Bones of Contention (18 page)

“Why would he do that?” asked Lucien.

“I don’t know. To get your goat. To get Neesha’s goat. He certainly got mine.” She felt more galled by Cleon’s deception than by Lucien’s. Cleon had made her believe he was doing something special for her because he loved her when, in fact, he was just turning the screws on Lucien to make him fess up. “I was a sap to believe he was leaving me millions.”

“I told you he’d use you,” said Lucien.

“Oh, right. The way my high-minded, selfless big brother never would. You’ve had only my best interests at heart.”

“Berate me all you want, Dinah. I deserve it. But if Neesha hangs those pictures in her gallery for the world to see or tries to sell them, I’ll be up the proverbial creek.”

“Didn’t you paint some little tell or anachronism on them? Something to show they weren’t intended to pass for the originals?”

“No. I matched the colors, even the watermarks in the paper. Everything’s exact.”

A second wave of anger hit her. “Lucien, why don’t you just tell everybody they’re fakes and then nobody will want them?”

Eduardo said, “Neesha would have him thrown in the Bastille, Dinah. It would ruin his reputation as an artist.”

She pictured Lucien in an orange jumpsuit with shackles around his ankles. However much of a blister he’d been, whatever he’d done to get himself into this pickle, he was still her brother. Clan loyalty was in her genes.

Sergeant Norton opened the door. “Mr. Lucien Dobbs, Inspector Newby will speak with you now, sir.”

Lucien pushed himself up on his crutches. “I’m on my way, Sergeant.”

Norton held the door open and Lucien hobbled off to his interview.

Eduardo said, “He feels really bad about letting you down, Dinah, but you put him on a pedestal he never wanted to be on.”

“Well, he’s off it now.”

“Be careful you don’t get a nosebleed standing on such high ground, cherie. You must’ve done things you’re not proud of.”

“Yes, but my peccadillos aren’t likely to land me in the slammer.”

“Touché.”

“And why did I have to hear it from Jacko Newby that you’d served time for drug possession?”

“I brought a teensy amount of mu over the border from Mexico a long time ago. Tout le monde does it. You know how Draconian the drug laws are. There was no reason to prostrate myself with regret.”

She had a glimmer of intuition. “K.D. overheard you accuse Lucien of cheating, that you’d make him regret it with every fiber of his being. But it wasn’t about sex, was it?”

“Sex? No, no, no. I meant that Cleon would make him regret cheating
him
.”

“But if Lucien’s not two-timing you, what’s your problem with Mack?”

“He’s trying to persuade Lucien to copy some Aboriginal art.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Eduardo said he needed coffee and went inside to brew a pot. Dinah stayed on the veranda watching the shark in the Southern Cross chase the stingray across the sky and thinking about the stolen paintings. They were small and unframed, but enlarged by the mats, they would be too big to hide in a sock drawer and too fragile to stick behind a piece of filthy furniture for the mice to nibble. Lucien’s idea that they’d been taken away from the lodge was probably right.

A strong case could be made against Neesha, but Mack was shaping up as a promising culprit even if Lucien didn’t see it. A man who’d commercialize the spiritually inspired paintings of his people or collude with a foreigner to paint knock-offs might not be averse to a quick killing in Western art if the opportunity presented. And there was Seth. He wouldn’t turn up his nose at a chance to score a couple of valuable paintings, all proceeds to save the planet.

She held her watch under the lantern. Jacko must think that the longer he kept everyone from sleep, the likelier it was that someone would crack. She got up and followed her nose to the coffee.

The dining room door was closed as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. Wendell was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him and plugged into the land line. He was talking on his cell phone, which he held between his neck and his shoulder, and his voice sounded stressed.

“Bud, it’s not going to work. I tell you the modem doesn’t…well, sure. Sure. Yes, I’ll try that.”

Dinah poured herself a cup of coffee and, seeing that Wendell had a half-drunk cup next to the computer, poured him a warm-up. He mouthed a cursory thank-you and she sat down across from him and studied him over the rim of her cup. It was hard to believe that behind that bland exterior beat the heart of a lying back-door man. But a man who could lie so ignominiously about one thing could lie about another. She wondered if Neesha had slipped him the word that Dinah knew about their affair or if his little business emergency had delayed the inevitable. He seemed friendly enough, albeit very distracted and a shade haggard just now. With all the millions he’d inherited from Fisher, he wouldn’t be toiling away for the Bank of Brunswick much longer.

“It’s the network connection, Bud. It keeps failing. Can’t this wait until…?”

Sergeant Norton appeared in the door. “Mr. Dobbs, the inspector’s ready to see you now.”

Wendell held up a finger, like be-with-you-in-one. “Right. Right. Because of the numbers. I understand. Look, Bud, I have another emergency here. I’ll try to send it again in a few minutes.”

He turned off his phone, executed a few quick clicks on the computer and closed the lid. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Sergeant. It never rains but it pours, eh?” He gave Dinah an absent-minded nod and got up and followed Norton out of the room.

