The Problem with Perfect Page 11

  The Gala was a fundraiser for the local hospital and one of the biggest events in the region, but it also attracted high profile guests from Melbourne. It was a lavish institution, and the money raised each year was eye-watering. Every hotel and motel in the area was booked out, and a privileged handful of guests were invited to stay at Mulberry Estate.

  Marigold had forgotten the Gala was approaching. She always attended, with Julian, of course. It would be the first major Doyle event where he wouldn’t be there. The first of many, now she thought about it. Christmas. Her birthday. Their anniversary. The next year suddenly seemed long in measuring all the things that usually they’d shared together that she would now face on her own.

  “Perhaps you’d like to bring someone.” Her mother deftly pulled into a car park and turned the engine off.

  Marigold shook her head. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “I could arrange you an escort.”

  “What!” Marigold snapped her head to the side to stare at her mother in disbelief. “Are you a pimp now as well as a drug dealer?”

  Her mother looked aghast. She brought her hand to her mouth in apparent horror. “No,” she hissed. “I meant, I could find a nice man to be your companion for the evening.”

  “Mum!” Julian hadn’t long passed and her mother was trying to score her a date? And a companion at that? Isn’t that what you called some nice older gentleman that a grandmother had befriended down at the bowls club? Marigold wasn’t even 35 yet, and her mother was trying to make her sound like an old spinster.

  “Not to date, just someone to talk to and dance with. It might make the night easier.”

  “Easier?” Why on earth would it be that difficult? “Mum, I’ll know hundreds of people there. I don’t need a ‘companion’, as you call it,” Marigold insisted. The last thing she needed was to be set up by her mother, of all people. The idea of dating was not something she wanted to even think about. Perhaps she’d never date again. Only a few weeks back she had thought she’d be with Julian for ever.

  But who knew? Based on her current investigations, she might have eventually found herself in the dating pool anyway.

  “Very well. You might like to stay a few days. We have plenty of room. Perhaps you could go riding? You always liked that.” Odette’s face softened. “I want to take care of you, Marigold, but you aren’t letting me.”

  Marigold felt her shoulders slump. No, she wasn’t letting her mother take care of her – but she didn’t want her mother to take care of her. She wanted to be left alone to figure out this apartment. That was her pressing concern, and she couldn’t do that from Mulberry Estate.

  She’d been a good rider in her youth and had loved coming back from boarding school on the holidays and spending days out in the fresh air. Things always seemed better when she had done that – her head clearer, but no. She had to be here.

  “You are. I want to be here. It’s helping me,” Marigold said.

  “I wish you’d reconsider staying with us. Truth be told, I’m a little lonely there at the moment, with your sister moving out and your father at the Melbourne office so much.” She gave a frustrated sigh.

  Her father had always split his time between the Bendigo and Melbourne offices. She’d never suspected her mother was lonely when he wasn’t around, given her calendar of events, charities and theatre groups she sponsored. “Well, if Dad wants to spend more time in Bendigo, wouldn’t it be best to let me get back to the office here?”

  Her mother clicked her tongue. “Always work, always work! Honestly, Marigold.” She peered at her face again. “Now, let’s get this skin sorted. Yes, those pores are troubling me. Then, coffee. Have I told you I’m only going to drink almond milk from now on?”

  After an extended analysis between her mother and two assistants at the Chanel makeup boutique, a coffee, and an extended discussion about the theatre group and their insistence on sticking to their idea of the 90s teen slasher flick musical, Marigold managed to convince her mother she would get an Uber home. Instead, she put the address of the apartment into the Uber app of her phone, and sank into the backseat after waving goodbye.

  It was like having a double life with all this investigation into the apartment. Had Julian felt the same way? A desperate need to shake her as she’d felt with her mother? A need to be alone? Or was it that he was desperate to meet someone there?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marigold

  Finn was waiting for her on the footpath outside the apartment building. “What took you so long? Were you shopping?” he demanded as she stepped out of the car. “You said this was urgent on the phone.”

  Marigold looked at the Chanel bag in her hand. “I’m sorry. My mother turned up unexpectedly. I tried to get away as soon as I could. Didn’t you get my text message?”

  “No. What message?”

  She removed her phone from her bag. She had sent a message. She looked at her messages to find it marked as Draft. She let out a frustrated sigh. Nothing was working at the moment.

  “I’m sorry, Finn, it didn’t send.”

  “You’re not my only client,” he grumbled, his voice sounding a good octave lower than it usually did. Growling, was almost an appropriate word for the tone. Ok, she was late, but even so, he seemed miserable. He must have rolled out on the wrong side of the bed this morning to land in such a foul mood.

  “I said I was sorry, and I’m here now. I have the key. Do you think it’s the storage cage?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “That’s why we’re going to look.”

  “I’d forgotten what a sparkling personality you have,” she said, handing him the key.

