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Murder in Tusmore Park

Biddy and Justin Series
Book I

Pamela M. Arnold

Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the publisher.

Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co.

12620 FM 1960, Suite A4-507

Houston, TX 77065

www.sbpra.com

ISBN: 978-1-62857-628-3

DEDICATION

To SHERYL HOLLAND, my fantastic former PA, who encouraged me with this manuscript and through the traumatic transition from business into retirement.

OTHER TITLES

By Pamela M. Arnold

Pacific Incident 9-11-13

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To JAMES GARRETT, the mentor who couldn’t advise not to give up my day job because I was retired.

To MARTINA TAEKER, lecturer extraordinaire and WEA Adelaide.

To CHRIS CHAMBERLAIN, a detective retired from Sapol who helped bring Schultz to life.

To CHRIS NAGEL, for her patient editing and enthusiastic encouragement.

And to BILL RUMBELOW, MARY WILLIAMS, KAYE SIMS, and MARLENE HOARE, for their general assistance and encouragement.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

CHAPTER 1

Arriving home after their overwhelming experience on a three-month Pacific cruise, Biddy Jennings and her partner, Justin Fuller, found it took them a few days to get over the motion sickness and recover their land legs. They were pleased to find that, in their absence, their architect friend Steve Cilento had completed the extension to Justin’s duplex. The main bedroom was now more spacious, and Biddy loved the adjacent hexagonal balcony overlooking Tusmore Park.

Considering the events that had occurred well before their exciting Pacific cruise, Biddy decided it was time to sit down and describe the harrowing murders in which she and Justin had been embroiled. After all, she had promised her fellow passengers she would tell the full story. Thinking back, she vividly remembered Justin, his face white—

***

For the first time in his sixty-two years, Justin Fuller became aware of a tremor in his hand as he replaced the receiver on the house phone.

“What’s up?” Biddy asked, staring at her lover. In the time they had been together she had never seen him in such a state, slumped in his wing chair and pale under his tan.

“He’s dead. The Old Codger. Lying there in front of that park bench, Biddy, where you often sit after walking with the dogs.”

“Dead! Heart attack?” she asked, looking dubiously at his bloodstained jacket.

“Murdered.” Justin rubbed a hand over his face and then grimaced at the dried blood on his hand. “Murdered!”

They both started at the wail of a siren as a police car approached Tusmore Park, where the body lay just opposite his town house. Justin was wiping his hand. “That was quick; I only phoned a moment ago.”

“Some bystander with a mobile.” Biddy was concerned; it was rare for Justin to be rattled and upset, even given the unusual circumstances.

“It’s frightful. That poor old chap.” Justin’s voice trailed off.

“A terrible shock for you, darling. What if I make you a cuppa?” Biddy asked, patting his arm.

Justin mopped the back of his neck and forehead with a tissue. “Tea would be great. What a thing to happen! Just as well you dropped in, Bid. It’s—it was such a shock finding him like that.” Justin’s deep voice had become husky. Biddy felt a pang of compunction; it really had given her bossy old boy a terrible fright.

Justin rose and rushed toward the bathroom, his hand covering his mouth. “I have to, to—” He disappeared, leaving Biddy staring at the empty doorway.

Feeling queasy herself, Biddy filled the electric jug. We’re inclined to forget we’re in our sixties until something like this happens, she thought. She shook her head at Justin’s small black and white dog, comfortably ensconced on the couch under the windows.

Puffer kept his head down, giving her a Lady Di look from under his black panda-bear brows, guilt written on his flat face.

“Bad boy, Puffer. Down.” She gestured to him and, moving to the left, slid open the paned patio door. “Outside! Now!” she commanded. “Even if you were his partner in crime, Justin is likely to yell at you. He’s upset enough.”

Puffer reluctantly slid off the couch, tail low, giving an insolent stretch, then a defiant shake to re-establish his self-esteem before he eased through onto the patio where he paused to give Biddy a reproachful look.

