Shattered

by Gabrielle Lord

  ‘And I’ll attend to your account in due course. Thank you.’

  Gemma watched him make his way up the stone steps to the roadside, then rang Naomi at Baroque Occasions.

  ‘How’s Jade?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s not here at the moment. She’s gone to help Maddison pack up.’

  ‘Pack up what?’

  ‘There’s this place on the South Coast, run by a couple of ex-workers. A sort of refuge for workers. Maddison’s decided to go down there for a few weeks. She’s going to try and get off the gear.’

  Maybe I’ll ring Dr Carr, Gemma thought. Give him this little bit of hope to hang on to. ‘And Jade?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s a really smart kid. Helped me with my English assignment. I’ll be sorry when she leaves, actually. She makes a fantastic spaghetti sauce.’

  •

  Mike was on the doorstep at seven, bearing a covered dish.

  ‘Yum,’ said Gemma, letting him in. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The last of my coq au vin.’ He whipped the lid off and the aroma made her suddenly aware of how hungry she was.

  ‘Let’s set up the photograph, and start the other program,’ he said, following her down to the kitchen. ‘We can eat while it’s running.’

  In the operatives office, Gemma sat near Mike while he cut and pasted bits of the photograph, concentrating on the area of the wardrobe and the indistinct decoration on the sleeve of the dark jacket hanging in it.

  ‘It’ll start playing around with the pixels and make a few suggestions about what it might be. Letters, symbols, that sort of thing. It’s been loaded with thousands of logos and badges. Automobile clubs, gun clubs, you name it. We just might get something.’

  ‘Great. Mike, I’m starving.’

  He watched her as she ate. ‘You feeling all right? Is it staying down?’

  ‘It’s fine. It’s sinfully good.’

  ‘So’s this,’ he said, lifting his glass. Gemma had opened a special bottle of pinot noir, treating herself to half a glass, and its smoky elegance gave the meal a festive air, while outside a fine drizzle fell and the waves sounded a low roar.

  After they’d finished eating, Gemma cleared up a little, insisting Mike relax on her lounge as he’d prepared the meal.

  ‘Pregnancy suits you,’ Mike said. ‘You look softer. Your skin is glowing.’

  ‘Pity about my hair,’ she said.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this is the first time I’ve really felt like I belong here.’

  ‘You look good there,’ she said, moving to perch opposite him. ‘Sitting on my big blue lounge. How about you and me have a bath together?’

  ‘I thought you wanted an early night.’

  ‘I do,’ she said, smiling. ‘With you.’

  They both managed to fit in the bath, sitting opposite each other in a tangle of legs and knees, a few candles illuminating the room with a golden glow.

  ‘This is very luxurious,’ said Mike. ‘I feel like a pasha.’

  When Gemma finally climbed out, Mike admired her before she wrapped herself up in a towel. ‘I’m going to check that program,’ she said. ‘It might have come up with something.’

  ‘Before you go,’ he said, ‘let’s see again what’s under that towel.’

  She flashed for him, and with his pleased exclamation ringing out of the bathroom, she padded down the hall, her bare feet leaving wet prints on the floorboards.

  The program had stopped running. Gemma moved closer to see why. Then she understood. It had come up with a series of possible enhancements. It was the third of these that caused Gemma to peer at the computer screen. At first, she thought it must have been the super’s jacket hanging up in the wardrobe, then she noticed the wardrobe itself – the enhancement program had made the low-relief carving in the wood obvious. Then she saw the ranking patch. A whole swarm of tiny facts that had been buzzing around in her mind suddenly constellated. She knew that wardrobe, identified the rank, and with that, a name flashed into clarity – the name that had been swimming just out of focus when she lay dreaming and drifting in her drug-induced daze at the clinic. The Lindfield shooting, the transfer out, the heavy make-up, working overtime, a damaged Venetian glass heart, the know-how, the means, the Anschutz . . . the Anschutz 525!

  Only one person could pull all that together into a vengeful, homicidal explosion. But she had to be certain.

