A Wicked Design: A Belinda Lawrence Mystery

Twelve

About the Author

Producer/Director/Editor/Writer

With many years experience in film production Brian Kavanagh’s career covers the areas of Production, Direction, Editing and Writing on features and documentaries.

Kavanagh is an accredited member of the Australian Screen Editors (A.S.E) by which he was honoured with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 1997 for his contribution to film making in Australia.

He is also a member of the Australian Society of Authors (A.S.A.).

‘A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.’

Oscar Wilde

Chapter One

Darling, I’m afraid it’s bad news. I can’t think of any other way to tell you. He’s dead.

Her mother’s blunt statement on the telephone, delivered in a nervous, hesitant voice, transmitted her anxiety and alarm to Belinda Lawrence. The shocking news stunned her and with mounting incredulity, she listened as her mother conveyed even more appalling news. His hands were tied and –

As Belinda heard the details of the death the phone fell from her hand and she stared blindly out the cottage window to the small village spread below. Unobserved smoke from a nearby chimney wafted lazily upwards, thinned, then blended irretrievably into the late autumnal air. The nearby scrape of a garden rake gathering fallen leaves, the far-away laughter of a child, the lowing of distant cattle, the only sounds in this English West Country scene of constancy, all now subdued and unheeded. If Belinda had seen and heard, it would have made the terrible news she’d received appear all the more alien. Was that possible? A packed suitcase, an airline travel document and boarding pass, lay beside her, accoutrements in the surreal atmosphere preceding a departure. But Belinda sat motionless.

Mark Sallinger clicked off his mobile phone and dropped it on the bed. He had telephoned Belinda, as he knew she was about to depart for Australia. The last few weeks had been something of a trial for both of them. Although he and Belinda had announced their plans to marry he could not shake off the suspicion that her old boyfriend, Brad Delaney would make a last ditch stand and try to convince Belinda into remaining in Australian and marry him. Mark was determined to stop that happening, which was why he’d taken action; firstly by being evasive about his trip to New York and secondly by dealing with the matter first hand. It hadn’t been easy but he knew it would never be. Messy – but necessary if he was to keep the woman he loved. People might accuse him of removing Belinda’s choice in the matter. Of doubting her commitment to him. Of not trusting her. But damn it all, to lose Belinda now after all she meant to him was unthinkable and he was determined to remove any obstacle in the way of their marriage. And now she’d heard of the murder.

He stood at the hotel window and looked down on the street below. Office buildings disgorged workers onto the streets as the big city slipped into night mode. It was about this time of night it had happened. Civilised at the start. A drink or two. Chat. And then it got heated. Messy. Mark frowned. He hated mess.

Now, as the huge jet began its final descent, the early morning light exposed the city of Belinda’s childhood, revealing changes that time and architects impose on the golden Australian city of Marvellous Melbourne. During the interminable flight from London, Belinda felt an intense sense of emptiness and had been tormented by questions she could find no answer to. Her mother’s voice returned to her again and again, He’s dead! and the turmoil and shock created by those harsh words continued to produce in Belinda an extraordinary numbness.

Wearied from the long-haul flight, disoriented by time, climate change and the endless confusion of luggage and customs, Belinda sighed in relief as the arrivals doors opened and she saw her mother’s anxious, but welcoming face.

In the cocoon of the car as it sped along the freeway to the city, there was silence between the two women. They had hugged at the terminal; exchanged haphazard chit-chat on the way to the car but now, both relapsed into an awkward stillness. Her mother took her eye off the road for a quick side-glance.

So, what happened to Mrs Whitby? I thought she was coming too?

Belinda stirred. She had been trying to resist talking until she reached home. Oh, Hazel? She stopped off in Singapore. Some chap…

Mrs Lawrence gave a wry smile. I see she hasn’t changed her ways? The beginnings of a loose smile played on Belinda’s lips but quickly faded. No. I don’t believe you can say she has. But this time it’s business. No young Adonis. An antique dealer there who is looking for a London contact.

Mrs Lawrence frowned in disapproval. Still, given the circumstances she could have changed her plans and stayed on to accompany you home.

