Killing Sunday

by Amos, Gina

  ‘Sit down.’ He swung his chair around and clicked onto a file on his computer.

  ‘I’ve got the DNA results back from those cigarette butts you found at Freddie’s gallery.’

  ‘With everything that’s happened, I’d forgotten all about them,’ she said. ‘Did we get a match?’

  ‘The girl must have been a chain smoker, or else she’d been waiting there for a while. Five of the butts belonged to her.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘We’ve eliminated Chisca and Vladu, which is disappointing, but we’re still searching the National Data Base.’

  ‘Just because we can’t link Chisca and Vladu to the gallery, doesn’t mean we can eliminate them completely,’ Brennan said.

  ‘You’re right.’ Rimis stood up from his desk and stretched his arms above his head. ‘Chisca is our only lead, but he’s not talking. I’m not sure where we go from here.’ He looked at Brennan. ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she said.

  ‘Well, if you need to talk to someone, my door’s always open.’

  ‘Thanks, boss. Any news on how I went in the Bull Ring?’

  ‘Not yet. I wouldn’t worry though, I’m sure you impressed the panel.’ He smiled at her. ‘How about dinner tonight? I know a good Thai place at Coogee.’

  ‘Thanks, boss, but maybe some other time.’

  Rimis turned his attention to the open files on his desk.

  ‘Well, back to it then.’

  Brennan slapped her thighs and walked out of his office. ‘Yeah, back to it.’

  Rimis watched her go, how could he be so stupid? He had just asked a subordinate officer out on a date. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

  Later that evening, Jill walked into her bedroom and dragged out a cardboard archive box from the back of the wardrobe. She sat down on the floor cross-legged, scared of what she might find. This was all that was left of her father, just a box of old papers and photos. She tipped the contents onto the floor, found his warrant of appointment, his driver’s licence, even an old library card. And then there were the photos: her mother with a baby in her arms, a few of their wedding, her father in his police uniform taken the day he received the Commissioner’s Certificate of Merit.

  A road had collapsed during flooding and five members of one family plunged into a creek. They all died, but typical of Mickey Brennan, he tied a rope around his waist and scaled down an embankment to search for any survivors. He had stayed with the bodies until help arrived. She picked up the photo. Tears welled up in her eyes and dripped onto the photo. The day it was taken was the day she had decided she wanted to become a police officer. She had been just ten years old.

  At the bottom of the box, in a plastic folder, she found a bundle of bank statements clipped together. She flicked through them until she found one dated April, four years ago, and there it was. Fifty thousand dollars, a cash deposit banked to Mickey’s account just as Morrissey had said.

  She let the bank statement drop from her hands and tried to think. Had she broken any law? If anybody had, it was Morrissey. And her father? Consorting with a known criminal for starters and who knew what else. No, she didn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. She picked up the photo again. Her father had been a handsome man; she wondered why he never remarried. She recognised her own physical features in his face, the blue eyes and the blonde hair.

  She picked up the statements again and looked for a pattern in the withdrawals. The only payments she found were rent payments, credit card payments, and the old Land Cruiser he had on finance. She remembered how much he had loved that car. There were no records of her school fees or university fees. Her father was hopeless with money and record keeping.

  If her father had borrowed money from Chisca, it didn’t look like it had ever been repaid. She realised he could have paid him in kind, rather than money. He might have done him a favour, turned a blind eye. Chisca wasn’t about to tell her anything. She closed her eyes and thought about the fifty-thousand dollars. There was nothing she could do about the money, it was long gone. But what about Morrissey? Who knew what other criminal dealings he was involved in? They both knew if she pointed the finger at him, she would muddy the good name of her father. Morrissey was smarter than he looked. What he had told her about her father undermined everything she thought she had known about him. She pulled herself up from the floor and walked out into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured herself a glass. She stood at the kitchen bench and looked out the window at the neighbouring block of apartments. She had never felt so alone. She knew she should go to bed, but she couldn’t quite drag herself off yet. She finished her glass of wine, refilled it again and thought back to what Chisca had said about Morrissey watching his back. What had he meant? Was it a threat, or a warning?

  Morning came and Jill wondered if she’d be able to get out of bed. If it weren’t for sheer will power she would never have made it to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water and swept her hair back into a ponytail.

  An hour and a half later she was in Chatswood, at her desk. She had taken the time to apply makeup this morning to cover her puffy eyes and hoped nobody would notice how wretched she looked.

  She checked her emails, answered the important ones and finished her cup of canteen coffee. She then set about creating two files, one for Paloma Browne, the other for Morrissey. She knew the skills she had learnt when she was practicing law complemented the skills she needed to be a good detective. She had to be persistent, have sound judgement, and be thick-skinned and analytical. Her fingers danced across the keyboard and a few minutes later she sat back and read over her work.

  ‘You’re in early, Brennan.’ Rimis said.

  ‘Thought I’d try to move some of the backlog.’ She put her computer to sleep.

  He looked at her. ‘You look exhausted.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Really.’ She forced a smile and wondered if Rimis knew she was lying.

  ‘Good. Then, I’ll leave you to it.’

