Gone
The staff at The Pensione had been looking forward to seeing the famous couple in their hotel again since the booking had been made several weeks ago, but now was not the time for formalities and protocol. Chris Nichols reached across and put his hand on his guest’s arm. Jeff was grateful, the simple gesture steadying his nerves. Even though it had been over a quarter of a century since his last brush with the law, policemen still automatically made him feel guilty and on edge. With instinctive good grace, he stood up to greet the hotel manager.
However, DS Waters requested that Jeff stay seated, and the two detectives sat together on another couch opposite. Andy Waters was younger than the victim’s husband, probably by ten years. Fisher was older, probably by about the same margin. All four men sat staring at each other, still completely stunned by the morning’s horrific event.
‘Jeff,’ DI Fisher began again, ‘I can see this is extremely difficult for you.’
You don’t say, the bitter man cursed inside his head, instead urging the senior officer to continue.
‘We receive training on how to deal with next of kin in violent crimes. We’re taught how to counsel the bereaved but in truth we know full well we can’t relate to what you’re going through. You’re a public figure too. Everyone knows you and your wife. I think it’s very important that we try to make things as simple as possible.’
‘Thanks,’ Jeff sighed. ‘You won’t get any objection from me on that score.’
Fisher was right, he thought. They had no idea how he felt. In fact, he was beginning to feel very cold. He couldn’t remember where he had left his jacket. Was it still in the little AMG or had he thrown it on top of their suitcases? Nothing seemed clear any more. He shivered, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket.
‘Do you mind?’ he asked the men.
All three shook their heads, and Chris went to retrieve an ashtray. A woman dressed in a green paramedic’s uniform knocked on the open door and entered boldly at first, and then upon seeing her idol in person, stopped in her tracks. Sensing the woman’s hesitation, DI Fisher stood up and walked out of the room with her. They exchanged a few hushed sentences before the inspector came back, full of purpose.
‘We’re ready to move your wife’s body, Jeff,’ he announced. ‘The hotel has allocated us a room that we can move her to while the arrangements can be made. Do we have your permission to move her?’
Removing the unlit cigarette from his mouth and putting it angrily back into the packet, Jeff jumped up, noticing that the noise from the foyer had subsided almost to nothing. Pretty soon there would be no trace of anything unusual having happened here this morning. The hotel had a business to run, and the show must go on. He was instantly furious. How dare they? This was his beautiful best friend they were talking about. How dare they just clear away Lynn Dyson Diamond so they could get on with making money?
‘I’ll do it,’ he answered in a surly tone, shaking the cramp out of his legs.
Before anyone could stop him, the widower strode over to where the love of his life was still sitting, surrounded by evidence labels and little plastic bags. DS Waters ran after him with a set of overalls and some protective gloves.
‘Please put these on first, sir,’ he asked breathlessly. ‘They’ll protect your clothing from the blood and prevent contamination.’
The famous man turned around and took the overalls from the detective. The thought of being covered in his wife’s blood brought another rush of nauseous emotion over him, and he quickly pulled on the dark blue clothing and fastened the zip up to his collar. The latex gloves were so tight that he was sure he would lose all sensation in his hands before he and Lynn reached their next destination.
The imposing figure of Jeff Diamond scooped his wife’s limp body up in its arms, and those around him gasped at the amount of blood which remained on the couch and wall from the damage the bullet had done to the victim’s head. There must be more than one bullet in her, he realised in horror, before turning around for instructions. In which sequence had the bullets entered her body? What if she had suffered excruciating pain in the last few seconds of her life? A loud roar came from deep within him, startling the onlookers out of their trance.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked Chris, who was right behind him, anxious to minimise the drama.
‘Upstairs. In the lift, please, Jeff,’ Fisher answered.
Incongruously to all who witnessed it, the handsome celebrity proceeded to carry the lifeless, blonde tennis champion into the lift, her eyes staring up at him. DS Waters had been following them a moment ago but had now vanished. DI Fisher and Chris Nichols flanked the strong man and his precious cargo in the shiny, gold chamber. The scene was totally surreal, and for a moment Jeff envisioned he was taking Lynn directly to heaven, where she undoubtedly belonged.
As the lift doors drew slowly closed, the noble carrier spotted Andy Waters, bent over a pot plant, coughing violently. He looked down at his wife’s beautiful face.
‘That’s a first,’ he whispered to her, smirking at the thought of a man vomiting upon seeing someone so unequivocally attractive.
They travelled up two floors and then a short way down the corridor to room two-hundred-and-thirty-two. It was ready to receive its guest. Jeff laid Lynn gently on top of the bed, which had been covered in a thick, black plastic sheet, and sat down beside her. DS Waters had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties and was ushering the others out of the room.
Pulling the door closed behind him, Bob Fisher spoke softly. ‘Take your time. We’ll wait for you downstairs. Officer Thanopoulos will stay with you.’
Without looking up, the tired man muttered his thanks. Officer Thanopoulos stepped awkwardly outside, which the widower recognised as a breach of protocol. Whether he had exited out of respect or ignorance, he was grateful for the young policeman’s negligence. As soon as the door shut, he removed the glove from his left hand and began to stroke his wife’s hair, taking deep, slow breaths. It was a relief to be alone with her for a few moments. Most of the blood had been swabbed away from her face, although the front of her suit jacket was stained red at around waist level, and the bullet hole was a stark reminder of how she had met her fate.
Jeff shook his head slowly. Whoever this small, Spanish-speaking man was, and whyever he had sought to shoot her, he had done it very well.
‘Fucking bastard,’ he murmured, staring into Lynn’s lifeless eyes and willing them to blink.
Strangely, the barrage of unpleasant smells didn’t bother him. Gazing down at the blood-stained overalls he was wearing, the philosopher was surprised he didn’t find this whole experience much more revolting. He remembered feeling the same way when cleaning up after his mother died. It was something that had to be done, so he had just got on with it. Back then, it helped pass the time while his mind and body processed the shock. How long would it last this time?
