Dead Certain

CHAPTER TEN

Carol called an early morning meeting with Bourke and Anne. It was a relief to concentrate on her work: whenever she relaxed her guard, burning thoughts of Madeline, of her own startling abandonment, dislocated her steadfast image of herself. And Sybil-she didn’t want to consider the conflicting emotions of guilt and resentment that resonated there.

“Have you both read The Euthanasia Handbook? Yes? Tell me how you’d make absolutely sure your suicide would be a success.”

Anne said, “I’d do everything Collis Raeburn did, except I’d take something to settle my stomach, to make sure I didn’t vomit and so not absorb enough drugs to kill me.”

“Plastic bag,” said Bourke.

Carol nodded. “The author makes the point several times that unless a doctor’s actively involved, things can go wrong with drugs. You might fall unconscious before you take enough, or vomit before they’re absorbed properly, or you might have some tolerance that means you’d lie there for days until someone finds you still alive.”

“So what you do,” said Bourke, “is wait until you’re almost asleep, pop a plastic bag over your head, tie it round your throat and doze off. Then you suffocate, but you don’t know anything about it.” He added jocularly, “It’s the best way to be dead certain.”

“There was no plastic bag,” said Anne, “and he choked to death on his own vomit.”

Carol spread out the scene-of-crime photographs. “Two things,” she said. “First, look how clean he is. The post mortem says there was some half-digested food in his mouth and trachea, but there’s nothing on his face or on the pillow. He was unconscious, so how come he’s so neat? Second, look at this necktie on the carpet by the end of the bed. What’s it doing there? Everything else has been put away and Raeburn’s wearing casual clothes, so he doesn’t need a tie.”

Bourke was frowning over the photographs. “So the murderer uses Raeburn’s necktie together with a plastic bag to make sure he dies-but why not leave it over his face? After all, it makes the suicide look even more convincing.”

“I don’t know,” said Carol. “Maybe it looked so bizarre, so horrible, that whoever it was took the plastic bag off once he was dead.”

“Tender feelings,” said Bourke, “for someone willing to wait around and watch someone slowly die.”

Carol could see it in her imagination as vividly as a movie: the grotesque figure on the bed, head bagged and tied at the neck, sucking in the plastic with each struggle for breath…

“Okay Anne,” she said crisply, “what’ve you got to report?”

“Nothing on the handbook. We’ve shown photos to staff at all the likely city bookshops, and the problem is that most people recognize Collis Raeburn, but they’re not sure if they’ve seen him in the shop or in the media. The same with the others. For example, many knew Edward Livingston because he’s always getting himself interviewed on TV.”

“Glad I’m not famous,” said Bourke. “I’d hate to be asked for my autograph as I was fleeing the scene of a crime.”

“On that very subject,” said Anne, “I showed the set of photographs to all the hotel staff who were on that weekend. That was a no go either, though one guy on reception said he vaguely thought he’d seen one of them during that Saturday evening and he had the impression it was a male. I asked him to go through the photos again, but he couldn’t say who it was. Looked down his nose as he told me he sees so many famous people in his job he hardly notices them anymore.”

Carol was about to ask for Bourke’s report when Anne said, “There’s one more thing. I went to the morgue to follow up your idea that someone might have called to check if Raeburn’s body had been brought in. Drew a blank, but one of the guys did make a suggestion I’ll chase up. He said if he’d been after the information, he’d have called the press reporters rostered on for the night. They cover accidents, hospitals, the morgue, all as a matter of course and they have good contacts who’ll tell them what’s going on.”

Mark Bourke’s report was succinct. “Haven’t turned up Berringer yet, but we will. While we’ve been looking for him, one thing of interest’s come up-the name of the man who may have given Raeburn HIV. Raeburn had an intense relationship with him for some time a few years ago, then the guy, who was an officer in the army, was posted overseas.”

“What’s his name?”

