After Ariel: It started as a game (13 page)

All he wanted was the camera!

Give. It. To. Me.

Her strength startled him. Her body swung independently of his hands, her arms flailing as she tried to reach his face. He overbalanced and they fell to the floor, bouncing off the newel post as they went down. Filled with fear and rage, he tightened his hold on her neck with one hand and squeezed her face between the fingers of his other
...tighter... tighter.

They rolled across the floor one way, then the other. His back slammed into the bottom of the stairs. He scrambled to his knees, dragging her up with him, still holding her head in his hands.

Then, like a bird dashed against a window, a crack of bone under his hand and her head rolled to the side. Her legs stopped threshing, her arms fell, her face slackened beneath his fingers.

He loosened his hold.

She folded to the floor.

Relieved of her weight, Dingo lurched against the wall and then slid to the floor. Propped up by the wall, lungs heaving, he stared at the woman. She couldn’t be –
no, it was impossible
! Not twice in one day! His vision went dim. Bile rose in his throat. Automatically closing his senses against the stench which suddenly enveloped the hallway, he levered himself up the wall, staggering as he found his feet and sat on the bottom step, shaking with fear and distress. His finger stung where her teeth had clamped down. He fished in his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, wrapped it around the wounds and gently cradled the digit, before inspecting the damage. A little blood oozed up. He wrapped it carefully in the handkerchief and tied it firmly.

He found himself trying to count his heartbeats, trying to slow down, to get control of the panic bubbling inside.
How had it come to this?
  He knew, oh yes he knew, had known since he was eight years old that one day his life would come full circle – for hadn’t mother told him so? And Mother was always right.

Okay, deep breaths...slowly, take a deep breath...

He looked around, trying to avoid the body on the floor. There it was. He stood up, supporting himself on the railing for a moment, then regaining his balance, gingerly edged around the body. Trying to protect his wounded finger, he struggled with the zipper, opened the bag and checked that the camera was there.
It was.

Dingo put it down and looked into the lounge room. A pile of material lay folded on a chair just inside the door. Had he touched anything? He didn’t think so, but then remembered bracing himself against the wall when he stood up. He stepped into the room and leaned forward. It looked like a table cloth. He picked it up and walked unsteadily into the kitchen behind the dining area. An infinitesimal moment of self preservation reminded him to put the cloth over his hand before turning on the tap to wet a section of the cloth and then to wrap the other end of the cloth around the bottle of washing up liquid before squeezing it onto the wet part.

He wiped everywhere – a great swathe of the wall, newel post and banister and stairs – that he could remember touching. When he’d finished, he folded the cloth along the original lines and tucked it under his arm. Camera bag in hand, he stared down at his victim, tears welling in his eyes.
I didn’t mean it, but you shouldn’t have fought me...

Holding the front section of his jacket over the knob, he quietly closed the front door and looked up and down the street. Something moved on the fence! He froze and then relaxed as a cat dropped onto the footpath and went in the direction of the park. Nothing else stirred – no cars, no couples walking, not even the sound of a TV coming from the block of units or from the house next door. Sirens wailed in the distance, then faded. Nothing to do with him; already he had boxed Ariel into the past.
No, nothing to do with him...

He walked down the path with the strap of the camera bag over his shoulder, the material tucked inside his jacket, on through the gate and started back in the direction of the hotel, touching every second fence post as he went.

CHAPTER 13

A Shocking Discovery

Pam

Sunday, 12.35AM

Brie and Ally wanted to follow me back to Goldie’s place, but I managed to persuade them that I’m a big girl and don’t need protection. Ally teased me about Bill Seymour during the evening but I managed to side-track her. Charming and comfortable, I couldn’t see myself in any type of relationship with Bill, though the look in his eyes indicated that he
liked
me. Now, if it was Rezanov...
oh no, I’m joining the group troop!
How could I be so stupid?

