A Life Singular - Part One - By Lorraine Pestell

Synopsis

What do you do when you lose the one who gave your life meaning? You write about it. You tell the world how amazing it is to love and be loved by someone so special, what love helps you achieve and how it makes you stronger.

Jeff Diamond had built a life of influence, adulation and wealth by making the right choices for the right reasons. He lived by the law of reciprocity, a lesson learned on the streets as a teenager with nothing but an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Plagued by the scars of a violent childhood, he created his vision and fought for it. And once he no longer needed to fight for himself, he fought for others.

Yet when Jeff’s dream girl was taken from him and their children by the ignorant act of a jealous misfit from his own home town, the millionaire realised just how far he had come. Why had he succeeded when so many like him fail? It wasn’t complicated. The secret lay in the endless pursuit of love and wisdom; life’s two magic ingredients.

Now Lynn was gone, he resolved to use his remaining days to account for their life in a way that would inspire young people to make his type of choice rather than García’s.

Then after their story was written, he would be free to go after her, to begin the whole incredible journey over again. Everyone has a life singular.

One. Unique. Extraordinary.

 

A LIFE SINGULAR - PART ONE - BY LORRAINE PESTELL

 

Chapter One: Twenty Years On

The black Land Rover Discovery turned into the lane towards the back gates of the vast Benloch property. Jeff remarked how little had changed in the twenty-three years since he had first driven his old, rusty Ford Fairlane along this narrow road, too quickly over the gravel and kicking up dust behind them. In the back of the car, his son woke with a start, for a moment not recognising where he was.

His sister dug him in the ribs. ‘Wake up. We’re here.’

Jet had flown in from the UK just that morning, having started his journey home from Cambridge University some thirty hours before. It had been his first Christmas away from the family, permission for which he had negotiated carefully when he found out an exquisite Russian archaeology student was staying in college over the holidays. However, he had later confessed to his father secretly that his plan had been an almost total waste of time and that he regretted not coming home to Melbourne as planned. The girl had not turned out to be quite as exquisite as he hoped, and the young buck had beaten a hasty retreat from her room first thing on Boxing Day morning.

The eighteen-year-old sportsman had received a very sympathetic hearing from his dad, who had then undoubtedly passed on the juicy snippets of information to his mother, judging by the knowing smile she had given him later in the day. Jet didn’t mind. He was very pleased to be back en famille, even if it did mean his kid sister was on hand to give him a hard time.

‘Grab this, please,’ Lynn asked her son, pointing to a large black suitcase.

Jet lifted the case out of the car easily, his six-foot-four-inch frame beginning to fill out as he headed towards the end of his teens. He carried his own bag in the other hand and a folder of paperwork under one arm, stopping to kiss his grandmother in the doorway as he passed through into the house.

‘Are you tired?’ Marianna asked. ‘You mustn’t know what time it is, dear.’

‘What time is it, Grandma? Sorry? What did you say?’ the larrikin replied, teasing her gently. ‘Nice to see you. Happy Old Year.’

Jeff clipped the top of his son’s head affectionately with the fingers of his right hand, and bent over to kiss his slowly shrinking mother-in-law.

‘Ignore him, Marianna,’ he told the elegant lady of the house. ‘He thinks he’s funny. We haven’t got the heart to tell him the truth.’

‘Good morning, Jeff,’ the gracious woman replied. ‘Twenty years. Can you believe it?’

‘Definitely not,’ her daughter’s husband shook his head. ‘Feels like forty.’

‘Papá!’ Kierney shrieked from behind him. ‘That’s so mean! You think you’re funny…’

The father turned round and gave his daughter a playful grin. ‘I mean I wish it were forty,’ he quipped.

Once inside and with everyone suitably greeted and kissed, the Diamond family went straight upstairs to unpack for the New Year’s Eve celebrations. The air conditioning system made sure the temperature in the big house was comfortable, and the outdoor pool down below glistened enticingly as the couple looked over from the balcony. Jeff looked at his watch.

‘Are we all having lunch, d’you think?’ he asked his wife. ‘Or can we just relax for a while?’

To his delight, Lynn walked towards her husband and lovingly wrapped her arms around him. She was wearing a new perfume, and it turned him on. Just a hint of mystery about the woman he knew so well. He had missed out on their usual morning liaison earlier that day, since mother and daughter had disappeared before dawn to collect Jet from the airport and to squeeze in some valuable driving practice for the sixteen-year-old.

‘I have no idea,’ his wife answered, her hands rubbing his chest and stomach, heading towards his belt.

‘What are you doing?’ Jeff asked, kissing her lips wantonly. ‘This is your parents’ house.’

Lynn backed off, leaving her husband looking crestfallen.

‘You’re right,’ she replied, kissing him again. ‘I’m going downstairs to help Mum.’

‘Good,’ he agreed. ‘Go on then.’

His hands slipped inside his wife’s shirt and began to fondle the underside of her breasts through the silky fabric of her bra. Lynn leaned into him willingly, and they stood together as close as they could get. After a short while, the handsome man turned around and locked the bedroom door.

‘I’m sick of living dangerously,’ he smiled, seeing her blue eyes flash their approval. ‘Take me to bed.’

Jeff steered his wife towards the bed that had been hers since she was fifteen years old, and they made love with all the intensity that had built up over the last two decades, as they had grown together and matured as lovers and as people. Both their children were already older than Lynn had been when she first invited her dark-haired mystery man back to the family’s farm for the weekend.

‘How many songs have you brought with you for tomorrow?’ she asked, caressing his chest as they moved together.

‘Songs?’ he gasped in pleasure. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘OK,’ she laughed. ‘Sorry I mentioned it.’

‘Why? Is there something special going on this weekend?’ the joker enquired with an innocent smile on his face.

His eyes were only half open as he arched his back and kissed his wife’s forehead. Then, without warning, he whipped them both over so that he was now lying on his back, and Lynn’s long, golden hair fell over her shoulders and onto her breasts.

‘Can you believe it’s twenty years?’ his wife asked, between moans of sweet delight.

‘No,’ Jeff replied. ‘I still remember being in this room for the first time. Can I make you scream like back then?’

‘I hope so,’ she sighed, lying down onto his stomach and feeling her orgasm closing in.

‘Scream so your parents can hear,’ her lover urged, his breath hot on her face. ‘Scream loud enough for them to know how much I love you.’

‘Oh, I do love you,’ Lynn groaned. ‘I’ve loved you forever.’

Taking in his wife’s pleasure with all his senses, Jeff came in a huge rush moments afterwards, locked in a deep kiss. They lay motionless for several minutes, each lost in memories of their time together.

‘Two,’ the star announced finally, breaking the silence.

‘Two songs?’ his partner checked. ‘Damn! I’ve only got one.’

‘Par for the course,’ he teased her. ‘I’m used to it. I had four, but dumped a couple because that would’ve been just too embarrassing for you.’

The beautiful woman sat up and slapped her husband’s chest playfully.

‘It’s quality not quantity,’ she told him. ‘I thought we might disappear to the dam tomorrow morning early, if we can get away with it. Would you like that?’

Jeff rolled his eyes in ecstasy and squeezed his wife’s tight obliques. ‘What do you think?’

Lynn shrugged. ‘I don’t want to take things for granted, even after twenty years.’

‘Ha!’ the forty-three-year-old laughed, pushing his wife gently off onto the mattress and heading towards the bathroom. ‘Go ahead, angel. Take me for granted. I’ve been waiting a long time to be taken for granted. I’m all for new experiences at my time of life.’

Lynn smiled. It was great to see her husband so happy and contented. The family was together for their special occasion, and her gorgeous lover had an extra spring in his step and a glint in his eye. Nineteen-ninety-six was going to be a great year for their whole family. In fact, they had all been great years, and each better than the last.

Downstairs, Kierney had gone in search of her girl-cousin, Jazz. They found each other by the pool, with the younger of Jazz’s two brothers, Bruce. They had all seen each other over Christmas, so there was little news to catch up on, except the for fact that Jet was home. The others laughed as Kierney told tales about her brother’s many romantic escapades.

Jet was the eldest grandchild of Bart and Marianna Dyson, closely followed by Sonny, Bruce’s elder brother. Jazz was the youngest, having only recently turned the corner into her teens, and she lived vicariously through the exploits of Kierney, the willowy, sixteen-year-old gipsy. Another grandchild was expected next year, the first baby for Lynn’s much younger sister, Anna. It was exciting to think of a new arrival in the family after so long, and the two girls swapped name suggestions, hoping it would not be another male firstborn.

By the time Lynn and Jeff had changed and reached the pool, almost the whole family was assembled. The only person missing was Bart, the head of the Dyson dynasty and the man largely responsible for putting Australia at the top of the sporting world. Even now, at sixty-three years of age, his dedication to the Olympic movement and his determination for the national team to succeed meant his family hardly ever saw him, even during the holiday season.

‘Mum,’ Lynn asked, ‘what would you like us to do? Can I help with lunch?’

‘Shortly, dear,’ Marianna responded. ‘You guys relax. There’s not much to do.’

Bart Dyson Junior, Lynn’s elder brother, sat himself next to Jeff and extended his hand.

‘A day early, I know, but happy anniversary, Jeff,’ the big man said.

‘Cheers, Junior,’ Jeff nodded, before impersonating his father-in-law’s booming voice with surprising accuracy. ‘Remarkable achievement.’

The kids all looked round together in amusement, before continuing to lark about in the water. Lynn came over to kiss her brother and to receive her dose of the congratulations. She sat between Junior and her husband, opening her book and feigning ignorance of both of them.

‘So what does it feel like to be an old married woman?’ her brother teased.

‘Great, thanks,’ the beautiful woman smiled, surveying the scene. ‘Where’s Jetto?’

‘I expect he’s fallen asleep up there,’ Marianna replied. ‘We’ll wake him before lunch.’

Jeff and Kierney exchanged furtive glances. There could be any number of reasons for the young man’s temporary absence, virtually none of which suitable to share with his grandmother.

‘He’ll be checking his e-mail,’ Lynn informed their host, which was code for arranging one or more hot dates for the coming nights.

That evening the Dyson family put on a New Year’s Eve party in the courtyard behind the house, as they usually did. The Diamonds had declined their invitation for a large combined extravaganza for their anniversary, saying they would be perfectly happy just to celebrate quietly. Nineteen-ninety-five had been an exceedingly successful year for them, and they had attended enough swanky parties all over the world to have become thoroughly bored with having to dress up and revel in sycophantic attention.

They were also conscious of Junior’s recent divorce, and although he and Julie had separated amicably, the twenty-year couple were aware that he was only slowly adjusting to being a single parent. He had previously admitted to Jeff that he was annoyed at himself for failing to make his marriage last like his sister’s.

Next morning the house was bursting at the seams with leftover party guests. The hustle and bustle of a breakfast barbecue was too much for many heads and stomachs, including Jeff’s. Staring into the bathroom mirror, he examined his bloodshot eyes and the extra grey hairs that he could have sworn had appeared overnight on his head, chest and arms. He watched as his reflection rubbed the tattoo on its right pectoral muscle, before looking down to his left at the real thing.

‘Happy anniversary, mate,’ he wished the bloke in the mirror, dipping his razor into the hot water and beginning to shave.

Off to Coldwater Creek this morning, the celebrity’s fuzzy mind reminded itself. Excelente! It had always been the pair’s special place, and they had spent many happy hours there, writing songs together, talking endlessly about the meaning of life and sharing each other’s bodies in the splendid isolation. Despite his hangover, the vision of Lynn lying naked on a picnic rug beside the deep dam aroused him quickly.

His wife frowned in amusement on seeing his excited state, when her husband returned to the bedroom.

‘Thinking about the dam, were you?’ she asked.

‘Maybe,’ he smiled, quickly putting on shorts and a t-shirt. ‘I suppose we’ve got to get through breakfast first again. You’re always so mean to me, making me wait like this…’

Lynn stood up and kissed him, as he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his predicament. She snatched her fingers away playfully.

‘The suspense is killing you. I know and I’m sorry. It’ll be worth it.’

‘You always say that,’ the actor moaned, putting on a sad face. ‘One year we’ll have to go straight over there as soon as we wake up and see if you’re right. If the sex is still good, I’ll finally know I’ve been duped all these years.’

‘And if it’s bad?’ Lynn asked.

Jeff shook his head, knowing full well that sex between them could never be bad.

‘Yeah, well… That’s where my argument sort of collapses.’

 

***

 

Breakfast over and hangovers clearing, Lynn and Jeff piled their stuff into a ute and picked their way over the ruts on the edge of each paddock until they reached the creek, as they had done in all weathers at least once a year since they had known each other. A large number of hit records had been created there, and many a grand scheme had been hatched. Moreover, the couple was fairly sure their son had been conceived in this idyllic spot, or at least they chose to think so.

Twenty years was a long time, they agreed in the warm country air. Twenty years with the same partner, never once wanting anyone else, was no mean feat, particularly in the showbusiness world. In all that time, they had never grown tired of the songs one wrote for the other, the hair-brained ideas each came up with or being able to share the endless pressure of staying on top of their game both personally and professionally.

For this special anniversary, Jeff had submitted one slightly ironic and sarcastic lyric and the other optimistic and romantic. They had both been set to music and recorded before Christmas by an up-and-coming British singer whom he had signed to their label, and the prolific songwriter was very happy with the results.

And for her anniversary gift to her husband, Lynn’s theme was also nostalgia, with heartfelt lyrics and a simple melody. She had recorded it herself while Jeff had been away in Europe just before the holiday season. While his gorgeous wife sang, skillfully picking out a lean accompaniment on the acoustic guitar, the happiest man on Earth lay back in the sun and listened with his eyes closed and his heart wide open.

Making love in the open air, with always the faint possibility of being discovered by a farm worker or some local Daundwurrung or Woirurrung people looking for a cooling swim, Lynn and Jeff enjoyed their own private anniversary celebration. Ahead of them was another huge year that would see the family dispersed still further from each other, yet nonetheless they were looking forward to it with great excitement for the new challenges on which all four would be embarking.

Jet would shortly be heading back to the UK to continue his second year at Cambridge, and Kierney was impatient to start her first year at Sydney University. Turning seventeen this coming February, their daughter was also itching to take her driving test, which in her mind was the last obstacle standing between her and independence.

