelicans. Not ducks. Pelicans. And have another wine. The therapist probably hadn’t said that, but surely if she was suggesting he relax, it was implied.
He gulped the remainder of his glass, got two more from the bar and, trying to look as if one was for someone else, headed outside and down to the jetty to look for pelicans.
There weren’t any. Plenty of fucking ducks, though, both in the water and paddling around in his head.
When worries come, don’t engage with them. Let them float past. Fuck that for a joke. He rang Dom.
‘Hi, Gary.’
‘Howdy. Just had a quick glance at the ratings. A bit down, but nothing to worry about?’ He tried to phrase it as a statement, not wanting to sound needy, but his voice betrayed him by rising at the end of the sentence.
‘Yes, all good, I think, mate. These sorts of ups and downs are normal in this timeslot. You get the halo effect starting to wear off after about a month. It’s to be expected. We’re weeding out the visitors and building a committed audience.’
‘Great, yes. And the network are good?’
‘They understand. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Yes, I thought that. Just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.’
He rang off, relieved. Nothing to worry about. Couldn’t get more definitive than that.
But if there was something to worry about, would Dom tell him? No, he wouldn’t, because the first job of a TV producer is to keep the talent happy, even if that involves lying to them. Dom’s words were worthless.
Gary’s stomach started to gnaw again. He finished the first wine and took a gulp of the second. It was lonely at the top, but he really wanted to stay there.
CHAPTER 24
Barb was sure Dennis wouldn’t be here, so why was she looking around the hall for him? He had known Joe’s parents, of course, but they were gone now, and he had never really got to know Joe or Viv. Truth be told, Dennis was quite stiff and reserved with children. Other people’s children, she corrected herself. He had been a good father to Julie. He wasn’t keen to have more than one, though, which had been disappointing, but relationships were about compromise, apparently.
She wondered what would have happened if they’d had a second child. Strange to think of a little boy or girl who never got the chance to exist. Perhaps he or she would have lived closer to her than distant Melbourne, where Julie was. Perhaps he or she might even have stayed in Bullford Point, and would pop in every few days, and …
Barb shook her head sharply. Enough of that.
‘If you’re going to find out what happened, you might as well find out what happened,’ she muttered to herself. If Joe had been killed, it was almost certainly by someone who knew where he kept his spare key, and most of the people who did were currently in the hall.
She scanned the room. Gary came in the door, and was immediately surrounded. Fans, she supposed. To his right, Dev was speaking at, rather than with, Viv, excitedly waving her hands, probably trying to persuade him to sell her the house he now owned outright. Slim Viv, long, bony face as immobile as a statue, appeared mesmerised. He was staring at Dev’s face with such a look of concentration, Barb could almost hear him thinking, ‘Don’t look down at her breasts.’
Leanne walked past the buffet to the bar and lifted two glasses of white wine. She had bags under her eyes, her frizzy blond hair hung limp and she looked ill at ease. Barb wondered if she shared her mother’s fury that Joe had been able to beat his addiction, while she had not. Could Leanne have killed Joe? Love and hate, two sides of the same coin?
Barb noticed Gary detach himself from a group and make his way to the bar. She moved to intercept him.
‘Sad day, Gary.’
‘Terrible. Just as things seemed to be turning for him. Poor bugger. I keep wondering how I could have helped him more. What I missed.’
‘Me too,’ said Barb, surprised by his candour. She had thought him somewhat superficial, but perhaps that was because most of her contact with him in the last few years had been via the television.
‘He was worried about the police investigation,’ he continued. ‘I kept telling him there was no way the police could charge him when he was innocent. He said he knew that, but I just had this feeling everything wasn’t right. But I didn’t do anything about it.’
‘You weren’t to know what was going to happen.’
Barb heard raised voices behind her and turned. It looked like Leanne, carrying a glass of wine in each hand, had bumped into Reg Andrews, who held an empty beer glass and had a wet patch down the middle of his shirt.
‘You walked straight into me!’ exclaimed Reg.
‘Did not. Not my fault you’re clumsy,’ Leanne slurred.
‘I was just standing here.’
‘Who are you, anyway? You even know Joe?’
‘What?’
Barbara started to move toward them, but Gary reached Leanne first and took a firm grip of her elbow. ‘So sorry, friend,’ he said to Reg. ‘Leanne’s been very upset and, well, you know how things get. Let me buy you another drink.’
‘It’s a free bar.’
‘So much the better.’ Gary prised a full wine glass from Leanne and handed it to Reg. ‘This one appears untouched. Bottoms up. Leanne and I are going to look for pelicans.’
