Switchback Stories Page 11

  As she replaced the receiver, Arthur MacInnes switched off the intercom that was placed on the boardroom table. After the phone call from Robert Madden, and his claim he was the victim of a set-up, MacInnes had been intrigued. It took less than an hour for experts to come in and place a tap on Jennifer’s line.

  ‘It seems our Miss Shaw is a devious operator, gentlemen. I never would have believed she had it in her.’

  The other members of the board murmured their surprise.

  ‘Are we all agreed then?’ asked the man next to MacInnes. They all nodded.

  ‘Good,’ said MacInnes. ‘It’s pleasing to know we have partners who take the necessary steps to ensure winning. So our decision to appoint Jennifer Shaw stands.’

  CONFIDENCE BETRAYED

  One

  There was no other house like this one, she was sure of that. Just as she was certain that within ten or fifteen years, all the homes of the very wealthy would be just like this – electronic fortresses that left the current decade far behind.

  Cynthia Crawford arrived at the mansion at 11am every day. It still amazed her that she needed only to speak into the intercom attached to the front wall to gain entry into the grounds. The security system was programmed to identify her voice. It then automatically opened the wrought-iron gates, and closed them again after she’d driven the car through. The technology and the expense seemed to whisper at her from every corner of the lush, green surrounds: crime does pay, crime does pay. For some.

  The walls that surrounded the property were twelve metres high and topped by an electric grid. However, the wall was covered by a canopy of green ivy, which climbed and criss-crossed its way up and over the grid, disguising it and presenting a picturesque display that was pleasing to the eye.

  Alexander Crayton’s residence had often been referred to as The Fortress, although its official title was The Ferns. It was named after the sweeping plants that were landscaped in rockeries, hedges and groves around the estate.

  As always, Cynthia was met at the front door by Hooper. She’d never learned his Christian name, and no-one ever used the prefix “Mr” when addressing him. He was just Hooper. He called himself the butler but, of course, serving Alexander Crayton’s meals was only a fraction of his duties at The Ferns. He was, in fact, the complete manservant to Alexander Crayton – his aide, confidante, and the overseer of the residence and its staff.

  ‘Good morning, missy,’ he said. Cynthia hated that word, and Hooper knew it. Hence, he always used it, and accentuated it as he did so. ‘Plenty of cleaning for you today. Especially in the main lounge. Mr Crayton threw one of his parties last night. Business colleagues, you know the crowd. Messy buggers. But then, you know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Suits me, Hooper. I like to keep busy.’

  ‘Really? I don’t think that’s the impression Mr Crayton has been getting,’ he retorted, his sneer stretching from ear to ear.

  He likes to stir, Cynthia thought. It’s probably the only pleasure he gets out of life. She observed him for a moment. His face was all smooth planes, devoid of the lines and cracks and bumps that add character. It was a nondescript face, difficult to picture when it wasn’t in front of you.

  He’s faceless, she thought, that’s the only way to describe him.

  ‘Oh, but Mr Crayton fancies me, Hooper,’ she shot back, grinning. ‘I’ve told you that before. Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at me? I can just imagine the things he’d like to do to me.’

  Hooper tried to stifle his annoyance, but his expression was plain to see. Although he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying, Cynthia’s comments managed to irritate him anyway.

  She brushed past him and into the main entertaining area which adjoined the entrance lobby. Dirty ashtrays, half-finished drinks and a trail of savouries littered the room. An invisible cloud of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. Otherwise the room, like the rest of the house, was magnificent. Thick pile carpets covered the floor. The stylish furniture was crafted of mahogany, red cedar and oak. The colours were soft, muted, warm. Paintings by half-a-dozen well-known Australian artists were strategically placed around the walls.

  Cynthia was by now familiar with the seductive charms of this house – by observation, not personal use. It was an electronic marvel, wired for symphonic sound: different music could be piped to different rooms. Touch-activated remote-control panels made it possible to turn lights up and down to match a mood, or send vertical drapes gliding across the windows. An enormous LED screen dominated one wall.

