Heart of the Outback (18 page)

It was always nice to see how the other half lived, Steve Parrish thought as he pulled up around the back of Murrundi’s homestead in a space where half-a-dozen vehicles, including CJ’s Rolls and a top of the line Range Rover were housed under a long carport. A crowd of people were lunching on the verandah overlooking the swimming pool and the manicured gardens. He bet they hadn’t had a corned beef and pickle sandwich, a tub of yogurt and an apple, as he had. Their table fare would have been more elegant. He felt no sense of rancour at the lifestyle lived by the Ambrose family. That was one of his strengths — a lack of envy, even a lack of plain old ordinary respect for wealth. He knew too that his attitude irked CJ because the older man knew it gave him no power over him.

The whole household, apart from Les Westcott, was there. CJ, Natalie, Lisa Dupre, that friend of Natalie’s, Trish something or other whom he’d met in the Isa the other day … and Francey. Even Shellie, who usually ate with Alison in the kitchen, happily sat at the table sucking on a white wine. He’d heard the gossip of her fondness for the grape but in the time he’d known her he’d never seen her under the weather.

“Steve.” Shellie Kirkby was the first to see him. “Would you care for some lunch? I can fix you a plate from the kitchen.”

Steve shook his head. “Thanks, I’ve already eaten. I wouldn’t say no to a coffee though.” He watched her jump up and go to the traymobile to fill his request.

“You know everyone?” CJ asked as he shook the policeman’s hand. Though he went through the motions of being polite he was damned if he could take to the transplanted NSW cop. Something about him, a cynicism, a lack of due homage towards him had from the first time they’d met rubbed him the wrong way. He was used to having politicians and public servants in his pocket, so to speak, and that Steve Parrish hadn’t come to heel irritated the hell out of him. And yet he grudgingly respected him for it.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded generally to everyone but despite himself, his gaze strayed and stayed on Francey a few seconds longer than was necessary.

Natalie patted the empty chair next to her. “Here’s a seat, Steve. Come join the party.”

“How about a slice of mud cake, Steve? Alison made it fresh this morning,” Shellie tried to tempt him as she placed his coffee on the table in front of him.

“Yes, why not?” Natalie encouraged, “Shellie’s a firm believer in the old adage that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Her grey eyes danced suggestively at him. “Personally, I’d heard it was from a different part of a man’s anatomy.”

“No. Thanks all the same.” In spite of himself Steve chuckled as he spooned sugar into his cup.

“Natalie!” CJ cautioned. He turned to Steve. “Excuse my stepdaughter, she’s had one glass too many which sometimes loosens her gutter-type tongue.”

“Have not.” Natalie argued, pouting first at her stepfather then grinning wickedly at Steve.

“How are the plans going for CJ’s Aussie style Taj Mahal,” Steve asked Francey.

“Good, thank you.” God, was that soft, throaty tone really hers? Francey asked herself as she answered him.

“Do you know what the Taj Mahal is, Sergeant?” Trish Pentano queried with a smile. “It’s a mausoleum some Indian shah built to house his dead wife, Mammataz Mahal.”

CJ’s gaze moved to Francey. “You know I don’t want that sort of thing, don’t you? I’m not interested in a memorial edifice to me, just a functional conference centre.”

“Of course,” Francey concurred with a confident smile. “I have a very good understanding of what you and Les want.” She stared straight back at Steve. “The plan’s half finished.” She could feel her cheeks, her whole body in fact, warming under the policeman’s constant gaze. But why she had this reaction to him confounded her. Perhaps it was the memory of their first embarrassing meeting or, it could be something else. Whatever, she chose not to put a name to it. “Speaking of which, I’d better get to work on it.” She stood and made her excuses. “A great lunch, Shellie, as usual. And now the drawing board calls.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Trish who, on Natalie’s suggestion, was doing an interview for a
Brisbane paper on Francey’s achievements as an architect. “I need to finalise a few points with you.” On meeting the architect she had liked the style of the woman and as Natalie didn’t appear to be jealous — as she sometimes did — she might as well make her time at Murrundi Downs pay a bill or two. Maybe, having built up some credibility, next time she’d get to CJ himself.

Francey shrugged her acceptance. “Very well, so long as you don’t mind me working as we talk.”

“Francey,” Natalie butted in, “remember, you have to make it a five star conference centre so you-know-who can impress his international business colleagues.”