Gary steered her outside.
CHAPTER 25
The morning after Joe’s funeral, Barb popped into the police station, where Seb was poking at his computer.
‘I want to report a break-in,’ she said, standing at the counter.
‘Really?’
‘No, but remember last time I was here I said, “I want to report a murder.” That was dramatic, wasn’t it? I thought that every time I came in, I could say I wanted to report something. Just to get started.’
‘Lots of people who come in here start by saying they want to report something, so it’s not that exciting for me,’ said Seb.
‘Understood. Won’t happen again.’ She lifted up the end of the counter and let herself through. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Rhetorical question, was it?’
She pulled up a chair to the other side of Seb’s desk. ‘I went and saw some drug dealers but that didn’t really lead to anything.’ She had decided not to tell him about the false lead to Sue, given it appeared to have nothing to do with Joe’s death.
‘Drug dealers? You realise part of my job is to arrest drug dealers?’
‘Of course, yes. I didn’t even think. They’re not in Bullford Point though, and also I think I’d feel bad telling on them because they helped me. Joe has bought from them in the past, but – this is the important bit – he has not bought drugs from them recently. If he bought the heroin, surely he would have got it from the nearest dealer, one whom he had bought from before? It strengthens the case he was murdered.’
‘Agree.’
‘Also, Tom and Viv didn’t buy anything from the drug dealer. Dev did, but it was only cocaine.’
Seb looked impressed. ‘Well done. I spoke to Tom. He’s got an alibi for Karen’s death. Played tennis, then stayed overnight at a friend’s. But there’s a bit more to it than that.’ He explained how Tom had confessed to following Karen to Joe’s house and then hiding in the bushes.
‘Dear me,’ said Barb. ‘What a state he must have been in.’
‘His alibi still holds, though. By the time Joe said Karen left his house, Tom was having a beer with his tennis mates.’
‘Everyone seems certain Karen was killed that night, but surely the scientific evidence can’t be that precise. What if, after leaving Joe’s, she went back to Tom’s, then next morning Tom returns, they quarrel and … well.’
‘He kills her?’
‘Accidentally, perhaps. That was the theory with Joe, yes?’
‘And then he dumps her body in the bush during the day? Very risky.’
‘Or waits until night.’
Seb drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘But he came into the station to report her missing that day, around lunchtime. It would be pretty reckless to do that if her body was in his house. What if I’d wanted to come and have a look?’
‘What about Joe? Could Tom have killed Joe?’
‘Homicide told Tom that Joe killed Karen, so he’s got revenge as a motive, and he doesn’t have an alibi for that night. But if Tom killed Joe, why would he have admitted to me that he hid outside his house when Karen was there? It just puts the spotlight on him.’
‘I can imagine Tom kicking in Joe’s door and punching him in a jealous fury,’ said Barb, thoughtfully, ‘but would he have been up to planning a heroin overdose disguised as suicide or an accident? Intellectually, I mean. Sometimes people do put on an act to make them appear less intelligent than they really are, but surely he can’t have been doing that since primary school?’
Despite the situation, Seb couldn’t stop a smile.
Barb put a hand to her mouth. ‘That was mean, wasn’t it? I usually keep things like that to myself.’ She brightened. ‘I must trust you.’
If only you could, thought Seb.
‘At any rate, I’ve looked through Joe’s phone. His house was pivotal to Dev’s development. She has options on the two houses next to him, but Joe’s house would open up the development to the town square, beach and jetty. Joe said yes to her, then a week later, I suspect just after he got that three thousand dollars, he changed his mind and told her he wouldn’t sell. Dev pleaded with him via text, and in the two days before Joe died, he had five missed calls from her.’
‘She was desperate.’
‘Dev would have known that if Joe died, Viv would inherit the house. Perhaps she was confident that if Viv did inherit, she could persuade him to sell. If that’s the case she definitely has a motive.’
‘Hard for me to think of Dev as a killer. I’ve known her since school.’
‘It is strange,’ said Barb, thinking of Sue.
‘Having said that,’ said Seb, ‘Dev has been pretty obsessed with that development. She would have a lot riding on it.’
‘Dev wanted the development to happen, but did she need it to happen? People want lots of things. I want to solve Joe’s murder. You want to be a detective …’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Of course you do. The point is, we often don’t get what we want. We get sad, we move on. But when you need something to happen and it doesn’t, you get desperate. If Dev’s business needed this development to happen, and then Joe changed his mind and said he wouldn’t sell, and she knew Viv would sell …’ Barb opened her hands.
