“Indira knows something,” whispered Alicia as she watched the DI stride into the parlour, two juniors at her heels.
“How can you tell?” asked Claire.
“I know a smug look when I see one.”
“Detective!” came a shrill voice from the side of the room. It was Bethany, of course. “You cannot expect our guests to sit here like naughty schoolchildren waiting to speak to the principal. This is completely unacceptable. It’s late; you must let them get home to bed.”
“Agreed,” Singh said. “In fact, the sooner your guests vacate the premises the better.”
“Oh,” said Bethany, gaping like a goldfish again.
DI Singh held up a finger and then crossed to the fireplace and turned to scan the group, doing so slowly, methodically, as though soaking up all their fears and concerns. Then she began to address them, her tone softer now as she introduced herself.
“I appreciate this has been a very harrowing experience, and thank you for your patience. You have all now provided statements?” A quick glance at Sanchez, who nodded. “Keep in mind that you may be questioned again at a later date, so please don’t jump on your Learjets to Barbados just yet.” She paused but no one even cracked a smile. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might assist our enquiries—anything at all, no matter how insignificant you think it might be—please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Bethany. “This is my family home. You can’t kick me out of my bed.”
“I can if your bed happens to be in one of the west-facing rooms upstairs. That area is still out of bounds. That and the observatory.”
“Oh, well, no, we’re in the guest house outside.” A glance across at Bronson, then a wary look at the book club, whose bags were in that top west wing.
Singh returned to addressing the group. “The rest of the house has now been searched and you may move about freely, but I would prefer that anyone who does not officially reside at this premises, leave the property immediately.”
“But hang on.” Seamus gasped. “What about my brother?”
Singh turned her brown eyes towards him. “Seamus Jones?” He nodded. “I can assure you we are still searching for your brother.” Then, eyes on the gathering. “That search is now underway on the exterior, so I ask that you all go straight from this room to the parking area where you will find several officers ready to inspect your vehicles.”
“Whatever for?” called out Hugh.
Singh did not answer. “Once you’ve been given the all-clear, please depart using the main driveway and head straight out. Do not take any detours.”
“She sounds like door bitch Pete,” whispered Perry.
Singh locked eyes with him. “Mr Gordon, I will need to speak with you and your friends again, but that can wait until tomorrow. For now, you’re also free to leave.”
“But we’ve planned to sleep over,” he told her.
“Their bags are in the no-go zone,” added Bethany, offering Singh a conspiratorial look.
Singh shook her head firmly. “Even more reason to leave. This is still an active crime scene. Anyone who was intending to stay over, using that part of the house, must vacate now. If you’re not able to drive, we can arrange for lifts.” Then, before anyone else could object, she crooked a finger at Seamus and said, “Mr Jones? Follow me please.”
Seamus looked surprised, then worried, and his eyes darted across to Ronnie.
“Why do you need to speak to Seamus?” she demanded, but Singh was already halfway out the door.
“It’s okay, Aunty Ronnie,” said Seamus, getting to his feet and following the detective out.
“Nothing about this is okay,” said Alicia, chasing after them.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the room sprang to life as the guests rushed for the door like they were afraid the DI would change her mind. Or perhaps they were keen to put some distance between themselves and what had turned out to be a very unpredictable evening indeed.
Alicia caught up to Singh at the entrance to the study. “Why are you sending the book club away?” she demanded. “We were the first to search for Sebastian. We could have some crucial information. We can help.”
Singh smiled slimly. “Do I look like I have overgrown sandy hair and bad taste in women?”
“Sorry?” said Alicia, not following.
“I’m not DI Jackson. I like to investigate my own homicides without a bunch of amateur detectives breathing down my neck. I have this in hand, thank you very much.”
“Huh,” said Alicia, just realising she’d been insulted. “If you’re so damn clever, tell me who did it then?”
Singh sighed with exasperation. “You’re not getting it, Alicia. I don’t have to tell you diddly squat. This is a police homicide investigation, and you are civilian. A witness at best. I will speak to you tomorrow when I am good and ready to speak to you. Until then, pack up your books and your buddies and get the hell off my crime scene!”
She then waved Seamus into the study and slammed the door firmly on Alicia’s startled face.
“The hide of the woman!” said Alicia, now back in the parlour, which had emptied of everyone except the book club and Hugh.
Bronson had gone to check on Biddy while Bethany was making sure the staff got away, muttering something about how “mortifying” this all was for their celebrity chef.
“I thought we’d become friends,” continued Alicia, “but she was so rude. I can still feel the dent mark from the study door.”
