Murder Most Fancy, page 23
Esmerelda furrowed her brow. ‘Forty’s old but it’s not that old. How’d he get ’em?’
‘Jem thinks it might be from performing a lot of manual labour from quite a young age. He also had thickening of the skin, mainly on the hands.’
Cogs cricked and turned in my overwrought brain. ‘Was the skin thickening from manual labour too?’ I asked.
Burns and Searing nodded.
‘What about the ear surgery? For the untreated childhood ear infections?’ I asked the pair.
‘Is that the mastoidectomy?’ Searing asked me.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘No. No ear surgery,’ Burns responded. ‘But he had damage to his ears from untreated childhood ear infections, plus he had other injuries that indicated he wasn’t cared for as a child in the way you’d expect to see in Australia.’
‘You think your UP was an immigrant?’
‘Or a refugee. It’s certainly a possibility,’ Searing said.
‘What about the scars?’ Esmerelda asked, now in crocodile mode.
‘Our UP had scarring too. Some likely from childhood beatings, like your guy, but he also had other scars, probably from fighting.’
I had no idea if Max had scars from fights. I didn’t see any scarring on his face. And there was nothing in the notes.
Burns nudged Searing and pointed to one of the earlier whiteboards. ‘Our guy was five foot five. That’s a relatively short stature too.’
Esmerelda turned back to the bench and served herself some more pasta. ‘Maybe they worked in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory together when they were kids. Only Willy Wonka was a real dirtbag.’
‘More likely poor nutrition,’ I said to myself. Burns nodded in agreement.
I was eight centimetres shorter than my mother, twelve shorter than my father. As a teenager, I had done a lot of research into how and why people do and do not grow.
It was odd that no one in the hotel, nor any of the Hollys, nor Dame Elizabeth herself, had mentioned Max having an accent. Then again, Max could have arrived in Australia at any age. If he was a child migrant, would he still have had an accent as an adult? People do lose accents. Especially if they work at it.
Even taking generational differences into consideration, imagining what the Australia of sixty or seventy years ago was like for a child, it seemed unlikely that Max had grown up as an average Australian child.
I suddenly felt as if I had been doing a lot of giving to Searing and Burns, but not getting much in return.
‘Apart from possibly growing up somewhere else, what does Dr Bailly, theoretically, think happened to your UP to give him those injuries?’ I asked with as much confidence and nonchalance as possible.
‘Guy had a hard life. Started working young. Really young. Hard manual labour. His body was worn,’ Burns said matter-of-factly. ‘Hypothetically.’
To the outside world, Max seemed to be in excellent form. When he ate, he ate well, he swam quite regularly, and certainly he didn’t scrimp on personal grooming, entertainment or accommodation. He was sounding more and more like a successful immigration story. Boy flees country of origin where life was horrid and unjust, lands in Australia, the land of opportunity, works hard, breaks no laws (his fingerprints were not in the system) and is extremely successful.
With his new wealth, he fixes the scars from his childhood: he has dental implants to replace decayed teeth and ear surgery to correct hearing loss from ear infections. Maybe even a nip and a tuck. A lot of money can buy a lot of aesthetic pleasantries.
He immerses himself in culture: art, jewellery, opera, ballet.
He finds love. He finds death.
‘So,’ Burns said, pointing expectantly to our whiteboards, ‘who is this guy? This character in your movie. Great-Uncle Max. Where’d he come from? What’d he do?’
I served myself one of the last pieces of margarita. Even cold, it was still good. Made in an Italian pizza oven by a handsome twenty-five-year-old pizzaioli freshly imported from Naples. It was almost as good as having it at Lake Como.
I shrugged my shoulders at the detectives. ‘I don’t know. Great-Uncle Max is a work of fiction. If I knew who he was, I would tell you.’
Much of that statement was absolutely true.
It was indeed the multi-million-dollar question. Who was Max Weller? Because he certainly was not Max Weller.
‘What’d you know about all of this?’ Burns asked Searing.
‘Theoretically? A little bit.’ He looked to me for approval. I shook my head and let out an exasperated sigh.
