Fallen Angel

by Angus McLean

  ‘So they’re making the assumption that since it’s his apartment and his girlfriend, then he’s done it.’ Molly nodded. She took a sip of her coffee as she mulled it over. ‘Which is a reasonable guess, really.’ She saw my look and held up a placatory hand. ‘Except we know he wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘That’s right.’ I took a breath. I needed to get a grip; no point getting offside with my number one supporter. We needed to figure this out, and there was nobody better at running an objective eye over something than my wife. I know, because she runs one over me all the time. If she didn’t I’d probably be living in squalor, eating fried chicken and watching DVDs all day.

  ‘So it’s somebody else.’ She took another sip. ‘Who is that person?’

  ‘Let’s look at the how first.’ I ticked points off my fingers. ‘She’s in Mike’s apartment legitimately – he says she was supposed to be coming over. The head injury I saw was on the back of the skull, so presumably she’s been hit from behind, indicating a surprise attack.’

  ‘So was she ambushed and didn’t see the attacker,’ Molly said, ‘or did she know they were there but the attack itself was a surprise?’

  I nodded. ‘We don’t know that yet. Seeing as there’s no sign of forced entry, I’m guessing she’s let herself in then let the killer in, or at the same time.’

  ‘So it’s somebody she knows.’

  ‘Or at least someone she doesn’t feel threatened by.’

  ‘But why would you let someone in at that time of night if you didn’t know them? It’s not like you’d let in some random, like a door to door salesman or something.’ Molly frowned. Even her frown was pretty.

  ‘No, it had to be someone she knew.’ I walked to the kitchen and put my coffee mug in the sink. ‘So that’s the how.’ I walked back to the dining room and stood. I wanted to fold my arms but my wrist was too tender. I still wasn’t happy about that. I leaned against the breakfast instead. ‘We know the where. The how seems kind of clear.’

  ‘When?’ Molly drained her mug and pushed back from the table. ‘You checked her body, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I nodded. ‘But you know how on TV they turn up to a murder scene and the pathologist goes “Based on lividity I can tell you she died between 7:30 and 8:45pm”? It’s not like that at all. The best you’d get is a window of several hours. All I can say is she was dead and she wasn’t cold, so it was fairly recent.’ I shrugged. ‘The cops’ll get a better idea from the PM.’

  I saw her frown. ‘The post – mortem, the autopsy.’

  She nodded and stood, taking her mug out. I’m good at pondering, so that’s what I did. When Molly returned, I ticked off my fingers again.

  ‘So we have the what, the where, the when-ish, and the how. We need the why and the who.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ she said, her tone tentative. ‘Why…’

  ‘Did Mike run?’ I finished. ‘I don’t know. I’m guessing either he freaked out and wasn’t thinking straight, or he just didn’t want to get arrested for something he didn’t do.’

  She cocked her head to the side and chose her words carefully. ‘It doesn’t look good for him, though.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ I knew very well how it looked. The Detective Dan Crowley part of me would say that innocent men don’t run. The private investigator part of me, the part that experienced life outside the big blue machine, would say that people do all sorts of strange things for very good reasons. ‘Chances are the cops’ll just focus on him now, which isn’t good.’

  ‘So what’s the plan from here, Great Detective?’ I knew she was giving me cheek but I took it anyway. It had been a bad night and I needed all the ego-boosting I could get.

  ‘First off, a shower and breakfast. I can’t operate on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’

  I raised an eyebrow but didn’t grace that with a comment. ‘Secondly, find out what’s going on with the investigation. Thirdly, find Mike and make sure he’s safe.’

  Molly nodded her agreement. ‘I’ll take the first shower then; you can get breakfast. I’ll rearrange the schedule for today, bump off whatever I can.’

  I slipped my arms around her waist and pulled her close. ‘We should double team that shower. Then I’ll get breakfast while you’re fluffing about.’

  ‘Really? At a time like this that’s your best idea?’

  I feigned innocence. ‘It’s all about saving water.’ She pried herself loose and headed towards the bathroom. She says she doesn’t have a sway of the hips but she does, and I was digging it. ‘It’s better for the environment.’