Alicia stroked her nose as Missy gave her back a soothing rub. “Singh’s never really been our biggest fan though, has she?”
“She’s a bloody fool then,” said Perry. “Because we can help her. Why can’t she see that? We’ve helped so many times before.”
Alicia glared at her phone. “I need to find out where Jackson is. We need a friendly face around here.”
This time she didn’t bother texting. She pulled up his number and pressed Call.
~
Back at his apartment in the city, Detective Inspector Liam Jackson stared at his ringing phone and shrank back and into his armchair. He knew he should be answering. Knew he was being a coward. But he didn’t want to explain things over the phone. He at least owed Alicia that.
He’d tell her tomorrow. Face to face.
So he let it go to voicemail, then he put his phone on silent, as if that would subdue the guilt that was now ringing through his bones. He reached for the TV remote and tried to focus on the footy, but all he could think of was Alicia and her book club and how things would never be the same again. They’d had a good ride, but it was officially over.
And he was pretty sure Alicia would never forgive him.
Because he could barely forgive himself.
~
As she stood at the desk in the study, Singh took some long, deep breaths, trying hard to quell her anger. She should not have lashed out like that at Alicia. It was so unprofessional. Jacko would be furious with her. But it was because of him that she did it.
Somebody had to cut the apron strings.
Singh groaned, catching Seamus’s eye as he stood by the open fireplace, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, waiting. Offering him a disarming smile, she sat down at the desk just as Pauly appeared with two mugs of tea. He handed one to Seamus, then placed hers on the desk before closing the door and standing to attention beside it.
Singh took a few tentative sips, then watched as Seamus did the same, his hands clearly shaking. So, she wasn’t the only one feeling out of sorts.
“Everything okay?” she asked him, and he looked at her like she was stupid.
“Not really, no. My girlfriend’s dead, my brother’s missing, and we’re in here, having a tea party.”
He dumped the cup to one side and strode across to the bay windows. “We should be outside, helping the search.”
“Actually, Mr Jones, you’ll be more useful in here. Please take a seat.”
“I’ll remain standing, thanks very much.”
She shrugged and placed her own cup down, laced her hands together on the desk. “I mentioned the upper west-facing rooms earlier. I’d like to know if you spent any time up there this evening?”
It was an odd question, and he scowled at it. “Why?”
“It’s to help eliminate fingerprints, you understand.”
He shrugged. “Sure, I was up there. We’re sleeping on the other side, near Aunty Ronnie, facing the water.” He stopped, his face paling. “Well, we were…”
“By ‘we’ you mean you and Ms Granger?”
“Yes, and Seb had the room next to that.”
“So what were you doing on the west side?”
“What? Oh, I wasn’t really. I mean, not for long. I was just looking for Seb before the speeches. Thought he might’ve been hiding so he could get out of it.”
“Was it like him to do that?”
His frown hardened. “No, Detective. It was not.”
“Did you go into the observatory?”
He frowned. “Briefly, why?”
“When did you last have contact with your brother? In fact, can you talk me through it from the time you arrived at the party?”
“Sure.” He gave it some thought. “Okay, we had a quick hello soon after Greta and I rocked up, so maybe five-ish.” He frowned. “It was friendly. Just small talk. Then Bethany—that’s my cousin—she dragged Seb and me to the guest house to do a little bonding.” The word was laced with bitterness. “Waste of time. She thinks a glass of bubbly is going to make up for being a total bit—”
He caught himself and swallowed the rest of that word down.
“When was that?” Singh asked.
“Five thirty maybe? Then… yeah, that’s right, we all got together for family photos back on the patio, around six thirty. Then Bronson said Bethany wanted me to fetch more champagne from the kitchen for the speeches. That was the last I saw of Sebastian. I kind of got distracted after that.”
“Distracted? With what?”
He pulled a hand through his hair. “I don’t know… I couldn’t find the bloody champers, then Bethany grabbed me and told me to forget about that and tell Seb that the speeches were now at eight, not nine, like we’d planned.”
“Did she say why?”
“Something about getting Biddy to bed early. That’s why everything was moved forward and why the fireworks were suddenly before the speeches. She didn’t want Biddy to miss out, but I reckon they were just trying to lock Biddy away so they could let their hair down, her and Bronson. I’m telling you, they’re not nice people.” His face clouded over. “Anyway, I went into a bit of a panic because I couldn’t find Seb, who had just, well, vanished.”
“And where was Ms Granger at this point?”