Jeff looked into those blue eyes again, held his wife’s cold left hand in his and brushed her wedding ring with his fingertips. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. The blood on her blouse had not come from the bullet in her head, he concluded, but he couldn’t face the prospect of locating any others. That was the job of the Coroner’s people.
‘You promised me you wouldn’t do this,’ he reminded his beautiful best friend, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks again.
Peeling off his protective layer, rolling it up in a ball and inserting it into a large plastic bag which had been left out for the purpose by DS Waters, for some unknown reason the lost man’s grief-stricken mind flew back to the stupendous afternoon when his dream girl had turned up at his apartment after informing her parents that she intended to choose him as her partner for life, despite their vehement reservations about his suitability. That very evening he had invited her to move in with him, and she had accepted. He remembered how awkward it had felt during those first few hours as a “real” couple.
He also remembered their wedding vows, where they had pledged their love to each other in front of their families, friends and a whole bunch of people whom they hardly knew. What a special day that had been! Jeff remembered seeing the love shining in his new wife’s eyes when they sang to each other after having exchanged their rings.
Memory after memory crowded into his head. The births of their amazing children, the many tours endured and holidays enjoyed all over the world, and the various significant birthdays spent in their happy family. Then there was the “Together, Forever, Wherever” campaign which had set the world’s imagination alight and the fundraising coffers filling, and finally their quiet day at Benloch recently, where twenty years of blissful marriage were recognised privately in bare, balletic beauty under the gum trees at Coldwater Creek.
Lynn had left him. Unintentionally, he understood, but she had left him nonetheless. Jeff felt empty and abandoned, suddenly sensing the walls caving in around him. So his debts hadn’t been paid off after all, and if he wasn’t careful, Gravity the Troll would soon come out of retirement. He was probably already limbering up, preparing to dance at Lynn’s wake. He didn’t blame her for leaving him. If he hadn’t been playing boy-racer with that stupid Mercedes, it would be him lying dead on this bed instead. He knew it was neither of their faults. He brushed her cheek, which was cold and dry, and one of his tears fell onto her impassive face.
Carrying her inanimate body from downstairs had altered the expression on Lynn’s face to one her husband didn’t recognise. It was as if the soul he was mates with had vacated her body. He forced himself to admit the time had come to let go of her physical incarnation too, and so with one last kiss on her lips, the fingers of Jeff’s left hand lightly touched her eyelids and closed them. She looked peaceful again, and sadly he felt that somehow they had exchanged a silent goodbye.
The loving husband stood tall and took one last, lingering look at the exquisite woman who had shared over half his life.
‘Thanks for everything, angel,’ he said quietly. ‘I love you so much. I’ll see you soon.’
Glancing down the corridor as he closed the door to room two-three-two, Jeff wondered which room had been reserved for their stay tonight. He had asked Cathy to arrange for a single red rose to be left on Lynn’s pillow, as he often did. Sometimes his wife would do the same for him, but instead of a rose, it would usually be something humorous, like a toy or food.
The lift arrived, thankfully empty, and soon descended to ground level. Fisher and Waters were addressing a group of the hotel’s staff in the reception area when Jeff Diamond re-emerged into the real world. He could hear Bob telling everyone that under no circumstances were they to answer any questions from journalists or reporters. The star stood well back from the group and waited for them to finish. Several people were crying, and others whispered and pointed as they caught sight of the instantly-recognisable man standing off to one side.
Not wanting to cause too much of a distraction, the statuesque celebrity skirted around the edges of the lift lobby, back towards the reception desk and into the room behind. Andy Waters followed him and offered him a cigarette, which he gratefully accepted.
‘What a bloody mess,’ Jeff sneered, dragging hard on the cigarette and raising his eyes to the ceiling as he exhaled.
Waters nodded. The detective was obviously still having trouble dealing with the day’s events also. He was pale and nervous, and avoided eye contact with the famous musician and humanitarian who was admired by almost everyone he knew. They sat down in the same places as before, Jeff staring at the floor and trying not to listen to Fisher’s instructions outside. A complex dogfight of emotions was beginning to tear him up, as the initial shock slowly wore off. He tried to work out how long it would take for Kierney, Gerry and Bart to arrive. He couldn’t remember what time he had called them, but it seemed like an eternity ago.
In the air-conditioned office, Jeff once more felt very cold. He stood up and walked over to a thermostat on the wall.
‘Do you think we could turn this up a little warmer?’ he asked Waters.
‘Yeah. Go ahead, sir,’ the young detective coughed.
After a few minutes, Bob Fisher returned with Chris and another grey-haired man. ‘Jeff, this is Doctor Ron Hanson,’ Bob introduced. ‘He’s from the Coroner’s Office. He would like to examine your wife’s body, if you don’t mind.’
The famous man shook Doctor Hanson firmly by the hand.
‘G’day,’ he said gruffly, unwilling to contemplate anyone examining his wife’s body.
Hanson sensed his resistance. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mister Diamond. It must be a terrible shock.’
‘You could say that,’ Jeff scoffed, pulling himself back from the encroaching anger as far as he could.
He was going to have to get used to this awkwardness and the many worn out clichés.
‘Examine my wife’s body?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing invasive,’ Hanson assured him. ‘At this stage, we need to ascertain time of death and take a look at the likely cause. We won’t need to disturb her clothing or anything, sir. My people are very respectful, I can assure you.’
Jeff was relieved and thanked the doctor for his explanation. Clothing disturbance was a euphemism of the most dangerous kind, in his opinion.
‘I can tell you the time and cause of death,’ the sarcasm was rife in the victim’s husband’s sigh. ‘But go ahead. Whatever you guys need to do. Room two-three-two. Do you need a key?’
