Текст книги "Harum Scarum"

Tuesday

EXCERPT FROM CHAT TRANSCRIPT 271206

HARUM SCARUM: And what do you want to call the evil count who hurts the princess?

BETTYBO: Umm ... count luvanhate??

HARUM SCARUM: Katy Enigma will help the princess. The count will pay for what he did to her.

‘What did they do with the gun?’ Monty asked the next day as he sat up in the hospital bed, picking at one of his peeling ECG leads.

Stevie pulled his hand away and kept hold of it. ‘She said Bennett threw it in the weir.’

‘Do you believe that? The weir was dragged and nothing except Bianca’s laptop was found.’

‘No I don’t believe her. Wayne’s kid saw her the other night, fishing around in the garden pond. I’ve ordered another search at the Breightlings’—it’s happening as we speak, concentrating on the pond this time.’

‘And what’s the story with Bianca’s dad?’

‘I think I finally got the truth out of Stella. She pretty much confirmed what Emma told us. Bennett has a history of violence and drug abuse. He’s been in and out of jail over the years for assault and armed robbery. He’s been back in Stella’s life this last year or so, traced her through the Internet, and has been putting her through hell since. He’s put her into hospital at least once. Bianca also mentioned it in one of her emails to Emma.’

‘So he’s the man we saw on the stairs, the same guy who hassled Stella in the park?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Then why did Stella tell us she hadn’t seem him since Bianca’s conception?’

‘She said she was terrified of him and also ashamed of the situation she’d found herself stuck in. She didn’t want to admit that she’d failed so badly in her duty of care to Bianca—she knew about the abuse apparently’

‘But why the hell didn’t she do something about it?’ Monty exclaimed. ‘I just don’t understand people like this!’

‘Oh, come on, she’s a victim too...’ Stevie stopped herself before an argument developed, knowing it wouldn’t do his blood pressure any good. She wondered how long she’d have to tiptoe around him like this. It wouldn’t alter her feelings for him, but nor would it lessen the desire she sometimes had to nail him to the floor.

‘You’re turning into an insensitive, grumpy old man,’ she said.

‘I’ve always been an insensitive, grumpy old man.’

She leaned across the bed and kissed him on the lips. When she pulled back she said, ‘We brought Nick Bennett in last night. He’s denying everything, of course, says he’s never heard of anyone called Emma Breightling.’

‘Alibi?’

‘He said he was visited at home by a mate the night Kusak was murdered, but we can’t get hold of the guy. He’s a cray fisherman and at sea at the moment. But the piece of torn fabric I found at the scene looks like a match to a shirt we found bundled up at the back of his wardrobe. It should be enough to hold him until we can get hold of his mate.’

‘How’s the Breightling girl?’

Stevie looked down at their entwined hands. ‘I don’t know, Donna’s been talking to her but she won’t tell me anything.’

‘True victims feel remorse, guilt—does Emma?’

Stevie’s eyes strayed to the heart monitor. Guilt; she was glad she didn’t have a machine attached to her emotions at this moment.

‘She’s worried about going to prison.’

‘A child under fourteen is deemed not to have committed an offence unless she was aware she was doing something wrong,’ Monty said. ‘In other words she needs to know it’s an offence to kill someone. That she didn’t know will be up to her defence lawyer to prove, but they shouldn’t have much trouble. You can see where everyone’s sympathies will lie.’ Monty leaned back against the pillows; he looked exhausted. ‘Her father locked up for manslaughter, mutilation of a corpse and conspiring to cover up a crime; her godfather with a myriad of paedophilia charges plus importation of cocaine—’

‘For personal use only, of course,’ Stevie interrupted.

‘—secreted in his Mexican statues. And cooking the agency books—a nice pinch of white collar financial crime to throw into the pot.’ Monty scratched his chin and gave a thin laugh. ‘Imagine Breightling and Stoppard in the same cell, there’d be some fireworks.’

‘I know whose corner I’d be in. But one thing I don’t understand about all this is how a man like Breightling could change so much. He once had a deep social conscience and a terrific reputation. What happened to all that?’

Monty shrugged. ‘Lust? Infatuation?’

‘He was middle aged, lonely and rich when he met Miranda. He’d devoted his entire adult life to his career. He must have been smitten by her, so much that he was unable to detach even when he discovered what she was really like. I suppose when she had Emma, he found himself cemented in even more firmly. Miranda and Stoppard worked a pretty slick operation.