We had a great evening discussing everything musical and many things not. My friends perform together as a “husband and wife” duo, travelling across Europe and the USA most of the year round. ‘How did you manage when the twins were born?’ I asked Ally. The problem was of course, that if you stayed out of the limelight for too long, you could lose your career. Would I ever have that “pleasure”? As things were going with my love life –
not
– I doubted I would have to worry about it.

Ally laughed. ‘Oh we had it all sorted. The twins stayed with Mum and Dad for short hops and we had a nanny for the long hauls. How’s Aunt Ros?’ I filled them in on the latest news, causing Ally to worry when she heard about mum’s operation. She announced that she would be in to the hospital to see mum as soon as the staff would let her.

They waited at the parking station until I had gotten safely into Goldie’s car and onto the road before waving me off.

Around me, late night revellers were heading out clubbing or, in the case of the more mature such as myself, trundling homeward. Deciding to take a shortcut along the river road past the park, I turned right and then left into the narrow road by the river. As there were only a few houses along there and it was not a general thoroughfare, I was surprised to see flashing lights and a barrier across the road. As I neared, there were police cars and under the trees in the park, bright lights.

A yellow and silver-jacketed figure held up his hand for me to stop, whereupon he peered into my window. ‘Do you live down this street, madam?’

‘No, I’m staying at Hill End – Geroge Street. What’s happened?’

‘Have you a specific reason to be in this area, madam?’

‘No, I just thought I’d avoid the traffic and take a shortcut home.’

He said that an incident had occurred and the road was closed to all traffic, except the people who lived there. He moved in front of the car and took down the numberplate. ‘Can I have your name, please?’

Worried now, and although he hadn’t asked for it, I handed over my licence, which was duly scrutinised – is that a reflex action for cops? – explaining that I was staying with my cousin and using her car.

 ‘I’m sorry Ms. Miller, you’ll have to turn back.’

Sighing, I turned the car and headed past another couple of carloads who’d pulled up behind me. Speculating on a probable accident, I turned down the main street toward Goldie’s house. The success of the major concert of my tour, coupled with the excitement of being back in Brisbane seeing my family, was taking its toll; I was looking forward to a hot shower and bed.

Ever thoughtful, Goldie had left the downstairs light on for me. I decided to leave the borrowed Nikon 2 in the boot of her car for the time being. It would be safe there and wouldn’t be forgotten when I left for Emsberg the next day. I got out and gathered up the bag with my gorgeous dress and my flute case which I placed outside the garage on the pathway. Tempted to leave the flowers in the back seat until morning, I realised they’d wilt overnight. I heaved out the huge bouquets of flowers and dumped them beside the cases, locked the car and pulled down the roller door. Two trips to the house would do it.

There was no sign of life as I crunched my way up to the front door. I set my bag and music case down on the verandah, then fossicked around for the front door key, but when it turned in the lock, I realised that the door was
unlocked
. Puzzled, I turned the key back and re-opened it.

The stench hit me as I swung the door back. Something large sprawled across the floor at the foot of the stairs just inside the vestibule. I reeled back, heart pounding and squinted into the dim light from the lounge-room to see Goldie, arms flung out, face turned to the side, knees drawn up almost to her chest. Terrified, I dumped my bags on the floor, fumbled for the switch and stood blinking in the light.

My cousin’s vacant eyes stared through me.
No. Oh no!
There was no pulse in her wrist, but maybe, just maybe, I was mistaken. I pressed shaking fingers on the base of her throat looking against all hope for movement. Goldie might be alive... her skin was still quite warm. I looked at her chest, but couldn’t see any sign of movement. My panicked breathing sounded loud in the silence. Straightening up, my gaze shot around the hall, up the stairs and into the lounge.
Was there anyone else in the house?

Terrified, I fumbled for my mobile and stabbed 000 with shaking hands.

 ‘What is your emergency?’

‘Ambulance, please –
hurry
!’ The words stumbled over each as I tried to give the address and tell her that my cousin had fallen down the stairs. Maybe she was only knocked out.
Please, God.

