Heart of the Outback (49 page)

Dear Mumsie, she missed her so much. Mumsie would understand about Richard.

The rocking motions sped up, her breathing increasing with the pace of her movements. Francey was the real threat now and, like Richard, she had to be dealt with. She’d almost managed it before, until Steve Parrish had come along and saved her. But
she
was smart, cunning, and out here in the bush — which she knew so well — accidents happened. All the time. Maybe a snake bite. Maybe a situation where her car broke down and she was attacked and killed by unknown parties. Maybe she could make it look like her horse had fatally kicked her in the head. So many
possibilities. It shouldn’t be too hard to arrange something fatal for Francey. All she had to do was to work on the scenario, plan it down to the finest detail, as she had done with Richard.

Then everything would be as it was before she’d come here. She smiled, the twitch stopped and the rocking began to slow. Something to look forward to.

Billy Wontow yawned, stretched and scratched his full belly with his left hand as he moved off the verandah of the small cottage he shared with Alison. He looked up and the first rays of a wintry sun warmed his face. The sky was blue, not a cloud anywhere and as he loped along to the homestead for a meeting with CJ and Mike Hunter, he noted that the dew was heavy on the lawn around the pool. Then his dark eyes blinked and he stared hard at the water’s surface.

Something was floating in the water, it’d probably been blown in by the strong wind they’d had last night. Whatever it was would sink to the bottom and make Henry, the part-time gardener and pool cleaner cranky, not that that was unusual, Henry was often cranky when people messed with his plants and such. He’d better do the right thing, fish it out before the meeting, otherwise he’d forget about it.

Moving onto the patio for a closer look before he found a length of wood to hook it out, his eyes widened as the
something
became recognisable. Holy Mary, mother of God. He made the sign of the cross even though he wasn’t really religious.

It was a person, not a something. No, he corrected himself, by the way it was floating, face down, it was a body. If he hadn’t recognised the platinum blonde hair he could have identified her from the red shirt she liked to wear. Natalie.

Natalie deWitt-Ambrose was dead.

S
teve Parrish dropped to his haunches and pulled back the blanket to view the remains. Billy Wontow and Mike Hunter had removed Natalie’s body from the pool and laid her at the pool’s edge on a blanket with another covering her. Two other policemen, Senior Constable Neil Smith and Probationary Constable Erin Cooper stood close by, content to let Steve make the preliminary inspection of the body. The immediate family and workers at Murrundi remained indoors at his request.

With what dispassion he could muster Steve’s expert gaze studied what had once been a vibrant, attractive woman.
Contusion on the left temple
, he wrote in his black, vinyl bound notebook.
Multiple bruises and indentations on each side of the neck. Contorted expression, slight bulging of the eyes. Red shirt has two buttons missing. A struggle may have
taken place. Bruise above right breast. Possible rape and murder.

He replaced the blanket and stood up, the muscle in his jaw flexing. Homicide. Never pleasant but this one … He frowned, perplexed. Why? Who would want to murder Natalie deWitt-Ambrose? The frown deepened. First the son now the stepdaughter. CJ Ambrose was running out of relatives fast.

He looked at Neil and Erin. “We’ll have to get statements from everyone who was at the homestead and in the bunkhouse last night. Did they hear anything strange or unusual? When did they retire? Did they know if the deceased had any enemies, any gossip that can be corroborated? Whatever you can wring out of them. You know the drill. We’re going to need an ambulance, a forensic report and then later a post-mortem. Neil, would you get the paperwork started?”

“Sure, Steve.”

Steve nodded to Erin. The short, slim, blonde-haired rookie’s skin had paled and he noticed that she had swayed once or twice. “Not going to faint on me are you, Constable Cooper?”

Erin’s chin lifted. “I’d like to, sir, but no, I won’t.”

“Good, come with me. We’ll go into the house and get the proceedings started.” He glanced up at the sky for a moment. A perfectly beautiful day, but not for Natalie. He stifled a sigh. “I’ve the feeling this is going to be one hell of a long day.” When the call had come in, he’d begged Inspector Clarke to be the one to head up the investigation team even though, strictly speaking, he wasn’t in the detectives section.
After all, why not make use of all his Sydney experience, he’d said. Clarke had grudgingly acceded.

