by Amos, Gina
‘Mum, it’s okay. It me, Nick.’ He looked into her eyes and waited for a sign of recognition.
‘Nick?’
‘Yes, Mum. I’ve bought you some flowers, roses. They’re your favourite.’
The nurse returned to the room with a narrow vase and set it down on the bedside table. Helen Rimis looked at the cream-coloured roses.
‘They’re lovely.’ A smile formed on her thin bluish lips. Her flat chest rose as she took in a sudden breath and he studied her face. Guilt overshadowed him. It hadn’t been a conscious decision to stay away; she had just slipped out of his life without him realising it.
‘She seems more settled now,’ Rimis said to the nurse.
‘We don’t know where she found the strength to unlock the window. She’s as frail as a sparrow. She wasn’t in the garden overnight, only an hour or so, since first light when the shift changed. We bought her in and gave her a shower straight away and changed her into a fresh nightdress.’
‘Has the doctor been in to see her?’ Rimis asked.
‘Doctor will be in later today. He might want to change her medication. We’ve given her a sedative. And we’ve spoken to maintenance. Someone’s coming in later to change the lock on the window –make it harder to open.’
Rimis smiled to put the nurse at ease because she looked embarrassed. Or was it a look of worry he saw on her face? Was she worried that he might report the incident to the Aged Care Complaints Scheme?
Helen Rimis stirred.
‘Do you want me to call your brother and tell him what’s happened?’ The nurse asked.
‘No, I’ll tell him.’ Rimis’s shoulders slumped. ‘I appreciate what you all do for her, you know.’
The nurse smiled at him before leaving the room.
Helen Rimis loved gardening. Before she became ill and was forced to leave her home in Maroubra, where Rimis now lived, she’d spent almost every day in the garden, tending it. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to the garden outside her window. Some distant memory of better times. She would be disappointed if she saw what Rimis had done, or rather, not done to her garden. It was neglected and overgrown and the roses badly needed pruning. He decided that from now on he would make more of an effort.
Helen Rimis was well cared for at Bayside Nursing Home. It was clean with pleasant surroundings, good food, and friendly, caring staff. Rimis’s brother visited every second day for an hour or two; he sat with her, read to her, took her for walks in the garden. Peter Rimis was older than Nick by six years, and over the decades the age gap between them had never closed.
Rimis knew his brother didn’t approve of his choice of career or his lifestyle, and he knew Peter thought he should have worked harder on his marriage. If Rimis had, then Fiona would never have left him and he would have had children by now. A few months ago, Peter and his wife Christina tried to fix him up with a nice Greek girl, but they gave up when they realised he was a lost cause.
Without exception, every March for the past five years, Peter and Christina took the boys out of school for a week and headed up the coast to their holiday home at Bluey’s Beach, leaving Nick to look after his mother. It was the only thing his brother had ever asked of him. This time was important. It was family time.
Rimis returned to his car and switched on the CD player. By the time he drove into the Station car park, the CD had finished. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and was surprised it was almost eleven o’clock. Seeing his mother this morning had unnerved him. He wasn't overweight, but he knew he ate lousy food and drank too much. He’d given up the cigarettes more than a year ago. That was something, at least. He knew he had been doing everything wrong and made a mental note to ask Rawlings the name of the gym he belonged to and about the cost of membership. He put on an extra burst of speed and ran up the stairs to his office.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rimis sat at his desk and checked his emails. He clicked on a message from Doctor Ross and opened the attachment. It was Paloma Browne’s post mortem report. The toxicology and screening results revealed her death had been caused by an overdose of heroin. There were no diatoms found in any of her internal organs or bone marrow, and the blood in her heart had been undiluted, indicating she’d been dead before she entered the river.
Paloma’s fingernails hadn’t revealed anything; they’d been bitten down to the quick. A nervy type, Rimis thought to himself. No skin fragments were found under them, only a few rayon fibre threads that could have been picked up anywhere.
