The Celibate Mouse Read online

  ‘Come, Marli.’ I touch her shoulder. ‘We’ll give you privacy.’ But as we turn to go inside the house Daniella grabs my arm, not taking her eyes off her son’s face. ‘No, it’s all right.’ She flashes me a ‘please-stay-and-support-me’ look. Reluctantly, I move back to stand beside her. Carissa squashes the pup to her chest and moves closer to her mother.

  ‘Mum, Carissa–Great-Aunt Edna died last night.’

  They gasp; Daniella’s face turns ashen. Carissa’s arms jerk convulsively and the puppy squeaks in protest. Marli gently removes him from her grasp. Sensing there is more, I look at Constable Adam Winslow.

  ‘Ah, Mum, that’s not all. We have reason to believe she was murdered. CIB and SOCO are at the hospital now.’

  Daniella’s scream seems to come from the soles of her high-heeled boots. Carissa starts crying; Adam wraps his arms around both of them. At my signal, Marli takes the frightened puppy inside.

  ‘Shut him in the laundry,’ I say quietly, struggling to suppress the onset of dread which would suck me back into the vortex of death and pain. How? Edna’s words come crashing back into my mind. ‘No one knew. He was always so careful to cover his tracks. It wasn’t talked about in those days ... and they had to do it. It was a pact not to ... say anything ... but now–’ and I remember the shadow in the doorway. Had she been overheard?

  Beads of perspiration break out on my torso, causing my clothes to stick to my skin. I knew what SOCO would be doing now, what the detectives were waiting for. So many times it had been me attending the scene. I can’t bear this. You have no choice.

  Marli nods and scoots inside. As I am about to follow, a man dressed in a chambray shirt, black jeans and leather jacket climbs out of the passenger side of the patrol car and walks toward the front steps. The fine hairs on my arms prickle; my heart tries to abandon my chest. I pretend not to recognise him and focus on the visitors.

  ‘Come along inside and I’ll make more tea. We’ve some brandy too.’

  Words tumble over themselves as I hasten to get away from Detective Inspector David Maguire. Acutely aware of his footsteps following us into the house, I usher the guests into the lounge-room and listen to myself gushing, as they settle into chairs. I point Adam Winslow in the direction of the liquor cabinet and glasses and then bolt for the kitchen. Maguire marches right after me.

  My skin prickles when I sense him standing just inside the door, watching me making fresh tea. I try to prevent my hands from trembling as I take clean cups from the cupboard. Oh my God, what am I going to do?

  ‘Susan?’

  His voice is just as I remember it, hot chocolate but tough. Age has added marshmallows. I stop fluttering and turn to face him. The lines on his face are a little deeper, but his style-cut black hair still gleams. There are flecks of grey at his temples. Women deteriorate; men flourish. He takes off his Ray bans and I see that his brilliant blue eyes have lost none of their lustre. My gaze strays to his full, luscious mouth, which quirks up at the corners. Jangled feelings churn inside me. God, I’m having a hot flush! Oh no, get a grip on yourself. And please, God, don’t let Marli come into the kitchen.

  ‘How are you, David? I thought you were living in Cairns?’ My voice is coming from somewhere outside my body.

  ‘Fine thanks, but I’ve been with CIB in Ipswich for a couple of months. I got homesick for the southeast.’ He parks his sublime bum against the kitchen bench as I refill the electric kettle and flick the switch with fingers which have developed the consistency of sponges. He picks up a buttered scone, slathers it with jam and bites with relish, chews appreciatively, before wiping his mouth with a paper serviette. ‘You always made great scones, Susan. This your house?’

  ‘No, my brother-in-law’s. They’re in England right now.’ I don’t want to elaborate. It is all I can do to keep a carefully assembled facade of calm in place.

  ‘Melanie’s living here?’

  ‘No, it belongs to Harry’s sister, Eloise and her husband, James Kirkbridge.’ I meet his enquiring look with petty triumph. ‘Sir James Kirkbridge.’

