Authors: Vicki Tyley
One woman had been murdered and two were missing. The dinner dating
agency remained the obvious common denominator. But what was it about Dinner
for Twelve that linked the incidents? Was some psychopathic serial killer using
the agency’s client list as his private hunting ground? Neither the police nor
Neville Crooke had yet come up with any concrete evidence.
An arrest warrant had been issued for Lawson Green for the murder of
Linda Nichols, but now he too was missing. Had he gone to ground or was there
something more sinister to it? Background checks on Dinner for Twelve’s clients
had yet to throw up anything of real import.
The jigsaw in his head had great gaping holes in it. With no square
edges to guide him and without all the pieces in his possession, he didn’t
stand a hope in hell of completing, let alone deciphering, the picture.
The doorbell’s chime startled him, rescuing him from his
unproductive ruminations. He peeled himself from the couch, dropped the rubber
band on the coffee table and went to answer the door.
His impatient visitor pressed the doorbell again just as Greg opened
the door. He blinked. Neville Crooke’s hulking frame filled the doorway.
Without waiting for an invitation, the private investigator marched straight
past Greg into the lounge room.
“White with two, thanks,” he boomed, making himself at home in the
middle of the couch and spreading paper and folders over Greg’s jarrah coffee
table.
Greg, without a thought to why Neville might’ve turned up
unannounced on a Saturday, did as commanded and retreated to the kitchen to
make coffee. It wasn’t until he was carrying the steaming mugs into the lounge
room that he thought to ask.
“So what brings you here? Good news, I hope,” he said part tongue-in
cheek and part serious. No point in getting his hopes up.
Neville cleared space on the table for the two coffee mugs.
“Actually I do have news,” he said, the words fanning a flicker of hope in
Greg. “Good? Well that depends on how you look at it.” He picked up the mug of
white coffee and sat back in his seat, his legs splayed. “For goodness sake,
sit down, man. You’re making me nervous.”
Greg stifled a laugh. Him make Neville nervous? He sat down anyway,
perching on the edge of the Chesterfield chair to Neville’s left.
Neville sipped his coffee, making loud smacking noises with his
lips. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He set the mug down and looked at his notes.
“Now, where were we? That’s right, I was about to tell you that Lawson Green is
in police custody. They finally tracked down the bugger.” Picking up his coffee
mug, he continued. “Unfortunately, they haven’t been able to get much out of
him. Unless a rambling confession to having intercourse with Linda Nichols is
anything to go on. With all the evidence, he couldn’t exactly deny it now,
could he? He’s claiming it was consensual, of course. He’s told so many
different stories it’s hard to know what to believe.”
“That’s it? Lawson’s been arrested for Linda Nichol’s murder and yet
there’s no new evidence?” Greg couldn’t stay seated. “What about my sister?
What about the De Luca woman?”
Wiping a hand across his mouth, Neville studied Greg’s face, sizing
him up. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but what the heck you’ll find out
soon enough. A bail hearing has been set for—”
Greg cut in, not believing his ears. “You can’t be serious? He’s
been charged with murder and now you’re telling me he could be released on
bail. How is that possible?”
Neville gave a loud sigh. “You’re right, generally it wouldn’t
happen, but there are provisions in the law where exceptional circumstances
exist. In this case—”
Not waiting for the rest of the sentence, Greg jumped in again.
“Exceptional circumstances? What could possibly be exceptional in this case?”
“Sit down, Mr Jenkins. This is not getting us anywhere.”
The words reverberated around the room, stopping Greg in his tracks.
“Please,” Neville added in a softer tone. “We need to look at this
rationally.”
Greg plonked back down into his chair, feeling like a petulant
child. “I’m listening,” he said, the words sounding clipped even to him.
For a split second, Neville’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t shoot the
messenger.”
Greg ran his fingers through his hair, tugging the curls at the back
of his neck. “Sorry, please go on. I’ll keep my big mouth shut.”