Brennan stormed into Rimis’s office without knocking. She folded her arms against her chest.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ she said.
‘Knew what?’
‘Dorin Chisca. He was a suspect in my father’s murder enquiry. You knew and you didn’t tell me.’
‘Close the door and sit down.’ He looked at her hands. They were trembling. ‘I said, sit down.’
She sat down and he saw her bite her lip.
‘Yeah, I knew.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I didn’t want it to affect the way you dealt with Chisca, or the case. I didn’t want you to get all emotional on me and lose perspective.’
‘Perspective? Fuck perspective.’ She tried to blink the tears away. ‘One of the members of the Romanian gang was arrested for what happened that night, but there was talk he was protecting someone, someone higher up the food chain. It was Dorin Chisca, wasn’t it?’
‘Who’ve you been talking to?’
‘Scott Carver.’
‘What the hell are you doing talking to a crime squad commander?’
‘He was there the night Dad was killed. I phoned him. I wanted to hear what he had to say about what happened.’
‘Did he tell you anything?’
‘It was a short phone call. He couldn’t tell me a lot because he didn’t see it happen, but he did tell me about Chisca.’
‘Feel better now you’ve got that off your chest,’ Rimis said.
‘Yeah, I do.’ She unfolded her arms and sat back in the chair.
‘Now you’ve calmed down, talk to me.’
She took a deep breath and asked him what he knew about her father.
‘I knew him only by reputation. You know when one of our own gets killed on the job, there’s always a lot of talk. I heard he took a lot of risks. He was hot-headed. Maybe that’s where you get it from.’
Brennan looked at him and frowned. ‘And Chisca?’
‘The drug squad have had their eye on him for four years but he’s small time. There are bigger fish to fry. It’s all about priorities, budgets, manpower. One thing I did find out, Chisca always seemed to know when we had him under surveillance or if a push was being made to shut him down. No evidence was ever found, or at least, not enough to have him put away.’
Rimis knew Brennan understood what that meant. Chisca had someone in his pocket and it wasn’t a fortune-teller.
‘When I first met you, I didn't twig to who you were. That came later when you were assigned to the art fraud case. When we found out Chisca was involved, I didn’t know how much you knew about how Mickey died, or even if you wanted to know.’
Brennan squirmed in the chair.
‘Look Brennan, I’ve got Chisca sweating it out in interview room three. If he’s got anything to do with your father’s death, we’ll nail him this time round. I promise you.’
‘I want to sit in on the interview.’
‘Okay, but pull yourself together. When I call you in, I don’t want you saying anything. I want you to watch the body language. I want your impressions.’
'Me?'
'Yes you. Anything wrong with that?’
Dorin Chisca had been alone in the interview room for almost twenty minutes. ‘Mr Chisca,’ Rimis said as he opened the door. He gave the Romanian one of his stock standard smiles. He sat down across the table from him. ‘Can I get you coffee or tea?’
‘No, thank you.’ Chisca glanced at the audi
o-visual machine on the table next to him. Rimis followed his eyes.
‘We’re just having a friendly talk. No need for any of that. Come on, you must be thirsty. Sure I can’t get you something? A glass of water maybe?’
Rawlings walked in and sat down next to Rimis.
‘No. I am not thirsty. I am in a hurry, and as you know, I am returning to Bucharest at the end of the week. There are many loose ends I need to tie up before I leave.’ Chisca flicked his wrist and looked at his chunky, gold watch.
Rimis noticed the tufts of black hair above his knuckles and wondered what the loose ends were and if they had anything to do with Paloma Browne or Freddie Winfred. He pulled a pack of mints out from his shirt pocket and slipped one into his mouth.
‘Been in the country long, Dorin?’
‘I have resident status. I have been here for ten years.’
‘Like living here then?’
‘It would be hard not to. Australia is a lucky country. But as I told you yesterday, my parents are elderly. I need to take care of them.’