He held his key out to the older man, who took it from him and left with DS Waters. Poor bastard, Jeff empathised, seeing the look of “not again” on the young detective’s face. The bereaved man was now very angry indeed. It had been a long time since he had felt the uncontrollable urge to lash out at the nearest person. Probably the last time would have been in the aftermath of a North-African famine appeal when he had found out the transport companies were selling off aid supplies before they reached their destinations.
Jesus, Jeff thought, that was ten years ago. Why had that particular memory just popped into his head? Had he really been a mild-mannered man for that long? Hurry up, Kiz, he begged silently. This particular seasoned campaigner was utterly sick of having to cope with things on his own, yet again. At once he wanted to cry, yell and be sick, but he did none of these. Instead he poured himself another cup of tepid coffee and gulped it down. As the dizziness overtook him, he slumped back onto the couch, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
You’ve come a long way, chico, he mused, feeling a modicum of self-control returning to his crazed mind.
It was a pity life was such a bloody circle though. He had written a song about that too. Shit! His fate was only following instructions. Jeff jumped as his mobile telephone sprang to life in his back pocket. Reaching behind him, he pulled it out and looked at the screen, feeling immediately better as soon as he pressed the green button to answer the call.
‘Hey, Kiz.’
‘Papá, it’s me,’ Kierney said tentatively. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. Now I am,’ Jeff confirmed. ‘How about you?’
‘We’re fine. Confused and stunned, but OK. We’ve landed and will be with you in about twenty minutes,’ his daughter informed him. ‘We’re not sure which hotel you’re in.’
At first the father said nothing, just thankful to hear from his gipsy girl. He thought he could hear a croak in her voice, as if she was trying not to cry, but she was as calm and dignified as she always was. His daughter was turning into a classy lady lately, just like her mother.
‘The Pensione,’ the father told her. ‘It’s on George Street.’
‘Thanks. That’s what I thought,’ the young woman confirmed. ‘Do you need us to bring anything?’
‘No, thanks,’ Jeff replied. ‘Just get here as soon as you can. I need you. Is Gerry with you?’
‘Yes, and Grandpa.’
‘Bueno, pequeñita,’ he was relieved. ‘See you soon. Thanks for checking in.’
The widower listened to his daughter saying goodbye and then ended the call. Fisher coughed to attract his attention.
‘Sorry, Jeff,’ he began, ‘but we need to ask you some questions about the man you apprehended.’
‘Sure,’ the tired man answered, his mood a fraction lighter now. ‘What do you want to know? I’m not sure I remember anything too clearly.’
‘Can you remember what he said to you?’ Bob asked, using a friendly tone but with his notepad open and pen poised.
Jeff took a deep breath and stubbed out his cigarette. Leaning forward, he gazed aimlessly at the floor for a few moments before replying. Visualising the man’s face, he replayed their short encounter and recalled the look of astonishment he had received as the pair had met outside the revolving doors. It made him smile.
The police officer shuffled his feet. ‘What’s funny?’
‘Sorry,’ the superstar replied. ‘It’s just such a bitter irony, isn’t it? To intend to kill someone, kill the guy’s wife instead and then be caught by the very bloke you meant to kill originally. That truly must’ve been a “life’s a bitch” moment...’
Bob Fisher remained serious, his professional sense of duty overruling any sense of humour he might earlier have revealed.
‘This is not a joking matter, Jeff. You’re in shock. We could do this later.’
‘I’m not in shock. It’s just my warped sense of humour,’ the bitter man contradicted. ‘I know how people’s minds work. I heard someone… Chris, I suppose… shout for no-one to leave, so I stopped him leaving. The man spoke to me in Spanish. At first I didn’t hear him, because there were noises coming from the hotel and the doors were swishing their way round, so I asked him to repeat it. He then said something like “I wanted to kill you, but this way’s better”, which I’m guessing is pretty much what he said in the first place.’
Jeff looked up and flashed his intelligent eyes at senior detective Bob. He had the impression that, given different circumstances, they might enjoy each other’s company. Now, however, they were only making things worse for each other.
‘I wanted to grab the bastard’s arm and shake the words out of him,’ the sickened widower continued, ‘but thought better of it. Luckily I was carrying our luggage. Otherwise I might’ve done. I have PTSD, by the way, so I’ve learned not to go with my first instinct. Just so you know...’
‘Yes,’ Bob Fisher nodded. ‘I think I read that somewhere about you. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Quite a few of my old uniform mates suffer from the same thing. Nasty business. Anyway, please carry on. Did you say anything else to him? Or him to you?’
‘No,’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. I just leaned into him. He looked scared and turned round, back into the hotel. When we got inside, I left him with the security guy. That’s all I know. Did you find the gun?’
‘Yes. He was carrying it,’ Waters confirmed, watching further colour drain from the superstar’s face.
‘Have you or your wife had any death threats lately?’ Fisher asked.
Jeff shrugged and rolled his eyes. ‘We get death threats all the time. It goes with the territory. There are a lot of jealous people out there. Statistics’ll tell you that something like this was bound to happen, after JFK, John Lennon. You know, we...’
Jeff paused. There was really no point in going into detail.
‘There was nothing in particular we were aware of,’ he finished.
More coffee and some sandwiches arrived. Their special guest asked the waiter if he could bring some whisky, to which the frightened man nodded.
‘Why are you in Sydney?’ Bob Fisher continued his questioning.
‘To accept an award for one of our charities, at a lunch where we should be in an hour’s time,’ Jeff shook his head in disappointment, checking his watch. ‘What a failure that’ll be for them. We were the guests of honour. After that, we were due to spend the weekend with some old friends in Mosman.’
The billionnaire didn’t really care to remember why they had come to Sydney, because the whole experience had changed beyond recognition. He saw an image of Celia and Gerald Blake running out to the car with open arms, anxious to console him and Kierney, because their son would already have rung ahead and told them the terrible news. So what was supposed to have been a relaxing weekend spent cajoling an aging man into moderating his behaviour was destined to become a desperate attempt to keep their spirits up.