Dinah slid the laptop around and opened it. Strange that he would turn it off when he meant to come back in a few minutes and try to re-send the whatsit with the numbers to Bud. Banking in Brunswick, Georgia, must be classified Top Secret. Or…or maybe he was afraid she would sneak a peek while he was out of the room and find a batch of salacious e-mails from Neesha, explaining her idea of love in non-Victorian language.

If the computer contained e-mails between him and Neesha or anything not kosher in his dealings with Fisher, maybe she could ransom it for Lucien’s forgeries. If he had them. Even if Cleon knew about the affair, it would be embarrassing if Bud and the folks back in Brunswick found out what kind of hanky-panky old Wendell was up to. And compromising e-mails could be highly detrimental when it came time to divorce his wife.

She wished she could be sure no one would walk in on her and she’d do a search, but it would be too time-consuming and risky. She definitely didn’t want to have to explain to Jacko why she was dipping into Wendell’s e-mails. Maybe she’d have a chance tomorrow.

She looked at her watch. Shit, it was already tomorrow and had been for hours. She was tired to the bone. If she didn’t get a time-out soon, she’d start to gibber and Jacko still hadn’t called her in for her interview. She folded her arms and put her head on the table. Just as her eyes were closing, she saw the briefcase standing open under the table.

She pulled it toward her and looked inside. The padded compartment where the laptop would be carried was empty. On the other side she finger-walked through a calendar, a copy of Forbes magazine, a plastic envelope with Wendell’s passport and a few American bills inside, and what appeared to be photocopies of documents detailing the various properties in Desmond Fisher’s estate. Loose in the bottom of the case were a couple of ballpoints and a little black doohickey, maybe two inches long. She took it out and examined it. Flash Voyager was printed in yellow on one side. It was a flash drive, a computer memory stick.

There were people who recorded their entire lives on these little gadgets with the capacity to hold about a bezillion bytes of potential embarrassment. Had Wendell downloaded any embarrassing secrets?

She rolled the little stick between her palms as if it she could absorb its secrets through osmosis. If she took it, she’d be guilty of theft and maybe blackmail. And if it contained information relating to Fisher’s murder, she’d be guilty of withholding evidence, subjecting herself to criminal prosecution. Subjecting herself to God only knew what retaliation from Wendell and Neesha.

She slipped the Flash Voyager in her pocket. If Jacko found the paintings before he left, she’d put it back where she found it and no one would be the wiser. If not, she’d take it to town with her tomorrow, find a computer somewhere, and look for something damning. If there was nothing there, she might still be able to return it without anyone’s knowledge.

You’ve sunk to blackmail, she thought sleepily. Neesha got one thing right. The D in my DNA could only stand for depravity.

Chapter Thirty-two

Mack was in a state of high dudgeon. Wendell and Neesha had made pointed references to his interest in art and insinuated that he might have had something to do with the theft of the paintings. Mack denied this vociferously. But what really threw the fat in the fire was Eduardo’s contention that if anybody knew where to hide the paintings where they wouldn’t be found, it was Mack. Eduardo had tagged after the police exhorting them to look for loose floor boards, false walls, and secret panels. No hidey-holes were found, but Mack was incensed. As soon as Jacko and his men had left, which was just after sunup, Mack announced with icy indignation that he, too, was leaving and would not return until after the Dobbses had packed up and moved out.

Dinah’s status as an American Aborigine seemed to have immunized her from the worst of his ire and, before anyone could object, she grabbed her things and cadged a lift into town with him. She intended to rent a car, check into a snug, spiderless, and spotlessly clean motel, and get a good night’s sleep. Maybe with distance, she could gain some perspective on all the craziness.

“It always comes down to class,” Mack said as they drove away from the lodge. “When the nobs and the swells are looking for someone to blame, it’s either the butler or the black man.”

“Completely unwarranted,” said Dinah, careful to stay on his good side. “Very insensitive.” She didn’t discount the possibility that Mack had filched the paintings. He had no compunction about counterfeiting art. Stealing was no great leap. But Jacko and his men had searched the lodge and all the cars from stem to stern and come up empty.

“I’ve shown your family every courtesy, jumped through all their hoops, given Lucien a crash course in Aboriginal art, played nursemaid to Cleon and manservant to Wendell and Neesha and those cheeky children and this is the thanks I get.”

“We’ve brought a lot of trouble on you, Mack. You don’t deserve it.”

“And the police? I won’t say that Inspector Newby talked down to me exactly, but he flattered and blarneyed and led me on as if he were talking to a child. It was demeaning. Completely uncalled for.”

“Completely.” His bleating about injustice was tiresome, but his leisurely pace made Dinah want to take a whip to him. He snailed along, swinging wide around the potholes as if the very soil beneath his tires were sacred. She picked dog hair off her slacks, polished her Wayfarers, and watched the trees grow another foot.

“I’ve done the best I could to make everyone comfortable, catered to everyone’s wants and needs.”

“You should demand more money. Hazard pay.”

