The Sunbaker, page 20
‘By the way,’ said Begley, ‘Moreau’s wife is looking for her husband’s phone. It’s missing.’ He tilted his head, revealing one eye beneath the broad brim of the hat. ‘Any idea?’
‘You’re accusing me?’
Caitlin kicked Jack in the ankle so hard the pain shot all the way up his leg.
Begley was still eyeing Jack. ‘There are photos Mrs Moreau would like to have. Memories.’
Now Caitlin was staring at Jack too. ‘I’m sure if he finds it he’ll return it, won’t you, Jack?’
The sombrero rotated a half circle and started moving towards the door.
Jack called after him, ‘Hey, Begley.’
‘What?
‘I’ll give you fifty cents for the hat.’
‘Piss off.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
Caitlin sat in the passenger seat as Jack drove up the motorway towards Brunswick Heads. Nicola’s car was a small SUV, plain, undistinguished, but clean and comfortable. No furry dice. No fake scent. They were listening to BayFM. When Michael Hutchence began pouring his heart into ‘Never Tear Us Apart’, Caitlin opened her window to get some air.
She risked a long look at Jack and, as always, she felt as though a warm, snuggly blanket was being wrapped around her. She thought of her blood sample, which by now would be heading off to a lab somewhere. She’d already begun asking the God she didn’t believe in to make sure it came back negative. And she hoped she wouldn’t lose Jack before the result came in. She forced herself to look away.
‘Is she nice?’
‘Who?’
‘Nicola.’ She felt nervous as she waited for an answer that never came. She broke the silence. ‘She’s very pretty.’
‘How do you know? You’ve never met her.’
She said nothing.
‘Have you been stalking her online?’
Of course she had, but there was no way she was confessing to that. She looked back out the window and felt the cool wind on her face as they drove along.
At the motorway turnoff, Jack said, ‘Can you Bluetooth this to the car.’ He passed her the burner. ‘I want to speak with Moreau’s agent again.’
Jack made the call. This time he was put straight through to Myra McKenna, who said she’d never heard of Michael Brown and that he’d never booked Moreau for an event. Jack ended the call.
‘What intrigues me,’ he said, ‘is why Moreau would kill Brown when as far as we know they never knew each other. And why the bodies were found in Nicola’s backyard.’
‘So, you returning her car is an excuse to question her?’
‘And I’d like to see her of course.’ He glanced at Caitlin, smiling. ‘She’s very pretty. Almost as pretty as her sister.’
‘I think you should keep your eyes on the road, not on Nicola.’
They parked outside the motel, but at reception were told Nicola had checked out, so they drove the short distance to her house. The blue crime-scene tape had been taken down and the cottage once again looked very quaint, and normal, as though two bodies being found in the backyard was something out of their collective imaginations.
Caitlin knocked at the front door. When Nicola opened it they were greeted by the pungent smell of marijuana.
‘You must be Caitlin.’ Nicola held out her hand and they shook. Nicola then smiled at Jack and gave him a hug.
To Caitlin, the hug lasted far longer than necessary.
‘We came to return your car,’ said Jack. He handed her the key. ‘And to ask a few questions.’
‘Not a social call then?’
Caitlin noticed a slight slurring of her words.
‘A bit of both. And then maybe you could run us back to town.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not sure driving’s a good idea. Maria and I have been celebrating.’
They followed Nicola into the small lounge room, dimly lit by a few candles struggling to penetrate the smoke. Russell Morris was singing ‘The Real Thing’ from an unseen speaker and Maria, sitting on a rug on the centre of the floor, was swaying side to side in time with the music, eyes closed while taking a drag from a poorly rolled joint. She opened her eyes when she heard them, coughed and waved. A flower lei of pink frangipanis around her neck provided a bright counterpoint of colour to her loose, flowing cotton dress. Her long blonde hair was no longer held by a plait and cascaded over her left shoulder to the floor.
