by Vanda Symon
‘Ah, no, I was wanting to order something to eat.’ The waitress looked at him, and he gestured to the other seat, which I took.
‘I’ll have the eggs too, please, but with salmon. And a flat white, thanks.’ With reluctance I decided to forgo the wine. It didn’t go well with eggs. I felt quite relieved when the waitress went away.
Cedric was looking pleased with himself. ‘A lunch date with a detective.’
‘Don’t push it, sunshine.’
He smiled in his crooked manner.
‘So are you the man known as Spaz?’
‘Why?’
I could see I could spend a lot of time playing games here, so I launched in – well, partially. I didn’t really want to break the news that his friend was dead over a plate of bacon and eggs in a cafe.
‘We’re concerned about the safety of a man named Richard Stewart, also known as Clifford, and are enquiring about his movements.’
‘You’re a bit late; he’s dead.’
It was my turn to gawp. ‘Well, yes, he is. But how did you know?’
‘Smithy, this morning.’
Smithy didn’t tell me he’d tracked Cedric down. Surely he would have mentioned if he did. Then again, he was rather distracted at the moment.
‘Detective Malcolm Smith?’
‘No, Josh.’
Of course, Jase had mentioned a Smithy in the line-up of Jonesys and Scottys. News travelled fast. I looked more closely at him to gauge what he was feeling. He was trying to smile, but his eyes were on the brink of overflow.
‘I’m sorry.’ I had to resist the urge to reach out and hold his hand. ‘Did Josh tell you of the circumstances?’
‘Yes.’
I thought about Clifford’s circle of friends and the patterns that were emerging, and took a punt. ‘How did you know him? Was he a friend, or were you a client?’
He looked quite startled, an expression that was very exaggerated on his face. ‘You’re direct.’
‘Would you prefer me to be more circumspect?’
‘Direct’s good.’ He took a pause to have a go at his lunch and consider his reply. While he did so I looked through the glass wall into the art gallery and pretended to have a great interest in the nearby stand of greeting cards.
‘Friend and client. You won’t arrest me here? Make a big scene?’ He’d regained his composure and cheek.
‘No, you’re quite safe. It would probably cause a riot. Anyway, I haven’t had my lunch yet and I’m hungry, so you’re off the hook. For now anyway.’
My meal and my coffee arrived, and I thanked the waitress. She still eyed me with suspicion. I guessed Cedric was a regular here, and yes, the staff did look out for him.
‘What did he supply you with?’
‘Pot.’
I’d have thought he had enough challenges in life without throwing illicit plant life into the mix. He must have read my mind; either that, or my poker face struck again.
‘It helps with the spasms,’ he said.
I turned to my meal. At least now I could concentrate on eating, instead of trying to ignore my urge to feed Cedric.
‘Is that why he was killed?’ he asked.
‘We don’t know at this stage, but we have to look into every aspect of his life.’ He must have upset someone pretty bad to have that done to him. ‘Was he, shall we say, self-employed, or did he have a boss?’
‘Own boss. Small time, I think.’
Perhaps he’d stood on someone else’s toes or ventured onto their territory. People who were into petty crime – not that drug-dealing was petty, it was way up there in my book of base occupations – often dabbled in more than one felony. What other sources of income did he have? I wondered.
‘He was a grower, then. Do you know where his plot was? Was he outdoors, indoors or hydroponic?’ If he was an electrician, he’d have had the skills to set up a nice little indoor system. It made sense in Dunedin’s climate.
Cedric shook his head. He didn’t know.
‘Did he have any other sideline enterprises, or dabble in something harder?’
‘I don’t know, Captain Kirk. He didn’t tell me.’
So I had stumbled upon a Star Wars/Star Trek geek. My mind automatically censored the geek reference, then I laughed at my own stupidity. Cedric had, in this brief meeting, already shattered a few of my misconceptions, and I found him totally disarming. I wondered if he had this effect on everyone who met him, particularly the girls. I had to overcome my urges to mother-hen him.
