‘Fair enough. What about Matilda’s recovery? How do you see that panning out?’
‘Ms Lambert will need to stay in hospital for a few weeks while we observe her and tweak her medications, depending on her symptoms and responses. She also needs a long rest. Now that she can sleep, she needs plenty of it. Sleep plays a very valuable role in healing the brain, Inspector.’
It’s Not Just Cricket
Rebecca
Rebecca knew Tuesday was going to be a busy day. She had to check on the Taste food and wine supplement and make sure all the work she had delegated was on track. She also had to do more research on the various suspects in the Blood on the Tracks case. Most importantly, though, she was desperate to get home early to shower, change, and be ready for Gary and their date night. She was excited.
‘Good morning, Reg,’ said Rebecca jauntily as she put a cardboard cup of long black coffee on Reg’s desk, sat on an ottoman, and started to sip her own latte.
‘Morning,’ grunted Reg. ‘Blood on the Tracks has gone cold. When are you going to give me a breakthrough?’
‘Well, I think I might be on to something with Philip Hendy, the course director, but I can’t write it up yet. In my research yesterday, I discovered he’s up to his eyeballs in debt, he has a serious gambling problem, he’s been bankrupted twice, and he refused to pay Pixie her $50,000 appearance fee. That was probably going to result in a major stink if news got out. Coincidently, there’s suspicion that $50,000 is missing from the women’s tournament takings, and Golf Australia is investigating. I caught him losing about a thousand dollars at the blackjack table at the Adelaide Casino last night. And he lied about who he was to my friend who was playing alongside him,’ said Rebecca breathlessly.
‘What do you mean you can’t write it up yet? I want a piece on Hendy within the next hour.’
‘Hang on, hang on. The missing money hasn’t been confirmed yet, and just because he has a gambling problem, I don’t have any evidence that he’s connected to the murder. If I went with all my hunches and speculation, Hendy could take us to the cleaners for defamation. I need to find more evidence.’
‘Well, don’t go with your hunches and speculation. Just go with the facts. He’s been a bankrupt, he’s a gambler, he’s in serious debt, he reneged on a payment of $50,000 to Pixie, Golf Australia is auditing the tournament books because they’re suspicious that something is irregular, and he lost about a grand at the casino last night. Let our readers fill in the blanks. They’ll either come to your conclusion that there isn’t anything definite in your story to link him to the murder of Pixie Browning or they’ll think he’s guilty as sin.’
‘I don’t feel right about this, Reg. This could destroy Hendy.’
‘Don’t go soft on me, Rebecca. Hendy’s done this to himself. Are you in the racket of protecting public figures who have got themselves into a mess? If he weren’t a problem gambler, if he wasn’t bankrupted twice, if he didn’t get into a stoush over money with Pixie Browning, if he didn’t lie about his identity, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Write it as it is. Just the facts. Publish and be damned.’
Once again Rebecca knew Reg had won the argument. She didn’t even get to mount a case. She had to get to work.
Rebecca was eagerly waiting on her front verandah when Gary pulled up in front of her house just before six o’clock that night. It had been a warm day, and would be a warm evening. Even though Rebecca was going to a colourful T20 cricket match, she had decided if the players weren’t going to wear traditional clothing, she would. She wore a loose-fitting cream blouse tucked into cream culottes. She matched the outfit with a floppy straw hat, tan sandals, and a tan handbag.
‘You look beautiful, Rebecca,’ said Gary as he walked up the front path to her verandah.
‘Well, thank you, Detective Chief Inspector.’ She was barely able to get the last word out before Gary took her in his arms, lowered his head to be level with hers, and kissed her passionately.
‘Wow. That was nice,’ said Rebecca before she decided to go back in for another kiss.
When they eventually parted, Rebecca murmured, ‘We better get going, don’t you think?’ Although she wasn’t sure she really wanted to go anywhere. It had crossed her mind to drag Gary inside and take him straight to the bedroom.
‘I guess so,’ said Gary with a wicked grin.
