by D. L. Hicks
Charlotte reeled backwards out of the car. Hands shaking, she grabbed her radio and called for backup – the most difficult request she had ever made in her twenty years on the job.
Rubbing her face and pacing back and forth alongside the vehicle, Charlotte’s heart gave a leap as Joseph emerged from the rectory, staring at her.
‘Thought you were leaving,’ he grumped, his anger clearly still festering. ‘I would like you to leave right n—’ At that moment, he noticed the door of his car was open, and confusion crumpled his already furrowed face. ‘What are you doing in my car?’ He bridged the distance between them so suddenly, Charlotte was forced to do the one thing she hadn’t wanted to do – especially without backup – but she had no choice. Stepping into Joseph’s path, she raised her hands, praying that the easy option worked.
‘Just wait there a minute. There are some other police officers on the way – we need to check something out.’
‘Check what out?’ he said angrily, trying to push past her with little success. ‘Get out of my way. I want to see what you’ve done to my car.’
‘I haven’t done anything to your car, but you can’t go near it right now,’ Charlotte said. She clenched her teeth to control the tremor in her voice. ‘Please just sit over there and—’
Joseph grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her away from him as he tried to get past. If he got to the car, vital evidence could be tampered with – evidence that Charlotte knew could prove his innocence as much as his guilt.
Her hand was forced.
She grabbed his arm and wrenched it up behind his back in a classic compliance hold. Reaching down, she snuck her handcuffs from their pouch on her belt, and cuffed first one hand, then the other.
‘What the hell? Am I under arrest?’ Joseph yelled. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘Joseph Callaghan,’ Charlotte said, the words choking in her throat. ‘I must advise you that you are under arrest for the kidnap and murder of Alice Tremonti. You are not obliged to say or do anything, but anything you say or do will be recorded and given in evidence. Do you understand?’
Joseph remained silent, but as she sat him down on the grass to wait for backup to arrive, a tear ran down his face, dripping off his chin before splashing onto the concrete path.
The worst day in Charlotte’s working life had arrived.
Like every police station Charlotte had ever been in, the interview rooms at her station were nothing short of disgusting. Bland boxes, the walls of which had – on more than one occasion – been painted, but were already scrawled with graffiti and pockmarked with holes. The rooms were used as holding pens, as much as anything else. What’s more, they had a stench all of their own – an aroma of desperation, nervousness and terror rolled into one delightful cocktail.
It was into one of these rooms that she now walked. A uniformed member sat on one side of the interview table, her brother on the other. The whole situation was surreal.
Her objectivity well and truly shot, Charlotte knew she had to find a way to get Joseph out of this mess as soon as possible. Deep down, she knew he couldn’t have done it – but she also knew that at that moment, all the available evidence pointed to him.
J.D. beside her, Charlotte took her place on the opposite side of the table to Joseph, freeing up the uniformed copper to leave. She reached across the table for her brother’s hand, which he slid away from her, a sneer fixed on his face.
‘How’re you doing?’ she asked.
‘What do you care?’ Joseph said. ‘Just stick to carrying out your job and get this over with. God knows, that’s all you care about.’
Charlotte sunk back in her chair, awash with unavoidable regret. She tried to hide her disappointment, but she could feel it practically dripping off her. ‘Fine,’ she responded, shuffling her interview papers, ‘if that’s the way you want to play it. But I’m your best chance at getting out of this shit, because unlike everyone else here, I know you, and I know that you couldn’t have done this. So while you’re hating me, remember that I’m on your side. I follow where the evidence takes me, and right now, it’s taking me to you.’
She peeled the plastic wrapping off a three-pack of DVDs, and used a thin black texta to fill in the interview details on the shiny round surfaces before slotting each one into the recording device at the end of the table with a click. An image of Joseph appeared on the device’s screen, the small version of him rolling his eyes in disgust.
This was not going to be fun.
