Hidden Motives

Hidden Motives

by

Katalin Nagy

All rights reserved

Copyright © October 13, 2014, Katalin Nagy

Cover Art Copyright © 2014,

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

ISBN: 978-1-61950-429-5

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: November 15, 2014

Dedication

To my supportive husband. Thank you for putting up with me.

Chapter One

So far not many of us can explain the phenomenon of our fellow men’s success. I mean, why does our neighbors’ garden seem always greener? Even if we were to discover during a neighborly visit that a closer look reveals it is full of thatch, yellow spots and black beetles, the overall impression, as we peer over the fence is that of a lush, green lawn. Some may say it’s only an illusion; others may define it as pure green envy.

Hermann Pope was actually almost blue, choking on his green envy. Standing on his porch, he shaded his eyes against the grey glare of the sky. The clouds gathering promisingly in the last hours emptied their burden onto the lawns and gardens across the road. His own lawn remained mostly dry with only a few drops splattering over the dusty yard, the wet borders stopping only a few steps away from the low fence dividing his property from the street. The shower soon slowed to a quiet drizzle, rays of sunshine winking through the thinning grayness in the sky. Even from where he stood, Hermann was sure he could see the blades in his neighbor’s garden turning greener, pushing up, toward the sun. Looking closer, he swore he saw his own lawn become yellower, dust gathering around the tufts.

Hermann Pope worked at a local hotel, Heaven, one of a mid-priced hotel chain in Newtown, a bustling city in inland Australia. Central Australia, thanks to the extensive canal systems established during the early twenty-first century, had become a substantial organic region, called the Zone, on Earth. Population within the Zone approached ten million, the descendants of hard-working pioneers who put up with the harsh, dry conditions while establishing the canal systems.

Sometime at the beginning of twenty-first century, due to changed weather patterns, the North-East parts of Australia had become wet territories with huge rainfalls all through the year. The Central and South-West states had dried up, with no significant rainfall recorded for at least half a century. A country divided by the threat of drowning or burning, the states and territories had to pull together. At an enormous cost, a canal system was created, crisscrossing South-West Australia, bringing life back to the parched lands, generating new life and fertile lands. The new region of Australia quickly populated by the refugees. In a world where food security became a major ground for negotiations, the idea of producing purely organic food on a large scale seemed wasteful. But soon, the green measures employed within the Zone paid off. The Zone had become self-sufficient and, with plenty of surplus, exported food, not only within the country, but to the rest of the world.

At Heaven, Hermann worked primarily as a handyman, but his job included supervising a team of two women cleaners. Each one of those women drove a better car than he did. He listened to their endless chattering about their full lives; they had kids to drop off at schools, birthday parties to organize and relatives to visit. They had partners, went for holidays, cooked great meals, and shared leftovers for lunch. Hermann smelled their food, while he ate his regular lunch of hot chips and buttered fish from the local fish shop. He just knew, given a chance, he would have been happy with either of these women.

Hermann Pope lived in the house where his parents had lived most of their lives. His father, dead for many years, had suffered a massive stroke while he watched one of his neighbors pull onto his driveway in his new car. A car he himself dreamed of owning. His mother, who survived his passing only for a few years, had died recently, leaving Hermann a house full of clutter and a cold kitchen full of gadgets.

At thirty-three years of age, he could have been handsome, with straight brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, a long straight nose and dimples at the corners of his lips, visible when he smiled. Not that he ever felt the reason to smile much and when he did, the dimples stayed hidden within the excess flesh spreading across his features. Although tall, he couldn’t hide the extra weight he carried laboriously in the wake of his quick and trim-bodied group of women. Not so much shy as socially backward, his attempts to befriend any female resulted in a baffled or anxious flick of their eyes in his direction, and hurrying away from him.

Hermann Pope yearned. For some rain, for some company, a better job and pay, for a better car, a clean house, a better life; for that exact, but elusive capacity of all others around him, to possess greener grass.