‘Jack,’ said Maria, looking delighted with the world, and at seeing Jack in particular. She patted the blanket beside her and when he sat next to her, she kissed him, then clumsily wiped at the lipstick she’d left on his cheek. ‘Hi.’ She giggled.
The lounge was covered in clothes spewing from a half-open suitcase, so Caitlin was forced to join them on the rug. Jack introduced Maria to Caitlin.
‘Maria has just returned from India.’
Maria swapped the reefer from her right hand to her left and shook hands with Caitlin. ‘I’ve been living in an ashram. You should try it. You could come back with me. Both of you.’
‘Are you allowed to smoke weed at an ashram?’ said Caitlin.
‘I’m making up for lost time.’
Nicola returned with two extra glasses and poured wine for each of them. She sat next to Jack, making Caitlin feel like the odd one out, sitting alone on the other side of the blanket. Caitlin took a sip of the wine. It tasted like cat’s piss, but maybe the potpourri of smoke was affecting her tastebuds. Or the jealousy.
Jack took a drink from his glass, and pulled a face, before putting the glass down. ‘It’s great news, Nicola, that the police have dropped you as a suspect.’
‘Yes, but they took their time about it. As if I was ever going to have killed anyone.’
‘Then why were the bodies found in your backyard?’ asked Caitlin.
Nicola shrugged. ‘No idea.’
Caitlin said, ‘It can’t be chance. It would be more logical to dump the bodies in a forest and hope they were never found. And what’s with the cocktails and the Russian novels? It must be a message of some sort.’
‘I can’t work it out,’ said Nicola.
Maria took another drag from her joint, and offered it to Caitlin, who shook her head. But Jack reached for it and took a long spluttering drag. Damn it, she thought – she’d promised herself she’d never say ‘no’, although there were limits: murder, heroin and watching football. She motioned for Jack to pass it to her. She was pleased to see the surprise in Jack’s eyes but, when she inhaled, she coughed most of it out before it was drawn down into her lungs. She tried again with the same result.
Maria raised her face and both arms to the heavens as ‘The Real Thing’ was tripping its way to a psychedelic end. When the song finished, it was replaced by ‘Wings of an Eagle’ and Maria returned to earth, grinned at Jack and put an arm around his shoulders. Jack didn’t seem at all bothered by the arm and Caitlin had to fight the urge to remove it.
‘Nicola, could this be some sort of revenge on you?’ asked Jack.
‘You’ve been reading too many novels, Jack.’ Nicola was slurring her words even more now.
Caitlin asked, ‘And you never met Christian Moreau?’
Nicola shook her head. ‘I didn’t even know who he was until Jack told me.’
Jack, seeing Maria didn’t have any wine, offered her his.
She shook her head with exaggerated vigour. ‘I’m not having any of that shit.’ She took a long suck on the joint and exhaled, before pointing to a glass of cloudy liquid in front of her. Between coughs, she said, ‘My body is a temple; I only drink coconut water.’
‘Then what about that?’ said Jack, pointing to the joint in her hand.
‘What?’
‘You’re smoking weed.’
She waved the question away with her hand. ‘It’s organic.’
Jack moved even closer to Nicola. ‘I want to show you some photos I copied from Moreau’s phone, to see if you recognise anyone.’ He began swiping through the images.
Nicola, between sips of wine, pursed her lips and shook her head. Eventually she put a hand on Jack’s arm. ‘Wait, that looks familiar.’
‘What?’ said Jack.
She laughed. ‘The dog. I’m sure I’ve seen a border collie before.’
Jack didn’t look amused. ‘Nicola, focus.’
‘I am focused,’ she said, ‘on both those screens you’re holding.’
She was laughing hard now, and Caitlin figured it was probably the first time Nicola had been able to really relax since the police had accused her of murder a week ago. Or it could have been the booze. Or the weed.
Jack resumed swiping photos.
Nicola stopped him again. ‘Go back to that woman.’
Jack found the photo.
