CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kit was standing on her balcony, the bougainvillea tumbling down to the lawn which stretched quietly towards the beach. Kit felt supremely confident and Alex felt simply glorious. I just need you to hold me, she'd said slipping her arms around Kit's waist from behind. A far-off trumpet tripped lightly over the notes of a strangely familiar melody.

Kit could see herself being held by Alex as if she was having an out of body experience, which was understandable seeing this had to be a dream. Never mind that the lawn was purple; Kit knew, as she watched herself turn into Alex's embrace, that she most definitely did not have a balcony.

The music was getting louder and the tune off-key as the trumpeter sounded reveille right in her face to announce that the day had begun. Kit opened her eyes just as Thistle placed a cold pink paw on her cheek. She blew in The Cat's face to get her to move off her arm and then realised it was not Thistle who had her pinned to the bed.

What the hell? she thought, turning her head. Quinn was snuggled against her back with her arm draped across Kit's waist.

Somewhere in the bourbon-induced fog that had overtaken her mind was a vague recollection that Quinn had crawled in with her at about three in the morning saying she just needed a cuddle.

Kit squinted at the clock radio; it was now 9 a.m. She slid out of bed, picked up Thistle who was about to play pat-a-cake with Quinn's face, and closed the bedroom door behind her on her way to the kitchen. She poured dried food and some milk into Thistle's bowls, and turned on the kettle before yawning her way to the bathroom to get her robe. It was one thing to allow Quinn to snuggle innocently against her naked body in the middle of the night but another thing all together to be caught starkers in her kitchen in the sober light of day.

'Thistle, did you hit me over the head with the Jack Daniels bottle again?' Kit asked when she sat down a few minutes later, a cup of coffee clutched to her chest. 'The least you could do is chew more quietly,' she pleaded.

Kit nearly choked on her coffee when The Cat suddenly leapt in the air, landed ridiculously on four little tippy toes with her back arched, and then scooted out of the kitchen as if it was the hounds of hell who had just rung the doorbell.

'Very brave, Thistle,' Kit laughed. Trying to recall the last time she'd been alone for her first cup of coffee of the day, she tightened the belt on her robe before opening the front door.

'Did I organise a breakfast party or something?' she asked dubiously.

'We're not staying,' Del stated.

'I parked your car out the back. Here's the key,' Brigit said.

'You weren't answering your phone,' Alex said.

'I unplugged it after you left last night,' Kit replied.

'Well, we could have a coffee,' Brigit suggested, glancing at Alex.

'We're not staying,' Del repeated. 'I just wanted to give your manuscript back before we went down to the beach house. We won't be back till Friday. I've made a few notes for you.'

'Del I'm not awake yet,' Kit complained, taking the envelope.

'That's OK. We really have to go.' Del linked her arm through Brigie's as she turned to leave.

'That's it?' She hates it, Kit thought. It's a wonder she didn't post it or just shove it under the mat before leaving the country so she wouldn't have to face me. 'Del!'

A smile overtook the serious expression that Del was trying to keep in place, as she turned on the top step and faced her. 'It is very good Kit.'

'Really?'

'Really. We can talk about it on the weekend when we get back.'

'I loved it,' Brigit announced. 'Flynn Carter is just so cool.'

Kit couldn't think of anything remotely sensible to say so she just stood there in her bathrobe, grinning like an idiot.

Alex on the other hand, who'd been looking from one person to another, with her mouth half open as if everyone was speaking Klingon, obviously decided to ignore what she couldn't understand. 'Where's Quinn?' she asked.

'She's still in bed.' Kit stepped aside and waved her in.

'Are you sure we don't have time for a coffee Del?' Brigit begged.

'We are going now,' Del insisted.

'Oh all right,' Brigit grumbled as she followed Del down the stairs. 'Miranda won't melt out there in the car you know. Unfortunately.'

'Can I make a coffee?' Alex asked.

'Make yourself at home.' Kit replied, putting her manuscript in the filing cabinet before sitting down at the breakfast bar again. 'What are you doing here anyway?' she added, realising that Alex did not seem to be her usual sparkling, sociable self.

'I tried to ring first,' she replied distractedly.

'I gathered that much.'

'Your friend Marek tried too. You were right about Byron,' she stated flatly.

'Which right? Is he in hiding or...'

'He's dead. At least Marek thinks it's Byron. He needs someone to identify the body. When he couldn't get you, he tried Douglas but he's in Sydney so I was next on the list. Or rather Quinn was, but I don't think she needs this right now.'

Kit folded her arms on the bench and put her head down for a second before meeting Alex's apologetic gaze.

'I'm sorry O'Malley, but I told Marek I'd drop in and ask you to do it. I've never met Byron so I can't. But I'll, ah, go with you - if you like.'