If only something more urgent had arisen which had caused them to change their plans. Jeff wondered how long this little Spaniard had been plotting to kill him. If he hadn’t succeeded in pulling the trigger today, presumably the gunman would have switched to “Plan B” anyway. And for how long had they managed to unwittingly evade “Plan A”?
A bottle of Scotch whisky and some glasses were placed on the coffee table. The star looked up, offering some to the detectives, knowing neither would accept. He poured a large one for himself, swallowing it down quickly and then straightaway pouring another. The smooth, amber liquid bit at the back of his throat nicely, and he revelled in the fleeting pleasurable sensation.
There were voices outside in the reception area. Jeff stood up and ran out of the room, followed by Fisher and Waters, who watched as he took his daughter into his arms. Kierney Diamond was almost as recognisable as her parents. Growing slender and taller in the last twelve months, with long, dark hair, she was a picture of teenaged beauty. Bob Fisher’s own children had always had posters of the Diamonds plastered all over their bedroom walls. Jet and Kierney were well liked by Australia’s youth because of their accessibility and lack of pretension, and also because they behaved like normal teenagers. Youngsters identified with them and used them as role models, which was a responsibility which the Diamond and Dyson families had always taken seriously.
Seeing a father and daughter clinging to each other in desperate grief was more than the hardest of hearts could endure. Fisher wiped the tears from his eyes and shuffled hesitantly forwards to introduce himself to Bart Dyson, who was also standing watching the sad reunion. As stoic as ever, the elder statesman greeted the officer in his own diplomatic and gracious manner, before beckoning to Gerry Blake. The senior detective recognised this last man as the manager who, over the years, had often been pictured with the Diamonds. Shaking Gerry’s hand warmly, Bob led the other two men away from Jeff and Kierney, to re-join DS Waters and the hotel’s manager in the office.
As the loyal Irishman passed by, he gave his old friend a couple of quick pats on the back of his right shoulder. Extending his right arm behind him as he held on to his daughter, Jeff let Gerry grasp his hand with both of his own.
The bereft father hugged Kierney so hard.
‘Why?’ he kept saying, over and over again. ‘Why?’
The young woman was sobbing. She had spent the last few hours hoping with all her might that what her papá had told her over the telephone was not true, but seeing him in this state and accompanied by policemen, she knew it must be true. She held onto him tightly too, neither bothered by the other people around them. On her way through the hotel entrance, she had noticed a section of the foyer cordoned off with yellow plastic screening and had assumed it to be the scene of the shooting. Her head was full of questions too. How had a man with a gun managed to hide himself in this open area? What kind of security measures did the hotel claim to take to protect its guests?
‘¿Donde está la mamá?’ Kierney eventually asked her father.
Jeff stared down into her beautiful, dark eyes, which were sunken and bloodshot. Much like his must be, he guessed.
‘She’s upstairs in a bedroom,’ he smiled gently. ‘¿Quieres verla?’
‘Sí, por favor,’ the teenager nodded, then immediately had second thoughts. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Do I?’
Jeff turned to locate Fisher or Waters, but neither was around.
‘Bob?’ he called into the office, bringing both officers to the doorway immediately.
‘We’re going up,’ he informed them. ‘Is that OK?’
It was abundantly clear this man would not have changed his intentions anyway, regardless of their official response, but Fisher respected him for asking. He signalled his agreement with the pair already making for the lift, Jeff’s arm tightly around his daughter’s shoulder. It wasn’t too hard to work out who was supporting whom, the detective rued.
There was a different police constable now stationed outside room two-three-two, who stood to attention when he saw the Diamonds approaching. Sensing old shadows circling in his head for the first time in many years, Jeff’s heart sank still further. He was relieved to have the door opened for him on this occasion.
‘It’s not too bad,’ he encouraged his daughter in the doorway, also to counteract his own trepidation at what was behind the door. ‘She’s got a small hole in her forehead, and there’s a lot of blood on her back, but otherwise she looks normal.’
Jeff didn’t invite Kierney to go in first, as the consummate gentleman ordinarily would have done, and she was glad for it. She had never seen a dead person before and wasn’t sure what to expect or how she would react. She became aware of her father speaking through her apprehensive haze.
‘Lynn, look who’s here,’ her father was saying to the motionless body of his wife, lying on the bed exactly has he had left her not so long ago.
Sweeping around the room, the young woman’s eyes eventually found the courage to look towards the bed, and she shivered as she saw her mother lying so still. Jeff was watching her carefully and took hold of her arm as her step faltered.
‘No te preocupes,’ the kind father said. ‘Tengote.’
The sight of his child’s pained reactions was unbearable. It was hard enough to handle his own emotions, without the deep responsibility he now felt for his daughter’s grief as well. It felt weird talking to a dead body, but Kierney struggled to please her father.
‘Hi, Mamá,’ she began tentatively. ‘This is terrible. I can’t believe you’ll never talk to me again.’
The young woman cried softly as she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her mother’s left hand, touching the wedding ring, just as her father had done previously. It was uncanny, the similarity between them, and it made Jeff at once heartbroken and yet a little hopeful. He bit his lip and turned away as mother and daughter shared their private moment.
‘I’m so sorry to lose you,’ Kierney was saying. ‘And that Papá and Jet have lost you too, and you’ve lost us. It’s horrible. You’re the best mamá ever, but I hope you already know that.’
The widower walked over to the window, raised the shade and stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the city. The more he listened to his daughter talking and crying, the worse he felt and the more he cried too. After a minute or two, he went back to the bed and placed his hands on the youngster’s shoulders. She flopped back onto him like a sack of potatoes, and they remained in the same position for what seemed like several minutes. Jeff stared at the peaceful but expressionless face of his beloved wife and drank in her beauty once more.
Without a sound, the teenager turned round and stood up. Her father stepped back to allow her to move away from him.
‘Can we go now, please?’ she asked.
