The Naked Room (20 page)

I tried not to think about that.

‘Someone wiped the light switches, door knobs and anywhere there was a possibility of fingerprints. But—’ I could hear the smile of satisfaction in his normally laconic voice—’ when we turned the kitchen table upside down, we found the remains of some blue-tack. It’s evident a business-card sized object was stuck there very recently. Looks like she might have had a listener. Excuse me—’ I heard him sip some liquid, no doubt his favourite, cold “cat’s pee weak” black tea.

‘Her personal letters and diary have been bagged up. You can have them shortly. There’s another diary in her bedroom, which has a couple of entries in it. Must have lost the main one at some time and bought another. We’ve finished with it.’

I managed a thank you before a coughing fit overtook me.

‘Susan, you should be at home. Let that lazy bugger Evan takeover. The state you’re in, you’re not going to be much use to the investigation.’

Reluctantly, I agreed and we signed off with his promise to fax the report over.

Five o’clock. My colleagues were shrugging themselves into their jackets, laughing and making plans to go to the pub. Evan stuck his head in the door. ‘For chrissakes, Susan, get home. You look like something the cat dragged in and then rejected!’

‘Thanks a lot, my friend.’ My sarcasm didn’t quite come off, because I sneezed all over my papers and had to fumble for the tissue box.

He shook his head sympathetically. ‘Go, just go. The investigation will still be here in the morning. Have a rum and a good night’s sleep. I’ll let you know if anything breaks.’

I picked up my briefcase and handbag and dragged my coat on. I couldn’t wait to get home, have a hot bath, and while I was steaming in there, I would figure out just how to tackle Jessica Rallison’s colleagues and friends. We would start with Eloise Carpenter and then tackle Pamela Miller and Briece Mochrie again.

If they didn’t start spilling their secrets, I’d shred the buggers, bit by bit.

CHAPTER 33

The Weakest Link

Detective Senior Sergeant Susan Prescott

Friday: 8.00am.

The media were waiting for me on the front steps of police headquarters, screaming questions. I ducked as a microphone boom brushed the top of my head.

‘Have you got a suspect?’

‘Senior Sergeant Prescott, why was Jessica Rallison murdered?’

‘Is this connected to Ally Carpenter’s disappearance?’

‘Is someone out to get the orchestra? ‘

‘No comment! A statement will be issued this morning,’ I croaked, cursing my decision to park on the street instead of in the car park.

‘Over here, Susie!’ A camera flashed in my face.

A clutch of brawny young constables dived into the fray to rescue me. I reached the CIB in a fine rage, slammed my briefcase down, hurled my shoulder-bag onto the chair and cast a vicious glance over the front page of the newspaper. The Carpenter case, with the Jessica Rallison murder as a likely add-on, had become a drama of epic proportions. ‘Mystery of the Missing Musician,’and, ‘Violent Death of a Violinist’ were favourite, trite, headlines.

A knock came at the door. My immediate superior, DI Bruce Peterson stood in front of me, looking anxious. ‘Susan—’ He hesitated. As an experienced husband, he was adept at identifying the signs of a crabby female on the loose. ‘Getting to you are they?’

‘The whole case is getting to me!’ I moaned, tamping down guilt at not having told him of my possible family connection to the Carpenters. Hopefully, research done by one of my team would confirm it or otherwise before I needed to confess. If the worst happened, the dilemma would be taken to the superintendent and I would probably be out of the case.

He waved a sheaf of papers. ‘We’re ready for briefing, if you are? I’ll sit-in this morning.’

We made our way to the Major Incident room. The team hitched their chairs closer. Taking a deep breath, I updated the details of the SOCO reports and then called for the results of team research. ‘Right, so what have we got this morning?’ I looked wearily at Ben Taylor, as I plucked tissues out of a box on the desk beside me.

‘We did the house-to-house, but no one saw anything on Wednesday night, or if they did, they weren’t saying. I obtained a list of recent visitors to the house, ma’am.’ He read it out. Pamela Miller, Ally and a few I recognised as members of the orchestra.

‘Men.’ He flicked the page of his notebook over and licked his lips. ‘A tall, dark-haired man visited a couple of days ago, late in the afternoon and stayed for about twenty minutes. The informant couldn’t pin down the day, but swears it was this week.’ He paused to consult his notes. ‘The description matches Briece Mochrie. A fair-haired man has been a frequent visitor, but not recently. He matches the description of Michael Whitby.’

There was something more exciting to impart. ‘The woman directly across the road at number 88, a Mrs Annie George, observed a new male caller, stocky, thick black hair, swarthy complexion. She didn’t get a good look at his face because he always arrived and left in the dark.’ The new boyfriend?

‘Get her in to help with an identikit, Ben. Let me know if she comes up with something helpful. SOCO has fingerprints, but no match. Now, what have you got on Eloise Carpenter, Adam?’

