The Stain: An Audrey Lord Mystery, #2

By G C Chase

A dead body. An exclusive community. Was it really an accident?

When Sudanese teenager Arol Chol turns up dead at the foot of the prestigious Chilton Hill, local journalist Audrey Lord is first on the scene. Chilton Hill's wealthy residents believe Arol was robbing one of the residents before he fell from the cliff at the bottom of their property. At the authorities' request, Audrey agrees to report it as an accident - for now. But Aro was popular and an excellent student. There was no reason for him to rob one of the well-secured residents — certainly not on his own. As Audrey digs deeper, she discovers not everyone was happy with Aro's plan to move to the Peninsula. From the Chilton Hill residents to members of his old community and even those inside his own family, it seems everyone has an axe to grind. As Audrey investigates and race relations run high, she finds herself torn between the inflammatory views of the wealthy residents, Aro's grieving family, and the South Sudanese community. She wants to give Aro's family answers, but if she's wrong, it will cost her career and leave a killer on the loose. Nobody will be safe.

 

Perfect for readers of Sally Rigby, Robert Galbraith and Anthony Horowitz.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G C Chase
• Release date: Apr 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201819118

Book preview

1

From Port Phillip Bay, Chilton Hill rose from the highway and Bennington like a bell curve, flattening out at the top just enough for a small group of luxury homes to sit on top before it declined on the other side. The lucky residents on the hill had uninterrupted views of either the city, an hour to their right, or the Peninsula to their left. One lucky home owned by Sam and Mary Worthington had views of all three sides. The only thing the well-heeled, professional residents of Chilton Hill had in common with the working-class residents of Bennington on the streets below them was a postcode.

But while the residents of Bennington had to contend with drugs and crime and the occasional serial killer, Chilton Hill wasn’t without its dangers. The sandy clay cliff face, with its mix of cobbles and boulders of Palaeozoic sandstone, shale, quartzite, and slate set with patches of vegetation, provided some protection against the ravages of the bay but not against the constant, gnawing fear of erosion. As Sam Worthington walked down his lawn to assess the view—his kingdom—the only thing spoiling things was the nagging feeling that the front section of his property might one day slice off and disappear into the bay. With any luck, he would be gone by then, but it still gnawed away at him. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the morning air, and looked down the hill at the scum of Bennington.

A century ago, scared locals found the road impossible to use after stretches of rain. Tales of motorists negotiating the incline in reverse while farmers used their horses to pull bogged cars up the muddy hill were now local folklore. Persistence paid off as roads were paved and luxury homes built to take in the incredible views. The area became known as insurance hill because of the fear that the foundations of their homes would disintegrate and tumble into the sea.

A sea wall was constructed and for a time it appeared things were under control until intermittent land slips in the nearby streets once again reminded locals that the earth they had built their lives upon was anything but stable. Council deemed Chilton Hill a landslide risk. Trucks showed up. Council completed more works. Once again, the fear subsided, until a new threat emerged. Criminals that crept up the hill like vermin. It was only a matter of time before they tried to take what Sam had spent a lifetime accumulating.

Sam opened his phone and checked the security footage like he did every day. After the most recent robbery at his neighbours a frenzy of security trucks and technicians installed the latest security equipment. Everyone on Chilton Hill now had cameras in every nook and cranny of their enormous properties. Sam had gone along with the plan so Mary felt safe. But if someone wanted to get in, he knew they would so he kept a baseball bat under his bed, just in case. At one point, he lobbied the council to have the dozen homes gated off, but the council wouldn’t agree as the private road the residents used still belonged to the people.

There was nothing on his security feed. He checked the news. Nothing there either. Good.

Sam flexed his hands. On days when his arthritis gave him hell, he climbed out of bed while Mary slept, took a bucket of balls, and would take pot shots at the fishermen in their tinnies on the bay. Once upon a time, he’d been a scratch golfer. Those days were long gone, but he could still hit a ball more than two hundred metres. Lost in their thoughts until the clunk from Sam’s ball interrupted their morning, the fishermen would continue to hold their lines in place while they tried to work out where the hell the ball came from. If they spotted him, Sam would feign an apology. The ones who saw he was an old man let it go. He preferred it when they gave him the finger, like he was still worth arguing with.