She wanted to, replied Belinda, but I’m a big girl, mother. I’ll survive. Hazel will probably arrive in a day or so anyway. Is it OK if she stays with us? Me? Her mother nodded. You’ll have the house to yourself. A look of concern crossed her face. Darling, I feel awful just leaving you alone like this, but your father –

Belinda laid a hand on her mother’s arm. No, Mum. It’s OK. I understand. It’s Dad’s work and he’ll want you there. Besides, it’s only in New Zealand. Not a million miles away.

Still, muttered her mother, if you really want me to, I can stay.

Belinda shook her head. To tell the truth, she rather wanted to have the house to herself to absorb the horrendous situation.

The car turned down beside the Fitzroy Gardens, now gleaming with the bright vivid green of new Spring growth, into the East Melbourne street and halted outside the house that had been a childhood, teenage home to Belinda. As a university graduate, she had broken away from this sanctuary and like so many young Australians, eager to taste what the world had to offer, had settled in Europe and eventually in Bath in Somerset, when she inherited a cottage after the death of her great aunt.

In contrast to her idyllic English cottage and expansive garden, the Melbourne Edwardian two-story residence, a red brick newcomer since 1916, squeezed in between two white double storied terraces, heroically defended its territory in a cluster of formidable Victorian houses that reeked of the 19th century gold rush.

The small rose garden in front of the house was in full bloom and alive with the sound of buzzing bees, each intent on securing the best of the nectar. Belinda dragged her case into the entrance hall, climbed the stairs to the landing, turned towards the front of the house and entered her old room. Dropping her shoulder bag on the floor, she walked into the glassed-in balcony and looked down at her mother where she stood at the front gate talking to a neighbour. It was obvious they were discussing her and when they glanced up to the window, she drew back into the shadowy corner of the balcony. Her hand knocked a pile of books perched on a dresser and they tumbled to the floor. She stared at them as though they were foreign objects yet she knew each book in detail. They had been reliable companions in her days at Melbourne University and, like her childhood dolls gazing fixedly down from a shelf, remained frozen in time until she laid a hand on them, thereby regenerating their shabby textbook pages, and the toys their foolish plaything limbs. She resumed her place at the window.

Her mother was farewelling the neighbour and making her way into the house. With a shock of surprise, Belinda realised her mother was aging. The small bird like creature she had known forever, who always seemed chirpy and vibrant, appeared weary and as she removed her beret it revealed hair that was almost white. Belinda smiled to herself. Her mother’s love of berets had been a family joke and Belinda could not recall her ever wearing any other style of hat.

Belinda met her mother at the foot of the stairs. So, father’s gone already? The two women entered the kitchen. It was as Belinda recalled. There had always been talk of renovating but somehow it had never happened. Belinda was glad. At the moment, she was in need of some form of constancy and comfort.

He left for Auckland yesterday to start work. Some new engineering company has been set up there, and they want his advice. He’s supposed to be retired but they keep asking him for help. Picking his brains I call it, but they pay him well and he seems to enjoy it. It’s got so his memory is bad, not about work but just day to day things, so he asked me to go with him. I stayed to meet you but I’ll join him tomorrow, unless… She paused as she spooned tea leaves into the Brown Betty teapot.

Belinda shook her head. No really, Mum. I’ll be fine. I just need a good night’s sleep.

But what about later? I mean there’s the funeral and –

Hazel will be here by then. We’ll go together.

Mrs Lawrence busied herself with making the tea. Belinda sat at the table and dragged some newspapers towards her. Her mother looked over. Oh, dear. I meant to throw them out. She tugged fretfully at a tea towel. Belinda scanned an article on a front page.

ARCHITECT FOUND DEAD

The body of leading Melbourne architect, Brad Delaney has been found floating in the Yarra River near the busy cafe and restaurant precinct. The body appeared to have been in the water a short time. Further details on Page 3.

Belinda, her face pale, her fingers icy, turned the page to read the evidence in full.