‘Thank you, Mr Spock. So when did you last do business with him?’
‘Eleven days ago.’
Most people weren’t that exact and certainly not that quick. But then, according to Jase the Ace, Spaz here was supposedly some kind of genius, so exact was probably standard.
‘Was that the last time you saw him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where was this?’
‘Aramoana.’
Aramoana again. ‘At a party perchance? The weekend of the ship grounding?’
He nodded.
‘Did Clifford do quite a bit of business among his friends?’
‘Yes.’
Easy customer base, I guessed.
‘It’s likely he’s been dead for a while.’ I saw Cedric’s face crumple a bit at that and reminded myself this was a friend I was talking about. ‘But no one reported him missing. Had he mentioned he was going away anywhere?’
‘Said he might go to the crib in The Catlins for a week. Otherwise I would have been worried.’
‘So you stocked up?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did he often do that – take off for a bit?’
‘Yes.’
We both turned our attention to our lunches. Chances were that Clifford’s plot was down that way and that he had headed off to do a spot of garden maintenance. A hydroponic or indoor set-up would blur and extend the borders of the natural growing season.
‘Did he ever say he was being hassled by anyone – other dealers or clients – or did he seem worried about his safety?’
‘No. Happy guy all around.’ Yeah, probably high most of the time.
While it was refreshing being able to be this direct with someone, it also seemed rather sad. And yes, although it was my sworn duty to report certain drug-related aspects of this conversation to my colleagues, there was no way in hell I’d be able to do that to Cedric … no, Spaz, he suited Spaz. Some selective filtration would be in order. Anyway, this was just a little chat with a new acquaintance over lunch. I wasn’t on the clock, as it were.
29
When Smithy and I walked into Cash for Crap, the first thing that hit me was the sheer volume of junk; the second was the dank smell. No matter how new or how clean, there was the unmistakable scent of second-hand tat, that nose-twitching mustiness that triggered an immediate urge to sneeze. The owner of this establishment did his best to present the stock like it was brand-new, but the illusion failed in a tired and forlorn kind of way. It didn’t put off the punters though; I could count five individuals and a young couple perusing the aisles. We headed towards the counter, and even from a distance it was clear this was our lucky day.
‘Oh my God. Check him out – that has to be Frog,’ I said to Smithy.
He took one look at the specimen behind the counter and snorted. The young man was wearing a black Metallica T-shirt that did nothing to hide his major attack of the skinnies, nor did his posture – shoulders hunched, head jutting forwards like it was too much effort to hold it upright. The shirt colour-coordinated nicely with his jet-black hair, and they both contrasted in a stark, almost three-dimensional way, with his incredibly white skin. He had a major case of a Dunedin suntan. The first word that popped into your head when you saw his protruding, bugged-out green eyes was ‘frog’. The eyes reminded me of my great-aunt Dolores, who had a thyroid problem and a set of optics to match.
‘Your turn or mine?’ I asked Smithy. Rhetorical question, really – his moo
d hadn’t improved any.
‘Knock yourself out.’
I gave him a sideways look. We walked up to the counter, and I could tell by the sudden change in demeanour that Kermit had picked us as cops.
‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Shephard and this is Detective Smith. And you are?’
‘Joe, I mean Josiah.’ He said it like a person who seldom used the full version. ‘Do you need to speak to the boss? He’s out of town at the moment.’
‘Do you have a surname, Josiah?’ He had a very biblical Christian name for someone who dressed like that.
He mumbled something inaudible.
‘Sorry, I didn’t hear that.’
‘Winterbottom,’ he said and looked down at the floor. No wonder the poor kid went by Frog. Smithy had to walk away and take a look at a toaster.
‘Do you happen to go by the nickname Frog?’
And I thought he looked uncomfortable before. Now his chest caved in on itself even further. With the skill of the socially awkward he had managed to avoid all eye contact thus far.