As Justin returned, she stepped over and gave him a hug, then, slipping her right hand under his arm and cradling it with her left, she eased him back toward his favourite wing chair. “You’ll feel better after a cup of tea, darling. While the jug boils, tell me all about it.”

Justin cleared his throat. “Puffer and I were on our way back from our morning walk when—” The gate chimes pealed. “Damn, that is probably the police.” He started to rise.

Biddy placed her hand on his shoulder. “Stay there. I’ll get the door.” Leaning over she gave him a quick kiss on his damp forehead. “Don’t look so anxious—you didn’t do it. It’s not your fault that you were the first on the scene.”

“How will they know I didn’t do it?” Justin seemed to have lost his breath.

Biddy glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s just too ridiculous. Why would you want to harm that old chap? Why would anyone for that matter?” She shrugged as she left the room. The Old Codger must have been about ninety; couldn’t have had much longer to go anyway, she thought.

CHAPTER 2

Detective Senior Sergeant Janine West’s lips tightened as she observed the body of the elderly man slumped in front of the green park bench. He had suffered major trauma to the back of the head and collapsed forward. Looking down, it almost appeared as if he were just dozing in the sun, except for the ugly wound in the back of the skull and the dark-red stains on the surrounding gravel. There were blood splatters on the wrought-iron seat arms and back of the bench. Janine noted the audience gathering around the crime scene.

Slipping on some fine rubber gloves, she said, “Jack, keep those onlookers back while I try a minimal ID search. His wallet’s already half out of his pocket, and the sooner we know who he is the better.” She gestured at the onlookers. “We don’t need the public contaminating the area; we’re lucky the press isn’t here yet.” Famous last words, she thought as a camera clicked.

After bagging the wallet, Janine edged around the crime scene, carefully avoiding the pair of blurred footprints faintly outlined in blood behind the bench. At thirty-eight, she was a veteran of many homicides, but she’d never become immune to the horror of mutilation and sudden death.

She swallowed at the unpleasant smell of blood and the sight of summer flies already settling on the oozing mass of what had probably been a balding head. The mass tipped forward from a freckled, wrinkly, brown neck. Blood glistened on the sparse, silvery hairs in the morning sunlight. Shreds of a sun hat were firmly embedded in the pulped mass.

Something pretty hefty had been used to cause such mutilation. The amount of blood and distance it had spattered indicated frenzied, repeated blows. The offender must have been covered in blood.

Janine glanced at Senior Constable David Ashley. “Found a weapon yet, Dave?”

“Yeah.” Dave pointed to something protruding slightly from adjacent tree roots. “Chucked down by the scumbag after the action, I reckon.”

Crunching over the gravel, Janine bent to inspect it—a short length of metal pipe, its dark surface stained with brain matter. She suppressed a shudder; it looked like a house painter’s heavy stirrer.

A crowd was beginning to build with excited voices, partly hushed. A piercing voice caused her to turn abruptly. “Officer! Officer! What happened?” A petite, dark-haired woman was approaching.

Janine deliberately positioned her body to screen the grisly sight behind her from the woman and held up her right palm to prevent the stickybeak from coming too close. “Everything is under control, ma’am. This is a secure area.” She took a few steps toward the woman, right hand still raised palm out. “Please, no further!”

“Surely we haven’t had a homicide in our special little park.”

Janine studied the woman. Perhaps late fifties. With her hooked nose she looked more like Snow White’s witch than a pipe-wielding maniac. “Do you live nearby?” Janine asked her.

“Just there,” the woman said, motioning toward a large property behind her. “I heard the sirens and a crowd fussing, so I came out to see the cause.” The woman tried to peer around Janine.

“Did you see or hear anything unusual this morning, Mrs.—er—?”

