Heart of the Outback (51 page)

“Did Francey physically threaten Natalie?” Steve wanted to know, his heart was getting heavier by the minute. One didn’t need a genius IQ to see where the possibilities were leading.

“Shellie said she said something like …” Erin looked at her notes, “This isn’t finished. There’ll be another time, another place.” She glanced at Steve. “One could interpret that as a kind of future threat.” She stopped for a moment, then added, “There’s more. Evidently, before that Natalie and CJ had a run-in the night of Francey’s party. Francey came along and tried to break it up and collected a slap across the face from Natalie. I did a background check on Francey Spinetti. She took karate lessons at her father Carlo’s insistence because he was worried about her going out doing amateur photo shoots by herself. So,” she concluded, “she too would know how to stun a victim.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed then tried to move the topic away from Francey. “Are you implying that even CJ could be a suspect?”

Glen looked up from his paperwork to ask, “What motivation would he have?”

“I don’t know …” Erin said slowly. “Unless … and this comes from out of left field. Did he suspect that Natalie had been instrumental in Richard’s death? Revenge is a strong motive for murder.” She checked her notepad. “According to Mrs Kirkby, Mr Ambrose had a bad headache the night before the
murder and had been sedated. Statements taken the day after the murder said Mr Ambrose did some paperwork in his study then retired. He spoke to no-one either personally or by phone so he had opportunity too.”

Nodding, Steve ran his hands through his hair in an abstracted fashion. “It seems that we have a few suspects with opportunity, means and motive. At least three, maybe four.” He looked at his team and summarised, “So far you’ve done good work, but now we have to dig deeper, work on a solid motive. Find the right suspect and home in on them. Got it?” He watched them all nod their heads solemnly and then slowly file out of the room. But he sat there tapping his pencil on the table top.

In his mind one suspect was shaping up better than all the others and it was the one person he hoped wouldn’t — Francey Spinetti. And the worst thing was that he could do little as an officer of the law to focus attention elsewhere.

S
teve Parrish’s expression was grim as he climbed the front steps of Murrundi’s homestead. The country grapevine had disgorged the news of CJ’s condition to all and sundry. Terminal. He didn’t doubt the accuracy of the gossipers who’d passed the word on; they rarely made a mistake. But even so, it didn’t seem possible. CJ and Les would have had the best doctors in the country double-check the diagnosis. The muscles around his heart contracted as he thought about what it meant to Francey to find her father and have so little time with him. She’d be coming into her inheritance a damned lot sooner than everyone thought, but he didn’t envy her her position. Living up to CJ’s reputation and memory, and carrying on his empire would be one hell of a job.

His thoughts moved to Les Westcott. The phrase “waiting in the wings”, came to mind. Good old dependable Les would be more than willing to help
Francey assume the mantle of control over CJ’s holdings. His gut twisted in a mixture of plain old-fashioned jealousy and another emotion, something deeper. The thought of Les touching Francey made him steam, really steam.

He stopped and stared at Murrundi’s front door. His vision became distorted and blurred as the pain intensified into a wave of anger.
Les and Francey.
The idea was so unpalatable his stomach threatened to turn over. He straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. Get a grip, he admonished himself. You’re the one who walked away, old son. You let her go. He let his breath out slowly. No use belly-aching about it or wishing things were different. You’ve only yourself to blame.

He rattled the door knocker furiously.

Shellie answered the door. “Steve! How nice. Do come in. Everyone’s in the conservatory having a morning tea-cum-business meeting.”

Everyone turned out to be CJ, Les, Lisa Dupre and Francey.

“Steve, may I get you something?” Shellie asked as she moved towards the well-stocked traymobile.

“A coffee’d go down well. Thanks.”

Subtlely, through long dark eyelashes, Francey studied Steve as he took his coffee and sat at the table, diagonally opposite her. For weeks, she had prayed to receive some relief from the longing she felt for him when he intruded into her thoughts, something that happened often. Too often! Now, seeing him looking fit yet very businesslike, she knew her feelings hadn’t changed. She cared, deeply. Every nerve in her body had gone on full alert the
moment she heard his voice and she had to exert maximum self-control to stop herself staring. God, it was awful to feel this way and know the feelings weren’t reciprocated. Perhaps she should find a reason to get out of the room, away from him and the cloud of unhappiness that hung around her like an invisible shroud.