A heavy silence hung over the homestead as Steve and Constable Cooper entered the living room via the side verandah. Ten or so people sat around, each trying not to look at the other. He couldn’t see Francey. He wondered where she was and then she entered the room from the hallway and sat on the side of an armchair, next to CJ. Her hand went around his shoulder in a gesture of affection and support. She looked strained, but bloody marvellous. His stomach muscles tightened until he made himself look elsewhere.

Steve cleared his throat and began, “This is a sad day for Murrundi. CJ, my sympathies to you and your family.” He watched CJ nod silently, noting that the man looked unwell, obviously in shock. “I don’t want to pre-empt the post-mortem but it’s fairly evident that Natalie has been murdered, by a person or persons as yet unknown. As this will be a murder investigation I expect your full cooperation. We need to get statements from each of you. Constables Smith and Cooper will be helping out.”

“What about the … body?” Les Westcott spoke up, his tone aggressively emotional. “You can’t just leave her out there.”

“Neil’s called for an ambulance to take the body into town to the hospital. Someone from forensics or the coroner will have to examine it in order to determine the exact cause and time of death, but,” he glanced at CJ and Shellie and smiled compassionately, “I’m sorry, I know it’s unpleasant but it has to be faced. It appears that she died from asphyxiation due to strangulation, or a combination of strangulation
and drowning. The post-mortem will tell us which. There’s a contusion on the temple so she may have been stunned before —”

Lisa Dupre rose from a chair suddenly, her hand going to her mouth. “I’m sorry …” She rushed from the room half doubled over.

CJ seemed to come out of his daze. He stared at Steve. “I want to know who did this,” he bellowed, a vein standing out on his temple. “Who in God’s name would want to kill my stepdaughter? This is too much. First Richard now Natalie. Good God, what’s the world coming to?”

“CJ, calm down,” Shellie soothed, her expression anxious. “You’ll bring on a headache if you don’t.”

“Who indeed would want to kill Natalie?” Steve repeated the thought provoking question. His gaze roamed over everyone in the room. “That’s what I’m here to find out.” Then he became the professional investigator. “I want you to split into three groups. Neil can take some on the side verandah, Erin will take three people into the breakfast conservatory and I’ll talk to the remainder here in the living room.”

Four hours later the police officers’ initial interview work was done and they’d returned to the station after cordoning off the pool for further investigation, and sealing Natalie’s bedroom until a fingerprints team could go over it.

The three sat in the squad room going over their notes.

“What do you think, Steve?” Neil asked.

“It’s too soon to be making pronouncements,” Steve evaded. “Several people had opportunity.
Besides, someone from beyond the homestead could have got to her if she’d been outside the homestead’s perimeter. Almost half the staff know the homestead’s security code anyway. It’s my guess she was outside, maybe taking a walk when it happened. Rape may also be involved. So, suspect-wise, it’s wide open.”

“What about motivation?” Erin asked.

Steve grimaced. “I don’t know, nothing’s obvious so we’re going to have to dig for it. Get more background information on all the people at the homestead. Maybe one of the men was having an affair with her and the relationship went sour. I’ve heard that Les Westcott was keen on her a while back, and I’m sure most of us have seen her flirt with Mike Hunter, Sam Bianchini and a few others.”

“Or maybe one of the women. You’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?” Neil said quietly. “She was supposed to have been a lesbian. Rumour has it she and that journalist, Trish Pentano, lived together. Could be a jealousy motive. Jilted female lover.”

“Good point,” Steve commended, “worth noting in your report as a possibility.”

“You know the one who I reckon has the best motive?” Erin ventured. “Francey Spinetti.”

Steve, who’d got up to make himself a cup of coffee, spun around sharply. “Why?”

Erin, with the eagerness of one new to the job, crossed the reasons off on her fingers. “Opportunity — she lives at Murrundi. Motive number one — with Natalie out of the way she inherits CJ’s entire estate. Motive number two — Mrs Kirkby let it slip that Francey and Natalie didn’t get along. I mean
really
didn’t get along. And motive number three — means.
Francey and Natalie are roughly the same height and build — Natalie was probably a little lighter, weight-wise. They’d be pretty evenly matched in a fight and if Natalie was stunned beforehand, strangling her would be easy for a woman of Francey’s size and fitness.”