“Marcia Landy. I didn’t hear anything this morning, but last night those wretched layabouts were having a booze party in the park, and bottles were being smashed and girls were screaming. I didn’t ring the police because they never turn up. Was someone hurt last night?” She was still trying to get a squizzy around Janine.

“Thank you for the information, Mrs. Landy. We’ll be making a statement to the press in due course, but I would appreciate it if you would return home for now. One of our officers may require a statement from you later.”

“That’s fine, officer. I’m happy to help in any way I can. In fact, I know the name of one of the layabouts.” She turned back toward a large house, which appeared to be in the final stages of a second-storey addition, and gingerly picked her way through the broken fence and builders’ implements that cluttered what had been the back garden of her house. Not so easy in those three-inch heels, Janine thought, but if I was that short I’d probably wear the same.

Hastily returning back to the crime scene, Janine beckoned to Constable Jack Ellis. “Good organisation, Jack. You’ve kept the crowd back.” She motioned toward the gory pipe and said, “Point that out to crime scene. It might have come from that house that’s being remodelled. Forensic will bag it after the photos. The pathologist, Dr. Smiley, will be here soon. I should wait for her, but it’s urgent that I interview the chap who found the body; he could be the culprit. If Dr. Smiley needs me, I’ll be at Justin Fuller’s.” Janine pointed and said, “He lives just across the road in that double-storey duplex. I’ll take Dave with me. You just make sure you continue to keep the public and the press off. It’ll be easier when forensic arrive and put up the tapes and screens.”

She beckoned to Dave and they scrunched across the gravel path toward the park gates and looked up at the unusual pair of duplex houses opposite. “What do you think, Dave? I think they’re different without being kitsch, but I reckon I’d feel like Rapunzel living there with that tower and those elongated windows.”

Dave grinned and gestured at Janine’s short bouncy curls. “No offence, but it’d take an awful long time for you to let your hair down,” he said. Before they crossed the road, Dave turned back to their police car. “Got to grab another pen. Mine’s had it. Be with you in a sec.”

Janine pressed the gate button, ready to answer the speaker. Looking back she saw Dave still fiddling at the glove box. As she pressed the bell again, a singsong “Com-ing,” floated out of the speaker and, with a jerk, the ornate timber gates slowly opened to admit her into the front garden. A small pond on her left was surrounded by tree ferns, and a line of huge terra-cotta pots displayed a row of topiary lilly pilly trees, head height, like a line of large, shiny-green mops standing at attention along the high brush fence separating the two gardens. Glancing back, Janine saw Dave approaching just as the gates started to close. He managed to scurry through.

“Jeez, you have to be quick around here,” he spluttered. Janine grinned at the quizzical look on his chubby features. At their approach, the front security screen opened to reveal a tall, fair woman. Her left hand was over her mouth, obviously in consternation.

“Sorry, officer. You can’t see the gates from here unless the garage door is up.”

“He just made it.” Janine smiled, displaying her ID.

“I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Janine West.” She motioned at her dilatory companion, who was belatedly dragging out his own ID. “This is Senior Constable David Ashley.” She raised her dark eyebrows and asked, “Mrs. Fuller?”

“No, no, I’m a close—er—neighbour of Justin’s. Biddy Jennings. I live just over there.” She gestured to the right of the park.

“Biddy Jennings of Auspertize Fashion House?”

Biddy nodded. “Semi-retired now.” Biddy glanced over Janine’s shoulder at the closing gate. “I try to avoid publicity. Fortunately I had just dropped in as Justin was calling the police. He’s really very shaken and upset. Of course he would be—” Biddy’s pleasant voice trailed off.

Janine noticed how the older woman’s light beige dress subtly emphasised the colour of her streaky, silver-blond hair—understated, elegant, and pleasant. Stepping back, Biddy ushered them into the cool, marble-tiled hallway.

