The Naked Room (18 page)

‘I hoped it might work better than that,’ Brie said, dejectedly.

‘It doesn’t matter, at least we know she was involved with someone, knew about Ally’s kidnapping and after what she told you…’ I paused.

Jess sounded concerned for Ally. Were the kidnappers getting edgy? At least it appeared she was still alive and I knew her parents were working hard on amassing the ransom.

Brie’s movements were slow, his eyes slightly unfocused, but he had more colour in his face.

‘So, what do you know about Ally being kidnapped? I think you had better tell me everything too, Pam. I’m grateful for what you did at Jess’s, but I still think we should have called the police. If they find out we were there and destroyed evidence the shit’s going to fly, all over me. It’s not too late to call now.’

‘Hang on a sec, we need coffee. I’m getting tipsy.’ I got up and went to put the electric kettle on. I needed to fill him in on the real reason for the kidnapping which tied in with Jess’s words on the tape. I didn’t dare think of his last comment about destroying the evidence. I wasn’t at all sure that move had been wise, but it was done. There was no going back. A thought nagged at the back of my mind. Something I had forgotten…

Then I realised what it was.

Brie’s taupe-coloured handkerchief was lying by Jess’s head, but I had neglected to put it in the garbage bag.

CHAPTER 29

Re-grouping

Wednesday: 9.30pm.

They met at the house on the mountain, faces tense. The operation could be in danger of falling apart. The father was defensive and resentful, because he couldn’t condemn the son for committing the same crime of which he, himself, was guilty. They hadn’t planned on murder yet, but hey—shit happens.

If the artist hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have done it. For twenty months he had kept her sweet, while the arrangements were made for grabbing the girl. A good fuck and she would do anything for him. Georgie needed a lover, was only too happy to take one when the opportunity arose and he was an expert in bed. She wasn’t beautiful, but with her arresting looks, it hadn’t been a hardship. He needed only to keep it up, literally and figuratively, when his employer made fishing trips to Masters Island, or on the occasions when Georgie met him in the city. He would meet with her just often enough to maintain a relationship and to keep her happy.

Several times he had gone to her house quite openly. He was confident no one would remember him among the hundreds of tourists who caught the ferry to the island in summer. When she brought her paintings to Brisbane, they could meet without fear of them being observed. She had accepted everything he said without question, until Monday night.

The cops could never connect him with the murder. He had been at the island legitimately since Saturday afternoon, one of many yachtsmen anchored off the island. His boss spent the evening with friends in the bar of the local hotel, and had not realised his captain was away from the yacht. The crew were drinking on the other side of the island.

It was a shock when Georgie confronted him, but he hadn’t wasted any time. She liked to knit. He’d snatched up one of her steel needles and driven it into her heart, before she had time to understand what was happening. In the second before she died, her accusing gaze told him she realised he was indeed responsible for Ally Carpenter’s disappearance.

He dragged her to the back door of her house, turned the light out and picked her up in a fireman’s lift. With the Carpenter woman gone, there was no one to witness it. Just before he threw her over the cliff, he identified the perfect means of further terrorising the girl’s parents into cooperating, without damaging the “golden goose.” He took the fishing knife from the pouch on his belt and cut off Georgie’s earlobe, which he put in the freezer of the bar fridge in his cabin on the yacht. It was a simple matter to insert Ally Carpenter’s earring into the dead flesh when he arrived in Brisbane. His face creased with pleasure, as he pictured the mother’s face when she saw that particular offering.

Another lonely, middle-aged woman, Rosalind Miller had been only too eager to make acquaintance with the dark-haired attractive man in the mainland supermarket, ten days ago. She had fallen into his hands like an overripe mango, a bonus when she confided her friendship with the Carpenters. A few honeyed words to the trusting woman and he found out everything about the mother, and how the police investigation was progressing.

His wife was enthusiastic. ‘Keep in with her so we can find out what’s going on.’

Just as well his wife was not quite so keen on sex any more. He had his doubts about keeping June and Georgie satisfied, but it worked out just fine. It wasn’t until he actually killed Georgie, he realised he had grown fond of her. But she signed her own death warrant by questioning him about whether he had told anyone the identity of the girl’s father. In spite of his denials, she accused him of being involved.

He wasn’t sure it had been a good idea to invite Ros to fly down to Brisbane for a romantic interlude so soon after Georgie’s death, and he wondered briefly about the woman who had driven behind them up the mountain. But she had vanished, so he must have been mistaken in suspecting she was following them. ’Coincidences do actually happen,’ he assured himself.