“And I kept your uncle’s illegal plans to myself.”

“You didn’t tell Inspector Newby about Cleon’s suicide plan?”

“That would make me liable under the new suicide law.”

“There’s a new law?”

“It’s a crime to discuss end-of-life options by telephone or e-mail. Unfortunately, I did both. Dr. Fisher contacted me by telephone and offered me a tidy sum if I’d allow an assisted suicide under my roof and your uncle e-mailed me later to confirm. I don’t know if the law is retroactive and I don’t want to find out.”

“You can’t even talk about suicide? Isn’t there a constitutional right to free speech in Australia?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m sorry we’ve put you in a spot, Mack.” She thought about his reaction to Tanya’s galka remark. “Did you tell Tanya about the suicide?”

“Certainly not. Suicide is taboo for Aboriginal people. If Tanya learned what he was planning, it wasn’t from me. Your family talked about it among themselves, you know, Cleon loudest of all. It’s all of a piece. If you’re black, you’re guilty. Neesha even blames poor Victor for Thad’s mischief with the petrol-sniffing.”

It was hardly a surprise that Neesha could overlook her son’s petrol-sniffing. Dinah’s mother could apparently overlook forgery and fraud in her son. She said, “Lucien doesn’t blame you for anything, Mack. He doesn’t think you took the paintings.”

“I should hope not. But Eduardo, well. If you want my opinion, he’s a fool. I can’t understand why a serious artist like Lucien would pair up with someone so frivolous.”

Better frivolous than fraudulent, thought Dinah, not as trusting of Mack’s blamelessness as Lucien. “Where are you off to today?” she asked.

“I’m meeting a Jawoyn acquaintance who runs a tourist camp on Aboriginal land to the south. My adoptive parents conjectured that my mother might be Jawoyn. Maybe he can suggest the name of an elder who might remember a young girl whose baby was taken about that time. She’d be in her late fifties or early sixties by now.”

It crossed Dinah’s mind what an irony it would be if Tanya turned out to be Mack’s mother. Her age was hard to gauge, but she had to be past fifty. If they should someday discover that they were mother and son, Dinah didn’t think the news would bring either one of them much joy.

“Will Tanya continue to work at the lodge after we’re gone?”

“I think so. She needs the money. Victor’s parents are dead and she’s saving to buy a house in Jabiru.”

She let a mile or so go by and asked, “What does galka mean?”

He eased the car over a rock as if he were afraid it would cry out in pain. “What was the word again?”

“Galka. Don’t you remember? Tanya called Dr. Fisher a galka after he fell into her.”

“It doesn’t sound like any word I’ve heard. She was probably saying, don’t gawk. Something like that.”

Dinah awarded him points for verbal gymnastics and didn’t labor the point. “Jabiru is near the entrance to Kakadu National Park, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Have you been to the Park?”

“No. I’m told that it’s a true natural wonder. Wetlands, mostly. Thousands of birds and animals. The rainbow serpent stories of the region are beautiful. The most powerful spirit is Kuringali. She can be tempestuous when crossed. Some legends have her sending earthquakes and floods, some have her eating people alive.”

“Don’t go into advertising, Mack. The habitat of a quake-sending, people-eating snake woman doesn’t fit most folks’ definition of Paradise.”

He laughed and at long last, they turned onto the non-sacred Stuart Highway and he speeded up. “There’s a small Aboriginal town in the park, Oenpelli, that I’d like to visit. It’s famous for its bark paintings and pandanus weavings. Screenprinted fabrics, too.”

“Have you ever visited the Tiwi Islands? Melville?”

“No. I’ve been meaning to go. It’s just across Van Diemen Gulf from the Cobourg Peninsula, but the Tiwi people don’t issue permits unless you’ve booked a tour. A friend with a boat would come in handy, but alas, I haven’t met one yet.”

Dinah enjoyed a lie as much as the next person. The nimbleness of conception, the round, plausible feel of it in the mouth, the pride of accomplishment when you deliver a beauty and watch it swallowed whole. Being lied to was considerably less enjoyable but, of late, it seemed her lot in life.

Why would Mack lie about visiting Melville? She hadn’t asked him if he stole a load of burial poles or killed anybody. All he had to say was that he’d been on the island wheeling and dealing close to the time Bryce Hambrick was murdered and, alas, wasn’t it awful. His inexplicable lie, combined with his scheme to sell sham artworks, bumped him into the top tier of suspects.

When they reached Katherine, she asked him to drop her in front of the library.

He pulled the car into a space in front of the bright and cheerful mural that graced the front of the library. “How will you get back to the lodge?”

“Lucien’s meeting me later this afternoon,” she lied. “He says his leg feels well enough so he can drive now and he wants to show me a few of the galleries.”

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again before you and your family leave,” he said. “Perhaps, I should say good-bye to you now.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Mack. Inspector Newby will probably bring us all together for the climax of his investigation and the thief and the killer will be unmasked.”

His eyes flashed with indignation and he drove off without further adieu.