“We were just about to have a cup of tea in the kitchen. Or would you prefer to use the sitting room and see Justin alone?” She gestured through the door on the left, and Janine glimpsed a large, comfortably furnished room. She gazed at the opposite wall for a moment, taken in by a trompe l’oeil, which depicted a full-size veranda set into an arch with lifelike steps leading into a garden.

“That’s clever,” she said.

Biddy nodded. “Yes, Justin’s idea. He disliked the idea of a duplex but liked the position opposite the park, so he commissioned Arthur Engel to paint the illusion on the dividing wall.”

Janine turned and glanced at her watch. “No time for a cuppa, thank you. But the kitchen will do fine. We just need to confirm a few details.” Interesting, Janine thought as she and Dave followed Biddy down the marble-tiled hall to the back. Biddy was a fashion celebrity who, she assumed, had spent most of her time overseas. The witness was probably an elderly boyfriend, but they obviously didn’t live together fulltime. Glancing around the bright living room she raised a mental eyebrow—very comfortable.

At their entry, a grey-haired man rose from a wing chair. Janine’s summation of affluence was confirmed as she observed the quality of his pale suede jacket, sullied by rusty bloodstains on the right cuff and wipe marks on the front. He reminded her of a comfortable old shoe, showing signs of quality but a bit worn around the edges.

As Biddy murmured introductions, Janine extended her hand to his. “Not such a good occasion to meet, sir.”

“No, most distressing.” Justin’s handshake was firm, but his voice was hoarse and breathless. Nodding at Dave, he gestured toward the couch. Janine, however, chose one of the antique fiddleback chairs at the small oak table. She hoped to establish some control over the couple who sat back politely, waiting for her to proceed.

Dave perched on one of the swivel stools in the adjacent open-plan kitchen. He was trying to unobtrusively produce his notebook while glancing anxiously up over his shoulder at a very large, fluffy cat peering down at him from the top of the kitchen cupboards. The cat’s mouth was turned down in definite disapproval. Janine thought it looked exactly like an Aussie ex-prime minister when he couldn’t get his own way. Dave hunched his shoulders, obviously nervous that the cat might use him as a trampoline on its way down. Janine gave him a conspiratorial grin—the huge cat did look malevolent.

“His name is P.O.—short for Piss Off,” Biddy volunteered. “You can see why, of course.”

Janine nodded, slightly surprised at the vulgarity. “He does look rather surly.” She turned to Justin. “Would you describe the morning’s events, please, sir?”

Justin cast a doubtful look at the constable’s notebook. “Not much I can add to what I told the officer on the phone, really. I usually take Puffer for a walk late each day, but today, I have—” he glanced at his watch, “—had an appointment to get new spectacles. I sat on the others.”

Janine exchanged a look with Dave. Great, she thought, our prime witness can’t see!

Biddy bounced up. “Did you cancel it, Justin? I’d better ring them now.” She excused herself and hurried out of the room.

Justin shook his head and gave a wry smile. “You’ll have to forgive Biddy, detective. I adore her, but she’s a bit—a bit—” He shrugged.

“Of an organiser?” Janine suggested. “I guess to become as successful as she is with Auspertize she would need to be on the ball.” She liked the way friendly lines creased around Justin’s mouth when he smiled.

“Yes, but Biddy prefers to play down her celebrity. She’s quite modest about her achievements.”

“Fine. What time did you go to the park this morning?”

He thoughtfully squeezed his bottom lip with a finger and thumb. “Probably about nine. We made a big slow circle. Puffer was checking his dog mail at every post and tree. On the way back we came upon the Old Codger—his body!”

The constable twiddled his pen and asked, “Really old? In his sixties would you say, sir?”

Justin scowled and waved an admonitory finger at Dave. “Watch it, young fella. I’m sixty odd. He must have been well into his eighties.”