‘Yes, gorgeous,’ Jeff nodded, feeling guilty for his indulgence.
Kierney was only seventeen. He often forgot how young she was, because she had been his trusted adviser for so long. While she picked up her bag and sunglasses from the table, he returned to the window and pulled the blind down again. The police must have lowered it in case a photographer decided to masquerade as a window cleaner, or for some other ridiculously far-fetched but necessary contingency, the bitter man thought.
‘Come on. Let’s go,’ the father invited, signalling towards the door.
They both said goodbye to Sleeping Beauty and locked the door behind them, thanking the officer on duty. The lift was busy, so they took the stairs, only to find themselves met at the bottom by a party of Japanese tourists who immediately became excited to see the famous family members. Appealing for autographs and photographs, the group was disappointed at the star’s uncharacteristic brusqueness as the duo walked straight past.
‘They’ll know why soon enough,’ Kierney said what they were both thinking. ‘News travels fast.’
The pair smiled bravely and gave several shallow bows as they made their way back to reception. DS Waters was beginning to relax at last, handing everyone fresh mugs of coffee.
Bart Dyson embraced his son-in-law warmly. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Jeff nodded. ‘It’s good to see you, sir. How are you?’
‘Shocked,’ the Olympian responded resolutely. ‘DI Fisher here tells me that you caught the bastard who we think did it.’
Lynn’s father’s eyes had dark rings around them too, and he seemed to have aged since they had last met. Probably since about ten o’clock that morning, in fact. At sixty-three years old, the sporting hero who had become affectionately known as “Big D” was still a fine figure of a man, although thinner than when in his prime. He remained very fit, and his tall, imposing frame and full head of sandy grey hair gave him a distinctive and distinguished air.
The Dyson patriarch thought the world of his children and grandchildren, even though he would rarely admit it to their faces. He was an extremely proud man and reluctant to show much emotion. Against all expectations, he had also become very fond of Jeff Diamond over the years and respected him enormously. His son-in-law’s achievements not only equalled his own but had often surpassed them, and his farsightedness and compassion for the less fortunate were humbling even for the elder statesman.
Now, looking at the grieving husband and daughter, the impact of Lynn’s murder was just beginning to sink in.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jeff said quietly, seeing the tears well up in Bart’s eyes and hugging him again. ‘I should’ve been here. It should’ve been me, I know. Lynn wasn’t meant to die today.’
Gerry Blake remained seated, preferring to let the family deal with the situation as best it could. On the flight from Melbourne, he had consoled Kierney and speculated at great length with Mister Dyson about his daughter’s untimely demise. Just two nights ago, he and Fiona had listened to Lynn and Jeff talking happily of their recent trip to New York and of how they had celebrated their younger child’s seventeenth birthday. Watching his best mate coping with their sudden loss was painful, not only because the old friend knew how much the couple loved each other, but also because he knew Jeff would see this as yet another tragedy for which he would have to shoulder the blame.
Everyone took their seats in silence while they drank their tea or coffee. The widower reached absent-mindedly into his daughter’s handbag, searching for the cigarettes which would be secreted at the bottom, hidden well enough to evade detection by teachers or coaches. His spare packet was in his coat, the whereabouts of which were still unknown.
‘Do you mind if we smoke?’ he asked.
DS Waters pulled some cigarettes from his own pocket and offered them around. Was he flirting with Kierney? Jeff guessed he was and secretly glowed inside. He would have done exactly the same thing. Bart and Gerry both declined, although at that moment the accountant could easily have broken his long-standing resolution.
As the packet passed over her head on its way to her dad, the seventeen-year-old’s eyes looked up briefly. Concluding that it would not be appropriate to say anything, she rested back against his side, feeling safe. Jeff took the lighted cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand and moved his arm around his daughter’s shoulders until his fingers hovered in front of her face. Noting her grandfather’s look of disapproval, Kierney accepted in silent gratitude and snuggled into her dad still closer.
Jeff then lit another cigarette from the hidden packet he had found in his daughter’s bag and glanced over at his manager, hoping his old friend would know how thankful he was for the support. Truth be known, Blake & Partners’ success was largely built on the back of the Diamond fortune, but nevertheless Gerry was an exceedingly good businessman and had been instrumental in many of the well-timed, strategic investment decisions made during Jeff’s stellar career. As best mates, they had been through a lot together, and the billionnaire looked forward to a private moment to thank the indomitable one for dropping everything for him today.
Notebook nowhere in sight, Bob Fisher stood up and signalled to his colleague to do the same.
‘We’re about done here,’ he announced. ‘We’ll be in touch over the next few days to let you know how things are progressing. The court will require a post mortem, which will take a few days to organise. I assume you’ll be taking Ms Diamond’s body back to Melbourne for the funeral.’
Jeff and Bart exhaled as one, looking at each other in consternation.
‘Yeah,’ the bereaved husband replied with a frown. ‘We need to start thinking about all that stuff, I guess. Jesus, I can’t deal with this now. I flew up here this morning with my wife’s body, in all its glory, sitting right next to me. And now we have to fly down again with it in a box in the cargo hold. Fucking hell. It’s suddenly all got very final.’
Kierney put her left hand on her dad’s thigh to console him and watched his knee jump ten centimetres in the air. She had heard about this reflex action from when her mother had told her of his earlier symptoms, and here it was all over again.
‘Sorry, Papá,’ she yelped, startling as well. ‘We’ll help you with everything.’
‘Baby, I’m sorry too,’ Jeff replied. ‘I didn’t mean to freak you out. We’ll get through this.’
The detectives shook each person’s hand, and DI Fisher handed round his business cards. Bart Dyson stood up and followed them out, seeking answers to some of the questions which he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask while the Diamonds were in the room. His son-in-law watched them divert into the office next door and wondered what they might be discussing. Clearly, the old paranoia was back with a vengeance too, along with his cramping legs and angry compulsions.
