Blood Ties (49 page)

“Why didn’t you go backpacking with her?” I asked, not able to help myself.

“That’s two questions,” he said firmly, refusing to answer. He looked at his watch. “We’ve been yapping too long. We have to get to the post office.”

I checked my watch and he wasn’t trying to sidestep me – we were going to be late. We hastily gulped our coffees and made a dash for it, jumping in the car and driving off. He glanced at me sideways as he drove.

“I’ll answer your second question if you answer mine,” he offered slyly.

“Okay,” I agreed pleasantly. “But me first this time. Why aren’t you overseas with Melissa?”

“Because I’d already done the whole backpacking thing a long time ago with my mates before I went to uni and before I met her. And also because I didn’t want to take such a long time off work. My career is important to me. But she’s younger than me and told me it wasn’t fair if she didn’t get the chance to do it before we were married.” He smiled unhappily. “Satisfied?”

“Sorry,” I said instantly, wishing I hadn’t pushed him. “What’s your other question?”

“Why
do
you go out with a Bycraft?”

I looked at him in despair. Of all the questions to ask me, he had gone straight for my soft spot. But I had made a deal with him and I wouldn’t renege on it. Plus I really wanted him to know how sincere I was when I gave him my answer.

“People have given me a lot of reasons over the last couple of years why I go out with Jakey. Some of my favourites are that I’m looking for a thrill or I’m rebelling against Dad or I’m trying to keep myself safe or I’m taking a subtle form of revenge. But the answer is the simplest one of all – I love Jakey. I would never be in a relationship with him if I didn’t love him as much as I do and was convinced that he is a good person. He’s had to jump over a lot of hurdles and has copped a lot of abuse and insults to get to this point. But he puts up with it all because he loves me too and thinks I’m worth it.” I smiled. “And besides, we have loads of fun together and that’s important to me. I haven’t had a lot of fun in my life and I love the way that Jakey makes me laugh.”

“That’s what I thought, Tess,” he said quietly and to my eternal gratitude he said no more. I was feeling very uncomfortable for divulging something so personal to someone I barely knew and I wondered if he felt the same as we drove in silence to the post office.

“We shouldn’t do that again, Sarge,” I said in a muted tone, even though I’d been the one who’d suggested it. “I’ve said far too much and I guess I feel a bit exposed now.”

“I disagree. I feel the same, but I think it was a valuable exercise for both of us,” he contemplated. “And as I said before, the more we know about each other, the better we can work together.”

I felt guilty then. “I hope you don’t mind me telling people that you’re engaged. The gossip will be flying around,
especially
now that Lavinia knows. And it’s for your own protection anyway – otherwise every unattached marriageable woman within twenty kilometres will be honing in on you.”

“I’ve never been so popular,” he smiled fleetingly.

“We don’t get a lot of new talent in town.”

One eyebrow raised and his eyes slid from the road to my face. “You think I’m a bit of talent?”

Aw geez, how’d I get myself into that one?
“Um . . . well . . . um . . .” I spluttered uneasily.

“You don’t have to answer that. For the sake of our partnership,” he laughed softly as he pulled into the carpark of the post office and snared the last free spot. “Anyway, I’ll be a married man soon and whether or not anyone in town considers me to be a bit of talent won’t be an issue for much longer.”

“Oh, so you do have a date for your wedding?” I was delighted for him. “Are you going to be married in the city? Where will you honeymoon?” And then being selfish, I asked, “Who’s going to fill in for you at work when you do?”

A pause before he answered. “No, we have no plans for anything yet. I have to convince her to come home first,” he said with a touch of bitterness and stalked to the entrance of the post office, politely asking for the manager at the counter.

We both showed our identification to the prissy overweight man with an obvious comb-over who presented himself in response. He’d added a hideous yellow and red checked bow tie to his tightly stretched uniform and wore an unappealing superior air as he queried our business, addressing only the Sarge. I took an instant dislike to him and would bet my next pay that he bullied his staff, especially if they were female.

I requested politely that he take us somewhere private so we could discuss our investigation and he shot me one brief disdainful glance before leading us past the counter to a miniscule office, bouncing on his toes as he walked. We settled on the visitors’ chairs, his office so small that our knees were almost touching his under his desk. I was curtly businesslike as I explained what we were after.

“Do you have a warrant, Officer? We do have a privacy law in this state, you know,” he sniffed, looking down his nose at me.

“Yes, we do have a privacy law,” I replied patiently, “which states that you can disclose information to us for the reasonable purposes of law enforcement.” I leaned back in my chair and regarded him coolly. “And I believe that we have just proven reasonable purposes to you. Do you disagree?”

He gave me an uncooperative and bureaucratic look, positive he had the upper hand. I sighed impatiently and turned to the Sarge. “Maybe we should get Detective Inspector Midden down here instead, Sarge? She’s good with public servants. Got a real skillful way of cutting through the red tape.”

“God no!” the manager said immediately, pushing himself back into his chair as if being attacked personally. “I had to deal with her last year in relation to a drug-related investigation and I
never
want to experience that again. I’ll tell you anything you want to know as long as you keep her away from here. And from me. The things she said to me. About me.” His eyes moistened in memory. “She made me feel like a deviant.”

The Sarge cut him a sympathetic glance. “We’re sorry, sir. You seemed somewhat reluctant to help the Senior Constable.”

“You’re imagining things, Sergeant,” insisted the man, sitting up straight in his seat again. “I’ll be glad to help . . . you.” He threw me a spiteful glance. I received his message loud and clear. For some reason he didn’t like women and he would gladly assist those members of the human race graced with dangly genitalia, but the other fifty per cent of us could go jump. No wonder Fiona had gone to town on him. She wouldn’t stand for that kind of rubbish for a moment. I stared back at him blandly, masking my dark thoughts.

