Forbidden Fruit (16 page)

It was like déjà vu, except this time there were police all over the inside of my house rather than the outside. Detective Sergeant Eric Male was one of the last to arrive, pausing by the foot of the stairs to give me a level glance. I felt unaccountably irritated, as if I was being held responsible for something totally beyond my control.
Local identity furnishes new home with dead bodies. Police annoyed.
After a moment, he continued upwards and disappeared into my bedroom. Something I had never thought to see happen.

Petra and I were sitting at the table, watching them wordlessly. There wasn’t much to say, certainly not with the chance of being overheard. Every few minutes, Gusto pawed at the sliding door, frustrated at being kept from the action. Eventually, Eric Male came back down the stairs and pulled out a chair opposite. He sighed.

I decided to get in first. ‘So who is he?’

‘We need to wait for formal identification from the next of kin. In the meantime –’

‘Is it Rex Fletcher?’ asked Petra.

Eric Male frowned. ‘What do you know of Rex Fletcher?’

‘He’s the only member of the group that we didn’t know. So as we didn’t know the guy upstairs, I’m guessing that’s him.’

‘What group?’

‘The group of eight from 1970,’ explained Petra slowly, as if he was hard of hearing. ‘Four couples. Surely you’ve got that far?’

He gazed at her evenly. ‘Perhaps we could start with your movements today. What time did you leave the house?’

‘Around eleven-thirty,’ I said, before Petra could respond. ‘We got an anonymous phone call telling us we were on the wrong track, that we needed to go to Ballarat and talk to Paul Patrick. And before you ask, no, I didn’t recognise the voice but it’s pretty clear now that it was him.’ I jerked my head towards the staircase.

A plump, older woman came through the door, carrying a large briefcase. She looked around the room, her gaze settling on Eric Male. ‘Would have been here sooner but there’s no damn street sign here. I ended up at the other side of town.’

‘No problem,’ said the detective. ‘It’s up there.’ He pointed and then waited for her to ascend the stairs, her breathing heavy, before turning back to us. ‘Coroner. Now, we’ll get you to write down exactly what you recall about the phone call in your statement. Go on.’

‘So off we went to Ballarat, but it was a waste of time. They didn’t know anything about it. Got back here around …’ I looked at Petra questioningly.

‘Around quarter to three,’ she continued smoothly. ‘The door was open.’

‘And the dog had been put outside,’ I added.

The detective closed his eyes briefly. ‘It didn’t occur to you to ring the police right then?’

‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘But that’s when we found him. In my room.’

‘I take it you didn’t touch anything?’ He waited for us both to shake our heads. ‘And I also take it that you read the note?’

‘
I did it all for love
,’ I recited. ‘I think that’s pretty clear, don’t you? He murdered Dallas Patrick in 1970 and was either riddled with guilt that you’d arrested the wrong man, or thought you’d work it out sooner or later anyway. So he killed himself.’

His face didn’t change. ‘And do you have a theory as to why he chose your bedroom?’

‘I do,’ said Petra. ‘I think it’s been so many years that he got mixed up, forgotten that it’d been next door, wanted to do it where he did her. Sort of symbolic justice.’

‘Either way, you arrested the wrong man,’ I added smugly. ‘Our father is innocent.’

‘The investigation will continue,’ said Eric Male. ‘In the meantime, we’ll need to take statements and also your fingerprints, for exclusionary purposes.’

Quinn came through the open front door, looking stunned. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’ll leave you with it.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘I’ll send a constable down in a minute. Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?’

‘We can’t stay here?’ Quinn dropped her schoolbag and came over to stand behind my chair. ‘Why can’t we stay here? What’s going on?’

‘I’ll explain in a minute.’ I turned back to the detective, who was now standing. ‘Can I grab a few things?’

‘Afraid not. Unless you’re on any medication?’

I shook my head crossly. ‘Although that might soon change if my house is continually used as a crime scene.’

‘And just after you cleaned it too,’ said Petra. ‘What a waste. Anyway, you can stay at my place if you like.’

Eric Male nodded towards her, as if he approved of this offer, and then strode towards the staircase. I tried to remember if I’d made my bed properly that morning, or put away my nightclothes.

‘What’s going
on
?’ asked Quinn again, her voice becoming increasingly whiny.