She stabbed an unsteady finger at the screen. ‘She looks vaguely familiar. Can you make her larger?’
Jack fiddled with the screen. ‘Who is it?’
Nicola stared at the screen with all the concentration she could muster, as Maria sang along to the song in a completely different key to Russell Morris.
‘Well?’ said Jack.
‘I have completely no idea. But she looks familiar. I might have seen her before. Is she on TV?’
‘No. It’s Moreau’s wife.’
Nicola shrugged. ‘Then I’m probably mistaken.’
She didn’t recognise anyone in the remaining photos.
Maria took another drag, then stubbed out the joint. ‘Are you still trying to find out who killed those two people in our backyard?’
‘Yes,’ said Jack.
‘Would you like me to tell you who did it?’
Jack looked anything but convinced. ‘Really?’
‘I’ll have to get my ouija board.’ She tried to get up, but couldn’t. ‘I can ask the dead people. It won’t take long.’ She still couldn’t get up.
‘You’re all good, Maria, maybe another time.’
Nicola placed her glass down, then rested her head on Jack’s shoulder and closed her eyes. ‘Thanks for your help this week, Jack.’
Caitlin felt increasing alarm at the course of events. ‘Nicola, when are you going back to work?’
Nicola opened her eyes. ‘I’ll have to go back on Monday and help Bernard.’
Caitlin was relieved. Only two days to keep Jack out of Nicola’s clutches. And Maria’s.
Jack reached out a hand and placed it on one of Nicola’s.
Caitlin stood up. ‘Come on, Jack, let’s go.’
‘No,’ said Maria. ‘Stay. The party’s just getting going.’
‘I think we should go,’ said Caitlin.
‘Staaaay the night and have fuuun,’ said Maria. She turned and grinned at Jack. ‘There are only two beds, but I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’
Caitlin thought of the different sleeping permutations: Jack with Maria, Jack with Nicola, Jack with her. The first two were unthinkable. The third would prevent the first two, but could she trust herself?
‘I think I’ll sleep in my own bed,’ she said. ‘Enjoy the party.’ She turned to Nicola who was trying to get to her feet unsteadily and was relieved to see Jack standing as well.
They left Maria swaying to the music.
At the front door, Nicola folded Jack into a long embrace.
Caitlin tapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Jack.’
Outside, the night air was pleasantly cool and Caitlin sucked in deep breaths of weed-free air. It would take ages for the smell to leave her dreadlocks. She looked at Jack, grateful to have him to herself again. She took out her phone; there were no little white cars on the map in the ride-share app. They walked to the pub, but the taxi rank was empty.
‘We could go back and borrow Nicola’s car,’ said Jack.
There was no way Caitlin was going to let Jack back inside Nicola’s house that night. ‘Let’s eat, I’m hungry.’
Jack smiled at her. ‘Have you got the munchies?’
Inside, the beer garden was busy; the only free table was at the back. The band was on a break. They ordered pizza and when their food finally arrived, Caitlin realised she really was hungry. They ate in relative silence, finishing the pizza just as the band returned to the stage and began retuning their guitars.
Caitlin wiped her hands. ‘I’m going to make a musical request.’ She tapped a finger a few times on the side of her forehead. ‘Now what will it be.’
‘Don’t even think about it.’
She smiled. ‘Actually, I’d like to make a confession. I hate them too.’
‘Simon and Garfunkel?’
‘I’ve finally found something we have in common.’ She finished her glass of wine. ‘Now, how are we getting home?’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Sunday, 8th March
Jack felt sharp pain down his left side. Whatever he was lying on was hard and cold. He stirred, and some voices that had just begun to intrude into his consciousness fell silent. A light sheet covered him from the waist down and he was naked apart from his jocks. He opened an eye and could see nothing but a long flowing mane of blonde hair lying next to him. Oh, shit.
But he couldn’t smell marijuana. Or incense. He sat up, and heard laughter.