They were milking Breightling for everything he had, then they were going to take off together. Or so Miranda believed—she’s admitted that much by the way.’

‘It sounds to me like Stoppard was using Miranda as much as he was Breightling. Dragging it out for fifteen years...’

‘I think that’s because Stoppard was insanely jealous of Breightling,’ said Stevie. ‘For him it was more than just a scam, it was personal. Breightling stood for everything Stoppard could never be—a respected citizen from an established, wealthy family. He played it out as long as he could to cause as much pain as possible. He’s talking now by the way. Claims Emma tried to seduce him that night she ran away. He says she stood on the mezzanine after Miranda had gone to bed, wearing very little, and lured him into her room.’

Monty collapsed back on his pillows and groaned. ‘That sounds like a familiar line— She wanted it your honour, honest she did.’

‘Keep calm, your blood pressure will only shoot up again.’ Both of them turned their eyes to the monitor by the bed. ‘Try and have a sleep, I’ll stay a bit longer,’ Stevie said gently.

Monty closed his eyes and soon his chest was rising and falling in time with the bleeping machine. Stevie’s mind went back to something Emma had said to her yesterday when they were finishing up the interview.

‘I love my parents, even my mother; kind of, but you know, I really don’t like them. I feel sorry for Christopher, he’s weak and greedy for money. I don’t think he’ll cope very well in prison. I even feel sorry for Miranda, she’s a mess, she’ll never get over the social stigma; Tall Poppies will have to close. They’ll probably divorce and when Christopher’s released I’ll end up being shuffled betweenthem like Izzy is between you and Mr McGuire.’

Stevie squeezed Monty’s hand and whispered. ‘No, it won’t be like that, Monty, I promise.’

Her phone buzzed with a text. It woke Monty and he jerked awake.

Stevie fumbled for the off button and looked guiltily around for a nurse. She shouldn’t have her mobile on in here.

‘Better read it,’ Monty said, his voice raspy with sleep. Stevie read the SMS from Tash aloud:

Cant get shit to stick. Bennett insists piece of shirt planted, cant hold him any longer, Emmas word against his. Released on police bail.

‘I can’t think, I can’t eat, I can’t read, and I definitely cannot face Tall Poppies this afternoon,’ Emma’s mother told her. ‘I’m going out for some retail therapy before your father’s credit card gets cancelled.’

The fusillade of Miranda’s heels echoed around the empty marble hall long after the lacquer door was slammed.

Emma Breightling performed a little victory dance. Then she took the cordless phone from the kitchen bench and punched in the well-remembered number. The phone was picked up after only a few rings.

‘It’s me, Stella, guess what?’ Emma said, unable to hold her excitement back. ‘We did it. We got away with it!’

‘They’ve got Nick?’ Stella sounded incredulous. ‘They believed you?’

‘Yeah, they arrested him last night. I think what you told the cops really helped too. They’re going to get him for all those things he did to you and Bianca, and for killing Miro Kusak.’

Stella let out a long sigh. ‘They’ll probably want to talk to me again.’

‘It’ll all work out, don’t worry about it. You had your arm in a cast, remember—how could you possibly kill a man when you had a broken arm?’

‘It was my left arm, love, I’m right-handed and I drive an automatic car.’

‘They won’t get past the broken arm Stella, honestly, they think you’re incapable and pathetic.’

There was silence from the other end of the phone; Emma wondered if she’d overdone it.

‘Maybe I am,’ Stella said softly.

‘We’re weak on our own, but together we can do anything.’ That was something she had written as Katy Enigma; it was funny, but sometimes she felt as if Katy Enigma was actually living inside her body, talking to her.

Emma could sense that Stella was sinking further into apathy and searched for something to buck her up again. ‘They found that piece of shirt I put on the bush, the one you tore when you and Nick had that fight. There’s no way he can get out of it. And he has no alibi. And Thursday was just so the right night to do it—Nick was always home then, watching his favourite crap reality show. The police just have to charge him.’

Stella made little a whimpering sound down the phone. ‘Bianca and me always knew we were safe on Thursday nights.’ Her voice sounded even weaker than usual, and distant, as if she was talking from overseas.