‘You OK, mate?’ the superstar asked his manager, who was looking unusually confused on the other side of the room. ‘Thanks for being here.’
‘No worries, Jeff,’ Gerry answered. ‘I’m just utterly f-ing stunned. I can’t believe it. Is she just in a hotel room, lying on a bed?’
The executive’s normal, authoritative persona was temporarily suspended. His client hadn’t heard such an uncertain tone in his friend’s voice since they were teenagers.
‘Yep,’ Jeff nodded. ‘She’s just resting. It’s a tiring business, getting shot.’
Kierney moaned an objection. ‘Don’t joke about it.’
‘Sorry, Kiz. I know,’ her father apologised. ‘It’s hard to know what to do or say now. Life as we’d planned this morning is over. And life in the future is unknown. We’re in some sort of no-man’s land, until the powers that be tell us what to do.’
Gerry nodded. ‘I agree. It’s like suddenly finding out your meeting’s been cancelled but there’s no licence to make the best of the free time. Christ! What a terrible thing, mate. You’re looking remarkably composed, considering.’
‘You know, Gez,’ Jeff replied, ‘I’m surprising myself. Every now and then I get a burst of uncontrollable anger or dissolve into a tearful heap, but otherwise I’m numb. Completely fucking numb. Good, I suppose, under the circumstances, but it’s bound to hit us hard later.’
‘Well, if there’s no reason to stick around here,’ his manager suggested, ‘we might as well drive up to Mum and Dad’s. I rang them from the taxi. They’re shocked too, mate. Goes without saying. Mum told us to come over whenever we were ready.’
The younger man nodded. ‘Thanks, mate. I’m not going anywhere ‘til I know what they’re doing with Lynn. I want to know where she is at all times. And our suitcases are somewhere in the hotel too. They were presumably taken to whichever room we were supposed to sleep in tonight.’
The Irishman stood up, pleased to have something to follow up on. He was the family’s problem-solver, after all. That was why they paid him the big bucks, although he suddenly had an irrepressible urge to retire.
‘Leave that to me, mate.’
‘Cheers, Gerry,’ Jeff smiled, before turning to his daughter. ‘What do you want to do, Kizzo?’
The young woman shrugged. She seemed to have shrunk down to little girl proportions and had a lost expression on her face. Her father felt sorry for her, thinking of the grown-up behaviour they had seen from her just last night, so proud of her new driver’s licence and her upcoming partnership with Youssouf Elhadji.
‘Don’t know. Stay with you. That’s all.’
‘We’ll stay at Celia’s tonight,’ the star decided, stroking her cheek gently. ‘I couldn’t bear to stay here. Could you?’
Kierney shook her head. ‘No. Where do you think they’ll take Mamá?’
Jeff sighed. ‘To the morgue, I suppose. She’s not in her body any more anyway. I’m sure her soul’s flying around this very moment, searching for a peaceful place to rest. What’s left up there’s only a reminder for us.’
The teenager burst into tears once more, and so did her dad. They hugged each other tightly while the emotions played out. Gerry returned and, seeing them locked in each other’s arms with their heads buried against each other’s shoulders, swung round and walked out again. He had arranged for the couple’s luggage to be brought down from their room, and he went back to reception to ask them to book a rental car to take them to his parents’ place, north of the river.
Bart Dyson had concluded his discussion with the detectives and met the efficient businessman in reception.
‘They’re not doing too well in there,’ Gerry informed the big man. ‘I was going to leave them alone for a while.’
Bart looked into the office and noticed that the father and daughter seemed fairly composed. Jeff motioned to his father-in-law.
‘It’s alright,’ the older man reported back. ‘Come on in.’
The grandfather addressed the others. ‘Apparently the people from the Coroner’s Office will be here at any minute to transport Lynn’s body. Did you want to go with it?’
Jeff was undecided, having just managed to convince himself there was nothing else he needed from the majestic vessel which used to hold his soul-mate, but also reluctant to pass up an opportunity to remind himself of her again.
‘No,’ he decided. ‘I guess we have to trust that no harm will come to her. Although I don’t know what more harm there could be...’
‘That’s fine, Jeff,’ Bart cut him off. ‘I’ll go, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have a few moments alone with my daughter.’
Shit, Jeff chastised himself. How thoughtless he had been. He had made sure Kierney had been able to see her mother, but hadn’t offered the victim’s father any such comfort. Feeling awful, he sprung guiltily to his feet.
‘Christ, I’m so sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘That’s totally rude of me. Of course. I should have taken you up there before. Forgive me, please.’
‘That’s OK,’ the sportsman replied, picking up on his son-in-law’s patent sincerity.
‘No, it’s not,’ Jeff insisted. ‘Let’s go up now. Kiz, are you alright to stay with Gerry for a while?’
Kierney nodded. ‘You go with Grandpa. I’ll be fine, thanks.’
The celebrity signalled for the older man to leave the room in front of him, anxious to make up for the lack of compassion he had shown towards him. In the lift, Bart turned and embraced his son-in-law unexpectedly.
‘Jeff, forget it,’ he told him. ‘It’s a bad day for all of us. I’m not the best at showing my feelings. People tend to think I don’t have any.’
The widower sniffed, smiling at Big D’s self-deprecation. He saw him and raised him.
‘Unlike me.’
The Olympian laughed gently. ‘Yes, unlike you and the rest of your family. Kierney’s looking upset now, but she was very mature on the ‘plane. Very composed and polite to everyone. She’s a fine tribute to the two of you, Jeff. Your son too.’
The lift doors opened, and the two red-eyed giants of Australian society stiffened up to face the officer on duty. Recognising Bart Dyson in an instant, the young man stood to attention again. Jeff hung back from the door with no intention of going in. Thankfully the demons didn’t challenge him this time, and he watched his father-in-law enter for an encounter with the empty shell which used to be his daughter. He heard the sixty-three-year-old gasp in shock.
