Page 14 of A Murder is Going Down

‘You’ve really never been here?’ I ask.

‘Elena mostly visited us in Melbourne,’ Patrick says. ‘We’ve come to Perth a couple of times since the wedding, but Mike and I always stayed in a hotel.’

‘You know there are, like, three spare bedrooms?’

‘I kinda got the impression Felix didn’t want us here.’

We park our bikes at the side of the house.

‘Did I mention that Mike and I live in a two-bedroom flat with mould in the bathroom and a neighbour with night terrors?’ Patrick says. ‘I can’t believe they could afford this place.’

The truth is that Elena and Felix could only afford to buy this place because Elena became a semi-big-deal fitness influencer while she was still at university – before the accident that put her in a wheelchair. If burpees are your idea of a good time, you might recognise her: coordinated crop tops and leggings, gravity-defying glossy ponytail, and drinking an unfeasible number of green smoothies.The money she got from online collaborations, plus a small inheritance when her mum died and Felix’s finance salary, was enough to get them this house. At least the part of it not owned by the bank. Now, she has a sensible teaching job at a special needs primary school and I’ve never bothered to wonder before now how she and Felix could still afford all this architectural fanciness.

We unlock the front door and I quickly locate the alarm and carefully tap in the code Elena wrote down for me. Inside, the place isn’t looking its best. Party detritus from the night of Felix’s death is everywhere.

Someone was thoughtful enough to throw out the actual food, but dirty plates are stacked on the kitchen bench and in the sink, while half-empty bottles sit abandoned on the dining table. Fruit flies buzz around a cluster of wine glasses.

Patrick ignores the dishes and heads straight for the big glass lift Elena and Felix had installed after her accident (I’m getting to that, by the way).

‘That’s where Elena was stuck the night Felix died?’ Patrick asks.

‘Yep.’

‘What was everyone else doing while she was stuck in there? Just trying to get her out?’

‘I wasn’t there,’ I remind him.

‘Haven’t you asked?’

‘She’syoursister.’

‘I thought I should give her some time to recover before launching straight into asking her to reconstruct the night of her husband’s death.’ Patrick gives me a look that’s probably supposed to make me feel bad.

Maybe it would work if I’d never met him.

‘Since when do you care about not being an insensitive prick? I thought that was your whole vibe.’ Only as I hear the words coming out of my mouth do I worry I’ve been too harsh to a guy I don’t know all that well.

‘I’m touched you noticed,’ he says, and I relax. ‘I guess she’s been busy and there’s never been a good time.’

I consider Patrick’s question and what I know about the night of Felix’s death. Most of it has come from eavesdropping on Aunty Sam’s phone calls. ‘I guess so. One of their friends called the lift company.’

I look around the room, trying to imagine it.

‘But one of them found Felix’s body while Elena was stuck in there,’ Patrick says. ‘So they weren’t all there trying to help Elena. Someone else must have been outside, as well as Felix, obviously. Why would a guest go outside when Elena’s stuck in the lift?’

‘To murder Felix,obviously,’ I say, mostly to get a rise out of Patrick. It works, sort of, because Patrick’s head jerks up in surprise and he gives me a look like he’s trying tofigure me out. (Good luck, buddy. Smarter people than you have tried.)

But all he says is, ‘I’m gonna take some photos of the house and the place where Felix … fell.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know yet. Maybe there’s something here. I’m just being thorough. Measure twice, cut once.’

‘Something that the police missed?’ I ask his back, which ignores me.

Patrick starts by snapping photos of the lift control panel, then moves on to the dishes in the kitchen. I’m not sure any crime has been solved by a photo of a hummus-smeared bowl, but I don’t bring this up.

‘I’ll go upstairs and get Elena’s stuff,’ I say instead. ‘I’ve got the list of what she wants.’