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MacLaine couldn’t relax and enjoy the coffee. After just a few sips he wandered down to the forensic department on the lower level.

‘Grab a little white coat and you can give us a hand,’ Robyn St Clair quipped, straightening up from the lab bench.

‘Your humour’s slipping,’ he replied flatly, ‘and
a little
coat wouldn’t do it.’

One day he’d tell her about the comedy duo retort, but he didn’t have the time for that now. ‘The apple found next to Georgina Bellwood’s body bothers me.’

‘Bothers me too,’ she said. ‘And I know what you’re going to ask next.’

‘Surprise me.’

‘You want to know if we can establish that it was Georgina who was eating the apple.’

‘Can we?’

‘It’s possible – depends on the circumstances. The same idea occurred to me last night, so I placed the apple in a chemical solution to preserve it. Otherwise, there’d be too much deterioration. The indent of the bite mark should now be able to be matched to her teeth. I’ll need to make a wax cast of the marks and then bring in an orthodontics expert to confirm if there’s a match.’

‘Let’s do it,’ MacLaine instructed.

‘Graeme, even if we establish the killer may have bitten into this apple, you then need a suspect whose teeth we can examine.’

‘You get the cast and the dental expert,’ he replied. ‘I’ll deliver the suspect with the matching bite.’

‘Why would a murderer be eating that apple and then leave it there?”

‘I’m just running through all the angles, including the weird ones.’ He flashed a tired grin. ‘I’m known for it.’ On his way out he was struck by another thought.

‘You’re a local girl. Know anything about Jillian Ashworth?’

‘Bright and ambitious. Opened up her own fashion boutique in Oakvale at the tender age of 21. Her father acted as guarantor for the bank loan. I heard about her engagement to Marcus Bellwood. Who hasn’t? I thought it odd, but that’s love for you.’

‘Why? Is there something wrong with Marcus?’

‘A lot of people thought he wasn’t her type.’ Robyn used the fingers of her left hand to count off several points with her right. ‘I’ve heard him described as lazy, arrogant, a bit of a snob. Nothing like her. She’s fiercely independent; he plays bass guitar in a two-bit band for peanuts and sponges off his filthy rich aunt.’

‘Love is blind.’

Robyn laughed. ‘Very profound, Detective Inspector.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll post it on Twitter. Any idea how Marcus got along with his aunt?’

‘No. I was only distantly acquainted with any of them, Graeme. But I
do
believe Marcus and his sister were a big disappointment to Georgina, as neither of them had any interest in the family winemaking business.’

• • •

‘The phone records will be there by the time we get back,’ Don Christie said. MacLaine grunted his approval. They were driving from Oakvale to the apartment block in Pokolbin, where two of Marcus Bellwood’s band mates shared rent. It was necessary to check his alibi.

It was a 20-minute drive through a landscape to which MacLaine had become very attached. A varied tableau of fields, higher grounds and river streams with a wooded hill backdrop. Large stretches of natural vegetation linked dairy farms, market gardens and vineyards. The valley, 200 kilometres north of Sydney, was famous for its wines, yet in all his time in the city MacLaine had hardly ever been there.

Now he wished he had made the transfer years before.

Even today, with the sky dominated by fast-moving clouds, the countryside was awe-inspiring. The wind whistling through the treetops gave the woods constant movement, as though the valley had an innate life all its own.

The door to the apartment was opened by a young man with a long, gaunt face under a bouffant hairstyle. Flashing his identification, MacLaine said quickly: ‘We’re looking for John Tanner and Nikki Vibrant. We have some routine questions about Georgina Bellwood’s murder last night.’

The young man introduced himself as Tanner and invited them in. ‘I’m the keyboard player in Pixies,’ he said. Then, gesturing to the girl on the couch, ‘This is Nikki Vibrant, vocalist and rhythm guitarist.’

Don felt like saying they didn’t need to know what instruments the two of them played. But he held his tongue. ‘Vibrant? That’s a stage name, is it?’ he asked the girl.

‘That would be telling,’ she replied in a soft voice, smiling enigmatically. There was a fragile air of beauty to her and her waist-length blonde hair and flowing, robe-like skirt harked back to the flower children era of the ‘60s. It wasn’t hard to see where the band had got its name.