‘Good deal then,’ Burns said in irritation to Searing. Then to me, ‘Well, great not having this conversation with you. Super helpful. Let’s not do it again. And since I’m not here anyway, I’ll not grab dinner on the way out.’ She walked to the bench, opened a pizza box and picked up a slice of the prosciutto, parmesan and rocket pizza. She made a sound similar to the one I made when unwrapping a new Dior handbag. She recovered herself and gave me a most unpleasant expectant stare.
‘Last chance. Whaddaya know, princess?’
‘Indigo?’ Searing appealed.
Okay, so I possibly owed Burns reparations for her demotion to cold case. And I felt a little bad about placing Searing in another situation where he had to keep things from his partner. If push came to shove and he had to choose between us, I doubted I would come out on top.
‘I don’t know who Max was,’ I said truthfully. ‘Or where he came from, but I think it is pretty safe to say Max was successful. Very financially successful. And since it’s almost impossible he was born into wealth, I’m going to surmise he worked extremely hard from a young age and was a self-made success story.’
‘Or he was a crook,’ Esmerelda said, wiping her hands on her jeans.
‘No fingerprints in the system. For his character,’ I clarified. ‘Not a crook.’
‘Maybe he just never got caught,’ she countered.
Searing had begun staring at Esmerelda. He walked slowly towards her. You could almost hear his brain working. ‘Maybe they worked in the same chocolate factory as kids. Only Willy Wonka was a real dirtbag,’ he said, paraphrasing her. ‘He was a crook.’
We all turned and stared at him. He was now standing next to Esmerelda, tapping his fingers on the marble island bench and muttering, ‘Yes, yes, he was.’
‘Dude!’ Esmerelda barked. He was standing too close, in her personal space. And he was blocking her ability to reach the deep-fried, ricotta-filled cannoli.
‘Burns, we’ve got to go,’ he said, coming out of his trance. ‘I think I’ve got a … we have to go.’
Then Burns did something I had never seen her do before. She smiled. It was a little disconcerting. She glanced from me to Esmerelda to Searing and then back to Esmerelda. ‘Do you need police protection, Esmerelda? Do you feel you’re in danger?’
‘Dude,’ Esmerelda said drolly. ‘I’d rather be dead than get police protection.’
‘Duly noted,’ Burns said.
As he was walking out the door, Searing asked if I intended to keep the bodyguards as private security.
‘Are you kidding? Someone put rattlesnakes in Esmerelda’s underwear drawer and tampered with Patricia’s brakes. Consider them a permanent fixture.’
Our answers seemed to make the detectives happy. Ten seconds later, they were gone, and so was the prosciutto pizza. And half of the cannoli.
CHAPTER 18
TUNNEL OF LOVE
As predicted, Grandmother and Dame Elizabeth arrived like uninvited clockwork at 9 am the next morning. But I was ready for them. I had awoken at 7 am, swum a few laps on purpose, showered, and had had Franny come for pared-back hair and make-up. By the time Dame Elizabeth’s polite knock came, I was drinking tea in a pair of pale beige Gabriela Hearst wool and silk pants, a sleeveless Valentino roll neck in caramel wool and a pair of simple calf skin Jimmy Choo stilettoes. Esmerelda was even on hand to open the door and show them into my room. I could not risk them entering any other part of the pool house—I didn’t want them seeing the open kitchen/murder room.
Grandmother seemed almost disappointed to see me dressed and ready to talk. Dame Elizabeth was delighted. ‘How lovely you look this morning, dear,’ she said, kissing me on both cheeks before delivering a warm hug.
She seated herself across from me, leaving plenty of room for Grandmother to slide into the seat beside her, next to the window. Esmerelda attempted to take up her perch on the windowsill, but Grandmother was having none of it. She did not like being looked down on. Grandmother insisted Esmerelda sit beside me, opposite her.
‘I am sorry we were not able to speak with you yesterday,’ I began in earnest to Dame Elizabeth. ‘We had some unforeseen events here.’
‘Yes, Carlo told me,’ Dame Elizabeth said empathetically. ‘I am so sorry. How horrible. Not that he divulged specifics, very discreet. You did well, Indigo. Carlo is one of the best.’
‘Who’s Carlo?’ I asked, dumbfounded.
‘Heavy one at eight,’ Esmerelda said helpfully.