Lynn’s diary had several successful artists blocked in to record new albums in her studios and to have their music painstakingly crafted by one of the most highly respected arranger-producers in the business. She was also due to complete an ambitious film project as a present for Jeff, which she had hoped would be finished in time for their special occasion. Given how hectic the year had turned out however, the personal endeavour had fallen behind schedule for several worthy reasons. And if that wasn’t enough, now the children were almost self-sufficient, she was keen to explore new ways of influencing the country’s governing classes, beyond the years of effective activism afforded to her causes by her very public profile.

And for Jeff, this would be another year when too many hours would be spent on aeroplanes or locked securely in hotel rooms all over the globe. There would be no touring this year, at least, since the “Live On Earth” series of concerts had finally come to an end in Los Angeles a few months ago. Instead, he would focus more on the peace negotiations he was spearheading in the Middle East, Northern Ireland and his beloved Africa, while in the background working on a plan to pare down the travelling and to focus more on developing both his golf swing and his wife’s career.

‘The change’ll be good for us, I think,’ Lynn ventured, stroking the hair on her husband’s chest and abdomen. ‘Change is as good as a rest, they say. Do you need a rest?’

‘Sex is as good as a rest,’ her lover quipped, not even opening his eyes. ‘Old Italian proverb.’

The patient woman sniffed. ‘Of course. Attributed to?’ she asked, only too aware that she had also been massaging his ego. ‘Rudolf Valentino? Or Casanova?’

‘That’d make it an old Spanish proverb,’ her husband corrected her.

Taking his dream girl by surprise, he grabbed her wandering hand and pulled it to his mouth to kiss it. Both sat up and embraced, knowing that time was passing and their presence would soon be required back at the house. Lynn had a broad grin on her face.

‘So I suppose you were him in a former life too?’

‘Expect so,’ Jeff shrugged with just a trace of macho conceit. ‘If you say so.’

The anniversary couple got dressed and gathered up the rug and water bottles, ready to throw into the back of the ute. Lynn put the old guitar back into its case until the next visit, and they turned the car round to return to the present tense and their family. No matter how many times they came to this oasis, it never lost its ability to transport them somewhere special.

‘I am getting tired now,’ the billionnaire philanthropist confided in his beautiful best friend, just before they reached the road. ‘I feel like I’ve been around for two hundred years. I think I’m becoming a self-satisfied fat cat at last.’

Lynn laughed. If there was something she knew her husband was incapable of turning into, it was their fabled self-satisfied fat cat.

‘Yeah, right,’ she teased him. ‘So when are you going to cut up your frequent flyer card? And what makes you think I want you hanging round the house anyway?’

‘Easy fixed,’ Jeff returned the favour, swinging the ute into the garage. ‘I’ll hang around someone else’s house then.’

His wife put on a sad face. ‘Oh, alright then. You win, Felix.’

Hand in hand, the happy couple trudged across the gravel and entered the luxurious farmhouse through the back door, preparing to re-join the rest of the clan.

 

Chapter Two: A Life Shattered

 

Lynn, Jeff and Kierney celebrated another milestone in the youngest family member’s journey to adulthood on Thursday the fifteenth of February nineteen-ninety-six, just a few days after her birthday. She had arrived at the restaurant on Beaconsfield Parade in her own car, brandishing her new driver’s licence and a large bouquet of flowers for her mother.

‘Let me see!’ Jeff joined in her excitement, taking the licence out of her waving hand and examining the photograph. ‘That’s not you. It’s a fake.’

Kierney stuck her tongue out at her father and snatched the licence back.

‘It’s not. It’s real,’ she insisted, passing it to her mother. ‘Let’s see yours then. Let’s see if yours looks like you.’

Her dad obliged, removing his wallet from his back pocket. It was a very warm evening, and they were sitting outside in the casual dining area of the restaurant, looking out over the bay. Other patrons sat around them, doing their best to ignore the famous trio, who in return were doing their best to be ignored. Somehow, neither party ever quite succeeded at this game, and certainly not in their home town.

Before passing his licence over to his daughter,
the celebrity took a look at the mug-shot which was now over five years old. He held it up to his cheek for the women to adjudicate.

‘Which me do you prefer?’ he challenged them. ‘The nineteen-ninety model or the current model?’

Lynn smiled lovingly. ‘The current model, of course. Distinguished and sophisticated.’

‘Grey and wrinkly,’ Kierney countered, looking at the detail on her father’s licence and comparing its format to her brand new one.

Jeff chuckled. ‘OK. I know who’s paying for dinner tonight! Somewhere between the two responses would’ve been nice.’

While they waited for their drinks to arrive, Lynn telephoned Jet in Cambridge so that Kierney could pass on the good news to her brother. He didn’t answer, so they left a quick message and focussed on the menu. One by one, they discussed their own driving test memories and shared the feeling of elation that each remembered after passing.

‘Sounds like the legal ability to drive on our own was a long time coming for all of us,’ the sportswoman reflected, turning to her husband. ‘Do you remember those driving lessons you gave me out on the deserted roads near the airport?’

‘Yep,’ Jeff nodded, screwing his face up at a rare less-than-happy memory. ‘That was in our blue period. We were so short-tempered with each other, weren’t we? And then your first licence was your Californian one, after all that.’

‘Yes. My God, that test was pathetic!’ his wife laughed, waving her hand around as if describing an open space. ‘Here’s a car park. If you can drive once around without hitting any other cars, you pass.’

‘Was that it?’ Kierney queried in amazement. ‘Were you driving before you got your licence too, Papá?’

Coughing comically, and looking around to check no-one could overhear, Jeff answered. ‘Um, yes. I bought a car when I was sixteen, but I didn’t drive it much. Couldn’t afford the petrol. It was still a good feeling to finally get a licence though. Proof that I was a bona fide citizen, I guess.’

Kierney smiled. ‘That’s exactly how I feel too. A passport doesn’t make you autonomous, because I’ve had one since before I could walk or talk. At least with a driving licence, it proves that I’m somewhat responsible for my own actions.’

Her mum chuckled. ‘Listen to us! We’re all so similar. It’s amazing how being accountable is so much part of our ethos. Other people shirk responsibility until they die.’

‘Viva apathy!’ Jeff toasted, just as their meals arrived at the table. ‘I hate the world but I can’t be bothered to change it, so I’ll just spend the rest of my life moaning.’

Parents and daughter swapped more driving stories over dinner, laughing and joking like the tight-knit family they were. They made plans for Kierney to drive them all up to Junior’s farm in Narrandera for the Easter weekend, which would be the next big get-together.

‘You can bring someone, if you like,’ Lynn invited their daughter. ‘Are you still going out with Dylan?’

‘Yeah, technically we are,’ Kierney confirmed, ‘but I’d rather come on my own. I want to enjoy being en famille before getting dragged into uni life.’

‘That’s great,’ her dad said, leaning over and kissing his daughter’s temple. ‘It’ll be good to be together in the wilderness for a few days, as an antidote to all the madness. Jeez, we’re going to be busy, angel. Shame Jetto’s not here. But hey, Kiz… Exactly what does going out with someone technically entail?’

Lynn smiled as she waited for the youngster to come up with a suitable response for her dad, knowing how alike their brains worked. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to embarrass the children these days, given their rapidly increasing levels of experience with the opposite sex.

‘You know… We get cosy every now and again,’ the seventeen-year-old explained with a shy grin, ‘in a technical way, but then we do our own thing when we want to.’

Jeff shook his head. ‘That makes no sense at all, pequeñita, but I’ll let you carrying on living in your misguided reality.’

‘Whatever, Papá,’ Kierney pouted. ‘I don’t meddle in you guys’ sex life, so I’ll thank you not to meddle in mine.’

‘That sounds like a good deal,’ her mother agreed, moving swiftly along. ‘Did you want us to check anything out for you in Sydney this weekend?’

The student shook her head. ‘Can’t think of anything, thanks. If I do, I can ring you. Are you staying at the Blakes’?’

‘Not tomorrow night, but at the weekend we are,’ Jeff answered. ‘We’ve got to help Celia convince Gerald to stop drinking.’

‘Oh, why?’ Kierney asked. ‘Is he ill?’

‘Yep,’ her dad nodded again. ‘Blood pressure, heart problems. All sorts, apparently. He needs to stop smoking and drinking so much.’

‘Unfair, isn’t it?’ Lynn said wistfully, her eyes staring out across the bay. ‘You reach the autumn of your life, and your body starts denying you all the pleasures you’ve earned during the hard slog years.’

‘Exactly,’ her husband agreed. ‘Still, it’s a choice. Keep going at the same pace so you go out partying, or slow down and gradually bore yourself to death.’

Kierney laughed. ‘Neither of those options sounds very attractive. Somewhere in the middle perhaps? Please give him my best wishes.’

‘We will. That’s kind, darling. Everything in moderation,’ Lynn offered, mimicking her own mother. ‘For all the new fad diets and advances in healthy living, that old adage still works the best.’

‘Jesus!’ Jeff exclaimed to his wife. ‘Enough of this sensible talk, Grandma. We sound like the Grim Reaper, warning everyone to steer clear of danger. It’s his choice, as long as he makes it knowing the likely effects on everyone, not just himself.’

Kierney’s mobile telephone rang from inside her handbag.

‘That’ll be Jet,’ her mum guessed.

‘Thanks!’ Kierney almost shouted into the phone. ‘Yeah. It’s awesome! Thanks for ringing back. How’s things over there? We’re having dinner in Port Melbourne, on the bay. It’s very hot. Ha, ha! Tough luck!’

The telephone was passed around each family member in turn. Luckily, by this time, there were no other patrons nearby whom they could disturb. Jet was jealous of the summer weather and sorry to be missing out on their celebratory dinner. His university term had restarted in earnest, and the student’s workload was already mounting, now almost halfway through his degree.

‘See ya, son,’ Jeff shouted over the wind and the traffic noise. ‘Talk soon. Have fun at the weekend. Stay safe.’

‘So he bought that bike,’ Kierney said, referring to the Triumph motorcycle that her brother had been eyeing up since before the end of the previous term. ‘I knew he would.’

‘Yes,’ their mother replied. ‘Sounds like he managed to negotiate the price down, so the guy must have been keen to sell it to him. Hope it’s not about to fall to pieces.’

Jeff nodded, leaning back in his chair and savouring the small amount of wine left in his glass. It would be a useful lesson for their son if the bike were to break down, but he wasn’t going to voice that opinion right now. Both children were fully automated these days, self-sufficient and confident. Not a bad job done, he thought. The handsome man winked at his wife fondly.

‘We have no purpose now,’ he rued. ‘Parental pasture looms. Where shall we retire to, angel?’

‘No!’ the pretty, dark-haired teenager cried out. ‘Don’t retire! I still need you.’

‘Crap!’ her father objected. ‘Kiz, you haven’t needed us since you were out of nappies. Get outta here!’

‘OK. But don’t go too far away,’ the youngster gave in. ‘Driving distance only.’

Lynn paid the bill, and the threesome left the restaurant, crossed the road and walked hand in hand along the promenade towards Station Pier. The “Spirit of Tasmania” had docked recently, with another, much larger ocean liner moored alongside it, dwarfing the ferry that ran daily between Melbourne and Devonport on the apple-shaped island state to the south. Passers-by waved and shouted cheerfully to the famous family, receiving a smile and a quick greeting back from one or all of them.

‘Hey!’ Kierney remembered something she had forgotten to tell her parents. ‘D’you remember Youssouf Elhadji?’

‘Yeah,’ her father affirmed. ‘Did he reply to your message?’

‘More than,’ the teenager affirmed proudly. ‘He wants to record something else with me. He’s become a Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF. Can you believe that?’

‘That’s amazing. Well done!’ Lynn praised her daughter. ‘When do you want to work with him?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ Kierney answered. ‘Probably in July, at the end of term, depending on my exams. I could visit Jet and meet him in London. What do you think? I can hardly ask him to come here, can I?’

‘No, not really,’ Jeff agreed. ‘London or New York. Or what about Paris? I’ll come with you. You should produce it, angel.’

‘Thanks. I’m more interested in talking to him about the United Nations,’ their ambitious daughter explained. ‘So New York would be perfect. He could show me around, if that’s allowed. I might even marry him.’

‘Might you?’ her dad enquired in surprise, opening the car door for his wife. ‘No wonder you want to leave Dylan behind at Easter. I didn’t know you had the hots for him. Isn’t he already married? Technically?’

‘I don’t even know,’ Kierney laughed dreamily. ‘Probably. N’importe pas.’

‘Right,’ Lynn smiled at her daughter’s free and easy attitude. ‘We’ll leave that one in your capable hands. See you at home.’

The parents drove off before their daughter pulled out of her parking space up ahead of them, not wishing to put any pressure on her early driving career. Gazing into his rear-view mirror, Jeff couldn’t stop himself from looking back to make sure the little silver car was following them. Lynn caught his eye and scolded him gently. Letting Kierney grow up and spread her wings was truly the hardest thing for her husband.

‘Shit! I am so old,’ the forty-three-year-old moaned. ‘How can our daughter be thinking of getting married? This is not right, baby. Now I know how your parents felt.’

‘What goes around comes around,’ the blonde superstar sighed, stroking her husband’s strong left arm empathetically as his hand shifted the gear lever of the sleek, black sports car. ‘My mum tried to tell me you’d behave the same way as Dad did if you ever had your own daughter.’

‘Did she?’ Jeff asked. ‘When you were sick that day in our apartment? While I duelled with your father for your hand on the balcony?’

‘Yes, that fateful day,’ the beautiful woman confirmed, smiling. ‘I remember disputing her opinion and saying that at least you’d ask your daughter what she wanted first.’

‘No way! That’s not going to happen,’ her husband denied with a half-smile, shaking his head. ‘I’m going to put my foot down. No free thinking allowed until she’s at least thirty.’

‘Come on! You’d love to have Youssouf Elhadji as a son-in-law,’ his wife chided.

Jeff nodded, turning towards her and grinning. ‘I would. Awesome!’

Lynn laughed at his impersonation of their exuberant girl-child. After a few more minutes winding through Melbourne’s sparse evening traffic, the couple pulled into the car park of their city apartment, and before the gates had fully opened, Kierney had pulled up behind them in her pride and joy, her silver Volkswagen independence machine.