Steve didn’t speak. What could he say? Young Erin was spot-on. She’d said all the things he’d thought from the moment he’d stood beside Murrundi’s pool. He just nodded and walked out of the room.

The first time Francey and Steve met face to face at the homestead was awkward. It happened two days after Natalie’s death when Steve accompanied a two-person fingerprint team from Brisbane.

Francey walked out of the large office from which CJ ran his business empire and almost collided with the man she loved. Startled, both jumped back.

“Steve. Hello.” Francey recovered first.

Steve stared at her, he couldn’t help himself. She was all dressed up in a cream long-sleeved power suit which showed the colour of her skin to the best advantage. Her bouncy, curly hair bobbed around her face and dangling gold earrings swayed as she moved her head slightly to the side. Cream patent leather heels accentuated her slender legs and in her left hand she carried a leather attache case. Under her other arm were several rolled up building plans. He’d never seen her look more beautiful or more desirable.

Francey saw the two men working in Natalie’s room and curiosity plus the desire to stay close to
Steve for as long as possible, made her ask, “What’s going on?”

Steve pulled himself together. “Routine. We’re pretty sure Natalie wasn’t killed in the room, but we’re just sifting through everything. You know, for clues. Anything that might give us a lead on her murderer.”

Francey nodded. “It’s awful,” she said softly. “I can’t believe anyone would want to …” Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

Francey thought for a moment then said. “I’ll be honest with you, Steve. Natalie and I weren’t best buddies, far from it in fact.”

“Under the circumstances, I think you should be careful what you say,” Steve cautioned, hoping the officers in the room hadn’t heard her admission.

“I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill her. We didn’t get along, but the resentment came from Natalie, not me. She simply couldn’t accept me as CJ’s daughter and all that goes with it.”

“Okay.” He tried to change the subject. “Where are you off to?”

“Cooktown. Les is flying me up.”

“You won’t be away long, I hope. I’ve probably more questions to ask both of you.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning. The construction company’s started on stage two of the Jasmine project and a few glitches have to be ironed out.”

He didn’t want to hear about her business exploits, they reminded him of the gulf between them. “How’s CJ coping with all this?”

She shrugged. “You know CJ. He plays his cards pretty close to his chest. But deep down I think he’s quite upset. We all are.” Partly from guilt, she thought but didn’t say. Not too many people at Murrundi had been overly fond of Natalie; she was a difficult woman to like. But none had wanted her dead she was sure of it.

From beneath her long lashes she studied him, trying to see a softening, a warming towards her but in some ways he was just like her natural father, poker-faced and controlled. One never knew precisely what they were thinking or feeling unless they wanted you to. It was driving her mad. She missed him like crazy, could hardly get a decent night’s sleep for wanting him and here he was, “Mr Cool” as usual, seemingly unaffected by their break-up. Her chin set in a stubborn line. She wasn’t giving up though, on him or them. Somehow she would make him see that they belonged together.

“Hey, Steve,” the taller of the two officers called from the room. “Here’s something interesting.”

Francey peered over Steve’s shoulder as he turned to look at what the man was pointing to. The room was a mess. Drawers had been checked and emptied, the sliding wardrobe door was wide open. Papers, letters and documents were strewn over the bed. Shellie would have a fit when she saw what they’d done.

On top of the mess on the bed lay a rifle which had been wrapped in an old linen skirt. Using a pencil, the man turned the rifle over then upended it so that the barrel pointed towards the ceiling. He put his nose close to the barrel and sniffed.

“Hasn’t been fired recently,” he pronounced.

“What’s the model?” Steve asked, though he had a premonition what it might be.

“A Stinger. The type a girl’d use,” the shorter man said.

“Don’t put a finger on it,” Steve warned. “It’s possible that it was planted. Tag it and have it checked for prints. And, I want the bore checked for a match with a ballistics report that’s in my file at the station.”

The taller man shrugged. “Okay, no problem.” He looked past Steve to where Francey stood. His eyes glistened with voyeuristic appreciation. “Hey, love, think we might get a cup of coffee around here? We’re going to be a while.”