  This is his world, Cynthia reflected bitterly. Wealth, prestige, power, and all the necessary status symbols to prove it. But no depth, no character, no heart or soul.

  That’s what I hate most about Alexander Crayton and his world, she thought. No heart, no soul.

  She took off her coat, fetched the vacuum cleaner and set to work. Converting all her pent-up frustration and anger into sheer physical energy, she left the room spotless from carpet to ceiling and the air sweet with the fragrance of herbal scents.

  On several occasions she had the feeling she was being watched. She looked about, expecting to see the sly, empty grin of Hooper, who was a letch along with everything else. There was no sign of him. Cynthia checked her watch. 12.45. Today was the one day of the week that Hooper had the afternoon free. He always left The Ferns at one o’clock and returned at five. Another 15 minutes and he’d be gone.

  She smiled inwardly. As she did, her pulse quickened and she felt her heart beat faster.

  • • •

  Howard Ethers was tall and thin, with awkward limbs and slow, studied movements. His appearance wasn’t helped by his lily white skin and thick brush of red hair. It always amused Crayton that this ungainly creature was managing director of Reighdon Security, the most sophisticated security devices organisation in Melbourne.

  ‘The new security arrangements are up and running, Mr Crayton,’ he said. ‘As I explained, it’s intensive, top of the range, very effective. I expect you’ll have an answer to your problem within a week, at the outside.’

  ‘I hope so, Ethers. For something as elaborate as this, I expect results. Frankly, the whole blasted thing is a nuisance. To have one of my staff, or one of my regular guests, stealing from the premises is nothing but a damned insult.’ When Alexander Crayton spoke, suddenly nothing else on earth seemed to matter. His was a commanding presence – he was a large, thickset man, impeccably groomed, with shiny hair and broad, handsome features.

  ‘I’ll be in touch with you in a couple of days, to let you know how it’s progressing.’ Ethers rose and offered his hand.

  When he left the house minutes later, Hooper watched from a first floor window. He recognised Ethers as the man responsible for installing the security system that surrounded the estate and operated the entry gates.

  Soon afterward, Hooper left the estate in his Fiat for his afternoon of personal shopping and general window browsing.

  Cynthia watched him drive out of the grounds, then returned to her cleaning.

  • • •

  There were no gardeners due this afternoon, and no other domestic staffers on the property. In the right wing of the second floor, Alexander Crayton was working in his office. The house and its grounds were quiet.

  She expected to be nervous, to find her hands shaking and her brow breaking out in a cold sweat. But there was none of that. Instead, Cynthia was unusually controlled, her every move carefully considered. Her tread was even as she ascended the stairs, her head crystal clear and her senses acutely aware.

  It’s all been academic up to now, she thought. It’s the next five minutes that will make or break the whole thing. She had been through the plan a hundred times in her mind. Now she simply had to let it happen, make it happen.

  The door to his office was ajar. She could see him seated at his desk. Her hand slipped into her handbag and withdrew the gun, his gun. She allowed the handbag to slip away as she pressed forward, through the door
way, raising the gun and aiming it squarely at Crayton’s head.

  He heard Cynthia enter and looked up from his paperwork, his eyebrow raising quizzically as he looked from the pistol to her face, grim determination set solidly into her otherwise soft features.

  ‘Your time has finally come, Crayton, and not before time, either. I don’t have to be the world’s greatest marksman to make a direct hit from this distance.’ There was no melodrama in her voice, no inflection, just a toneless drone that blended with her rock-solid composure. She’d said those lines over and over, inside her head, imagining this moment. Despite all that, the words didn’t sound real, her voice sounded to her like someone else, a stranger.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Miss Crawford. You’re going to shoot me. Why?’

  ‘Because I want to. Does that answer your question?’

  He placed his hands up. A useless gesture. ‘Just like that? In cold blood? Without giving me a reason?’