‘Sit down.’ I waited until she had done so and then grabbed both her hands. ‘It’s no-one we know, but a man killed himself in my room. It looks like he was the one responsible for the other woman’s death. The one we found in our backyard.’

Quinn was staring at me. ‘Really? Did he, like, hang himself?’

‘No. And the details aren’t really important. As long as you know everything’s okay, and –’

She snatched her hands back. ‘Then can I stay at Caitlin’s tonight?’

‘You can stay at Lucy’s. Gusto too. And thanks for the offer, Pet, but I think I’ll grab a room at the motel. I don’t want to be too far away, not with her so close to her due date.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Petra. ‘But I’ll drop off some stuff for you. Clothes. Toiletries.’

I gave her a smile of gratitude. I quite liked Petra’s clothes; she had a better eye than me, particularly when it came to shoes. Beside us, Quinn was now texting furiously, no doubt updating her Facebook status while she was at it. I wondered what emoticon was applicable for having one’s home become a crime scene. And I wondered if Lucy and Kate’s cleansing ritual would work for my house as well.

*

The rear of our closest motel actually backed onto the lane just down from my house. The expansive, white brick wall was softened, however, by a Brunswick-green cyclone fence and judiciously placed trees. Only the occasional window was visible, small frosted squares that probably belonged to individual bathrooms. I had to drive all the way around to the front, off the main highway, to enter, parking in a bay marked
Guests Only!
There was another woman waiting at the reception, a tall, elderly woman with glossy red hair and a white tidemark down her centre parting.

I waited patiently until she’d finished, then checked in and was handed the key to number twenty-three. This was a good start, as twenty-three also happened to be my lucky number. I felt a little awkward, with just a handbag and a container of Thai food, but the elderly woman hadn’t been carrying anything either so perhaps it was de rigueur. Number twenty-three was towards the back, so I set off down a long canopied walkway, edged by numbered doors on one side and lush foliage on the other. I turned the corner towards the twenties and saw her immediately. Amy Stenhouse, her dusky hair covered by an Aztec-patterned scarf. She was locking her car, which was parked on the other side of the foliage. I turned quickly and then busied myself rooting through my handbag until I heard the door to her room close. Number twenty-one, which also happened to be one of those with a bathroom window that would face our lane. The injunction clearly hadn’t been enough for this grandmother-to-be; she needed to keep an eye on everything herself.

I let myself into my own room and shut the door. I wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or furious. One thing was for sure, any sympathy was rapidly disappearing. I was also more convinced than ever that she not be allowed to raise this child. I took a deep breath and then examined my home for the night. It was stock-standard motel fare, with a double bed and fixed bedside tables holding a lamp each. There was a functional kitchen alcove near the door, with a small table and two chairs, and a bathroom opposite, white tiles gleaming. I walked in, and stared at the frosted window. While it wasn’t transparent itself, the top third was made from clear glass. I positioned a chair beneath the window and then clambered up. I had a perfect view of my lane, with the pair of shops side by side at the end. Even as I watched, I could see a shadow move in Lucy’s bedroom, through her uncurtained bay window.

I got down slowly, and then carried the chair back. I didn’t for a moment think that Amy Stenhouse was interested in seeing my daughter get changed, but I had no doubt she was keeping an eye on her movements. I wondered how she had justified this plan to herself. And I wondered how long she had been here, and what she had seen.

For once my mobile phone was fully charged and turned on. With two daughters rapidly approaching their due dates, I had no choice. There were a plethora of concerned messages, proving that the grapevine was already in action. I answered them succinctly and then sent one to Lucy.
Can see your entire bedroom from my motel room. Put up a sheet or something.

There was a sharp knock on my door and I hurried to answer it, expecting Petra and my fresh clothes. Instead, Yen stood on the threshold, looking grim.

‘Yen! Ah, hello. How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you.’ She pushed a soft, plump bag into my arms. ‘I told your sister I’d bring you these. I thought I should see how you are.’

I suddenly realised that she was embarrassed, and hot on the heels of this realisation came remembrance of the reason for her embarrassment. I was instantly struck by images of her and my father and Uncle Jim and Paul Patrick and, most disturbingly, the recumbent brown shoes of Rex Fletcher. I flushed.

‘Are you going to ask me in?’

