Chapter 25
This was the last thing Estella needed in her life right now. After the night she’d had? Gio cornering her in her office, almost getting herself killed like some kind of amateur and almost having Ellie killed with her! Not to mention the hangover this morning. Was this woman fucking kidding her?
“Thanks for coming in,” said Detective Yolanda Markos from her seat across the table. “It’s been a while.”
“Coming up ten months,” Estella said evenly. “Even Barry would have charged me by now.” She felt a hand on her arm and bristled. Sasha never let her have any fun.
“Well,” Yolanda smiled. “I’m definitely not Barry.
” That smile; Estella hated it. It looked almost genuine, as if this middle-aged cop thought she had all the time in the world to take Estella down.
As if all of Estella’s planning, her years of work and her airtight alibis were simply a tapestry Yolanda would enjoy unpicking, stitch by stitch, until there was nothing left but blank empty fabric, ready to stitch a whole new story.
“How can my client help?” Sasha interjected smoothly, before Estella could leap across the table and put her hands around Yolanda’s throat.
“As you know, the taskforce has been looking into the deaths of your husband and four other men associated with your family business, Mrs. Grant.” Yolanda watched as Estella tried not to flinch.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t even ask you if that was how you preferred to be addressed, after your husband’s untimely passing. ”
“Estella is fine.” She let her eyes drift down dutifully at the memory of her husband, fidgeting at her now empty left ring finger, devoid of any diamonds or gold. Would Ellie be able to cry on command if she needed to? Estella would have to ask her.
“What you might not know is that during our investigation, a number of interesting angles have come to light. As lead investigator, I have successfully petitioned to expand the scope of the taskforce, to include another five deaths, over the past decade.”
“Whose deaths?” Estella raised her head fast.
“Lucca Florelli, Alessandro Florelli, Elio Florelli, Vincenzo Florelli, and the recent suspected homicide of Violetta Florelli. As well as the believed abduction of her daughter Ava.”
“My client, as you know, is not an associate of the Florellis,” retorted Sasha. “She has no information pertaining to these unfortunate events.”
“I’d love to jog her memory,” Yolanda said warmly.
She rested back in her chair, comfortably.
“Lucca Florelli and Alessandro Florelli were, as you may know, cousins. Lucca was the eldest son of the head of the family, Luciano Florelli. Alessandro was the son of his brother, Ezio. The pair were gunned down outside Ezio’s house back in 2015. ”
“I don’t associate with Florellis.” Estella repeated the party line.
“No, I would think not. Lucca and Alessandro, we believe, were responsible for an alleged abduction of a woman in 2002. The abduction was — quite unusually, given the circumstances — reported to police at the time, by your father, Floyd Carletti. The alleged victim was Celestina Carletti. Your mother.”
“I was twelve years old,” Estella said rigidly. “I didn’t know the names of my mother’s attackers. That is not information that would be given to a child.”
“I’m sure,” said Yolanda. Her eyes were surprisingly gentle.
“It must have been a terrible time in your life.” Estella wasn’t stupid enough to trust her, nor to respond to a question that had such an obvious answer.
“Lucca and Alessandro kept your mother for a month. On her return, your father recanted his statement. Said he’d been mistaken.
That he and his wife had argued, and she’d returned to family interstate to cool down. ”
“My father was at the mercy of the Florellis,” Estella said, as though the memory of that wasn’t imprinted on her very bones. “And, again, I was a child.”
“A very frightened, traumatised child, I’m sure,” Yolanda said. “It must have been horrific, having your mother taken from you. Especially in light of what the rest of her life was like.”
“This is all irrelevant,” Sasha said sharply to spare Estella the response. A small chip of ice thawed in Estella’s heart. Sasha was about the best normie Estella had ever met. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“Really, at this point, it’s just an observation.
Two dead men, both previously responsible for a terrible assault on your immediate family.
And then, of course, the deaths of Elio and Vincenzo.
Elio was gunned down near his son’s primary school, while Vincenzo was killed six weeks later when he pulled into his driveway on his way home from work.