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—”

“No offence.” Justin grinned. “Anyway, Puffer started barking hysterically. He was well ahead of me.” Leaning over, Justin picked up the dog lead lying next to him on the side table. “We use this long retractable lead. Ugh.” He hastily dropped it back when he realised it was thick with dried blood. He inspected his fingers with distaste. Leaning sideways in the wing chair he groped in his pocket and pulled out a bloodstained hankie. His face blanched as he tried to wipe the dark stain off his fingers.

“I thought even the Old Codger, who was as deaf as a post, would hear Puffer’s racket and come around if he was able. I couldn’t see him clearly. I’d just come out of the bright sunlight. I thought he must have had a heart attack and fallen off the bench. I felt for a pulse, got blood on my hands, and then—then I saw the awful head mess and—” Justin cleared his throat; his voice had become quite hoarse again.

Obviously Justin was in a sorry state, but previous experience warned Janine that he could be equally as upset if he’d committed the murder. “Did you know the deceased well, Mr. Fuller?”

“We didn’t really know him other than passing him occasionally in the park. I’ve got an idea his name was Gerald. He was very deaf, and he probably couldn’t see too well. I tried to have a chat with him several times, but he just seemed oblivious to any approach.”

Dave finished writing and squirmed on his stool, flexed his fingers, and then surreptitiously tipped his head to look sideways up at the cat, which appeared to be dozing on the cupboard top. As though feeling his gaze, one large golden eye, slit by a black pupil, flicked open and fixed him with an unblinking stare.

Janine bit her lip to hide a smile and, switching her gaze back to Fuller, asked, “Did you see anyone else in the park, Mr. Fuller?”

“Let’s see. We passed a park worker using a hand mower. I thought it a little unusual as they are usually charging about on big ride ones.”

“Sure it was a park worker?” Janine was concerned about Justin’s eyesight.

Justin shrugged. “He was wearing the usual yellow vest. He passed us as we were walking back. It’s a wonder he didn’t spot the—er—body.”

“Notice anyone else?” Janine pressed.

Little whines at the door made Justin glare at Puffer. “Quiet,” he warned. Puffer quickly sat down, nose still pressed to the wire-screen door.

Despite Janine’s determination to establish a business-like atmosphere, she grinned. “A King Charles spaniel?”

“No, a Japanese Chin. Bred for the elderly and senile. Biddy says I got him just in time.” Justin gave another wintry smile.

Janine laughed. “Okay, back to details, sir.”

“The Pink Hat Lady was strolling ahead of us up by the arched bridge. There was also a chap lying under a tree, probably sleeping it off. A group of noisy hoons were carrying on last night. It happens occasionally.” He looked pointedly at Dave. “No use calling the police.”

Not to be sidetracked by the second complaint of the morning, Janine asked, “Who is the Pink Hat Lady, Mr. Fuller?”

“Just one of the old ladies who frequents the park. I’ve never seen her wear any other colour. She even wears pink hats, hence her nickname.”

“What about the chap lying under the tree? Did you notice anything in particular about him?” Janine queried.

“Not really.” Justin leaned forward. “I think he was lying on his side. We always avoid people like that. You never know if they are on drugs or drunk and likely to harangue one for money.”

“Very sensible,” Janine agreed. “Did you happen to notice how old he was, or what he was wearing?”

Justin shook his head. “I hardly noticed him.”

“Anyone else?”

“Frankly, I wasn’t paying that much attention.” Justin rubbed a finger over his top lip. “Wait. We passed a small, skinny chap hovering by the far side entrance.”

“What was he wearing?” Dave asked, pen poised over his notebook.

“Black, I think. I couldn’t see much—just his back in the distance.”

Perched on his narrow stool, bulky Dave scribbled, eased his back, wiggled his pen, stole another surreptitious look at the cat, and asked, “Could it have been a woman?”

Justin frowned. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying that much attention and certainly didn’t expect to be cross-examined.”

Returning from her phone call, Biddy heard the peevish note creeping into Justin’s voice.

