by Garry Disher
Suddenly Claire pulled out her phone; gave Auhl a half-smile. ‘Just calling the hospital, okay?’
Auhl drove, listening. It took some time, but then she was talking.
‘Ruth, it’s Claire. Quick question: do you know a man named Rex Osprey?’
‘Of course,’ muttered Auhl. Getting old, losing his touch.
Claire concluded the call, grinned at him. ‘An elder of the church.’
Auhl thought it through. ‘The Hinces stay in Emerald in case the police are watching and send their errand boy to… To what? Burn the place down in case there’s forensic evidence tying Warren or Adam to the murders? They must be mad.’
‘Well, der. They are mad.’
THEY FOUND ANGELA Sullivan’s old farmhouse along a dirt road choked with spring grasses. As she’d said, it was a pretty house, cream with a green roof and a new veranda. But not peaceful right now.
Auhl shot the car into the driveway and braked hard. They piled out, Auhl trying to read the situation in a glance. A Holden station wagon parked at the side, a black SUV in the driveway. A man he didn’t know backing up, swinging a garden rake while Rex Osprey menaced him with a small pry bar. The two of them enacting a tense, jerky dance of fear and threat.
Osprey hadn’t registered their arrival. Auhl darted in, shooting a glance at the veranda. Two crowbars and a hammer lay on the decking. A petrol can on its side, fuel darkening the wood, a rainbow film blooming as the sun caught the spill. No flames, but Auhl could picture them starting, blooming, feeding on the wood-preserving oils, leaves and debris…
Was anyone still inside the house?
Save the stranger first. If it was the owner, Lang, he was blood drenched, uttering awful cries, his jaw at a cruel angle. A moment later, Osprey’s pry bar swiped the rake aside, swiped the other way, hitting the injured man on the shoulder. He fell, scrabbling away on his back as Osprey advanced.
Coming in hard and fast, Auhl kidney-punched the church elder. ‘Enough.’
With slow articulations of his knees, hips and hands, Osprey lowered himself to the ground. Otherwise he seemed indignant. ‘We have a right.’
‘You’re under arrest for assault, with other charges to follow,’ Auhl said, snapping handcuffs on Osprey’s wrists.
‘We have a right.’
Auhl told him to shut up and joined Claire in helping the other man get to his feet. ‘Are you Mr Lang?’
A nod, Lang trying to get his words out but whimpering with the pain, a hand to his jaw. He was about fifty, and seemed as angry as Osprey, pointing incredulously, whimpering again.
‘An ambulance is coming, Mr Lang. Don’t try to speak, just nod. Did this man hit you?’
Lang nodded, pointed. The pry bar. Evidence, and apt to be overlooked once emergency vehicles and other police arrived. ‘I’ll be back in a tick,’ Auhl said, drawing out his phone. He photographed the bar, used his handkerchief to pick it up, and ran with it to the car. Securing it on the back seat, he returned to Lang in time to stop him from stepping onto the veranda.
‘Stay here, Mr Lang. Is anyone inside?’
The man shook his head but he was agitated. ‘My house,’ he slurred, then placed his palm over his jaw and whimpered again.
Auhl turned as a leisurely police car rolled up. Two uniforms got out and approached curiously. Ascertaining they were from Frankston, Claire gestured at Osprey. ‘This man is under arrest, assault and deprivation of liberty, for starters. Get him checked by a doctor, we’ll be along to interview him shortly.’
As the car bumped away, an ambulance turned in. Auhl watched it, trying to figure out his next move, events passing too quickly. Speaking a little too loudly, too slowly, he said to the man with the broken jaw, ‘Mr Lang, is there someone we can call? Partner, friend, neighbour? Son or daughter?’
Lang nodded and began digging into his hip pocket. He fished out an iPhone in a leather flip case and, as Auhl watched, activated the screen and scrolled through his contacts list. He stopped at Bonnie and a mobile number, proffered the phone to Auhl.
‘Is Bonnie your daughter?’
Lang nodded.
Auhl pressed the call symbol and a woman answered. He explained, explained a second time, the daughter increasingly querulous. He was a policeman. Her father had been assaulted. He was okay but an ambulance would be taking him to Frankston Hospital with a suspected broken jaw. His house was a crime scene and would be forensically examined, meaning it might be some days before he could return to it.