“I take it this isn’t a social visit,” Les said without preamble, his dislike for the policeman showing.

“You’re right.” Steve dug his fists into his trouser pockets to hold back the urge to smash one into Les’ complacent face. He struggled against the impotent rage that welled within him towards Westcott, even though half his anger was self directed. He’d been a fool to let Francey go and now he knew it. Too bloody late, of course.

“What can you tell us?” CJ asked.

Steve looked at “the man with the golden touch“, barely able to disguise the shock he registered as he studied CJ. The man had aged twenty years since the last time he’d seen him. He had gone bald, had lost a lot of weight and his skin tone was unhealthily pale. His eyes were different too, dull, as if he was heavily drugged. A wave of compassion moved through Steve as he noted his obvious deterioration. It wasn’t pleasant to look at.

CJ sat next to Francey in an automated wheelchair. Steve’s roving, seemingly casual glance then took in Francey’s features. She’d lost weight too, and she had a distant air about her, as if her mind were on more weighty matters.

“Well?” CJ prompted.

“Yes. Ummm, our investigation’s coming along. The team have been …”

“I don’t want to hear that police bullshit,” CJ suddenly exploded. “I want to know whether you’re close to arresting Natalie’s murderer.”

“We’re following several leads, sir. At present that’s all I can tell you.”

“Are you saying we’re all suspects?” Francey spoke for the first time, her tone formal.

“It’s routine, Francey. You were all present the night of the murder so technically, according to police procedure, you all had opportunity. However, I’m not pointing a finger at anyone in particular, I just want to reduce the options.”

“You’re not giving out much information, Steve,” Francey complained. “I think, as Natalie’s family, we have the right to know everything, especially which way the investigation is heading.”

“I’m telling you as much as I can. Until I know where the case is heading it’s best not to divulge a lot of half-truths and assumptions. That’s how I’ve operated in the past and such a system works well.”

“What about the Stinger rifle you found in Natalie’s room?” Les asked.

“What about it?” Steve tried to evade the answer but knew he couldn’t.

“Come on, man, give,” CJ insisted.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. Forensics matched the rifle found in Natalie’s room with the cartridges found near the stampede site.”

“Are you implying that Natalie fired the shots that killed Richard?” Francey, ever the frank one, asked outright. On the outside she appeared calm,
cool — just like Steve — but on the inside her emotions were in turmoil. Looking at him, talking to him, the sound of his voice,
everything
, was affecting her more than she had ever thought possible. Being this close to him physically but worlds apart emotionally was unbearable but she bore it because to stand up and leave now would tell them all how much his disaffection was hurting her.

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t say that and probably we’ll never know for sure,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “It’s possible the rifle may have been planted in Natalie’s room by a person or persons unknown.”

“Were there fingerprints on the rifle?” she probed on, dissatisfied. Why didn’t he come right out and say it, tell them everything, she wondered. Deep down she sensed a reserve, as if he knew more than he was letting on.

“The only prints we found on the rifle belonged to Natalie.”

“Then isn’t it reasonable to assume that Natalie fired those shots?” Francey persisted.

Steve stared at Francey and purposely kept his expression blank. “It may be reasonable but a court of law may not regard such evidence as conclusive.”

“So, we’ll never know who fired those shots for sure?” Francey’s voice dropped and became quietly contemplative.

“I think not. I’m sorry.”

She glanced at CJ and her arm crept around his shoulder. “This is unnecessarily upsetting for CJ.” She appealed to Steve. “He’s not well, you know.”

Steve nodded. “Yes, I do know.”

CJ bristled. “Don’t write me off just yet, any of you.” He shrugged away from Francey’s grasp. “Can’t sit around gasbagging all day. I’m going to my study. Work to do, you know.”

They all watched CJ steer his wheelchair from the room.

“Well, what is it you really want, Parrish?” Les demanded aggressively.

“I’m here to go through your original statements again. Perhaps each of you may have remembered something extra. I’d like to talk to you one by one.”

“Damned inconvenient. We’re trying to run a business here, you know.” Les grumbled.

