Unholy Secrets

By Neive Denis

Unholy Secrets is the story of a daughter's dtermination to uncover the truth about her father's death.

After eight years away from home, Lucy Telford returns to resolve the circumstances of her father's death more than three years earlier. At the time, the police believed it was suicide, but their botched investigation resulted in a coron

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eaglemount Books
• Release date: Sep 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648942306

Book preview

Unholy Secrets

by

Neive Denis

Book eight in the Sonoma Whittington series

Copyright

First published in 2020

Copyright © Neive Denis 2020

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 percent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Cataloguing-in-publication data

Creator: Denis, Neive, author

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN: 978-0-6483950-9-6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-6489423-0-6 (digital edition)

Cover design: T A Marshall, Mackay, QLD Australia

Prologue

Three and a half years ago…

As night closed in, the solid curtain of rain made the house feel it was wrapped in a gauze-like cocoon. Outside, the wind howled and gusted, bringing down trees and fences. What would later be termed a ‘super cell’ descended on the small valley community of Tanwood without much warning. Rain bucketing down for the last two days already had the river and feeder creeks running bank-to-bank. The super cell ensured the roads became flooded, isolating the community for days.

The dark figure kept to the trees for cover. Mud squelched with every careful step, and the bag he carried seemed to become heavier with each stride. He stopped and dragged a hand across his face to clear the water from his eyes. The peak of the cap worn under the hood of his jacket offered his face only minor protection from the stinging rain. This was the crucial stage of the exercise.

He must cross open ground to reach the building. At least the storm meant all the windows and doors were closed. From the outset, his concern was about his footprints. A quick look over his shoulder eased his mind. Even when under the trees, his footprints already were lost in the shallow sheet of water across the area. Despite this, nervous tension built within him. He paused for a few deep breaths before continuing his stealthy progress towards the house.

Once on the covered wide concrete path running around all sides of the building, he would be safe. A muddy footprint left by each step lasted but a second before rain obliterated it. The soft thud and splash of his gumboots on the concrete barely discernible to his ears. A light was on inside the house. No one in there would hear him. Although it felt like a lifetime, it took no more than a minute to pick his way to the north-eastern corner of the house.

His intention, once he reached the corner, was to cut across the yard to the jumble of large boulders left in situ as a garden feature some thirty metres from the northern side of the building. From there, he could scope out the place and plan the final act of tonight’s performance. He could smell smoke. ‘Why not,’ he asked himself. ‘Tonight is a perfect night to light a fire.’

Panic set in when he reached the corner of the house. This was not scripted. Light spilled out across the path and beyond, illuminating a patch of the yard to the north of the house. The only open window in the building was the worst possible one. Now he couldn’t risk cutting across to the rocks. He knew hesitation could be his downfall, and fought to control his panic. Clear thinking returned. Sure, it meant a change of plan, but an open window presented different possibilities.

The deed was done. His objective achieved. He felt euphoric as he picked his way back along the same track he used to arrive at the house. Was it really so easy? An almost hysterical giggle broke free. He forced himself to walk and not run. Falling face first into the mud at this stage of the game was not wise. He giggled again. At least, if he fell in the mud, the rain would soon wash it off. Then he was at the gate. Through the falling rain, he could make out the road in front of him and his battered vehicle parked several metres further along beside the road. Now it was critical to be gone; to be ‘home’ and warm, and dry again.

The village was deserted; nobody out and about on such a night. Floodwaters already trickled across the road as, spurred on by the thought of the rum toddy and dry clothes waiting for him, he drove as fast as possible through the rain.

Chapter 1

A tentative young woman cracked open my office door and peered inside, before again checking the name on the door. Still unsure about where she was, she asked, Is this Whittington Investigations?

Unless someone has changed the sign on the door, that’s who I am.

That’s amazing. I can get lost in a two-room apartment, but I’ve found this place on my first attempt. May I come in?

If you’re wanting to talk to Whittington Investigations, perhaps you should.

The tall, willowy girl checked over her shoulder before closing the door behind her and picking her way across the bilious green carpet to my desk. Please, take a seat and tell me what brings you here this morning.

Uhmm … Yes … Thank you. Miss Whittington, is it?

Call me Sonny. It’s much easier than the other mouthful. Would you like a coffee before we start?