“You’ve a problem with that?” CJ queried gruffly.

Natalie’s hands rose in a mock gesture of self-defence. “Not at all, it’s your money, CJ. Besides, I can see how we’ll put it to extra use when we have a big party at Murrundi. People can use it as overnight accommodation.”

Trish cleared her throat discreetly, “I won’t be too long,” she promised. “You haven’t forgotten that my flight leaves at 2.15 p.m.,” she reminded her friend before she followed Francey to her office.

Natalie smiled at Trish. Momentarily she had forgotten she was returning to Brisbane. She would miss her. Damn it, she missed her already. Well, not for long. In a couple of days she would try to con Les into flying her to Brisbane. She sighed silently, she had business to do there too. Last week she’d given Hugh O’Leary, the manager of her art gallery, a free hand with an up and coming exhibition but, really, she should check to see that he was doing a good job.

“You’d better have another coffee then,” Shellie said with artificial sweetness as she refilled Natalie’s cup. She wished that Natalie was the one flying out. Trish Pentano and Francey were no trouble around the homestead. They kept their rooms neat and organised their own washing, but not her lazy stepniece. Brenda had spoilt her rotten and she’d not had to lift a finger to do anything so, at thirty, she remained as self-centred and self-absorbed as she’d always been. The entire household including Alison, whose exclusive domain was the kitchen, enjoyed the tranquillity when Natalie wasn’t around, and that was a fact.

Steve watched Francey and Trish move to the doorway, openly admiring the way the architect’s body, encased in blue jeans and a figure hugging T-shirt, swayed with every step she took. He wondered if she had taken an early departure because of his arrival?

“CJ, if you’ve a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you,” Steve said.

“Sure.” CJ looked at Lisa. “Hold my calls for the next half-hour.”

Steve followed CJ through the homestead’s living area, down the hallway and into his study. He deliberately didn’t look at the expensive paintings and
objets d’art
or allow himself to be impressed by the extraordinary display of wealth which dripped from every square metre of the place. What good was all the money in the world if it couldn’t save your son’s life?

“Have a seat,” CJ half grunted. He took his usual position at his desk, and waited for Steve to speak.

Steve gave an inward sigh, mentally deliberating on how to tell someone like CJ what the ballistics report had revealed. CJ wasn’t going to like it. “I want you to treat what I’m about to tell you as confidential. The details don’t go outside this room. Agreed?”

CJ frowned and leant forward on his desk. As his curiosity got the better of him, he nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think drama was your thing, what’s all the mystery for?”

Steve grinned briefly. “It’s about Richard, his death.” He watched the older man stiffen and felt a pang of sympathy. People said “the man with the golden touch” was a tough bastard when it came to business but he didn’t doubt for a minute that CJ had cared deeply for his only child. “You recall that a couple of weeks ago I met Billy Wontow where the stampede took place. I know the coroner found in favour of accidental death and, really, I was just going over the details for the last time before I closed the file.”

CJ looked away. His gaze focused unblinkingly on the last photograph taken of his son. “Do we have to go through this again, Steve? I’m not —”

“Sir, I’m afraid we do. You see I’ve found possible evidence which leads me to conclude that there may have been foul play.” In the silence of the room, Steve listened to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner — it seemed inordinately loud. He let CJ digest the first piece of information and from the stunned look on the man’s face, decided to give him what facts he had. “After Billy left I went up to the ridge for a look around. I had no expectations of finding
anything worthwhile, but I did. I found a horseshoe print in a bit of dried up mud, three bullet casings and a spent bullet which had lodged in a tree.”

“Yeah, we know three shots were fired. Billy told us that.” CJ’s frown deepened. “What are you getting at, Steve?”

“Three random shots from someone moving about, presumably hunting, would have put the casings in three slightly different positions. I found them together, near the horseshoe print. I think it’s possible that the shots weren’t fired randomly.” He paused to check CJ’s expression: it was inscrutable. “Let me construct a possible scenario. A rider astride a horse, waiting in the dawn light. He sees the camp stirring and the cattle beginning to move about. Three shots are fired at specific intervals, they create the stampede — the outcome being Richard’s death. I think it’s possible those shots were deliberate. Someone wanted that stampede to happen and knew that if it did there was a good chance that Richard and Billy might be injured, perhaps fatally.”

“Jesus!” CJ’s eyebrows lifted. “Who?”