Tanner verified that after finishing their performance at midnight, the group had relaxed at the club until one, then headed to the local nightspot.

‘Is Marcus a suspect?’ There was alarm in Nikki’s voice. ‘He would never hurt his aunt. He’s a peaceful man, only cares about his music.’

‘He isn’t a suspect,’ MacLaine said. ‘We’re simply verifying his statement in order to narrow the field.’

‘Marcus was with us the whole time,’ Tanner assured them.

Back in the car, MacLaine said to Don: ‘I’d like more verification than that, wouldn’t you?’

Don suggested they speak to Ted Crowhurst, the Sports Club’s barman.

They found him at his home and he was his usual hearty, talkative self. ‘Marcus? Yeah, he’s usually roamin’ that bar, drink in hand, chattin’ up the ladies. Then they all head over to Rogue’s Place. Friday night ritual.’

‘And last night, Ted?’ MacLaine asked. ‘He definitely didn’t leave the bar, even for a short while, between midnight and one o’clock?’

The barman rubbed his chin with his thumb, his forehead creasing with thought lines. ‘Well, it’s not like I’m watching him the whole time. Why would I? Got a bar to run. And it’s not unusual for Marcus to slip out to his car to smooch with one of the ladies.’

‘He plays around?’

‘Oh yeah. Lucky guy’s engaged to one pretty lady; having an on-off fling with the singer in his band; and any number of one-night stands with the girls he chats up. Then there’s the money. Spends like there’s no tomorrow. Some have all the breaks, eh?’

‘Way of the world,’ MacLaine said. ‘Thanks for your time, Ted.’

‘Any time.’

MacLaine headed back to the car with Don. ‘So there’s here’s more to Marcus Bellwood,’ Don commented, ‘than meets the eye.’

‘Usually is,’ said MacLaine.

• • •

Cathy Bellwood might have been attractive, Don thought, but it was hard to tell with her lips curled into a permanent sneer, hair shaved at the sides and spiky on top, make-up heavy to the point of being grotesque. Despite all that, he could see the facial likeness to her brother Marcus.

She didn’t invite the policemen into her apartment when she opened the door, so MacLaine had to ask if they could enter. ‘Nothin’ personal,’ she said, lips barely moving through the scowl, ‘but me an’ my friends don’t want no cops in the place. Unless you got a warrant.’

Don felt like laughing at the 18-year-old’s needlessly tough stance. He was surprised when MacLaine didn’t press the point. ‘Can you account for your movements, Miss Bellwood, between midnight and 1am last night, the time of your aunt’s murder?’

‘I wasn’t movin’. I was here at the flat with me friends, watchin’ videos.’

‘Then I need to talk to your friends.’

Cathy called them to the door. Two girls, their appearances surprisingly much softer than Cathy’s, verified that the three of them had been together.

‘Look, I didn’t get on too well with my aunt,’ Cathy told MacLaine, ‘but that was because she was always hasslin’ me, y’know. So high and bloody mighty. But I would never have killed her. She was my aunt. I loved her. I just couldn’t give two hoots about her holier-than-thou morals and that boring damn winery of hers.’

• • •

As they drove back to the station, Don remarked that whether Cathy had been there or not, the other girls would have lied to give her an alibi. ‘You and I know that,’ MacLaine agreed, ‘but proving it is a different matter.’

It had been a long day for a Saturday. When MacLaine walked back into the Oakvale police station, it was clear the day wasn’t over. Robyn had persuaded Sydney-based forensic dentistry expert Dr Harold Reilly to give up his weekend and drive up to the valley. He was one of Robyn’s lecturers from her student days and they’d remained in contact over the years.

Reilly explained, when introduced to MacLaine, that the distinctive pattern of a person’s various teeth – the incisors, canines, molars and pre-molars, could be used in identifying the shape of individual tooth marks. ‘A microscopic photo image of the surface variations on the indent marks, when magnified, shows imperfections that can’t be seen by the naked eye,’ he said, ‘It’s clear, from matching the wax cast of the marks with the victim’s teeth, that she was
not
the one eating the apple.’

Also waiting were the Bellwood phone records. What they revealed cast a very different angle on the case.

MacLaine could see he had his suspect.

• • •

‘Records show no call was made to your number from the Bellwood home the night of the murder,’ MacLaine told Jillian. She’d been surprised to find MacLaine and Don Christie on her doorstep. She’d invited them in, but she hadn’t expected this.