“Justin has glaucoma. I think the sun affects his eyesight a bit, officer,” she said quietly, sitting back in her wing chair, sliding her shapely legs to one side, and glancing at Justin. “I made another appointment for you, Justin. Found a cancellation this afternoon.”

“What? Today?” Justin spluttered. “Today?” He looked plaintively at Janine.

Janine thought, Don’t look at me, mate. I’m not your mother.

Biddy continued, “Yes, darling. If you don’t go today, they can’t fit you in for a week. You know you can’t get by without your glasses.” She gave him a placatory smile. “And you’re already dressed to go out.” She glanced doubtfully at his bloodstained jacket. “Well, you were.” She looked at Janine who was starting to frown, her mouth tightening. “Oh, sorry! I’m holding up your interview, Officer West.”

Janine brushed her hair back out of her left eye and asked, “Did you know the deceased at all, Mrs. Jennings?”

“I gave up even nodding at the Old Codger months ago, officer. I think he just didn’t want to be bothered with people.”

“Perhaps you know more about the Pink Hat Lady?”

“Justin knows her better than I do—eccentric, always wearing some shade of pink.” Biddy shrugged.

Dave interrupted. “Do you know her real name, Mrs. Jennings?” he queried, turning a page in his notebook.

Biddy laughed. “It takes me all my time to remember the names of the dogs we meet in the park, let alone their owners’ names. I’ve never stopped to chat with her.” She motioned at Justin. “Justin probably has. He talks to everyone—nosey, comes from having a clergy background,” she teased, sliding her eyes back to Justin.

As Justin considered his reply, Janine stood. “That will suffice for the moment, thank you. I’ll leave Constable Ashley here. He’ll note your personal details, and we’ll make an appointment for you at Wakefield Street, Major Crime Headquarters, to confirm your statement. Phone if you think of anything else. No doubt you will remember other details.”

Janine paused at the hall door. “Another thing—the press will probably pester you, so let your message bank answer the phone, and disconnect your gate bell. It’s just as well you have those high security gates, but if any reporters do climb over, ring the number on my card. When you go out, be ready to move the car quickly and keep moving. If you have to stop your car, keep the windows closed.” She handed Justin her card.

“Constable Ashley will need to do a quick check of your premises, Mr. Fuller. Also, we require your clothes and the dog lead.”

Justin scowled, but before he could open his mouth to protest, Biddy was ushering Janine to the front door.

“He’ll co-operate, Officer West, and we won’t even ask for a search warrant,” Biddy said, a twinkle in her eye.

CHAPTER 3

Detective Inspector Brien Schultz scowled as Janine entered his Major Crime Investigations office in Wakefield Street, Adelaide, South Australia. “What now? Another bloody homicide? Tusmore Park—that’ll take the shine off the gold shoe brigade!”

“Literally bloody, yes. I’m not sure how much Dave told you.” Janine glanced at the chair opposite his desk.

“Yes, sit down and tell me then,” Schultz said wearily, rubbing his hand over his sparse ginger hair and glancing at a formidable pile of files and reports on his desk.

He’s edgy, Janine thought. No smoking indoors might save our lungs, but it has its other side effects. The oppressive nicotine smell exuded from his pores, even from across the desk.

“Victim—probably in his late eighties—Gerald North had his head bashed in from behind while sitting on a bench not far from the main Tusmore Park entrance on Stirling Street. The pathologist thinks it happened at approximately nine thirty this morning; it was reported by Justin Fuller, a retired accountant out walking his dog. He lives opposite the park on Stirling Street. He saw four others in the park: a park worker; a drunk; a woman in pink; and a small person, either male or female, by the side entrance.”

“Can’t blame him for that confusion; sometimes you can’t tell even standing right next to some people.” Schultz’s nicotine-stained fingers fiddled with the cigarette packet on his desk. He peered at Janine over the top of his specs. “A Thursday morning in broad daylight. Weapon found?”