‘Must be hard being an only child. I’ve got a brother and it helps when you can share the load.’ Rimis ignored the surprised look on Rawlings face when he mentioned his family. He kept his gaze steady and studied Chisca’s face. It was like interviewing a cut-out character. He looked for something, anything. He was waiting for the cracks to show.
‘Did you have anything to do with Freddie Winfred’s murder, Dorin?’ Rimis asked in a calm voice.
‘What is this?’ Chisca slammed a fist on the desk and stood up. ‘Of course not. I phoned the emergency number, 000, when I found her. If I killed her, would I have done that? And would I be here now, co-operating with you?’
‘Please, sit down. There’s no reason to be upset.’
‘Upset? I am more than upset, Inspector.’
‘Look Dorin, you must appreciate we have questions concerning Miss Winfred’s death that we need answered. You must realise, interviewing friends, relatives and associates is routine procedure. We need to pursue every lead we can. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, please tell me again. What happened? What were you doing at the warehouse?’
Chisca sat at an odd angle in the steeled-framed chair. The chair squeaked.
‘I will tell you again. I arrived at the warehouse at ten o’clock. I check the warehouse and storeroom every Monday morning. Always the same time, except for last Monday. I had other things I had to do.’
‘Tell me what these things were.’
‘The health care in Romania is not as good as it is here. I had a dental appointment. You can check the time.’
‘Don’t worry. We will. What happened when you turned up at the warehouse?’
‘There was this terrible smell, a smell which was very bad. I tried to find out where it was coming from. I walked into the bathroom, I found her there. Found Freddie with her head down the toilet bowl.
Rimis adjusted his tie and looked around the room. ‘Hot in here, isn’t it? We’ve been having a few problems with the air conditioning.’ He leaned forward, pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Now, let me get this clear,’ he said. ‘You check the stock in the warehouse every Monday, but not last Monday.’
‘That is what I keep telling you, once a week, every Monday.’ Rimis heard the tiredness in Chisca’s voice.
‘We’ve been trying to trace Freddie’s last movements. The last time anyone saw her was when a black Bentley picked her up from outside her gallery last Sunday week. According to a witness, Freddie was in a big hurry. So, where were you going?’ Rimis locked his fingers together and stared into Chisca’s dark eyes.
‘An investor phoned,’ Chisca snapped. ‘We went to see him together.’
‘What? On a Sunday?’
‘Busy, successful people don’t always work Monday to Friday, Inspector.’
‘Why did you take Freddie with you?’ Rimis loosened his tie.
Chisca sighed. ‘Freddie Winfred was a charming woman, Inspector. She was very persuasive when it came to dealing with clients, especially male clients. The investor said he could only give us thirty minutes to do the business. He had a plane to catch that afternoon. For some reason, known only to him, he could not wait until he returned.’
‘What was this investor’s name?’
‘Mr Norton, Mr Lionel Norton. He is the Chief Executive Officer of Cairncross Holdings. We went to his office in York Street. I have his secretary’s details. She was also working and will confirm the meeting.’
There was a knock on the door. Brennan entered, whispered something in Rimis’s ear and walked out again.
‘Excuse me for a moment, Dorin.’ Rimis and Rawlings stood up.
Chisca shifted in his seat. ‘Will we be much longer? I have things I need to do.’
Fifteen minutes later Rimis and Brennan returned to the interview room. Rimis knew from experience that enough time had passed for Chisca to be wondering what had been important enough for him to leave part way through the interview. It was a tactic Rimis often used to make a suspect nervous.
Rimis slapped a file on the desk and sat down. He brushed away an imagined speck of fluff from his shirt before he opened the file and picked up a crime scene photo of Paloma Browne. He pushed it across the table towards Chisca.
‘Have you ever seen this young woman before?’
Chisca leant forward, tilted his head to one side. His face showed no emotion. ‘How can I tell? Part of her face is missing.’ He sat back in his chair with a blank look on his face.