Do you recognise the names of these two men? ”
“I think we’ve established that my client doesn’t associate with Florellis for all the reasons you’ve just made abundantly clear,” Sasha repeated.
“I understand that Estella was a child when her mother was abducted. But not when her father was killed during a turf war over drugs in 2013. His alleged killers were never caught nor charged, however there were unconfirmed reports of eye-witnesses having seen Elio and Vincenzo fleeing the scene.”
“My client was a young, grieving woman who’d lost both her parents. Do you have a question for her? Because if you’ve brought her here just to inflict further distress and trauma, we’ll leave right now.”
“Let me put it to you this way, Estella. Four men who caused you and your family incalculable harm were murdered between 2015 and 2016. Your mother’s death was back in 2007, and your father’s was in 2013. Do you remember what happened in 2015?”
“Enlighten me,” Estella gritted out.
“Your brother-in-law, Adam Grant — at the time, the head of the family — was murdered. Your husband would eventually go on to be charged for his death in 2016, but his conviction was overturned in all that kerfuffle with that lawyer you were sleeping with.” Yolanda wasn’t smiling now, and her eyes were no longer soft.
She watched Estella for a reaction Estella would never give her.
The detective steepled her hands together across the table.
“But I digress. In 2015, in the wake of Adam’s death and before your husband was charged, Mike Grant became the head of the Grant family.
And so by 2015, you were married to a very influential, very dangerous man. ”
“Do you have a question?” Sasha sounded dangerous now too.
“Did you, Estella — by order or by influence — arrange the deaths of Lucca, Alessandro, Elio or Vincenzo Florelli?”
“I did not.” The words were simple. Estella had no problem saying them.
Yolanda watched her. She took a calm breath and changed tacks.
“Tell me about Violetta Florelli.”
“I don’t associate with Florellis.”
“Then let me enlighten you. Violetta was the daughter of Luciano Florelli. He is, of course, what we’d call your counterpart in the Florellis.”
“The head bitch in charge?” Estella got Sasha’s annoyed hand grip again. Yolanda smiled.
“I’m unsure that’s the title he’d claim. Luciano is very much the head of the Florelli family, so the epitome of everything you hate, wouldn’t you say?”
“Strong words,” mused Estella. “I find hatred unhelpful. I hear it’s like holding on tight to a piece of hot coal and hoping it burns your enemy.
You should try the Loving Kindness meditation instead, where you send your love and a wish for peace to those who’ve wronged you.
I highly recommend it.” Sasha didn’t even pinch her for that one, which was her version of laughter.
“Luciano’s daughter, Violetta, was — again, unusually, given the players involved — reported missing, by her mother, Bruna.
Her car was found in the Maribyrnong River in August of last year, but police forensics found traces of her blood in the seat.
Her bank accounts are untouched, and her phone was never recovered. ”
“That’s very sad to hear. I hear violence against women is endemic amongst gangs.” Estella leaned forward across the table, nodding along to Yolanda’s story, her face the very picture of pity. Yolanda deliberately turned over page of her notebook and continued.
“Her daughter, Ava, disappeared in November— just two months ago. At first, she was believed to be a runaway, and her family — more routinely — did not make a police report. However, an investigation was launched after security footage at her university was discovered showing masked attackers pushing her into a van.”
“I think I saw that on the news,” was all Estella gave her. “Very scary.”
Yolanda narrowed her eyes. “Ava is only twenty years old. She has a whole life ahead of her. She’s more than just a Florelli. She’s just a grandchild; an innocent in all this. She was studying art history and was engaged to get married.”
“A little young, don’t you think?” The words were out before she could stop them. Yolanda went still, her head cocked slightly.
“Around the same age you were,” she said. Estella didn’t move a muscle. Yolanda watched her eyes like it was a goddamned staring competition. “Tell me more,” she said, “about your marriage to Mike Grant.”
“No,” said Sasha. “My client has told you everything she knows, and we have cooperated fully. This interview is terminated.”