“Indeed. Who would want Billy or Richard dead? That’s the puzzle, isn’t it?”

CJ tried to grasp Steve’s inference. Hell, it was more than an inference. He was talking murder. His son, murdered. A pain stabbed him in the middle of his chest and he grabbed at his shirt and rubbed until it eased. Christ Almighty! It had been hard enough to cope with the fact that Richard had been killed accidentally — but that it could be murder … Oh, Jesus. The muscle in his jaw spasmed as he tried to keep his emotional reaction in check.

“Those casings could have been on the ground for years,” CJ argued.

“I checked that out with ballistics. They did a special test for corrosion and age since discharge. They couldn’t give me an actual date but they’re positive the casings had been there less than a year. Which fits in with the time frame.” He watched CJ nod, absorbing his words then he asked the question he knew he had to. “I have to ask, CJ, did Richard have any enemies? Someone who might have a grudge against him, a score to settle?”

“You seriously believe it’s possible, don’t you?”

“I do.” Thirteen years of policing had given Steve a gut feeling for such things and since the day he’d found the casings he’d started to quietly question people around town as to whether anyone had bad feelings towards Richard Ambrose. He’d found some inbred hostility towards CJ but none towards Richard. To date he hadn’t received one clue to back up his scenario of a murder being committed, but still it persisted inside his head.

“If I’d been caught in that stampede, Les and Shellie could have given you half-a-dozen names of people who’d like to see me two metres under, but not Richard. As far as I know my son didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

CJ’s statement gave Steve another line to follow. “Then perhaps whoever did it wanted to hurt you.”

“They succeeded in that. But it doesn’t make sense.” CJ scratched the top of his thinning head of hair. “If someone wanted to use Richard as a bargaining chip, for leverage, why kill him? Why not just threaten to kill him if I didn’t accede to the
person’s demands? And if their grudge was against me, I’m easy enough to get to. There’s a security system for the house because of the paintings and antiques but once I’m on the verandah or anywhere else on the property, anyone could take a pot shot at me.”

“I know. I’d thought of that too.”

“I need a drink. How about you?”

“I’m on duty.”

CJ got up and walked over to the small table which held a cut glass whisky decanter and several glasses. He poured a tumbler of Black Douglas Deluxe and drank half in one long swallow. The smooth liquid slid down his throat and almost instantly its warmth began to travel through his limbs, relaxing him marginally. “Have you got anything else?” The question came out of the blue.

“The casings, they’re not from the usual hunting rifle. Ballistics in Brisbane have narrowed the bullet casings down to a model that uses 25/25 bullets, probably a Stinger rifle. A smaller bore rifle than usual but not uncommon. Would you happen to know anyone who has such a rifle?” He saw CJ think for a minute then shake his head. “Unfortunately, Queensland doesn’t have a register for rifle owners but I’m checking with the importers, hoping they can give me some names to check out. It’s a long shot, as they say,” he grinned at his own joke, “but it’s worth a try.”

“Sure as hell is a long shot.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s an angle to work on. It mightn’t lead anywhere but I’m always optimistic.”

“Do you know how many men, how many outback families might own a Winchester, probably
the Stinger model ‘cause it doesn’t have too much kick for kids or women? Thousands.”

The two men were silent for a moment, CJ sipping at his drink, Steve trying to come up with another line of enquiry. “CJ, inheritance-wise, who would benefit most from Richard’s death?”

CJ’s answer was prompt. “Natalie. She and Richard knew the contents of my will. Richard would receive the bulk of my estate. Les inherits the resort at Surfers and there are generous bequeathments to Shellie and some others in my employ. Natalie will get a trust fund which will allow her to live comfortably, as well as a parcel of shares.” He looked at the policeman. “Of course Natalie’s already wealthy, what with her art gallery business. Besides,” he shook his head firmly, “I can’t see a motive there. Richard and Natalie had a good relationship with each other.”

Steve nodded. Natalie deWitt-Ambrose was a strange character. She enjoyed being outrageous just to stir people up but, somehow, he couldn’t see her killing her half-brother. Greed, often a compelling motive, didn’t seem to apply and he’d racked his brains trying to work up another motive and just couldn’t find one. “Could Richard have had a romantic entanglement you didn’t know about? A disgruntled lover perhaps or maybe he was involved with someone and there was a third party? The jealousy angle?” Steve knew he was grasping at straws now but it was a remote possibility.