  She continued to ignore me.

  ‘Environment-hater,’ I called at her back.

  If the planet falls apart, don’t blame me. I tried.

  Chapter 3

  Dawn was breaking when Mike stirred. He was cold and had dozed fitfully, tucked under a trailer in the landscape supplies yard.

  He shook himself off and found an outside tap, using it to freshen up. As he did so he realised he had blood on his hands. He stared at them. He didn’t remember even touching Sarah’s head. An image flashed into his mind, her lying there dead on his floor. He could see her clear as day.

  He could smell the coppery blood.

  Mike closed his eyes and shook his head, forcing the image from his mind’s eye. He felt bile burning in the back of his throat and swallowed hard.

  Don’t lose it.

  He scrubbed his hands vigorously, scooping up loose sand from the ground to remove the dried blood. He washed his face again and ran wet fingers through his hair, then bent and drank deeply from the tap. The lip of the tap was rusty and the water was tepid but he guzzled it down anyway.

  He’d read in a cowboy story once that Indians used to completely fill up on water, soaking their tissues before trekking in the heat of the day. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but he didn’t know when he would next get a drink, so it seemed like a good plan for now.

  As refreshed and rested as he was going to be, Mike retraced his steps through the broken fence and crouched in the roadside undergrowth, taking in his surroundings. Early bird commuters were starting to move and soon there would be joggers and dog walkers out. Dogs were no good if you were trying to hide and he couldn’t hunker down here all day, so he figured the best idea was to hide in plain sight.

  A charity clothing bin was on a corner further down the road towards the Drury village centre. He made his way down there, realising as he got closer that he might be in luck.

  The bin was stuffed to the gunnels and there were several plastic bags of clothes sitting beside it. Thanking his lucky stars that he’d beaten the local scavengers to the punch, Mike had a quick fossick through and grabbed two yellow Pak’n’Save bags and a black bin liner that appeared to have men’s clothing.

  The public toilet block across the road was unlit and needed a good clean, but it served the purpose. He used the water and hand soap from the dispenser to give himself a quick wash, then dried himself on his own clothes.

  It only took a few minutes for Mike to get himself changed. His trainers were the only things that fit him now, but at least his appearance was changed. The jeans were paint stained and too short in the leg and the black sweater had a rip under one arm and a picture of a cartoon duck smoking a cigar across the chest.

  He transferred the cash and wallet to his pockets, bundled his old clothes into the bags and replaced them by the bins, hoping nobody had seen him.

  The tiny village centre was starting to come to life and Mike stood off, watching. On the opposite side of the road was a Mobil and a couple of automotive businesses. On his side of GSR were several shops, including a bakery that was already open.

  A dirty ute pulled up with four big blokes in hi-viz vests and work boots. They piled in to get their pies, chicken skewers and coffees. Mike mingled in behind them, ordering a large flat white. He selected a steak and cheese pie and a filled roll from the cabinet, and ate the pie while
he waited.

  It was hot and good and he bought a second one when his coffee arrived.

  More customers were arriving and gave him good cover. He grabbed a newspaper as well and tucked it under his arm, carrying the second pie and the filled roll in a plastic bag as he walked north on GSR back towards Papakura.

  It was already humid and he knew he would be roasting soon enough in the clothes he’d foraged. He needed to get somewhere safe and he needed to talk to Dan.

  He needed to know.

  ***

  The apartment was cordoned off and two uniformed cops were standing guard. Both had Glocks on their hips and front-slung rifles. They looked alert.

  A pair of CIB vehicles were parked in the car park, alongside a marked patrol car. A detective stood talking on his phone and smoking beside the cars. It looked unprofessional. We cruised past and did a U-turn, watching from further down the street.

  Mike’s block was one of those apartment complexes that are fully fenced and gated and you can only get in and out with a resident’s access card. The building was basically a two storey rectangle with a pool and cobbled outdoors area in the centre. The one- and two-bedroom apartments were home to a variety of working couples and singletons, no kids, nobody over forty apart from one dude who was like a self-appointed custodian.