The tall, lanky detective got to his feet, flipping open his notebook. ‘Ma’am. Eloise Carpenter, born Eloise McFadden in Dubbo, 19th February, 1961…’

As he described Eloise’s early family life, I realised she was indeed Harry’s half-sister, born three years before him. Ally Carpenter was my niece! Now was the time to admit my relationship.

‘There is no record of a marriage either in the UK or here and she changed her name by deed poll just before settling on Masters Island,’ he finished. Who was Eloise hiding from?

‘Ma’am? ’

I pulled myself together. ‘Thank you, Adam. So we have nothing to indicate who Ally Carpenter’s father was?’

‘No, ma’am.’

Was Ally’s father the key to this? He was supposed to be dead, but I was sure Eloise had lied. And if so, did he know she was missing? We didn’t know his name, but could what we thought to be a predator snatch actually be a kidnapping for ransom? I had previously dismissed it, because at that stage there was nothing to suggest any of the family were rich enough to make it worth any-one’s while to commit such a dangerous crime. I needed to shake Eloise down for the truth.

Her tone became apprehensive when I phoned for an appointment, but she couldn’t refuse. After all, I am “the police.” At first she asked me to meet her in another coffee shop and when I refused, she offered to come to headquarters, but I insisted on going to her. I could have demanded she come to the station, but felt I would get more out of her in informal surroundings. Reluctantly, she gave me the address of the friend with whom she was staying. Not wanting any surprises, I decided to front her there and then.

‘Ms Carpenter, is Ally’s father still alive? And are you with him now?’

There was a long silence, during which I could hear her breath coming faster.

‘Eloise!’ It was an order.

She cracked and admitted she was staying with him. The upmarket address in Brookfield sent a jolt of excitement through me, followed by a surge of anger. God only knew how much time had been lost because the people involved had pissed around while we wasted time conducting a fruitless search.

We turned into the imposing entrance to the secluded property, sped along the tree-lined driveway and stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door. I could see a cluster of outbuildings amongst the trees a few hundred metres away; it was apparent we were in the presence of serious money.

‘Kidnapping for ransom,’ Evan announced thoughtfully.

‘Hm. It’s looking more likely now I’ve seen this. If I’m right, the girl might be still alive. Maybe. Let’s see if we can shake them out of their tree.’

Parents of kidnapped children will pay every cent they can get their hands on and lie ‘til the cows come home, after being advised in no uncertain terms that their child will be killed if the police are brought in. If this was indeed the case we were up against it.

Eloise Carpenter opened the majestic door accompanied by a border collie holding a squashed plastic milk bottle in its jaws. She was dressed conservatively in dark slacks, a crisp blouse and a black cardigan trimmed with black and gold buttons. Her feelings were unsuccessfully disguised by what she may have hoped was an impassive expression. If what we suspected was the case, I almost felt sorry for her. Who could say what I would do if our situation was reversed?

‘Good afternoon, Ms Carpenter.’

I smiled and held out my hand as I reached the entrance. She took it with obvious reluctance, released it quickly and invited us inside. A faint aroma of furniture polish lingered in the air. Pale sunlight streamed through a leadlight window at the far end of the hall leading out of the foyer, spraying a rainbow of coloured shards onto a gallery of paintings. We might have lingered, but Eloise opened a door and motioned us into one of the most beautiful rooms I have ever seen.

Massive, bay windows over-looking the garden were framed by emerald, full-length curtains. Comfortable high-backed armchairs nestled around an imposing stone fireplace in which a fire crackled comfortably. Bookcases jostled for position alongside more paintings, backdrops for the gleaming black, grand piano. Piles of music cluttered an elegant Queen Anne style desk and incongruously, a tiny pink plastic garbage bin filled with pencils perched somewhat precariously on one end of the keyboard.

‘Crikey, not exactly on his uppers, is he?’ Evan muttered through motionless lips. I smiled grimly; this was getting more interesting by the minute. Eloise walked across to the nearest armchair, bent down and spoke quietly.

Ally Carpenter’s father stood up and turned to face us.

Evan gasped; my jaw dropped. ‘No wonder you’ve been hounding the Commissioner day and night, wanting to know what we’re up to,’ I thought drily, watching him for signs of weakness now that we had tracked him to his lair. Apart from a little strain around his eyes, there was none. Clearly used to ruling the roost, he stepped forward, playing the grand host to perfection. ‘Sergeants, won’t you take a seat?’

We were ushered courteously into armchairs and the couple sat side by side on the sofa opposite. The ‘vibe,’ which swirled like demon smoke around them, was familiar: desperation. They didn’t touch or even glance at each other, but they were choreographed in emotional and mental synchronisation.

So, that was how things were. They were required to co-operate with a murder investigation, but paying a ransom to kidnappers isn’t illegal. Anyone can give money away, but
hiding
a kidnapping is a crime, though one could never convince terrorised parents of that. A jury either, I suspect.