Kit raised an eyebrow. 'Thanks. I'll just give Marek a call and let him know we're coming, then I'll have a shower.' She carried her cup over to the desk and plugged the phone back in.

'I'll take this in to Quinn and tell her what's going on. I have to remind her about dinner tonight too,' Alex said picking up the two coffees she'd made.

Uh oh, Kit thought. 'Um,' she said, as Alex started to head down the hall. 'She's in my room Alex.'

To say that the look on Alex's face, when she turned around, was one of shock described only part of the effect that this little announcement seemed to have on her. Kit could also see disappointment, anger and disbelief. Fighting with all this was the trademark Cazenove determination to appear unruffled. It wasn't working.

Deflated: that's the best description, Kit thought. She looks like she just managed to get her space doors shut before all the atmosphere whooshed out into the galaxy.

'Your room?' Alex managed to say.

'Yeah,' Kit said, deciding not to offer any explanation as she indicated the closed bedroom door with a nod and pressed the auto-dial button for Marek's office. After all, she reasoned, even though nothing had happened between her and Quinn, it was still none of this woman's business. Let Quinn sort it out, if she wanted to.

 

'Well?' Alex queried when Kit flopped down on the bench beside her.

'It's him. And there's no way he could have had anything to do with Celia's murder. He was dead before she was. His throat was cut sometime late on Friday afternoon.'

'Oh god. Are you OK?'

Kit shrugged and met Alex's steady look with one of her own, holding it a little longer than was necessary as she tried to fathom the genuine note of concern in that question. She finally looked away, wondering what on earth Quinn had said to bring about the transformation. Alex had been almost pleasant ever since they'd left Kit's place.

'Goddammit. He's been in there since Friday, Alex. While I've been out looking for him, he's been part of the traffic jam in here that held up Celia's autopsy.'

'That's hardly your fault, O'Malley.'

'We'd better go and see Marek,' Kit said getting to her feet. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand. 'The disinfectant in this place makes me feel sick. It smells worse than a hospital. And I hate hospitals!'

Kit slumped into the passenger seat of Alex's car, put on her seat belt and wound the window down. The Weather Bureau had forecast a top of only 25 degrees so it wasn't hot, but Kit needed to feel the soothing breeze that had accompanied the cool change. Also she didn't particularly want to throw up in Alex's nice red Celica.

As they turned into City Road Alex's mobile rang. Alex answered, in hands free mode, but it was Kit who sat up straight and stared at the thing in astonishment.

'Yes, hello. Could I speak to Katherine please.'

'Mum?'

'Oh hello dear. Young Elizabeth gave me this number. I've got an emergency and some newspaper clippings you might be interested in.'

'What's the emergency?'

'There's something in my roof.'

'What is it?'

'I don't know darling. That's what I'd like you to find out. Could you pop over? I'll give you and Alexis lunch if you get here in time.'

'In time for what?

'Lunch of course. I'll see you about one.'

'Mum I'm kind of busy today,' Kit said, but it was too late, Lillian had already hung up. 'Fancy some lunch with my mother - Alexis?'

 

'I'm going to have a beeper permanently implanted in your body,' Marek growled. 'That way I might be able to find you when I need you, Kitty.'

'What on earth for? I don't work for you, or even with you, any more Jonno.'

'Kitty?' Alex breathed in Kit's ear before she sat down on the couch where Marek had cleared a space for her.

Kit ignored the remark. She was too busy watching Marek making a fool of himself. He handed Alex a cup of coffee, asked her if she was comfortable, and then fussed about with his tie to make his already presentable self even more so. Then he sat down at his desk and tried not to look at Alex while he opened the file in front of him.

My god, do I come across like this? Kit wondered. Alex obviously has this affect on everybody. If Quinn were here she'd be saying 'Oh dear, not him too!'

Alex appeared to be quite oblivious to Marek's behaviour. In fact when Kit glanced in her direction she discovered that Alex was watching her - closely.

'This case is a total mess,' Marek was complaining.

'It always was a total mess Jonno.'

'It doesn't help that you seem to be attracting dead people wherever you go.'

'It's got nothing to do with me,' Kit declared. 'Except maybe in Byron's case. Indirectly.'

'I trust you're going to explain that statement.'

'Geoffrey Robinson didn't even see Byron Daniels last Thursday morning let alone fire him. He did, however, attempt to blackmail him on Wednesday night because he thought Byron was following him.'

'Was he?'

'No, I was.'

'Where did you get this information?' Marek asked.

'From Byron's best friend who last saw him at lunchtime on Thursday just after Byron had been to the Robinson house where he had seen Celia not Geoffrey.'

'What could Robinson possibly have on Daniels to blackmail him with?' Marek asked sceptically.