***

Lucy Windblown held onto the strap of her shoulder bag, enduring the jostle of the crowded bus. She eventually found herself pressed against a wizened man; one foot painfully crushed, and an elbow in the back of her neck, forcing her head and chin forward. Despite the discomfort, she considered herself lucky. At least she made it onto the bus.

Arriving home after another day of unsuccessful job hunting, she looked forward to a hot cup of tea with Plum, her tabby cat, on her lap. They lived with her Aunt Mary, in her cottage. Plum shared her meals and her bed, and to Aunt Mary’s amusement, she even enjoyed a little tea just like Lucy, white and sweet.

The pain in her foot subsided to numbness and she managed to shift her head resting against the elbow behind her. An only child, she had lived on the farm she was born at, some hour’s drive from Newtown. In all her twenty-four years of life, she had not visited Newtown or any other city. A strand of dark blonde hair fell over her face, and she managed to work her free hand up to brush it aside. She wore one of her mother’s tops, it fell loosely around her slender body. Hazel eyes set in her oval face puzzled over the view the occasional opening in the lurching crowd afforded her through a window, at the cars and houses passing by. It had taken most of the time since she’d arrived at her Aunt’s cottage to sort through what she had seen, the sheer number of people, and all so full of purpose.

Her parents, gifted with her late in their life, had died a few months before in an accident when the roof of the supply shed, in desperate need of repair, had collapsed on top of them. Lucy had been peeling potatoes for their dinner at the time and was too late to help them. Their unexpected deaths forced her to enter the outside world. She’d laid out their bodies, said a prayer, and after due notification, investigations and permits from the authorities, she’d buried them under the big gum tree they had loved so much.

Not sure what else to do, she contacted her Aunt. She packed hers and some of her Mum’s clothes, a wedding photo of her parents, and Plum in her little carrier. Her Aunt arrived to pick her up just as she’d finished tidying the house. Together they locked the doors and windows, holding onto each other while they spoke their final words over the passing of a father, and a mother to Lucy and a sister to Mary. Lucy had straightened her head and whispered good bye to her childhood, while the farm vanished behind a bend in the road.

Her Aunt took her home to the cottage she lived in, near the heart of the city. The moment Lucy entered Newtown; her life took on an entirely new dimension. She remembered a story her Mum told her often when she was a little girl, about a princess who fell asleep and slept for a hundred years, to be woken by a kiss. Shifting in response to the rocking bus and human pressure, her heart full of grief for her old life—she longed to awaken.

***

Senior Detective Simon Peruse looked down at the female body on the grassy ground. On the pale, bare torso, her dark nipples appeared as obscene flowers, a curious, peaceful expression on her face, framed by her carefully combed honey blonde hair. Her arms stretched away from her body, her ankles demurely crossed. Death came in many shapes and forms; some fought it, some seemed to accept it. He stepped back and heard people behind scuttle out of his way. His reputation of disliking what he called pottering about the scene preceded him.

He watched people around him going about their jobs, discussing a funny program, or just being plain bored. The body of the young woman was now being photographed, and otherwise processed. He waited for the CSI team to leave. Alone, he liked to reassess the crime scene hoping to get a better feel or idea of what could have happened. Not that he could learn a great deal here. The open space and people cutting across the park from all directions pretty much destroyed the area. It’s time for a coffee, he thought, turning his back on the park.

At thirty-five years of age he was considered a handsome man; tall, with regular features, light brown eyes and hair, Simon exercised most days, visiting the police gym and running. Born in the Zone, he had chosen to finish his education outside of the Zone, taking his first job off-planet, at the first of the Australian Space Communities, the ASC-1, as a customs officer. He had met his first love, Solace. There, and after a stormy courtship, they married. It did not take long to realize he’d made a mistake. He loved her, but for her, he had been someone to tame, to possess; her handsome man. He stuck it out for five years and was saved from making a decision when she left him. Soon after, he’d transferred back to Earth, his ego battered and bruised. He had been back within the Zone for the last five years and not bothered to date since. At first, he took up a position with the Zone customs, but eventually, he’d joined the Zone Crime Fighters.

