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“I think clean environments helped her to think,” he replied after giving it some thought. “When we had visitors, she was uneasy. After they left, she worked until the wee hours, polishing and sanitising imaginary crap only she could see.”

  Joan was a good wife. She kept a spotless house, on top of her busy career as a self-made businesswoman. Even so, all her businesses were online and she worked from home, her busy warehouse a few kilometres down the road. The only personal contact she had with people outside her circle were her yoga students and her PA. Home was her sanctuary. She cooked amazing meals and paid landscapers to create a show garden. She cooked, baked and ran her home like a traditional wife. In addition to growing her own vegetables and spices, Joan kept free-range chickens for eggs. The house always had freshly-cut flowers on the tables with scented candles burning throughout the house.

  “We never left the house in wrinkled clothes; everything was ironed to knife-edge perfection. And I don’t mean just the clothes. The tea towels, the tablecloths, bed linen, everything. They all met the iron as soon they came off the Hills Hoist.”

  Noise and disorder had appalled her. She had her children on strict regiments. When the marriage ended, the children chose to live with their father.

  “They loved their mum,” Bill explained. “But her place became the five star hotel for holidays compared to my average house.”

  As a mother, Joan was not too demonstrative.

  “That didn’t stop the kids feeling her love. Jo was a wonderful mother. She did all of the parent-teachers events and volunteered for canteen duty.”

  According to Bill, theirs were well-adjusted children because of the way Joan raised them.

  “What about arguments?” Burns inquired.

  “Arguments?” Bill echoed.

  “Every relationship has them. What were yours about?” she asked

  “You may not believe this, but we rarely argued.”

  Burns looked dubious.

  “So she wasn’t pushy?” Spiteri pressed.

  “I can honestly describe Jo this way: she was quiet, unobtrusive but she had an inner steel core that no one could crack. If she believed in something, she didn’t shout it from the rooftops. She acted on her convictions. How do you fight with someone like that? “

  “You sound like you really loved her,” Burns observed softly.

  “Very much so,” he conceded. “I still do. My parents adored her too. She was the best wife any man could have asked for.”

  “So why’d you divorce?” Spiteri wanted to know.

  Joan’s decision to leave came out of a desire to be on her own. She still loved Bill, but she could not live with him. Their interests, tastes and friends were poles apart. It seemed the only interest they shared was the children. She sold her successful candle making business, travelled to India to spend a year studying under a yogi and returned home to venture into the bamboo bed linen business and interior decorating. She also started an online yoga business. Both businesses flourished, and so did Joan.

  “She looked so much better and was stronger than ever. When she did not respond to my pleas for reconciliation after a year, I knew I had lost her for good. So I moved on.”

  Burns, moved by this tale of unrequited love, told Spiteri so on the drive to Kate Spencer’s home.

  “He does seem genuine,” Spiteri agreed. “But what a woman.”

  “I’m not a fan of this domestic goddess concept, but I can understand why it appeals in today’s world of career women and paid help,” Burns thought aloud. “I mean I like neat and tidy spaces, and I’m OCD about organisation, but to walk out of a marriage to subscribe to it as a lifestyle is just incredible.”

  Kate Spencer was clearly a kept woman. She was girlfriend to a very married Bryan Appleton, makeup artist to the stars. Burns had watched his tutorials on YouTube and thought him too effeminate to be straight. Men who wore makeup and worked as makeup artists bemused her. Kate was Joan’s yoga student initially, but her interest in homemaking and interior design, led to a strong friendship. Kate also enjoyed moderate success as an artist. The women became fast friends. Kate lived in an apartment loft in the heart of The Rocks.

  Kate’s pretty, oval-shaped face was devoid of makeup. With her startlingly large hazel eyes and bright red hair, Kate reminded Burns of Strawberry Shortcake. She had answered the door in an artist’s smock with a smudge of paint on her chin. Burns thought she looked pathetic, like a little girl trying to play artist.

  “I forgot the time,” Kate apologised as she invited them in. “I thought I’d get a bit of work done.”

  Burns suppressed her annoyance. Kate left them perched on stools around an island bench in the kitchen and went to clean up. She returned, dressed in a rainbow coloured caftan, with a little eyeliner and lip-gloss.

  “Joan was one of the most centred people I knew,” she maintained. “Nothing ruffled her.”

  “Ms Spencer, do you know of any strange events leading up to her death?” Spiteri inquired. “Like being followed or harassed?”

  “She got the usual breathy calls,” she replied. “Especially when she’d gone offline for one of her mind cleansing pilgrimages.”

  “Mind cleansing?” Burns repeated.

  “It’s when you take anything from a week to a month to disconnect from the world, whether social media, television or any other type of electronic communication,” she answered. “I don’t think Joan was afraid of death.”

  “Why do you say that?” Burns queried.

  “Because when she returned from India, it seemed she was no longer attached to anything she had, including her children,” she replied. “She loved her kids but no longer saw them as extensions of herself. She started her bamboo-based linen business because she loved their calming, healing properties. For her, the money was just a side-effect of doing what she loved.”