  ‘I’ll give you more than a reason, Crayton. I’ll give you a chance. I know you’ve got another gun in that drawer.’ She lowered her weapon. ‘I’ll give you the chance to shoot me first. How about that? That’s fair.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she replied.

  Crayton slowly lifted the pistol from his desk drawer, his eyes never leaving Cynthia’s face. He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but there was nothing there. Just a dull, glazed stare.

  Is she mad? he wondered.

  ‘None of this makes any sense at all, Cynthia. Can I call you Cynthia?’ He made the effort to remain unflustered. ‘Why give me the opportunity to use a gun on you first?’ It occurred to him that to an outside observer the situation would appear remarkably odd: two calm, composed people, bearing guns, discussing killing each other, for no apparent reason.

  ‘Two reasons,’ Cynthia answered. ‘First, because you haven’t got the guts to use that gun. It will give me even more pleasure to kill you, with both of us knowing you are gutless. Even if you did kill me first – which you won’t- then you would be charged with my murder.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t be convicted,’ he corrected her. ‘Remember, you are holding a gun and facing me. If I shoot first, it will be a clear case of self-defence.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You see, I went to the police this morning and lodged a complaint against you for sexual harassment.’

  It was a lie, but she knew she sounded convincing. ‘If the police find me murdered- by you, in this house – then they will definitely suspect foul play. They’ll be certain I was the one defending myself. No, the only chance you’ve got is to shoot to wound me.’ Her eyes blazed with a kind of insane triumph. ‘But my best bet says you won’t do that. Because for all your bravado in court, all your criminal connections, you’re basically just a spineless, gutless, pitiful wimp.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he said, and he raised the gun and fired.

  Cynthia slumped back against the wall as the bullet grazed her left leg.

  ‘Let me assure you, young lady, that I am an excellent marksman. That bullet was intended to graze you. The next one will cripple you. Now put down that gun and let’s put an end to this nonsense.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Cynthia crowed. ‘You’ve actually played right into my hands.’ She flinched with the pain in her left leg. ‘I figured that the wound wouldn’t be bad enough to stop me.’ She raised the pistol slowly towards him.

  Crayton was puzzled by her words. His own gun was still aimed squarely at her. ‘But the next one will,’ he said, ‘I’ll shoot to maim you if I have to, you stupid little bitch.’

  ‘Not without bullets. When I came in earlier to get this pistol, while you were seeing your visitor to the front door, I reloaded the second gun in your desk drawer so that it has only one bullet. After I’ve killed you, Crayton, I’ll put on gloves and load more bullets into it.’

  • • •

  Crayton felt the first note of panic strike deep into his heart. His finger pulled back on the trigger. There was a loud click! as the empty chamber revolved. Perspiration appeared suddenly on his forehead as his eyes searched hers.

  ‘We’ve just about finished here now,’ she told him, ‘so I’ll tell you what this is all about. It’s important you know why you’re about to die. Have a look at the document on the far left side of your desk, Crayton. I pulled it out while I was in here earlier. Do you recognise it?’

  He glanced sideways. ‘One of my old case files.’ He was mystified. ‘The People versus Andrew Scarzeny.’

  ‘Do you remember the case? It was only two years ago, but I suppose to you it was just one of many.’

  ‘What is this? Q and A?’

  ‘I’m the one with the loaded gun.’ She was surprised by the grit in her voice. ‘I guess if I want to play games, then we play games.’

  ‘I guess we do.’ Despite the rising fear inside him, he was still able to think, and to plan ahead. I’m going to have to smooth talk my way out of this one, he thought. ‘Scarzeny was on trial for murder, as I recall. He was innocent. I cleared him.’

  ‘Innocent? Oh no, I don’t think so. He shot and killed a young woman. I don’t suppose you remember her name, Crayton?’

  He looked at her. His eyes were blank.

  ‘I didn’t think so’ Cynthia spat the words out. ‘She was just another victim. Well, let me refresh your memory. Her name was Melanie Barratt.’

  ‘What the hell has any of that got to do with you?’ He was starting to crack.