When the ambulance had left, he said, ‘What do you think Osprey was talking about? Right to what?’
Claire shrugged. ‘No idea.’
They stepped onto the veranda, Auhl photographing the petrol can, the crowbar and hammer. They stepped inside. The hall and rooms were neat, a mix of Ikea and furniture-store chairs, tables, bookshelves and beds. It wouldn’t stay that way. He called for a forensic team.
37
FRANKSTON POLICE would prosecute Osprey for the attack on Lang, but were happy for Auhl and Pascal to interview him in regard to the Slab Man investigation.
They were escorted to a room halfway down an airless corridor, where Osprey was seated at a scuffed plastic table with a young Legal Aid solicitor called Rundle. Auhl pulled out a chair. ‘Mr Osprey, I understand you’ve been cleared by the doctor for interview?’
A soft voice emerged from fleshless lips. ‘Yes.’
‘But my client suffers from asthma and I may need to ask you to stop the questioning if he becomes distressed,’ Rundle said.
‘If he has asthma he shouldn’t go around exerting himself,’ Auhl said.
The lawyer was about to object, but Osprey touched his arm. ‘It’s all right.’
Claire Pascal started the recordings, audio and visual. The usual disclaimers and notifications and the names of all present. The fifth player was the room: cramped, airless, cheerless.
Auhl, certain that his chair suffered from plastic fatigue, hardly dared shift in it. He said, ‘Mr Osprey, have you been advised that you face charges in relation to certain matters that occurred today?’
‘My client,’ Rundle said, ‘is aware of his rights and obligations and is willing to cooperate in any way possible, but we would question the severity of those charges. And I understand that this interview is not in relation to those charges but certain historical matters?’
‘That is correct,’ Auhl said.
He wondered briefly why Osprey had not requested a pricey Assemblies of Jehovah hack. Rundle was young, bright, up for a stoush, but he didn’t seem to have much at stake in the proceedings. Not bored—looking to have fun, if anything—his engagement more intellectual than emotional, in Auhl’s judgment. Maybe it was the look. An earring. Designer spectacles. Unshaven in the regrettable style made ubiquitous by the makers of TV commercials.
Rundle seemed to read Auhl’s thoughts and gave a whisper of the shadow of a smile.
‘Mr Osprey, why don’t we begin with why you were at Mr Lang’s house,’ Claire said.
Osprey mulled on that, a grey-faced spectre on the other side of the table. ‘Will I go to jail?’
‘Quite possibly,’ Auhl said. ‘You committed serious assaults on Mr Lang and Ms Sullivan, and hindered a murder investigation.’
‘May I remind you why we’re here?’ Rundle said.
‘All right, we’ll start at the beginning,’ Claire said. ‘Mr Osprey, you are an elder of the Assemblies of Whatever church.’
Osprey said stiffly, ‘I’d rather you didn’t mock my beliefs.’
Claire went on blithely, ‘A vehicle apparently stolen from your car yard was used in the commission of two murders. One of the victims, Mary Peart, being a young Assemblies church member. Isn’t that rather a coincidence?’
‘Ex-member.’
‘I said, that’s quite a coincidence.’
‘The vehicle in question was stolen,’ Osprey said.
‘You’re really going with that story?’ Auhl said.
&
nbsp; Osprey flushed. ‘If you are trying to say I stole the car and then went and shot someone then I’m refusing to say anything more.’
‘Can you account for your movements back then?’
He was triumphant. ‘I can indeed.’
He glanced at Rundle, who opened a folder and retrieved an envelope. ‘My client had this in his pocket when he was processed earlier today.’
Auhl was curious. Well prepared? Expecting arrest? ‘Why don’t you give us the gist, Mr Osprey?’
‘Receipts, hospital paperwork. I had a cataract operation at the time the Suzuki was stolen. I couldn’t drive anywhere. I was half-blind for a few days. I didn’t kill anyone. I would never do such a thing.’
The man was talking freely, so Auhl pushed a little. ‘Mr Osprey, were you coerced to do what you did today?’
No answer, but the man shifted in his chair.
‘Did you fear it might all go pear-shaped?’