A passer-by saw the body in the water between the Princes Bridge and the footbridge connecting Flinders Street Station to the Southbank restaurant precinct – just after 1.00am (AEST) and called triple-zero. A crime scene was established, said the police spokesman. The body has been identified as Brad Delaney, the award winning Melbourne Architect. Mr Delaney was found with his hands and feet bound with rope and a blunt force trauma to the head Homicide Squad Senior Detective told reporters. Police believe he had been killed by the blow and his body dumped in the river, where it lodged against a landing jetty. It appears the killer or killers were disturbed by guests approaching a nearby hotel and fled the scene before they could free the body. Police have seized all CCTV footage from the area. It is believed Mr Delaney had been reported missing by his staff when he failed to board a flight to Perth where he was to be a keynote speaker at the National Architecture Conference. Mr Delaney has been a prime mover in the plans to restore the Dome above Parliament House. The police await a Coroner’s Report.

Mrs Lawrence, as she poured two cups of tea, watched her daughter anxiously. I didn’t want you to read that. I know I told you what happened but somehow, reading it in a newspaper, it makes the awful way Brad died seem so…sordid.

Murder is sordid, Mother, said Belinda, as she pushed the paper aside. Having seen the details in print, the reality of Brad’s death seemed absolute, not some nightmarish trick. The numbness that had held her in check vanished, and a quiet rage at his death consumed her.

Mrs Lawrence shivered. Murder! It’s too horrible to think about. Brad had everything to live for. Why would anyone want to kill him?

Well, that’s what I have to find out, said Belinda. She stirred her tea thoughtfully. You said on the phone he contacted you last week?

Mrs Lawrence took a sip of tea and, holding the cup before her in both hands, gazed across it.

Yes. What is today? Monday. So it must have been last Friday. No… it must have been Thursday, because Friday I was shopping for some new shirts for your father to take with him. So it was Thursday. He rang about mid-afternoon. I’d just come in from the garden.

Did he often telephone you?

Mrs Lawrence gave a slight shake of her head. No, not really. Once in a blue moon, mainly to ask how you were, and if you intended to return home to Melbourne. That sort of thing.

How did he sound when he rang? Was he upset or anxious?

The opposite, really. He rambled on about some big new Government project he had and how excited he was about that, and how thrilled he was that you were arriving. He wanted to know your flight details. I imagine he was planning to meet you at the airport.

Mrs Lawrence placed her cup on a saucer and watched her daughter as she re-read the newspaper article. There was much of the young teenager she remembered still present in her character, but now with her dark hair and blue eyes, her trim figure and fine features it was apparent that Belinda was now a beautiful woman. Just turned thirty. High time she settled down. Enough of this cavorting around in Europe. She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Is there…was there… anything between you and Brad? I know you and he were ‘an item’ as they say, when you were both at university, but since you met Mark in England, I wondered… Her voice trailed off as she looked expectantly at her daughter, hoping against hope she’d hear what she wanted to hear. As a mother, she wanted her only daughter to be married, and preferably living in Melbourne, where she could indulge herself with much-desired grandchildren. She was about to be disappointed.

Since I met Mark in England things have changed, Mum. You know I’m going to marry Mark and I was coming home to let Brad know my decision. He wanted to marry me and I thought I should at least tell him face to face, that it’s Mark I love now. After all, we were in love years ago. Brad never got over it. It seems I did.

Her mother looked away, searching for a response. She gave a shrug of unwilling acceptance. Well, it’s your decision I suppose. Your life. A thought struck her and she turned back sharply. So where is Mark? If he loves you, I’d have thought he’d be by your side when you need him.

Belinda reached for the tea pot and poured a fresh cup of tea. Mark is in New York on business. He rang me before I left London and I told him about Brad. He was shocked, of course, and as soon as he can, he’ll fly direct from there to join me.

Mrs Lawrence gave a critical grunt and rose, taking her teacup to the sink. Hmm. Is that the way it’ll be? Business before you? She clattered the tea things into the sink and prepared to wash them. So her daughter would marry an English man and live over there? Not much chance for her to see her grandchildren growing up.

Belinda pulled the shades against the late afternoon sun, lay on the bed and drew the covers over her. Surrounding her were memories and vestiges of a past life in Australia, mixed with traces of her present existence in the tiny English village of Milford. Jet lag caught up with her and she closed her eyes welcoming the numbness of sleep. However, that pleasure eluded her. Myriad thoughts rose and pursued each other, circling, vanishing and reappearing.

Brad Delaney had been her first serious boyfriend during her time at University but his career and her desire to travel had proved to be insurmountable