They had another bad moment when someone followed Jess into the property on the mountain a couple of nights ago. He had taken Angel to task for chasing and assaulting the driver.

‘What did you do that for? Now he’s going to wonder what was so important that you had to attack him. You could have fucked up the whole operation if he’d gone to the cops!’

‘How was I to know? Anyway he had no business coming in here,’ his son replied, truculently.

‘He probably just came to the wrong address. I would have re-directed him and he’d have gone off, none the wiser. But no, you had to be the big hero.’

But as far as they knew, there had been no repercussions. The driver might have good reason for not going to the cops, such as he’d been spying on them, or maybe the bloke thought he had stirred up an irate householder and wasn’t going to make an issue of the it.

They just needed to sit tight. Almost a million dollars had poured in already. They had made the second phone call and Ally Carpenter’s father agreed to everything they asked, more money drops and keeping on with eBay. The family laughed, as he mimicked the father’s strained tones. It was good to keep him on the run and busy, because there wouldn’t be much danger of them going to the cops.

Everything appeared to be going to plan, but now they had a situation on their hands: the murder of the violinist. He struggled to contain his anger and fear. This latest hiccup might blow their plans wide open.

‘She found out why we really snatched the girl. She threatened me,’ Angel growled, his eyes glittering.

Even the father felt a moment of unease; his eldest child was dangerously unpredictable. The stepmother watched impassively. Her own father, the fourth member of the group, cracked his knuckles and turned his head away. His favourite possession, his shotgun, stood propped by his side.

Her husband continued to scold his son. ‘You could have brought her here again. We would have talked her around, reminded her it was her own idea to begin with and we were only helping her to ruin the Carpenter girl’s career. Doing her a favour. You didn’t have to go off half-cocked and kill her, you stupid bastard!’

He jumped to his feet and began to pace, his mouth tight and angry. He should have bashed the kid more often when he was little. The boy had always been violent and whereas that was occasionally handy, this time it was a liability. Mind you, when they got rid of the pianist, Angel would do it, no worries, but for now he had to be kept under control. That meant calming him down. In spite of everything, he loved his son, and you didn’t cry over spilt milk. You got on with the job.

He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Okay, okay, it’s done. Now we have to decide what to do. You’re sure you left no fingerprints? No traces of anything?’

The son shook his head, tossed off the remains of his drink and slammed the glass down on the table beside him, wincing from the pain in his arm. The flesh was deeply bruised when the intruder crushed it in the window of the car.

His stepmother leaned forward anxiously. ‘What about the knife? Where is it? You should have got rid of it!’

He didn’t answer, just smiled, bent to the battered backpack resting on the floor beside his chair and undid the buckles. Slowly he retrieved something bundled in bloodied material, which he unwrapped with care. The fishing knife lay wickedly in its bed of lilac-coloured towelling, its eight-inch blade and soft rubber grip smeared heavily with congealed blood. The sharp tang of it filled their nostrils. The father didn’t want to look too closely at something grisly, which remained caught on a serrated point.

‘Whose towel? It was one of Jess’s?’ He wanted to be sure.

‘Yep, but they’ll never know it’s missing.’ The son smiled pitilessly. A memory of Jess, wrapped in it, flashed across his mind, all the sweeter for the last time he had seen her. He licked his lips as he re-wrapped his favourite knife and handed the bundle to his stepmother. He knew she would do a perfect job.

‘We’ll clean it up and keep it for next time, darling,’ she smiled. Her short, black hair gleamed in the fire-light and her eyes glowed with love as she looked at her stepson. She had removed the theatrical cheek pads and discarded the nondescript wig before she left for the mountains. Ally Carpenter would have had trouble recognising her as the masked woman who accompanied “Scarpia” on his bi-daily visits.

They would hold their hostage until the last possible moment while they milked her father for everything they could. A couple more days and they’d get rid of the girl, but for now the money was flowing in smoothly. The wife needed to wreak her revenge and the son had plans for her, pre-death.

There were really no problems, apart from the murder of the violinist. All they had to do was keep their heads down and not attract attention to themselves. Satisfied, they listened as the woman turned on the taps in the laundry.

‘We’ll have a cup of tea when you’ve finished with that!’ called the father, as he switched on the television. The three men settled down to watch the soccer, having re-assured each other nothing could connect them with either crime, as long as they held their nerve.

CHAPTER 30

Dark Aura

Ally

Thursday: dawn.

At first light, the little room takes on a surreal glow and it’s possible to pretend each day might be the one they let me go. They’ve warned my father against calling in the police or they’ll send him bits of me. Will my fingers be next? They would love the chance to ruin my career and my life. My terror of that is so great, I can’t allow myself to dwell on it.