“Harris. But it doesn’t matter, Carol,” said Bourke. “When we chased it up we found he never came back to Australia-died of AIDS six months ago.”

Lloyd Clancy lived in an apartment overlooking Manly’s modest harbor beach and ferry wharf. He gestured that Carol and Anne should sit on the balcony while he got coffee from the adjoining compact kitchen. The white wrought iron chairs and round table were cold to the touch, but the light breeze was enticingly warm. Looking across the shimmering blue water of Manly Cove, they could see Monday morning commuters thronging the wharf, newspapers and briefcases at the ready, waiting to board the sleek jetcats or one of the stately older ferries for the trip to Sydney.

“What a great way to start a working day-half an hour of sitting in the sun on a ferry looking at the scenery.”

As Clancy poured the coffee he smiled at Anne’s enthusiasm. “It is most of the time, but you should try it when there’s been a storm and your ferry hits the swell coming in from the Heads.”

Carol said, “We won’t keep you long.”

“Meaning you want to get down to business, Inspector?”

Watching him closely, Carol said, “Have you ever been to the hotel where Raeburn died?”

He considered the question calmly. “Yes I have, at least a couple of times. Once was a dinner, the other when I was visiting friends. Why?”

“Recently?”

He seemed unconcerned. “Not recently.”

“If it were necessary, would you object to a line-up?”

“Not at all. I’m happy to be in an identification parade, but I must remind you, Inspector, that both I and my colleagues are very well known. We might be identified because someone’s seen us on television, for instance.”

As he sat back, apparently pleased with this riposte, Carol said, “Is it true that Alanna Brooks is bringing an action against you?”

He straightened. “I’ve had reporters ringing me all weekend asking that question.”

Curbing her impatience, Carol said, “I’d appreciate the answer.”

He played with his spoon, then looked up to meet Carol’s steady gaze. “I’ve tried to speak to Alanna, but she’s not taking my calls. It’s some misunderstanding about last Saturday night.”

“At the Museum of Modern Art? You were both there for Andrew Rath’s exhibition and reception, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid I had too much to drink. I knew I was catching the Manly ferry home and wasn’t driving, so I didn’t watch how much I had.” He chuckled ruefully. “I said some unfortunate things about Alanna, and I’m sorry now, but I suppose it’s too late.”

“Could you be more explicit?”

“Have you spoken to her?”

Carol let her impatience show. “We’re speaking to you.”

The clear morning light pitilessly revealed the dark circles under his eyes, the deep lines that bracketed his mouth, the tremor in his hand as he picked up his coffee cup. All the vitality that Carol had seen on the stage and in his dressing room seemed to have drained away. He cleared his throat. “From what I remember, and what I’ve been told, I suggested, among other things, that Alanna got to be prima donna by a series of underhand maneuvers, including calling in favors and paying off Livingston and other members of the board of Eureka Opera. I said she was worried Corinne would displace her, so she took action to make sure that didn’t happen.”

“Why would anyone take this seriously? You said you’d had too much to drink…”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “It was who I spoke to, rather than just what I said. Andrew Rath’s an institution in Australian art, so every cultural critic was there at some time in the evening. I managed to find four critics who were having a lively discussion and make them the audience for my comments about Alanna. No one was stupid enough to print it, thank God, but obviously the word’s finally got back to her.” He gave a tired smile. “To say the least, she’s not happy, and she’s threatening to sue me for slander.”

Carol frowned. “Does this seem to be an overreaction to you?”

He leaned back, shaking his head. “Collis’s death has upset everyone. We’re all under pressure. I’ve tried to talk some sense into Alanna, but…” His shrug conveyed her lack of cooperation.

Anne said, “Won’t that make it difficult when you sing in the same opera?”

Amusement flickered across his face. “You’d be surprised how many love duets are sung by people who loathe each other. From a professional point of view, the audience should never know what we really feel.”

“What do you really feel?”

Carol’s terse question sobered him immediately. “About what?”