I directed her to make herself comfortable in one of the lounge chairs in the front corner of my office while I fiddled with the coffee machine. When I joined her with our coffees – one cappuccino with no sugar, and one black – she was perched on the front edge of one of my ancient lounge chairs and looking quite uptight. After placing the cappuccino on the table in front of her and collapsing into the other chair, I encouraged her to relax and tell me why she came.

She took a couple of sips of her coffee before running the tip of her tongue across her top lip to remove froth deposited there. So far, our meeting was going nowhere in a hurry. My frustration level was rising. A dangerous situation, as it tends to bring out my darker side. At last, while retaining a firm two-handed grip on her mug, she slumped back in her chair.

I’m sorry. I haven’t done anything like this before, and I’m not sure how to go about it.

Well, it’s not a complicated procedure. Something caused you to come to my office to discuss whatever it was with me. Now you’re here, we can move onto the next part of the exercise. It’s where you tell me why you’ve come to see me. So… Why are you here?

I want you to investigate a murder.

A murder…? Has it happened, or is it one you’re about to commit?

Oh, I’m not doing this very well am I?

I can’t answer that. You haven’t told me anything yet. So far, all you’ve said is you want me to investigate a murder. Maybe you should be telling the police about this murder instead of asking me to investigate it. So, I’ll ask the question again: has this a murder happened, or is it about to happen?

No, no. It has happened. It happened about three and a half years ago. There’s no point in talking to the police about it.

Okay, that’s a start. Did this murder happen here in Millhaven?

No … Yes … Well, sort of … It happened on the outskirts of Millhaven, up the valley at Tanwood. Do you know the area?

My mind reminded me it was a long while since I’d been there. Yes, I know Tanwood, but it must be at least ten years since I was there.

I haven’t been there in a long time either. It must be eight years since I left.

Right, so far, we have established that a murder occurred at Tanwood about three and a half years ago and, for some reason, you don’t think it’s worth mentioning it to the police. Is it safe for me to assume the police investigated the murder at the time it occurred? She gave a curt nod in response. I see. What was the outcome of their investigation?

There was no outcome. Nobody was charged. They claimed there was insufficient evidence to charge anyone. I believe the coroner gave an open verdict. And that seemed the end of the story as far as the authorities were concerned.

When she lifted her eyes from the coffee mug she was squeezing to death, the deep-seated pain in them tugged at my heartstrings. Perhaps more compassion on my part might pay dividends. I rescued her mug and put it on the table out of harm’s way. What can you tell me about the murder and the subsequent police investigation? I’m not looking for technical details. Just tell me anything you remember about the event.

That’s just the point. I don’t remember anything about it. I wasn’t even in the country at the time, and it was a while after the event before I heard about it. By then, the police investigation was over and the coroner had declared an open verdict.

It was obvious the event was personal for the young woman but, so far, she had avoided providing clues as to why. She was so tightly coiled and controlled within herself, I couldn’t determine whether her reluctance to reveal those personal details was deliberate or otherwise. I decided to try a different tack. You said the murder occurred about three and a half years ago; why wait until now to decide you want the incident investigated?

I had to wait until I was twenty-one. I know the age of majority is eighteen but, in my case, I had to wait until I was twenty-one years old.

Can this become any more difficult? I’m sure she thinks she answered my question, and will be dismayed to learn her answer only created more questions. What was so significant about turning twenty-one? What was to happen when you reached that age, and why did it impact on your wanting to investigate this murder?

When I turned twenty-one, I was supposed to gain control of my trust fund. It was quite clear that’s what should happen. But, when the time came, there was a definite reluctance on the part of the trustees to relinquish control. Some legal ‘prompting’ was required before one of them decided to comply with the rules of the trust. The other trustee was not so keen. Why that was so became apparent when my solicitor did a bit of digging. There was an anomaly to the tune of $20,000. It was only the threat of legal action against that trustee, a solicitor, which brought results. The anomaly was corrected, and I gained control of my money. Once that happened, I was in a position to pay for an investigation.

My ‘I see’ comment seemed an inane response under the circumstances. Her story wrong-footed me and, for a moment, I struggled to reinstate some direction in my questioning. How urgent is this investigation you want undertaken?