“You do that.” Neville scratched his chin. “Mr Green’s lawyer is a
QC named Clinton Edberg. You may have heard of him.” He held up a finger,
shaking his head when Greg opened his mouth. “I’m not saying it’s a done deal,
but if anyone can convince the magistrate to grant bail to Mr Green, he can.
After a psychiatric assessment it’s possible he will be released into,” he
referred to his notes, “the care of Mrs Pauline Meyer.”
Greg’s hands clenched into fists. It took all his will power not to
blurt out the questions banking up in his head? What psychiatric assessment?
Surely, he wasn’t trying on an insanity plea. And Pauline Meyer? What did she
have to do with Lawson’s bail hearing?
The private investigator leaned forward, his voice softening.
“Sorry, mate. Wish the news was more comprehensive, but I thought you ought to
know anyway.” He started gathering his papers together. “I’ll let you know as
soon as I hear anymore.” A sheet of paper fell on the floor between the couch
and coffee table. He scooped it up, looked at it and frowned.
“What is it?” Greg couldn’t contain his silence any longer. Besides,
it appeared Neville had said what he had come to say.
“Just a report from one of our operatives that I don’t recall seeing
before.”
“About?” Greg prompted.
“About the lady herself. At first glance, there’s nothing here that
would reflect on the case. But interesting enough it says here her husband is
still alive.” He continued reading. “Her son, on the other hand, was killed in
a hit and run when he was just a lad of eleven. Poor young bugger was out
delivering papers on his bike.”
Greg sat forward, intrigued. He vaguely recalled Megan mentioning
Pauline’s husband had been killed in a car accident early in the marriage, but
nothing about any children. What had prompted Pauline to lie about her husband?
Had he abandoned her and their son with the story being an attempt on her part
to save face? Or perhaps in her mind, he was dead.
“So where is this husband then? Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
“Yeah, that’s what Mrs Meyer told our boys in blue, I believe.”
Neville ran his finger down the page. “No mention here of his current
whereabouts. I doubt it’s relevant to this case, but I will mention it to DS
Dave Abrahams. If there’s anything to know, he’ll know.” Opening the top file
in the heap, he dropped the report in the front and closed it again. “Right.
I’m outta here. Things to do, places to see. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”
The house was strangely silent after Neville left, as if his
departure had produced a black hole that had swallowed the sound. That or
Greg’s ears had yet to readjust to normal sound levels.
He reached for the phone.
The pillow where
her cheek lay was damp, her eyes raw. Sleep had evaded her once again. Every
time Megan closed her eyes, horrific visions of Brenda’s eyes bulging like a
goldfish, her mouth open in a scream, confronted her. No matter what she did,
she couldn’t shake the image.
Greg’s phone call the day before had done nothing to help matters
either. Lawson Green – the same Lawson who Brenda was infatuated with – had
been arrested for murder. Megan didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it.
A wave of nausea forced her to sit upright in a hurry. She swallowed hard,
fighting the swell in her chest. It passed.
Too afraid to lie down again, she sat shivering in her singlet,
clutching the bedclothes to her chest. Light was starting to filter around the
edge of the bedroom’s cedar Venetians. Dark thoughts raced through her mind. If
Lawson was capable of killing once, what was there to say he wouldn’t kill
again? No. Not possible…
She flung the bedding back and scrambled out of bed. In the poky
second-bedroom-cum-study, she shoved aside the piles of unopened bills and
credit card statements on the desk, hunting for Pauline Meyer’s business card.
She clearly remembered taking it out of her bag and throwing it on the desk.
Thinking perhaps it had become caught up amongst the mail, she collected up the
sealed envelopes and dealt them like playing cards back on to the desk. No
business card. She stared at the desk, willing the card to appear as if by
magic.