  ‘I’ll tell you, Crayton. The real story. Not the one in your files. Not the bullshit you paraded in court. The truth.’

  She held the pistol steady, firmly directed towards his chest.

  ‘Melanie Barratt was my sister. She’d gone to work as a secretary for Andrew Scarzeny. He’d told her he was a small businessman, dealing with imports and exports. The first of his many lies. Before too long, she found out he was involved with organised crime. She should have resigned then, but she decided to hang on for a few months more. She needed the money. Then Scarzeny started making passes at her. She ignored him and he started getting heavy about it. I told her she should get out, but she insisted she could handle it a little longer.

  ‘One night soon after, the police came to tell me Melanie had been shot and killed by Scarzeny. He was charged with first degree murder, and he hired you to defend him.’ The bitterness was evident in each word. ‘Alexander Crayton, the rich, famous criminal defence attorney. Scarzeny had been shot in the leg and you argued that Melanie had gone berserk, trying to kill him with that shot. And that he’d got hold of his other gun and fired at her in self-defence.

  ‘Self-defence. You knew it wasn’t true. But you argued your case and persuaded the jury. Scarzeny was acquitted.

  ‘Melanie once told me she knew where Scarzeny kept a hand pistol in his office. She said that if things ever got out of hand, if he attacked her, then she’d use the gun. Not to kill him – she was too gentle to do anything like that. No, she’d shoot to maim him so she could get away. But she never really believed anything like that would happen.

  ‘It isn’t too hard to figure out what did happen that afternoon. That sleaze ball tried to rape her. She got hold of his gun and shot him in the leg, then tried to run. What she didn’t know was that Scarzeny, like you, kept a second pistol in his office. He shot and killed Melanie and then claimed it was self-defence. He claimed she’d gone crazy for no reason and tried to kill him.

  ‘He walked free. And while I was left to grieve for her, you walked away with a fat fee for your services.’

  Crayton squinted, focusing his eyes on her face. He’d never looked that closely at Cynthia Crawford before. A glimmer of recollection showed in his eyes. ‘I recognise you now. But you look different. You testified against Scarzeny.’

  ‘But you totally discredited me on the stand. Made me look like a hysterical little woman who would say anything in support of her sister. I’ve wanted to com
e after you ever since, Crayton. I’ve already taken care of Scarzeny. No doubt you heard about his car accident some months ago. Brake failure.’ For the first time a smile played on her lips.

  ‘You didn’t recognise me these past few months because I’ve learned a bit about the art of disguise. And I changed my name legally. I waited for my chance. When you advertised for a part-time housekeeper, I applied for the job. I knew that the only way I could get access to you here, alone, in this damn fortress of yours, was as a trusted member of your domestic staff. Someone that you and the others were confident was not a threat.’

  ‘So what are you going to do, Cynthia? Kill me? It’s still a foolish move, my girl. They’ll know you did it. You won’t get away with it.’ But even as he spoke, he realized the full extent of her plan, and his eyes opened wide with fright.

  ‘Correct,’ she said, and the smile danced around the corners of her mouth. ‘They’ll know I did it.’ She pulled the trigger and watched in awe as his body was flung back against the wall by the force of the blast.

  Two

  The late afternoon quiet was shattered by sirens. Two police cars and an ambulance, one after the other, no more than a minute apart. For the first time in years, gaining access to The Ferns was no problem. The security system had been shut down and the entrance gates left wide open.

  Detective-Inspector Tony Carstairs entered the house. Several other officers were in the entrance lobby. One of them approached Carstairs. ‘The man over there,’ the officer indicated the figure at the far end of the hall, ‘is Crayton’s manservant, Hooper. He found the body.’

  Carstairs approached Hooper. ‘Mr Hooper, I understand you found the body of Mr Crayton, and the young woman, on your return here this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes. Mr Crayton was slumped against the wall. Miss Crawford was sitting nearby, apparently in a state of shock. She was still holding the gun. She’d been shot in the leg. There was blood everywhere, sir. Everywhere.’