A tiny speedboat headed towards the city. The Saturday speedboats would roar past, loaded with families of young people full of life, just like he had with his family once upon a time. Nowadays he was more of an observer than a participant, overwhelmed by the noise at family functions, and trying to get a word in edgewise as his gaggle of children and grandchildren talked over one another. It was his own fault. He hated wearing his hearing aid in public.

A seagull flew past and landed on the rocks below. Others preoccupied with something below joined it. Behind him the back door opened. He turned to see Mary walking towards him, holding two coffees. A blonde Jackie O his mother used to call her. Out of his league his father said more than once. After forty years of marriage, she could still take his breath away.

Here you go. Mary handed him a long black and joined him alongside the railing.

Sam smiled and took the coffee. He had done some foolish things in his life but marrying her was not one of them.

I never tire of this view, said Mary, turning to face the bay.

Neither did Sam, wondering now how much longer he could enjoy it.

Mary’s face scrunched. What’s going on down there? She pointed to the seagulls on the rocks below.

Sam looked back over the water. Probably fighting over some bread or something. Speaking of which, do you fancy heading out for breakfast today? There’s a new place in the village that looks good?

They are making an awful lot of fuss, Sam.

They always do. Come on. Let’s go inside, said Sam.

But Mary leaned over the railing to inspect. I’ve never seen that many seagulls, Sam. There must be something down there.

It’ll be some food that’s washed up. Remember that time at the beach when I made the mistake of leaving my chips open.

Yes, I do. The kids were terrified, said Mary still craning her neck to see.

There’s something down there. Look, Sam.

Sam spotted a fluffy white cloud whiz past and out into the bay.

Mary gasped. Is that blood? Oh my God. Sam! Sam! Come look. Mary pointed like a wizard waving a wand. Someone is down there.

Sam stood next to her. He could see it now. The large, dark red stain on the granite rocks. And next to it a body face down wearing a charcoal track suit, pants, and a hoodie. The runners were black with a blue strip. The fact he was dead was never in doubt.

It’s a boy–a teenager, maybe? Oh, this is terrible. We need to call the police. Mary didn’t wait for his reply and hurried back to the house.

Sam looked at the boy’s hands and neck. How the hell did he get there? An attempted robbery? One of those gangs that was always on the news? The kid tried to escape over the cliff and fell to his death. It was the only explanation that made sense.

2

Audrey Lord drove towards Chilton Hill to pick up her daughter Beth after a sleepover and glanced out over the bay. It was a gorgeous Autumn morning, and the sky a clear, powder blue. Audrey had never planned to come back to Bennington yet here she was, two decades later, with a husband and teenage twins. Journalistic jobs with the right hours were scarce and the position at the local newspaper had been the first after a year of looking. She hadn’t left Bennington on good terms and often wondered if it was the right move, but on days like this, it felt like it was. Her phone rang. It was her daughter. Beth.

But before Audrey could speak, Beth said. Mum, they’ve just found a dead body on the rocks! The police have just arrived.

Audrey’s pulse raced. She had been at the Bennington Gazette for a year and spent her days reporting on all things local. Her expose on council corruption had been good for the paper’s credibility, but other than that, not much had changed. Drug-related deaths and car accidents were still commonplace, but a death on Chilton Hill was unheard of and now she had the chance to be on the scene early. Maybe even break the story.

Where is it? Audrey looked over at Beth’s twin Josh in the passenger seat with his headphones on. But she also didn’t want the kids seeing a dead body.

In front of the house on the point, said Beth. We can see the police on the rocks.

Beth’s friend Amy lived further down the hill in a double storey home.

Where are you? said Audrey.