Charlotte leant forward. ‘Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go through everything on tape. J.D. will handle the bulk of that, but I’ll be in here as his corroborator – that’s policy. This is your chance to tell us your version of events – your opportunity to get your head out of the noose, do you understand?’
Joseph raised his bloodshot eyes from the table, really looking at her for the first time since she had come into the room. He gave a small nod, a look of resignation replacing the sneer on his lined face. ‘Let’s just do it – I want to go home.’
J.D. had sat twirling a silver pen around his thumb as he’d watched the interaction between his partner and her brother. Upper management – not to mention the legal fraternity – would no doubt take her to task over this down the track, but the reality was, Charlotte had been the lead detective on the case from day one; she had to be in there. The conflict of interest could go to hell.
Or be dealt with later.
J.D. unstrapped his orange Garmin analogue watch and placed it on the scuffed desk between them, then raised his eyebrows at her. Charlotte nodded for him to begin. Depressing the bright red record button, J.D. checked the image, and the interview commenced.
‘This is a DVD-recorded interview between Detective John Darken and Father Joseph Callaghan, conducted at the Gull Bay Police Station …’
Charlotte had heard the preamble a million times, but this time it struck her like a slap in the face. Joseph – her brother, the person she admired most in life – was sitting opposite her, about to be grilled as a suspect for some of the most heinous crimes she had ever dealt with. Here he was being cautioned and read his rights. It took all her restraint not to shove the recording unit to the ground, grab her brother by the hand and make a mad dash for the hills.
If she could have, she would have.
‘Do you agree the time by my watch is now 2.35 pm?’ J.D.’s soothing voice dragged Charlotte back to reality.
Joseph leant forward and peered at the watch in J.D.’s outstretched hand, before nodding. ‘By your watch, yes Detective Darken, that is the time.’
Charlotte winced at the sarcasm lacing Joseph’s words. Looks like it was going to be one of those interviews. She knew that wouldn’t help anyone, least of all her brother.
J.D. continued rolling through the introductory portion of the interview, confirming the details of everyone present and ensuring Joseph understood his caution and rights. Joseph confirmed that he did not wish to contact a solicitor as he believed he had done nothing wrong, and Charlotte bit at the thumbnail of her left hand nervously, feeling a section give way between her teeth.
‘Father Callaghan,’ J.D. said, leaving the scripted opening behind, ‘firstly, some background on how you came to be here. Do you agree that you were arrested earlier today by my partner – Detective Charlotte Callaghan – in relation to the recent murder of Alice Tremonti?’
Joseph pursed his lips and gave a nod that seethed with irritation.
‘Is that a yes, for the recording?’
‘Yes,’ Joseph said curtly, his eyes locked on J.D. ‘My sister, Detective Charlotte Callaghan, you mean. Don’t forget that part, Detective Darken – it’s very important. Oh, and I was arrested at work – don’t leave that out either.’
Charlotte felt her face redden, and she cleared her throat as she scribbled over and over an infinity sign she had drawn on the bare page of her daybook.
‘Is it fair to say you were handcuffe
d and brought directly here to this police station,’ J.D. continued, glossing over Joseph’s facetious tone, ‘where you were placed in this interview room pending the commencement of this interview? Is that correct?’
‘It is.’
‘Okay, Father, let’s get down to it, shall we? Obviously we need to speak to you in connection with not just the attack on and murder of Miss Tremonti, but also regarding the recent deaths of two other women in the area. That’s a lot of ground to cover. Can you confirm you are one of our local priests?’
‘No comment.’
Charlotte’s eyes shot up from her notes. Joseph was glaring straight at her.
‘Father Callaghan, I’m just trying to establish who you are in the community for the purpose of the tape,’ J.D. said. ‘I think you would agree, everyone who lives in this town would be aware of your vocation. Can you simply confirm that for the recording?’
Joseph’s steely gaze didn’t shift, his eyebrows knitted, jaw set. ‘No. Comment.’