‘I’ll wait outside, sir.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
Then Jeff heard nothing for five minutes or so, except for the occasional creak of bed springs as he envisaged Bart sitting on the edge, just has Kierney had earlier. There was no audible conversation with the deceased. While he waited, the philosopher’s dulled mind forced itself to search for meaning in what was happening around him. He felt detached from the world and keen to get back to his daughter, who was now the closest bond he had to his absent wife. They had to contact Jet too, once it was a reasonable hour in the UK. No point ringing him in the middle of the night. It wasn’t as if knowing sooner would make any difference.
The lift doors opened to reveal three people in overalls wheeling a trolley. It was the Coroner’s team, and they had come to take the victim’s body away. Two women and a man, all dressed in dark blue from head to toe, who nodded politely as they passed him. What made people do such a job? They would be the ones who would disturb his wife’s clothing, the saddened man contemplated with disgust.
The bereaved husband nodded back. ‘G’day.’
‘Mister Diamond,’ one of the women replied. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss. What a terrible tragedy.’
Jeff felt like one of those dogs people had sitting on the parcel shelf of their cars. It appeared that nodding was all he was expected to do this last hour or so. It was indeed a terrible tragedy, and very soon the whole world would know about it. That would be their next hurdle. At some point he would have to front the media. After leading such an open public life, he could hardly retreat from them now.
‘Lynn’s father’s in with her at the moment,’ he informed the overalled team. ‘Could you give him a few minutes, please?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ the same woman agreed. ‘How are you?’
Jeff leaned against the wall, not knowing what to say.
‘Numb,’ he decided on. ‘Disbelief, more than anything.’
Bart Dyson must have heard the activity outside and emerged from the room. His eyes were still red, and he was unsteady on his feet, embarrassed at having been caught off-guard.
‘Good morning, Mister Dyson,’ the obvious leader piped up. ‘Take your time, please.’
‘No. Thank you,’ Big D told the group. ‘I’m done. Jeff, were you going in again?’
The widower shook his head. ‘No. Let them do their thing. We’ll walk down with you.’
He took his father-in-law’s arm, only to have it yanked out of his hand rather roughly. Fair enough, Jeff understood. They waited in silence with the upright and pimply-faced sentry, trying not to listen to what was happening to their loved one behind the door. Nevertheless, they clearly heard the team leader count “one, two, three, lift” and imagined Lynn’s body being hoisted onto the trolley. Feeling sick, the curious man wondered if they would still be able to see her face when she emerged.
They could. The sleeping bag his wife had been given, exactly like the one which he had seen his father wearing over a decade ago, was standard New South Wales Government Issue, zipped up as far as her waist. The expression on her face had altered again, making the corpse even less familiar to her husband.
Bart let out a sigh, followed by a long moan. He was probably thinking about his younger son, who had passed away a decade ago. Now a second child had died out of sequence. Unfair indeed. Again Jeff reached for his arm, and this time he was permitted to hold on to it for a few moments. The two men’s eyes met and exchanged a silent message.
Father and husband followed the trolley bearers down the corridor and into the lift, leaving the police officer guarding an empty room. The woman in charge acknowledged Bart’s request to travel to the mortuary with his daughter’s body, and Jeff once more deferred.
‘Sir, we’re going to be staying with the Blakes tonight,’ he told the older man when they had reached the ground floor. ‘I’m sure you’d be welcome to stay there too.’
‘No, Jeff. We’ll stay in town, thanks,’ the elder statesman replied, shaking his head. ‘Marianna’s flying up now, and I’m sure she’ll want to find out what’s going on. I’ll give you a ring later.’
‘OK,’ his son-in-law nodded. ‘We’ll have to hold a press conference soon. That’ll be a blast.’
‘Indeed,’ Bart sighed. ‘Is Gerry organising it? I’d like to participate if I can.’
‘Of course. We all can,’ Jeff agreed. ‘It’s what Lynn would’ve wanted.’
The clichéd remark came as a jolt to both of them. It was the first time either man had really acknowledged that the skilled and respected organiser was no longer directing the show. Kierney was walking towards them, closely followed by Gerry, minus his tie and jacket. The man who took care of their every move had the “little boy lost” look about him again. They were both shocked at the sight of the trolley with the body-bag on it, which had now been zipped up fully for the journey.
‘Would you like to have another look before Mamá goes?’ the concerned father asked the teenager.
Kierney declined, her face pale. ‘No, thanks. I’d rather remember her some other way.’
‘Yeah. Good idea,’ Gerry agreed, putting his hand on the young woman’s shoulder. ‘Me too.’
Without warning, a photographer had broken through the security cordon and was running noisily across the tiles of the hotel lobby, closely followed by a reporter. The doorman was running after them, caught derelict in his duties. The commotion brought the hotel manager out from behind reception, and he quickly intercepted the two rogue journalists.
‘Sorry, gentlemen. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ Nichols told them, standing in their path. ‘This is a private matter for the family. Please turn around.’
The photographer was snapping away regardless. Jeff and Gerry both walked over to him, their combined twelve-feet-seven-inches proving enough to make him stop. The former Sydney Grammar rugby captain held his hand out, palm upwards, beckoning to the man with his fingers.
‘Film, please,’ he shouted menacingly. ‘We’ll be making a public announcement in a few hours. Until then, we’d be grateful if you’d mind your own business.’
The camera was duly opened, and a reel of film was placed into the business manager’s outstretched hand.
‘Well said, mate,’ Jeff agreed, patting his friend on the back. ‘Thanks.’
The accountant was pleased to have fulfilled a worthy function again, as if it restored him to his rightful stature. The two interlopers departed as quickly as they had arrived, but it was a timely reminder that there was no way the Diamond media machine would manage to keep its silence for long.
The Coroner’s team was ready to go. There was a black van in the driveway, and the doorman opened the side door to let the trolley through. Bart Dyson followed, waving solemnly back towards the others, while Jeff and Kierney watched their loved one being slid into the van like a pallet of fruit and vegetables. The doors slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled slowly off.