‘And you better wipe that red lipstick from your face,’ said Rebecca as she made her way to Gary’s car.
As they drove up King William Street, Adelaide Oval looked impressive in the late-afternoon light. Hundreds of people were making their way over the River Torrens via the footbridge, with hundreds more converging from Memorial Drive. A large crowd was gathered at the oval plaza, waiting in cues to enter the stadium through the copper-and-glass edifice. The police presence was heavy, slowing and directing traffic away from the oval and Memorial Drive. At one of the roadblocks, Gary took out his badge and showed it to a duty cop. They waved them through.
‘I’ve got my boss’s parking spot in the oval’s basement car park. He offered it, so I thought, Why not?’
‘Good on him.’
They took the lift to the third level of the eastern stand and decided to go straight to their seats in the grandstand to catch the beginning of the game. The atmosphere was electric. The game was a sell-out, and the stands were already three-quarters full. Australian and Sri Lankan flags were out in force. Some Aussies had painted their faces green and gold; some Sri Lankan fans had followed suit with dark red, orange, green, and yellow paint.
Rebecca looked across to the north where the grass hill and Moreton Bay fig trees stood, framed by the iconic scoreboard.
The sun was still strong in the western sky and would be so for a couple more hours. Rebecca slipped on her sunglasses and hat.
Australia had won the toss and had elected to bat. The pink ball would be easier to see in the daylight. Sri Lanka would be batting at dusk, going into the night under lights. Australia had the advantage.
The Sri Lankans had their best fast bowler bowling from the Torrens end of the ground. The ball whistled down the pitch and dug into the turf short. The batsman reeled back and watched the bouncer whistle past his head. The parochial crowd erupted with jeers and boos.
Rebecca was enthralled for over an hour before Gary suggested they retire to the Hill of Grace Restaurant for dinner.
‘Sure. I’m hungry.’
The waiter led the way through the packed restaurant to a table for two right in front of a floor-to-ceiling glass window.
‘This is magnificent. What a wonderful view of the oval,’ enthused Rebecca.
‘It’s still the best cricket ground in the world. I was worried the rebuild would destroy it, but they’ve done a magnificent job,’ said Gary.
‘Yes, the architecture is stunning. Mind you, I think the government could have asked for rent or a contribution to the $550-million-dollar build cost.’
‘Okay. Stop right there. I’m not hearing this again. I know you are about to say cricket and football are multibillion-dollar businesses and shouldn’t be subsidised to the extent they are, but it’s been done, end of story, and we have a magnificent stadium. Here, cheers to a great night,’ said Gary as he raised his champagne glass.
‘Okay. Cheers,’ said Rebecca as she screwed up her face.
‘Now, what have you been able to find out in relation to Pixie Browning’s murder? I’ve been reading your stories, but there’s been a lot of fill and no breakthroughs. At least, none that you have been able to print.’
Rebecca knew this question was coming. ‘Now let me get this straight. I cough up information to you for nothing in return?’
‘You know I can’t divulge police business. But you could be a good citizen and help police investigations.’
‘So tonight was just about getting information, was it?’ said Rebecca haughtily.
‘No, Rebecca,’ said Gary as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I
want to see you. I want to see you a whole lot more than I have. We can be together privately, as long as we play by the rules. I can’t have a conflict of interest; otherwise, I won’t be able to see you privately.’
Rebecca knew he was right, but it irked her that the information flow would be one way.
‘Okay. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it,’ said Rebecca just as the waiter came up to take their order.
‘Why don’t we have the degustation menu with matching wines? On me,’ said Gary.
‘Is that a bribe for information?’ said Rebecca testily.
‘Don’t be like this,’ Gary said with a sigh.
‘Okay. Degustation,’ said Rebecca to the waiter.
There were a few minutes’ silence between them as Rebecca sulked. They looked out at the oval and watched another ball being bowled.
Eventually Rebecca broke the drought. ‘Okay. Let’s get this over with, and then we can go back to our date.’
Gary smiled, and Rebecca could feel her pulse quicken.
‘You might need pen and paper.’