I squinted at her.
Dame Elizabeth turned earnestly to Grandmother. ‘Chris and Cate, Kylie and Keith, they all swear by him.’
‘Don’t forget Shane,’ Patricia added, bustling in to remove the breakfast setting and laying out a fresh morning tea. She was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Carlo and Shane.’
‘Heavy two at eight,’ Esmerelda said.
‘Carlo and Shane are the new security guards?’ I guessed. ‘They started their shifts at 8 am?’
‘God help us,’ Grandmother said, shaking her head. ‘You really must put that brain to better use, Indigo. Speaking of which, please report.’
This unsubtle segue took most of the room by surprise. Patricia quickly excused herself, putting an abrupt end to the conversation she was having with Dame Elizabeth about Carlo. And Shane. It also put an end to my enjoyment of some fine miniature Florentines. And Esmerelda, well, Esmerelda was rarely taken by surprise.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Esmerelda said. ‘There’s some other stuff first. Like, have you gotten me out of that contract with Heinsmann yet? He’s killing me. And he’s totally actually trying to kill me.’
It took me a second to recalibrate. ‘I don’t think Heinsmann is trying to kill you.’
Although I had spent much of the night considering the possibilities, in truth, I had no idea who was trying to harm Esmerelda or why. Was it related to our investigation into Max? Was it related to her previous life, the one that had landed her in Silverwater Women’s Correctional Centre? Could it actually be related to her Pazzia cover? Or was it something completely different? Esmerelda could be a little prickly. Perhaps she had simply rubbed someone mentally unstable up the wrong way.
‘It is all going quite well,’ Dame Elizabeth said confidently. ‘I should have an answer within the week.’
‘Are you quite finished?’ Grandmother said to Esmerelda.
‘Yeah, just checking,’ Esmerelda said, leaning back in her chair.
‘Max did not arrive to escort Elizabeth to the ballet on Saturday. Nor did he arrive at the ballet as a latecomer. Elizabeth, am I correct?’
Grandmother could always be relied upon to be a verbal freight train.
Dame Elizabeth peered deeply into her teacup and exhaled. ‘Yes.’
‘Have you heard from him at all since he broke his dinner date with you the night before a body coincidentally arrived in my oriental lilies?’
‘No.’
Freight train with a side of Tin Man. Well, Tin Woman.
Poor Dame Elizabeth. She was about to have her heart ripped out, and she knew it. At least I was prepared. I leaned across the table and took her hands in mine. ‘I am so sorry, Aunt Lizzy. Max Weller, your Max, is the man in the lilies.’
‘The photo?’ she asked heavily. ‘From the theatre. It was him?’
‘We were fairly certain by then, but yes, it did confirm it.’
‘Max is gone?’
‘Yes. He’s gone.’
Esmerelda and Grandmother were both deeply uncomfortable with the display of vulnerability and raw emotion. This was not their wheelhouse.
‘So, like, how did your dude, your Max,’ Esmerelda said, pointing to Dame Elizabeth, ‘end up in like your backyard?’ she asked pointing to Grandmother. ‘There’s a crazy high fence around most of your place, like all kinds of gate security.’ Esmerelda pointed back to Dame Elizabeth. ‘No front gate security at your place, but, like yours,’ she pointed back to Grandmother, ‘is heavy-duty. Dude was pushing eighty. He’s not scaling fences.’
‘Did Max know about the false hedge-gate between your properties in the back garden?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ Dame Elizabeth said.
‘How do you know about the gate?’ Grandmother demanded.
Dame Elizabeth answered on my behalf. ‘When I found Indigo in your garden, she had already been detained by the police for hours. Standing next to … standing in the sun. She looked exhausted. I forgot it was a secret, I just acted. I unlatched the boxwood hedge, opened the gate, went through and removed her to your drawing room.’
Grandmother tried to work up some anger at Dame Elizabeth, but just could not manage it.
‘Does anyone else know about the gate, Dame—Aunt Lizzy?’ I asked gently. ‘Gilly? Bettina? Was it there when Astor and Gregory were growing up?’