Charlotte tossed her pen down on the table, where it skittered across the polished surface before teetering on the edge and falling to the filthy carpet. ‘Don’t be a fool, Joe,’ she said. ‘This is your chance – possibly your only chance – to refute the evidence. Yes, the law affords you the right to remain silent, but really? After what I found in your car? You need to tell us your story. Please.’
Joseph exhaled, rubbing his stubbled chin on his left shoulder, the scraping sound breaking the awkward silence. But he didn’t respond.
‘Are you going to answer all my questions with no comment, Father?’ J.D. said.
‘No comment,’ Joseph replied, glaring across the table.
‘That’s your right,’ J.D. continued, shrugging his shoulders at Charlotte, ‘but understand that I’m still required to put the allegations to you, and—’
‘This is bullshit!’ Charlotte burst out, slamming her fists down on the table. ‘Just tell me how that girl’s purse ended up in your car if you had nothing whatsoever to do with it, Joseph. Please. You’re my brother – I want to believe you, but if you go down this path, it makes that more difficult. And if I can’t have faith in you, how the hell do you expect anyone else to?’
It was as if the word faith lit a fire in her brother’s soul. He rose from the table, fists clenched by his side, face white with anger. ‘If you need me to talk to have faith in me, you’re more of a disappointment than I thought,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘Don’t you dare lecture me about faith.’ He spat the words out, flecks of spit gathered in the corners of his mouth. ‘Now let me say it once more: No. Comment.’
J.D. motioned for Joseph to sit down, and he complied, but his anger was still clearly bubbling just below the surface. Charlotte slumped back in her chair, defeated. She knew what this meant. She knew how the rumours would start, how Joseph would be crucified in the court of public opinion, especially in a small town such as theirs. His reputation might help, but that would only bide him a small amount of time. As the pressure mounted, so would the doubt in the community – and regardless of the outcome at any trial, some mud would inevitably stick.
She could only imagine the rippling implications on her extended family, especially their parents. Not native Gull Bay residents, their mum and Charlotte’s dad lived an hour away on the other side of Westvale, but still visited regularly.
Then there was the long-lasting, destructive effect this would have on her own relationship with Joseph. Without warning, a crystal-clear memory took shape in her mind. She and Joe had been skateboarding on the asphalt roadway, despite their mother having warned them to stay on the footpath. Showing off to the teenage brother she adored, six-year-old Charlotte had gained too much speed and tumbled to the ground in a blur of arms and legs. The impact had grazed her knee, the wild velocity combined with the jagged surface tearing the skin, drawing blood. It was Joe who had been there to carry her inside to safety. She recalled how he’d bandaged her up, reassured her that she would be okay, wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Charlotte’s heart pounded louder inside her chest with every passing minute, with every question that was asked of Joe and avoided. Surely he could hear it, straining through her ribcage?
Despite the maelstrom swirling inside her head she sat, externally reserved, as J.D. ploughed through the allegations over Alice’s death, before arriving at the circumstances surrounding the other two victims. Still Joseph’s answers remained the same.
Choking down the lump in her throat, Charlotte willed herself to not make a mockery of things by breaking down in the interview, spilling her tears on tape for all to see.
Taking some solace from the fact she wasn’t the one running the show, she blinked the emerging tears away as subtly as she could. She could handle the violated and damaged bodies, the haunting death messages to unsuspecting families, even the necessity to draw her gun and potentially take a life – that was all part of what she had signed up for. But having to investigate a member of her family tore at her insides and scratched at the very essence of her being.
Funnily enough, from the moment she had joined the force – much to the angst of their parents, who didn’t see it as a ‘job for a woman’ – Joseph had been her staunchest supporter, guiding her around the landmines he knew she would have to navigate living in the same neighbourhood that she would be forced to police. He had experienced similar difficulties early on in the priesthood, but was now fully ensconced in his parish and thriving in the community. He had been a pillar she had taken inspiration from.
