Читать книгу Blood Guilt - Lindy Cameron - Страница 8

'So what is he doing here?' Celia asked, in a tone that conveyed amused disbelief rather than disgust. She had flipped quickly through the photographs of the women her husband had picked up on the streets, saying nothing more than 'They're all tall. Typical!' before putting them to one side.

'At the time I thought he was paying the boy,' Kit answered. 'But when I developed the film I realised that it's an envelope he's handing over. It probably contains money but it could be anything I suppose.'

'And this house?' Celia asked, tapping the photograph with the stem of her champagne glass.

'According to the records the council rates are being paid by a company called Wellborn Enterprises which appears to be a subsidiary of another called Freyling Imports. '

'Wellborn indeed,' Celia snorted. 'That bastard's got delusions of grandeur.'

'Your husband may not have any involvement with Wellborn, Celia. I know that doesn't mean much when he obviously has such an interest in the place but, short of asking him outright, I doubt if you'd be able to trace the money he's been spending to that particular house. On the other hand, Douglas Scott may be in a better position than I am to get more detailed information on Wellborn, Freyling Imports and any other related companies. I am certain that Mr Robinson is involved in some sort of deal with Ian Dalkeith so even if your husband's name doesn't turn up on someone else's books I'm sure Dalkeith's name will. With all this evidence, though, you could just confront your husband and ask him.'

'Oh no. Not yet,' Celia said adamantly. 'I want to get the whole picture first. I plan to give him almost enough rope to hang himself before I throttle him with it. So, I shall pass the gist of what you have discovered on to Douglas so he can do a little digging within his field of expertise while you continue on in yours. You have done an excellent job so far Katherine, though I rather knew you would.'

'Thank you Celia, but it hasn't been a difficult task.'

'Only because my husband is so busy thinking with his you-know-what that there's no chance of his few remaining brain cells being able to draw his attention to the fact that he has lost all sense of propriety.'

Kit controlled the urge to laugh by making a fuss of moving her chair further into the shade of the umbrella under which they were sitting on the patio. It was still blisteringly hot but the hint of a southerly breeze brought some relief and was certainly a welcome change from the north wind which had been raging around the city for the last two days.

'Speaking of Mr Scott's field of expertise, do you know if he has hired anyone to investigate your husband's dealings with Ian Dalkeith?'

Celia looked quite taken aback. 'You mean another detective? I most certainly hope not. You know my ideas on the matter of hiring, er, outsiders. No, I feel sure he wouldn't have. Not without telling me. Why do you ask?'

Kit took a deep breath. She had already considered the possibility that the tail on Dalkeith had absolutely nothing to do with her case on Geoffrey Robinson. But she had to be sure.

'I wouldn't worry about it Celia. It's just that on a couple of occasions while keeping an eye on your husband I've noticed an old Holden station wagon hanging around as well.'

'What, following Geoffrey?' Celia sounded quite appalled.

'Not necessarily. Each time it turned up, Geoffrey was meeting with Ian Dalkeith. It's more likely the person in the car is following Dalkeith. He may even be a minder. But I had to ask.'

'Yes, of course. I shall ask Douglas if this has anything to do with him, but I doubt it. Ah, Byron, perhaps you'd like to pour Miss O'Malley another champagne. Or would you prefer coffee?'

The Ghost Who Walks, Kit thought, as once again Celia's ghoulish personal secretary had appeared behind Kit without a sound. She had no idea how long he'd been there. Kit glanced up at Byron, almost nervously, acutely aware of how exposed her neck was in the white T-shirt she was wearing with her linen trousers. She requested a coffee before returning her gaze to Celia to find her client's attention was momentarily distracted by the commotion going on in The Forum.

Kit couldn't help smiling. Celia was certainly one out of the box. She had insisted that they enjoy their luncheon on the patio before getting down to the real reason for Kit's visit. Discussing sex, sin, power and the merits of appropriate social behaviour over a quiet glass of champagne and plate of fresh asparagus while a deaf gardener lowered a Greek nymph onto her new pedestal in the fish pond was diverting to say the least.

Celia had first taken Kit on a guided tour of The Forum, which was far more extensive than Kit had originally thought. They had strolled barefoot along a maze of grassy paths by tiny groves of tangled vines revealing garden seats or trickling waterfalls, and through an arch of climbing roses to a group of finely sculpted women in flowing marble robes looking for all the world like they were passing the day in serious conversation.