  “Did she have any other friends that you know about?”

  “Yes, I can give you the numbers of mutual friends we had. One thing’s for sure. Joan loved her privacy and defended that fiercely, but she hosted the best dinner parties I’ve ever been to. Her style and grace were effortless.”

  “Like Martha Stewart?” Burns supplied.

  “You could say that was a pretty close description of her,” Kate replied. “She didn’t go preaching to the world how they should live though. In fact, I have a magazine that featured her home a few months before she died.”

  “Can we see it?”

  “Sure,” she answered. “The house was so beautiful that when they put it up for auction, the new owner paid twice its value to keep it exactly like it had while the house as on the market.”

  The detectives studied the photographs. The glossy cover page featured a breathtakingly beautiful home overlooking Coogee beach, with large French windows opening up to ocean views. In the foreground, beautiful flowers and shrubs dotted the landscape. The water fountain was a stone bowl of floating lilies with a nymph carrying a water pitcher over its shoulder starring as its centrepiece. The water from the pitcher trickled into the bowl. As Burns flicked through the pages, she could not help thinking the bedrooms looked like five star hotel rooms. Clean and crisp bed linen and towels. Fresh flowers in long, glass vases in every room, beautiful artwork on the walls and strategically placed porcelain figurines throughout the house. Well thought-out artistic arrangements.

  “This was definitely not set up for the magazine,” Kate added. “You could drop in at her house any day of the week and the house would be exactly like that.”

  Joan was not ambitious for herself. Her success surprised her. According to Kate, Joan was soft-spoken and modest. She was not interested in gossip and was almost a recluse.

  “Do you know if her ex-husband took advantage of that?’ Spiteri questioned.

  “Oh no, no. They totally adored each other. When he moved on with his new wife, she was sad. I wouldn’t say she grieved but I sensed an element of sadness.”

  “Did she ever say why they divorce
d?”

  “I’m not sure. But she did talk about still loving him but not being able to cohabit, that’s the word she used. I think she enjoyed the spiritual connection with a higher power when living her life of seclusion, like a nun.”

  “So tell me Kate, how on earth does a woman who lacks assertiveness end up a successful business woman?” Burns inquired.

  “Oh don’t get me wrong, Joan was assertive in a quiet way,” Kate corrected her. “She wasn’t forceful, but she had an inner strength. She worked hard to get what she wanted. I also think she ventured into online businesses because it afforded her the privacy she wanted.”

  Truly curious, Burns quizzed her, “How so?”

  “She eroded obstacles through gentle persuasion. She never spoke her mind but used tact and diplomacy so well, people didn’t realise they were being played until it was too late. She is a rare example of someone who persuaded others through diplomacy.”

  Doreen Fischer, Joan’s personal assistant, now ran Joan’s online businesses fulltime. It seemed Joan had surrounded herself with like-minded people. Doreen’s home was “magazine show-room” worthy. She led them into her spotless kitchen to serve them tea and freshly baked Anzac biscuits. Burns liked Doreen immediately. The tall curvaceous brunette had a freshness associated with youth, but Burns knew that could also come from inner spiritual balance. Her cheekbones were amazing.

  She told them ownership of the business had transferred over to Joan’s daughter, Ella. Although she was in her second year at university, she had a good head for business. Ella doubled the annual profit with an aggressive marketing campaign, something her mother would have shied away from. The bamboo range appealed to a younger, more socially conscious consumer segment. Ella attended trade shows and signed up for networking events to expand the business.

  “Just weeks ago, K-Mart signed up with us to stock our range, so we’ve had a pretty busy month,” Doreen explained.

  As Joan’s assistant, Doreen managed Joan’s appointments, scheduled her meetings, coordinated deliveries, paid the bills and managed the front office works. She also shopped for her and organised dog walkers.

  “Can you think anyone who might have wanted Joan dead?”

  “There were a couple of people I suspected. They were mostly the clients who took private yoga lessons. One of them mistook her for a pricey call girl. He made advances and it almost turned nasty when she turned him down. He harassed her for weeks after that. He stopped only when she threatened to call the police.”

  “Did she report it?”

  “No, he just stopped calling so she put it out of her mind,” she answered. “In fact, we both did.”

  “Do you have a name and address?”

  “Matter of fact, I do,” she laughed as she pulled out a basket from below the window seat, retrieving as small black, leather-bound notebook. “I actually keep them in my little black book.”

  She flicked through the pages.

  “Ah, here he is. Grant Lewis,” she noted and read out the address. “Oh, and cheapskate Olivia del Torres.

  “She’d book private sessions for one but invite her friends over,” Doreen replied when Burns pressed her for details. “Then when Joan turned up, she’d try to get free lessons for everyone. She called them her ‘little yoga parties,’ that pretentious snob. The first time, Joan refused to start until everyone left. Olivia paid for them all, but with very bad grace. The second time, she tried to convince Jo that it would make a great marketing gimmick. Jo walked out. The third time, the ladies paid for their own lessons. Six of them signed up for Joan’s private sessions. Olivia tried to use that to get a discount. Joan agreed to the first two but no more. Anyway, her royal tightness got all uppity about it and started a hate campaign online.”