Rebecca told him about the lunch at Fino’s in the Barossa and about blind Keiko Takahashi’s bionic hearing and the Mandarin conversation between Sol Semler and Chinese businessman Bo Yong from Shenzhen. She told him about the deal to manufacture Pixie Browning Golf gear in China, something Pixie was dead against. Gary raised an eyebrow.
Rebecca told Gary about the Mandarin characters on the red body bag referring to the White Lotus Society triad, but the only person she had managed to track down in Adelaide with some knowledge of triads, a Dr Ken Wu, had pooh-poohed the idea of any triad involvement. But she thought Dr Wu looked uncomfortable when she mentioned the name Bo Yong. She was curious about that.
She told Gary about Philip Hendy and his gambling and debt problems, his history of bankruptcy, the suspicion of $50,000 missing from tournament funds, Hendy’s refusal to honour Pixie’s $50,000 appearance fee, and the fact that she saw Hendy lose $1000 at the casino last night.
She paused as the waiter placed a plate of raw kingfish on the table. In addition to the kingfish, she could make out ginger, segments of mandarin, caper leaves, and what she thought looked like yoghurt sprinkled with granita and freshly shaved coconut. A plate of the same dish was placed in front of Gary. Another waiter poured a white wine into Rebecca’s glass.
‘And what wine is this?’
‘It’s a Henschke Joseph Hill Gewurztraminer, 2015,’ said the waiter.
‘Yum,’ said Rebecca as she took a sip.
As they picked up their knives and forks to eat, Gary said, ‘Well, you have been busy. We’ve overlapped on many things.’
‘But you’re not going to say what things, are you? Or fill in any gaps,’ said Rebecca just before she shovelled a fork-load of kingfish into her mouth.
‘No. Except to say be very careful when it comes to triad matters,’ said Gary sternly.
‘So there is something in it? I knew it!’ said Rebecca as she caught sight of a shadow passing her left side. The shadow appeared to come from the stand above them and fell to the seats in the middle of the stand in front of her. Despite the thickness of the glass window and the roars from the crowd, she could hear screams.
Gary immediately ran out of the restaurant, down the stairs, and to the middle of the grandstand, where a man’s body lay sprawled over concrete stairs about halfway down, immediately under the ledge of the stand above. Rebecca sat rigid for a few seconds, taking in the scene, and masticating a piece of kingfish before she bolted and joined Gary next to the body.
‘Oh my God! It’s Bruce!’ she exclaimed.
The dead man was face up, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. Gary was trying to find a pulse but it was clear to Rebecca that there was no hope. A crowd had formed around them. Rebecca could overhear a woman on her mobile phone, begging for an ambulance.
The crowd in the other stands were blissfully ignorant of the fact that a man had fallen to his death. The players certainly weren’t aware of anything and kept playing, an Australian batsman hitting the ball high into the air. Rebecca looked in horror as she saw a pink missile coming straight at her. She didn’t have time to think. Reflexes took over. She raised her right hand and caught it. The umpire signalled six, and the crowd erupted. Rebecca looked across to the big screen and saw a close-up of her shocked face with the pink ball in her hand. She triumphantly held the ball above her head before bending her arm back and throwing it as hard as she could. A Sri Lankan player on the boundary caught it. The crowd went wild. Rebecca’s childhood cricket matches with her brothers had not only given her great hand-eye coordination but also a strong pitching arm.
She looked down at Gary to see him looking at her in horror. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he yelled.
‘Don’t look at me like that. If I didn’t catch the ball, it would have hit me in the head. What was I supposed to do?’
‘A man is dying!’
‘Actually, I think he is already dead,’ she said, fully aware she was part of a surreal scene.
Just then two of the ground’s first aid officers came racing down the stairs with a stretcher. As they turned Bruce on his side and into a coma position, Rebecca saw a cleaver fall from his back onto the cement. The wooden handle was embossed with Chinese characters.
‘He’s dead,’ said one of the ambulance officers.
Chop Chop
Rebecca dialled Reg’s number.