No answer.
‘Mr Osprey,’ Claire said, ‘I understand that you’re a devoted member of the Assemblies of Jehovah congregation. Loyal, faithful, eager to do the right thing. But matters are coming to a head. I put it to you that you were asked to provide the leader of your church, Warren Hince, with a vehicle that was subsequently used in a double homicide.’
Osprey sagged a little. He gave his lawyer an anguished look. Rundle’s shrug was almost imperceptible.
‘Were there other crimes you were a party to on behalf of Mr Hince? The sexual abuse of the children of your congregants, for example.’
‘What?’ That straightened him up. ‘Not me. Never.’
‘Then how do you explain today’s actions?’ Auhl said. At a look from Rundle, he held up his hand. ‘My question refers to the hold these people seem to have over your client.’
‘You can answer, Mr Osprey,’ Rundle said with a hint of enjoyment. He was curious, too. ‘Were you asked or ordered or blackmailed in any way?’
‘We don’t believe for a moment that you killed anyone or knowingly provided the means,’ Auhl said. ‘You didn’t drive the vehicle, shoot the gun, hide the gun. But we do believe you know more than you’re telling us.’
‘Gun? What gun?’
Auhl was flat and hard. ‘The gun used to kill Mary Peart and probably her boyfriend was found hidden in the Suzuki stolen from your yard.’
Osprey blanched. He swallowed. Rundle looked at him with interest. Time passed. Auhl, looking at the way Osprey chewed his bottom lip, thought they’d lost him.
Then: ‘Warren Hince came to me and said he needed to borrow a vehicle for a couple of days. I wasn’t to ask why, it was church business. When he didn’t return it I asked for it back and he said it had been stolen from him. He paid me the value of the vehicle and I thought nothing of it.’
‘But you reported it stolen, to make it official.’
‘Well, it was stolen. Warren borrowed it from me, then it was stolen from him before he could return it, the idiot.’ He gave a twist of his mouth. ‘I hate to speak ill of the fellow and I’m not saying he can’t whip up a congregation, but really he isn’t, wasn’t, all that bright.’
They watched him. Auhl said, ‘Mr Osprey, were you asked to intimidate Carmen Shirlow? She said an older man, a business type, hassled her afterwards.’
A slight, conceding shrug as Osprey looked down at his pale fingers. ‘Not proud of it. Warren asked me to. Said if I wanted the money for the Suzuki I had to do it.’
‘We need a statement, Mr Osprey. And we must caution you in relation to this matter.’
Osprey was resigned now, almost relieved. ‘Whatever it takes. I’ve had enough. The church is more or less bankrupt anyway, and why should I take all the blame?’
Claire looked at him and said, very gently, ‘Mr Osprey, you have a daughter.’
Osprey’s face changed, transformed by an expression of pure misery. ‘You will not talk to me about that. Please don’t talk to me about that. I’ll help you with anything else you like, but I don’t want her dragged into anything.’
Warren Hince, thought Auhl. And he’s lived with it, unable to see or, if he saw, to do anything about it, and it’s pulled him apart.
‘All right. Now, did Mr Hince say anything at all about why he needed the Suzuki?’
‘No. I just did as I was told.’
‘Did you later connect it to the murder of Mary Peart?’
‘I had no reason to—not until you spoke to me the other day.’
‘And today? What was that all about? You were doing the Hinces’ bidding again, destroying evidence for them?’
Osprey shook his head. ‘It was all about the money, it was only ever about the money.’
Auhl looked at Pascal; she looked back at him. Sighed: a tiny noise of fulfilment. ‘All right, Mr Osprey. Tell us about the money.’
38
THAT WAS SATURDAY.
As soon as they were back at Chateau Auhl, Claire packed, kissed Auhl on the cheek, gave him a bottle of good wine and called for a taxi to take her home. The house seemed empty around him that night.
Waking at 6.00 a.m. Sunday, Auhl walked, bought croissants. Coffee, croissants and the Sunday Age at the mossy wrought iron table in the backyard, dimly bathed in sunlight. Cynthia stretched on the sun-warmed crazy path. At eight Liz appeared, freshly showered, overnight bag in her hand. ‘Sorry, I’m meeting people for lunch in Queenscliff, I’d better rush.’ And she was gone.
