Page 13 of A Murder is Going Down

‘My sister,’ he says, like there was no interruption, ‘she emails Mike and me life updates all the time. She’s constantly banging on about how you’ve got this award or won that prize. I think she’s trying to motivate me to behave better.’

‘Does it work?’

‘Not really.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m more about doing the bare minimum to get the marks I need.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Electrical engineering, I think.’

‘And you call me a nerd.’

‘School’s back next week, but I might stay in Perth until this whole thing is sorted out.’

‘What whole thing?’

‘Felix’s death.’ The train loudspeaker announces that the next stop is ours and we both stand up. ‘I don’t think he killed himself and I don’t want to see Elena screwed out of that life insurance money,’ he says loudly, and I look around to be sure we’re still alone. ‘Why do you think I wanted to come out to their house?’

‘To be a good brother?’ I feel stupid for imagining Patrick might have wanted to hang out with me.

‘Have we met? I want to look for clues.’

‘Clues to show you what, exactly?’

‘Either that it was an accident or that Felix was murdered.’

‘You really think someone could have murdered Felix?’

‘You didknowyour brother, right?’ he asks.

Now

‘What’s the deal with Felix?’ Marianne asks. ‘Why was he such an arsehole?’

I frown at the interruption.

‘Are we talking about a diagnosed psychopath or was he just an annoying older brother?’

‘Do you want me to keep going?’

‘Sure. I could do with some clarity, though.’

I hide my smile because she is hooked.

I could tell Marianne another story about Felix that might answer her question. I could tell her about the way he liked to spit in my food when Mum and Dad weren’t looking. I could tell her about the one time I looked at his laptop search history (and immediately regretted it). I couldeven tell her why his high-school girlfriend had to leave the school in Year 12.

But all I say is: ‘We’ll get there.’

Because, Felix? He was the worst.

Then

‘Thisis their place?’ Patrick asks as I veer my bike off the road and bump onto the driveway that leads to the house formerly known as Felix and Elena’s home.

The house now known as Elena’s home is in the riverside suburb of Mosman Park, a place where the rich live in their mansions near the water and the not-so-rich live in state housing near the train station. It’s a rich tapestry. Or a bit of a head fuck.

Their place is definitely in the fancy part; it’s a steel and glass box built into the cliffside next to the water on a set of stilts. It’s twenty years old and a little rundown in parts but, at first glance, it still looks like a posh bunker where a charismatic con-artist might choose to start a cult, not a house for two people.

When I say ‘cliff’ you might imagine a rugged coastline and crashing surf, like something out of one of those horror movies that end with a girl wearing a white nightie in the rain, covered in blood (no bra, obviously – never a bra). It’s not like that. The limestone cliffs around here are not quite vertical, and they’re covered in low-lying scrub that leads down to the river, which is placid enough when the jet-ski bros aren’t out in force.