‘Er, sometimes.’ At least he had the sense not to lie.
‘We need to ask you some questions about Richard Stewart, also known as Clifford.’ I made the assumption that he, like all of Clifford’s associates, had caught up with the fact he’d been killed. It was the correct assumption judging by the sudden rush of colour to his face, repeated swallowing and moisture to his eyes. ‘You are aware of what has happened to him?’
The head nodded.
‘When was the last time you saw Clifford?’
‘I dunno. I suppose a couple of weeks ago.’
‘I need you to be a little more specific, please. Can you recall when and where you saw him last?’
‘There was this party out at Aramoana a few weekends back. That would be the last time, and he was fine then.’
‘This was the weekend of the ship accident?’
‘Yeah.’
Familiar territory yet again. ‘So it would be the Sunday morning when you spoke to him?’
Frog was probably out treasure hunting like the rest of them, looking for some loot to flog off here – make some pocket money to pay for his next pair of pointy-toe black boots or bottle of hair dye.
‘No, I had work on Sunday, so left the party early. You can check. I brought four others back here to Dunedin with me.’
‘Define early.’
‘Two in the morning, I guess.’
I didn’t point out that was technically Sunday morning. I didn’t want to put him further off speaking, as he wasn’t exactly running free at the mouth.
‘And there had been no signs of aggro or trouble at the party up until the time you left?’
‘No, it was sweet. There weren’t any troublemakers.’
I wasn’t sure whether to believe anything from a guy who made no eye contact throughout the conversation. But then, I was getting the impression young Josiah here had difficulty making eye contact with anyone, let alone a woman – let alone a woman detective.
‘You were friends with Clifford. How often were you in contact with him?’
‘I dunno, couple of times a week?’
‘Were you concerned that you hadn’t heard from him the week following the party?’
‘No. He’d mentioned he might head off for a week, so I assumed he must have gone away.’
So far, same story. I wondered if he had something else in common with the others we had interviewed. ‘So, Josiah, were you a friend and a customer?’
He started and accidentally looked me in the eye before regaining his composure. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We know he supplied dope for his mates. Were you one of his customers too?’
He sighed and slumped some more. ‘No, don’t touch the stuff.’
I’d swear he was almost embarrassed to admit it. If he drove a carload of mates back to Dunedin at two in the morning, then it was likely he wasn’t much of a drinker either, or else he was the sensible, responsible type. That kind of thing was probably not too good for his image.
‘But others in your group did?’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’ Square and loyal.
‘He’s not what I expected from one of those elmos,’ Smithy said as we left Cash for Crap and breathed in some welcome fresh air.
‘I believe the term is “emo”, Smithy. You’re showing your age. Although, despite the carefully cultivated appearance, he seems more prudish than most.’
‘Never trust appearances.’
I didn’t need to be told. I was slowly learning to overcome my innate need to trust everyone and to question my unwavering faith in humanity, but I was still at the beginning of my journey to fully fledged cynic. Smithy had a black belt.
‘I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be standing within cooee of you.’
30
‘Okay, so has anyone else noticed that the flatmate, Leo, who’s apparently shacked up at his girlfriend’s, is proving difficult to contact? He doesn’t seem to have been around for a while. Perhaps we’d better check if “a while” has been four or five days or if it extends to weeks.’
We were having a team meeting in the squad room. It was a far more relaxed affair than usual, because Dickhead Johns was off at some compliance conference, so we all had a day off wanker-watch.
We’d been placing informal bets on who dunnit and why they dunnit. So far, eighty per cent voted that he’d been knocked off by some disgruntled customer or competitor. I’d chucked in the flatmate query just to be awkward. We were waiting on Detective Billy Thorne from the drug squad to come and brief us on current events. They’d been having a quiet word here and there to see if there were any interesting rumours circulating. Despite it being in their best interests to be secretive, there were always those in the criminal world who were inclined to brag. There were also those who weren’t averse to selectively leaking a little information; a deterrent to any players muscling in on their territory. Nothing like the graphic description of a vicious beating to keep the troops in line.