“Greta?” He shrugged, rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. I… I wasn’t thinking about her. I was just trying to find Seb, check he was cool with the schedule change. I guess I was just focused on that.”
She nodded. “And you had no further contact with either of them before the fireworks?”
He shook his head, then stopped, mid-shake. “Well, I called Seb a few times. Just to see where he was at.”
“Called or texted?”
“No, I called. Told him to get his butt back here fast. Why? What’s this about?”
The detective pulled a plastic bag from her jacket and held it out to him. “Do you recognise this mobile phone?”
Seamus stepped closer. “Sure, that’s Sebastian’s. We found it, the book club and me. It was lying beside… beside Greta.”
She nodded again. “Bonus points for guessing what we found on this phone tonight?”
He stared at her blankly; she darted her eyes to the chair in front of the desk.
“I’d really recommend taking a seat, Mr Jones. You might need one.”
He seemed confused but did as requested and waited while she tapped at his brother’s phone through the plastic, then held it out.
“Do you recognise this text?” she asked.
Seamus leaned forward to get a better look, but she had already turned it back and began to read it aloud:
“Yo Sebastian,” she read. “Be at tennis court by seven thirty p.m. No later. Must talk. Extreme urgency. Come alone.”
She glanced back at him. His confusion was quickly dissolving, and he seemed suddenly jubilant.
“Okay, wow. That must be from the killer! Someone must’ve lured him to the court and then… then shot Greta.”
She smiled coldly and said, “More bonus points for you. That’s what we think.”
“Whoa.” He sat forward, blowing a puff of air through his lips. “So who sent it then? Who was the monster responsible for all this?”
Singh’s smile dropped as she also sat forward, eyes firmly on his. “You sent that text, Mr Jones. The monster responsible for all this is you.”
Chapter 12 ~ The Blushing Suspect
It was extraordinary what the skin could give away, Singh thought, as she watched Seamus morph from a freckly pale to a splotchy red, to a deep, deep shade of crimson.
“What are you talking about?” he was saying. “That’s crazy talk. I never sent that text!”
“Mind if I take a look at your phone?” She held her hand out.
He hesitated, just for a moment, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver-cased iPhone. He opened it with his thumb, then handed it over. “Be my guest.”
Within a minute she was reading the exact same words from his screen:
“‘Yo Sebastian. Be at tennis court by 7:30 p.m. No later. Must talk. Extreme urgency. Come alone.’” Then she added, “The text was sent to Sebastian’s number at 6:55 this evening from this mobile phone. Your mobile phone, Mr Jones.”
He stared hard at his phone, his splotchy pallor back. “There has to be some kind of mistake. I promise you, Detective, I never sent that text. Haven’t sent any texts tonight.”
“And yet here it is.” She held it out so he could see it for himself but would not let him take it. She wasn’t going to run the risk of him trying to erase this vital piece of evidence. And he certainly looked like he wanted to, glaring from the message to her and back.
“That’s bizarre,” he was saying.
“So you never contacted your brother, is that your story?”
“Yes! I mean, no… Like I said, I tried calling him a few times, I left some voicemail messages but no texts.” His head was shaking maniacally. “I didn’t… I promise. That wasn’t me. Someone must’ve nicked my phone when I wasn’t watching.”
“Did you put it down at any point?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Is it password-protected?”
He winced. Nodded.
“Who else has the password for your phone?” It seemed she was giving him the benefit of the doubt and his skin settled for a moment before flaring up again.
“No one, I don’t think,” he mumbled.
“Did your brother? Or Ms Granger?”
He considered it. Closed his eyes. Shook his head.
Singh asked, “Where were you during the fireworks?”
He looked up. “Sorry?”
“The fireworks, Mr Jones. You must have noticed those crazy loud bangs going off in the sky. But in case you didn’t, they were between seven thirty and seven forty-five p.m.”
“Of course I noticed the fireworks. I was here with everyone else.”
“Here?”
“Well, on the patio. With the others.”
She made a low buzzing sound. “Would you like to try again? I have several witnesses who claim you were inside the house during the fireworks, on your own, is that correct?”
He looked ready to dispute that, then his skin flared crimson again. “Oh, right… Yeah, I forgot. I was in the library, trying to write a speech. Like I told you, everything’d been moved forward an hour and I hadn’t been able to find Seb. That’s why I asked Aunty Ronnie’s book club to look for him, but in case he didn’t show, I was scrambling to jot something down.” Then he clicked his fingers. “Ask them, the book group. They saw me go into the library. I think…”
“This is the same group you asked to search the property while you hid away?”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“The same people you instructed to, and I quote…” Singh reached for her notepad and read from it this time: “‘Don’t bother searching inside, just stick to the pool area, the garage and the immediate surrounds.’” She looked up, smiled. “Did you say those words, give that direction?”
