Dead Certain

“Her actual words,” said Anne with a smile, “were that they were close friends and colleagues.”

“Believe her?”

Anne shook her head. “Underneath all that venom,” she said, “I think there’s a real grief. It’s possible she loved him.”

“Yes, and let’s follow that up. I’ve got something else for you to do. The Euthanasia Handbook is shrink-wrapped in plastic and anyone buying a copy has to be over eighteen. Most bookshops ask for a current driver’s license.” She caught Anne’s unenthusiastic expression, and smiled. “Yes, I know it’s a long shot, but I would like a check made of bookshops where Raeburn might conceivably have bought a copy in, say, the last couple of months. He’s very well known, particularly from television, so it’s possible someone will remember him. And if we can find that he definitely did buy the handbook, that will strengthen the possibility of suicide.”

“His fingerprints were on the book.”

Carol caught at a thought she hadn’t put into action. “Yes, Anne, the fingerprints. The book was marketed sealed in plastic, so it could be expected that his would be the only prints on it. I’m interested in exactly where he touched the handbook-it seems such a convenient prop for a suicide scene.” She smiled as she added, “And in case you have time to spare, I’d like you to see Raeburn’s publicist, Anita Burgess. Also, see if you can speak to Corinne Jawalski’s flatmate. I’d be interested to know if she did have a call from Raeburn, and when.”

“Want to speak with Pat?” said Bourke as she walked in. “I’m taking her to lunch, and I asked her to be early in case you were in the market for first-hand opera gossip.”

Because of the engagement, Carol had become friendly with Pat and found herself growing genuinely fond of her, not only because of her frank, open nature, but also because she had so obviously made Mark Bourke happy. “When will Pat be here?”

“Half an hour or so.”

“Great. I’ll take her out for coffee and you can pick her up from there.” She added mischievously, “I suppose this a wedding-talk lunch?”

“Don’t think I can cope,” he said, laughing. “I just can’t believe how many arrangements have to be made just to get hitched.”

Carol was about to make a snide comment about first-time grooms but caught herself. Bourke had been married before, had lost his wife and child in a boating accident. It was something he’d never spoken about to her, but she knew the tragedy must have cast a permanent shadow over his life. She imagined what it would be like if her own son were to die. She loved David unconditionally. He was the only individual she had ever permitted herself to love so totally, and she was still bitterly regretful that she had ever allowed herself to be persuaded to give him up.

“Getting married’s easy,” she said mockingly. “It’s what happens afterwards that’s hard to cope with.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost.” He handed her a telephone message. “Madeline Shipley called. She wants you to ring her back as soon as possible.”

Carol was surprised by the twinge of excitement she felt at Madeline’s name. “Did she say why?”

He snorted. “We both know why. She’s part of the feeding frenzy over Collis Raeburn, and she’s going to use the fact she knows you personally the best way she knows how.”

One of Australia’s most successful television personalities, Madeline Shipley hosted the consistently high-rated Shipley Report, strip-scheduled early evening where the competition was ferocious, in an attempt to snare viewers for the rest of the night. Television’s demands, as far as female presenters were concerned, made it mandatory that Madeline Shipley be physically attractive and personally charming, but she was much more than this: intelligent, inquisitive, and when necessary, ruthless. Her slight build held a willpower like tungsten and a tenacity that had defeated the most difficult interviewees.

And, for Carol, Madeline held one other potent attraction-she was one of the few people Carol could relax with concerning her private life. She not only knew about Carol and Sybil, she also understood-being so firmly in the closet herself-the tightrope act of balancing professional and private lives. She shared with Carol the same conviction: “Announce publicly that you’re a lesbian, and to your face people will say how brave you are to stop living a lie and how much they admire you. Then you wave goodbye to your career.”

As she dialed Madeline Shipley’s private line, Carol realized that she was actively looking forward to hearing Madeline’s voice, her lazy, beguiling laugh.

Madeline answered at the third ring. “Carol? Why haven’t I seen you lately? How’s Sybil?”

It was a loaded question, though Madeline couldn’t know this. “Sybil’s fine.”

A slight pause, then Madeline said with an indefinable note in her voice, “That’s good.”

Carol could visualize Madeline’s quizzical expression. Wanting to short-circuit any further personal questions, she said, “What can I do for you?”

Madeline chuckled at Carol’s businesslike tone. “No time for idle chitchat, eh? Well, Carol, you know very well what you can do for me. You may know we’ve been preparing a TV special about Collis Raeburn and the Eureka Opera Company. Deadlines have become rather more urgent with his death, so I’m asking for absolutely every gruesome detail you can give me.”

“This is where you get the standard reply.”

“No it isn’t,” said Madeline with conviction. “I’ve got something to trade. Have dinner with me tonight after the show and I’ll tell you some very interesting things.”

Carol found herself smiling. I really want to see her. “How do I know it’ll be worth my while?”

“One little phrase should do it,” said Madeline. “How about ‘HIV-positive’?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Edward Livingston’s personal assistant seemed accustomed to parrying irksome requests. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but Mr. Livingston cannot come to the phone at the moment, and I’m not sure when he’ll be available. I’d be pleased to pass on a message.”

Carol said formally, “I’m investigating the circumstances of Collis Raeburn’s death. Information given to me in confidence regarding Mr. Livingston leads me to believe he can materially assist this investigation. For that reason I need to see him as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry, but-” The voice broke off, to be replaced by a rich baritone.

“Inspector Ashton? Someone’s been gossiping about me, have they?”

So he’d been unable to resist the bait. Carol made arrangements to meet the controversial opera manager mid-afternoon.

“Look, Inspector, let’s make it neutral territory. How about the cafe on the broadwalk in front of the Opera House? We can sit out in the sun and share our secrets with the seagulls.”

She was leaning back in her chair considering the questions she intended to ask when Mark Bourke brought Pat James into her office, an embarrassed pride in his manner. Carol was warmed to see the affection on his face as he smiled at his future wife.

In a little over a week, Carol would be watching these two exchange their vows for a life together. What irony- the ceremony that would link Pat and Mark was the point of conflict that had driven Sybil to leave. Carol couldn’t separate the ache of loss from the confused anger she felt.

“Ready?” Pat said to Carol.

Pat James emanated the buoyant good health that Carol always, for some reason, associated with involvement with team games such as basketball or hockey, and, in general, to being a “good sport.” She was tall, close to the same height as Bourke, but whereas his solid build made him a definite, heavy physical presence, Pat’s light frame seemed springy and resilient.

She grinned at Carol. “Let’s blow the joint and do coffee, eh? Oxford Street?”

Collecting her things, Carol said, “Mark, we’ll be at the usual place. Pick Pat up when you’re ready for lunch.”

“I’m ready now.”