‘Yeah. Don’t tell me. I just saw your ugly dial on TV. Great catch. I’ve already rung the oval management authority asking for a copy of the tape. I’ll put it up online and use a still for the paper edition.’
‘That’s not why I’m calling,’ said Rebecca, pausing to gather her thoughts before she continued. ‘There’s been another murder. At the oval. Pixie Browning’s stalker, Bruce Wells, has been stabbed with a cleaver and was either pushed or fell off the fourth-level balcony of the eastern stand onto the concrete stairs a level below. I was dining at the Hill of Grace, and I actually saw him drop.’
‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’
‘Well said.’
‘Hang up and file, for God’s sake. And send through lots of photos! I’ll send backup.’
Rebecca had already taken photos on her iPhone and immediately sent them through, leaving Reg to decide whether or not to partially pixelate the graphic images. She then started texting copy.
Meanwhile she could hear Gary issuing orders to the security staff to get up to the fourth-level and lock down the whole section immediately.
‘No one must be allowed to leave. They all have to be interviewed,’ yelled Gary.
She then heard him on the phone ordering a team of police and forensics to the oval.
An oval official appeared. ‘What’s going on? I’ve been told there’s been an accident.’
‘This isn’t any accident. A man has been murdered. I want you to clear this area. Backup police will be arriving at any minute, and they will need to cordon off this whole section. I’ve also issued instructions to your security guys to lock down the area immediately above us. Everyone upstairs will need to be questioned by police.’
‘So you’re the police?’ enquired the official lamely.
Gary whipped out his police identification and showed it to the official. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Gary Jarvie from Major Crime Investigations Branch.’
‘But I can’t ask these people to leave. They’ve paid to watch the cricket. There’ll be a riot. I’ll have to check with my boss,’ said the official, dialling his phone.
‘You tell your boss that you either clear this area or I’ll close down the whole game and clear the entire stadium. Do you understand?’
Gary then addressed the first aid officers. ‘I want you to drape the body and leave it where it is. Forensics will need to examine the scene and photograph the body and the surrounds.’
He had only just finished speaking to the first aid officers when a swarm of police arrive.
He immediately started directing.
Rebecca knew that her story would be going online pretty much immediately and the cricket commentators on television would know what all the commotion was about in the eastern stand within the next few minutes. She also knew the news would be trending on Twitter and Facebook and that most of the stadium would know what was going on very soon. She wasn’t surprised when she saw the chief executive officer of the stadium management authority arrive.
‘What the hell is going on?’ the CEO asked Gary.
‘A man has been murdered. We need to clear this area and lock down the area above on the fourth level.’
The CEO looked pale and said, ‘We need to pause the game and put out an announcement on the public address system. We don’t want speculation and panic. People might think it’s a terrorist attack. It’s not, is it?’
‘No, It’s not a terrorist attack, and re the announcement, yes, it’s a good idea to let people know what is going on.’
After looking at her Twitter feed on her phone, Rebecca butted in. ‘Actually, I’ve already filed copy for the Advertiser, and the news is trending on social media. Anyone in the crowd who is curious would just need to google Adelaide Oval, and they would know soon enough.’
‘Great!’ said Gary, giving Rebecca a stern look before addressing the CEO. ‘I guess the news has already been announced but it would be worth doing it officially and accurately. Your announcement will need to be checked by our comms guys,’ said Gary as he handed him a card with police communications contact details.
Great, check with the comms guys. That’ll take forever, thought Rebecca. She decided to go up to the fourth tier, where Bruce Wells was stabbed and was either pushed or fell off the balcony. Her money was on him being pushed, but she needed to check. She knew someone must have seen something. But as she reached the top of the stairs, two policemen stopped her.
She had to think quickly. She could either be completely unethical, lie about her identity, and say she needed to get back to her elderly demented mother who was sitting alone and confused in the stand or say that she needed to go to the toilet and that there was a long line-up for the women’s toilets on the third level, which wasn’t a lie. She went with the second excuse and was waved through. It was too easy.
A Royal Murder Page 10