 

***

 

‘Kizzy, we’re leaving,’ Jeff announced, knocking on his daughter’s bedroom door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes,’ the youngster called out in reply, swinging her legs out of bed to meet her dad with a kiss at the door and invite him in. ‘Right now?’

‘In ten, fifteen minutes,’ the smartly-dressed businessman confirmed, his eyes alighting on a piece of paper with what looked like a series of verses written on it. ‘What’s this? May I read it, please?’

‘A-course ya can,’ Kierney replied girlishly. ‘It was inspired by Auntie Lena, after that dinner we nearly didn’t share in Sydney last year. Hope you don’t mind the subject matter.’

The seventeen-year-old disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her father hypnotised by the very adult song lyric which lamented the disdain often served upon sex workers for taking cash for their time, as opposed to the jewellery, cars and comfortable houses for which the more refined gold-diggers often opted. He shivered at some of the callous images the words conjured up, particularly when he focussed on the unfeeling monotony of such a life.

If the song was his sister’s story, it was not one that Jeff recognised. Had Madalena really opened up to this extent to her niece that night? He doubted it, because the teenager would have told him sooner. Throughout their very separate lives, the Diamond siblings had evolved into totally different people as a result of the wounds inflicted on them in their formative years. Jeff had received a surfeit of emotional intelligence and self-awareness, whereas his older sister had closed her heart and mind to any outside influences, whether subconsciously or otherwise.

Deep in contemplation, the father jumped as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and he felt his daughter’s presence at his side.

‘It’s great,’ he praised her, flapping the paper in front of her face. ‘I love the last verse, even though you shouldn’t be so cynical so young. Mamá would try to discourage you from thinking this way, but I’m too much like you to get away with it anymore.’

Kierney laughed, accepting the lyric sheet back and placing it on the desk.

‘True,’ she nodded. ‘Chip off the old block. I’m glad you like it.’

‘I do, baby,’ Jeff affirmed. ‘Pero digame… Did Auntie Lena really talk about some of those things? Cleansing her soul? Or that she longs to be touched? It just doesn’t sound like my sister. Are you sure you had dinner with the right woman?’

‘Papá!’ Kierney sounded offended, slapping his arm. ‘I’m not that stupid. It’s not Auntie Lena’s story. We talked about working girls generalmente, and she told me some stories about people she knew. It was interesting, how different women deal with being a prostitute. That’s all.’

‘But why do you want to know so much about that seedy lifestyle?’ her father enquired, keen to lighten the mood before their departure. ‘United Nations lost its appeal?’

‘Maybe,’ the teenager teased, batting flirtatious eyelids. ‘I’ll need some pocket money while I’m going through uni. It’s the oldest profession, isn’t it? I was always told the professions are reputable careers.’

Jeff put a large hand on top of his daughter’s untidy hair and shook her gently, and she reached both arms around his waist to hug him in close. A few years ago he would have held her at arm’s length while she tried in vain to punch his ribs with flailing fists, but these days she just cuddled into him. Kierney Diamond loved her papá best of all.

‘Enough with the smart remarks, hija mía. If you need pocket money to get through uni, our combined song-writing careers must definitely have hit the skids,’ the forty-three-year-old billionnaire scoffed. ‘Mamá’ll bail you out. She’s good like that.’

‘The last line did come from Auntie Lena though,’ Kierney smiled, chasing him back towards the kitchen.

‘Did it?’ he responded in amazement. ‘The thin line reference? I didn’t think she’d think like that. Who was she referring to?’

‘Oh, no-one in particular,’ the youngster replied. ‘Maybe Michelle? She was saying that women who got married to rich men so they could have kids and nannies and never work again were selling sex just as much as prostitutes do. And I see her point. Is that mean?’

Jeff stopped and turned to this gorgeous creature who never wanted to hurt anyone, even with the truth. She knew the answer to her own question. He could see it in her big, brown eyes.

‘It’s a song, not an affidavit, pequeñita,’ he smiled, pointing to his daughter’s heart. ‘As long as you understand that in here…’

‘I do,’ the young woman nodded.

‘I know, and generally I agree with you,’ he added. ‘It is a really thin line, as your song says. I suppose people get as addicted to jewellery shopping and a new car every year just as much as they can to drugs and drink. Jacinta might fall into that category, but she’d certainly think you were being mean. Tammy too. They’re both pretty much ladies of leisure these days, courtesy of their husbands’ big, fat portfolios.’

Kierney laughed. These two names referred to the sisters of the Diamonds’ long-suffering manager, Gerry, all of whom her father had known since he was a boy. Michelle was her mother’s best friend from school, and she and Madalena had been fellow bridesmaids at Lynn and Jeff’s wedding twenty years ago.

‘But it’s not true for Michelle,’ her dad continued. ‘You shouldn’t discount unpaid work. Michelle serves on a few Boards, like Mamá does, and she takes care a lot of our legal stuff pro bono. She actually works pretty hard. Auntie Lena wouldn’t understand that sort of work though. You have to dig up roads or stand up all day as a supermarket check-out chick before Lena thinks you’re working.’

Kierney looked guilty, and the charitable father felt sorry for her. He didn’t need to labour the point. The two walked into the kitchen where Lynn was putting away their breakfast things.

‘Buenos días, Mamá,’ the young woman said brightly, kissing her mother. ‘When are you back?’

‘Buenos días, Kizzy. Tuesday morning,’ she answered. ‘We’re planning to go straight to the house though. What are you doing?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ the seventeen-year-old frowned.

‘Question too hard?’ her dad scoffed. ‘Come on, for Christ’s sake! Get with the programme. Don’t you know your diary off by heart by now?’

Father and daughter often joked about her mum’s requirement for much more rigorous planning standards in comparison with theirs. Somehow she was able to retain her every appointment in her head, along with those of the rest of the family and some of her friends too. Dark-haired Diamonds didn’t do detail, sadly, which was always a source of intense frustration for the super-organised, blonde beauty.

Kierney shrugged. ‘Terribly sorry. I’ll try to get all the spontaneity out of my system before you return.’

‘Good thing too,’ Lynn mocked, giving her daughter a hug. ‘Enjoy yourself this weekend, and don’t forget to ring if you want us to do anything in Sydney.’

‘I will and I won’t,’ their smiling daughter responded, taking a swift look around the kitchen. ‘What about here? Is there anything I should do?’

‘Nope,’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Everything’s under control. Just drive carefully and don’t go getting married until we get back.’

Mother and daughter both laughed heartily, sharing a sympathetic look at the bereft father figure. After final kisses goodbye, Kierney stood at the apartment door in her pyjamas until the lift doors closed on her parents, on their way to the airport. Again.

 

***

 

The flight to Sydney was uneventful but crowded, and it had taken quite a while to reach their rental car, by the time the Diamonds had hung back to avoid the throng at baggage collection. Cathy, their trusty administration wizard, had arranged a little Mercedes AMG sports car for their few days in Sydney, and it was husband versus wife to be the first to drive it.

The couple sped towards the Central Business District, weaving through the traffic as best they could. They were due at a charity luncheon at eleven-thirty and decided first to check into their favourite boutique hotel, The Pensione on George Street. Jeff pulled into the semi-circular, covered driveway at speed, negotiating the curves expertly and coming to a stop just centimetres from the kerb. The doorman was impressed, and then even more impressed when the passenger door opened and out stepped none other than Lynn Dyson Diamond.

The tall, elegant beauty signalled to the doorman that her husband wouldn’t be requiring him to park the car.

‘He knows where to go,’ she told the open-mouthed young man. ‘He’s like a boy with a new toy in that thing. I’m sure he thinks it’s a go-kart.’

The doorman laughed tentatively and opened the glass door beside the revolving doors to let the superstar pass through into the hotel lobby. Lynn approached the reception desk, greeted by a row of waiting smiles. The staff were eager to see their special guests again.

‘Welcome, Ms Diamond,’ the receptionist marked “Miriam” effervesced. ‘How are you today?’

‘Well, thanks,’ Lynn smiled. ‘A bit stressed. It took a long time to get out of the airport this morning. Jeff’s bringing the luggage around from the car park. How are you all?’

‘Good, thank you. And thank you very much for choosing to stay with us today, Ms Diamond,’ Miriam added, dripping with sincerity. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’

The VIP guest was handed two keys and a couple of envelopes which had been left at the hotel for the couple. She turned to watch the same doorman wheeling a trolley towards her, ready to take their luggage up to the room. A telephone rang on the counter, and one of the other receptionists answered it.

‘Excuse me, Ms Diamond,’ she called out, seeing the celebrity walking away. ‘There’s a ‘phone call for Mister Diamond.’

‘I’ll take it,’ Lynn replied, turning back. ‘Thanks.’

Miriam instructed her more junior colleague to put the call through to a courtesy telephone in the lobby, next to a comfortable leather couch. The girls watched their famous guest closely as she walked across the tiled flooring, self-assured in a tailored suit and high heels. It was the first time the younger receptionist had seen Australia’s favourite lady in the flesh, and she felt as envious as the others. To think she was forty years old. It was hard to believe the woman in front of them had children already in their late teens.

Lynn Dyson Diamond was everything a woman would want to be: tall and slim, with long, blonde hair and a tanned, radiant complexion. In fact, the receptionists remarked to each other that they remembered seeing photographs of Anna Dyson’s wedding two years earlier, at which this lady had been her sister’s Matron of Honour. It had been hard to tell which was the younger, although Anna was over ten years Lynn’s junior.

‘Please take a seat over there, Ms Diamond,’ Miriam invited the celebrity, pointing towards the telephone. ‘The call will be waiting for you.’

Lynn did as she was told, mouthing a quick thank-you. Lifting the receiver, she sank into the sumptuous leather and crossed her long legs elegantly, looking stately and regal as she began to speak.

‘Hello? This is Lynn Diamond.’

There was a gruff, nervous voice at the other end of the line, which asked again to speak to her husband.

‘No, I’m sorry. This is Lynn Diamond,’ the patient woman repeated. ‘Can I help you instead?’

But there was no further conversation. With the faintest of sounds, the celebrity’s head was whipped back against the wall behind the couch by an invisible force, and she exhaled suddenly. Elsewhere, the hotel staff continued about their day’s business. Nobody noticed the trickle of blood running down their beautiful guest’s forehead, where a bullet had penetrated her skull. Her eyes were open and staring back towards the hotel entrance, as if looking for her husband. She was frozen in time, while everything else carried on as normal around her.

A few seconds later, something made Miriam look up and check on the telephone call that her distinguished guest had taken. She screamed at the top of her voice, causing everyone else around to stop what they were doing and follow her frightened gaze. Pandemonium broke out in the hotel lobby, as staff and guests quickly became aware of what had just taken place.

Outside, Jeff reached the revolving door that led from the driveway into the hotel lobby, only to be greeted by loud screams and the sound of a man shouting. He had a suitcase in each hand and the parking ticket in his teeth. Approaching the revolving doors at the main entrance, he stopped to put the ticket in his wallet, wondering what all the noise was about.

‘Please keep calm,’ the hotel manager’s voice spoke authoritatively. ‘No-one leave the building, please.’

Just as the new arrival picked up their luggage again, a small, middle-aged man began to push the revolving doors from the inside. The natural leader stepped back out and met the other man as he was ejected into the open air, standing directly in front of him.

‘Did you hear the instruction?’ Jeff told the short, swarthy-looking man. ‘You’d better stay inside. What’s happened? Do you know?’

The man hissed a few words at him in a language the celebrity could just about make out as Spanish. He was quite clearly agitated about something.

‘¿Que dices, hombre?’ the celebrity asked, leaning over him resolutely.

‘Quería matarlo Ustéd, pero es mejor así,’ the frightened man muttered under his breath.

Jeff’s height and strength were too much for the smaller man to contend with, and he found himself being directed back through the revolving doors towards the commotion. A hotel staff member wearing a security guard’s uniform had been watching the two men outside, and was ready to take control of the fleeing man from their instantly-recognisable guest.

What had the little bloke said? The linguist replayed the sentence again in his head. Something about killing him but that this way was better?

‘What’s going on?’ Jeff demanded of the security guard, beginning to panic as he saw the hotel manager walking towards him.

‘Mister Diamond,’ the manager said, as white as a sheet and with a shaky voice. ‘Come this way, please.’

The special guest looked from the short, southern European man and the security guard to the hotel manager whom he knew fairly well, and began to feel dizzy and nauseous. No, surely not…

‘Where’s my wife?’ he asked insistently. ‘Where’s Lynn?’

The sounds inside the foyer were loud and frenetic, and the area had taken on a surreal ambience that reminded the celebrity a little of a film set. But no-one was making a movie here. Something serious had clearly happened, and Jeff had a foreboding feeling that he was not going to be playing the innocent bystander for much longer. Chris Nichols, the hotel manager, was now at his side.

‘Mister Diamond, please come with me.’

‘Why?’ the visitor asked, scanning the scene in the lobby. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Lynn?’

Looking around, Jeff could see the concierge staff had erected a type of screen at the far end of the lounge area, against the wall. He tried to remember what was normally over there, but his confused, swirling thoughts drew a blank.

‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ he asked again, to anyone who was listening.

The forty-three-year-old’s anxious mind gradually strung the circumstances together and came to the worst conclusion. Pushing past Nichols, he strode towards the small crowd that had now gathered around the screen. The doorman tried to prevent him from going any further, but Jeff Diamond wasn’t the type of man who took no for an answer. He sidestepped everyone’s valiant efforts to prevent him from seeing what he knew by now he didn’t want to see.

Reaching the front, his head swam at the prospect of the scene he was about to encounter. The sight that met his eyes confirmed his worst fear, the one he had been dreading for so many years. Jeff’s legs buckled underneath him, and he felt his stomach churning wildly, struggling to maintain his equilibrium. He could feel thirty pairs of eyes drilling into him and the weight of thirty-one heavy hearts in the atmosphere. Deliberately avoiding them all, the tall, dark, handsome man stepped forwards to where the love of his life was sitting, still with the telephone receiver in her lap.