A torn-open window envelope near the keyboard caught her eye. Her
fingers grappled with it, for a moment unable to open it. Empty. She scrunched
the envelope into a ball and lobbed it in the general direction of the
wastepaper bin. It fell short. As she reached down to retrieve the crumpled
envelope, she wondered if she might’ve inadvertently thrown the business card
out. Setting the grey plastic bin on the desk, she sifted through the mostly
paper litter. It wasn’t until she was nearly at the bottom that her efforts
were rewarded.
She studied the garish red-and-gold business card. Megan hadn’t
expected to find a home number for Pauline Meyer and there wasn’t one, but
there was a mobile number. Card in hand, she padded back to her bedroom and sat
on the edge of the bed. Then with complete disregard for the early hour as well
as the fact it was a Sunday, she picked up the telephone handset on her bedside
table and dialed Pauline Meyer’s mobile number.
Holding her breath, she listened to it ringing, not even quite sure
of what she was going to say if Pauline did answer it. She was about to hang up
when a female voice thick with sleep answered. It didn’t sound like Pauline.
“Uh… I’m sorry… um… I hope I haven’t woken you,” Megan mumbled, her
conscience suddenly getting the better of her.
“Do you have any idea of the time?” snapped the voice that now
couldn’t belong to anyone else but Pauline. “Who is this?”
Megan immediately regretted waking the slumbering dragon lady.
“A…a…friend of Lawson’s,” she said, not identifying herself for fear of having
the phone hung up in her ear. “I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I was
wondering how he was doing?”
Met with a stony silence she changed tack. “He must be having such a
tough time. I can’t believe how the police could possibly consider him a
suspect…” Even as she was speaking, she knew how it must sound. Utter nonsense.
Would Pauline fall for it? Not likely.
“Thank you for your call, Ms Brighton, but Mr Green is none of your
concern. Goodbye.”
I’ll take that as a no then, thought Megan, listening to the
disconnection beeps.
Pauline had recognized her voice, not that Megan had tried to
disguise it. Now what? Pauline wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily.
She waited a few minutes, rehearsing what she was going to say if
Pauline decided to answer the phone. When she thought she had what she wanted
to say straight in her head, she pressed the combination of keys that would
block her caller ID and redialed Pauline’s phone number.
When the phone was answered after the second ring, she almost
dropped it. Quickly recovering her composure she blurted, “Don’t hang up.
Please.”
No click.
“Listen, I don’t know for sure, but I think Brenda was with Lawson
at the time of Linda Nichol’s death. She could alibi him.” It was a bluff.
Megan thought no such thing, but if Pauline believed her, she might be more
amenable to the idea of helping her.
Perhaps helping was the wrong word, but Megan was desperate enough
to try anything. If there was any possibility Lawson Green was involved in the
disappearance of Brenda, then her starting point had to be with him. Where had
he been in the week before his arrest? Knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk to
him in person, she had to find another way to get to him.
According to Greg, Pauline Meyer was footing the bill for Lawson’s
lawyer, which meant there had to be more to the relationship between Lawson and
Pauline than straight business. However, as evidenced by the scene at Brenda’s
place, Pauline had been as much in the dark about his whereabouts at that time
as Megan had.
“Pauline, Brenda means as much to me as Lawson does to you, so I
know what you’re going through. And I’m not ashamed to admit that not knowing
where she is or if she’s safe is torture. She and Lawson have a close
connection, which means there’s a good chance wherever she is, he is. If we
work together, we can bring them home faster.”
Megan waited for a response.
Nothing.
Slow mocking laughter broke the silence. “If you think I believe one
word of that, you're more naïve than I thought. Lawson Green is not the kind of
man who would deign to have more than a fleeting association with a woman like
that.”
Megan saw red. “Like what?”
“Goodbye, Ms Brighton. Contrary to what you believe, Mr Lawson
doesn't need your help.” The sharp intake of breath Megan heard was her own. “I
hope you find your friend,” Pauline added with all the sincerity of a death
adder.