The widower closed his eyes as a bout of dizziness overtook him. His legs crumbled, and he found himself sinking to his knees on the tiled flooring, with only his daughter’s slender legs to lean on. He sobbed uncontrollably as Kierney crouched down and put her arm around his shoulders.
‘Papá, levantate. Vamos a sentarnos allí,’ the young woman urged, anxious not to create too much of a spectacle and encourage any more unwanted attention.
Gerry walked over and grabbed his distraught client’s wrist, pulling him up to his feet.
‘Come on, mate,’ his old friend encouraged, jangling a set of keys. ‘Let’s get out of here. We’ll get Mum to fix us some lunch and we can discuss what to do next. There’s no need for us to stay here any longer.’
‘Cheers, Gerry,’ Jeff replied, summoning autopilot mode. ‘Whatever you want. I’m useless. I can’t think straight.’
The dignified celebrities walked back to the reception desk, looking for Chris and Miriam. The billionnaire opened his wallet, wondering how much the hotel would charge for a bottle of whisky and beverages for the police.
‘We’re leaving now,’ he told them. ‘Do you want me to pay or can you send me an invoice?’
The hotel manager waved his hands expansively.
‘Nonsense. I wouldn’t hear of it, Mister Diamond,’ Chris told him. ‘I wish you well. Again, we’re all very sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’
The grateful musician smiled, his eyes scanning the solemn semi-circle of staff who had scrambled to see them depart. What a horrendous few hours they had all endured. Cynically, he wondered how long it would take these people to slip back into normality, compared to the journey now ahead of his wife’s family and friends.
‘Thanks very much for your help. I’m sorry to screw up your day.’
Miriam giggled at his quirky comment, receiving a steely look from her boss.
‘It’s fine, Chris,’ Jeff added, not wishing to get the woman into trouble. ‘It’s my fault. Things didn’t go according to plan for anyone today.’
The widower returned to the others, who were waiting by the revolving door. He chose to go through the side door, to avoid reliving the encounter with his wife’s killer. The doorman lurched towards him, endeavouring to reach the handle before his hero had to push it himself. Jeff held out his right hand to the startled valet, who shook it gingerly.
‘Thanks for your help this morning. What’s your name?’
‘Fruchtmann, sir,’ the doorman replied formally in a German accent. ‘Karl.’
‘Thanks, Karl,’ the superstar repeated, his warped mind involuntarily amused by the stereotypical stiffness of the German people. ‘You did well, mate.’
His manager directed them to a black Holden Statesman with heavily tinted windows, waiting for them on the far side of the hooped driveway. Kierney climbed into the back, and Jeff dearly wanted to slide in beside her but thought better of it. He sat in the front passenger seat, alongside his manager, ready for the familiar journey across the city. He had the feeling they would be spending a lot of time behind heavily tinted glass in the next few weeks, before a rare sensible thought suddenly came into his head.
‘Is our luggage on board?’ he asked, somewhat panicked.
‘Yes, mate, it is,’ Gerry nodded, sighing.
The younger man was crying again. His daughter unfastened her safety belt and sat forward on the edge of the leather seat, putting her hand on her dad’s right shoulder.
‘You don’t have to worry about all that stuff now, Papá,’ her kind voice told him. ‘I know what you’re thinking… that Mamá used to take care of all the organising... Were you?’
The father sniffed. ‘Yes, I was. Your telepathic powers are working well.’
Weekends always seemed to start early in Sydney on sunny days, and commuters were already clogging up the city’s roads as the Statesman cruised over the Harbour Bridge. They had been driving for about fifteen minutes when Jeff’s mobile telephone buzzed in his back pocket. He lifted himself off the seat and reached it with his left hand.
‘Jeff Diamond,’ he coughed, recognising the number as that of DI Fisher, having entered it into the directory not long ago.
‘Jeff, it’s Bob Fisher,’ the voice confirmed. ‘How are you?’
‘We’re OK, thanks,’ Jeff told him. ‘Driving to Gerry’s parents’ place for some downtime. How are you?’
‘Good, thank you. Listen, Jeff,’ Fisher continued. ‘The man you apprehended has made a full confession. So well done. Thank you for acting so quickly.’
The quick witted man laughed bitterly into the telephone, unable to resist a dig at such an insensitive choice of phrase.
‘Not quickly enough for me, Bob, but maybe for you.’
The irreverent celebrity heard the police officer breathe deeply. ‘Yes, of course. I’m very sorry, sir.’
‘That’s OK,’ Jeff felt guilty. ‘You’re welcome, I guess.’
‘A word of warning, if I might?’ the inspector ventured, regrouping.
‘Sure,’ the widower answered, more conciliatory this time.
‘It would be best to make some sort of announcement sooner rather than later,’ Fisher told him. ‘Our media office is beginning to take calls, so it won’t be long before the story gets a life of its own.’
‘Yes, I hear you,’ the bereaved singer acknowledged. ‘We’ve been talking about it. Bart Dyson’s gone to the Coroner’s Office. Should we turn round and come back into the city?’
‘Might be a good idea,’ the police officer agreed. ‘We can set something up here fairly quickly, if you like.’
‘Hold on a second, please, Bob,’ Jeff requested. ‘I need to talk to my advisers.’
Gerry smiled, glad his friend hadn’t lost his sense of humour.
‘Turn around?’ he asked, looking in his door mirror and preparing to change lanes.
‘Yep. Back to the Surry Hills police station,’ he confirmed, reading from the business card which Bob had given him. ‘Goulburn Street. Press conference. Is that OK, Kiz?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ his daughter sounded resigned. ‘Better get it over and done with.’
‘That’s what I think too,’ Jeff agreed, lifting the handset back up to his mouth. ‘OK, Bob. Thanks for the offer. We’re on our way back in. Probably twenty minutes or so. I’ll ring Big D. He wants to be part of it.’