‘Perhaps she called me on her cell phone.’

‘Her cell was in her handbag on the other side of the house and a check of those phone records was the same. No calls made that night.’

The words hit Jillian with the force of the winds outside.

‘Furthermore,’ MacLaine continued, ‘we’ve established that the apple lying beside Mrs Bellwood’s body was bitten into by someone else.’

‘You can tell that?’

‘Yes. Any objection to having your teeth examined for comparison with the bite marks?’

‘No. If there’s any question concerning me, Inspector, I want it cleared up as soon as possible.’

On her way to the police car, Jillian was aware of a marked difference in the air. The wind had stopped and in its place was an eerie stillness. Glancing out the window as they drove, she saw the landscape shrouded in a darkness that was unnatural for mid-afternoon, the result of heavy clouds gathering in menacing formation.

MacLaine asked Jillian if she had anything further to say about the call she claimed she’d received. She shook her head, bewildered. Then, after some thought: ‘Could she have made the call from someone else’s house?’

‘Not possible,’ MacLaine responded. ‘The approximate time of her death was just minutes after you said you received the call. She couldn’t have been anywhere else.’

‘Could someone else have phoned you, masquerading as Georgina?’ asked Don. He had noted the anxiety etched into Jillian’s face. It was times like these he wished telephone companies kept records of incoming calls, so they could check the calls received by Jillian’s phone. Was she telling the truth?’

‘It was definitely her voice,’ Jillian said, trying to keep her voice firm.

She felt humiliated, having the dental expert take a wax cast of her dentition. Don Christie advised her that they were also taking a cast of Marcus Bellwood’s dentition, given that he lived in the house with Georgina.

Afterwards she waited in the interview room. When MacLaine and Don Christie appeared in the doorway, both men’s jaws set in grim fashion, her spirits plummeted.

‘There’s no doubt the indents in the apple came from your bite,’ MacLaine informed her. ‘I have to advise that you’re under arrest for the murder of Georgina Bellwood.’

‘Inspector, I had no reason to murder Georgina. I would never
do
anything like that.’

‘As Marcus’ future wife, you benefit indirectly from his inheritance. You lied about the phone call, no doubt presuming that would throw us off your trail. But the apple places you at the scene of the crime.’

Jillian’s heartbeat was like thunder, pounding against her eardrums. She took deep breaths to steady herself.

‘Senior Constable Christie will read you your rights and you’ll be detained over the weekend until a preliminary court hearing can be arranged on Monday morning.’

Jillian felt a warmth emanating from Don Christie. It was in his eyes.

‘I’ve never been in jail before,’ she blurted out, instantly regretting the silliness of her remark.

‘I know that,’ Don said. ‘You’ll be comfortable enough in the remand cell here at the station.’

‘I didn’t do this, Constable.’ There was the glimmer of a tear at the corner of her eyes.

‘Then you’ve no need to worry,’ he replied by way of consolation. ‘The public defender is a good lawyer. You’ll be in good hands.’

Don reflected there was something about Jillian’s demeanour that encouraged him to believe her. Or was it simply that he wanted her to be innocent because he found her attractive? One of the things he’d been taught as a policeman was that appearances can be deceptive. He reminded himself of that now.

It was the indignity of the arrest that struck Jillian hardest. She went through the motions in a daze, barely comprehending this could be happening.

She was taken to another room where she was photographed from the front and the sides. Her hand was placed on a pad for fingerprinting. She was body-searched by a female officer.

She was allowed one phone call. Hand shaking and voice wavering, she dialled a girlfriend and asked her to try and get a message to her parents. They were somewhere on the Atlantic, on a six-month world cruise.

Jillian found it impossible to sleep. The silence outside was punctuated by rolls of thunder. She tossed and turned on the narrow bunk. How could it be there was such damning evidence against her? The phone records. The apple. She always had a bowl filled with rosy red apples in the back room at the shop, and she was often nibbling away at one of them. Had someone taken one of the apples?

Just after midnight, the full force of the storm hit. Sheets of rain. Flashes of lightning that lit up the cell with strobe-like bursts. At around 3am, Jillian began to weep. She cried freely at first, and then in intermittent sobs until the first rays of dawn touched the tiny, barred window high on the wall.