‘What? Killing yourself is illegal?’ There is some asperity there; she can’t help herself.
‘No, suicide isn’t illegal. Helping someone do it is. You didn’t know that?’
‘I did. What’s this got to do with Julie’s death?’
‘I don’t know. Do you?’
She shrugs. ‘I’ve found since my mother became sick that lots of people talk about voluntary euthanasia.’
‘What about Dr Ben Farrell. Did you ever discuss it with him?’
She looks over at Troy, back at McIver, realises Ben has definitely gone to the police. Said he would, and he did, honest Ben. If she hadn’t fucked him, none of this would be happening.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It never came up,’ she says slowly. Don’t panic. ‘The few conversations I had with other people on the subject were purely theoretical. To have talked about it with Ben would have brought Mum into it.’
‘She never said she wanted to die?’
I’m in the Senior Executive Service, she feels like saying. I deserve respect. The benefit of the doubt. Instead, ‘She said she wanted to die at least once a week for the last six months. But it was rhetorical, she never considered killing herself. Elizabeth was a fighter.’
It is true, although what she’d been fighting had changed towards the end.
Troy looks at McIver, who turns over one sheet of paper in his folder and scans the next. After half a minute he raises his eyes to the DVD on the table and picks it up. Leila wonders what is on it. What can be on it.
‘The night your mother died,’ he says. ‘Tell me about it.’
Making an effort not to look at the DVD, she says, ‘Why? What’s this got to do with Julie’s death?’
‘You’ve discovered two bodies in the past fortnight. That’s unusual, I’m curious.’
‘I wish I hadn’t,’ she says. ‘I really wish I hadn’t.’ They look at her patiently, and she sighs. ‘At the start, you didn’t tell me what this was all about, did you?’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes. The problem is your duty to inform me fully of what’s going on. You didn’t do that. Why not?’
McIver smiles, he seems interested in her complaint.
‘You’re not a suspect, but one thing leads to another,’ he says. ‘We start with Julie Cornish’s death, move out to the surrounding circumstances as we try to find out what happened to her. You want to answer the question?’
‘I went to Macquarie Centre to see a film. I went right after dinner, at seven fifteen. Mum always fell asleep early and the first few hours were okay, she wouldn’t wake up. So it was the best time for me to be out of the house. I tried to go once a week, usually with a friend.’
‘But there was no friend this time?’
‘No.’
‘You wanted to get away?’ says Troy.
‘I wanted to see a film,’ she says, remembering exactly how she felt. ‘For the day before, I would think of nothing else. I don’t even remember what most of the films were, the important thing was to get out of the house.’ She is on the verge of tears now, and makes herself stop. These people don’t care. They ask her about the film and she tells them, describes the plot.
McIver says, ‘When did it start?’
‘At seven thirty. I was home by nine thirty, and found Mum.’
She looks at the wall, for the moment not caring if they can see right into her, into her heart. Elizabeth died on that night. She died from bone cancer.
McIver says, ‘Had she always liked Baileys?’
‘She often had a glass at night.’
‘Dr Philip Nitschke, the euthanasia advocate, says Baileys is a way of removing the taste of Nembutal. You know what that is?’ Leila nods. She is sick of these people. ‘Did you buy anything when you went to Mexico?’
Here we go. It is quite a jump, but she is ready for it.
‘I’ve never been to Mexico.’
There it is, her line in the sand. If they have any evidence of the trip to Tijuana, she wants to know now.
‘You’ve never been to Mexico?’
Troy is still holding the DVD. Maybe it is CCTV from the border crossing.
‘No. Do you think I killed my mother?’
‘Why would I think that?’
‘I have no idea. But that would appear to be the explanation for this line of questioning.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘I’m not patronising you.’
She gives a gasp of exasperation. For the camera. ‘What’s on the DVD?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘No you’re not. You keep waving it in front of me. Why don’t you play it?’
Jesus, she has gone too far.
Troy looks at the DVD and there is disappointment in his eyes, only a trace, but she is sure of it. McIver stares at her and she gives him a look, putting some force into her expression, to hide the triumph.
Still holding the DVD, Troy says, ‘Have you ever attended a lecture given by Dr Nitschke?’
‘So you’re not going to play the DVD?’
‘Can you answer the question?’
Back off the DVD, don’t be obsessive. You’ve won.
‘Once. Six months ago in Chatswood.’
‘Why did you go?’
‘My mother asked me to. She wanted to learn about options. There was a public meeting followed by a workshop for those interested in learning about techniques. I left after the public meeting.’
‘Why did you say earlier your mother never talked about euthanasia?’
‘I didn’t. I said she never suggested she wanted it for herself.’
‘So you’re not a member of Dr Nitschke’s organisation, Final Exit?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Have you ever been a member?’
‘No.’
‘You disapprove?’
‘I disagree. What other people do to themselves is their business.’