Are you saying you don’t want to take the case?

Not at all. If the murder and the subsequent investigation occurred three and a half years ago, I doubt anything of significance will occur in the next week or so. All I’m saying is, I don’t know what your agenda is or how you see any such investigation proceeding.

I’m sorry. I suppose I half expected you to tell me to go away; that I was some sort of nutcase and you had more to do than listen to stories about some long-gone murder. Do you think you might take the case?

At this point in time, I don’t know much about it. I can tell you I have a couple of matters requiring immediate attention. After that, I would be prepared to look into the murder and the events associated with it, before committing to take the case or otherwise. Are you planning on staying in Millhaven long, or just passing through?

My time is my own. I am prepared to be in Millhaven for as long as required … For as long as an investigation might require me to be here.

Right, here’s my suggestion. Over the next couple of days, I will do some research into the incident. I suggest we meet again at nine o’clock on Friday morning. By then, I’ll be in a better position to tell you whether I will take the case or not. How does that suit you?

Yes, that’s fine by me. I’ll be here at nine o’clock on Friday. If there is nothing more you need, I’ll be on my way and leave you to get on with your work.

It would be helpful if I had a few details before you leave. We could start with your name and how I might contact you should I need to before Friday.

Yes, of course. I’m Lucy Telford.

A triumphant look spread across her face as she finished giving me her phone and email details. As I scribbled them in my notebook, I asked my next question. It would be helpful if I knew something about the murder … like, who was murdered, for instance.

Didn’t I say…? Oh dear, I’m making a real mess of this. Right, details… The murdered man was Thomas Blaine, aged about forty-six at the time; a long-time resident and farmer in the Tanwood area where the murder occurred.

As I scribbled the last of the details in my notebook, I asked, What is your interest in this? Why do you want to investigate Mr Blaine’s death?

She didn’t answer. I looked up. She was almost at the door. She didn’t pause her exit, wrenching open the door and starting out through it. Without turning her head, at the last moment before letting the door close behind her, she answered my question.

He was my father.

Chapter 2

Was I stunned or intrigued – or both? Probably both is the correct assessment. Whichever it was, it kept me glued to my chair for some time after Lucy Telford left. The sound of the door opening drew me back from my long stare into the distance. Thinking it was Lucy returning, I attempted to scramble out of my chair to meet her.

So this is what investigators do while the rest of the world slaves away all day at real jobs.

I relaxed and slumped back into my chair. I was working. I was thinking; thinking about a client who came to see me about a new case. Anyway, if the rest of the world is slaving away, what are you doing here at this hour of the day?

Emily Ibbotson’s chirpy entrance might be just what I needed after my meeting with Lucy Telford. It looks as though you’ve already had coffee. Could you go another one if I make it?

My friendship with Emily goes back a few years. A chemical engineer working in the mining industry, she upskilled to become a forensic scientist. Then, a forensic laboratory established in Millhaven was a new state government initiative designed to ease the load on the single state-owned establishment. The mining conglomerate Emily worked for won the contract. They set up the new forensic facility as a separate wing of their central mining analysis and testing laboratory. Emily while appointed manager of the whole expanded facility, spends most of her working hours in the forensic lab. Her logical thinking has proved invaluable in many of the numerous investigations she worked with me. And, she has those ‘extra skills’ should I be in need of a spot of ‘unofficial’ forensic analysis to help with a case.

As she set our steaming mugs of coffee on the low table in front of us, Emily demanded, Prove you were working when I came in. Tell me about this new case and the client who goes with it. Whatever it is, it seems to have grabbed you. I assume it is more than a simple errant-spouse type case.

…And you would be correct. It’s a murder investigation; a more than three-year-old murder investigation.

You don’t normally investigate murders, not even if they happened yesterday, never mind one that’s almost ancient history. What’s so special about this one … And why does somebody want it investigated after so long? Oh, and while I’m on the hunt for answers, are we sure it was an actual murder? …And do the police know about it?

It appears the murder was real enough and the police did investigate it at the time. Indications are it’s now a cold case. Nobody was charged with murder. No, I don’t know why that is, but I was given to understand it had something to do with a lack of evidence.

If the police investigation didn’t solve the crime, what do you hope to achieve? Or, perhaps the question is: what does your client hope you will achieve?

