Brad Culley Mysteries Collection: The Complete Series

Excerpt from Brad Culley Mysteries Collection

This trip up the Calder Freeway annoyed me. If Wally the Wanker had only answered my calls, or seen me yesterday, I wouldn’t be wasting my time. The freeway’s surface was mostly good, but it wound its way through boring pine tree plantations and the proverbial Australian bush. The monotony was only broken with exit signs to out-of-the-way country towns and the carcasses of kangaroos who, during the night, played chicken with the traffic. The authorities cleared roadkill from highways like this one, but on the not-so-main roads, they left the dead wildlife for the ravens. Big red crosses were spray-painted on their bodies to show they had been checked for joeys.

I pressed the call button and waited for the servant, or butler, or bodyguard, or gardener, or whoever the bloody hell was running the show, to acknowledge me.

The gates opened without so much as a good morning.

The circular driveway had been paved since the last time I drove through the gates, which was nearly two years ago. It wasn’t just ordinary concrete, it was the speckled stuff, in a grey that matched the bricks on the house. Must be good money in the law. I pulled up at the front steps, got out, and pressed the remote to lock the car.

‘No need to lock the car, sir.’ A fair-haired, good-looking man in a pale blue polo shirt and navy blue trousers stood on the front step. He owned the voice that was sorry for my loss yesterday.

‘Habit,’ I grumbled. Wanting to add that he should mind his own business.

‘Please follow me.’

Polo Shirt led me to my uncle’s office. He wasn’t there.

‘I’m on time,’ I complained. ‘He’s allocated me twenty minutes.’ Sulking, I made my way to the leather couch that ran along the wall opposite a bookcase. I tapped my watch and glared at Polo Shirt. ‘Time’s tickin’.’

Walton Warburton sauntered into the room as if he were a member of the Royal Family. ‘Sorry to keep you, Bradley,’ he sneered. Bastard had heard me grumbling.

I stood and offered my hand, which he shook, before moving to his desk and squirting hand sanitizer onto his palms.

‘Throwback to the pandemic. A good habit to continue, I feel.’

I stared at him. He’d put on at least ten kilos since I’d seen him last. The lines on his face looked like an old roadmap and large dark circles rested under his eyes. ‘You look well, Uncle,’ I lied.

‘No. I don’t. You do, though. What did you want to see me about?’

‘I don’t have time in less than twenty minutes to explain everything, but I want to ask this: do you believe Mum is really dead?’

He looked genuinely perplexed. ‘Why?’

‘Turns out my brother is a psychopath or sociopath, or whatever the correct term is. I have a niggling suspicion he had something to do with Mum’s death or disappearance.’

‘There was a funeral.’ My uncle frowned, confusion burying itself into the wrinkles. ‘I’ve almost finalised her estate. You and your brother get a substantial amount, I might add, now that your father is deceased.’

I wanted to ask how much, but thought it unseemly. I looked at my watch. ‘There aren’t many of our twenty minutes left.’

‘Don’t worry. My first appointment isn’t until ten. Phillip likes to coddle me. Tell me about Steven and why you have questions about your mother’s death.’

I kept the explanation brief and to the point. I didn’t tell him about Ebony, but shared the story about my saving Steven, and how he was manipulating our father, and how he disappeared when they released him on bail, after being charged with kidnapping and assaulting me.

‘Oh dear. Are you alright now? It’s dreadful that Douglas felt trapped. I always liked him. The family was happy Mina married someone with their own wealth. I don’t understand why you are asking if she is dead, though.’

I didn’t answer his question about whether I was ok. It lost its importance. ‘I think my brother had something to do with her death. She was in very good health, she was happy, had come to terms with my father’s long work hours, and built a life she enjoyed. We ate together once a week. There was no reason for her to die.’

‘A friend of mine was having dinner with his mother one night. The woman was in her late forties, healthy, fit. She had a brain aneurism at the table and dropped dead there and then.’

‘Mum didn’t drop dead at the table. Steven said she died in her sleep. I haven’t seen the autopsy report. Can you get it for me, Uncle Walton?’

‘Your father would have a copy.’

‘I don’t want to go through my father’s things looking for it. You’re a solicitor, and her brother. They’ll give it to you won’t they?’

‘In non-suspicious deaths, the reports are digitised, Brad. It will be online.’

Uncle Walton stood up, moved around in front of his desk, and gave me a hug. The hand sanitizer would have a big job once I’d left. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be in touch.’