Evan took out his notebook. I tried to rattle them by allowing the silence to lengthen, but this time it didn’t work. Reluctantly, I spoke first. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with us this afternoon. As you know, Jessica Rallison has been murdered and I would like to ask you a few questions.’

They nodded agreement.

‘Sir, and Ms Carpenter, are you aware of anyone who might have borne a grudge against Jessica?

Eloise scrunched a dainty handkerchief in one hand and reached to touch her partner, James, with the other.

‘No.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ I knew Eloise had been close to Jessica. I had also heard a great deal about the young woman’s penchant for rubbing people up the wrong way.

He glanced protectively at Eloise, ‘She wouldn’t know, Ms Prescott.’

Eloise pressed the handkerchief to her mouth and peered over it, eyes brimming. I stripped my voice of any semblance of sympathy. ’That’s not strictly true, is it? From what we have been told, Jessica Rallison was a girl with problems. Pamela Miller, Briece Mochrie and you, Ms Carpenter, have all told us that Jessica and Ally fell out approximately eighteen months ago while they were still in London. Getting back to Ally’s disappearance, we also have reason to believe Jessica was upset because Mochrie broke off their relationship, then turned his attention to your daughter. Would you like to comment?’

‘I’m sorry. I only know what I’ve already told you, Senior Sergeant.’

I eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Are you aware of anyone who might want to harm Jessica within or outside the orchestra?’

‘No, I really don’t and Ally didn’t say anything to me other than Jess was angry with her.’

Her face creased in anxious lines. James put his arm around her, squeezed her shoulder and spoke sternly. ‘And as I’ve said previously, Senior Sergeant Prescott, no. Ally would have told me if she had, I’m sure. We don’t tolerate bullying, and we act to diffuse any acrimony between members of the orchestra before it gets out of hand. However, the members of the orchestra are all professional musicians and so far we’ve never had cause to intervene in any dispute.’ he added.

‘Uhuh.’ I made a note. ‘Do you know anything about Jessica’s personal life? If she had a new boyfriend, for example?’

They appeared genuinely puzzled. ‘No, we don’t know a lot about Jess’s recent love life. But I understand from Pam that Jess is, or was, having a relationship with Michael Whitby,’ said Eloise. The tremor in her voice belied her appearance of calm.

Evan rustled his notebook as he turned the page. ‘Sir, is there anyone you can think of who might want to harm you—either through business or social dealings?’

Ally’s father passed his free hand over his brow in a weary gesture. I watched his face for any sign of subterfuge. ‘Senior Sergeant, Ms Prescott, if I knew of anyone at all who might have taken Ally or killed Jess, I would tell you immediately.’ He looked me straight in the eyes, but couldn’t hide the slight suggestion of tightening around his mouth.

‘We covered this before in our previous interview, but I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Just how well did you know Jessica?’

He gaped at me, flushing. ‘I resent what you seem to be implying, Senior Sergeant. I only knew Ms Rallison as a musician with the Pacific Symphony Orchestra. I met her socially on occasions, but had no dealings with her on a personal level!’ he barked.

We sat in silence for a long moment, before I answered in measured tones. ‘I was not suggesting anything to the contrary, sir. What I really want to know, is if you think Georgie Hird and Jessica Rallison’s murders were connected in any way to Ally’s disappearance?’

They made eye contact; Eloise took up the mantle of spokesperson.

‘We wondered about that ourselves, Ms Prescott, but we can’t see any connection other than they were friends. As you know, Georgie was Ally’s godmother.’

She thrust her handkerchief into her face. Her man put his arm around her and glared at me, ready to “fight ze bull,” who was currently, myself. I waited for her to pull herself together. ‘I have to ask you both for an account of your movements on Wednesday evening between six and eight o’clock.’

‘We dined here at about seven. Mrs Fox, my housekeeper can vouch for the time, and we didn’t leave the house that night.’

It was highly unlikely this pair had anything at all to do with Jessica’s murder, but I sense there was more to it than they were prepared to reveal. Time to try another tack. ‘Have you heard from anyone in connection with Ally’s disappearance?’

I almost missed the merest imperceptible movement toward each other and then Eloise deliberately relaxed her shoulders and assumed an expression of bewilderment.

‘Oh no, Senior Sergeant, should we have? We’re count—’ her voice broke, and she tried again. ‘Counting on you to find her!’

He enfolded her small hand tightly in one of his huge ones and leaned forward as though about to stand up. ‘We know nothing.’

As far as he was concerned, the interview was finished. I sat tight, thinking rapidly. It was time to shake them up. Repressing an almost uncontrollable urge to choke the living shit out of them, I spoke forcefully. ‘Ms Carpenter, sir. In cases of kidnapping, particularly for ransom, it’s a very foolhardy thing for family members not to contact the police, regardless of what threats are made. If anyone contacts you, or has contacted you in this regard, you would be well advised to tell us everything you know.’