‘Where are you?’ Emma asked.

‘I’m in the car, halfway to Geraldton, just going for a short break. I couldn’t bear it in Perth any longer. I hate the idea of you facing all this alone, but I promise I’ll call when I get back. Are you all right?’

‘Yeah, well, they’ve been giving me the third degree; lot’s of counselling and stuff. I think everyone just feels sorry for me. There’s not much they can do. You see I’m too young to understand the seriousness of my offence.’ Emma smiled so wide she could feel the pressure of her braces against her lips.

But her satisfaction was short lived. Someone was thumping on the front door. ‘Hang on Stella, someone’s here, I’d better check. It’s probably just the police come to collect some of Dad’s things,’ she said as she walked down the hall to the door with the phone still clamped to her ear.

Through the phone, Stella heard the door creak open followed by the menacing rumble of an angry voice. Her heart almost stopped beating. It was Nick’s voice.

‘You bitch, you and Stella, bitches, the pair of you—YOU SET ME UP!’

Stella heard the smashing of glass then the crunch of the phone falling to the floor.

And then the screaming started.

Stella’s frantic call came through on Stevie’s mobile when she and Tash were in the operations room, bemoaning how Nick had slipped through the system.

Stevie ran with galloping heart to the car park, the phone clamped to her ear and Tash hurrying at her heels. Stella Webster was hysterical, her story garbled and confused. But there was no confusion about her description of what she’d heard going on in the Breightling house over the phone. The screams of Emma being mutilated and murdered by Nick Bennett. Stevie reassured Stella as best she could and told her to pull over on the roadside and wait for assistance. Then she hung up.

‘How the hell did Bennett find Emma?’ Tash asked, jumping into the Commodore.

‘You and Barry questioned him, you tell me.’

Tash thought for a moment. ‘Oh shit.’

‘You mentioned her name, didn’t you? All he needed to do was check the phone book.’

‘We had to ask him if he knew her, didn’t we? How were we to know he was going to be let out on a stupid technicality?’

There was no point in pursuing this further, what was done was done. Bickering between themselves was not going to get them any faster to Emma. Tash phoned for an ambulance and police back up to meet them at the Breightling house, then called the Geraldton police to meet up with Stella.

‘We’re never going to make it,’ she said as Stevie ran a red light on Guildford Road.

The magnetic light on the car roof flashed, the siren wailed. Stevie’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. ‘Never say never Tash, Emma’s a resourceful kid.’

They screamed to a halt outside the house. Stevie took the front and Tash dashed around the back. The lacquer door hung open and Stevie stepped into the hallway, broken glass crunching under her feet. A picture had been pulled from the wall and used as a weapon it seemed, its frame smashed and dangling from the torn canvas. She followed a trail of blood to the family area, where she found yet more blood, sprayed across the kitchen bench tops and dripping down the walls.

The broken balustrade lay in a jumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Dust from the debris was still rising like smoke and wafted in the shafts of light from the skylight. Stevie saw Tash cautiously making her way through the French doors, leaving them open behind her. The smell of damp soil, and the sound of gurgling water, brought some much-needed freshness to the room.

Suddenly Tash stopped dead in her tracks; her hand flew to her mouth. Stevie edged closer and saw him too, heard the deep sucking sounds coming from the man’s body. Nick Bennett gave one last writhe and went slack, becoming one with the hideous objet d’art on which he was impaled.

Stevie was the first to recover her senses. ‘Tash, hurry that ambulance up,’ she ordered, stepping over the tangle of balustrades to where Emma lay curled like an embryo with hands over her ears. Her eyes were wide and staring and she emitted a low-pitched keening when she saw Stevie.

‘Emma, are you hurt?’ Stevie gently patted the child down. Finding no sign of injury she eased her to her feet and guided her to the front lounge room, as far away from the carnage as she could get.

Emma shook her head as if coming out of a trance. Finding her voice she said, ‘I hit him over the head with the picture when he came at me and then he chased me up the stairs. The banister, he fell through the banister when he was trying to catch me. Stevie, I was scared...’

Emma curled into her as far as she could go. Stevie held her tight and tried to calm the child’s violent shivering.

She stroked her hair and patted her back as tears soaked through her shirt. My God, Emma, she thought, what on earth is going to become of you?

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