People all around him were crying, some wailing aloud. Their shock at seeing Australia’s favourite superstar mother with a bullet hole in her head was now mixing with the distress of watching her husband of twenty years come to terms with what was before him. It was too much for several people, who collapsed and fainted in their neighbours’ arms.

‘Lynn,’ Jeff whispered, crouching down beside his wife’s long, sexily-crossed legs and placing his left hand on her knee. ‘Baby, what happened?’

The distraught celebrity took a few seconds to survey the situation as thoroughly as he could, willing with all his might that it not be true. Now would be a very good time for his guardian angel to wake him up from this nightmare, like she had done so many times before. Instead, she sat mute and motionless. He picked up her hands and stared at the bullet hole in her head that had extinguished her life. Time stood still, and the cries and murmurs of the onlookers behind him rang in his ears. Slowly he lifted Lynn’s hands to his lips and kissed them gently, before laying them back down into her lap.

Not enough, he thought. He leaned forwards and kissed her lips, which were already much colder than he remembered.

The hotel manager was doing his best to steer the crowd away, but no-one was moving. Jeff could hear sirens in the distance above the incessant whispering, which even on a good day followed him wherever he went. The tears had started to flow from his eyes and down his cheeks, as the realisation hit him that he would never receive an answer to his question.

A hysterical woman rushed forward and threw her arms around the much-loved idol’s shoulders, bawling and screaming. Instinctively, the empathetic man stood up and turned around, hugging this strange, grief-stricken well-wisher and looking directly into her eyes.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, pushing her away gently and searching for someone in the crowd to come forward and rescue him.

Chris, the hotel manager, led the woman away, and Jeff turned back to look into his wife’s staring, blue eyes. He sat down on the edge of the couch next to her, being careful not to touch anything. He knew enough about ballistics to realise there would be no point in trying to revive her. At first, he moved his hand over her eyes, intending to close them. At the last minute however, he decided he preferred them the way they were, and diverted his fingers to stroke the side of Lynn’s face instead. By leaving her eyes open, it gave the impression she was still with him. He planted a last kiss on her forehead, to the right of the bullet hole. His stomach heaved when he smelled the blood on the wall behind him, but his dream girl looked peaceful, almost smiling.

‘I’ll love you forever, Lynn,’ her husband whispered. ‘Together, Forever, Wherever. OK?’

The hotel manager marshalled his staff to move people out of the foyer, in order to give the man some privacy. The police had arrived and were soon confronted with the same shocking scene, scarcely believing what they were seeing. Two officers quickly cordoned off the area and made sure that part of the public area was kept clear of gawking onlookers.

‘Mister Diamond,’ one of the plain-clothed detectives addressed him. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Robert Fisher.’

Jeff got to his feet and shook the officer’s hand. ‘G’day.’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Fisher added tentatively. ‘We need to secure the scene, sir, if you don’t mind.’

The great man sighed. He did mind, but what was the point? Taking one last look at his beautiful best friend, he followed DI Fisher and another detective into a room behind the reception desk, past the stunned staff, who were doing their best to serve complimentary beverages, answer questions and pacify distressed guests, all at the same time. All eyes were on the bereaved celebrity as he slipped into the sanctuary of the back office. For the first time in many years, Jeff felt completely helpless and totally alone.

‘Please sit down, Mister Diamond,’ DI Fisher requested, signalling towards an armchair.

‘Jeff, please,’ he replied, doing as he was told. ‘I have a question for you, before we get started.’

The veteran investigator studied the well-known face patiently as he struggled to say what he had always hoped he would never have to say.

‘My wife wanted to donate her organs,’ he said flatly. ‘Now I think we can safely assume she’s brain-dead, so at what stage do you guys take that into account?’

‘That’s a good question,’ the detective replied. ‘It’s good of you to think about such a thing at this time. The paramedic team needs to be told. They’ll be able to advise you.’

‘I don’t need any advice,’ the husband shook his head. ‘I just don’t want such an amazing physical specimen to go to waste when I know she wanted to help.’

Fisher stood up and left the room, reassuring the impressive celebrity that he would pass on the information straightaway. He was fairly sure the Coroner would need the body to remain intact, particularly in what would inevitably turn out to be a very high profile case. Another set of vital organs lost to the long waiting list of worthy recipients.

From out in the lobby, Jeff could hear the familiar ring of his wife’s mobile telephone, and it brought with it a renewed wave of emotion, along with the sudden realisation that he would have to let his management company know that lunch was off. His own mobile telephone was also in Lynn’s handbag. He turned to the senior receptionist, who was hovering in the doorway.

‘May I make a ‘phone call, please?’

Miriam nodded. ‘Yes, of course, sir. There’s a ‘phone over there.’

She pointed to the desk on the other side of the room, shuddering with a sudden and sickening feeling of déjà-vu. Jeff hauled himself to his feet again and dialled his office number in Melbourne. After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

‘Cath, hi. It’s Jeff,’ he said, sounding remarkably calm. ‘Yes. In Sydney. Listen, I need a huge favour. No, nothing’s OK. Is there someone there with you? Good.’

The thought of what he now had to say made him cry again. The second detective slipped out of the room while the bereaved man made his call, lingering awkwardly behind the reception desk. Desperate to stifle his emotions, the billionnaire continued, anticipating this to be one of the hardest messages he would ever have to give anyone, and a trial run for the even harder version he would shortly need to deliver to his children.

‘Cath, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m sorry.’

‘Tell me what?’ he heard from the other end of the line. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jeff took a deep breath, wiping tears away from his eyes.

‘Lynn’s dead, Cathy.’

‘Dead?’ their loyal employee repeated. ‘No! How? When?’

Her employer looked at his watch. He had no idea how or when.

‘I don’t know,’ he cried. ‘About half an hour ago, I’m guessing. We’re in The Pensione. She’s been shot in the head.’

By now, his loyal assistant was crying too. ‘No. That can’t be true. That’s terrible, Jeff. What about you? Are you OK?’

‘No,’ her morose employer replied. ‘Can’t say I am. Listen, please could you let the Childlight Sydney people know to make our excuses at lunch today. Don’t tell them anything specific. Just say something like “unavoidably detained”.’

The habitual showman found himself laughing and was instantly filled with self-loathing. How could he think of joking at a time like this?

‘Use your imagination, OK?’ he asked their capable administrator curtly. ‘And then close the office and go home. I don’t know when the news’ll break, so just go home and do your best to forget about it.’

‘Jeff, how do you expect me to forget about it?’ Cathy pleaded. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’

‘Look, I can’t talk now,’ the celebrity told her, fighting with his own emotions. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I need to call the kids and deal with the police. I’ll ring you later. Thanks, Cath.’

The boss didn’t wait for his assistant’s reply and terminated the call, leaning heavily on the desk to catch his breath. The two detectives immediately re-entered the room, thereby eliminating all sense of perceived privacy.

‘Jeff, would you like some tea or coffee?’ DI Fisher asked.

‘Yeah, thanks. Coffee. That’d be great,’ the superstar replied, turning to face the senior man. ‘What happens now?’

‘Please sit down,’ the detective offered. ‘And please call me Bob. This is Detective Sergeant Andy Waters. I’ll get the coffee on the go.’

Jeff nodded to DS Waters, who had the demeanour of a man completely out of his depth. The two of them sat down in an awkward silence and were quickly re-joined by the superior officer.

‘SOCO’s here,’ Bob informed his colleague. ‘That’s Scene of the Crime Officers, Mister Diamond. Sorry.’

‘I know,’ the civilian raised his hand. ‘Jeff.’

It had been a long time since the former Sydneysider had been this close to a police operation, but the terminology was indelibly etched into his brain. He briefly wondered whether the more senior detective was old enough to remember his father’s case, but chose not to bother to find out today.

DS Waters left the room, presumably to supervise the SOCO team. A tray of coffee was brought into the room by one of the scared receptionists, who said nothing and avoided everyone’s gaze.

‘Thanks,’ Jeff said, watching her leave. ‘It’s tough on these guys. Do they all have to stay here?’

‘For the moment, yes,’ Bob informed him. ‘We need to at least have a brief chat with everyone, and then we’ll call each person in to make a statement over the next few days.’

‘Was the guy I caught trying to leave…’

Jeff broke down again. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that he might have apprehended his own wife’s murderer. He who was descended from one had fallen victim to another. His old flame Miss Irony’s finest hour had come.

‘Sorry,’ the dejected man sniffed, regaining some semblance of composure. ‘Was he the bloke who shot her?’

‘He’s certainly a suspect,’ Bob nodded. ‘We have him in custody already.’

‘Am I a suspect?’ he asked, instantly regretting such a rash question.

‘No, not at this stage,’ the detective answered without reacting. ‘From what we can gather, your wife was asked to take a ‘phone call immediately before it happened. We don’t have any information as to who made the call.’

A trap, the musician thought. Obviously premeditated. He said nothing, drinking the hot, sweet coffee, deep in contemplation.

‘I have to call my daughter,’ he announced abruptly, getting to his feet again. ‘Do you mind?’

Bob shook his head, and the two detectives left the room for a second time. Jeff struggled to remember where Kierney had said she was going to be this morning. It was now that he realised the benefit of knowing the detail of everyone’s schedule, yet the person who would undoubtedly know could no longer tell him. He dialled the number for their apartment, but there was no answer. He hung up before the answering machine message began, unable to bear the thought of hearing his wife’s voice.

The distraught father didn’t know the number for Kierney’s mobile telephone either. It was programmed directly into his, which was still in Lynn’s handbag. He would have to retrieve it somehow. He walked out of the office and found Fisher talking to the hotel manager.

‘Excuse me. Sorry, Chris. Bob, is there any way I can get my ‘phone from over there?’ Jeff asked, nodding towards the screened-off area.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ the inspector answered, smiling. ‘I’ll ask one of the officers to bring your wife’s bag over here. Is that where it is?’

‘Yep,’ the famous man replied. ‘I don’t know my own daughter’s number. How bad is that?’

Fisher dispatched one of the more junior officers to retrieve the victim’s handbag, as he described it. Jeff’s heart sank a little further at the use of that most dismal of terms.

‘None of us will remember any numbers soon,’ the middle-aged police officer consoled him, ‘once everything’s at the press of a button or two. You’re largely to blame for all that, sir.’

The venture capitalist smiled. ‘That’s true,’ he sighed. ‘Every silver lining has its cloud.’

Bob laughed without thinking and had to check his behaviour guiltily.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should be more careful. That was an interesting observation though.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ the celebrity dismissed the natural reaction. ‘I use it all the time. It’s a tired, old expression in our house.’

The young policeman came back with Lynn’s cream, leather handbag. Jeff took it out of his embarrassed hands, and clung onto it as if it were part of her. He fished out both telephones, needing to check whose was whose by the colour of the casing. The grey one was his. Lynn’s was blue, instantly turned off and slipped into his right-hand trouser pocket.

‘Thanks,’ he said, holding the bag out to the inspector. ‘Do you need this back?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Bob replied. ‘Make a note, Constable, that Mister Diamond retrieved two mobile telephones from his wife’s bag at ten-twenty-three. We’ll need to submit both into evidence, Jeff. Please don’t erase anything.’

The officer departed, nodding fiercely at his superior officer. Jeff wondered how often a junior policeman was called to attend this type of crime scene. Seeing the victim’s husband searching his telephone for Kierney’s number, Fisher left the room again.

‘Hi, Papá!’ his daughter’s voice sounded happy. ‘What’s up? Good flight?’

Jeff’s eyes immediately began to sting again. He was about to scatter any goodness from her day. How could anyone be so cruel? His beautiful little girl, with her boundless compassion and enthusiasm for life, was about to find out that she and her brother were semi-orphans. Did he have to tell her over the telephone or could he manage to convince her to get on an aeroplane without knowing why? She would do so simply at his request, but that wasn’t treating her with the respect she deserved.

‘Kiz, where are you?’ the father asked, hoping she was with some friends.

He had to tell her straight. There was no alternative. Lynn and he had always been up-front with their children, and had sought nothing less from them in return.

‘Are you OK?’ Kierney asked back, hearing a strange tone in her father’s voice. ‘You sound weird.’

‘Yeah. I am weird, gorgeous,’ Jeff replied. ‘Listen, are you alone?’

‘I’m in the studio working on some songs,’ the teenager informed him. ‘Why?’

‘Kiz,’ Jeff blurted out between involuntary sobs. ‘I need you to get on the next flight here, please. Something terrible’s happened, and we need to be together.’

‘What, Papá?’ Kierney asked, sounding frightened. ‘¿Qué ha pasado?’

‘Jesus, Kiz, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,’ he cried. ‘Mamá está muerta. She’s dead, baby.’

There was silence from the other end of the telephone. Several seconds passed when neither father nor daughter made a sound, but they understood each other perfectly. Jeff patiently waited for a response, immediately feeling calmer now that the news had been shared.

‘How?’ Kierney asked softly.

‘Someone shot her in the head, angel,’ Jeff told her. ‘That’s all we know. I was parking the fucking toy car they gave us. She took a ‘phone call in the foyer of the hotel and now she’s gone.’

The father was sobbing again, slumped onto the couch with his head in his hand and the mobile telephone stuck to his ear by a mixture of sweat and tears on the side of his unshaven face. He could hear Kierney crying and a man’s voice in the background asking her if she was alright. Good, he thought, at least someone was there to help her out.

‘Papá?’ his daughter checked if he was still there.

‘Sí. Estoy aquí, pequeñita,’ he replied. ‘I’ll ring Gerry and ask him to meet you at the airport. And Grandpa too.’

That was another call he wasn’t looking forward to, and his head started to ache with a sudden fear. Why did he always have to be the one to break bad news to everyone? It was just like the old days. How did a man tell a father that his daughter was shot dead while he was parking the car?

‘Papá, you ring Gerry, and I’ll ring Grandpa,’ Kierney told him, business-like and in control, and sounding heart-wrenchingly like her mother.

‘Absolutely not,’ her father quickly overruled, although sorely tempted to be let off that most dreadful of hooks. ‘I can’t possibly leave you to break the news to him. That’s my responsibility, gorgeous. I’ll ring them both now, and then you ring Grandpa in about fifteen minutes. Is that OK?’

‘OK, Papá. Comprendo. Don’t worry. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I can go right now. I don’t need anything, do I?’