As the interview finally came to a close, J.D. turned to her, gnawing on his lower lip. ‘Anything else, Detective?’ he asked, tossing out a lifeline.
Charlotte paused, taking in her brother, who had barely moved throughout the questioning. He stared back, eyebrows raised. Clearing her throat, she took her last chance. ‘I’m just wondering, before the interview concludes, if there is anything you would like to say, Joseph. Even something simple, like where you were last night.’
A burning sensation engulfed her eyes, her chest, her throat.
Joseph remained resolute, a thousand-yard stare boring through the wall.
‘Okay then—’ J.D. began, before he was interrupted by Joseph’s quivering voice.
‘I was at home, preparing the homily for this weekend’s mass. That’s my job, remember? I live in this community, I serve this community and nobody loves this community more than me. I want this bastard caught as much as you do. I didn’t kill that girl – how could you believe I could do that, Charlotte? My life is dedicated to serving God and his flock here on earth; I could never harm one of them. Those things you found in my car were put there by someone else, maybe to set me up. You know my car is always unlocked – heck, the door to my house is always unlocked, and most people in this town know that. As for the deaths of the other two girls, I believe I have alibis for both of those dates as well. A little digging by you can confirm that. So, investigate away – I have nothing to hide. Just get it done quickly and move on to finding the real killer, because he is out there, living among us, and that makes my skin crawl.’
‘This interview is now concluded.’ Charlotte reached across and depressed the red stop button, bringing things to an abrupt end.
She’d heard enough.
CHAPTER 21
Approximately seventy-seven minutes later, after finally – albeit begrudgingly – providing further details of his whereabouts at the time of the murders, Father Joseph Callaghan walked out the front door of the police station. He was a temporarily free man, courtesy of the local bail justice, who just happened to be a long-time parishioner – not that he would ever admit that had had any bearing on his decision.
The minute he left, Charlotte seized her opportunity to debrief J.D. She stirred the two coffees she had just poured. ‘I know I’m probably not meant to say this … but what an idiot.’
‘I have to agree,’ J.D. said, stifling a yawn. ‘That was his chance; I can’t
believe he wouldn’t take it. He’s lucky he added that bit at the end – at least that gives us something to work with. To be honest, if it was anyone else, I reckon they’d still be in a cell, not on their way home. Sometimes who you know gets you a long way – particularly in a town like this one.’
‘But you have to admit, he seemed pretty confident in his alibis. How solid they turn out to be remains to be seen, but let’s look into them. At the time of the first murder, he says he was at a parishioner’s house for most of the evening, after the mother of the house died suddenly of a heart attack – it only takes a discreet phone call to validate that one. As for the night of the second murder, he says he and a fellow priest from a nearby diocese were present at a Parish Finance Committee meeting, which lasted several hours. Again, fairly easy to substantiate, though the timeframe doesn’t cover the whole night. Given there’s no CCTV at the parish, I don’t think we can definitively rule him in or out there, but we can confirm whether the meeting itself took place – although part of it would need to be verified by another priest, which raises questions in itself. His alibis aren’t iron clad – alibis rarely are – but it isn’t like he’s telling us that each time he was home on the couch alone watching reruns of Sons of Anarchy.’
‘True,’ J.D. said, ‘but that’s only for the first two. He was home alone for the last one, and he had no real explanation for the rope and purse, which were found in his car.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, J.D. – I was the one who found them, remember. And I was the one who arrested him, which I won’t forget in a hurry. But you aren’t seriously suggesting that he killed the third girl but not the first and second. He isn’t a copycat killer – either he’s done them all or he’s innocent.’
‘I agree, but the evidence was in his car, Charlotte. As well as the fact that the families of all three victims have direct connections with Joseph’s church. I’m not saying it’s an open-and-shut case, but right now he’s our main suspect, and until someone else rears their head, he has to remain our focus. There’s no way around it.’