  They walked through the garage, lined with metal storage containers containing the usual ensemble of people’s excess belongings. Plastic tubs full of books, the odd bike, suitcases, boxes of electrical devices and various-sized plastic Christmas trees.

  They arrived at the one allocated for Julian’s apartment. As she had remembered, there was a padlock on the handle, but the cage appeared empty.

  “Why a lock if there doesn’t look like there is anything in it?” she asked.

  Finn slotted the key into the lock. As he turned it, Marigold realised she was holding her breath. She exhaled as she heard a clicking noise. The lock sprang open. She’d been right.

  Finn removed the padlock and opened the cage. They walked in. It wasn’t very big. Little more than a broom cupboard. In the corner was a small plastic box that she hadn’t seen when they were in front of it. She picked it up and pulled it open.

  Inside was an envelope. Marigold peeled it back to reveal two keys – identical to the one the real estate agent gave her. “Are these the keys to the apartment?” she asked.

  Finn held them up and inspected them. “They look like it. We’ll check.”

  They moved towards the lift and went back upstairs where Finn tried the keys in the door. The door opened.

  “Why were they here?” she asked Finn, once they were back inside the apartment.

  “Maybe so he didn’t have them on him.”

  “To hide them from me?” she asked. “He was going to some lengths to make sure I never found out about this place. He hid keys to a hiding place to hide the real keys.”

  Finn furrowed his brow. “How many keys to the padlock did you find?”

  “One.”

  He held the padlock in his hand still. “It’s only a cheap one. The sort you buy from a hardware shop. But they usually come with two, even three, keys.”

  “This was the only one I found. Where’s the other?”

  “Maybe someone else has it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Someone else? Why didn’t he give them an apartment key? Why go to all that set-up?”

  “I’ll have to think about that one. Can I drop you home?” Finn asked.

  What was the rush? She wanted to ponder this key further, maybe see if another was upstairs. She shook her head. “I can get an Uber.”

&nbs
p; “That’s a waste of money when I’m right here.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  What was bothering him? She inspected him more closely. He didn’t look himself. “Are you ok? You look pale.”

  He grimaced. “Headache.”

  “Looks worse than that. Should you be driving?”

  “I’m fine. It came on when I was already on the road and it was too late to take anything for it. I’ll get something later.”

  She sighed and shook her head, sitting next to him as they drove home silently. They pulled up at her house. He was rubbing the nape of his neck and he looked paler than before; in fact, he looked a little clammy.

  “Finn? Do you want to come in for a coffee, or maybe sit down for a bit? I’m a bit worried to let you drive back. You don’t seem well at all.”

  She expected him to brush her off, but to her surprise, she found him nodding gratefully at her.

  “That would actually be good. Thanks.”

  It was surprisingly nice to feel needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Finn

  The headache was getting worse. Finn didn’t want to come in for coffee. He needed to get home and take his medication. He usually had it with him, but he’d forgotten to leave some in his glovebox after the last migraine. Maybe he could get an aspirin or something from Marigold and have a quick coffee. It wouldn’t take care of the migraine, but it might be enough to at least allow him to drive home safely.

  He should have gone home for the prescription, but he was worried about being late, and of course, on his way he’d been held up by another phone call from another former colleague telling him to do the ‘right’ thing by Simon and lie at the inquest about the forged signature.

  Funny how ‘doing the right thing by Simon’ also saved their own arses and careers from being accused of covering things up.

  Either way, he’d hoped the headache would go, but as he’d waited for Marigold it had become worse. Now, it was unbearable.

  “Do you have anything for a bad headache? Like a migraine?” he asked her.

  “A migraine!” She was clipped in her tone and started walking towards the kitchen. “How far along is it? Would Relpax help?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “You have that on hand? I usually have a prescription for that.”

  “I get a migraine each year. One week before my birthday.”

  If his head wasn’t starting to throb and his stomach nauseated, he would have laughed. In Marigold’s perfectly-ordered and structured life, even her migraines had due dates like a task she could tick off and file. “Relpax would be good. Thank you.”

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  He obeyed. Her sofa wasn’t at all comfortable, but it was better than standing. He leaned back, his head rolling back against the back of the sofa. She appeared above him with a tablet and a glass of water.

  “Here, take this. Now, what else?” She put her hands on her hips as if looking for the next task. “What helps you? Coffee? Sleep? I find I need to sleep, otherwise wait until I vomit.”

  He flinched at the word ‘vomit’. He was already feeling nauseated, and hearing the word made him feel worse. He needed caffeine. That would help. “May I have a coffee? Black? Strong?”

  “Of course. We take it the same way – the psychopath way,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them, she’d planted a cup of coffee on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him and curled herself up into an armchair.

  “Thanks.” He picked up the cup, gulped the contents and replaced it back on the table.

  “That was very hot. I can’t drink things that hot.”

  “I think I’ve destroyed the nerves in my mouth doing it so often.” He gave a weak smile. “Sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be. What causes them? Stress?”