Out in the carpark behind the police station Estella stopped still and threw up behind a trashcan. Sasha handed her a goddamned wet wipe because she was, of all things un-Sasha-like, the parent of a three-year-old. She patted Estella’s back briskly and then walked her to her car.
Estella climbed in the back, shaking and queasy. Fucking Ellie Graham and her wily ways, Estella would never drink white wine or whisky ever again. Sasha slid in next to her, while Kenneth, without having to be asked, blasted the air conditioning.
“She’s got nothing,” Sasha said. “She’s going rogue, throwing anything at the wall to get it to stick.”
“I don’t like it,” said Estella. “This chain of inquiry. It’s… not good, Sasha.”
She watched Sasha absorb that. “Well,” she said tightly. “Thank you so much for the head’s up.” She got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.
Sometimes Estella wished she still smoked.
She sat, as darkness fell, out on the balcony tucked away at the back of her house, right off the main bedroom.
She didn’t want to see alcohol again for a long time, if ever, and right now she desperately needed something to do with her hands.
She toyed with the cup of peppermint tea she was sipping, trying to get her stomach to settle.
The night air was balmy, a blessed kind of calm after the ferociously hot days and nights the city had been smothered under.
It was only January; there were probably three more months before summer would truly dissipate.
Tonight though, she was happy for the warmth.
Ever since the interview with Yolanda, she couldn’t seem to stop shivering.
She just needed more time. She’d take anything, really, even a lifetime in Dame Phyllis Frost prison if it came to that, if she could just see this plan through to its fruition.
It had taken her too long and had cost her too much for fucking Yolanda to roll in and take it away from her now.
It was enough that she already had the mess that was Gio Florelli to take care of, right at this sensitive moment in time.
She couldn’t handle another distraction.
It was bad enough that she’d let herself get distracted last night as it was—
The next step was suddenly crystal clear to her. Ellie had to go. The realisation hit her surprisingly hard.
Ellie had served her purpose, she reminded herself.
Estella had pulled her in, she’d seen it happen right before her eyes.
Ellie had gone from wanting to study her, to wanting to please her and she couldn’t help but admit that the shift was satisfying.
Ellie would give the performance of a lifetime, one that would give her the career she deserved, because all props to her: Eloise Silver was a hell of an actress.
And Estella? Well, she would get the portrayal she deserved.
Truth was, she didn’t even really care about what a jury might think of her anymore.
Ellie would give Estella her legacy, and that would be enough.
Estella had enjoyed the process far more than she’d thought she would.
Far more than she should, when it came down to it.
Ellie was… Ellie was surprising, and Estella had thought she was long past being surprised.
Estella had slowly become intrigued, then fascinated.
Ellie Graham was slippery; she couldn’t quite figure her out.
One minute she was flushed and frightened, the next bold and seductive.
She had dirty jokes and a quick temper, even though her bite was adorably mild.
Estella had seen her with her nephew and sister; she’d heard the tenderness and protection in her voice.
Yep, Ellie was a mystery, but one that would fade soon enough.
She’d hit wild success sometime soon, Estella was sure of that.
She’d see her face in the glossies one day — probably from prison — a photo spread of some handsome husband and cute child and remember with a sly grin, the way Ellie had sometimes been completely flustered by her.
Estella tried to hold that thought in her mind, Ellie pink-cheeked and trying not to squirm when Estella teased her, or the way she had looked - and not looked - at Estella in her bikini that day in the pool.
The way she’d swayed helplessly closer to Estella on the dancefloor, their bodies like magnets, as if Ellie had been hypnotised by her.
Because oh… that thought was gratifying; Estella very much liked having the upper hand.
It helped keep Ellie safe in her box, where she belonged: another faintly aroused, confused pawn that Estella could play if she needed.
That’s what she needed from Ellie Graham, not her arms gripping tight while Estella trembled against her and definitely not standing there with her chest heaving in a too-tight dress with Estella’s desk lamp in hand, having just about killed a man.
It was definitely time to say goodbye to Eloise Silver.