'These,' Kit announced opening her briefcase. She sat on the corner of Marek's desk and handed him the magazine and the photo of Byron.

Marek glanced in Alex's direction briefly before pushing the photo away from himself as if he was embarrassed to scrutinise it too closely in front of her.

Kit tried not to laugh as she continued. 'Apparently Geoffrey believed Byron was spying on him in order to blackmail him. Geoffrey has been up to a lot of no good lately, none of which he would have wanted his wife to know about, so he threatened to give this to Celia if Byron continued to follow him. Byron did not tell him about me or that Celia already knew everything anyway because it was she who had hired someone to follow Geoffrey.'

'You're not going to suggest that Robinson killed this guy and his wife are you?

Remember he still has an alibi for Friday night.'

'Of course he does. But did you, by any chance, follow up on the possibility that he might have slipped away from the restaurant?'

'Yes, I checked out your far-fetched theory that he popped home to do the deed,' Marek stated, rather patronisingly.

'And you still don't think it's possible? Don't you remember he went to the toilet while you were questioning him that first night. He was gone for ages and claimed he'd been up and down all night because he'd eaten something that disagreed with him.'

'His dinner companions verified that he did in fact leave the table several times. And yes, on one occasion he was gone for nearly fifteen minutes.'

'You see,' Kit interrupted. 'That's plenty of time.'

'Except that one of the waitresses saw him talking to someone out the back in the car park.'

'Talking to whom for god's sake?'

'I don't know,' Marek said impatiently. 'Some woman. And before you ask your next question, the restaurant's toilets are outside in a corner of the car park. They and the parking area are shared by two or three restaurants. The witness said Robinson didn't appear to know her. He was simply lighting the woman's cigarette. This was confirmed by Robinson himself.'

'I'll bet it was,' Kit stated. 'Well, it wouldn't hurt to check his alibi for Friday afternoon, although it's more likely Byron was killed by the so-called nephew the neighbour saw him with that morning.'

'Do you have any idea who this alleged murderer is?' Marek asked.

'All I've got is a photo and a first name - Christo,' Kit replied pulling out her case file and handing Marek a copy of the photo of Geoffrey with Christo Snakehips. 'I'm waiting to hear if he's the same guy who left a night club with Byron on Thursday night. I'll let you know as soon as I find out.'

'Christo?' Marek sounded surprised. He searched the pile of papers on his desk and pulled out a printout. 'Christopher Edwards?' he queried.

'I don't know. Who's Christopher Edwards?'

'The registered owner of the car that tried to run you down.'

'What?' Alex exclaimed. 'When did that happen?' She was looking at Kit with a worried expression.

'Yesterday,' Kit replied. 'And no, Quinn wasn't with me,' she added dryly.

'I think it's time to give me everything you've got O'Malley,' Marek demanded.

'OK. But first tell me how you came to the conclusion that the body in the morgue was Byron. Donald Grenville said there were no personal effects.'

'Last night the St Kilda CIB found Daniels' car, the Volvo station wagon registered to Mrs Robinson, in Acland Street where it had been gathering parking tickets for five days. It was just round the corner from the rooming house where the body was found on Friday evening.'

'A rooming house? Did anyone see anything?'

Marek shook his head. 'Nobody saw Daniels go in or anybody else leave. The guy who runs the place was out the back for several hours during the middle of the day trying to fix a busted pipe. He found the body when he went upstairs to check the fixtures in the bathroom next to the room Daniels was found in. He stepped in the blood that had leaked out from under the door of the room.'

'So whose room was it?' Kit asked.

Marek stopped to consult the file in front of him. 'The manager said the room was rented on Thursday by a George Ryan who paid for five days in advance. He took two suitcases up to the room, left again five minutes later and hasn't been seen since. The cases were still there but they were empty.'

'What did this guy look like?' Kit asked.

'Tall, middle-aged, dressed in a business suit. Apart from a prize fighter's nose Mr Ryan had no other distinguishing features.'

'It sounds like Geoffrey's friend, the one Quinn can't stand,' Alex suggested.

'Grainger,' Kit nodded at Alex, and then turned to Marek. 'Gerald Grainger. He's a business associate of Geoffrey's from Sydney. I can give you a photo of him too,' Kit said opening her file again. 'And one of an American businessman who maintains he's on holiday and goes by the name of David Watts, though it's more likely that he's really Davis Whitten.'

'Oh dear! It probably is Whitten,' Alex said. 'Sorry Kit, I forgot to tell you that Michael rang from Sydney this morning with that piece of the jigsaw.'

Kit. She called me Kit! Oh god, get a grip O'Malley. Although she suspected it was for Marek's benefit, because it sounded less antagonistic, Kit couldn't help feeling ridiculously thrilled that Alex had used her first name. Of the many people who called her O'Malley, Alex was the only one who always managed to make it sound like an insult.