  “Like?” Burns probed.

  “Cursing at her, writing nasty comments on the website, posting allegations against Joan on Facebook, sending her text messages, calling her names,” Doreen recalled. “It was just horrible.”

  The abuse continued until Joan died.

  “Now I hear she can’t afford private sessions at the rates Joan gave her. So she’s having sessions once a week instead of the usual three.”

  Kate did not believe anyone else wanted Joan dead.

  Grant Lewis turned out to be a leathery Casanova in denial of middle age. His thinning black hair was heavily gelled and brushed away from his forehead. He had his shirt unbuttoned down to his bellybutton with oiled chest and well-defined torso on show for anyone who looked his way. With his heavy gold chain and a matching Rolex, he looked like a pimp. As he sipped a martini, he studied the bikini-clad waitresses in The Shack. Loud eighties music drowned out all hopes of a decent conversation. Spiteri flashed his ID and got him to follow them out to the deck.

  “What’s this about, officers?” his smile condescending, eyes travelling up and down Burns’ body.

  “Two words – Joan Stacks,” Burns could barely conceal her disgust.

  “What about her?” his nonchalant tone accompanied by a shrug at Burn’s rebuff.

  “She’s dead,” Burns snapped.

  “And you’re telling me because?” he smirked. “We’re all going to die anyway.”

  “Because you had a reason to want her dead,” Burns said bluntly.

  He appeared shocked and protested his innocence. He had mistaken Joan’s website for an online strip show, but when he found out she was an actual yoga instructor, he felt he had been duped.

  “How so?” Spiteri wanted to know.

  “She tucked her legs behind her head with that come-hither look,” he replied as if that explained everything. “Then when I wanted a refund, she shut me down.”

  “Was she naked when she did yoga?” Spiteri pressed.

  “No, but it was a promise of things to come,” he replied. “The bitch duped me.”

  “Yoga is hardly the Kama Sutra,” Burns snapped. “It certainly didn’t warrant the online hate campaign you started against her.”

  Fortunately for him, his whereabouts on the day were fully accounted for.

  The next stop was Olivia Del Toro. Spiteri recognised her immediately. After a long career as an adult movie actress in the US, she returned home. When her attempt to ingratiate herself into high society failed, she became mistress to crime boss, Cross Pelini and opened a high-class call girl agency. After Pelini’s jailing, she took her business online. Like Lewis, she was in her late fifties but strived to look thirty. It was an epic failure. With skin the colour of tan leather, bleach-blonde hair and fake, melon-like breasts, her age showed on her Botox-constricted face.

  “I’m not sorry Joan’s dead,” she spat venomously. “She didn’t believe the customer was always right.”

  “What were you right about?” Spiteri posed.

  “That you’ve got to spend money to make money,” she declared. “She wouldn’t even give a discount when I brought her more new customers.”

  She complained about Joan’s rigidity but downplayed her own role in attacking her online.

  “I lost my mobile so I think the thief that stole my phone wrote those nasty things.”

  When Burns pointed out that the style of writing was the same, she insisted she knew nothing about it.

  CHAPTER 9

  Logan thought the Command Centre had been transmogrified into a replica of bridge of Starship Enterprise. Giant screens, complete with the victim information, photos and data took up the entire space overhead. Transparent touchscreen monitors had been set with dumping site photos, Z’s messages and maps. Building plans with points of entry highlighted that Z possibly used to enter undetected. A gigantic dashboard took up an entire wall, flashing new information as Sedgewick updated them. Although it was almost 10pm, the team’s octane energy was contagious.

  “Ok everyone, let’s go through each case,” Logan began. “We’re not leaving until we find at least one common thread in all cases.”

  Naidu and Davidson gave an update on Cody Maher, inclu
ding his financial situation and the failed life insurance policy.

  “I’ll check the insurance company to confirm first thing tomorrow,” Sedgewick offered.

  “We also have Maher in custody for rape of a minor,” Naidu continued. “Kid’s a runaway teen from the Gold Coast. Name’s Hayley Smith and she’s still reported missing by her family, while this creep had her holed up in his penthouse.”

  “I just saw him in the holding cell,” Logan replied drily.

  “It’s all because of the resident IT guru, Sedgie,” Naidu flashed brilliant smile at Sedgewick, who flushed at the compliment.

  “In the personality department, Janine was the ultimate eco warrior, feminist and loved the great outdoors,” Davidson added. “But in connecting with other human beings, she lacked empathy and hated weakness.”

  “Please clarify,” French leaned in, her interest piqued.

  “When her sisters’ marriages failed, she could not understand why they fell to pieces,” Davidson answered. “She’d tossed Cody aside like he was yesterday’s garbage, and got on with her life.”

  “She also told her sisters about a tall, handsome stranger she spotted regularly at the mall,” Naidu added. “The Drakes told this to the original investigation team but we couldn’t find any reference to that.”

  “Great job guys,” Logan told them. “Keep pressing Maher, although I doubt he’s our killer.”