Part of his work on ASC-1 involved creating a network of informants for Australian Space Customs. His contract with space customs still current, he travelled periodically to establish new contacts or transfer old ones. On the occasions he visited ASC-1, the knife twisted in his chest less painfully each time.

***

Samuel Shine tied his apron around his waist. Hearing his wife’s cleaning bucket scraping over the tiles in the diner, he nodded, satisfied, and unrolled the bundle of knifes in front of him to begin his daily routine of sharpening.

Samuel and his wife Rosemary ran a roadside pub, Sam’s Pub, just outside of Newtown. Its location ensured a steady flow of tired travelers from the South, in need of refreshment. Good food, being away from the noise and hustle of city life, and not having to travel too far made the pub a popular place for people from Newtown, as well. Many regulars from nearby farms enjoyed the garden in summer and also a place near the fireplace in winter.

The couple had purchased the pub late in their life, turning it into a thriving business. Samuel loved the mornings most of all: the summer light, warmth and birds; but also the winter darkness and coziness when the ovens heated the kitchen. Every morning, after dealing with the deliveries, Samuel sharpened his knifes to the sounds of his wife’s cleaning noises. He had always been self-employed, working most of his life as a gardener, although his greatest passion remained food. He cooked great, heartwarming meals, sticking to old and tried recipes, adjusting the menu to the seasons. During quieter times he would leave the kitchen and walk among the tables, noting with satisfaction the emptied plates in front of the patrons. He would stop for a chat here and there, wink at Rosemary behind the bar, and collect dishes on his way back to the kitchen. Samuel was a content man.

Rosemary, a well-built, average-height woman, aged well with fine skin and fair hair, listened to her husband sharpening his knifes. She thought affectionately of Samuel, a fleshy man with gnarled hands, weathered face and bright, good humored blue eyes. She’d fallen in love with the man mirrored in those eyes long before the first wrinkle formed on his face. They had two children, a boy and a girl, both grown up and away from the Zone, finishing their studies. They came back during their holidays to be fattened by their father’s cooking and spoiled by their mother’s attention. Samuel poked his head in through the kitchen door, caught her eyes and winked at her. She smiled back at him. Rosemary was a content woman.

Chapter Two

For Hermann, life changed quite suddenly through a series of fortunate and unfortunate events. It began with a knock on his front door early on a Saturday afternoon. Opening the door, he saw a man in a suit and a young man in police uniform.

Can I help you? he mumbled politely, although he knew they’d made a mistake. The barking dog lived about three doors down the road from his house.

Hermann Pope?

Yes, he said, holding the door.

Mister Pope, the uniformed policeman said, stepping closer. We are from the police department.

We would like to have a word with you regarding one of the cleaning women at the hotel you work for, the man in the suit said.

Oh, Hermann said, frowning. Have you tried the hotel manager?

Can we come in, Mister Pope?

Hermann glanced behind him and decided the house wasn’t quite prepared for visitors. I think not. I mean it’s best if you don’t. I mean, he added hurriedly when he saw what he thought was a disappointed expression. The house is not quite in order for visitors.

The uniformed man cleared his throat. The man with the suit knitted his brows.

We need to talk to you, Mister Pope, the man in the suit said. I’m a senior detective with the Zone Crime Fighters, investigating a murder. If you don’t want to talk here, we’ll have to ask you to the police station for questioning.

Questioning? Hermann repeated. What kind of questioning?

It would be best to talk inside, Simon repeated, allowing some irritation into his voice.

Glancing behind him, Hermann shrugged, and leaving the door ajar, turned back toward inside. Just close the door behind you, he called back. Simon followed Hermann through a small entrance hall crowded with piles of newspapers and other rubbish. The house stank. Hermann lead the men through a kitchen that looked bad and smelled even worse, and into the sitting room. He motioned toward a couple of worn armchairs for the men, while he perched on the armrest of a sofa.