At this point, I’m not sure she is a client, or if I have a case. I told her I would look into the murder and meet with her again on Friday to tell her whether I will take the case or not. Yes, I know it sounds peculiar, but it is also intriguing. Perhaps I’ll see it in a different light after some research. Putting it aside for the moment, you haven’t told me why you are here at this hour of the day and not locked away with your test tubes and beakers.

For the last two weeks, we have been flat out. I’ve been averaging about four hours sleep a day.

I knew I hadn’t seen you for a while, but I didn’t realise there was a crime spree in Millhaven.

"No there isn’t, but the locals have been running amok in Ralston. The State facility was overloaded with samples coming in, so they redirected all the Ralston stuff to us. Things have settled down in our lab, so I’m taking some time off to balance the books, so to speak. I had to go in this morning for something, but the rest of the day is mine and so is all of tomorrow. So-o, what are we working on today and tomorrow?"

I have some paperwork to complete first but, if you are looking for something to do, you could start researching this murder I need to know about.

Emily set her laptop up on the coffee table. I gave her my scant details of the murder, and she began hunting for information. Her only break was to duck out to buy something for our lunches. After eating at our desks, our allotted tasks continued through to mid-afternoon. By then, I had completed the outstanding paperwork, and I was ready to join the hunt for information about the murder.

Over yet another coffee, I went through everything Emily had found. While she located quite a bit of material, it didn’t tell us much. She bemoaned the fact. I printed off all this stuff as I found it, but it’s ‘sketchy’ at best. It doesn’t provide any solid information to work with, and only confirms what Lucy told you.

I’d come to that same conclusion. It’s hard to understand why Thomas Blaine’s name seems vaguely familiar. I don’t remember there being a murder associated with it. I’m thinking it happened while I was on the overseas holiday I took around that time. Nevertheless, a murder in this part of the world generates a lot of interest, and the media would be packed with every morsel of information extracted from any source. It doesn’t seem the case in this instance. I don’t imagine the circumstances warranted a media blackout, or an embargo was placed on the release of details. If there were an embargo, the media should have been full of the story as soon as it was lifted. There is no evidence of such an occurrence.

You might have to wine and dine your good mate Ben Richards tonight to try persuading him to let you look at the police investigation files.

I think it might be a bit early for that. In addition to wining and dining, in this case, I think it might also require the very softest of kid gloves. After all, if the police investigation came up empty, they are not going to welcome someone else trying to show them up. Nevertheless, if Ben Richards comes for dinner, I might begin some groundwork to build on at a later date.

Just before five o’clock, Emily dashed off to do something before the shops closed. I took advantage of the solitude to leave a voice message for Ben Richards to join me for dinner. The invite probably wasn’t necessary. Ben and I eat together most nights unless one of us is working. Our friendship goes back many years to when Ben was a uniformed police officer stationed here at Millhaven. Now, he is the top cop for this region. There was a time when we almost became more than friends. Then, life, work, promotions, and whatever else, separated us for a number of years. Not long after I left the public service and became a private investigator, opportunity arose to rekindle the friendship. Since then, it has proved invaluable to my investigations on a number of occasions.

A couple of minutes after I left the voice message, Ben called me. I thought I was coming for dinner anyway. Do you have something planned, or would you like me to bring something?

Nothing fancy planned; just a couple of T-bones with all the trimmings. If you’re inclined to something more exotic, feel free to bring it with you. He assured me a fine steak washed down with an excellent Cabernet would be most acceptable and sufficient.

It wasn’t a late night. Wining and dining were accomplished with no attempt at groundwork occurring. Ben seemed pre-occupied all evening. It probably had something to do with the conference he was flying south to first thing in the morning. An early night suited me fine as I was keen to return to researching the Blaine murder.

After seeing Ben off, I headed for my office in the front wing of my home, acquiring a mug of hot chocolate on my way through the kitchen. My first task was to establish a case file. I knew I hadn’t accepted it as a case yet but establishing a case file gathered everything we collected so far in one place and enabled me to make sense of it. Once that was done, I set about noting key points contained in the material.