Pain stabs through me if I try to take more than shallow breaths. I think my ribs might be broken. My face is so sore I can hardly bear to touch it. My left eye is feeling better. I can open it a little bit now.

I try to remember every single note of music I’ve ever learned, but even Schubert’s glorious Litany cannot calm me.

God, please keep the police hunting for me.

‘What if mum can’t get to my father, or he thinks it’s a scam and won’t pay? Perhaps he doesn’t believe I exist. Could she get DNA done on my hair and blood in time to convince him to save me?

My mind scuds willy-nilly, seeking ways I might escape, but who am I kidding? My body aches. I force myself to roll over, reach out and break my fall to the floor, as the stretcher tips me out. It’s only centimetres, but feels like falling through forty feet. I struggle onto my knees, bracing my hand against the wall. ‘You can do it…come on, Ally.’

Was that someone talking? Where? I struggle up, totter to the window and squint through the grill but see nothing different. Am I hallucinating now? Outside, everything is still the same, acres of lawn and distant trees. I press my face gently against the metal, wincing as I try to get an angle view. There is no other building in sight, no one to signal to and no one can see me.

Nausea again. Crush it. I grab the window sill with both hands. Bloody arms are shaking. They didn’t speak or acknowledge me in any way last night. The woman leaned through the door and dumped a sandwich on the floor, while he stood in the entrance. The silence is more frightening than his taunts. It’s as though there’s nothing more to say.

The seal on the water bottle’s not broken and I can’t feel a pin hole anywhere on it. I twist the top open and take a cautious sip. The wind is rushing across the top of the building, making a piece of tin clatter somewhere. My mind flips around, unable to let go of the obvious. What reason, other than money, could there be for someone to kidnap me and hold my father to ransom? Spite? Revenge for a business defeat? Jealousy? Maybe it is just about the money.

They’re here again. It’s too early in the day. The door opens, the woman stoops and places a packet on the floor. The expression in her eyes is like a leopard stalking its prey, daring me to run so she can bring me down, sink her teeth into my neck and tear out my life.

Scarpia stands between us, assessing me through the eye sockets of his balaclava, knowing me. I was drugged when he attempted to have sex with me, but I know what I felt. The shame of my body’s betrayal crawls through me.

He won’t touch me while she’s close by, but there’s no comfort in that. We make eye contact. Dark energy emanates from him; there’s something he wants me to understand. I don’t want to know what he’s done now.

I can’t bear this, day after day. Will they ever let me go? No.

I’ve seen his face.

I need to hide inside myself in this naked room, an unlikely sanctuary most times, but one which they invade at will.

CHAPTER 31

Dubiety

Brie

Thursday: 2.00am.

I woke up and couldn’t get settled again. Images of Jess’s staring eyes catapulted me from one scenario to the next on a searing round trip in limbo, with Armageddon along for the ride. The smell of death flared in my nostrils making me inhale carefully, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my stomach. I dropped off to sleep again, but only minutes seemed to pass before I jerked awake, heart pounding as I fought sweat-soaked sheets. At 3.30am, I crawled out of bed and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee and find some panadol for my aching head.

I couldn’t believe only eight hours had passed since Jess died. It was unlikely she had been found, but fear rippled through and around me. Would anyone remember seeing the old hatchback parked down the road? It still had to be collected.
Christ almighty, how are we going to get out of this?

Images of happier times jostled memories of the night before, Jess laughing up at me in a park—she loved luxury picnics with wine and strawberries—a flash of her sitting beside me in a cinema, hiding her face in my shoulder when the murderer took another victim. Oh, God.

Last, Jess the brilliant violinist sending notes glittering from her bow to standing ovations. Another picture popped into my mind; Jess puce with rage and disappointment, after I broke off our relationship. ‘Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry.’

A moan preceded a muffled curse from the third bedroom. My hand jerked, splashing hot liquid over the bench. It was a moment before I remembered that Pam had stayed for what was left of the night.

The bedside lamp clicked on, followed by rustling noises. I made another cup and carried it to the door of the room. She was lying flat on her back, struggling to get the bed clothes untangled, knickers well and truly on display. One boob had flopped out of her bra. I moved a discreet distance away.

‘Pam? Pam?’

‘Whaaat? Oh, Brie. Uh, what’s happening?’

‘Can’t sleep. Worrying about Ally, thinking about Jess.’