  She turned back to her computer and refreshed the screen. Rimis stopped before he reached his office. ‘Brennan? I’ve had a thought.’

  She looked up at him.

  ‘I want you to go to the Union Hotel on the Pacific Highway at North Sydney and ask some questions about Paloma Browne.’

  Jill's eyes lit up. ‘What do you want me to find out?’

  ‘I want to know more about her. If she was a regular, the staff must have known her, or maybe known the crowd she was mixing with. See what you can find out.’

  ‘But hasn’t the Sarge already been there?’

  ‘I want to see if you can come up with any more information.’

  Twenty minutes later, Jill walked into the Union Hotel .

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Senior Constable Jill Brennan, Chatswood Police.’ Jill flashed her ID at the woman behind the bar.

  ‘The duty manager isn’t here. He’s gone to the Bank but he should be back soon. The neighbours haven’t been complaining about the noise again, have they?’

  ‘I’m not from Licensing. I’m investigating a homicide.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Maybe you can help.’ Jill looked at the nametag on the woman’s shirt. ‘You worked here long, Lynne?’

  ‘About two years now.’

  ‘Can you take a look at this photo and tell me if you recognise this girl?’ Jill pulled a photo out from her bag and placed it on the bar.

  ‘It’s Paloma. The poor girl. Everyone here was very upset by what happened.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘She was a good kid, on the whole. Couple of times we had to refuse her a drink, but she was never any real trouble. Had a small group of friends from the design school down the road. They came in every Friday afternoon, ate at the bistro, stayed late.’

  ‘Was there anyone i
n particular she mixed with, anyone apart from the design school friends?’

  ‘Only Colin, but I haven’t seen him in here since she died.’

  ‘What was this guy Colin like?’

  ‘A charmer, early forties I’d say, too old to be hanging around a young girl like her, but she didn’t seem to mind. I think she liked the attention.’

  ‘Gas-bagging again, Lynne?’

  ‘Derek, she’s from the police. She’s asking about that girl who was murdered, Paloma Browne.’

  The manager put his briefcase down on the bar. ‘Sorry, but I have to keep an eye on Lynne; she’d stand around yakking all day if I didn’t watch her,’ he laughed. ‘Can you go and tell Ricky I had a call from Sam’s Seafood? They can’t supply the barramundi this week.’

  Lynne disappeared. The manager walked behind the bar and pulled himself a beer. ‘Can I get you a drink? On the house, of course.’

  ‘I’m okay thanks.’

  ‘It’s muggy outside, don’t know how much longer this weather can last. Still it’s good for business.’ He lifted the glass to his lips and made a croaking sound when he swallowed. He set his glass down. ‘I don’t know what else I can tell you about the girl. I’ve already told your lot everything I know.’

  ‘I appreciate that, but we’re still following a line of enquiry. Lynne was telling me about a guy called Colin? Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘Col? Yeah, he’s one of your lot.’

  ‘You don’t mean Col Morrissey?’

  ‘Yeah, he took my statement. He’s been drinking here for years, but stopped coming just before the girl died.’

  Jill ran her hand over her mouth. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘You alright love? You look a bit pale. Sure you don’t want a drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, but I may need to speak to you again.’

  ‘I’m here most days.’

  Jill snatched up her bag and almost ran out of the hotel to where she had parked her car. It was time to speak to Rimis and tell him what she knew.

  Rimis was at his desk eating a slice of pizza when Jill walked into his office.

  ‘I thought you were on a health kick,’ she said.

  ‘I am, but it’s all this exercise I’ve been doing, it’s making me hungry.’

  Rimis threw what was left of the pizza in the bin and told her to sit down.

  ‘How did you get on at the Union Hotel?’

  ‘I’ve got some information, but I’m not sure what it means or what I should do with it.’

  ‘You can start by telling me what you’ve got.’

  She closed the door and sat down.

  ‘Well then, what’s this all about?’

  Brennan bit her lip. ‘The Sarge knew Paloma Browne.’

  ‘Morrissey?’

  She sat back in her chair and wondered what Rimis would make of what she’d just said. ‘He was a regular at the Union. I don’t know what their relationship was exactly, but he bought her dinner and drinks every Friday night, right up until a few weeks before she disappeared.’

  Rimis filled his cheeks with air and released his breath slowly. He stood up from his desk and paced the room, stopped and looked at her. ‘Tell Morrissey I want to see him. Now!’

  Morrissey walked into Rimis’s office ten minutes later. ‘Brennan said you wanted to see me.’

  ‘Sit down.’ Rimis said.

  ‘Something wrong? What have I done now?’

  ‘I said, sit down.’

  ‘Look, if it’s about what happened with Choi in the canteen yesterday, I —’

  ‘It’s Paloma Browne,’ Rimis said.

  ‘Oh yeah? What have we found out?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were involved with her?’

  Morrissey got to his feet. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Don't worry about that. You’re in deep shit, you know that, don’t you? You’re a bloody idiot. Why didn't you tell me upfront you were involved with the girl?’

  ‘I was worried about how it would look, and if Sophie ever found out —’

  ‘Were you having sex with her?’ Rimis asked.