 ‘Is there anyone else there with you?’

‘No, I just came in and found her lying at the bottom of the stairs.’

‘All right, try to stay calm and the ambulance will be with you in a couple of minutes.’

There was something I needed to say, but I couldn’t remember what it was. My hands trembled so badly that I could barely turn my phone off. Goldie was meticulous about locking the front door and putting the chain on. Had she been coming down the stairs on her way to do just that and slipped?
Hang on, Goldie. Please, please don’t be dead.

Help was on the way. I sank to the floor and leaned against the wall beside the front door. A gust of wind swirled into the house, sending chills ramping up my back. My teeth chattered; my hands felt like lumps of ice.

Suddenly, the road at the front of the house was filled with action. The ambulance arrived, sirens wailing, at the front gate. Two paramedics jumped out and ran around the back to emerge carrying bags of equipment, sweeping past me. They entered the house and sprang into action. Rigid with horror, I stood in the doorway, hanging onto the frame.

‘Could you wait outside please?’ one asked, as they bent over Goldie.

I grabbed my handbag and cases and staggered out onto the verandah. Pain so fierce that I felt physically sick, welled inside me. Did she slip? Was she...no. No, she couldn’t be...
dead
.

It was only a couple of minutes before one of them came to join me, expressed condolences and asked me to stay where I was. They had to call the police to attend a sudden death. I collapsed into a squatter’s chair, unable to process the implications of what was happening.

The police arrived in a welter of sirens and glaring lights. Two uniformed officers stepped out and waded through several bystanders who had gathered to rubber-neck. They told them to move back, closed the front gate purposefully and joined me on the verandah. Before they could speak to me, the male paramedic stepped out the front door to meet them and, with a side-long glance and a gesture with his head, invited them into a huddle. Shivers ran through me; I felt sick.
Goldie’s dead.

A wave of shock went through me. How would Fiona handle it? How would
Alex
cope? In spite of his bluff and powerful persona, I had the impression that Fiona was the stronger of the two.

The paramedic went back inside, followed by the two cops who looked at me intently as they passed. A murmur of voices and then the medics both came out carrying their bags which they parked against the wall. The breath left my body. I lurched to my feet. I needed to see Goldie. It just couldn’t be real. The young, uniformed cop with a kind manner eased me back into the chair.

‘What’s happening?’ I didn’t recognise my own voice.

Behind him, I was dimly aware of the other one talking into his mobile and then going back to the patrol car, from which emerged a steady stream of radio chatter. Lights streamed out of the units and houses nearby showing word had spread; this was just like CSI.
It is CSI.

Movement along the street revealed spectators, some in coats, pyjamas and slippers joining rugged-up walkers. I ducked my head, feeling vulnerable to the curious stares and whispers.

‘Could you give me your name, please Ma’am?’

‘Pamela Miller. What happened?’

‘We don’t know yet how it happened.’ The cop pulled over a footstool, one that Parry had given Goldie in their early days of courtship. Painted with fluffy smiling sheep, it said a lot about Parry’s sense of humour. The cop sat, pencil poised. ‘We’ll have to wait for the forensic team. Can you give me your address?’

I just knew there was something he was not telling me, but before I could ask another question, he spoke. ‘Ms Miller, take me through what happened. Let’s start from the beginning. What’s the lady’s full name? Is she a relative?’

‘Yes. Marigold Jeanette Humphries.’ I explained our relationship and that I was staying with Goldie.

‘What time did you get home?’

‘What happened? Goldie
did
fall down the stairs –
didn’t she
?’ He didn’t answer.

‘There’s something terribly wrong, isn’t there?’

He hesitated a moment then told me that it appeared that Goldie’s death was suspicious. Shock ripped through me. ‘
What?
How
?’

‘There are signs that she may not have met with an accident, Ms Miller.’ His sympathetic concern nearly sent me screaming, but I could see he wasn’t going to give me any more information. 

‘Now, again, Ms Miller. What time did you get home from the city?’