'Davis Whitten has been in the country for about six weeks,' Alex was saying. 'He lives in Los Angeles but he owns radio and TV stations all over the States, as well as a major software design and manufacturing company in Silicon Valley, and coffee plantations and mines in Brazil, not to mention his share in the, comparatively speaking, small time enterprises of Freyling. Mr Whitten is, according to Michael, an obscenely wealthy man.'

'Well,' Marek said, shooting Alex an admiring glance before facing Kit, 'Ms Cazenove has given more information in one breath than you have all morning, mate. So, would you care to back-peddle a bit. Who is this guy? Why do I want a photo of him? Why do I care?'

'Well Jonno, you want a photo of David Watts because he's been hanging around with Geoffrey and this Grainger creep. But if he's really Davis Whitten then you want a photo of him because you might need to know what he looks like in order to investigate what connection a business partner of the aforementioned Grainger and one Ian Dalikeith has with Geoffrey Robinson.'

'Ian Dalkeith?' Marek repeated. 'You mentioned him the other day. What's his connection with all this?'

Kit shrugged. 'He's one of the other directors of Wellborn and/or Freyling Imports.'

'And? So what?' Marek shrugged. 'Fill in all the gaps, Kitty. I don't care where you start but I want the whole story.'

Kit obligingly told Marek nearly everything she knew while he interrupted every few minutes with questions about her information or reprimands for having withheld it. When he got up to refill their coffee mugs Kit took the opportunity to reach over his desk and pick up the file with Celia's name on it.

'So in a nutshell,' she continued, 'if we start with Geoffrey - we have two murder victims: his wife and her secretary. His associates include a Melbourne businessman who has the reputation of being a nasty piece of work; a Sydney businessman who possibly rented the room where Byron's body was found; an American businessman whose involvement is still a mystery; and two women, one of whom is a renowned society madam and the other an apparent nobody, and both of whom are locked up in the same loony bin while all these men make a lot of money in their names.

'On top of that there's Christo Edwards who is Dalkeith's gofer, Geoffrey's bumboy and probably Byron's killer or at least the last known person to have seen him alive.'

'I think I'll put in an application for long-service leave, starting today,' Marek groaned.

'What are these holes?' Kit asked, putting aside a long shot of the crime scene to study a close-up of Celia's body. The photo had been taken before the storm and before the overflow from the pond had begun to lap at her body on the lawn.

'Give me that O'Malley,' Marek demanded but Kit held it out of his reach.

'Come on Jonno. I was there anyway, remember?'

Marek pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. 'What holes?'

'These holes in the lawn near Celia's head.'

'How the hell would I know what they are.' Marek snatched the photo from Kit's hand and peered at it before politely passing it to Alex. 'Maybe there are mutant worms in that weird garden of hers,' he suggested.

'They might be aeration holes,' Alex said. 'There's a garden tool designed to poke little holes in lawn to help the circulation of air or water through the soil.'

'Oh,' said Kit disappointed, accepting the photo back from Alex.

'We could run with the mutant worm theory if you'd prefer Kitty,' Marek offered. 'We can add them to your list of possible suspects.'

'You're such a card Marek,' Kit said absently, as she peered intently at the photo and willed the vague image that was lurkng in the back of her mind into sharper focus so she could actually see it. Oh yes! she thought.

'What are you grinning at now?' Marek asked.

'A walking stick!'

'What?'

'Forget the worms and the gardening tools, Jonno, and consider Geoffrey's walking stick.'

Marek stared at the ceiling for a few seconds and then back at Kit. 'OK, done. Now what?'

'Marek,' Kit snarled.

'It was pouring, Kitty. I can tell you for a fact the man did not leave the patio.'

'Not while we were all there anyway,' Kit stated. 'Marek this photo was not only taken before Geoffrey got there, but before it started to rain. Take a proper look at it.'

'I don't need to, O'Malley. The man has an alibi. End of story. Stick with the worms.'

'Fine, have it your way,' Kit sighed, and then smiled. 'Speaking of suspects though, I assume you'll be talking to Geoffrey again seeing the person against whom he was casting so many aspersions has an even better alibi than he does.'

'Run that by me again,' Marek requested.

'Byron being dead is a more iron clad alibi than Geoffrey dining with friends,' Kit explained, shaking her head. 'Can I go with you?'

'What for?'

'Humour me, OK? Besides, wouldn't you rather I harassed this fine upstanding citizen in your presence than go off on my own and screw up your investigation?'

Marek snorted and took his file from Kit's hand. 'Put that way I don't see how I can refuse,' he said. 'I'll let you know when I pin him down to a time - if I can find you when I need you.'