Janine glanced at her notes. “No report from Dr. Smiley yet, but we believe the instrument used is an almost perfect weapon.” She read, “Description: an antenna and TV system, an L.H. left-mount supplied by Hills Industries.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “It’s actually a heavy, round steel pipe. All the details are in here.” She waved her notes and continued, “The pipe was finished in dark-grey enamel, starting to flake, which had allowed rusting to commence.” Janine looked up again. “Forensic may not get much fingerprint joy with the flaking, rust, and dirt.”

Schultz scowled. “DNA?”

“There will be some traces.” Janine swallowed, remembering the ugly scene. “It was on the ground behind the bench, covered in blood, hair, and brain matter. Anyway the PM will cover it.” She brushed her hair back and leaned away to avoid Schultz’s nicotine breath. “No idea of motive at this stage—wallet and watch still on the body. I left the crime scene with Jack. I wanted to catch up with Fuller while he was still off balance. He lives opposite the Tusmore Park entrance.”

“Convenient.”

Janine grinned. “I understand that he was a fairly big wheel in business circles. Quite a disarming chap, fairly suave, but he didn’t appear to be so debonair this morning. His girlfriend, Biddy Jennings, is actually a retired fashion celebrity.”

“Girlfriend?” Schultz’s voice rose slightly. “How fit is he?” Removing a cigarette, he started fiddling with it, his fingers dribbling tobacco across his desk.

“Whatever you call sixtyish friends. You can’t exactly describe her as his partner. She retains her own house on one side of the park, but they seem pretty close and apparently spend most of their time together. According to Dave’s notes she has been married twice and is now a widow.”

“Fancy-free seniors.” Schultz coughed, groping for a tissue.

“They both appear to be well-heeled. Jennings is an international fashion designer who established the Auspertize fashion line and is financially independent. It appears that Fuller was an accountant and has investment in commercial property and a family background of clergy.”

“Fuller, wealthy retiree,” Schultz murmured.

“Admittedly he was pretty upset. He had blood on his right hand, right cuff, and across the front of his jacket. There was also blood on his electronic gate-clicker, the handle of the retractable dog lead, and the front security screen door. He didn’t really object to us running a house check. A bit irascible but, let’s face it, he’d just had a shock.”

“What about his girlfriend, Biddy whatever?” Schultz raised his bushy brows.

“I imagine she is very loyal, and she manages him beautifully. Anyway, nothing incriminating was found, but I’ve advised him that he’ll need to come in for an interview.”

Schultz thoughtfully smoothed his nicotine-stained moustache with his forefinger. “How did Fuller explain the bloodstains on himself?”

“He reckoned he’d tried to take the Old Codger’s pulse,” Janine said.

“That’s crap; he would’ve seen the trauma damage,” Schultz replied.

Janine glanced at her notes. “Perhaps not; he had been in the bright sunlight and approached the body from the side, and, as it was in deep shade, he said he didn’t immediately realise there was a lot of blood. Also, apparently his eyesight isn’t too good. As a matter of fact, he’s got an appointment with the eye specialist today.”

Schultz snorted. “I still think it’s bullshit; the smashed skull would have made it obvious he was deceased.”

Janine looked appraisingly at her boss. “Fuller does have glaucoma and emerging from bright sunlight really does make it difficult to see—the weaker the eyes, the greater the effect of strong sunlight. I gather the victim habitually took a breather at that bench and sometimes snoozed off.” Janine placed typed notes on Schultz’s desk. “Names of three witnesses—still looking for the one at the side entrance—and Fuller will be in on Monday morning.”

Peering at Janine’s list, Schultz read out, “Park worker, Steve Cilento; Mary Moffatt, the eccentric Madam Pink Hat; and the park layabout, John Freemont.”

“We’ve got scene-of-crime statements from them. What if I return them myself for their signatures? It’ll give me a chance for informal chats. Sometimes I can get extra details by going over their statement with them.”