I took my time returning. She sat up in bed, fully covered, gazing at me with haunted, dark-ringed eyes. Her hair stood on end and she looked like I felt, deranged. Sweet, loyal Pam, so damn talented and laid back, cutting her CDs, playing with the orchestra and so afflicted by stage fright she might never achieve her full potential. ‘It’s not fair,’ I thought, savagely. For a moment, I wondered, with regret, what might have happened had I not been side-tracked by Jess. Would Pam and I have—but then I met Ally and no other woman meant a romantic damn.

‘Here,’ I held out the cup. ‘ I heard you thrashing around. I can’t sleep so I thought some practice might help.’

‘I’ll get dressed and join you,’ she announced.

‘Righto.’

I wandered to the music room, stood the mugs on a shelf and turned on the light. Pam shuffled in as I was fingering a few notes on the piano, a work I was currently composing, swooped on her coffee, took a great gulp and grimaced.

‘Ouch! Too hot!’ She put it back on the shelf and plopped into a chair. ‘I kept having nightmares. How’s your head?’

‘Still aching, but not as bad now I’m up. God only knows where we go from here. There’s not much we can do except sit tight.’

‘You know the police are going to want to talk to us, don’t you?’

I wriggled uneasily. ‘Yep. But since you cleaned everything…’

Pam’s words tumbled over each other. ‘I’m not infallible, Brie. Like, I think I got it all, but who knows?’

‘Now you tell me?’

‘Brie, if we’re cornered, all we can do is tell the truth, but I hope it won’t come to that. Whatever happens, we don’t tell them about Ally. Got it? And I told you about her father in strictest confidence.’

‘Yeah, I got it.’

‘And don’t let on you know who he is! You know why Aunt Eloise and James need to keep it a secret.’

‘You mean, you and Aunt—Ms Carpenter—want us to keep it secret,’ I snapped. ‘You know I think telling the police is the best thing to do!’

She cast me a liverish glance and then narrowed her eyes. ‘Ally’s life depends on us keeping quiet.’

‘Yeah, and for how long? Until the kidnappers—’ I must have been shouting, because Pam started shushing me—’ get three million dollars? And just how much time do you think that’s going to take? What will happen to Ally after that?’

‘Brie, calm down, for God’s sake.’ She patted my arm. ‘It won’t help.’

The cops would be interviewing Ally’s mother and they would soon find out for themselves, but there was one more thing to be said. ‘Pam, I know I owe you for tonight. You believed in me and you put yourself on the line. You could get into serious trouble on account of my blundering.’

She smiled. ‘Brie, what are friends for?’ Then she looked at me, eyes narrowed and assessing. ‘You’re in love with Ally, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. But I don’t know how she feels. We were going to…uh…talk about it after we’d been to the club.’ I raised my eyes to Pam’s face. ‘And now she might not be…’

The sentence which neither of us wanted to finish, hung in the air. ‘She will be safe, Brie. Hold that thought. Now, how about we keep ourselves occupied?’

I got up and lifted my instrument out of its case. Pam moved to the piano stool and began to play an accompaniment to Saint-Saens ‘Cello Concerto No 1,’ I joined in and we tried to stave off our mutual demons.

Thursday: 10.30am.

Hammering on my front door brought me upright, disorientated and trembling with fatigue. The police?

‘Coming!’ I croaked, swinging my jean-clad legs to the floor. I squinted at the clock, hung-over from lack of sleep. The events of the previous night flooded back and fear joined the churning in my stomach.

‘Brie! Hey mate, are you there?’

Michael. What the fuck was he doing here? I went to open up. He surged over the doorstep, looking unnervingly cheerful, clutching a pile of music and a large paper bag of something greasy. I could smell doughnuts.

‘Geez, you look shite!’ he announced, dumping his armful on the kitchen table. ‘Coffee on?’

‘Nah, jug’ll boil in a minute though.’

I trailed after him and propped myself against the bench watching as he grabbed the milk from the fridge, got mugs out of the cupboard and spooned coffee from the jar I’d left open in the early hours. He babbled away about nothing in particular as we waited for the jug to boil, and then made it himself.

‘Do you know where Jess is?’ he asked, as he turned to hand me a steaming mug. ‘I rang her before I left home, but there was no answer.’ So that’s it. You want to make sure she’s not here with me.

‘No, I don’t.’

Just then, Pam sauntered into the kitchen, dishevelled and sleepy. ‘I smell coffee,’ she moaned piteously, nose twitching. Michael’s eyes widened; I could see the wheels turning.

‘Pam stayed the night in the spare room,’ I announced forcefully. She blushed and turned away. ‘We were practising and got on the piss. She couldn’t drive home.’