Troy says, ‘So you still support people’s right to commit so-called victimless crimes?’
Leila looks at him. The fact they’ve run her name through their system means this must be serious, at some level. But it does not mean they have any evidence.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But that’s not what happened here.’ Maybe she should be crying by now.
Troy says, ‘You are on leave from the department for twelve months, aren’t you?’
Ben, she thinks. Ben, the bastard.
‘I went back yesterday.’
‘It must have been difficult to have so much time off, given your senior position.’
‘My director is understanding.’
‘Before your mother died, were you planning to extend your leave?’
‘I hadn’t decided.’
‘So they didn’t know if you were coming back or not?’
Don’t lie about anything they can check. ‘As far as they knew, I was. I’d had enough, actually, and I was looking around for a full-time carer. I’d talked to Julie about it. The week she spent with Mum was a trial.’
‘Did she know that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did anyone else? Anyone alive?’
She looks at him carefully before answering. ‘Possibly one of my mother’s friends, maybe her doctor. I wouldn’t know.’
‘Did Julie’s boyfriend know of the possibility?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You don’t know if she discussed it with him, a big decision like that?’
‘No.’
‘Let’s go through your trip to Los Angeles,’ says Troy. ‘How long were you there?’
&nbs
p; ‘Five days.’
Leila wishes she’d asked for some water, but this is not the moment.
‘We’ll start with your arrival on the twenty-sixth of January. What time did you land?’
Leila looks at the white wall and forces herself to think, and to look like she is thinking. She needs to consider the camera.
Perhaps she should make a fuss now, refuse to have anything more to do with them. But her story is rock solid: all her efforts to cover her tracks will be wasted if she walks out. Looking at it objectively, she has nothing to hide. Part of her welcomes the challenge of putting her story to the test, seeing if she has beaten these stupid people with their stupid laws. There is pride there and she will have to be careful. But it can be done.
‘I didn’t help my mother die and you have given me no evidence to suggest otherwise,’ she says slowly. ‘So I am very uncomfortable with this line of questioning. I will tell you about my trip to America and then I’m going to leave, because my mother died ten days ago and I’m exhausted.’
‘So,’ McIver says, as though she hasn’t spoken, ‘you arrived on the twenty-sixth?’
Leila goes through her itinerary. The first day she slept and swam in the hotel pool, and went for a short walk. The second she spent with an Australian friend living in LA with her family. That night she went to bed early. The third day was at the Getty, with another early night. On the fourth day she took a four-hour bus tour of the city and had dinner at her friend’s house. The last day was spent at the Getty again, and she flew out that night.
The missing part of the story involves the trip to Mexico on the last day. She assumes there is no way they can find that hole; it’s impossible to prove she did not go to the Getty a second time.
Troy writes down the details, the times, the name of Leila’s hotel and her friend, and the company that ran the bus tour.
‘You have a good memory,’ says McIver. ‘Which Getty did you go to?’
‘The Center.’
‘Not the Villa?’
‘No.’
‘Keen to see the great art at the Getty?’
‘Most of it’s second rate,’ she says.
‘They’d be disappointed to hear you say that.’
Strange cop.
‘I was interested in the architecture of the Center rather than its contents. You’ve been there?’
‘For me, California’s the bit you fly over to get to the real America. But I’ve been to the Houston art gallery, I understand the concept of a concrete palace filled with junk.’
This is intolerable. An innocent person would not tolerate it. She stands up and stretches, for the camera. ‘For reasons already given, I’m going to go now.’
The detectives just sit there while she picks up her bag.
Troy says, ‘I don’t suppose you still have the tickets for the Getty?’
‘Admission is free.’
Leila smiles briefly and turns to go. He stands up to open the door.
‘Dr Scott?’ says McIver. ‘Thanks for talking with us. It would have been better if we could have completed the interview. We’ll have to consider why it is you don’t want to say anything more to us.’
‘I—’
‘I understand you’re still getting over your mother’s death.’
‘Still?’ she says, furiously.
At least he has the decency to blush.
Fifty
They returned to Manly and met Conti, who had CCTV footage of a man sending a parcel at the West Pennant Hills post office at 11.15 am the previous day. He was wearing a bulky jacket, unusual given the hot weather, a baseball cap and sunglasses. It might be Carl Burns, or it might not.
‘Spoke with an American accent, bought a padded envelope and postage, paid cash,’ said Conti.
‘They see what he was mailing?’
‘No. He told them it weighed half a kilo. He could have put it in the mailbox outside.’
‘The timing is right, tight but possible.’
‘He didn’t have a cap or jacket in his car when we searched it,’ said Troy. ‘Any news from his local post office?’
‘Ashfield. He had no mail today. They’ll call me if anything turns up. We need to talk with him soon, find out where his friends and relatives live, check their post offices too.’