Schultz considered. “Okay, see what you can get out of them, but bear in mind we can’t have it said we allowed a killer to roam free. Any info on the person seen by the side entrance?”

“No, but Jack’s working on it; he’s door-knocking the area.” Janine frowned, gesturing at the notes. “That’s a complete copy of the details so far.”

“What’s this Old Codger business?”

Janine shrugged. “North’s local nickname.”

Schultz placed his hand on the notes. “What about North’s estate and next of kin? Anyone close wanting to bump him off?”

Janine shook her head. “No luck with any next of kin,” she said, glancing at her watch. “But Dave and I plan to check his cottage later today.”

Abruptly Schultz pushed his chair back and tapped the notes. “Okay, I must admit I’m not used to such efficiency, Janine. Well done. I’m off,” he said, standing. “I’m flat out without this damn Clipsal Car Race creating traffic problems.” He stuffed the mangled cigarette packet into his shirt pocket. “Keep me posted.” Patting his trouser pockets, he left the office.

Janine watched through the open door as her boss hurried down the passage, running his hands all over his pockets. She smiled; Schultz’s lighter was probably still lying on his desk under the notes he had just read.

CHAPTER 4

The Thursday mid-day TV news flash had blared FASHION ICON IN PARK MURDER.

Before parking outside Justin’s house, Biddy checked the street for lurking reporters and then revved the Mercedes’s engine. If I blow the horn, he’ll grumble and say I’m impatient, which I am. But if he doesn’t hurry up, my silly old coot will still be late for the optician, despite all my efforts, and we could be accosted by reporters. Slipping into park, she started to open the car door, but as Justin’s gates began to creak slowly open, she settled back into the car. “Darling, hurry up, or we’ll be late!” she called.

“Don’t be bossy, or I won’t go. All this fuss, damn dead bodies, eye tests, journalists on the phone, ringing the gate bell—why do we always have to do everything at once?”

Biddy bit her lip, fastened her seat belt, and shifted into drive. The engine demonstrated its approval by dropping into a barely audible purr. “You do realise you must have seen the murderer?” she said, accelerating smoothly up Stirling Street.

“Why must I? I didn’t.” Justin struggled with his seat belt.

“Because the detective said it had only just happened, so it must have been someone in the park at the same time as you were.”

“I can’t understand why anyone would want to kill that harmless old chap anyway,” Justin said, leaning back. There was a click as he finally secured his seat belt. “It’s time you had that seat belt fixed.”

“You’re the only one who has trouble with it.” Biddy drummed her fingers impatiently on the black leather steering wheel, waiting to turn left into Portrush Road amid the heavy traffic, when abruptly all the cars gave way and allowed her to join the left-hand queue. “If this road courtesy happens in the lead-up to the big race, I’m all for it.” She waved thank you to the oncoming drivers and joined the traffic toward Greenhill Road. “You’ll have to watch it. Once those V8 engines start screaming around the Clipsal practice track, drivers seem infected by the noise.”

Justin hastily stuck his fingers in his ears as a Harley wove past inside the banked traffic, the goggled biker in black and yellow rudely peering through the passenger window at Justin.

“Petrol-head mania. Want to go to the race on Sunday, Bid?”

“Have we been invited?” Biddy braked to a halt at a pedestrian crossing on Greenhill Road.

“Thought we might have lunch at the Citrus and Olive, and if we feel like it we can wander over to the track after,” Justin said.

“What? No invitation to a corporate box this year?”

“Actually, we did get an invite about a month ago, but I—”

“You forgot the RSVP, and now it’s too late.” Biddy eased through the pedestrian crossing and caught up to the cars ahead.

“Never mind; I don’t feel like an afternoon of neck exercises.”

She slipped her hand off the steering wheel and patted his knee. “Lunch would be lovely, but I’m not sure about the track after. What if we invite the Landys to join us?” she suggested.

, Biddy thought,