  She grabbed her phone and rang Angie’s mobile.

  Angie answered, her voice tired and fed up.

  ‘Ange! It’s me. I think I’ve got it! The person who murdered Bryson and Bettina Finn.’

  ‘Gemma, don’t do this! We’ve charged someone. I’m hanging up!’

  ‘It was an Anschutz, wasn’t it?’ Gemma said desperately. ‘Angie, don’t hang up! At the Lindfield shooting, I mean.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was an Anschutz, wasn’t it? An Anschutz 525 at the murder at Lindfield the same day Bryson and Bettina and Donny were shot. You know, where the guy killed his wife then shot his own ear off.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Please, Angie. Get a check done on the rifling characteristics of that weapon. You’ll find something astonishing!’

  ‘Gemma, the guy’s signed a statement. He’s made admissions. He’s pleading guilty. To murdering his wife, not members of the Finn family! What the hell are you going on about?’

  From the south-west came the grumbling roar of distant thunder.

  ‘Just get someone to do what I ask,’ Gemma pleaded. ‘And then test it against the cartridges and bullets from the Finn shootings. But don’t ask Sydney ballistics to do it. Okay? Get it done somewhere else. Anywhere else.’

  ‘You’re crazy. The Lindfield shooting has nothing to do with the murders of Bryson and Bettina Finn!’

  ‘The Lindfield shooting has everything to do with those murders! I swear that if you do as I say, you’ll be withdrawing the charges against Jaki Hunter. And I want you to personally take a very close look at the muzzle end of the barrel. Because I think you’ll find some little scratches there. You’ll be kissing me, and you’ll have your killer delivered to you.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why I should do this crazy thing,’ said Angie.

  ‘I’ll give you plenty,’ said Gemma. ‘Motive, opportunity, weapon, alibi, fabrication of evidence . . . I could continue.’

  She made another phone call, to Sean Wright, and asked a question about one of the people on the crime scene team, noting down Sean’s answer. She rang off and turned as Mike came into the room, coming over to see what was on the screen.

  ‘What’s that? The superintendent’s leather jacket?’

  ‘That’s what I thought at first. But take a closer look.’

  ‘That’s not a super’s patch,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Gemma. Then she told him what she’d asked Angie to do and why.

  Mike got it straightaway.

  ‘The killer’s laughing,’ said Gemma, ‘with someone else locked up for the shootings. Believing they’ve got away with it. And if Angie pushes this, it’s going to take at least a few hours for her to get the ballistics result. Especially on a Saturday night. Then she’ll have to keep the results from being leaked. You know what it’s like in the job. I wish there was something I could do!’

  ‘There isn’t. So I suggest coffee in bed,’ said Mike, slipping his arms around her waist. ‘Could help you take your mind off murder for a little while.’

  He took the tray from her and carried it into the bedroom.

  Once the coffee was finished, Mike took her cup from her and put it on the bedside table, gathering her to him in his arms.

  ‘Gemma Lincoln,’ he said, after she broke away from a delicious, coffee-flavoured kiss, ‘pleas
e don’t throw up on me tonight.’

  Thirty-One

  Next morning, loud knocking on the front door woke them. Gemma threw on her dressing-gown, noticing they’d slept in, then hurried down the hallway.

  ‘You still in bed?’ asked Hugo as she opened the front door.

  ‘Good to see you too, Hugo,’ she said, unlocking the grille and letting him in. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Dad’s place,’ he said, walking in all clean and combed. ‘And guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m changing schools. To this really cool high school near where Mum lives. For some reason, Dad’s gone right off Bassett. Told me he doesn’t think it’s quite right for me. Don’t know why.’

  ‘Can’t imagine,’ Gemma said, suppressing a grin.

  ‘It’s a really good school and I can do legal studies as well as computer science. Bassett didn’t offer legal studies. I already know a couple of kids who go there.’

  ‘I’m impressed. You want to do law?’