“Alanna Brooks.”

He spread his hands. “I don’t know… resentful, I suppose, that she should take what I said so seriously.”

I’ve been told you were lovers.“

He didn’t react for a moment, then he said, “It wasn’t Corinne that said this, was it? She’s always got an ax to grind.”

“It wasn’t Ms Jawalski.”

“Well, it’s not true, Inspector.” He paused, apparently to see whether Carol would respond. She didn’t. He said uncomfortably, “Look, I don’t want to embarrass Alanna, but she made it clear a while ago that she was interested in me. I didn’t return her feelings, and told her so as gently as I could.”

“Was this before or after she had an affair with Collis Raeburn?”

He flushed. “I don’t know anything about that, but I can’t believe that she did. Alanna’d have better taste.” He sat forward. “Who’s been telling you this?”

“I’m sorry…”

Lloyd Clancy laughed contemptuously. “Don’t tell me-you can’t reveal your grubby little sources! Do you believe every bit of gossip anyone tells you?”

“No,” said Carol. “Only the ones that check out.”

Walking back to the car, Anne said, “Who was your grubby little source?”

“Douglas Binns the night we saw Aïda, and he doesn’t strike me as grubby at all…”

As soon as she walked into her office she was given a series of messages, each more urgent than the last, all from Nicole Raeburn. Feeling a mixture of irritation and curiosity, she was about to pick up the receiver when the phone rang.

“Carol Ashton.”

“What have I done to deserve that sharp tone?” said Madeline.

In spite of herself, Carol heard her voice mellow as she said, “I thought you’d be on your way to Brisbane by now.”

“The plane’s delayed, so I’m still at the airport. Queensland, the California of Australia, will have to wait a little longer for me.” Carol heard her take a breath, then she said, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Fine.”

Madeline laughed. “Only fine? What happened to fantastic, terrific and wonderful?”

Her body tingling with an echo of passion, she said calmly, “All those too, of course.”

“I should wrap up the Queensland segments by next Monday. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Yes, okay.”

Her amusement plain, Madeline said, “Don’t bother sweeping me off my feet with enthusiasm, Carol. I have enough for both of us.”

A light blinked on her handset. “I’ve got another call, Madeline. I’ll have to go.”

Nicole Raeburn’s voice shrieked in her ear. “Inspector! I’ve been trying to get you all morning. There are two things I must know. The first is about your report. When’s it going to be finished?”

“The investigation isn’t complete yet.”

Carol’s patient tone obviously inflamed, rather than calmed. “That’s what you said last time I asked! All you have to say is that he died accidentally! It’s the best thing for everyone, and it’s true!”

Carol was tempted to break the connection, but she held her temper and said neutrally, “What was the second thing, Ms Raeburn?”

Nicole’s voice suddenly developed a cajoling tone. “Actually, Inspector, it’s about Colly’s journal. I wondered if you’d found it?”

Carol’s negative reply pushed Nicole’s voice a notch higher. “You have to find it!”

“Ms Raeburn, why is the journal suddenly so important?”

Her tone became confidential. “Actually, I don’t want this to get out, but I’m talking to a well-known writer about Colly’s biography, and he says he needs everything personal, though of course I’ll decide what goes into the book. And there’ll be a lot from me, too…”

Collis wasn’t the only one in the family with a monstrous ego. “You and your brother were very close…”

This gained a complacent agreement.

“Would he have minded if you’d glanced at his journal?”

There was a pause. “I did, once.”

Carol waited.

“Inspector Ashton, I hope you don’t think…”

“Of course not.” Her soothing words were an encouragement.

Nicole said, “Colly wrote what he really thought about people, and the secrets they told him they didn’t want repeated…”

“How long ago was this, when you glanced at the book?” Carol smiled to herself over “glanced”-she was sure Nicole would have avidly read it.

“A few months ago. I didn’t mean to do it, I just happened to see it…”

“So you didn’t see it recently?”