  ‘No, of course not. I just met the girl at the pub on Friday nights. We had a few drinks, a few laughs, that’s all.’

  ‘You better not be lying to me.’

  ‘Christ Nick, she was only twenty. I’m old enough to be her father.’

  ‘Get out of my sight. I have to work out what I’m going to do about this.’

  Morrissey turned to leave. ‘Come on, Nick. Don’t tell me if some young pretty thing paid you attention you wouldn’t be in for it.’

  ‘Get out,’ Rimis yelled. A moment later there was a knock on the door. ‘What is it?’ Rimis bellowed.

  Brennan opened the door. ‘Can I talk to you, boss?’ Brennan asked.

  ‘Come in.’ He picked up a file and slapped it down again on the desk.

  ‘I need to talk to you, but not here at the Station.’

  Rimis took a deep breath and brought himself back into line. He saw the concerned look on her face. ‘My offer’s still open for dinner.’

  Jill nodded.

  He scribbled the address on a yellow post-it note and handed it to her. ‘Is seven o’clock okay?’ he asked.

  ‘See you then.’ Jill looked at the note and closed the door behind her on her way out.

  Rimis stared at the back of the door and wondered if what she wanted to talk to him about had anything to do with Morrissey.

  There was ample parking on Coogee Bay Road. Jill had allowed herself plenty of time because she didn’t know what the traffic would be like. She had twenty minutes to spare before she was due to meet Rimis so she decided to go for a walk to Dolphin Point to clear her head.

  Coogee Beach, although beautiful, was a dangerous place to swim, especially when there were huge seas. The beach dropped off suddenly at the water’s edge with a dangerous shore break. She had read somewhere that Coogee Beach caused more spinal injuries than any other beach in Australia.

  When she came here as a child with her father, they always swam at the northern end of the beach, in the old Giles Baths which was now an open rock pool. There were still people swimming. A group of boys were playing beach cricket. A few girls in skimpy bikinis lay flat out on towels. Barking dogs off their leads were following couples walking hand in hand along the water’s edge.

  She walked up to the headland and stood in front of the Bali memorial. Eighty-eight Australians had died in the 2002 Bali bombing. Twenty of them had lived in Coogee and the neighbouring suburbs.

  Jill stood still and looked out at the ocean. How easily lives could be altered, changed forever by a single act. She thought about her father and about the people who had lost their lives in Bali.

  She knew she had to tell Rimis about Morrissey and her father, about their involvement with Chisca. Her career was all Jill had. She knew Morrissey well enough to know he would try to implicate her in some way. How would she explain away the fifty- thousand dollars? She decided to ring Thomas, Munroe and West in the morning and make an appointment to see the senior partner, Max West. Perhaps he would have some answers for her.

  Rimis was sitting in a quiet corner at the back of the room when she walked into the Thai restaurant. She was on time, he was early. He stood up when he saw her and she was surprised when he pulled her chair out for her.

  She sat down. ‘I’ve been down at the beach. It’s beautiful this time of day, especially up at the Point.’ Jill picked up the menu and studied it.

  ‘See anything you like?’ Rimis asked.

  She put the menu down on the table. Jill watched him study the menu. ‘You order,’ she said. He looked at her and she quickly looked away. She reminded herself Rimis was her boss. This really wasn’t a date, she silently told herself. She had to remain professional, detached.

  After Rimis ordered for them and a bottle of decent Claret arrived, he looked across the table at her.

  ‘So what’s so
important you couldn’t tell me at the Station?’

  Jill took a small sip of her wine, leaned back against her chair.

  ‘It’s the Sarge. I think he murdered Paloma.’ She watched for his reaction.

  Rimis raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t pull any punches do you?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious.’

  ‘Alright, then. Tell me why you think Senior Sergeant Colin Morrissey is a murderer?’

  ‘You’re making fun of me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Give me your thoughts.’

  ‘If you look at this case from a different angle, it all makes sense.’ Jill leaned into the table. ‘I’ve been thinking it through. You know the note I found in Freddie’s office?’

  Rimis nodded.

  ‘We assumed the both meant Freddie and Calida, but what if Paloma was trying to blackmail Morrissey and Chisca? If the relationship Paloma had with Morrissey was more than friendship, he might have told her Chisca was up to more than just selling a few paintings. Calida worked it out, so why wouldn’t a bright girl like Paloma Browne work it out as well?’

  ‘But how did the note end up in Freddie’s office?’

  ‘Paloma used to work at the Gallery, remember? She might have left the note there. Freddie found it, misunderstood it and disregarded it. Or maybe Paloma thought Freddie was in on it, but changed her mind later.’

  ‘It’s a bit far-fetched. I know he’s guilty of a lot of things, but Col Morrissey? Murder?’

  ‘If the stakes were high enough, I think he would do just about anything,’ she said.

  ‘But he was having a relationship with the girl. I don’t know. I can’t see him doing it, I don’t think he has the stomach for it.’

  ‘Okay, then. What if Vladu murdered her and Morrissey was just the delivery man.’