“In fact,” he grovelled sycophantically, “let me get that information for you right now, Sergeant.” He scrambled to his feet, almost knocking over his chair in his eagerness to help, trotting off towards the main office area. The Sarge and I exchanged glances; his rueful, mine resigned.

“Tess . . .” he said.

I calmly glanced at the uninspiring vista of a grungy alleyway running between the post office and its neighbour visible from the office window. “It’s a man’s world sometimes, Sarge. Luckily I have you here to negotiate with him.”

We didn’t get to say anything else before the post office manager came flying back in, triumphantly clutching a piece of paper in his hand. He flung himself into his chair and thrust the paper into the Sarge’s face.

“One of my girls printed this for me. I hope it helps your investigation,” he said with squirming enthusiasm.

“Thanks.” The Sarge glanced at the print out, then groaned out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“What?” asked the manager, afraid he’d failed to please.

The Sarge handed over the piece of paper to me. I read and groaned as well. The owner of the post office box was listed as Mr Lionel Mundy of 5 Acacia Court, Wattling Bay, with the same mobile number we’d already rung. We were chasing our tails. Again.

“Don’t you demand proof of identity when people open post office boxes?” the Sarge snapped.

The manager was uncertain. “Yes . . . I’m sure we do . . . I hope . . . Yes! Of course we do!”

I was annoyed. “Then how can you explain that you’ve been renting a PO box to a dead man?”

“What? Of course we haven’t,” he insisted belligerently.

“Lionel Mundy has been dead for three years and had Alzheimer’s for the previous five,” informed the Sarge. “How long has this box been rented?”

The manager stormed out of the office and came back rather less antagonistic. “Four years,” he admitted, embarrassed.

“You might want to review your box renting procedures with particular attention to establishing an annual identification process,” I suggested coolly.

He ignored me, waiting for the Sarge to speak.

The Sarge slyly winked in my direction. “For future reference, sir, you might want to review your box renting procedures with particular attention to establishing an annual identification process.”

The manager grovelled again. “Of course, Sergeant. Thanks for your helpful suggestion.”

As we walked out the Sarge elbowed me gently. “I always say the right thing, don’t I?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” I admitted as he unlocked the car. We plonked ourselves into our seats and looked at each other. And we both laughed.

“I admire your resilience, Tess. I’m not sure I’d be so forgiving in the same circumstances,” he confessed, starting the car and concentrating on pulling out of the carpark into the traffic.

“I told you I’m used to being patronised. But if I let it bother me every time it happened, I’d spend my life moping. It’s only when it starts impacting on an investigation that I do something about it.”

We drove in silence before he spoke up. “What now?”

“Try to talk to Stanley Murchison again?” I suggested. “He’s meant to be the trustee of Miss G’s properties, so he should tell us what he knows about those sales to Traumleben Pty Ltd.”

“Do we want to tip off our hand at this stage?”

I shrugged. “As soon as Graham Mundy is released, he’ll tell Murchison that we were asking about that company anyway.” I looked at my watch and took out my mobile. I had a quick conversation with Daisy before returning my attention to the Sarge. “The Senior Sarge just told me that Graham was processed out of the watch house five minutes ago.”

“Okay, let’s try to get to Murchison’s house before Mundy does.”

Chapter 25

There was no answer again at Stanley Murchison’s place, but this time the house felt empty and I didn’t have that impression I’d had before that there was anyone home.

“He’s probably at work,” I said as we returned to the car. A taxi pulled up behind us and Graham Mundy stepped out after a few moments. He wasn’t pleased to see us.

“This is harassment,” he seethed. “I’m the one being charged with stalking, but you’re the ones stalking me!”

“We wanted to speak to your uncle, not you,” the Sarge told him coldly.

“He’s at work, isn’t he? Which is where I should be too. I’ve had a few days off lately and he’s going to give me a bollocking when I get there. But I have to have a shower first. I feel dirty after being in that cell. It’s a horrible, humiliating experience. You shouldn’t put people through it,” he complained in a whingey voice.

I had no sympathy for him. “You shouldn’t break the law then.”

“I really don’t like you,” he muttered to me as he made his way inside the house.

I turned to the Sarge. “I don’t think he likes me.”

He smiled as he unlocked the patrol car. “I don’t think he does either. I’ll bet he’ll be on the phone to Murchison the second he’s inside. Should we bother going to his office?”

I pulled on my seatbelt. “Let’s go, regardless. Uncle Stanley has to start answering some questions some time.”

We drove to his office and went inside. The same nervous woman was at reception.
What was her name
, I thought frantically. Diane? Dana? Deidre, that was it!

“Hello Deidre. It’s us again. Could we speak to Mr Murchison please?” I asked pleasantly.

“Oh dear,” she said anxiously. “You’ve just missed him. He’s gone home. He wasn’t feeling very well.”

The Sarge could barely contain his irritation at hearing that. As we walked back to the car, he held his index finger and thumb up in front of him, a centimetre apart. “I’m
this
close to arresting that man just for being a pain in the arse,” he spat out through gritted teeth.

We drove back to Murchison’s house, but received no response to our knocks, the Sarge thumping on the front door with his fist in temper.

He was fuming. “I’ve fucking had enough of this cat and mouse game.”

My phone rang. It was Miss G letting me know that she’d scanned her diaries for the last four years and had no entries relating to the two sales she couldn’t recall. That convinced her that she definitely hadn’t signed any contracts relating to them. She sounded downcast and I felt sorry for her. She had obviously realised that she’d been swindled in some way by someone she had trusted and respected her entire life. That would have come as a huge blow to her. I spent a few minutes uttering some soothing and consoling platitudes, promising to keep in touch.