Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron
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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.
CHAPTER SIX
As Kit made a dash through the pelting rain towards the front door, a ruddy-faced man in overalls came barrelling out as if shot from a canon. He excused himself, while still on the run, and headed straight for the van on the lawn. Kit heard a familiar yet unexpected voice in the hall so she just walked in through the open doorway to find her friend and ex-partner Detective Sergeant Jon Marek giving his undivided attention to a large, uncooperative black umbrella. His mane of tousled grey hair belied the fact that he was only 35 years old and was quite at odds with his Adonis-like face and athlete's body. He had always maintained, throughout their three-year partnership, that it had been the strain of working with Kit that had turned him prematurely grey.
'Don't you know it's bad luck to open an umbrella inside,' she said.
'Eh? Oh, it's you O'Malley,' he said as if he'd been expecting her. 'I've been expecting you,' he added.
The ruddy-faced man brushed past Kit again, this time lugging an armful of metal poles and a tarpaulin. He was having a great deal of trouble with the latter so rather than lose the lot he dropped the tarp then grabbed one corner and dragged it up the hallway. The metal rivets screeched across the marble tiles sending a fingernails-on-a-blackboard shiver up Kit's spine.
'What the hell is going on?'
'A local citizen has met with an untimely demise, ' Marek said, thrusting the umbrella at Kit and indicating she should follow him.
'Who killed him?' Kit asked, expecting to see Celia handcuffed to a standard lamp in the lounge room.
'I said demise. What makes you think someone's been murdered,' Marek said, turning to face Kit so suddenly that she ran into him.
'I said killed. And I have no idea what I should be thinking. But your presence suggests something other than death by misadventure Jonno,' Kit said, fighting with the umbrella which had sprung open during the collision.
'Yeah, well you know that when a ratepayer as rich as this one kicks the golden bucket our lords and masters like to have all the bases covered. But seeing as the only weapon, as such, that we've found is a fish pond, I'd say it's a case of accidental death by drowning. And it's a her not a him by the way. Leave that up, you'll probably need it out here,' Marek said, opening the door to the patio.
Kit suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and stepped with great trepidation onto the patio overlooking the floodlit Forum. The rain, which slid so silently down the marble torso of the motionless Perseus, thumped with an irritating urgency on the caps of the three officers trying to raise a canvas canopy over the bald-headed body of Celia Robinson.
'Oh shit, what happened?' Kit asked, collapsing into one of the patio chairs. She was unable to take her eyes from the dismal scene before her, but couldn't help thinking that it looked like a carefully designed set for a Miss Marple movie. A now sodden blanket covered most of her body, as if someone had put it there to keep her warm, and Celia lay on her back on the lawn with her arms neatly by her side, looking for all the world as if she was taking a nap. The only things that looked out of place were Celia's extremely hairless pate and the extraordinary amount of water in which she was lying. In fact there was far too much water lying around for it to have come from the rain which was only now getting