He frowned. “I guess. I can’t remember exactly. So?”
“So we now believe Ms Granger was not shot at the tennis court as first assumed.”
“How is that possible? I’m confused.”
“We are, of course, awaiting ballistics evidence, but we suspect the gunman fired from a distance, from a top window of this house. A window on the northwest-facing side, to be more precise.” Then, in case he hadn’t connected the dots—because he was back to his confused splotchy shade—she added, “The exact same wing you asked the club not to search.”
“I asked them not to search the house because I’d just done it. I didn’t want to waste their time.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Look, I’m not sure what you’re getting at here, but I couldn’t have been up there, shooting anybody. I was down in the library the whole time, writing a, frankly, woeful speech. Can’t have been me.”
“Was there anyone else with you in the library during this woeful speech-writing time? Someone who can confirm your presence for that crucial fifteen minutes?”
He blinked. Gave it some thought. Frowned but said nothing.
“Mr Jones.” Singh sat forward. It was time to bring this baby home. “I put it to you that you have planned this murder for some time.”
“What? No!”
“I say you lured your brother out to a deserted part of the property with that text.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I say you then sent the book club on a wild goose chase to get them out of the way, and you pretended to write your speech in the library when, in fact, you slipped back out during the fireworks commotion and snuck upstairs to one of the westerly windows, the ones facing the tennis court. There you set up the rifle, waited for the fireworks to start, and attempted to shoot your brother dead.”
“No!”
“After the shooting, you walked across the hallway to a bedroom on the cliffside of the house, stepped out to the balcony and threw the gun into the ocean.”
“Nope, no, didn’t happen.”
“I do have to give you points for the plan though. It was very clever,” she said. “Problem was your brother didn’t follow your instructions to the letter, did he? He was supposed to come alone. You specifically requested that in the text, so it must have been a shock when you looked through the rifle telescope and saw that he’d brought a witness along. A woman you proclaim to love.”
“I do,” he croaked.
“I don’t think you intended to kill Ms Granger, if that helps,” she said, more gently. “But you had no choice, did you? She wasn’t supposed to be there. Perhaps you shot at your brother but she got in the way? Or perhaps just seeing them together made you explode. She was hit, and then you attempted to kill Sebastian, but you missed or, at the very least, wounded him. He managed to escape, but we do think you tried to shoot him—we’ve located several bullet holes in the court where your brother ran for his life.”
“No! I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t even own a gun!”
She waved a hand in the air. “You used your uncle’s old hunting rifle, pinched it from the observatory. Can you tell me where the gun is now, sir?”
“What? No, how can I tell you that? I didn’t take the gun. I didn’t shoot anybody!” Once again Seamus was blushing crimson. Eyes fiery he said, “But why? Tell me that. Why would I kill my beautiful girlfriend? And my own brother?”
“Perhaps she wasn’t your beautiful girlfriend. We only have your word for that. Even your aunt doesn’t seem convinced. Perhaps you coveted your brother’s girlfriend and wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s why he had to die, and perhaps seeing her with him out on that court made it easier for you to pull the trigger and kill her too.”
There was a muffled moan from the suspect now. He had his head in his hands. She cleared her throat. Hardened her tone.
“We need to find your brother, and that’s where you can redeem yourself. Do you know where he is? We’ll be lenient if you help us retrieve him.”
“What?” He was looking up again, eyes wild, cheeks splotchy, brows together. “No! I have no idea, I promise you. I have nothing to do with this.”
“He may only be wounded, Seamus. If we find him in time, it will be better for you. Please just tell us where he is.”
“I wish I knew. Honestly. I didn’t do this thing. I didn’t send that text. I didn’t pinch any gun and shoot anybody.” His eyes darted around the room. “Somebody is setting me up… I’m telling you. I’m innocent!”
Singh stared hard at him for a few moments, then glanced across to Pauly, giving him the nod.
Seamus’s eyes darted to the sergeant and back. “Please don’t do this,” he said as Pauly strode across and pulled him to his feet. “Please, I would never hurt Seb, or Greta. I love them both.”
“Mr Jones, you are being detained under suspicion of murder,” Singh said as Detective Sergeant Paul Moore pulled his hands back and into cuffs. “We will be taking you back to headquarters for further questioning. You may call a lawyer from there.”