Marilyn Monroe, aka Brenda in real life, was sitting at one end of her dining table in her dressing gown, legs crossed, staring down at him on the floor. Caitlin, fully dressed and looking way too perky for the hour of the morning, sat at the other end of the table, also with her legs crossed and staring at him. They both nursed cups of tea and were grinning conspiratorially.
Jack shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked around. He was lying on a timber floor, with no mattress, only a thin sheet for padding. And a pillow. On the floor next to the pillow lay Marilyn’s wig.
‘Morning, sleepy head,’ said Brenda. ‘Sorry about the downgrade in the accommodation since last time, I had a VIP on the couch and I could hardly let you sleep in my bed.’
‘And I’d like to report how comfortable the couch was, Jack.’ Caitlin drank from her tea. ‘You’ve been out cold – we’ve been up for hours, solving the problems of the world, and watching you dribble.’
‘So cute,’ said Brenda.
Jack’s clothes were draped over an empty chair beside Caitlin. ‘Okay, ladies, you’ve had your fun. Would you mind looking away so I can get up and get dressed.’
‘Yes, Jack,’ said Brenda. ‘Yes, we would mind.’
‘Then I’m not getting up.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Brenda, and she and Caitlin remained exactly where they were, staring down at him, smiling.
Jack let out an exasperated breath, threw the sheet back and stood up.
‘Now that was worth waiting for, Caitlin, don’t you agree?’
‘Hmmm, I’m not so sure. Is that flab starting to appear on the tummy?’
Jack grabbed his clothes and disappeared off to the bathroom. It was embarrassing enough without them taking the piss.
When he returned, dressed, there was a cup of tea waiting for him, and he sat with his tormentors.
‘Jack, last time you slept with me,’ said Brenda, and she winked at Caitlin, ‘you asked me to let you know if I heard anything about the murders.’
Jack put his teacup down. ‘And?’
‘A few people spotted a white van late in the evening.’
‘On the night of one of the murders?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m assuming that was the first one.’
‘Both of them.’
‘Both?’
Jack and Caitlin shot each other a glance.
‘Are you sure?’ said Jack. ‘Both nights there was a white van?’
‘The first one was a definite. Judith is a birdwatcher. An expert observer. She is absolutely reliable. The other sighting is less certain, but two people independently saw a white van, and they both thought it was probably the night of the second murder.’
‘But that’s not possible,’ said Caitlin.
‘Well, that’s what the town grapevine is saying. That and Carlos at the laundromat is having an affair with the new girl down the street. And I didn’t tell you that.’
Jack was glad there were few secrets in Brunswick Heads – it might help them track down the killer – but at the same time he was glad he didn’t live there to be the fodder for gossip himself.
‘The police think the victims were killed by two different people,’ he said.
‘Well, they’re wrong. Unless the killers are carpooling. Oh, and Judith got what I think the police call a partial.’
‘A what?’
‘There was a three in the number plate on the van.’
‘She only saw one number?’
‘That’s all she managed; it was dark. I told you it was a partial.’
He smiled. ‘That’s pretty partial. One out of six.’
‘We’re all trying to help, Jack; there’s a killer floating around here and people are scared.’
‘I don’t suppose any of those people trying to help have security cameras?’
‘This is a sleepy little village – some people aren’t even connected to the internet yet.’
He took a sip of his tea. ‘I can’t explain the vans, but thanks for your help. And the tea.’
‘You’re welcome. Anytime.’ She winked at Jack and stood up. ‘Breakfast?’
Brenda pottered around the small kitchen, and soon the air was filled with the sound of sizzling eggs and the aroma of Bangalow Bacon.
Brenda’s bedroom door swung open and an older man stepped out, rubbing his eyes. ‘I can smell bacon.’ He was stark naked. His smile disappeared and his eyes widened in shock at the site of three strangers in the kitchen. ‘Shit,’ he said, as he covered himself with his hands. ‘Where’s Marilyn?’