‘No. Just you, angel,’ Jeff sniffed. ‘Just you. Thanks, Kizzy. Te amo.’

Ending the call, the bereaved man sat staring into space, wondering what was going to happen next. Where was their luggage? When would he be able to see Lynn again? Would Kierney want to see her mother in that state? When would he be able to tell their son? He played with his black jetstone ring, so long on his finger that he hardly knew it was there these days. It hadn’t moved for several years and was virtually fused to his skin. He swivelled it around on his finger and then, as a reflex action, did the same thing with his wedding ring on the other hand.

‘Christ,’ he muttered to himself.

No more beautiful best friend. No more marriage. Family in disarray. How quickly life could change. He picked up his telephone again and selected his business manager’s name from the list of numbers.

‘Jeff, how goes?’ Gerry’s bombastic voice was as affable as ever. ‘Aren’t you in Sydney today?’

‘Yes, mate,’ his most important client replied. ‘Mobile ‘phones still work outside Victoria, you know.’

‘I know that, smart arse,’ his old friend laughed. ‘What can I do for you? I was just about to head out for a coffee with the lovely Fiona.’

‘Mate, I need your help,’ the tired man responded. ‘I need you to get to the airport as quickly as you can and fly up here with Kierney.’

‘What?’ Gerry asked incredulously. ‘Why? Is she OK?’

‘No, mate,’ Jeff replied, beginning to cry again. ‘None of us is OK.’

‘Why? What the hell’s happened?’ the family’s manager demanded, sensing this was not the usual hiccough in proceedings for his long-time buddy.

‘She’s dead, mate,’ the songwriter answered, unable to think of any fancy euphemisms or decoration.

How many more times would he have to say these words? Jeff felt his heart pounding in his chest.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ the accountant murmured. ‘Who’s dead? Lynn? Tell me this isn’t true.’

The successful Melbourne executive couldn’t believe what he was hearing either. He and his new lady had only met the forever couple for dinner earlier that week, and now it appeared that a complete disaster had struck.

‘I wish, mate,’ Jeff agreed. ‘It’s chaos here. Police everywhere. I think I caught the bloke who did it, trying to leave the hotel.’

‘How did it happen?’ his manager asked in a muffled tone.

Jeff could hear his old friend was crying too. Lynn was loved by everyone. It was important for him to remember this fact. He wasn’t the only one who was going to be devastated by her death.

‘Shot in the head,’ the celebrity recounted calmly. ‘Sitting in the hotel lobby, answering a ‘phone call.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Gerry sighed. ‘That’s fucked. Are you OK?’

‘No. Not the best,’ the younger man laughed sarcastically, grateful for his friend’s innocent response. ‘Can you go to the airport, please, mate? I spoke to Kierney about five minutes ago, and she said she’d go straight there. I need you to go fast.’

‘Sure thing, mate,’ the manager coughed. ‘Of course I will. What’s her number? I’ll see if I can give her a lift.’

‘No need, mate,’ Jeff told him, surprising himself with a smile. ‘She’s got her licence. Yesterday.’

‘Wow! Already?’ Gerry allowed himself a chuckle too. ‘That makes me feel old.’

‘Yeah,’ the doting father agreed. ‘Me too. Anyway, I’ve got to go. There’s a bunch of policemen wanting to question us all. I’d better get off the ‘phone.’

‘Right,’ the stoic businessman answered. ‘We’ll see you as soon as we can. Hang on in there. Does Cathy know?’

‘Yes. We had to cancel our lunch, and I told those guys to go home. It’d be good if you can call her too. Cheers, mate,’ the seasoned campaigner answered, slipping into autopilot. ‘Thanks a lot.’

The telephone line went quiet. Jeff leaned forward, elbows on knees, and his shoulders began to shake violently as delayed shock set in. His mind flashed back to the other evening, when his forty-six-year-old buddy had introduced Fiona to them as his first love. They had all been in high spirits, keen to share in their fun-loving friend’s new joy, and having themselves just returned from New York, where the chart-topping performers had received an award from their record company for the “Live On Earth” album.

His numb mind tried to picture Lynn smiling at him, and he remembered how, drinking coffee back at Gerry’s house, he had put his arm around her and squeezed her tightly. She had leaned into him like she always did, because she knew how good it made him feel. They had made love that night, as they always did, with the slow-burning passion of two people who had enjoyed each other’s bodies for a very long time.

Dismissing the pleasant thoughts from his head reluctantly, Jeff brought himself back to the horrible reality that had befallen them. Time was ticking by, and there was no way he wanted Kierney to speak to old man Dyson before he had. His heart was pounding, and the blood vessels throbbed in his head as he pieced together some words for his father-in-law to absorb. How would he react? Where was he even?

The widower stood up and pulled Lynn’s mobile telephone out of his pants pocket. It took a while to start up, and he was gripped with fear at the prospect of making the call. He walked over to the door and closed it quietly, transcribing the switchboard number onto the keypad of his own handset.

‘Dyson Administration,’ a bright voice answered. ‘How may I direct your call?’

‘Good morning,’ Jeff croaked, forcing his vocal chords to talk as normally as possible. ‘It’s Jeff Diamond. Is Mister Dyson in the office?’

‘I’ll put you through to his “PA”,’ the operator responded.

The line clicked twice and was picked up by Penny, Lynn’s father’s personal assistant. Jeff took a deep breath and repeated his question.

‘Mister Diamond, it’s lovely to hear from you,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘Mister Dyson’s in an important meeting and has asked not to be disturbed. I can ask him to call you back as soon as he’s free.’

‘No,’ the son-in-law countered. ‘This is more important, Penny, actually. It’s urgent that I speak to him right now, if you don’t mind.’

The hesitation in the woman’s voice made him even more nervous.

‘Oh, I see,’ she faltered. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes, something’s very wrong,’ Jeff threw his head back in impatience. ‘Please ask him to come to the ‘phone. I have to talk to him now.’

‘Of course, Mister Diamond,’ the well-spoken woman acquiesced, hearing the great man’s insistent tone. ‘Hold on, please.’

The caller had no choice. He held on for what seemed like an hour, going over and over the words which seemed so inadequate to describe the tragedy. He had broken out in a cold sweat, just like in the old days, and the telephone slipped in his hand.

‘Jeff, how are you?’ Lynn’s father spoke in his inimitable fashion. ‘I gather you need to talk to me urgently. What’s happening?’

Momentarily tongue-tied, the younger man rocked back on his heels to stop himself from falling over. He who was never lost for words was dumbstruck. As he finally began to speak, he felt his legs begin to buckle under him, and he slumped down into a chair.

‘Bart, I have some terrible news,’ the newly-widowed man opened.

‘Terrible news?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jeff nodded instinctively, exhaling through pursed lips. ‘Lynn and I flew to Sydney this morning for a charity lunch thing, and she’s been shot in the lobby of the hotel.’

Silence greeted the end of his sentence, so he continued with his prepared lines. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but Lynn’s dead, sir.’

Bart Dyson didn’t reply. The wait was terrifying, but still Jeff felt compelled to continue. As he had told his daughter, it was his responsibility. When one’s wife is shot while one is parking the car, one cannot shirk one’s duty to inform her parents, no matter how much one might want to…

‘We think we caught the gunman,’ the widower spoke quietly into the mouthpiece, swapping the telephone to the other ear and drying the palm of his hand on his trouser leg. ‘We don’t know who he is or why he did it, but she’s dead. Stone fucking dead.’

‘Jeff… Oh, God,’ a weak version of the usual ebullient voice eventually squeezed into the caller’s ear. ‘Oh, my God. Why? Why would anyone want to kill her?’

The bereaved superstar couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

‘I don’t know, Bart. He meant to get me, I reckon. I caught the fucker trying to leave the hotel. He was a bloody nobody. A runt carrying a gun. I don’t know why he was there or what his intent was, but he told me he wanted to kill me. But he didn’t. He killed your perfect daughter instead.’

‘Oh, my God,’ the older man repeated.

‘I’m so sorry, sir. So sorry.’

Seeming to have surmounted the worst of the shock, Bart’s tone became louder and more forceful again.

‘Don’t apologise to me, Jeff,’ he told the sobbing man. ‘She was your wife. Good God. This is a day I’ve always dreaded. Where do these lunatics come from? Why do they single out the people who do the most good? And the mother of your children, Jeff. Oh…’

The musician leaned back on the couch and listened to his father-in-law crying. This was a day he had always dreaded too, and one for which he thought they had put every conceivable contingency in place to avert. Every conceivable contingency except to always allow the valet to park the sports car.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he hissed, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Pardon, Jeff?’ Bart checked. ‘Sorry? I missed that.’

‘No. Nothing,’ the younger man replied. ‘Are you able to get on the next flight up here? Gerry’s meeting Kierney at the airport. I don’t want her to fly on her own.’

‘No, no. Of course, Jeff.’

‘Thanks a lot, sir. Do you have Gerry’s number?’

‘Yes. I’m sure we do somewhere,’ the sportsman answered. ‘And I have Kierney’s too.’

‘She’ll be ringing you about now,’ his son-in-law added, his voice cracking again at the image of his innocent, dark-haired, little lady preparing to talk to her grandfather. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could ring her first, if you can.’

‘Definitely, Jeff. I’ll organise to leave right away. Oh, my God. I have to ring Marianna. Two children gone. Jesus fucking Christ.’

The widower had to laugh, but did so as kindly as he could. He couldn’t recall ever hearing the fine pillar of society use any form of swearing before, and it sounded peculiar, even under these extreme circumstances.

‘That’s exactly what I said earlier,’ he admitted. ‘When you didn’t hear me. Jesus fucking Christ indeed.’

The older man laughed a little too. ‘You’re a good man, Jeff. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t worry about Kierney. We’ll look after her. Just look after yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ he responded, sniffing and doing his best to maintain control. ‘That’s great. Safe flight.’

With his head once more in his hands, the forty-three-year-old terminated the call and wept with renewed anguish. He was not a good man, despite his father-in-law’s endorsement. He had let someone’s daughter die. In fact, over the course of his life he had let three people’s daughters die. And here he was, waiting for his own gorgeous girl-child to arrive and make him feel better. Something he deserved even less than the compliment.

Forcing himself out of the depressive spiral he feared was taking hold already, Jeff wondered what the gunman had hoped to accomplish by killing either of them. Who was he, this unassuming, Spanish-speaking guy? Was he a lunatic, as Bart had suggested? Or was he championing a cause? What had they done to push him to such an extreme measure? Through the blur of memories and questions, Jeff slowly became aware of the two detectives again standing beside him, along with the hotel manager.

 

Chapter Three: Gone

 

The staff at The Pensione had been looking forward to seeing the famous couple in their hotel again since the booking had been made several weeks ago, but now was not the time for formalities and protocol. Chris Nichols reached across and put his hand on his guest’s arm. Jeff was grateful, the simple gesture steadying his nerves. Even though it had been over a quarter of a century since his last brush with the law, policemen still automatically made him feel guilty and on edge. With instinctive good grace, he stood up to greet the hotel manager.

However, DS Waters requested that Jeff stay seated, and the two detectives sat together on another couch opposite. Andy Waters was younger than the victim’s husband, probably by ten years. Fisher was older, probably by about the same margin. All four men sat staring at each other, still completely stunned by the morning’s horrific event.

‘Jeff,’ DI Fisher began again, ‘I can see this is extremely difficult for you.’

You don’t say, the bitter man cursed inside his head, instead urging the senior officer to continue.

‘We receive training on how to deal with next of kin in violent crimes. We’re taught how to counsel the bereaved but in truth we know full well we can’t relate to what you’re going through. You’re a public figure too. Everyone knows you and your wife. I think it’s very important that we try to make things as simple as possible.’

‘Thanks,’ Jeff sighed. ‘You won’t get any objection from me on that score.’

Fisher was right, he thought. They had no idea how he felt. In fact, he was beginning to feel very cold. He couldn’t remember where he had left his jacket. Was it still in the little AMG or had he thrown it on top of their suitcases? Nothing seemed clear any more. He shivered, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket.

‘Do you mind?’ he asked the three men.

They both shook their heads, and Chris went to retrieve an ashtray. A woman dressed in a green paramedic’s uniform knocked on the open door and entered boldly at first, and then upon seeing her idol in person, stopped in her tracks. Sensing the woman’s hesitation, DI Fisher stood up and walked out of the room with her. They exchanged a few hushed sentences before the inspector came back, full of purpose.

‘We’re ready to move your wife’s body, Jeff,’ he announced. ‘The hotel has allocated us a room that we can move her to while the arrangements can be made. Do we have your permission to move her?’

Removing the unlit cigarette from his mouth and putting it angrily back into the packet, Jeff jumped up, noticing that the noise from the foyer had subsided almost to nothing. Pretty soon there would be no trace of anything unusual having happened here that morning. The hotel had a business to run, and the show must go on. He was instantly furious. How dare they? This was his beautiful best friend they were talking about. How dare they just clear away Lynn Dyson Diamond so they could get on with making money?

‘I’ll do it,’ he answered in a surly tone, shaking the cramp out of his legs.

Before anyone could stop him, the widower strode over to where the love of his life was still sitting, surrounded by evidence labels and little plastic bags. DS Waters ran after him with a set of overalls and some protective gloves.

‘Please put these on first, sir,’ he asked breathlessly. ‘They’ll protect your clothing from the blood and prevent contamination.’

The famous man turned around gratefully and took the overalls from the detective. The thought of being covered in his wife’s blood brought another rush of nauseous emotion over him, and he quickly pulled on the dark blue clothing and fastened the zip up to his collar. The latex gloves were so tight that he was sure he would lose all sensation in his hands before he and Lynn reached their next destination.

The imposing figure of Jeff Diamond scooped his wife’s limp body up in its arms, and those around him gasped at the amount of blood that remained on the couch and wall from the damage the bullet had done to the victim’s head. There must be more than one bullet in her, he realised in horror, before turning around for instructions. In which sequence had the bullets entered her body? What if she had suffered excruciating pain in the last few seconds of her life? A loud roar came from deep within him, startling the onlookers out of their trance.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked Chris, who was right behind him, anxious to minimise the drama.

‘Upstairs. In the lift, please, Jeff,’ Fisher answered.