Auhl blinked: he hadn’t even known she’d stayed the night. Meeting people for lunch… Or meeting a special person. He realised it didn’t matter so much anymore. Tried to tell himself that, anyway.
Then Bec, half-awake, grabbed a croissant and waved goodbye. ‘I have to open the shop, Tanya lost her keys.’
She was always floating names at him. Friends, co-workers, people he’d forgotten meeting or would never meet or who too closely resembled one of the others, so he just smiled benignly. She kissed him and clattered along the hallway and out the door.
It was time for Auhl to move his weary bones.
A NURSE WAS ARRANGED for Warren Hince, while the wife and son were arrested and brought to the city for questioning.
Separate cars, separate interview rooms.
The first thing Judith Hince said was, ‘You do realise it’s the Sabbath?’
‘Means nothing to us, Mrs Hince,’ Claire said. She looked subdued.
‘The law never rests,’ Auhl said. ‘Speaking of which: you’re entitled to a lawyer.’
‘I don’t need a lawyer,’ Judith Hince said, ‘and my son doesn’t need a lawyer. We’ve done nothing wrong.’
Auhl and Pascal smiled noncommittally, settled her in one of the interview rooms with a uniform at the door, then conferred in the corridor. ‘How do you want to play this?’ Claire asked.
‘Adam first.’
‘Agreed. He might be the dear leader but his mother holds the reins.’
They walked up to the next level. ‘So, how are things at home?’
They walked, Claire silent. Then: ‘If you must know, Michael lost it when I said I had to work today.’
‘The case does have momentum,’ Auhl said.
‘Except that the weekend is shot to hell.’
‘Well, you know there’s a room at my place.’
‘Alan, I’ve barely started phase two of my marriage.’
THEY FOUND ADAM fidgeting at an interview-room table. ‘Why am I here? It’s the Sabbath.’
‘You know why you’re here. You assaulted your wife. Also, you either committed or helped cover up two murders.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Was it you or your mother who asked Mr Osprey to find and destroy the house?’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘He said it was your mother.’
Adam shot each of them a blunt, frightened look. Seemed to see conviction on their faces. ‘All right,’ he said quickly, ‘if you must know, it was me, I asked him, Mum had nothing to do
with it.’
‘What a loyal son you are,’ Claire said, with her sweet smile.
How much did the guy know? Auhl sharpened his voice. ‘You asked him to destroy a house, yes? Why?’
‘Umm.’ Hince hesitated. ‘To destroy evidence.’
‘What evidence?’
Hince frowned, concentrating. ‘Well, bloodstains. DNA. Fingerprints. Bullet holes in the…the…the floor. The walls.’
‘And why might those things have been present?’
Adam Hince drew himself up onto surer ground. ‘A few years ago, when my father’s mind was starting to go, he let slip that he’d done a terrible thing, murdered Mary and Robert. It tormented his conscience. Then those Royal Commission allegations, it was the ruin of him. You saw him—he has dementia. He was a proud man and to see him brought down…well. Too late now, of course, you’ve found the house, but I didn’t want to see him diminished further in the eyes of the world and that’s why I asked Mr Osprey to destroy the evidence.’
Claire snorted. ‘You didn’t even know about the house until two days ago. The truth was under your nose the whole time but you and your mother and your father treated Ruth like she barely existed.’
‘I love my wife.’
Claire brushed that aside. ‘To be clear for the tape, Mr Hince: you are admitting you’ve known for some years that your father was responsible for the murders of Mary Peart and Robert Shirlow in September 2009?’
‘Yes.’
‘You shot them both?’
‘What? No. My father did.’
‘Inside the house they were living in at the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the three of you staged matters so that it appeared Robert was the killer?’
‘Yes. I mean, no, my father did.’
‘Drove Mary’s body to a nature reserve and buried Robert under a slab?’
‘Yes.’
‘He told you all this?’
‘Like I said, he confessed to my mother and me many years later. His mind was going and everyone was hounding us, and he had a bit of a breakdown and told us what he’d done.’ With an expression of the profoundest indignation and regret, he added, ‘I think the way he was treated tipped the balance into senility.’