‘We’re going to talk to him all right,’ McIver said. ‘Make sure you get a photo.’
Troy nodded. With a photo they could canvass the area around West Pennant Hills post office, see if anyone had noticed Carl arriving or leaving, dumping a coat and baseball cap in a nearby bin. Maybe one of those big clothing bins the charities put out.
They told Conti about the interview with Leila Scott.
She said, ‘Did you talk to the dodgy doctor?’
‘Emery,’ said Troy. ‘Not yet.’
‘What was Scott like?’
‘You saw her the other day. Money. Nice clothes.’
‘Bloody junkies,’ she said.
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘She’s been across the line.’
‘You don’t think you can come back?’ McIver said with interest.
Conti looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. ‘My father crossed the line and I saw what happened later, as I grew up. Even if you try to do the right thing, there’s a door that’s always open.’
‘You can close it.’
She shook her head.
Troy said, ‘I don’t think she liked my tie.’
‘It’s a terrible tie,’ said Conti.
‘It’s a fine tie. Matches the suit.’
‘I rest my case. Carl Burns and Julie don’t match.’
McIver raised his eyebrows.
‘Couples normally share the same standard of physical attraction. If they don’t, there’s got to be a reason for it.’
She put photos of Burns and Cornish on the table and the others looked at them. She was right about the difference. It had occurred to Troy earlier, but he’d put the thought to one side and lost it. Julie actually looked more attractive in her photo than when he’d met her at the hospice. Maybe it was an old photo, but in the flesh she’d been bigger and pinker, and there’d been an air of strain the photo did not reflect. Burns was not exactly handsome, but he was much better looking.
‘People say their relationship had been on and off for a while,’ Troy said. ‘Ever since they came down from Brisbane together.’
McIver nodded and said Rostov had called earlier to report on the latest interviews over at St Thomas’. The two nurses had been part of a large social group from the hospital that met several times a week at bars around the inner city. They were a little older than most of the group. After Carl had left Julie eight months ago, she’d had some sort of breakdown. One colleague speculated she’d tried to kill herself, but there was no evidence. Then she’d returned to work, and suddenly Carl and she were back on. Everything seemed fine. Julie had told a friend they were thinking of getting married, and she’d changed jobs soon after, to put some space between Carl and herself. Told the friend if Carl and she were going to live together, they shouldn’t work together.
‘You two talk to Burns again, now,’ said McIver. ‘Show him the post office footage. Check the dates with Scott’s hotel in LA, see if they’ve got any record of what she did. A bus tour to Mexico would be nice. Credit card details, call the friend.’
Troy and Conti stood up to go. McIver waited for a moment, playing with a plastic spoon on his desk. He was better today, Troy thought, more on top of things. But still not as sharp as usual. ‘Tell Burns we’re hearing strange things at the hospital about Julie. No doubt he’s pretty emotional, you might lay it on.’
‘We’re not hearing anything, are we?’
‘I wish.’
‘Anything from Brisbane?’
McIver looked annoyed, shook his head.
Fifty-one
Burns was at home, and said he could be at Marrickville Police Station in an hour. On the way over, Troy called Professor Fundis at the morgue and asked about sudden arrhythmic death syndrome, which according to the autopsy report had killed Julie Cornish.
‘What it means, Detective,’ Fundis said, ‘is that we don’t have a fucking clue.’
‘Okay.’
Troy had dealt with Fundis before, but he seemed more grumpy lately. Lots of people were.
‘And that offends our sense of professionalism,’ said the doctor, ‘so we put a fancy name on it to make us feel better.’
‘What if she’d been gassed with nitrogen?’
Pause. ‘It’s one way to die. But that would give you suicide: hard to commit murder that way and not leave traces.’
‘What’s the most common cause of SADS?’
‘We think it’s an abnormality in the heart’s electrical system. The heartbeat’s a bit out, and for some reason one day it just goes on strike, often when the owner is exercising.’
‘Well, she—’
‘Often, but not always. It’s genetic. Find out if any other members of the family have died of no apparent cause. If they have, I’d say it’s SADS for sure.’
At Marrickville they took Burns into an ERISP room and turned on the camera. He was wearing a green-striped shirt and baggy jeans and said he didn’t want a lawyer. Once the preliminaries were over, Conti played the DVD from West Pennant Hills post office. When it was finished she asked Burns if he was the person in the bulky jacket, and he denied it. She went over the facts of his meeting with Leila Scott at the house, and Troy said nothing, just watched Burns’ face and his body language. There wasn’t much to see. The nurse was calmer than yesterday, more normal in his responses. The desire to jump on certain facts, impose himself on the interview, had disappeared. Troy wondered if it could be brought to life again, and what it meant anyway.
Conti had got Burns to bring his address book to the interview, and he put it on the table, asked what this was about. As he spoke he glared at Troy: he was looking at him more often today.
The Simple Death Page 28