“Well…” A little girl voice. “I think Colly knew I’d peeked. He started locking the journal in his desk, or taking it with him.”

Carol’s tone was one of mild interest. “So he might have had it with him in the hotel?”

“It isn’t here. I’ve looked everywhere, so Colly must’ve taken it with him.”

“We didn’t find it in the hotel room.”

“Where is it, then?” said Nicole petulantly.

Carol didn’t want to give her a chance to embark upon a fruitless conversation about the whereabouts of the journal, as she was sure whoever had killed Raeburn had taken it. She said, “When you did read a little of it, was there anything in particular you remember?”

“Yes,” said Nicole triumphantly. “He said Alanna Brooks was a bitch. That she was just using him.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

Nicole was angry with Carol’s obtuseness. “She was sleeping with Colly. Taking advantage of him. She didn’t care about him at all, but at first he thought she did.”

“They were having an affair?”

“I just told you so!” Nicole snapped. Then, changing to a note of complaint, “Is it any wonder Colly was so upset he didn’t know what he was doing? That’s why he took too many pills-she made him so unhappy and angry. If you like, she killed him!”

Douglas Binns was anxiously contrite. “Inspector, I’m afraid Miss Brooks is still in the rehearsal room walking through her movements for Turandot.” He coughed apologetically. “You could wait in her dressing room…”

“Would you take us to the rehearsal room, please.”

He hesitated, then said, “Of course.”

Carol and Anne followed him through the familiar low-roofed wide corridors, across the Green Room and down a flight of stairs to a large octagonal room with a high ceiling and mirrored walls. Colored plastic tape laid in patterns lined the polished wooden floor. Alanna Brooks was deep in conversation with a small dark-haired man.

“That’s the conductor,” said Binns in a hushed voice. He seemed to want to keep them occupied so they wouldn’t interrupt what he obviously considered an important conversation. He indicated the tape on the floor. “There’s a different color for each opera. Singers have to know the positions of the flats in each scene, and, of course, where the doors are.” Seeing Anne blinking at a large sign which declared, extraordinarily, NO JUMPING AFTER 7:30, he added, “This rehearsal room’s sandwiched in the middle-the Concert Hall’s above us, and the Drama Theater’s below…”

Carol left him with Anne and strode over to Alanna Brooks, who looked up, startled, as she approached. She muttered an excuse to the conductor, then advanced to meet Carol. “Inspector Ashton? I told Douglas I’d be delayed.”

“It’s necessary I speak with you immediately.”

Alanna’s voice was polite, her expression strained. “Of course. Do you want to go to the Green Room, or my dressing room?”

“Somewhere private.”

The narrow window of the dressing room poured dazzling light into their eyes. With a muttered comment, Alanna pulled curtains across to block the glare. “Please sit down.” She licked her lips. “Now, what is it?”

Carol waited until Anne had notebook and pen ready, then she said, “We interviewed Lloyd Clancy this morning.”

Alanna sat very still. “Yes?” she said.

“Why did you wait so long before threatening to take some action against him? You must have known last weekend what he’d said on Saturday night.”

“Inspector, I didn’t know then. I saw you after Aïda on Friday, then went on to a party. James Kant was there and he told me what Lloyd had said-it was the first I’d heard.”

James Karit was a well-known opera and theater critic and had been one of the four Lloyd Clancy had accosted at the Museum of Modern Art; Carol had no doubt he would corroborate her story. “Do you mean to take Mr. Clancy to court, or is it just a threat to shut him up?”

Alanna narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re implying. I don’t need to shut him up, as you put it.”

Carol said pleasantly, “So this is a serious matter, from your point of view?”

“It’s obvious it is.”

Ignoring the edge in Alanna’s voice, Carol said, “It seems you didn’t tell me the truth about your relationship with Collis Raeburn.”

Her expression didn’t change, but she straightened in the chair. “I believe I did.”