  He considers that for a moment and then decides to be satisfied with the answer. I can’t go through the horrific kidnapping which brought Eloise, James and their daughter, Ally Carpenter, into our lives a year ago. The trial of the Esposito’s and Robert Fox is still pending.

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here, Susan. I wanted to talk to Daniella Winslow, so when I found out she was Adam’s mother, I tagged along. I heard about Danny Grey and Harry leaving.’

  I sit, unable to make eye contact for fear of what I shall see in his. David takes the chair opposite me and reaches across the table to pat my hand. His male aroma mingling with an intoxicating and erotic mixture of aftershave, combined with the leather of his jacket, send twitters of excitement into my mind. Something tugs deep in my belly. Pull yourself together, stupid. Been there, done that. Got the scars.

  ‘I know it must have been hard for you, but I expect you handled it with your usual efficiency,’ he says, coolly. Just then the electric kettle boils. Thankful for something to occupy my hands and the opportunity to turn my back on him, I get up, step to the kitchen bench and busy myself with making a fresh pot of tea. Get a grip. Try for something light.

  ‘I managed to lose a colleague and another husband in just one day. It must be a record. And what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m leading the investigation into Jack Harlow’s and Edna Robinson’s deaths. We’re staying here at the motel.’

  ‘I see. How many are there of you?’

  ‘Five, apart from SOCO. I’m sorry.’ David looks at me with what I choose to interpret as pity, stands, turns his chair around and sits again, resting his arms over the back. His leather jacket creaks as he moves.

  ‘Which one of the girls is she?’ He nods in the general direction of the back verandah.

  Rage whips through me like a gale force wind. ‘Of course, you wouldn’t know, would you? After all, you haven’t seen your children since they were four years old!’

  In a swift movement which sends me back against the sink, he casts the chair aside and jumps in front of me. ‘And who wouldn’t let me see them?’ His eyes are cold. ‘How many times did I phone? How many times did I write asking to see my children? You couldn’t be bothered to even answer my letters! You just sent them back unopened! No photos, no contact. Almost all the birthday cards and presents I sent were returned unopened!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I hear myself squeak.

  He is not listening. ‘After we separated, I was seconded to Toowoomba. I rang and said it would be awhile before I could get down to Brisbane. When I got back, I had them for the weekend. Do you remember that, Susan? But when I brought them back to your house, I was–barely politely–informed that you thought it would be better if I didn’t see them until they were older. ‘They were “confused and upset” after they’d been with me, was the excuse as I remember it.’

  I struggle to control myself. ‘Now just you wait a moment, David! You said it might be better if you didn’t see them because you were going to be living too far away and didn’t have anywhere suitable to take them. Not that you saw them much when you were down in Brisbane.

  ‘I didn’t say anything of the sort! I loved my daughters! I wanted to see them, but I was blocked every time. ‘They’ve gone out, they’ve gone to the doctor, and they’ve gone to school ...’ but I’ve kept paying maintenance for them all their lives and you know it!’

  I stare at him in amazement. This is not how I recall the sequence of events. I waited in vain for him to arrange another outing, but time passed and there’d been no word. I’d rung his flat and then the station where he’d been working and was advised he’d been transferred. Where, the officer couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say.

  ‘Let him sweat,’ I’d been incandescent with rage.

  Later, I’d heard he’d gone to the UK and joined the Police Force there. I could have tracked him down thro
ugh my contacts, but what was the point? It became a matter of pride not to make any enquiry. If that was the way he wanted to play at being a parent, then too bad for him. Yet he’d not only paid maintenance for the twelve years he was required to, but still was, even though they had turned seventeen.

  ‘Yes, I know you paid maintenance for them. Every penny is banked in a Trust account for them when they need it, but birthdays and Christmases have come and gone and you’ve never been there for them. Where were you all this time?’

  ‘Keeping my distance, as you wanted it!’

  ‘How dare you!’ Waves of anger sweep through me; I want to drive my fist into his face–

  ‘What’s going on? We can hear you all through the house!’