Rimis pointed to the photo of her left wrist; it clearly showed a butterfly tattoo. ‘Know anyone with a tattoo like that?’
Chisca shook his head.
‘Well, take a look at this then.’ Rimis produced another photo from the file and pushed it across the table. ‘It’s a photo of the same girl at her year twelve formal.’
‘I do not know her. I have never seen her before.’
Rimis took the photo back and looked at it. This was what Paloma Browne had looked like before she was murdered. Intelligent eyes, tumbling long red hair. ‘Her name was Paloma Browne,’ Rimis said. ‘She was a twenty-year-old art student. She died from an overdose of heroin. Then she was put into an industrial garbage bag liner and dumped in the tidal section of the Lane Cove River.’ Rimis drummed his fingernails on the desk, leant forward and looked into Chisca’s eyes. ‘She was Freddie’s gallery assistant. Freddie ever mention her? Paloma. An unusual name, don’t you think? Not a name you’d forget in a hurry.’
‘I told you at the warehouse when you asked me the same question, I do not know this girl.’
Rimis held up the photo again. ‘Sure you don’t know her?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’
Rimis shoved another photo in front of Chisca. ‘And this woman, do you recognise her?’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Inspector. Of course I do. It is Freddie.’
‘Not a good way to die, you’d have to agree?’ Rimis asked.
Chisca shook his head a number of times.
Rimis returned the photos to the file and closed it. ‘Seems strange you didn’t know Paloma Browne.’
‘I do not know what more you want me to tell you. I have told you everything I know. I did not know the young woman and I did not kill her, or Freddie. You cannot pin these murders on me.’
Rimis looked at Brennan. ‘Did you hear that, Senior? I don’t recall asking Mr Chisca if he murdered that poor girl. He’s only here because we wanted to talk to him about Freddie.’
Chisca’s eyes flashed in anger. He stood up and thumped his fist on the table. ‘If you wish to continue this senseless questioning, I would like my solicitor present. I know my rights.’
‘Of course you know your rights and you’re entitled to have your legal representative present if you want to be formal about all this, but I thought you just dropped in for a quiet chat to help us with our enquiries.’
‘Is this what we are having Inspector? A quiet chat?�
� Chisca looked at the audiovisual recorder again.
‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Chisca. We have your signed statement, but we may need to speak to you again.’
Chisca pushed the chair out of his way and walked towards the door. ‘So that is it then?’ he asked.
‘Yes, at least for now. And Mr Chisca, it might be an idea to cancel your flight back to Romania, at least until this is sorted. Hope you took out flight cancellation insurance.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rimis looked at Brennan sitting across the desk from him. ‘Give me your thoughts on Chisca. You believe him?’
‘I think I do. I’ve checked his story about rushing off with Freddie to see a client. Norton’s PA confirmed the meeting. The dental appointment checked out too. But I don’t believe him when he said he didn’t know Paloma.’
‘What about the warehouse. Anyone see or hear anything?’
‘It was a Sunday, nobody was working.’
‘No chance of a CCTV, I suppose?’
‘It’s only a small estate. There’s no security.’
‘What about Nicolae Vladu? Anybody know where he was while all this was happening?’ Rimis asked.
‘The Sarge’s got Luke looking into his whereabouts,’ she said.
‘Paloma Browne’s post mortem report doesn’t say anything about needle track marks, so we can assume she wasn’t a regular user,’ Rimis said.
‘What about the severed arm?’
‘A clean amputation, consistent with a sharp object. Doctor Ross made it clear in her report that interpretation was difficult. Lane Cove River is a busy waterway, plenty of water-skiers, power boats and ferries about; a propeller blade could have caused the amputation. Could also explain the trauma to the face.’
‘You know what I’m thinking?’
‘No, Brennan. I never know what you’re thinking. You’re a complete mystery to me.’
She smiled. ‘Maybe someone had a grudge against her. An ex-druggie boyfriend who didn’t like the fact she was clean and had plans for her life.’