  ‘I might,’ he shrugged. ‘I’d like to make some laws about protecting kids from dickhead grown-ups. What’s to eat?’ he asked. ‘I’m starving.’

  Hugo stopped mid-stride when he saw Mike on his way to the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

  ‘Are you staying here too?’ Hugo demanded.

  ‘Too right I am, kid.’

  Hugo stayed for a large part of the day, watching cable TV and eating Mike’s biscuits, while Gemma caught up with paperwork and Mike left to do some surveillance for another security operator.

  ‘See?’ Hugo said as he too made preparations to leave later. ‘I was right. Dad thought about what I said after all. So I didn’t have to dob on those losers at Bassett.’

  After he’d gone, taking his backpack with him, Gemma tried to settle down to work, but found it hard to concentrate. Every time the phone rang, she snatched it up, hoping it would be Angie with the ballistics results. She wanted to act the moment the results were out. Before the inevitable gossip and leaks warned the killer.

  She worked out the total figure for the time she’d spent on the investigation into the Finn family murders and added up the expenses. She pulled out her calculator and checked the amounts again. They were accurate. The account came to a large amount of money and Gemma decided to send it off straightaway. As a superintendent’s widow, Natalie Finn should end up with a good superannuation payout even if Gemma might have to wait a long time before her account was settled. But no amount of money would restore that shattered family, nor heal the wounds to the children, Donny and Jade. Maybe those wounds never heal, thought Gemma, remembering her own parents, feeling the sadness in her soul.

  It wasn’t until the evening was closing in that the phone call she’d been hanging on finally came through.

  ‘I’ve got the result of the ballistics comparison with the Anschutz from the Lindfield crime scene,’ said Angie. ‘And it’s gonna knock your socks off.’

  ‘Not my socks,’ said Gemma. ‘They got knocked off when I first saw the relevant detail in a photograph. You’re going to tell me they found the same rifling characteristics?’

  ‘You said it. The guys in ballistics at Parramatta could hardly believe their eyes. We’re sending the whole thing over to DAL, just for confirmation. But it’s going to completely change this case.’

  ‘The minute the killer hears about the match, they’re going to run,’ said Gemma.

  ‘I’m working as fast as I can,’ said Angie. ‘I’m waiting on the warrant right now. We paid particular attention to the muzzle end like you suggested – and we found the scratches where the silencer had been screwed on.’

  A long pause.

  ‘I’ve got to congratulate you, Gemster,’ Angie said finally. ‘I thought you were having some sort of breakdown. You know, either because of baby hormones or over Steve. And his new fiancée –’

  ‘Angie,’ Gemma broke in, ‘I’m dating another man. This time, a suitable, kind, loving, committed one.’

  ‘Don’t tell me! Let me guess . . . Mike.’ Angie sounded happy for her. ‘You two make a great investigation team. I pulled in the wrong person.’

  ‘Don’t feel too badly about it,’ said Gemma, feeling very pleased. ‘Like you said, all the evidence pointed to Jaki. But I had an extra piece of information that you didn’t have. A poor-quality photo from Dwight Ashton.’ She told Angie about the enhancement program. ‘Once I got a closer look at the wardrobe and spotted the jacket hanging in it, I played around with a couple of possible scenarios. Then I came up with a really workable hypothesis.’

  ‘I’m still confused,’ said Angie, ‘about how it was done.’

  ‘I’ve got the big moves blocked out,’ said Gemma. ‘It was beautiful, really. In its way. Take me out to dinner and I’ll tell you.’

  She rang off and turned to Mike, who’d returned just in time to overhear most of the conversation. ‘I take it that your hypothesis has been confirmed by a ballistics examination?’

  Gemma nodded, then flinched at deafening thunder right overhead as the front garden lit up mauve, then darkened again. The storm was rapidly approaching and its drama seemed to infuse her with edgy energy.

  ‘I can’t stay here and do nothing,’ she said, full of tense excitement. ‘I want to go and sit off the killer’s place. The information about the ballistics report is in the air. I don’t want to lose the quarry at this late stage. You know what it’s like. It only takes one phone call.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll follow you.’