‘Of course.’ I stood back. ‘Come in.’

She entered, gazing around – mostly, I suspected, to avoid looking at me. ‘Nice.’

‘Not really.’ I rummaged for a neutral subject. ‘Amy Stenhouse is staying two doors up.’

‘Who?’ She looked at me, perplexed. Then understanding dawned. ‘
What?
’

‘Amy Stenhouse. Jasper Stenhouse’s mother. She’s staying here. And look.’ I grabbed her by the arm and led her into the bathroom, pointing up at the clear segment of glass. ‘There’s a clear view of Lucy’s house from there. You can even see into her bedroom.’

‘Ring the police. Immediately.’

‘But, Yen, it’s not illegal. She’ll just say she wants to be on hand.’

Yen narrowed her eyes at the window. ‘Then tell Lucy.’

I shook my head. ‘And stress her out even further?’ I followed her gaze, although the frosting just reflected my own shadow. ‘But I did text her, telling her to put something up.’

Yen moved out of the room and stopped by the table. ‘So are you okay? After today?’

‘It was a bit of a shock, but yes, I’m okay.’ I pulled out a chair and looked up at her. ‘You knew him.’

‘I did. A long time ago.’

‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, but can I ask you one question?’ I waited for her to nod. ‘Did you ever think Dad did it?’

‘Never,’ she said without hesitation. ‘That is, anybody can kill. Accidents happen, for starters. But your father can’t keep a secret to save his life. No way could he bury something like that for forty-odd years.’

I wondered at her choice of words. ‘What about Rex? Would you have thought he could?’

She gave this considerable thought. ‘Probably, yes. What I’m struggling with is motive. I’ve never seen a man more devoted to his wife. I can’t see him getting involved with Dallas.’

I stared at her, speechless.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said dismissively. ‘But Clare was the driving force with … that. He would have done anything to make her happy.’

‘I see.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Can I ask you one more question?’

‘That’s what you said three questions ago,’ she replied snappily, a little more like her usual self. She moved to the large window, and gazed out over the canopied walkway. ‘Ask then, if you must.’

‘Why didn’t you and Uncle Jim end up together? Like living together?’

‘Good question,’ she said, as if she approved. ‘Timing, mostly. When it might have happened, Rita fell pregnant. And then of course he felt responsible after she lost the baby.’

‘Why would he feel responsible?’

‘Because they’d been arguing. She went after him with the car, rolled it around the corner from their house. The baby was stillborn.’

I closed my eyes. It must have been dreadful.

‘She was always terrified he’d leave her, no matter how much he swore he wouldn’t.’

‘And she never had another child.’

‘No.’ Yen turned to give me an odd look. ‘Well, she couldn’t, could she?’

‘Because of the accident?’

Yen shook her head slowly. ‘Do the maths.’

‘What maths?’ I frowned when she didn’t answer. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. Got work tomorrow.’

‘Give me a hint!’

‘No.’ She crossed the room and pulled open the door. The sun was now glowing pink on the horizon. ‘Look after yourself. And get some curtains for your daughter. Perhaps you could spare one of your red sheets.’

‘They’re burgundy,’ I replied automatically. ‘But okay. And thanks, Yen. Ah, I love you.’

She looked at me, surprised. ‘No need to get mushy,’ she paused. ‘Love you too.’

I watched her small trim figure stride down the walkway and around the corner. I did love her, very much, even if she was one of the most infuriating people I knew. It had also been extremely brave of her to come tonight, knowing that I knew.

I shut the door, sat back down and took the lid off my satay chicken. I picked up the little plastic fork and ate the tepid food slowly, thinking. Do the maths, she had said. Rita had been married to Uncle Jim for at least fifty years, as they had been together before my parents moved into the street. In all that time she had only been pregnant once.

I got up to pour a glass of water. In all the years that my mother had been seeing Uncle Jim, she had not fallen either. As far as I knew. Meaning he had no progeny at all. And suddenly it registered. I slid my mobile from my bag and brought up the internet, then searched for the dates of Easter, 1970. Good Friday had fallen on 27 March. One week before had been the Queenscliff weekend and a few weeks later had been the sudden announcement of Rita’s pregnancy. Even I could do the maths. It wasn’t that hard. It hadn’t been Uncle Jim’s baby.