A quick glance at the chairs and Simon decided to remain standing. The victim’s name is Monica West, he said. Do you remember her, Mister Pope?

Yes, of course I remember Monica. What do you mean victim? What happened to Monica?

Where were you last night, Mister Pope? Simon asked, ignoring his question.

I was home.

Has anybody seen you? Did you talk to any of your neighbors?

No. I never do, Hermann shrugged. No reason.

When did you come home?

I finished work and came home straight after.

Did you stop anywhere?

I didn’t need to. Why?

So, there is nobody to verify your whereabouts?

What happened to Monica?

Monica West is dead, Simon said after a moment.

Dead? Hermann repeated, then his eyes widened. Is there a reason you are asking me these questions?

Routine questioning of anybody knowing crime victims is part of our investigations. You knew Ms. West well enough. You’ve worked with her, Simon said. If you can think of anything relating to Ms. West, please let us know.

What do you mean?

For example, have you ever seen her outside of work?

No. I just worked with her, Hermann said shaking his head. He knew the women caught up outside of work, heard them talk about it often enough.

Has anybody ever come to see her at work?

Not that I recall.

Well, that’s all for now, thank you for your time, Mister Pope, Simon said.

With the men gone, Hermann tried to think of Monica West as dead. He had not known much about her life outside work. In a way he felt guilty about, the news of Monica’s death fascinated and horrified him. Strangely energized, he walked through the house with new awareness of its state and decided to do some cleaning up.

There is a whole dimension or space between bad and good news. Good news takes on a limited space and path; bad news, on the other hand, needs lots of space. Bad news is untamable, wild. It cannot be controlled. While what is good news for our fellow men often fills us with lethargy, bad news energizes. No matter what stages of life we’re going through, no matter what has happened to us, what is bad news for our fellow men reminds us we are possibly still better off, that for at least a short while, our grass is greener. Hermann, like most of us, didn’t wish anything bad for his fellow men. He just didn’t want them to do better than he did.

***

Shivering in the cool summer morning, Lucy pressed the signal button for the approaching bus. She had a job interview to attend to, just outside the city. The bus stopped to pick her up, the door opened and a smiling driver wished her good morning. Lucy smiled back, unsure, feeling immediately embarrassed. With no other passengers and plenty of seats to choose from, she sat at the back of the bus, watching the cityscape thinning to countryside.

She got off at her stop, and waited for the bus to pass. Looking across the road, she saw a low building with a parking bay beside it. A double-sided wooden sign declared it to be Sam’s Pub: open seven days, serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. Cultivated land surrounded the building on both sides, farm houses visible in the distance. Behind her, a side canal ran alongside the road; the tall reeds bordering it obstructed her view. In the break from the traffic, she could just hear the faint trickle of water and a call of a bird from among the reeds. Part of the canal system, the ditch linked with the main waterways within the Zone. Lucy took a deep breath, straightened her clothes, and crossed the road. Despite the early hour, a busy line of long buses and other transport vehicles whizzed by in both directions.

Reaching the building, she faced a screen door, covered with shade cloth making it difficult to see into the dim interior. She knocked, called out softly at first, then louder.

Oh, hello. Come on in. It’s Lucy, isn’t it? She heard a voice and quick steps. A moment later the screen door unlocked and opened by an older woman. It’s nearly time to open anyway, she said. Come in, please.

Rosemary saw a young woman, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, clean-scrubbed face not bothered by any cosmetics. Her eyes caught the girl’s before she looked away shyly. She wore a large jumper over a pair of jeans and work boots.

Aware of the older woman’s inspection, Lucy glanced down at herself anxiously. Wasn’t she dressed appropriately?

Would you like some coffee?

No, thank you.

Tea, then? Rosemary offered, smiling encouragingly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy accepted.

Rosemary poured herself freshly brewed coffee and placed a mug of hot water with a tea bag, sugar and milk on a table for Lucy.