  I teased him that it was like a 70’s swingers pad. He didn’t deny it. I guessed I probably wouldn’t tease him about that anymore.

  ‘Not much happening,’ Molly observed. We were in the big car and she was driving. The big car was a blue late model Mazda 6, perfect for our needs because it was smart and reliable and blended in well for surveillance.

  ‘Too early for ESR, SOCO and Photos,’ I said. ‘They won’t do a proper scene exam until daylight, probably even after the morning briefing which’ll be at least 0800.’ It had been a while but I found myself slipping easily into cop-talk.

  Molly glanced at me, her hands locked on the wheel. ‘Can I have that in English?’

  I gave her a slight grin, just enough to make my ‘tash wriggle. ‘ESR are the techos, the CSI types. SOCO are the Scene of Crime Officers, they do fingerprinting. Actually, being a homicide, they’ll use Fingerprint Section instead.’

  ‘Why? What’s the difference?’

  I shrugged. I’d never really understood that myself. ‘Fingerprint techs are apparently better than SOCO’s. And Photos is…’

  ‘Let me guess – Photography Section?’ Molly gave me a mocking look. ‘Gee, I managed to figure that one out all by myself.’

  I gave her disapproving. ‘No one likes a smart arse, Molly.’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  I looked back to the front and saw the smoking detective striding down the footpath towards us. I realised now it was Vance. He was still smoking, or maybe he’d finished one and was now smoking again. Either way, he looked grumpy.

  I buzzed down my window as he got up to it. I was going to be polite, but he clearly wasn’t.

  ‘What’re you doing here, Crowley?’ He leaned down and looked across at Molly. ‘And who’re you?’

  ‘Yes, good morning Mr Vance,’ I said. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing here.’

  ‘We’re sitting in our car minding our own business.’

  ‘Returned to the scene of your crime?’

  I raised an eyebrow. Just one, though; he wasn’t worth two. ‘My crime?’

  He scowled at me. He had dark bags under his eyes. His cigarette smoke was wafting up into the car.

  ‘If being roughed up and falsely arrested is a crime, then yeah, here we are.’

  ‘And who’re you?’ He ignored me and fixed his gaze on Molly again.

  ‘I’m Molly,’ she replied. She gave him the look she usually reserved for me when I didn’t replace the toilet roll. ‘Who’re you?’

  He snorted dismissively and looked back at me. He sucked on his durry, squinting against the smoke. ‘So where’s your mate?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who else is on your suspect list?’

  He exhaled smoke in my face as he answered. ‘It’s a short list.’

  ‘Hopefully it’s longer than your list of accomplishments,’ I told him, waving the smoke away. I glanced at Molly. ‘Let’s go.’

  She slipped the car into gear as I started buzzing the window up. Vance went to put a hand on the window but Molly was already moving off.

  ‘Enjoy your cancer,’ I smiled.

  I could feel his eyes on us as we drove away. Molly reached the end of the street and hung a left, heading onto the Ellerslie-Panmure Highway. It took us north towards the office.

  ‘He seemed nice,’ Molly commented, cutting across a lane and earning herself a blast of horns from her latest driving victim. She glared in the rear view mirror. ‘Jeez, how rude.’

  I restrained myself. ‘Yeah, he’s a peach.’

  Molly took us right onto Main Highway to the Ellerslie village centre, left and right again, and into the car park behind the Ellerslie Business Centre. The Southern Motorway – or the parking lot, as I like to call it – was only a few metres away on the other side of a wooden fence. Tonnes of steel hurtled down that highway every day, but that trusty wooden fence would protect us.

  I noticed a seemingly inconspicuous grey Honda across the car park. There had been a similarly inconspicuous maroon Mitsubishi down the block, and I had no doubt there’d be others dotted around.

  Our office was on the first of two floors and we took the stairs. We shared this level with a family law firm we did some work for, an insurance firm we did a lot of work for and a mortgage broker we did no work for at all.

