might have had an interest in terminating Collis Raeburn’s illustrious career.”
“The motives you give are enough to have someone think about killing him-but to actually do it asks for a lot more than dislike or even hatred. Raeburn’s murder was carefully planned and just as carefully carried out. Whoever did it had a motivation much stronger than anything that’s obvious so far.”
“How about the AIDS angle?”
“You’re right, Mark. It could be someone we haven’t turned up yet… or it could be a lover who Raeburn’s infected.”
Mark looked grim. “But why kill Raeburn so mercifully, Carol? If he’s HIV-positive it’s likely that he’s doomed anyway… as is the hypothetical lover. And even if Raeburn survives, and doesn’t develop full-blown AIDS, he has all the mental torment of waiting to become terribly ill, not to mention what the publicity will do to his career.”
“Yes,” said Carol. “The publicity. I think that might be a key to whole thing.”
The Commissioner’s bass voice boomed in Carol’s ear. “Nicole Raeburn’s got to the Minister, and the Minister’s got to me. Seems Ms Raeburn doesn’t find you very cooperative, Carol.”
“By that I think she means I didn’t say what she wanted to hear.”
“Any developments?”
“Only that I’m convinced it’s homicide.”
“Oh, shit,” said the Commissioner.
On the telephone Kenneth Raeburn’s soft voice sounded slyly intimate. “Inspector Ashton, I really would like to see you as soon as possible. I know it’s Saturday tomorrow, but I’ll be in the city, so I wonder if we could have lunch?”
She had no intention of letting him have the advantage of choosing the venue for their meeting. “I’m sorry,” she said crisply, “but I have very little time because of the investigation. If it’s convenient, perhaps you could come here tomorrow afternoon. Would that be possible?”
As she put down the receiver she frowned. The Raeburns were using their clout to bring pressure to bear on her to get the result they wanted. But why? Was it simply because suicide was unacceptable, unthinkable? That they honestly believed he had accidentally killed himself?
Carol was well aware that the coroner would be willing to suppress Collis Raeburn’s HIV status if her investigations indicated accidental death, but should her report canvass suicide or murder, then this embarrassing detail was very relevant and would be given full weight, with the attendant publicity.
She picked up the phone and punched in Bourke’s extension. “Mark? I’m seeing Kenneth Raeburn tomorrow afternoon. Please apologize to Pat, so close to the wedding, but I’d like you to be there, and would you bring as much financial information on the Raeburn family company as you can get.”
Carol had arranged to pick up Madeline Shipley at the television studio at seven-thirty after her program aired. She waited in the visitors’ lounge with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension as if, for some reason she didn’t understand, this meeting would be significant.
She tried to be objective when she saw Madeline approaching. She was slightly built, came only to Carol’s shoulder, and moved with definitive grace. She was wearing her burnished hair loose and had replaced the heavy studio makeup with a trace of lipstick and eyeliner. She had deeply gray eyes, and a curved, sensual mouth.
“Carol!” she said, the charisma that had such potent force on a television screen muted, but still striking. “Shall we embrace, or would that be too confronting for a Detective Inspector?”
“Far too confronting,” said Carol, matching her flippant tone. “Perhaps we should shake hands.”
Madeline linked her arm through Carol’s. “I’m absolutely starving. Don’t try to get a word out of me until I’ve eaten.”
In the car she lightly touched Carol’s knee. “Hey, lighten up. Won’t hurt you to relax and let down that formidable barrier you hide behind.”
Carol, disconcerted by the ripple of sensation caused by Madeline’s fingers, concentrated on her driving. After a moment she said, “Put your seatbelt on.”
Madeline, curled up to sit sideways on the seat, snorted derisively. “I hate seatbelts.”
Out of the corner of her eye Carol could see that she was smiling. Carol said, “Madeline, this is ridiculous. You’re breaking the law.”
“So what’re you going to do, Officer? Arrest me?” She chuckled. “You could handcuff me. That sounds promising.”
Carol sighed. “Are you going to be in this mood all night?”
Madeline wriggled around to click on her seatbelt. Abruptly serious, she said, “What’s wrong, Carol? Are things okay between you and Sybil?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
Her hand on Carol’s shoulder had the same disconcerting effect as her earlier touch had had. Carol almost said,
“Okay Carol, I’ve made you smile at last. What did I say, so I can do it again?”
“I was just thinking of something.”
“That’s your trouble-you think too much. Why don’t you, just for once, take a chance? Do something outrageous?”
Carol turned smoothly into the restaurant carpark. “I may order dessert tonight,” she said. “That outrageous enough?”
The restaurant had achieved the elusive mix of attentive service and circumspection. Carol and Madeline sat in a private island, attended by unobtrusive waiters and plied with expensive wine and exquisitely presented food.
“Looks far too good to eat,” said Madeline as her order, cornets of trout, was placed in front of her. Carol smiled an agreement. Her own dish was flawless miniature vegetables grouped reverently around veal cutlets.
“It’s the secret of my occasional culinary success.” said Madeline. “I can’t cook my way out of a predampened paper bag, but I can sure present things so they look good. And that fools people, you know. They think if it
Over coffee, Carol said, “Okay, I’ve been patient.”
“Was Collis Raeburn HIV-positive?”
“Tell me why you think he might have been.”
As Madeline smiled, Carol noticed that one of her teeth was slightly uneven. Somehow such imperfection in one of such polished comeliness was endearing.
“Carol, how do I know you’ll give me an exclusive if I tell you what I know?”
“Trust me. And tell me anyway, because you’ll be obstructing justice if you don’t.”
“I love it when you’re tough.”
“Madeline…”
“Okay, okay. The channel, or, more specifically, my program, was approached by a guy who claimed to have a story for sale about Collis Raeburn’s HIV status. He’d obviously heard we were preparing a special and thought we might be in the market for some scandal, so he demanded twenty thousand for the story, fifty if we put him on camera.”
Carol sat forward. “Who is he?”
“Says his name’s Amos Berringer. Claims to be an ex-lover who’s got the dirt on Raeburn’s clandestine activities.”
Wanting to appear casual, Carol leaned back in her chair. “Suppose you’ve checked him out?”
“Surely that’s your job,” said Madeline, grinning.
“So you’re paying him twenty thousand on spec?”
“Of course not. We checked him out.” She made a face. “Grubby little number, who seems to have made some spare cash gently blackmailing married men who fancied a dabble in gay sex.”
“I’ll run him-see if we have anything on an Amos Derringer.”
Madeline shrugged. “Doubt if you will. The word we have is that Derringer’s careful of his marks. They’re always the sort who’d pay rather than run any risk of publicity.”