Incongruously to all who witnessed it, the handsome celebrity proceeded to carry the lifeless, blonde tennis champion into the lift, her eyes staring up at him. DS Waters had been following them a moment ago but had now vanished. DI Fisher and Chris Nichols flanked the tall, strong man and his precious cargo in the shiny, gold chamber. The scene was totally surreal, and for a moment Jeff envisioned he was taking Lynn directly to heaven, where she undoubtedly belonged.

As the lift doors drew slowly closed, the noble carrier spotted Andy Waters, bent over a pot plant, coughing violently. He looked down at his wife’s beautiful face.

‘That’s a first,’ he whispered to her, smirking at the thought of a man vomiting upon seeing someone so unequivocally attractive.

They travelled up two floors and then a short way down the corridor to room two-hundred-and-thirty-two. It was ready to receive its guest. Jeff laid Lynn gently on top of the bed, which had been covered in a thick, black plastic sheet, and sat down beside her. DS Waters had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties and was ushering the others out of the room.

Pulling the door closed behind him, Bob Fisher spoke softly. ‘Take your time. We’ll wait for you downstairs. Officer Thanopoulos will stay with you.’

Without looking up, the tired man muttered his thanks. Officer Thanopoulos stepped awkwardly outside, which the widower recognised as a breach of protocol. Whether he had exited out of respect or ignorance, he was grateful for the young policeman’s negligence. As soon as the door shut, he removed the glove from his left hand and began to stroke his wife’s hair, taking deep, slow breaths. It was a relief to be alone with her for a few moments. Most of the blood had been swabbed away from her face, although the front of her suit jacket was stained red at around waist level, and the bullet hole was a stark reminder of how she had met her fate.

Jeff shook his head slowly. Whoever this small, Spanish-speaking man was, and whyever he had sought to shoot her, he had done it very well.

‘Fucking bastard,’ he murmured, staring into Lynn’s lifeless eyes and willing them to blink.

Strangely, the barrage of unpleasant smells didn’t bother him. Gazing down at the blood-stained overalls he was wearing, the philosopher was surprised he didn’t find this whole experience much more revolting. He remembered feeling the same way when cleaning up after his mother died. It was something that had to be done, so he had just got on with it. Back then, it helped pass the time while his mind and body processed the shock. How long would it last this time?

Jeff looked into those blue eyes again, held his wife’s cold left hand in his and brushed her wedding ring with his fingertips. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. The blood on her blouse had not come from the bullet in her head, he concluded, but he couldn’t face the prospect of locating any others. That was the job of the Coroner’s people.

‘You promised me you wouldn’t do this,’ he reminded his beautiful best friend, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks again.

Peeling off his protective layer, rolling it up in a ball and inserting it into a large plastic bag that had been left out for the purpose by DS Waters, for some unknown reason the lost man’s grief-stricken mind flew back to the stupendous afternoon when his dream girl had turned up at his apartment after informing her parents that she intended to choose him as her partner for life, despite their vehement reservations about his suitability. That very evening he had invited her to move in with him, and she had accepted. He remembered how awkward it had felt during those first few hours as a “real” couple.

He also remembered their wedding vows, where they had pledged their love to each other in front of their families, friends and a whole bunch of people whom they hardly knew. What a special day that had been! Jeff remembered seeing the love shining in his new wife’s eyes when they sang to each other after having exchanged their rings.

Memory after memory crowded into his head. The births of their amazing children, the many tours endured and holidays enjoyed all over the world, and the various significant birthdays spent in their happy family. Then there was the “Together, Forever, Wherever” campaign that had set the world’s imagination alight and the fundraising coffers filling, and finally their quiet day at Benloch recently, where twenty years of blissful marriage were recognised privately in bare, balletic beauty under the gum trees at Coldwater Creek.

Lynn had left him. Unintentionally, he understood, but she had left him nonetheless. Jeff felt empty and abandoned, suddenly sensing the walls caving in around him. So his debts hadn’t been paid off after all, and if he wasn’t careful, Gravity the Troll would soon come out of retirement. He was probably already limbering up, preparing to dance at Lynn’s wake. He didn’t blame her for leaving him. If he hadn’t been playing boy-racer with that stupid Mercedes, it would be him lying dead on this bed instead. He knew it was neither of their faults. He brushed her cheek, which was cold and dry, and one of his tears fell onto her impassive face.

Carrying her inanimate body from downstairs had altered the expression on Lynn’s face to one her husband didn’t recognise. It was as if the soul he was mates with had vacated her body. He forced himself to admit that the time had come to let go of her physical incarnation too, and so with one last kiss on her lips, the fingers of Jeff’s left hand lightly touched her eyelids and closed them. She looked peaceful again, and sadly he felt that somehow they had exchanged a silent goodbye.

The loving husband stood tall and took one last, lingering look at the exquisite woman who had shared over half his life.

‘Thanks for everything, angel,’ he said quietly. ‘I love you so much. I’ll see you soon.’

Glancing down the corridor as he closed the door to room two-three-two, Jeff wondered which room had been reserved for their stay tonight. He had asked Cathy to arrange for a single red rose to be left on Lynn’s pillow, as he often did. Sometimes his wife would do the same for him, but instead of a rose, it would usually be something humorous, like a toy or food.

The lift arrived, thankfully empty, and soon descended to ground level. Fisher and Waters were addressing a group of the hotel’s staff in the reception area when Jeff Diamond re-emerged into the real world. He could hear Bob telling everyone that under no circumstances were they to answer any questions from journalists or reporters. The star stood well back from the group and waited for them to finish. Several people were crying, and others whispered and pointed as they caught sight of the instantly-recognisable man standing off to one side.

Not wanting to cause too much of a distraction, the statuesque celebrity skirted around the edges of the lift lobby, back towards the reception desk and into the room behind. Andy Waters followed him and offered him a cigarette, which he gratefully accepted.

‘What a bloody mess,’ Jeff sneered, dragging hard on the cigarette and raising his eyes to the ceiling as he exhaled.

Waters nodded. The detective was obviously still having trouble dealing with the day’s events also. He was pale and nervous, and avoided eye contact with the famous musician and humanitarian who was admired by almost everyone he knew. They sat down in the same places as before, Jeff staring at the floor and trying not to listen to Fisher’s instructions outside. A complex dogfight of emotions was beginning to tear him up, as the initial shock slowly wore off. He tried to work out how long it would take for Kierney, Gerry and Bart to arrive. He couldn’t remember what time he had called them, but it seemed like an eternity ago.

In the air-conditioned office, Jeff once more felt very cold. He got up and walked over to a thermostat on the wall.

‘Do you think we could turn this up a little warmer?’ he asked Waters.

‘Yeah. Go ahead, sir,’ the young detective coughed.

After a few minutes, Bob Fisher returned with Chris and another grey-haired man. ‘Jeff, this is Doctor Ron Hanson,’ Bob introduced. ‘He’s from the Coroner’s Office. He would like to examine your wife’s body, if you don’t mind.’

The famous man shook Doctor Hanson firmly by the hand.

‘G’day,’ he said gruffly, unwilling to contemplate anyone examining his wife’s body.

Hanson sensed his resistance. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mister Diamond. It must be a terrible shock.’

‘You could say that,’ Jeff scoffed, pulling himself back from the encroaching anger as far as he could.

He was going to have to get used to this awkwardness and the many worn out clichés.

‘Examine my wife’s body?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing invasive,’ Hanson assured him. ‘At this stage, we need to ascertain time of death and take a look at the likely cause. We won’t need to disturb her clothing or anything, sir. My people are very respectful, I can assure you.’

Jeff was relieved and thanked the doctor for his explanation. Clothing disturbance was a euphemism of the most dangerous kind, in his opinion.

‘I can tell you the time and cause of death,’ the sarcasm was rife in the victim’s husband’s sigh. ‘But go ahead. Whatever you guys need to do. Room two-three-two. Do you need a key?’

He held his key out to the older man, who took it from him and left with DS Waters. Poor bastard, Jeff empathised, seeing the look of “not again” on the young detective’s face. The bereaved man was now very angry indeed. It had been a long time since he had felt the uncontrollable urge to lash out at the nearest person. Probably the last time would have been in the aftermath of a North-African famine appeal when he had found out the transport companies were selling off aid supplies before they reached their destinations.

Jesus, Jeff thought, that was ten years ago. Why had that memory just popped into his head? Had he really been a mild-mannered man for that long? Hurry up, Kiz, he begged silently. This particular seasoned campaigner was utterly sick of having to cope with things on his own, yet again. At once he wanted to cry, yell and be sick, but he did none of these. Instead he poured himself another cup of tepid coffee and gulped it down. As the dizziness overtook him, he slumped back onto the couch, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

You’ve come a long way, chico, he mused silently, feeling a modicum of self-control returning to his crazed mind.

It was a pity life was such a bloody circle though. He had written a song about that too. Shit! His fate was only following instructions. Jeff jumped as his mobile telephone sprang to life in his back pocket. Reaching behind him, he pulled it out and looked at the screen, feeling immediately better as soon as he pressed the green button to answer the call.

‘Hey, Kiz.’

‘Papá, it’s me,’ Kierney said tentatively. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah. Now I am,’ Jeff confirmed. ‘How about you?’

‘We’re fine. Confused and stunned, but OK. We’ve landed and will be with you in about twenty minutes,’ his daughter informed him. ‘We’re not sure which hotel you’re in.’

At first the father said nothing, just thankful to hear from his gipsy girl. He thought he could hear a croak in her voice, as if she was trying not to cry, but she was as calm and dignified as she always was. His daughter was turning into a classy lady lately, just like her mother.

‘The Pensione,’ the father told her. ‘It’s on George Street.’

‘Thanks. That’s what I thought,’ the young woman confirmed. ‘Do you need us to bring anything?’

‘No, thanks,’ Jeff replied. ‘Just get here as soon as you can. I need you. Is Gerry with you?’

‘Yes, and Grandpa.’

‘Bueno, pequeñita,’ he was relieved. ‘See you soon. Thanks for checking in.’

The widower listened to his daughter saying goodbye and then ended the call. Fisher coughed to get his attention.

‘Sorry, Jeff,’ he began, ‘but we need to ask you some questions about the man you apprehended.’

‘Sure,’ the tired man answered, his mood a fraction lighter now. ‘What do you want to know? I’m not sure I remember anything too clearly.’

‘Can you remember what he said to you?’ Bob asked, using a friendly tone but with his notepad open and pen poised.

Jeff took a deep breath and stubbed out his cigarette. Leaning forward, he gazed aimlessly at the floor for a few moments before replying. Visualising the man’s face, he replayed their short encounter and recalled the look of astonishment he had received as the pair had met outside the revolving doors. It made him smile.

The police officer shuffled his feet. ‘What’s funny?’

‘Sorry,’ the superstar replied. ‘It’s just such a bitter irony, isn’t it? To intend to kill someone, kill the guy’s wife instead and then be caught by the very bloke you meant to kill originally. That truly must’ve been a “life’s a bitch” moment…’

Bob Fisher remained serious, his professional sense of duty overruling any sense of humour he might earlier have revealed.

‘This is not a joking matter, Jeff. You’re in shock. We could do this later.’

‘I’m not in shock. It’s just my warped sense of humour,’ the bitter man contradicted. ‘I know how people’s minds work. I heard someone… Chris, I suppose… shout for no-one to leave, so I stopped him leaving. The man spoke to me in Spanish. At first I didn’t hear him, because there were noises coming from the hotel and the doors were swishing their way round, so I asked him to repeat it. He then said something like “I wanted to kill you, but this way’s better”, which I’m guessing is pretty much what he said in the first place.’

Jeff looked up and flashed his intelligent eyes at senior detective Bob. He had the impression that, given different circumstances, they might enjoy each other’s company. Now, however, they were only making things worse for each other.

‘I wanted to grab the bastard’s arm and shake the words out of him,’ the sickened widower continued, ‘but thought better of it. Luckily I was carrying our luggage. Otherwise I might’ve done. I have PTSD, by the way, so I’ve learned not to go with my first instinct. Just so you know…’

‘Yes,’ Bob Fisher nodded. ‘I think I read that somewhere about you. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Quite a few of my old uniform mates suffer from the same thing. Nasty business. Anyway, please carry on. Did you say anything else to him? Or him to you?’

‘No,’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. I just leaned into him. He looked scared and turned round, back into the hotel. When we got inside, I left him with the security guy. That’s all I know. Did you find the gun?’

‘Yes. He was carrying it,’ Waters confirmed, watching further colour drain from the superstar’s face.

‘Have you or your wife had any death threats lately?’ Fisher asked.

Jeff shrugged and rolled his eyes. ‘We get death threats all the time. It goes with the territory. There are a lot of jealous people out there. Statistics’ll tell you that something like this was bound to happen, after JFK, John Lennon. You know, we…’

Jeff paused. There was really no point in going into detail.

‘There was nothing in particular we were aware of,’ he finished.

More coffee and some sandwiches arrived. Their special guest asked the waiter if he could bring some whisky, to which the frightened man nodded.

‘Why are you in Sydney?’ Bob Fisher continued his questioning.

‘To accept an award for one of our charities, at a lunch where we should be in an hour’s time,’ Jeff shook his head in disappointment, checking his watch. ‘What a failure that’ll be for them. We were the guests of honour. After that, we were due to spend the weekend with some old friends in Mosman.’

The billionnaire didn’t really care to remember why they had come to Sydney, because the whole experience had changed beyond recognition. He saw an image of Celia and Gerald Blake running out to the car with open arms, anxious to console him and Kierney, because their son would already have rung ahead and told them the terrible news. So what was supposed to have been a relaxing weekend spent cajoling an aging man into moderating his behaviour was destined to become a desperate attempt to keep their spirits up.

If only something more urgent had arisen which had caused them to change their plans. Jeff wondered how long this little Spaniard had been plotting to kill him. If he hadn’t succeeded in pulling the trigger today, presumably the gunman would have switched to “Plan B” anyway. And for how long had they managed to unwittingly evade “Plan A”?

A bottle of Scotch whisky and some glasses were placed on the coffee table. The star looked up, offering some to the detectives, knowing that neither would accept. He poured a large one for himself, swallowing it down quickly and then straightaway pouring another. The smooth, amber liquid bit at the back of his throat nicely, and he revelled in the fleeting pleasurable sensation.