  “Stress,” he said, before instantly regretting it. He didn’t want her to think that he was too stressed to be looking after her case, or any D-Line-related issues. You wanted people who were calm and unruffled and professional. Not people who got debilitating headaches and needed to have a rest on their sofa.

  “Work? Girlfriend?” she asked.

  Finn paused. Did he want to tell her about this? But he hadn’t really told anyone much. Maybe it would help. She was looking at him, ready and alert, as though she was ready to resolve whatever was bothering him. He’d noticed that at work. She was always results-focused. Solve the problem, don’t dwell on the circumstances. A bit like she was with this whole apartment thing.

  “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” she said, with a shrug of her shoulders. “Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

  “It’s ok. You know how I used to be a police officer?”

  Marigold nodded.

  “Do you remember the siege in Canberra, a few years back?”

  Marigold frowned. “In the government department building?”

  “That’s right. I was in one of the response teams for that.”

  “Oh my goodness. Finn, that must have been awful. Some officers were killed, correct?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Two, including Simon. He was my best mate.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry. That must have been devastating.”

  “It was tough. I left not long after that.”

  “It must be hard to forget.”

  “Would be easier if they weren’t re-opening the inquest.”

  Marigold folded her arms. “Re-opening it? That’s pretty rare. Why are they doing that?”

  Finn looked down. “Someone has produced some evidence that wasn’t examined the first time, about the protocols on the day, and more specifically whether the casualties were caused by police officers not following the rules.”

  Marigold furrowed her brow. “Did you follow protocol?”

  “I did, but…” Finn grimaced. He didn’t want to answer this, either at the inquest or now.

  Marigold looked at him, expectantly. “Someone didn’t?” she asked quietly.

  Finn shook his head. Everyone always told him what a good poker player he was. They’d say no-one could tell what he was thinking, but Marigold had figured this out. Maybe there was no point even contemplating lying on the stand. If she’d figured it out, would he have any chance of fooling anyone?

  “No. Simon screwed up. He became impatient, and moved in before he got a second signature on the paperwork. It needed a double clearance, but he only had one.”

  “Is that what killed him?”

  How many times had Finn asked himself that question? Hundreds? Thousands, perhaps?

  “I don’t think so.” He shook his head. Someone would have signed it – he knew it. They wanted it over. They were running out of options to resolve the situation. The call had been right, even though it ended badly. But still, the rules were there for a reason.

  “Do you need to testify?”

  He nodded. “And it’s weighing on me. His wife is distraught; she’s worried that the inquest will make him look reckless or stupid. He was a good cop. He’s got kids. Tamsyn doesn’t want me to shatter the illusion that he died a hero. I don’t know what to do. If I tell the truth, his memory may be torn apart, and it’s not like it would make the force any safer or better. It was a stupid pen-pushing regulation he missed, but…”

  “What happens if you don’t tell the truth?” she interrupted.

  “I lie to an official government inquest.”

  Marigold furrowed her brow. “And you don’t want to do that.” It was a statement more than a question.

  “No. That doesn’t sit well with me either.”

  “I understand.” She gave a perfunctory nod. She clearly was an honest person – perhaps a little too honest for her own good sometimes. A little filtering of her thoughts could serve her well. “Why wasn’t this brought forward at the time? Didn’t you appear at the inquest the first time?”

  Finn shook his head
. “My former boss was called. He wasn’t questioned on this because someone, I don’t know who, forged the second signature after it all went down; maybe to protect Simon, maybe to protect other people. Then a whistle-blower came forward claiming the second signature had been forged, and as a result, Simon had done the wrong thing. Before that, I didn’t even realise that protocol hadn’t been followed at the time. It wasn’t until I retraced the steps that I realised that the whistle-blower was right – there was no way on earth Simon would have had time to get the second signature.”

  He should have known. How didn’t he know? He’d been right there? Had he blocked it out? Sometimes parts of that day were harder to remember than others. The timeline had become jumbled. The faces of people became blurred. The locations people were standing in were hard to remember. All his training had gone out of the window. He’d been the most useless witness ever.

  “There would have been so much happening, it would be hard to remember every tiny detail of that day.” Marigold nodded knowingly. “Whose signature was forged? Didn’t they realise this at the time and say something?”

  “No. The signature was apparently Theo’s, and he was the other one who was killed. You know, blame the dead man.” Why did he say that? He mentally reprimanded himself. Poor choice of words, Finn.

  Marigold didn’t seem perturbed. She seemed intrigued.

  “And there was no way Theo could have signed it before he died?”

  Finn shook his head.

  “Who do you think forged the second signature?” She leaned forward, with that focused results-orientated look on her face.

  “I don’t know. I think it was Matt, my former boss. He would’ve had access to the paperwork. But I don’t know. Maybe it was someone else. I’ve had dozens of calls from colleagues telling me I need to do the ‘right’ thing and say the whistle-blower is mistaken. But there is no way on earth there was time to get the second signature – Theo was in another part of the building at the time.”