Down by the railing, said Beth sounding too excited. She was about to remind her someone had died but left it. Things had been frosty between them for months after Beth met a man online who later turned out to a thug terrorising business owners and council employees. Beth insisted her parents invaded her privacy by tracking her phone. The fact that if they hadn’t, who knows what could have happened, fell on deaf ears. The same argument oscillated back and forth until one day her twin brother, Josh, begged them to stop with such intensity it shocked them all. And so, they did. It was a circuit breaker, and things had been on an even keel ever since.

Do they know who it is? Audrey asked.

Not yet–but someone said it’s a teenager.

Audrey’s heart sank as she parked on the highway outside Amy’s house. Up ahead was a small service road that led to the wealthier homes on Chilton Hill where a contingent of police vans and plain vehicles now occupied a third of the service road. Neighbours on both sides of the highway hovered in their front lawns and driveways, waiting to glimpse what brought the law to their part of the world.

I’m coming in, said Audrey, who hung up. She turned to Josh who removed his headphones when he saw the police cars.

What’s going on, Mum? Why are the police here?

Josh was as smooth as Beth was brittle. The type of kid who never scored above a C at school and who Audrey and Mark hoped would one day find something to be good at apart from X-Box. He was far more sensitive and while it might be too late for Beth, she could at least prevent one of her children from the trauma of seeing a dead body.

I’d like you to stay here.

What’s going on?

Just stay here, please, said Audrey.

Fine but at least tell me what’s going on, said Josh.

There’s been a dead body found on the rocks a few doors up from Amy’s. I don’t want you seeing anything. I’ll be back soon, said Audrey.

What? A dead body?! No way. Josh removed his seatbelt.

Josh!

Come on, Mum. Tell all my mates there was a dead body and I stayed in the car.

Audrey was wasting valuable time arguing and had the feeling the second she left he would get out of the car anyway. When did the kids stop listening to her?

Stay with me then. I don’t want you seeing anything you shouldn’t.

Audrey and Josh strode down the long driveway towards a double-storey home with large glass windows designed to take advantage of the views south on the Peninsula. At the bottom of the garden, a small crowd, including Beth, stood behind a white timber railing fence, the only protection between them and the rocks below, craning their heads to see.

Amy’s mother Liza, a bubbly blonde with a kind face who was busy wrangling a two-and three-year-old said, Oh Audrey, it’s so sad isn’t it?

Audrey wished Liza hadn’t let the girls come down to watch but who was she to judge? She couldn’t get her own children to listen. The two-year-old boy was ripping a bright red flower off a spectacular red Callistemon plant.

Max, don’t do that, pleaded Liza.

The recent additions to the family had resulted from her second marriage to Rob, a builder, who was nothing like Amy’s father, the crack addict. It was a low bar to overcome, but Liza and Amy had gone from a house in the Boroughs in Bennington North to Chilton Hill, so her enthusiasm for her new husband and life was understandable. Audrey’s own memories at that stage were a blur, with Mark working full time and her parents an hour away, but the exhaustion on Liza’s face was a vivid reminder.

Do they know who it is or what happened? Audrey said.

Liza shook her head and bit her lip like it was her fault she didn’t know.

Rob, a tall, lean man with leathery skin and an inquisitive face, was standing behind Beth and Amy. Hi Audrey. They’re saying it might have been a home invasion gone wrong. The kid’s black, I think, said Rob, as if that said it all. Don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know there would be a decent haul in that house.

Old money, like the Worthington’s was a constant fascination to people like Rob, a tradesperson who had made good.

We don’t know that though, said Audrey.

As a reporter, you must know about the problems on the Peninsula. My understanding is that they usually work in gangs. Rob pressed his lips together. Makes sense if they’re after bigger items, but if it’s just jewellery, one person can manage that I suppose.

Rob’s mind appeared to be made up.

Beth faced her mother. Mum, there are gangs at McDonalds and on the buses, like she was the doyen of all things newsworthy in her mother’s life.

Audrey couldn’t let that one slide, despite the consequences later.

Yes. As a journalist, we receive the latest information through my work.

A blush crept up Beth’s face at being put in her place.