  Shocked into silence, we swing around. Marli is standing just inside the kitchen door. She closes it behind her and hones in on David ‘And why are you bullying my mother?’

  I move to stand beside him. ‘We’re having a discussion, darling, there’s nothing wrong.’

  I try to reassure her, but she is focused on David. ‘Who are you?’

  He takes a deep breath and flings an, ‘I’ll-tell-her-if-you-don’t,’ look at me. There is no help for it; we are going to hurt her. ‘He’s your father, David Maguire.’

  Marli’s face turns ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Him? But I have a father!’

  ‘David is your biological father. You were only tiny when you last saw him.’ I am unable to prevent myself from shooting a bitter glance at him. To my consternation, she rounds on me, face flushed with anger. ‘So, an embarrassment of fathers! When were you going to tell us you were in touch with him? On your deathbed?’

  ‘Marli, I didn’t know he was going to be here. We haven’t seen him since you were four.’

  ‘Well, as they say, it’s better late than never,’ she snaps at David, who is gazing at her in wonderment and yes, pain.

  Something wisps in my mind, as I watch my angry daughter front up to her father. He was a loving father when he was using his access rights, not working all the hours required of him by the Force and when he wasn’t with another woman. Don’t go there, Susan. I close my eyes and lean against the kitchen dresser. God only knows what’s going on in the lounge room.

  ‘Marli–Susan–’ Grim-faced, David runs an agitated hand through his hair. ‘Can we get together and talk? I’m caught up in these investigations, but I’ll make time somehow.’

  Our daughter looks at him thoughtfully. It’s only right she’s given the opportunity to hear what he has to say and from the glint in her eyes, I suspect David will need to talk fast. What am I saying? The sod can charm the proverbial birds out of the trees. The devastating smile which caught my eye all those years ago softens Marli in spite of herself. He whips his notebook out of his shirt pocket to take her phone number. ‘Will you allow me to contact you? What’s your mobile number?’

  Marli blinks and smiles back. ‘You’re sure you’ll ring?’ she asks nervously.

  David squeezes her arm, after he puts his notebook away. ‘You can bet on it. So, where’s Brittany?’

  My daughter and I exchange a telling glance and then I answer for both of us. ‘She’s with Harry and they’re still in Sydney.’

  David doesn’t comment, but his look says, ‘What have you done now?’

  Marli glances anxiously from one to the other of us before appearing to decide that she doesn’t want to get involved. ‘I’ll go and see what’s happening in the other room. Keep your voices down, you two,’ she says. As she opens the door to the hallway, she flashes a glance at David. ‘You might like to know that Mum saved old Mrs Robinson’s life the other day.’ She flounces out of the room. I begin to gather up the cups and plates, exhausted and unfit for anything more than lying on my bed with the covers over my head. David has other ideas

  ‘You knew Edna Robinson, so would you like to tell me what you know?’

  ‘First of all, when did she die?’ He is not going to get a skerrick of information until I receive the details.

  ‘She was murdered between eight and eight-thirty last night. The staff left her a couple of minutes after eight and immediately attended a Code Blue. When they got back to the Close Observation Ward, they found her dead. Someone got in and suffocated her. Autopsy will confirm.’ Scalpel flashes, splits from stem to stern, fat peeled back...the smell...

  Grief wars with rage. The woman who had such trust in me that she tried to tell me a secret which she had probably carried for years, would soon be lying on a steel table, with her body sliced open and her organs being weighed. My stomach turns over.

  I fill him in on my acquaintanceship with Edna Robinson, the little I’ve gleaned about the family and the previous morning’s activities. The fragile state of my mind and heart are under threat, yet again. I’ve been confronted with two dramas the first day of my stress leave, and now my past is sitting in front of me, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Not what my counsellor would advise. Dear God, I just don’t need this with everything else that’s going on.

  When I finish talking, he absorbs the information in silence for a few minutes. ‘A family secret and Jack Harlow is related to her,’ he muses, sucking the end of his pen. I can see the wheels turning rapidly and probably accurately.

  ‘Yes, and I was there when he was shot as well.’