“I have it on good authority that during the last year you were lovers. Is that true?”

“No.”

Carol raised her eyebrows fractionally. The silence hung in the room. At last Alanna said, “We weren’t exactly lovers. I went to bed with him a couple of times, that’s all.”

I can hardly ask if you used condoms… “Why did you lie before?” Carol’s slight emphasis on “lie” made Alanna flinch.

Alanna said earnestly, “It didn’t seem relevant. And I didn’t want to think about it. It was a stupid thing to do and Collis only despised me for it.” She looked for some sign of acceptance. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.”

Another pause which Carol deliberately let last until even Anne shifted in her chair. Alanna said, almost desperately, “Is that all? I’ve got to get back…”

“Is there anything else you haven’t been completely truthful about?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Lloyd Clancy?”

Her expression hardened. “About Lloyd,” she said firmly, “I’ve been absolutely truthful. I don’t usually hate people, but with Lloyd I could make an exception.”

Anne waited until they’d been cleared by security at the stage door entrance. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“Partly.”

Anne fished her sunglasses out of her bag. “I’d hate to be the person to have to tell Raeburn’s lovers that he might have given them HIV-but somebody has to.”

Carol nodded, thinking of Pat James’s younger brother. “I think the news will be out soon.” As Anne looked at her with surprise, she added, “An arrest for murder should do it.”

“Inspector Ashton… Carol,” said Sykes, smiling winningly.

Carol looked stonily at his sleek, self-satisfied face. “Mr. Sykes?”

“As a matter of good PR, I think the time’s right for a statement on your progress with the investigation. I’m afraid the news about Alanna Brooks suing her leading man has stirred things up. I’ve spoken to Eureka Opera’s public relations person, and she agrees we need some damage control here.”

“We?”

He looked taken aback at her tone. “It’s a matter of cooperation. Eureka has been besieged by the media, just as we have. Collis Raeburn’s funeral is on Thursday and that’ll be, I fully expect, an international media event. It would be advantageous if you could indicate something definite by Wednesday.”

“You want the whole case neatly tied up and presented by Wednesday?”

“Not the full written report, of course, but an indication…”

“The Commissioner sent you to say this?”

Even Sykes was not immune to Carol’s contemptuous anger. He flushed as he said, “Not exactly. After all, it is my area-public relations, that is.”

Carol had a sudden thought. “Has Kenneth Raeburn been talking to you?” She didn’t need his reply, his expression was enough. “And is Mr. Raeburn insisting that I find his son’s death was an accident?”

“He believes it was.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sykes.”

He didn’t accept her dismissal. “Inspector Ashton, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to tell you how to do your job…”

“No?” said Carol caustically. “Then just what are you trying to do?”

She expected the phone call from Kenneth Raeburn. “Inspector Ashton, I’d like to see you.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Raeburn, but I’m on a very tight schedule. Could we discuss it on the phone?”

“Not really.”

You bastard. You think there’s a chance this call might be recorded. “Could you give me some indication?”

“I’m concerned about your investigation, Inspector. It’s ten days since my son’s body was discovered and you seem no closer to establishing that it was an accident. As you know, the funeral is in two days, there’ll be a great deal of publicity, and people will want answers.”

“I’m afraid an investigation doesn’t run to a set agenda, so it’s impossible to predict exactly when it will end.”

“I insist on seeing you tomorrow. It won’t be necessary for me to take this higher, will it, Inspector?”

Carol controlled her anger, ignored his last question and made a time to see him.

She sat frowning after the call. Was there any point in going to the Commissioner?

“To hell with it!” she said, startling Anne, who had paused in the doorway. “Yes, Anne?”

“Simon Sykes gave me this media release for you to vet. He didn’t want to see you himself, just asked if you’d glance at it and make any changes.”

Carol smiled cynically. “You know,” she said, “I think Simon Sykes might be just a little scared of me.”