‘Oh no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s just a little short cut Florence and I put in a few years ago. The children had been gone for decades by then. We are not as young as we used to be and,’ she paused and glanced at Grandmother, ‘it’s just faster if you just want to pop over. The walk to my door, to the front of my estate, and then the rigmarole of Florence’s security and gates and whatnot, then the walk from the front of her estate to her front door, even getting through her home, my home … they are not small structures. It is not a short journey. For the most part, we end up sitting in the garden anyway. And your grandmother is so busy, so often away. Time is precious.’
The two older women regarded each other cautiously, meaningfully. I sensed something was brewing. After a minute or so of non-verbal back and forth, Grandmother arched her left eyebrow and crossed her arms. This was a sign.
‘Expect a visit from Loraine today. I want her cleared by your security immediately. No delays, no questions asked,’ Grandmother said. ‘She will have two NDAs. You will sign one each and return them to her immediately.’
Wow. This was going to be good.
‘Absolutely,’ I said.
‘Like, totally no way,’ Esmerelda piped up, crossing her arms.
I turned to Esmerelda. ‘You have already signed an NDA for me. You will sign this one or you can put the repairs for Patricia’s car on your own Visa.’
‘Hey!’ she objected. ‘That accident wasn’t even my fault! Searing said so.’
‘Oh,’ I said sympathetically, patting her hand, ‘I know. I would just like to hear you explain it to an insurance agent. Remember how much fun those insurance meetings were? You have all the proper documentation, right?’
‘You’re meaner than before,’ Esmerelda said. ‘And sneakier.’
‘She is, isn’t she,’ Grandmother said proudly.
‘The NDA?’ I pressed.
‘Yeah, okay. Spill it, Nanna.’
Grandmother narrowed her eyes and appeared snakelike for long enough to make Esmerelda lean incrementally back in her chair.
‘Indigo,’ Grandmother began, ‘you were quite young when your grandfather died, so you probably don’t recall that he and Alexander were, at various stages, quite close.’
She was right. I had only faint memories of Earl Alexander Holly.
‘For some absurd reason, the two of them had a secret underground tunnel constructed to join our two properties. It runs from my orchid palace to Elizabeth’s garden shed.’
‘Pardon?’ I asked, astonished.
‘There’s a hidden door behind the second row of Vandas on the left-hand side of the orchid palace. It opens onto a stone staircase that leads to an underground tunnel.’
‘I knew there was something sus about that orchid palace floor!’ Esmerelda said victoriously.
I’d had no idea. You had to hand it to Esmerelda, when it came to deceitfulness and fraud, her extra-sensory perceptions were genius level. She was a duplicity savant.
‘The tunnel runs underneath the two gardens. It’s quite wide and tall enough to walk through. We have used it on occasion to have particularly private conversations,’ Dame Elizabeth added.
‘I must have that tunnel paved,’ Grandmother chided. ‘I have never liked that pebbled flooring. Tiny pebbles everywhere. Disastrous on one’s shoes, messy, slippery. Most unpleasant.’
I turned to Dame Elizabeth as she spoke.
‘Alexander thought it ever so clever to have his entry built into the garden shed. The rack where the metal rakes and forks hang is actually a false door. It too opens onto a stone staircase that leads to the tunnel. He always said no one worth listening to would be caught dead entering a garden shed.’
It seemed someone who had ended up dead may well have entered that garden shed. I’d been over it so many times in my mind. I thought Max must have known about the secret hedge-gate and used that, but what if it was actually the secret tunnel? Either way, I was now convinced Max had begun the evening at Dame Elizabeth’s, had used one of the secret entrances to get into Grandmother’s and had been murdered.
‘Or was it worthwhile?’ Dame Elizabeth mused as I tuned back in. ‘No one worthwhile would be caught—’ She stopped short, hearing her words.
‘Alexander was an awful snob,’ Grandmother broke in. ‘Trying to make everyone call him Earl Holly. Really!’
The women shared a derisive shake of the head.
‘Are you sure Max didn’t visit you the evening you were supposed to have dinner together?’ I pressed.
‘No,’ Dame Elizabeth said. ‘He called to say he had an urgent family matter to attend to in WA. That was it.’
Esmerelda eyed Dame Elizabeth. ‘Like, was he coming to you?’