Come, let’s sit down, she said, and when Lucy sat down, she chatted a bit about the weather and other things in general, watching the young woman relax with her tea. She asked a few questions and after a while she felt satisfied Lucy would be capable of doing what would be required of her. When Lucy told her about her parents’ recent death, she felt great sympathy for the girl.

Lucy, in turn, warmed to Rosemary quickly, and as she was used to looking after the farm she’d grown up on, she had no doubt she could cope with the work required of her.

After a while, Rosemary offered to take her around and introduced her to Samuel, who was busy with preparations in the kitchen. She saw the vegetable and herb gardens and the chickens. A couple of old dogs waved their tails lazily, soaking up the heat from the first rays of the rising sun, and a shaggy cat crouched on the low wall separating the gardens. A small paved area with tables and chairs overlooked a little flower garden full of roses and other blooms Lucy couldn’t identify. Vines shaded the tables, running up wooden poles and across a neat wooden structure overhead. The peace and simple beauty of the place brought tears to her eyes, and she took a few deep breaths to regain control of her feelings. After the anxiety of wondering if she would be hired, she heard with relief the job was hers. She could start right then, she said, when Rosemary asked.

Laughing at the young woman’s enthusiasm, Rosemary set her down with another cup of tea to talk about her hours and pay. This was all new and confusing to Lucy. At the end of all the talk Rosemary took her through the kitchen to show her a furnished, sunny room opening from it. Yellow-spotted blue curtains decorated the windows, drawn back, allowing a view into the gardens.

This would be your room, Lucy.

My room? Do I have to live here? Lucy said suddenly anxious

Well, with the hours you will be working, we thought it would be easier. Is there a problem?

I’m sure my Aunt won’t mind. I’m worried about my cat, Plum. She is from the farm. I’ve never been separated from her.

Why don’t you bring your cat with you? Rosemary suggested.

Lucy thought Plum would like the pub. With so much space to roam, it would be just like the farm at home, plenty of food and warmth in winter. I’d like that. Thank you, she said, smiling at the older woman gratefully.

Rosemary watched the smile spread to the young woman’s eyes, surprised to see how it changed her face. With a bit of attention, Lucy could turn into quite a beauty, she decided.

Sam can help you move, but he won’t have time until mid-afternoon.

I don’t mind waiting. Maybe I can help with something. Lucy offered.

During the short lull in the afternoon, Samuel drove the girl—he had forgotten her name—back to Newtown to pick up her things from her Aunt’s house. She seemed keen on her new position, and Rosemary certainly took to her. Under their management the pub had become quite busy, even though it wasn’t considered a large pub. He was too busy in the kitchen to be of real help to his wife, and it worried him how she exhausted herself trying to be cleaner, waitress and bartender all at the same time.

Glancing at Lucy in the passenger seat, he saw a plain girl, but Rosemary said she came from a farm and would fit in. He pulled up in front of the Aunt’s cottage and Lucy went in and came out shortly, carrying a small suitcase and a cat carrier. Samuel got out of the car, introduced himself to the Aunt, who followed Lucy out to the car, probably to check him out. On their way back to the pub they sat quietly, Lucy holding onto the cat cage and Samuel, deep in his thoughts of dinner preparations.

***

The investigations revealed Monica West to be an ordinary young woman, probably at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her manager, workmates and relatives told Simon how she had always been so full of life, and also what a nice person she was.

How could she die? the workmates lamented.

How could it be true? her loved ones asked over and over. Sad eyes searched his for answers and turned away when they saw none.

At the station, Simon wrote reports, made calls and dealt with some of his older cases. His shift ended with no news from the coroner or the crime scene investigators. Finally he decided to drive home and work out his frustration.

Running along his usual route, he followed the wide bend of the main canal slicing across the city. Through the tall reeds, he could see only glimpses of water. He crossed over a bridge that ran along the north side, cutting through a popular park. Well-tended green lawns, trees and large wooden umbrellas provided shade, inviting families. He tried not to think of Monica West or the other cases he worked on, focusing on driving his body hard.