He looked at me doubtfully, then at Pam who was rooting with apparent unconcern in the cupboard for a clean mug. Shrugging, he went on to talk about the music he’d brought over, jazz promised to me for the Friday night quartet.

Cat created a diversion by leaping onto the counter looking for her breakfast. I opened the fridge and rummaged for her food, hoping Michael wouldn’t mention Jess again, but of course, he did. ‘So, when did you last see Jess? I tried to ring her. Do you think she’s away with that new boyfriend of hers?’

I wasn’t aware that he knew he’d been made redundant. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t best pleased by the situation.

‘Or she could have gone to the shops?’ Michael continued, as he poured hot water into the mug, which Pam held out like a begging bowl.

‘What do you know about her new boyfriend, Michael?’ she asked, casually.

‘Not much. I saw him a couple of days ago, but I didn’t realise she was sleeping with him while she was still with me, ‘he said, angrily. ‘He’s an Italian-looking type. Kept looking around to see if anyone was eyeing her up.’

If what I suspected was true, the bloke didn’t want to be seen with her.

‘He looked familiar somehow.’ Michael took a deep draught of coffee, glaring at the floor.

‘Where were they when you saw them?’ I asked, as I put Cat’s food down, fussing over her, trying not to betray too much interest in the answer.

‘Outside that new pub in Wellington Point the night of the cricket awards. They got into a black Audi.’

Michael played cricket with one of the suburban clubs. Pam and I looked at each other. The boyfriend must have had his work cut out to keep a low profile, because Jess hadn’t been the sort of woman content to stay at home eating takeaway pizza too often.

It was about then there was more hammering on the front door accompanied by a chorus of voices. Pam rolled her eyes and Michael brightened visibly. Two of my sisters had arrived.

As I went to open it, I thought Pam’s designs on Michael were doomed. He and Lara, my liveliest sister, had always fancied each other, even throughout his dalliance with Jess. From the anticipatory gleam in his eye, I realised they were both single at the moment. I wasn’t happy about it. Michael was a little too fond of the weed and I suspected he used stronger stuff on occasions.

The girls tumbled over the threshold, chattering and exclaiming as they realised who was there. Pam’s face fell when she saw Lara, who trilled a beeline for Michael. Karen wanted to know who in the orchestra had died?

For a split second, Pam and I froze. She threw me a warning glance, before edging behind the girls. Michael hadn’t heard her question, but as Lara talked I could see he was being brought up to date. ‘There was a brief announcement on the 10 o’clock news this morning that a member of the Pacific Orchestra was found dead,’ she turned, and informed us all. ‘We thought it was Ally for a moment, but then the announcer said “violinist.”

‘What do you mean? When was this?’ I asked, trying to look shocked. Behind their backs, Pam rolled her eyes.

‘Do you mean you don’t know?’

‘Of course I don’t know!’ I snapped. They gaped at me in astonishment. Even I could hear the bite in my tone. ‘Sorry. I was just surprised,’ I lied.

‘They didn’t give a name, just said a violinist with the orchestra was found dead this morning.’

Karen obviously thought I was a bad-tempered drongo. So what else was new? Michael’s worried expression seemed unconvincing. Did he know more than he let on? I wondered how serious his affair with Jess had been. Did he actively resent her for dumping him? How well did I really know Michael? It’s said there’s a murderer somewhere deep inside all of us. Her dying confession could have been guilt, but her murder nothing to do with Ally’s kidnapping. Was jealousy the motive for Jess’s murder?

‘We haven’t heard the early news this morning.’ Pam stopped abruptly, realising what her words implied. My sister’s eyes bored into her and then swivelled accusingly at me.

‘I thought you were keen on—’ Lara bit her lip, as she stopped herself saying Ally’s name.

‘Trust
you
lot to jump to conclusions and it’s not what you think. Pam and I were practising last night and it got so late she stayed in Jake’s room,’ I assured them, referring to my flatmate who was spending six months with the Melbourne Symphony. Their faces cleared and the moment of awkwardness passed.

‘Do you girls want coffee and doughnuts?’ I asked, heading for the electric jug, anxious to divert attention from everything.

The sun promised a great winter day, but the black vibes enveloping me turned it to dust. The chattering of my sisters and friends faded, thoughts swirled around my head like mice in a wheel and settled on Michael. Undoubtedly, Jess had given him a key to her cottage. Perhaps he called later and found her dead? Or had he been there earlier, masquerading as the dressmaker’s dummy in her bedroom after stabbing her and hitting me over the head?

By now, the police crime scene people would know there was a steady procession in and out of her cottage the previous night. The cops would question everyone today, including Ally’s parents.

It was only a matter of time before they got to us.