  Gemma agreed, thinking of the times she’d lost a target because she’d been alone. She jotted the address down for him in case they got separated on the drive, and made it to her car just before the rain hit.

  Once on the road, Gemma had to put the windscreen wipers on at full speed to cut a swathe of visibility through the heavy rain. She glanced in the rear-vision mirror: except for Mike’s lights steadily following, she could see almost nothing of the road behind. Ahead of her, visibility extended only a few metres.

  As the rain became even more intense, Gemma slowed her car to a crawl. Eventually, the torrential downpour forced her to pull over and sit out the worst of it. A little way back, she saw Mike’s headlights do the same.

  Several minutes later, the rain eased and she pulled out. She could feel no compassion for the person who was about to be ambushed by the police. Not only had the killer murdered two people, they’d also set up the crimes so that someone else would pay. This person should be placed in a secured environment for a very long time.

  Gemma settled to a steady speed and the sound of the radio crackled through the swish of the rain.

  As she neared the address, her edgy excitement increased. She could feel her body pulsing. Sorry, baby, she apologised, for putting you through this elevated adrenaline level and blood flow. She also had to admit to some apprehension – that the killer would somehow slip through their fingers. Already, this person had demonstrated the capacity for extremely fast and creative thinking.

  Because of the heavy rain, the drive took longer than she’d anticipated, but eventually Gemma pulled up on the opposite side of the road, a little way back from the dwelling. Night had fallen, and thick cloud cover obscured the moon.

  There was no light showing in the target’s house. Maybe they weren’t home. Or had already fled. Gemma’s intention had been to sit off the place but perhaps it was already too late. She called Mike on the radio but he failed to respond. She tried a second time. It wasn’t until the third attempt that she was successful.

  ‘Tracker Three, Gemma,’ said Mike. ‘Copy, please.’

  ‘Copy, Mike. What’s up? You weren’t responding.’

  ‘I had my head stuck under the bloody hood. I went through a big puddle and must have got some water in the distributor cap. An
d now it won’t start. I’ll dry things off and try again. Be with you soon, I hope.’

  ‘You know where I am,’ she said, calling off.

  Gemma waited, but the minutes weighed heavily and she was anxious that the killer had been tipped off and was already gone. Finally, she could sit still no longer. She felt around on the floor behind the front seats to find an umbrella. She was happy to have it; it provided good cover. If she held it at the right angle, she could keep her face almost completely hidden.

  She swung out of the car and splashed across the road, approaching the dwelling. The front door was closed and all seemed to be in darkness. As it was the last house in the street, Gemma hurriedly splashed down the lane that ran the length of the building’s western side, turning left again into the back street where the houses had their garages.

  The target’s garage was closed. The rain came down in sheets again, and Gemma swore, heading back up the lane to the front of the house to take refuge on the front verandah. Looking around to make sure she was unobserved, Gemma tested the door. It was locked.

  This is not safe, said a warning instinct deep within her. She knew she should go back to the car. She didn’t know for sure if the house was empty, even if it felt empty from here. But her curiosity overruled the warning. She was peering through the window when a sound shocked her into immobility.

  ‘Don’t make a sound. Don’t even think about making a move.’

  The voice was right in her ear. Gemma could feel the overpowering sense of someone crowding close behind her and the bruising point of a weapon pushed into her back.

  ‘You want to snoop around? Here’s your chance.’

  Paulette’s gloved hand unlocked the door and shoved Gemma ahead of her.

  ‘Paulette!’ Gemma said. ‘What are you doing? I was just dropping by –’

  ‘You’ve been parked off my place for ages. You think I didn’t notice? Living with Benny taught me a lot of things.’

  ‘You’re overreacting,’ said Gemma, playing dumb. ‘Who’s Benny?’

  ‘Keep moving,’ said Paulette, and Gemma saw with fear that the woman held her service pistol in her other gloved hand. A Glock 26 with a silencer affixed.