After two solid hours of extracting information from the printouts, I still didn’t know much more than when I started … not much more than the details Lucy gave me. In spite of my intention to work on until midnight, my eyes were becoming heavy and that idea went the way of many other good intentions. It was just after eleven o’clock when I crawled into bed.

*****

This morning I headed for my city office earlier than usual. Not only did I feel guilty about wasting a good research opportunity last night, but I wanted to explore a few potential resources before Emily arrived. As she had today off work, I had no doubt she would be in my office and ready to start researching by nine o’clock. While I welcome her assistance, I work better alone on this part of a case. Once I know where an investigation is going, Emily’s input is most useful.

It didn’t matter how I viewed the Blaine murder, I was a long way from knowing much about it, or what direction my investigation should take. After ruling a line down the centre of a page to create two columns, I headed one column Details I Know and the other one Questions Needing Answers. Then, I sat back and studied the otherwise blank sheet.

Get on with it, I snarled aloud. I was achieving nothing at a great rate of knots this morning. Frustration was high; output zero. I snatched up a pen and started scribbling. Things in the forefront of my mind went onto the paper quickly. Then the proverbial ‘brick wall’ loomed up in front of me. It was time to stop writing and start thinking. Thinking happens better when fuelled by caffeine. On my way to the coffee machine, I checked the time.

That’s unusual, I told my empty office. She usually arrives long before this. It was 9.30 and Emily was a no-show. As I took my first sip of coffee, she called.

Something has come up at work. I’d like to think I’ll get away from here sometime later today but, if I’m honest, I don’t believe there’s any chance of it happening. I’ll call you later in the day.

Okay, so my time is my own today. I’m not too disappointed, but now I have to plan what I’m going to do for the rest of the day. I told myself I wasn’t procrastinating, just was waiting for Emily to arrive before getting on with it. There was no ducking the issue now.

What is wrong with me? I’m not one who has trouble getting stuck into whatever has to be done. In a show of resoluteness, I pulled my chair in close to the desk, squared my sheet of paper in front of me, and gave it a long, hard look. The list of facts was remarkable for its brevity. The list of questions had reached the bottom of the page. My eyes were drawn to one particular line.

In the facts column I had written home alone at the time. On the same line in the questions column, I had written who else should have been there. One of the newspaper articles indicated Blaine was home alone at the time of the murder. Nowhere else had I seen it mentioned. It raised the questions: was it unusual for him to be home alone? Did others reside in the house? Who else should – would normally – be there?

Lucy hadn’t mentioned anyone else; not a mother or siblings. Was Thomas Blaine a widower living alone? That drew my eyes to the very next question on my list: why hadn’t Lucy been back to Tanwood in so many years? From the information she gave me, she must’ve left Tanwood when she was about thirteen years old. Where did she go, and why? …And why did she never return?

One answer might be that she went away to boarding school. Tanwood is a long way from the nearest high school. At age thirteen, she was about to begin secondary school. Other students from up the valley travelled on the school bus every day to the nearest high school, but travelling the distance involved made a long day for them. Some mothers chose to drive their children rather than subject them to the extended travel time resulting from the long, meandering bus route.

If Blaine was a widower sharing a house with only his young daughter, getting her to school every day during her primary school years would not be a problem. There was a small one-teacher school in the Tanwood area. Lucy could catch a bus, ride her bike, or be collected by a neighbour driving her own children to school. It wasn’t until she reached secondary school age the problem with travelling to school occurred.

While the scenario was realistic, it was pure assumption on my part. I had nothing to suggest Lucy was sent away to boarding school. But, if she wasn’t, why did she leave Tanwood at such a young age, and then not return. If she was away at school, it was likely she would spend the school holidays at home at Tanwood. Such deliberations were getting me nowhere. The only relevant fact was that Lucy wasn’t at home at the time of the murder. The good thing is, Lucy can answer those questions when she comes on Friday. Pity some of my other questions won’t be so easy to answer.

I started a second sheet of paper. No new facts had emerged yet, but more questions had occurred to me. In the midst of it all, a revelation dawned on me: what did I know about Tanwood? The short answer is, not much. As I told Lucy, I hadn’t been to the area in at least ten years. In reality, I had never ‘been’ to Tanwood. It was somewhere you passed through on your way to somewhere else.

Perhaps a visit might help the thought processes dredge up something worthwhile. If I devoted the