Celia talked earnestly and warmly about her garden, describing the statues and their provenance, and naming the flowers and trees as she explained why she had chosen a particular plant for this rockery or that setting. Although Kit admired Celia's imagination and obvious hard work she still felt the concept itself was a little too bizarre. All the statues and sculptures were originals, not a plaster cast reproduction or painted garden gnome in sight, and many were intricate and quite exquisite, but Kit couldn't help feeling that Celia's meticulous attention to detail placed her somewhere between pathologically obsessive and totally whacko.

The slight rattle of an empty cup on a saucer as he was just about to place it in front of Kit was the only thing that announced Byron's reappearance with the coffee. Kit nearly jumped out of her skin. This time it was Celia's turn to cover a smile.

'Byron, be a dear and help those two out with the thingy before they do any more damage than is necessary,' she said, waving her free hand in the direction of Burke the gardener and his incredibly clumsy assistant who was flailing about in the fish pond. She finished the champagne in her glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. 'Quiet isn't he?' she said.

'That's an understatement,' Kit replied with a grin. 'Where did you find him? I mean how did you come to employ him?'

'I found him a long time ago,' Celia said quietly, stealing an almost affectionate glance in the direction of the pond where Byron, a look of undisguised distaste on his face, was doing his best to render assistance without getting wet. Celia quite obviously collected herself from thoughts that were far from the business at hand and returned her gaze to Kit.

'He came to me about three years ago, with impeccable credentials. I was in need of a personal assistant for secretarial duties, as a chauffeur, butler, you name it. He was perfect and has proven to be invaluable. I trust him more than just about anyone I know, except perhaps Douglas.'

'An extraordinary job description in this day and age,' Kit said, immediately regretting it.

Celia flashed a wicked smile. 'Yes. Lucky aren't I,' she laughed. 'And I would say that my money is put to better use than my husband's. Wouldn't you agree?'

'You have a point Celia. Speaking of which there's just a couple more photographs I'd like you to see.'

Kit reached for the envelope labelled 'Wednesday/Thursday' and removed the contents.

'Do you know this man?' Kit asked presenting one of the photos she had taken after Geoffrey's Regent Hotel rendezvous.

'No. I've never seen him before. Quite handsome for such a big man, isn't he?' Celia said studying the picture of the silver-haired, broad-chested American.

'He's a Yank, if that makes any difference.'

Celia shook her head. 'Geoffrey is acquainted with many Americans, through the company. This one I'm sure I don't know.'

'How about this guy?' Kit held out the photo of the other mystery man from Wednesday's meeting.

'Of course. That's Gerald Grainger. He's an old colleague and friend of Geoffrey's. He's an entrepreneur of sorts, though in what I have no idea. I find him quite repulsive, which possibly explains why Geoffrey didn't mention seeing him this week. He lives in Point Piper or Potts Point or one of those other posh pointy places in Sydney. Dreadful man.' Celia threw the photo down in disgust.

'What's wrong with him?' Kit asked, picking up the photo to take another look now that she had a name to go with the face. Grainger was a tall, angular man with large hands and bony wrists that stuck out awkwardly from the cuffs of his white business shirt. His face was plain and instantly forgettable although his nose had obviously been broken more than once, which might serve as a reminder if someone had to identify him in a police line-up.

'He is one of those men, not unlike my husband as all this proves,' Celia sneered pushing the photos away from her, 'who cannot keep his mind above his belt. He and my husband used to spend a great deal of time together when Geoffrey and I were first married, before Gerald returned to Sydney to live. He is a crass and uncouth man. It was bad enough that he saw nothing wrong in propositioning most of my friends but when he tried it on my daughter I decided enough was enough. I told him what he could do with his disgusting intentions and made it quite clear to Geoffrey that his friend was never to cross our threshold again.'

Celia was quite shaken by the memory and Kit had absolutely no idea what to say. What an arsehole was her immediate thought, but she doubted whether that particular choice of words was an appropriate response to a disclosure that had nothing to do with her case and was none of her business. Celia filled the awkward silence by changing the subject completely.

'So, we carry on according to the schedule, Katherine. Unless you have any suggestions about how we should proceed.'

'No, Celia. I think the way we are going is the most effective. Judging by the calendar of appointments for next week though I think we'll just get more of the same. Even his sprained is not, um, slowing him down.'

'Well, of course not. He only uses his feet for walking on after all,' Celia snorted. 'He'd have to sprain the other thing to even consider taking time off from anything.'

'Do you think it's worth carrying on?' Kit laughed.

'Oh yes my dear,' Celia said adamantly. 'I'd like to know exactly what Geoffrey is up to while Douglas is still investigating his side of things. Another week at least, but that will probably be enough.' She rummaged amongst the pile of photographs for the black leather filofax she had placed on the table earlier. She opened it and after handing Kit an envelope began leafing through the pages.