‘Yes, we had noticed, but people don’t always come to light immediately. I thought we’d established he was with his girlfriend and were working on that?’ Smithy said.
‘It’s still all hearsay. Stone-head flatmate Jason said he was, and also a couple of the touch-rugby team guys. But no one has definitively located him yet. And Clifford’s name has been released into the media, so if the flatmate was oblivious to what’s been going on before, he should have heard word by now. Everyone else in their group seems to.’ Mind you, some people weren’t physically grafted to their cellphones. We’d managed to get my mum out of the Stone Age and buy her a cellphone, but it didn’t mean she remembered to charge it or turn it on. Maybe Leo Walker was of that ilk. Also, some people lived in a current-events vacuum. I was a bit too fond of newspapers for that. My day wasn’t right until I’d had two cups of tea and my dose of the Otago Daily Times.
‘Do we have the girlfriend’s name and address yet?’ Reihana asked.
‘“Trina” is all we know, or “The Screamer” as one of them told us. They all seem to be on first-name or nickname-only basis, even though they’ve known each other for years. Considering that these are the same guys who didn’t notice their mate had been missing for over a week, I think we need to get serious about tracking this guy down. We have a cellphone number, which I’ve left messages on, but there’s been no response. I think it’s time to get a warrant and check his activity with the phone company.’
‘Perhaps you’d better pay another visit to our friend Jase, while you’re at it, and find out when exactly he last saw his flatmate, and where he might possibly be,’ Smithy said.
‘Ew, I don’t want to go back to that flat. I might catch something.’ I accompanied the comment with the appropriate hand actions.
‘Hey, you brought it up.’
He had me there. Sometimes it didn’t pay to volunteer too much.
Billy Thorne had been doing drug-sq
uad duty for five years. If anyone could catch a whiff of a rumour it was him. He didn’t fit the profile of someone who spent the day dealing with the seedy underbelly of the city. He was a bit too clean-shaven and shiny. He’d never manage undercover work; he didn’t have the serious smoker crags and crinkles you’d need for that lark. But for all the sparkly appearance, he had a knack.
‘Sorry I’m late. Had to go see a man about a job.’ He’d also seen The Fix, judging by the large takeaway coffee he had in his hand. I noticed I wasn’t the only one in the room coveting it.
‘You’re all right, Billy,’ Smithy said, as he took a sip from his mug of god-awful instant with enough sugar to curl his hair. He still held the record for the most sugars per cup – three. Olympian effort. ‘So, what do you know?’
‘Not a hell of a lot to help you, I’m afraid. Your victim seems to have been strictly small-time pot. Small enough not to stand on any toes from serious enterprise. Some were aware of him, mostly because he was dumb enough to get caught, but he was tolerated, and no one had seen fit to pay him a visit.’
‘Did anyone know where he was growing?’
‘No, or else they’d have ripped him off before now. No honour among thieves.’
‘So you don’t know if he’d have had an indoor or outdoor set-up?’
‘In Dunedin you’d have to think indoor to guarantee success. Anyone well resourced would go indoor. God knows it’s easy enough now with the specialty hydroponic stores around. I understand our man was an electrician, so he would have had the skills to set up a good operation. When we got him on his conviction a few years back it was indoor. Nothing sophisticated then. A dozen plants in a converted sunroom in his flat. Flatmates kept mum, probably encouraged by a free supply. You can be pretty sure his parents never came to visit.’
‘We’ve been to his flat. It’s got “police-raid target” written all over it,’ I said.
‘And we have raided it periodically, especially when he was subject to parole conditions. Nothing found. The victim had more sense. I’m not sure about the flatmates, though.’ Yes, ole droopy eye had proven how impaired his judgement was. ‘The growing season has finished, but we’ll keep hunting.’