There were voices outside in the reception area. Jeff stood up and ran out of the room, followed by Fisher and Waters, who watched as he took his daughter into his arms. Kierney Diamond was almost as recognisable as her parents. Growing slender and taller in the last twelve months, with long, dark hair, she was a picture of teenaged beauty. Bob Fisher’s own children had always had posters of the Diamonds plastered all over their bedroom walls. Jet and Kierney were well liked by Australia’s youth because of their accessibility and lack of pretension, and also because they behaved like normal teenagers. Youngsters identified with them and used them as role models, which was a responsibility that the Diamond and Dyson families had always taken seriously.

Seeing a father and daughter clinging to each other in desperate grief was more than the hardest of hearts could endure. Fisher wiped the tears from his eyes and shuffled hesitantly forwards to introduce himself to Bart Dyson, who was also standing watching the sad reunion. As stoic as ever, the elder statesman greeted the officer in his own diplomatic and gracious manner, before beckoning to Gerry Blake. The senior detective recognised this last man as the manager who, over the years, had often been pictured with the Diamonds. Shaking Gerry’s hand warmly, Bob led the other two men away from Jeff and Kierney, to re-join DS Waters and the hotel’s manager in the office.

As the loyal Irishman passed by, he gave his old friend a couple of quick pats on the back of his right shoulder. Extending his right arm behind him as he held on to his daughter, Jeff let Gerry grasp his hand with both of his own.

The bereft father hugged Kierney so hard.

‘Why?’ he kept saying, over and over again. ‘Why?’

The young woman was sobbing. She had spent the last few hours hoping with all her might that what her papá had told her over the telephone was not true, but seeing him in this state and accompanied by policemen, she knew it must be true. She held onto him tightly too, neither bothered by the other people around them. On her way through the hotel entrance, she had noticed a section of the foyer cordoned off with yellow plastic screening and had assumed it to be the scene of the shooting. Her head was full of questions too. How had a man with a gun managed to hide himself in this open area? What kind of security measures did the hotel claim to take to protect its guests?

‘¿Donde está la mamá?’ Kierney eventually asked her father.

Jeff stared down into her beautiful, dark eyes, which were sunken and bloodshot. Much like his must be, he guessed.

‘She’s upstairs in a bedroom,’ he smiled gently. ‘¿Quieres verla?’

‘Sí, por favor,’ the teenager nodded, then immediately had second thoughts. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Do I?’

Jeff turned to locate Fisher or Waters, but neither was around.

‘Bob?’ he called into the office, bringing both officers to the doorway immediately.

‘We’re going up,’ he informed them. ‘Is that OK?’

It was abundantly clear this man would not have changed his intentions anyway, regardless of their official response, but Fisher respected him for asking. He signalled his agreement with the pair already making for the lift, Jeff’s arm tightly around his daughter’s shoulder. It wasn’t too hard to work out who was supporting whom, the detective rued.

There was a different police constable now stationed outside room two-three-two, who stood to attention when he saw the Diamonds approaching. Sensing old shadows circling in his head for the first time in many years, Jeff’s heart sank still further. He was relieved to have the door opened for him on this occasion.

‘It’s not too bad,’ he encouraged his daughter in the doorway, also to counteract his own trepidation at what was behind the door. ‘She’s got a small hole in her forehead, and there’s a lot of blood on her back, but otherwise she looks normal.’

Jeff didn’t invite Kierney to go in first, as the consummate gentleman normally would have done, and she was glad for it. She had never seen a dead person before and wasn’t sure what to expect or how she would react. She became aware of her father speaking through her apprehensive haze.

‘Lynn, look who’s here,’ her father was saying to the motionless body of his wife, lying on the bed exactly has he had left her not so long ago.

Sweeping around the room, the young woman’s eyes eventually found the courage to look towards the bed, and she shivered as she saw her mother lying so still. Jeff was watching her carefully and took hold of her arm as her step faltered.

‘No te preocupes,’ the kind father said. ‘Tengote.’

The sight of his child’s pained reactions was unbearable. It was hard enough to handle his own emotions, without the deep responsibility he now felt for his daughter’s grief as well. It felt weird talking to a dead body, but Kierney struggled to please her father.

‘Hi, Mamá,’ she began tentatively. ‘This is terrible. I can’t believe you’ll never talk to me again.’

The young woman cried softly as she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her mother’s left hand, touching the wedding ring, just as her father had done previously. It was uncanny, the similarity between them, and it made Jeff at once heartbroken and yet a little hopeful. He bit his lip and turned away as mother and daughter shared their private moment.

‘I’m so sorry to lose you,’ Kierney was saying. ‘And that Papá and Jet have lost you too, and you’ve lost us. It’s horrible. You’re the best mamá ever, but I hope you already know that.’

The widower walked over to the window, raised the shade and stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the city. The more he listened to his daughter talking and crying, the worse he felt and the more he cried too. After a minute or two, he went back to the bed and placed his hands on the youngster’s shoulders. She flopped back onto him like a sack of potatoes, and they remained in the same position for what seemed like several minutes. Jeff stared at the peaceful but expressionless face of his beloved wife and drank in her beauty once more.

Without a sound, the teenager turned round and stood up. Her father stepped back to allow her to move away from him.

‘Can we go now, please?’ she asked.

‘Yes, gorgeous,’ Jeff nodded, feeling guilty for his indulgence.

Kierney was only seventeen. He often forgot how young she was, because she had been his trusted adviser for so long. While she picked up her bag and sunglasses from the table, he returned to the window and pulled the blind down again. The police must have lowered it in case a photographer decided to masquerade as a window cleaner, or for some other ridiculously far-fetched but necessary contingency, the bitter man thought.

‘Come on. Let’s go,’ the father invited, signalling towards the door.

They both said goodbye to Sleeping Beauty and locked the door behind them, thanking the officer on duty. The lift was busy, so they took the stairs, only to find themselves met at the bottom by a party of Japanese tourists who immediately became excited to see the famous family members. Appealing for autographs and photographs, the group was disappointed at the star’s uncharacteristic brusqueness as the duo walked straight past.

‘They’ll know why soon enough,’ Kierney said what they were both thinking. ‘News travels fast.’

The pair smiled bravely and gave several shallow bows as they made their way back to reception. DS Waters was beginning to relax at last, handing everyone fresh mugs of coffee.

Bart Dyson embraced his son-in-law warmly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Jeff nodded. ‘It’s good to see you, sir. How are you?’

‘Shocked,’ the Olympian responded resolutely. ‘DI Fisher here tells me that you caught the bastard who we think did it.’

Lynn’s father’s eyes had dark rings around them too, and he seemed to have aged since they had last met. Probably since about ten o’clock that morning, in fact. At sixty-three years old, the man who had become affectionately known as “Big D” was still a fine figure of a man, although thinner than when in his prime. He remained very fit, and his tall, imposing frame and full head of sandy grey hair gave him a distinctive and distinguished air.

The Dyson patriarch thought the world of his children and grandchildren, even though he would rarely admit it to their faces. He was an extremely proud man and reluctant to show much emotion. Against all expectations, he had also become very fond of Jeff Diamond over the years and respected him enormously. His son-in-law’s achievements not only equalled his own but had often surpassed them, and his farsightedness and compassion for the less fortunate were humbling even for the elder statesman.

Now, looking at the grieving husband and daughter, the impact of Lynn’s murder was just beginning to sink in.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jeff said quietly, seeing the tears well up in Bart’s eyes and hugging him again. ‘I should’ve been here. It should’ve been me, I know. Lynn wasn’t meant to die today.’

Gerry Blake remained seated, preferring to let the family deal with the situation as best it could. On the flight from Melbourne, he had consoled Kierney and speculated at great length with Mister Dyson about his daughter’s untimely demise. Just two nights ago, he and Fiona had listened to Lynn and Jeff talking happily of their recent trip to New York and of how they had celebrated their younger child’s seventeenth birthday. Watching his best mate coping with their sudden loss was painful, not only because the old friend knew how much the couple loved each other, but also because he knew Jeff would see this as yet another tragedy for which he would have to shoulder the blame.

Everyone took their seats in silence while they drank their tea or coffee. The widower reached absent-mindedly into his daughter’s handbag, searching for the cigarettes which would be secreted at the bottom, hidden well enough to evade detection by teachers or coaches. His spare packet was in his coat, the whereabouts of which were still unknown.

‘Do you mind if we smoke?’ he asked.

DS Waters pulled some cigarettes from his own pocket and offered them around. Was he flirting with Kierney? Jeff guessed he was and secretly glowed inside. He would have done exactly the same thing. Bart and Gerry both declined, although at that moment the accountant could easily have broken his long-standing resolution.

As the packet passed over her head on its way to her dad, the seventeen-year-old’s eyes looked up briefly. Concluding that it would not be appropriate to say anything, she rested back against his side, feeling safe. Jeff took the lighted cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand and moved his arm around his daughter’s shoulders until his fingers hovered in front of her face. Noting her grandfather’s look of disapproval, Kierney accepted in silent gratitude and snuggled into her dad still closer.

Jeff then lit another cigarette from the hidden packet he had found in his daughter’s bag and glanced over at his manager, hoping his old friend would know how thankful he was for the support. Truth be known, Blake & Partners’ success was largely built on the back of the Diamond fortune, but nevertheless Gerry was an exceedingly good businessman and had been instrumental in many of the well-timed, strategic investment decisions made during Jeff’s stellar career. As best mates, they had been through a lot together, and the billionnaire looked forward to a private moment to thank the indomitable one for dropping everything for him today.

Notebook nowhere in sight, Bob Fisher stood up and signalled to his colleague to do the same.

‘We’re about done here,’ he announced. ‘We’ll be in touch over the next few days to let you know how things are progressing. The court will require a post mortem, which will take a few days to organise. I assume you’ll be taking Ms Diamond’s body back to Melbourne for the funeral.’

Jeff and Bart exhaled as one, looking at each other in consternation.

‘Yeah,’ the bereaved husband replied with a frown. ‘We need to start thinking about all that stuff, I guess. Jesus, I can’t deal with this now. I flew up here this morning with my wife’s body, in all its glory, sitting right next to me. And now we have to fly down again with it in a box in the cargo hold. Fucking hell. It’s suddenly all got very final.’

Kierney put her left hand on her dad’s thigh to console him and watched his knee jump ten centimetres in the air. She had heard about this reflex action from when her mother had told her of his earlier symptoms, and here it was all over again.

‘Sorry, Papá,’ she yelped, startling as well. ‘We’ll help you with everything.’

‘Baby, I’m sorry too,’ Jeff replied. ‘I didn’t mean to freak you out. We’ll get through this.’

The detectives shook each person’s hand, and DI Fisher handed round his business cards. Bart Dyson stood up and followed them out, seeking answers to some of the questions that he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask while the Diamonds were in the room. His son-in-law watched them divert into the office next door and wondered what they might be discussing. Clearly, the old paranoia was back with a vengeance too, along with his cramping legs and angry compulsions.

‘You OK, mate?’ the superstar asked his manager, who was looking unusually confused on the other side of the room. ‘Thanks for being here.’

‘No worries, Jeff,’ Gerry answered. ‘I’m just utterly f-ing stunned. I can’t believe it. Is she just in a hotel room, lying on a bed?’

The executive’s normal, authoritative persona was temporarily suspended. His client hadn’t heard such an uncertain tone in his friend’s voice since they were teenagers.

‘Yep,’ Jeff nodded. ‘She’s just resting. It’s a tiring business, getting shot.’

Kierney moaned an objection. ‘Don’t joke about it.’

‘Sorry, Kiz. I know,’ her father apologised. ‘It’s hard to know what to do or say now. Life as we’d planned this morning is over. And life in the future is unknown. We’re in some sort of no-man’s land, until the powers that be tell us what to do.’

Gerry nodded. ‘I agree. It’s like suddenly finding out your meeting’s been cancelled but there’s no licence to make the best of the free time. Christ! What a terrible thing, mate. You’re looking remarkably composed, considering.’

‘You know, Gez,’ Jeff replied, ‘I’m surprising myself. Every now and then I get a burst of uncontrollable anger or dissolve into a tearful heap, but otherwise I’m numb. Completely fucking numb. Good, I suppose, under the circumstances, but it’s bound to hit us hard later.’

‘Well, if there’s no reason to stick around here,’ his manager suggested, ‘we might as well drive up to Mum and Dad’s. I rang them from the taxi. They’re shocked too, mate. Goes without saying. Mum told us to come over whenever we were ready.’

The younger man nodded. ‘Thanks, mate. I’m not going anywhere ‘til I know what they’re doing with Lynn. I want to know where she is at all times. And our suitcases are somewhere in the hotel too. They were presumably taken to whichever room we were supposed to sleep in tonight.’

The Irishman stood up, pleased to have something to follow up on. He was the family’s problem-solver, after all. That was why they paid him the big bucks, although he suddenly had an irrepressible urge to retire.

‘Leave that to me, mate.’

‘Cheers, Gerry,’ Jeff smiled, before turning to his daughter. ‘What do you want to do, Kizzo?’

The young woman shrugged. She seemed to have shrunk down to little girl proportions and had a lost expression on her face. Her father felt sorry for her, thinking of the grown-up behaviour they had seen from her just last night, so proud of her new driver’s licence and her upcoming partnership with Youssouf Elhadji.

‘Don’t know. Stay with you. That’s all.’

‘We’ll stay at Celia’s tonight,’ the star decided, stroking her cheek gently. ‘I couldn’t bear to stay here. Could you?’

Kierney shook her head. ‘No. Where do you think they’ll take Mamá?’

Jeff sighed. ‘To the morgue, I suppose. She’s not in her body any more anyway. I’m sure her soul’s flying around this very moment, searching for a peaceful place to rest. What’s left up there’s only a reminder for us.’

The teenager burst into tears once more, and so did her dad. They hugged each other tightly while the emotions played out. Gerry returned and, seeing them locked in each other’s arms with their heads buried against each other’s shoulders, swung round and walked out again. He had arranged for the couple’s luggage to be brought down from their room, and he went back to reception to ask them to book a rental car to take them to his parents’ place, north of the river.