Let’s just wait and see what the police find out, said Audrey, now keen to change the subject. Can I have a look, please? Audrey moved to the front past Beth.

Hi Audrey, said Amy, who looked like she hadn’t slept at all.

What time did these girls go to bed? It was the school holidays, but still.

The Police Rescue team was on the rocks further along. Above them, the residents of Chilton Hill were dotted along the cliff face, watching on. Some had dressed while others were still in their robes. Audrey was relieved to see the body covered.

I hope you didn’t see anything, she said to Beth.

No. Beth sounded disappointed. It was covered by the time we came down.

Good. Police Rescue loaded the covered body onto a plastic tray. The straps were tightened and one of the officers signalled to begin the ascent. Her mind raced with questions. Who was the boy? How did he end here?

Josh nestled next to Audrey. It’s sad.

It is, Audrey held him tighter.

Somewhere another mother was about to learn her child was dead.

The body was raised to the top of the cliff. Two detectives walked to the edge. Audrey recognised one of them, her old classmate, Detective Cath Maguire. The journalist in her wanted to get over there fast but the police wouldn’t let her enter from the street. Her best bet was the path along the cliff.

Can the kids stay here for a few minutes? I need to speak to one of the Detectives.

Sure. Rob’s eyes brightened at the prospect of an inside scoop. Let us know what you find.

Audrey stepped over the railing and walked along the path, acknowledging residents who seemed to assume she was part of the investigation and tried not to look at the drop to the rocks below. A few doors along she recognised Adam Wiltshire and his wife. Adam was head of planning at Bennington Council and despite being a suspect in a corruption scandal, he turned out to be a victim. Audrey’s persistence in helping catch the criminals meant he and his family no longer lived in fear, but she had put him through the wringer. The trauma of the experience meant their relationship was now built on a wary respect.

You got here fast, said Adam spotting Audrey.

My daughter was having a sleepover at the Billings, said Audrey.

Unlike Rob, people like Adam and his wife didn’t ask for inside information, but he was smart and may have some. Any idea what happened or who it is?

Adam shook his head sadly. Not yet. I believe it’s a teenager.

It’s so sad, said Adam’s wife. No jumping to conclusions here.

Yes, it is. Excuse me. Audrey continued towards the Worthington’s but at the edge of the property a police officer stepped towards her. Sorry. You can’t come any further.

Detective Cath Maguire, a fit-looking woman with cropped blonde hair watching the activity on the rocks, clocked Audrey and walked over signalling to the officer she had this. One of the neighbours call you?

The police officer stepped away.

No. My daughter was having a sleepover, said Audrey, gesturing to Beth and the others further back. Any idea who the victim is?

Yes. He’s a student, but we can’t let the details out until the family has been notified.

Audrey’s heart sank for them. Any idea what happened?

Cath looked at an elderly couple and their sons. One of them had his arm around his distraught mother. The other stood with his father rod still. No love lost there.

That’s the Worthington’s. Out having their morning coffee when they found the body. They think it was a home invasion.

Audrey looked back at the Worthington’s house covered in security cameras. Ambitious house for a kid to break into on his own? And don’t tell me, they think it’s a home invasion because he’s black?

Cath looked at Audrey. I can’t comment on that, but we’ll take a look at the footage and see if there’s anything there. Hey, can you just stick to the facts, for now. Please.

Audrey could do that. How about I report it as an accident for now?

Accident is good, said Cath. Race relations will be all over me otherwise, and I want to find out what happened to this kid without having to deal with politics.

Audrey spotted three buckets of golf balls. Cath followed her gaze. He likes to take pot shots at people fishing, although we’ve never been able to prove it.

There was a commotion at the top of the driveway. A news van parked outside the gate and Cam Andrews, a dorky-looking guy, early forties who had the uncanny knack of showing up before anyone else climbed out.

I swear that guy has someone on the inside, said Cath, who looked weary at the prospect of having to face the TV cameras. I love my job, but this part sucks. Excuse me.

As Cath