As she rattled off his respective rights, Seamus kept moaning, “No, no, no, no, no…”
And Singh watched with wonder as his skin did one final morph, the colour now draining away and leaving him looking anaemic.
~
“No!” thundered Ronnie as she watched the sergeant drag her stunned-looking nephew out of the house in handcuffs. “What are you doing? Where are you taking him?”
“Aunty!” cried Seamus, trying to break free. “I didn’t do it! You have to believe me!”
“Of course you didn’t, my darling!” she cried back, but he was soon shuffled through the front door and out of sight while Singh turned back.
“Mrs Westera,” she said. “A word please.”
Ronnie gulped and turned her eyes back to the book club, who had gathered like a protective cape around her in the foyer.
“Just you,” Singh said firmly, then led her into the study and shut the door on them.
“Whash going on?” asked Bronson, appearing from the kitchen with a fresh glass of whisky, his voice slurring badly, his legs barely able to hold him up.
Bethany was just behind her brother, rolling her eyes.
“For the love of God, go to bed, BoBo,” she hissed, and he blinked back at her like she was speaking gibberish.
Then he stumbled backwards, spilling half his drink, then stopped and stumbled forwards and out to the patio while the book club glanced away, pretending they didn’t notice.
Five minutes later, the study door swung open again and Singh reappeared. She glanced across the group and locked eyes with Bethany.
“Ms Westera, I need to get the suspect down to the station. Look in on your aunt, please. She’s not in a good way.”
“Oh right,” Bethany said, like she’d really rather not as she stepped inside.
Singh secured the door behind her, then turned her eyes upon Alicia. “Why are you still here?”
Alicia ignored the question. “What’s going on, Indira? Did you just arrest Seamus? You really think he’s the shooter?”
Singh sighed loudly, then turned away, talking as she walked towards the front door. “Mr Jones is being detained for questioning. That’s all I can say at this stage.”
“But that’s insane,” said Alicia.
Singh turned back. “Really? Why?” Alicia blinked rapidly, and Singh shook her head at her. “Once again, I am ordering you to vacate this property. All of you. Immediately.”
Then she added, more gently, “I’m sure Jacko would be happy to have you home tonight, Alicia. He’s very worried about you.”
Alicia felt her shackles rise. How dare this outsider tell her what her boyfriend was feeling! Besides, right now she was in no hurry to see this boyfriend who had deserted her right when she needed him most. And she certainly wasn’t about to desert her good friend Ronnie.
Alicia folded her arms across her chest. “Ronnie owns this house and has asked us to stay. Do we legally have to vacate?”
Singh frowned. “I highly recommend—”
“Then we’ll stay as long as Ronnie needs us. We’re not leaving her here alone.”
“She’s not alone. She’s with family now, and I have officers stationed around the property. We have a search to ramp up, and we don’t need civilians getting in our way.”
“Sorry, Indira.” Alicia shook her head. “Until Ronnie asks us to leave, we’re going nowhere.”
Singh exhaled heavily again, a long, slow release of air that turned into a groan. “My God, you people are as exasperating as that old security guard! Can’t get him to bugger off either.” She raised a finger. “Listen to me very carefully. All of you.” Her eyes now slapped across the book group. “This is an active crime scene, and there is still a man missing. I am not DI Jackson, and there will be no second chances. Put so much as a pinkie in the wrong place and I will lock you up for hindering a police investigation, do you understand?”
They all nodded grumpily.
“Do not go outside,” she continued. “Do not go within fifty metres of the tennis court, and do not put a single foot on the upper level of this house. Is that clear?”
“But that’s where we’re sleeping,” said Missy, peeking out behind Claire.
“Not anymore you’re not,” Singh snapped.
“But our pyjamas…,” Missy persisted.
Singh waved to Sanchez, who was still present, watching it all wide-eyed from the front door. “Constable Sanchez will retrieve your luggage and bring it down for you. No one—I repeat—no one is to go up there.”
“Is that a crime scene, too?” asked Alicia.
Singh glared at Alicia like she was about to throttle her. Took another breath and wedged her lips into a stiff smile. “I will be back first thing tomorrow to check on everything.”
To check on them, was what she really meant, and Alicia offered a half shrug, pretending she didn’t care, but she hated the way Singh was glaring at her now, and she wondered when and how everything had turned so sour.
Why had the book club suddenly become enemy number one?
Or was it just Alicia she had it in for?