“Les,” Francey’s eyebrows rose. “Steve has a job to do, like all of us.” She looked at Steve. “Perhaps you’d like to speak to people in the dining area, or the conservatory. Who would you like to see first?”

As Steve walked back to his four-wheel drive he ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling it about his forehead. Four possible suspects in the case but as things were shaping up, with motive and means, the woman he loved — Francey — looked to be suspect number one. From the investigations already carried out and double-checking today what people had said, it was obvious that she had the strongest motive, no alibi, as well as means and opportunity. Damn!

Probationary Constable Erin Cooper sat on the other side of the table, facing Steve Parrish, her gaze locked expectantly on him. He glanced across at the station’s most junior officer. Erin was champing at the bit with eagerness. Her first criminal investigation and she
clearly loved every minute of it. She’d make a good officer once she curbed her over enthusiastic attitude, he thought.

“What about Francey Spinetti, Steve? Will you bring her in for questioning?”

Damn it, he didn’t have a choice and he knew it. “I guess we’d better,” he said, somehow disguising his reluctance. “Erin, ring Murrundi and arrange it. CJ may insist on her having legal representation for the interview.”

“Do you want me to collect her?”

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

“What’s this all about, Steve?” Francey, dressed in blue jeans, a pink angora sweater and an accompanying frown which marred the smoothness of her forehead, asked as she sat on the proffered chair opposite him.

Steve shrugged to hide his nervousness. He also noted that Francey, in her typical up-front manner, had declined the opportunity to have a solicitor present. Maybe that wasn’t smart. “Are you sure you don’t want a brief here to advise you?”

Her eyebrows shot upwards. “Why? Will I need one?”

“Francey, this is an official investigation into Natalie deWitt-Ambrose’s homicide,” he said formally. “Recent investigation has lead me to believe you may have had some involvement.” He stared at Erin who had just turned the video camera on. “Constable, read Miss Spinetti her rights.”

Francey’s gaze jumped from Steve to Erin as the young woman read the official sounding words. What
was going on? Steve looked so … uncomfortable, as if he’d rather be anywhere else than here, opposite her. And Natalie’s death? The mental query rushed through her, why did they think she knew anything about it? It was very confusing. Still, exposure over the last twenty months to CJ’s tactics had taught her the value of playing things cool, and about timing. She would wait, see which way this interview went before hitting the panic button. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to. Even so, she was nervous, she couldn’t help it and the inside of her mouth was going dry, her blue-green eyes unconsciously widening in anticipation.

“We have evidence that a struggle took place before Natalie’s death. There was bruising on her body, her clothes were torn. She obviously put up a fight.”

Francey didn’t like the mental picture she got — Natalie fighting her attacker then being overcome. It was too horrible to think about. Then another thought struck her. “Are you accusing me of murdering Natalie?”

“I want you to explain a few things, that’s all.” His tone was stern, uncompromising. He hated himself for it but he had to be that way, especially with the eager Erin watching both himself and Francey. He couldn’t be seen to play favourites.

Seconds ticked by into a minute with Francey’s thoughts in a whirl. Steve thought she’d killed Natalie — that was plainly evident. Though not versed in legal matters she had enough commonsense to realise that she was set to benefit most from Natalie’s death and therefore, logically that made her the prime suspect.

“Did you see Natalie the night of the murder?”

Francey’s dark tresses shook emphatically. “No.”

“When was the last time you saw her alive?”

His brusqueness flustered her, made it hard to think straight. When had she seen her last? “Perhaps some time that day, probably at lunch.”

“Miss Spinetti,” Erin spoke for the first time. “We have a witness who says that you and the deceased argued the night before she died. Do you deny that you threatened Miss deWitt-Ambrose?”

Francey turned puzzled eyes on the young woman. “Threatened her? I don’t know, I don’t recall anything …”

Erin flipped open her notebook. “On the third of September Mrs Kirkby claimed that you and Miss deWitt-Ambrose argued. You accused her of initiating a defamatory article about you in
New Idea.
You said, quote: ‘Don’t think this is finished yet, Natalie. There’ll be another time, another place’. Did you utter such a statement, Miss Spinetti?”