Just deadlocked and bolted. It was hell getting in. We had to smash a window. And Dad had planted Bougainvillea under every window.” “Tell me about the door bolts. Going into holes in the floor and the top of the door frame?” “Only at the bottom – going into the floor.” “Were their heads still pointing out or pushed flat against the door?” Ray thought a moment. “Turned flat against the door.” Celine looked delighted. “Interesting. So let me summarise. Your father and his old friend are filmed being killed inside their locked houses and their bodies vanish. And last night you saw an on-line chess game which could only have been played by them?” “I’m certain it was them.” “Maybe.” Celine watched him closely. “Or you’re making this up.” Ray glared at her. “Here look!” He opened his phone and tapped an icon looking like a chess knight. Then he held it up. A diagram of a chessboard in mid game with an isolated white pawn on the sixth rank being attacked by two black bishops. Celine was not cowed. “Or… there’s someone, who knows how Brian and Gerald used to play, who is playing for them.” ~oOo~ Celine phoned The Avon Messenger and talked to Douglas. Did he know anything about the murders? Not much. He had put a small item and a photo in last week’s edition. Celine was sure she had a story; could she borrow Jessica? Douglas considered the other times he had encountered Celine and muttered something inaudible. Then he said ‘yes’. An hour later, Celine was in her worn-out Peugeot 306 chasing Ray’s big Ford up the hill at Kelmscott and out along the Brookton highway. Jessica was taking photographs of the Parker house and trying to interview Myra when they pulled up. Apparently Angela and Mayhem did not wish to talk to the press. Myra asserted that the Parkers were perfect neighbours. Quiet. Helpful. But Ray contradicted her. They had a love-hate relationship. They were a very close couple but they fought all the time. “Dad was a romantic, mum a realist. She was a pacifist, he a revolutionary. Dad loved chess, but she hated games. Mum wanted a pet. Dad didn’t. She wanted a cat, he liked dogs.” A few weeks later a kitten, which Angela called Mayhem, was acquired. Ray confided that he loved them very much but that growing up with them had been a stormy experience. “Did they have much income?” Jessica asked. Ray shook his head. “Didn’t seem to need much. Mum looked after all the olive and fruit trees out the back. Dad worked from home on computer stuff. Building web pages and userinterfaces for people. He had a ton of gear in his study but the cops took all the computers away for analysis.” They all turned to the house. The yellow and black striped police tapes fluttered in the breeze. Celine walked slowly around the house, the garden shed and the fruit trees. She stood back to look at the roof. Myra and Ray confirmed that the police had gone over it looking for possible exit points. All the iron sheets were in place, held down by screws which had not been disturbed in years. The walls were solid brick, the windows deadlocked. The one that had been forced open had been replaced. The doors locked but no longer bolted. Celine spent a long time looking at the backdoor, particularly the doorframe. She seized the handle and rattled it hard. Then she shrugged and walked around to the front. She gave the door there the same minute scrutiny. The house had a long hall across the front, screened by
ivy and hibiscus. At one end was the door for humans, at the other the equivalent for cats. She examined the room through the window. The only furniture was a table and a large mirror hanging between doors leading into the lounge and Gerald’s office. She then got down on her hands and knees and examined the cat-flap. She pushed it open and peered inside. It was too small for even an average dog to get through, let alone a person. Behind the house was a large avocado tree. Celine briefly considered the problem of picking the fruit at the top of trees. Next to it was a garden shed. This was open and Celine fossicked around among the tools for a while. Jessica ventured the idea of a tunnel. Everyone laughed. Ray confirmed that the police had checked for trapdoors. Celine thought for a moment and then turned to him. “You have a key don’t you?” Ray started. “How d’you know?” Before she could reply, he burst out: “I can’t let you in. It’s a crime scene. Baird would have my… head on a pike.” Speak of the devil and he appears. A patrol car roared up and the Inspector jumped out. He marched up to Jessica and thrusting his face forward told her: “I’m giving a press conference tomorrow afternoon. Wait ’till then.” Then he noticed Celine. “Oh! You!” “Hello Inspector,” she said in her most innocent, most respectful voice. “What’re you doing here?” “Would it be possible to see inside? I could wear those plastic shoes you have. And I promise not to touch anything. You could walk behind me.” She gave her friendliest smile. “Absolutely not! That your car?” He was pointing at the Peugeot with the probationary plates. “Go home - before I declare it un-roadworthy.” The small girl took his arm and drew him away from the group. He looked as if he was about to slap her, really hard, but not in front of a reporter with a camera. They spoke in whispers for a moment and then, to the astonishment of Myra and Ray, he marched over to his car and produced two pairs of blue plastic overshoes. Jessica had seen Celine in action before; she just grinned. The pair walked up to the front door and propped themselves against the wall before slipping the overshoes on. Then the Inspector politely unlocked the door and ushered her in. The others retreated to the shade of a lemon-scented gum and waited. After half an hour the two emerged, apparently on the friendliest of terms. The policeman locked up, got in his car and sped off. Celine kept the overshoes as a souvenir. To their many questions, she simply said: “Tell you in a minute.” An invitation from Myra, for tea and ANZAC biscuits, was gladly accepted. Jessica sat writing notes while Ray pulled out cups and saucers. Angela had appeared and sat in an easy chair with Mayhem in her lap. She appeared determined to hear everything and say nothing. But Ray could not control his curiosity. “What did you say to him? D’you tell him about the chess game?” “What chess game?” Jessica asked – and was ignored. Celine shook her head. “You should do that. Tomorrow.” “So how did you get him to let you in?” Myra asked. “Offered information. Something he desperately wanted to know. How a body may be removed from a sealed house.” “How?” everyone chorused. “The easiest is not to remove it. Read Edgar Allan Poe. Hide the body behind a wall. Or under the floorboards. Or in the roof cavity.” There was a general muttering of “The cops aren’t that dumb!” 11