  His eyes widen. ‘What? If I didn’t know you better, I’d wonder about you, Susan. You could help us because you know who’s who at the zoo. Untangling these country family relationships is a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘David, I don’t know anything more than you do. We’ve only been here two days, after all.’

  ‘But you’re friends with Daniella Winslow.’ The implication is that I will go undercover for the occasion. No, no I can’t do this.

  I take the opportunity to study him as he writes notes. The young, incredibly handsome youth I’d married is gone, leaving a beautiful, mature and, heaven help me, sexy man. His physique, I note, remains trim with broad shoulders and chest, and slim hips. He was always fit as a buck rat and age hasn’t changed anything. He’s as slick as a gravy sandwich. I look for a wedding ring, but there is none and unlike my own ring finger, no white mark to proclaim to the world, ‘discarded spouse.’

  ‘Like what you see?’ He’s obviously amused and gratified by my scrutiny. A blush starts at my waist, travelling up to suffuse my neck and cheeks.

  ‘For the record, I’m not currently married, Susan. I married for a second time a few years ago, but it only lasted six months. Seems I’m not much chop as a husband because I didn’t do any better than when we were together.’ His eyes darken with something which looks remarkably like regret, but is then replaced by professional determination. ‘We’re going to get this bastard for both the murders. My gut feeling tells me he’s responsible for both killings.’

  He stands up, pushes the chair into the table and takes me by the shoulders. I feel the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of my shirt; warm twitters curl in my stomach. I feign nonchalance.

  ‘Susan, I meant what I said. I want to spend time with the girls. When’s Brittany coming back to Queens-land?’

  ‘I don’t know. Brit always makes the most of her grudges.’

  My eldest daughter has decided I am to blame for her stepfather’s desertion. ‘It’s all your fault!’ she’d screeched. ‘If you weren’t so obsessed by that bloody job, dad wouldn’t have found someone else!’ I know she’s right. I’ve berated myself many times for my failings since Brittany and Harry left. That is, when I’m not breaking my heart and crawling with guilt over young Danny Grey’s death. I’ve been absolved from responsibility for the fiasco. His widow and my colleagues don’t blame me, but in my heart I should have been more vigilant and kept a tighter rein on my team. David releases me, pats my shoulder and then heads for the hall.

  The Winslow women are wiping their eyes and preparing to leave. They thank me for my hospitality, Carissa exchanges mobile numbers with Marli, w
ho stands beside me, as the BMW drives away. Adam Winslow, with a red-hot glance at Marli, intercepted suspiciously by her father, slips behind the wheel of the patrol car. With a wave, they’re gone.

  The silence is absolute. A chill wind has picked up, causing the heads of the dahlias to strain away from their stakes. The cows standing near the fence, watching the proceedings with great interest, start to wander off, their coats rippling as air currents ruffle their long, shaggy hair. In a couple of minutes, the patrol car is a speck in the distance. My daughter marches into the house, straight-backed and boot-faced. I follow slowly, bracing myself for what I am well aware is going to be a somewhat lively “mother-daughter” discussion.

  I am furious with myself, a thirty-eight year old experienced detective senior sergeant, recently Acting Inspector, allowing myself to be completely thrown by the presence of my ex-husband, father of my twin daughters.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Face in the Crowd

  The Policeman

  Monday: late morning.

  Part of Senior Constable John Glenwood wanted to be at the incident room, set up in the conference room of the town police station, but the rest of him yearned to stay in bed with the covers over his head until the detectives solved the whole ghastly case or Edna and Jack sprang back to life–whichever came first.

  His wife had been dressed and ready to go out when he arrived home from the hospital. When he told her about Edna’s demise, she hadn’t wanted to know anything about it. ‘I didn’t like the woman when she was alive and I’m not going to change my mind now she’s gone and got herself murdered. And that Harlow was a disgusting reptile.’ She slapped his dinner plate down in front of him and snatched up her handbag. ‘You’ve been up all night, so you’d best get to bed as soon as you’ve finished this.’