'Next week, next week,' she muttered. 'Ah. Friday is quite full and I have an appointment with Douglas at 9. Perhaps you could come at 10, in the evening.'

'Er, yes, of course,' Kit said a little taken aback.

'I realise it's a late hour, but Geoffrey will be dining out that evening. And as I said the rest of the day is a busy one. I do hope that I'm not completely ruining your social life, Katherine.'

'No Celia, it's fine. My social life is rather dormant at the moment. Believe me there's nothing to ruin.'

'Good. Then Friday 10 p.m. it is. The last appointment, unless of course you discover something completely new. In that case we shall review the situation. That cheque,' she said indicating the envelope Kit was still clutching in her hand, 'should cover your time for the week. If you make up an account of anything that's outstanding we can finish everything up nicely next week.'

Kit nodded and reaching for her briefcase dropped the envelope in. Celia gathered up the photographs, carefully as if she might catch something from them, and stuffed them back into one of the large envelopes.

'If you could hold these for me please Katherine, till such time as they're needed.' Celia said thrusting the package at Kit. 'I'd rather they were out of my sight.'

'Should I bring them back next week?'

Celia sighed deeply before struggling to her feet. 'What I would really like you to do is burn them. They make my stomach turn. But burning the evidence would not change what Geoffrey has done. Is doing. You'd better have them with you.'

The weather, which simmered on the hot side of unbearable for the next seven days, was broken briefly by a violent wind storm on Wednesday that ripped roofs from houses in three suburbs and dribbled a cup full of rain on Mt Dandenong to the east. The city was like hell's kitchen, there were bush fires throughout north-east Victoria and some of the toughest water restrictions in years were in place throughout the state.

It was Friday again, they seemed to be coming around with monotonous regularity rudely heralding yet another weekend alone, and Kit was on her way back to Celia's - for the last time.

During 'Week Two', apart from finding out that the Yank, who'd been registered at the Regent Hotel under the name of David Watts, before departing for Sydney on Tuesday, was apparently a businessman on holiday, she had indeed only managed to uncover more of the same. Although she was heartily sick of following Geoffrey on his nightly forays, she was a little regretful that after tonight she'd have no reason to call on Celia.

The fact that the last seven days had been all work and no play, all sultry weather and no sultry Sam made the smell of change in the thick air tonight feel distinctly ominous. It seemed that more than just her work for Celia was coming to an end. Sam had called from Sydney postponing yet another weekend in favour of a possible new job and after nearly a month of no contact Kit was beginning to lose the lust.

She had spent most of the week, when she wasn't tailing the libidinous Geoffrey Robinson or working on her novel late at night, sitting in a cold bath with a bottle of bourbon and a good book or three trying to escape the heat and ignore the fact that her social life was more than dormant - it was virtually extinct. Telling Celia, of all people, about it was the closest she'd come to admitting, even to herself, that she was seriously lacking something serious.

She had dragged herself to Marek's on Sunday to catch up with a few old friends from the force but the seemingly endless conversations over the coleslaw about children or new jacuzis had only made her depressed. After a few games of pool at Angie's, on one of Geoffrey's few nights at home, Kit finally had to acknowledge that the problem was not her social life - that had always been as active as she cared to make it.

The problem was her life in general. Here she was at 32 years old with an almost perfect life, and no one to share it with. She was her own boss, doing a job she enjoyed which allowed plenty of time to devote to her writing. On that score she was better off than most people she knew but, on the other hand, most of those same people had someone with whom they could talk over their daily triumphs or failures.

Despite the fact that it was usually her lovers that did the leaving, Kit had somehow earned a reputation as a heart breaker with a love 'em and leave attitude. It was almost totally unfounded and she knew that the smart-mouthed teasing of her best friend Delbridge had a lot to do with the myth gaining such wide attention. She didn't really mind; after all a notorious reputation was better than no reputation at all (who was she kidding?) but it did make it difficult to be taken seriously.

Kit had never been into one-night stands; she'd rather read a book or watch a movie than indulge in sexual aerobics just for the sake of it. But it was six years since she'd been with anyone for longer than four or five months; and eight years since she'd been in love. Eight whole years, and she hadn't even come close.

As the first huge dollops of rain struck the windscreen she decided it was time to give it all up and try celibacy. She and Sam were certainly going nowhere fast.

She turned into Celia's driveway expecting it to be deserted as usual but was greeted by what looked like an emergency services convention. There was an ambulance, with lights flashing, two police cars and a Mercedes in front of the house, and a plumber's van parked on the lawn.

'Oh shit, don't tell me she really has throttled him,' Kit said aloud, as she parked her car.