Bart Dyson had concluded his discussion with the detectives and met the efficient businessman in reception.

‘They’re not doing too well in there,’ Gerry informed the big man. ‘I was going to leave them alone for a while.’

Bart looked into the office and noticed that the father and daughter seemed fairly composed. Jeff motioned to his father-in-law.

‘It’s alright,’ the older man reported back. ‘Come on in.’

The grandfather addressed the others. ‘Apparently the people from the Coroner’s Office will be here at any minute to transport Lynn’s body. Did you want to go with it?’

Jeff was undecided, having just managed to convince himself there was nothing else he needed from the majestic vessel that used to hold his soul-mate, but also reluctant to pass up an opportunity to remind himself of her again.

‘No,’ he decided. ‘I guess we have to trust that no harm will come to her. Although I don’t know what more harm there could be…’

‘That’s fine, Jeff,’ Bart cut him off. ‘I’ll go, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have a few moments alone with my daughter.’

Shit, Jeff chastised himself. How thoughtless he had been. He had made sure Kierney had been able to see her mother, but hadn’t offered the victim’s father any such comfort. Feeling awful, he sprung guiltily to his feet.

‘Christ, I’m so sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘That’s totally rude of me. Of course. I should have taken you up there before. Forgive me, please.’

‘That’s OK,’ the sportsman replied, picking up on his son-in-law’s patent sincerity.

‘No, it’s not,’ Jeff insisted. ‘Let’s go up now. Kiz, are you alright to stay with Gerry for a while?’

Kierney nodded. ‘You go with Grandpa. I’ll be fine, thanks.’

The celebrity signalled for the older man to leave the room in front of him, anxious to make up for the lack of compassion he had shown towards him. In the lift, Bart turned and embraced his son-in-law unexpectedly.

‘Jeff, forget it,’ he told him. ‘It’s a bad day for all of us. I’m not the best at showing my emotions. People tend to think I don’t have any.’

The widower sniffed, smiling at Big D’s self-deprecation. He saw him and raised him.

‘Unlike me.’

The Olympian laughed gently. ‘Yes, unlike you and the rest of your family. Kierney’s looking upset now, but she was very mature on the ‘plane. Very composed and polite to everyone. She’s a fine tribute to the two of you, Jeff. Your son too.’

The lift doors opened, and the two red-eyed giants of Australian society stiffened up to face the officer on duty. Recognising Bart Dyson in an instant, the young man stood to attention again. Jeff hung back from the door with no intention of going in. Thankfully the demons didn’t challenge him this time, and he watched his father-in-law enter for an encounter with the empty shell which used to be his daughter. He heard the sixty-three-year-old gasp in shock.

‘I’ll wait outside, sir.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

Then Jeff heard nothing for five minutes or so, except for the occasional creak of bed springs as he envisaged Bart sitting on the edge, just has Kierney had earlier. There was no audible conversation with the deceased. While he waited, the philosopher’s dulled mind forced itself to search for meaning in what was happening around him. He felt detached from the world and keen to get back to his daughter, who was now the closest bond he had to his absent wife. They had to contact Jet too, once it was a reasonable hour in the UK. No point ringing him in the middle of the night. It wasn’t as if knowing sooner would make any difference.

The lift doors opened to reveal three people in overalls wheeling a trolley. It was the Coroner’s team, and they had come to take the victim’s body away. Two women and a man, all dressed in dark blue from head to toe, who nodded politely as they passed him. What made people do such a job? They would be the ones who would disturb his wife’s clothing, the saddened man contemplated with disgust.

The bereaved husband nodded back. ‘G’day.’

‘Mister Diamond,’ one of the women replied. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss. What a terrible tragedy.’

Jeff felt like one of those dogs people had sitting on the parcel shelf of their cars. It appeared that nodding was all he was expected to do this last hour or so. It was indeed a terrible tragedy, and very soon the whole world would know about it. That would be their next hurdle. At some point he would have to front the media. After leading such an open public life, he could hardly retreat from them now.

‘Lynn’s father’s in with her at the moment,’ he informed the overalled team. ‘Could you give him a few minutes, please?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ the same woman agreed. ‘How are you?’

Jeff leaned against the wall, not knowing what to say.

‘Numb,’ he decided on. ‘Disbelief, more than anything.’

Bart Dyson must have heard the activity outside and emerged from the room. His eyes were still red, and he was unsteady on his feet, embarrassed at having been caught off-guard.

‘Good morning, Mister Dyson,’ the obvious leader piped up. ‘Take your time, please.’

‘No. Thank you,’ Big D told the group. ‘I’m done. Jeff, were you going in again?’

The widower shook his head. ‘No. Let them do their thing. We’ll walk down with you.’

He took his father-in-law’s arm, only to have it yanked out of his hand rather roughly. Fair enough, Jeff understood. They waited in silence with the upright and pimply-faced sentry, trying not to listen to what was happening to their loved one behind the door. Nevertheless, they clearly heard the team leader count “one, two, three, lift” and imagined Lynn’s body being hoisted onto the trolley. Feeling sick, the curious man wondered if they would still be able to see her face when she emerged.

They could. The sleeping bag his wife had been given, exactly like the one which he had seen his father wearing over a decade ago, was standard New South Wales Government Issue, zipped up as far as her waist. The expression on her face had altered again, making the corpse even less familiar to her husband.

Bart let out a sigh, followed by a long moan. He was probably thinking about his younger son, who had passed away a decade ago. Now a second child had died out of sequence. Unfair indeed. Again Jeff reached for his arm, and this time he was permitted to hold on to it for a few moments. The two men’s eyes met and exchanged a silent message.

Father and husband followed the trolley bearers down the corridor and into the lift, leaving the police officer guarding an empty room. The woman in charge acknowledged Bart’s request to travel to the mortuary with his daughter’s body, and Jeff once more deferred.

‘Sir, we’re going to be staying with the Blakes tonight,’ he told the older man when they had reached the ground floor. ‘I’m sure you’d be welcome to stay there too.’

‘No, Jeff. We’ll stay in town, thanks,’ the elder statesman replied, shaking his head. ‘Marianna’s flying up now, and I’m sure she’ll want to find out what’s going on. I’ll give you a ring later.’

‘OK,’ his son-in-law nodded. ‘We’ll have to hold a press conference soon. That’ll be a blast.’

‘Indeed,’ Bart sighed. ‘Is Gerry organising it? I’d like to participate if I can.’

‘Of course. We all can,’ Jeff agreed. ‘It’s what Lynn would’ve wanted.’

The clichéd remark came as a jolt to both of them. It was the first time either man had really acknowledged that the skilled and respected organiser was no longer directing the show. Kierney was walking towards them, closely followed by Gerry, minus his tie and jacket. The man who took care of their every move had the “little boy lost” look about him again. They were both shocked at the sight of the trolley with the body-bag on it, which had now been zipped up fully for the journey.

‘Would you like to have another look before Mamá goes?’ the concerned father asked the teenager.

Kierney declined, her face pale. ‘No, thanks. I’d rather remember her some other way.’

‘Yeah. Good idea,’ Gerry agreed, putting his hand on the young woman’s shoulder. ‘Me too.’

Without warning, a photographer had broken through the security cordon and was running noisily across the tiles of the hotel lobby, closely followed by a reporter. The doorman was running after them, caught derelict in his duties. The commotion brought the hotel manager out from behind reception, and he quickly intercepted the two rogue journalists.

‘Sorry, gentlemen. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ Nichols told them, standing in their path. ‘This is a private matter for the family. Please turn around.’

The photographer was snapping away regardless. Jeff and Gerry both walked over to him, their combined twelve-feet-seven-inches proving enough to make him stop. The former Sydney Grammar rugby captain held his hand out, palm upwards, beckoning to the man with his fingers.

‘Film, please,’ he shouted menacingly. ‘We’ll be making a public announcement in a few hours. Until then, we’d be grateful if you’d mind your own business.’

The camera was duly opened, and a reel of film was placed into the business manager’s outstretched hand.

‘Well said, mate,’ Jeff agreed, patting his friend on the back. ‘Thanks.’

The accountant was pleased to have fulfilled a worthy function again, as if it restored him to his rightful stature. The two interlopers departed as quickly as they had arrived, but it was a timely reminder that there was no way the Diamond media machine would manage to keep its silence for long.

The Coroner’s team was ready to go. There was a black van in the driveway, and the doorman opened the side door to let the trolley through. Bart Dyson followed, waving solemnly back towards the others, while Jeff and Kierney watched their loved one being slid into the van like a pallet of fruit and vegetables. The doors slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled slowly off.

The widower closed his eyes as a bout of dizziness overtook him. His legs crumbled, and he found himself sinking to his knees on the tiled flooring, with only his daughter’s slender legs to lean on. He sobbed uncontrollably as Kierney crouched down and put her arm around his shoulders.

‘Papá, levantate. Vamos a sentarnos allí,’ the young woman urged, anxious not to create too much of a spectacle and encourage any more unwanted attention.

Gerry walked over and grabbed his distraught client’s outstretched hand, pulling him up to his feet.

‘Come on, mate,’ his old friend encouraged, jangling a set of keys. ‘Let’s get out of here. We’ll get Mum to fix us some lunch and we can discuss what to do next. There’s no need for us to stay here any longer.’

‘Cheers, Gerry,’ Jeff replied, summoning autopilot mode. ‘Whatever you want. I’m useless. I can’t think straight.’

The dignified celebrities walked back to the reception desk, looking for Chris and Miriam. The billionnaire opened his wallet, wondering how much the hotel would charge for a bottle of whisky and beverages for the police.

‘We’re leaving now,’ he told them. ‘Do you want me to pay or can you send me an invoice?’

The hotel manager waved his hands expansively.

‘Nonsense. I wouldn’t hear of it, Mister Diamond,’ Chris told him. ‘I wish you well. Again, we’re all very sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

The grateful musician smiled, his eyes scanning the solemn semi-circle of staff who had scrambled to see them depart. What a horrendous few hours they had all endured. Cynically, he wondered how long it would take these people to get back to normal, compared to the journey now ahead of his wife’s family and friends.

‘Thanks very much for your help. I’m sorry to screw up your day.’

Miriam giggled at his quirky comment, receiving a steely look from her boss.

‘It’s fine, Chris,’ Jeff added, not wishing to get the woman into trouble. ‘It’s my fault. Things didn’t go according to plan for anyone today.’

The widower returned to the others, who were waiting by the revolving door. He chose to go through the side door, to avoid reliving the encounter with his wife’s killer. The doorman lurched towards him, endeavouring to reach the handle before his hero had to push it himself. Jeff held out his right hand to the startled valet, who shook it gingerly.

‘Thanks for your help this morning. What’s your name?’

‘Fruchtmann, sir,’ the doorman replied formally in a German accent. ‘Karl.’

‘Thanks, Karl,’ the superstar repeated, his warped mind involuntarily amused by the stereotypical stiffness of the German people. ‘You did well, mate.’

His manager directed them to a black Holden Statesman with heavily tinted windows, waiting for them on the far side of the hooped driveway. Kierney climbed into the back, and Jeff dearly wanted to slide in beside her but thought better of it. He sat in the front passenger seat, alongside his manager, ready for the familiar journey across the city. He got the feeling they would be spending a lot of time behind heavily tinted glass in the next few weeks, before a rare sensible thought suddenly came into his head.

‘Is our luggage on board?’ he asked, somewhat panicked.

‘Yes, mate, it is,’ Gerry nodded, sighing.

The younger man was crying again. His daughter unfastened her safety belt and sat forward on the edge of the leather seat, putting her hand on her dad’s right shoulder.

‘You don’t have to worry about all that stuff now, Papá,’ her kind voice told him. ‘I know what you’re thinking… that Mamá used to take care of all that organising… Were you?’

The father sniffed. ‘Yes, I was. Your telepathic powers are working well.’

Weekends always seemed to start early in Sydney on sunny days, and commuters were already clogging up the city’s roads as the Statesman cruised over the Harbour Bridge. They had been driving for about fifteen minutes when Jeff’s mobile telephone buzzed in his back pocket. He lifted himself off the seat and reached it with his left hand.

‘Jeff Diamond,’ he coughed, recognising the number as that of DI Fisher, having entered it into the directory not long ago.

‘Jeff, it’s Bob Fisher,’ the voice confirmed. ‘How are you?’

‘We’re OK, thanks,’ Jeff told him. ‘Driving to Gerry’s parents’ place for some downtime. How are you?’

‘Good, thank you. Listen, Jeff,’ Fisher continued. ‘The man you apprehended has made a full confession. So well done. Thank you for acting so quickly.’

The quick witted man laughed bitterly into the telephone, unable to resist a dig at such an insensitive choice of phrase.

‘Not quickly enough for me, Bob, but maybe for you.’

The irreverent celebrity heard the police officer breathe deeply. ‘Yes, of course. I’m very sorry, sir.’

‘That’s OK,’ Jeff felt guilty. ‘You’re welcome, I guess.’

‘A word of warning, if I might?’ the inspector ventured, regrouping.

‘Sure,’ the widower answered, more conciliatory this time.

‘It would be best to make some sort of announcement sooner rather than later,’ Fisher told him. ‘Our media office is beginning to take calls, so it won’t be long before the story gets a life of its own.’

‘Yes, I hear you,’ the bereaved singer acknowledged. ‘We’ve been talking about it. Bart Dyson’s gone to the Coroner’s Office. Should we turn round and come back into the city?’

‘Might be a good idea,’ the police officer agreed. ‘We can set something up here fairly quickly, if you like.’

‘Hold on a second, please, Bob,’ Jeff requested. ‘I need to talk to my advisers.’

Gerry smiled, glad that his friend hadn’t lost his sense of humour.

‘Turn around?’ he asked, looking in his door mirror and preparing to change lanes.

‘Yep. Back to the Surry Hills police station,’ he confirmed, reading from the business card that Bob had given him. ‘Goulburn Street. Press conference. Is that OK, Kiz?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ his daughter sounded resigned. ‘Better get it over and done with.’

‘That’s what I think too,’ Jeff agreed, lifting the handset back up to his mouth. ‘OK, Bob. Thanks for the offer. We’re on our way back in. Probably twenty minutes or so. I’ll ring Big D. He wants to be part of it.’