  Our door had a plaque that read Chase Investigations on it. I unlocked, disarmed the alarm and hit the lights. Molly flicked the jug on and I went to the large windows that looked out onto the main drag. The windows had Venetian blinds for no other reason other than I thought they went well with being a private investigator. You never saw Magnum or Rockford with net curtains.

  It took a few seconds to spot the white tradie’s van further up the road. It had some plumbing pipes secured to the roof and blacked out windows in the back.

  I grunted to myself. Maybe this was going to be a bit trickier than I thought. I turned to take a cup of tea from Molly as she joined me at the window. The mug was hot and the tea was green. Apparently it’s good for you. At least it didn’t smell like hers – she likes her tea to be flavoured. Todays could have been chamomile. Or ragwort. I’m not good with herbal teas.

  ‘I feel like we’re being watched,’ Molly said.

  ‘We are. Probably listened to as well. There may even be cameras in here.’

  Molly looked alarmed. I checked my watch.

  ‘It’s after seven now. They’ve had their sights on Mike for eight hours now. That’s enough time to get covert surveillance rolling. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re live on our phones and have probably wired the office. They’re probably round at our place now, and putting trackers on our cars.’ I wanted Molly to know what we were possibly up against, and I also wanted the listening ears to know that we knew.

  ‘How can they do that? Don’t they need a warrant?’

  ‘It’s a homicide, they believe he did it. They’ve got emergency warrantless powers. They’ll roll into the court and get it all signed off by a judge, but for now they’re covered. Mike works here, so it’s reasonable to target the office.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s what I’d do, and I’m a far better detective than Hugh Kennedy ever will be.’

  Molly gave a slight smile, knowing that last comment had only one purpose. She sipped her tea. ‘So I guess we just carry on as normal then?’

  ‘Yep.’ I took a sip of my own mug. ‘Nothing we can do for Mike. He’ll turn up and hopefully in the meantime the cops’ll catch the real killer. Mind you, with Kennedy in charge, the best result is usually the least likely.’

  ***

  Sarah had been easy company as far as Mike was concerned.

&nbs
p; No strings, no expectations, lots of fun. He knew that Dan thought the benefits involved in a “friends with benefits” relationship were pretty limited, but Sarah had been more than that. They’d gone to movies, out for meals and running together. Almost like dating. Almost. That had been a running joke between them – we almost made it.

  He’d tried to explain it to Dan once, but it was like he’d been speaking Japanese. In the two years or so they’d known each other, neither of them had raised the prospect of making it official. They both knew what they were doing and there was no need to complicate it.

  So, officially at least, Mike didn’t consider himself a grieving boyfriend. Grieving, absolutely. It felt like someone had reached inside his chest and ripped his heart out. Boyfriend? Not so much. But it didn’t mean he was any less angry.

  No, angry didn’t quite cover it. Enraged? Getting closer. Mike could feel it inside himself, a living, tangible beast boiling away in there, wanting to consume him. Even his divorce hadn’t affected him like this, and that was no walk in the park. It would be so easy to let it take over, flip out, lose the plot, do whatever the angry beast made him do. Smash stuff up, scream and rage, get hammered.

  But he knew none of that would help him.

  He needed to stay focussed. Sarah’s murder wouldn’t solve itself.

  Papakura was home to all the stores he needed. A small shop in a side street sold and repaired lawnmowers and bicycles. Mike picked himself up a second or third hand basic Avanti mountain bike for a hundred bucks, grabbed a helmet and lock to go with it, and moved on quickly.

  The bike was a no-brainer as far as he was concerned. Everybody in Auckland hated cyclists, apart from cyclists themselves. The cops paid them no attention, so it was easy to melt into the background. A man walking on his own stood out. A guy on a bike was just another idiot taking his life in his hands. Plus it was fast, quiet and easy to park.

  A stop at Farmers gave him two sets of clothes – tidy shorts, T shirt, hoody and baseball cap, and nylon sports shorts and a breathable T for on the bike. He added a pair of wrap around shades and paid cash, then lugged the bags up the road to a thrift store and rummaged through a shelf of odds and ends until he found a 30 litre day pack in reasonable condition.