The Stalk Club

by Neil Cossins

  “Morning Howard,” said Nelson.

  “If my estimation that the shooter was standing one metre away is correct I can then deduce that the shooter is approximately five feet six inches to five feet ten inches tall.” Martinez, who stood five feet eight inches tall on a good day, took his position near the dummy and extended his arm towards it in line with the fluorescent rods to illustrate his point. Nelson studied the positioning of Martinez arm in relation to the dummy and scribbled a few notes in his pad. “There were no reflexive defensive wounds on the hands so I assume Fogliani didn’t see it coming.”

  “You’re probably right. Anything of interest on the body? Any weapons?”

  Martinez referred to a clipboard where he had made his notes.

  “No, no weapons. However there was fifteen hundred dollars in cash and plenty of credit cards intact in his wallet.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars? That’s a lot of cash to be dragging around.”

  “For you and I maybe, but maybe not for someone driving around in a brand new hundred grand car. I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Where is the car?”

  “It’s down in the basement for now. There was nothing of particular interest in it. In fact, it was impressively clean, probably because it was so new. The rear and passenger side doors of the car were locked and there was nothing to indicate that anyone else had been inside the vehicle.”

  Nelson grunted as he jotted.

  “Now as for the cartridges we found at the scene, they were regulation nine millimetre. We did manage to pull a nice clean intact slug out of the seat lining of the driver’s seat. Sabine has been analysing it. Tell him what you found Sabi.”

  Nelson turned his attention to the young Constable.

  “Unfortunately there isn’t much to say Detective. As Mike said, it’s a regulation nine millimeter round. Cheap Chinese crap probably. I’ve run the striation pattern against our database and didn’t get any hits, so the gun hasn’t been used previously in any other crimes we know of. Have you been able to locate the murder weapon?”

  “No, we haven’t found it yet,” responded Nelson, slightly disheartened, knowing that the murder weapon was the cornerstone of any homicide investigation.

  “Well if it turns up we should have a good chance at getting a match.”

  Nelson checked his watch and realised he would have to get moving if he was to get across town to Headquarters in time to brief Crighton.

  “Alright, thanks guys. I’d better head back to HQ.”

  “Did you find anything in your search of the surrounds?” asked Martinez as Nelson headed for the door.

  “Yeah, I think we’ve found something that might interest you. McAuley will bring it in when they’re finished.”

  “Oh?” replied Martinez, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

  “Patience my friend,” said Nelson smiling. “Let the evidence speak for itself. Isn’t that what you lab rats are always telling me?”

  Nelson noted that Sabine laughed generously at his attempt at humour. He also noted that she wasn’t bad looking and briefly wondered if she might be interested in becoming his future ex-girlfriend. There was always room for one more.

  “I think you’ve been watching too much television Nelson,” replied Martinez. “But I’ll put a rush job on whatever comes in.”

  Chapter 14

  It was just past eight a.m. when Nelson made it back to Police Headquarters in Parramatta. The dark tower, as it was sometimes derogatorily referred to by the lower ranks is located on Charles street, just to the east of the town centre and is a massive sprawling creation of black and green tinted glass, some fifteen stories high. Nelson parked across the road in the eleven dollars per day dirt car park as only the Commissioned officers – Inspector and above - were rewarded with a car parking space under the building.

  Feeling guilty about having barely exercised in the previous week, Nelson took the stairs to the seventh floor which was where the fifty odd members of the Investigative Response team or IRT were housed. The other two teams in the Homicide squad, the Coronial Investigation Team and the Unsolved or Cold Case team were located upstairs on the eighth floor of the building. The floor space on the seventh floor was mostly made up of public service style workstations, separated by bland grey partitions. There were also opaque glass walled offices for the commissioned officers, meeting rooms and four large siege rooms which were used to workshop the larger cases. Nelson disliked using the siege rooms because half the squad had keys to them, potentially allowing them access to the sensitive case information within.

  Nelson exited the stairwell breathing heavily but not exhaustedly and made his way to his desk near the southeast corner of the building. He treasured his window seat which had views of the city in the distance and when he needed a break he would stare out the window and let his mind wander.

  As it was a Saturday morning, the floor was relatively quiet although he still spied a dozen or so heads at the other desks. Nelson noticed that his immediate supervisor and team leader, Inspector James VanMerle – or Merlot when his back was turned because of his affection for wine - was in his office. Nelson hoped that he stayed there, at least for the time being, as he tried to avoid Merlot’s company wherever possible because the man depressed the hell out of him. Despite his reasonable promotional prosperity, VanMerle’s twenty-five years in the service and/or fifty-four years of living, had left him with a permanent half glass empty outlook on life. If there was a dark lining in a silver cloud VanMerle would find it and share it with whoever would take the time to listen to him.

  Nelson knew VanMerle should be briefed on the progress he’d made on the Fogliani case but decided he would wait a little longer as his day had started off badly enough already. After booting up his computer he skirted VanMerle’s office and went to the kitchen and made himself a coffee, helping himself to somebody else’s milk from the fridge. He returned to his desk by the same route, eager to make a start on the paperwork while the events of the previous night were still fresh in his memory.

  Over the next half hour Nelson worked on his notes and developed a detailed account of case to date. Apart from the perfunctory greetings to other members of the squad as they walked near his desk he kept to himself and was left alone. He wanted to avoid any idle chats because a) he didn’t have time and b) he knew there would be questions asked and probably jealousies felt when word got out that he had been given the Fogliani case even though he wasn’t the duty officer for the night.

  At five to nine, he printed out his case notes and headed up to the ninth floor where Detective Superintendent Crighton occupied a large and relatively plush office that housed his desk and a medium sized meeting table where he received – or some would say interrogated - his visitors.

  Nelson noted that Crighton’s diminutive, fifty year old dark-haired executive assistant Pasha, who sat outside his office, had her back momentarily turned to him as she retrieved something from her desk drawer. She was nicknamed the Alsatian because of her excellent guarding ability and she was an integral part of enforcing Crighton’s closed door management style. Pasha’s nickname was well earned as Nelson, and most of the other Homicide squad staff could attest that her bite was an equal match for her bark and most of them had at some stage had strips torn off them by her for some perceived indiscretion. Sensing a rare opportunity, Nelson silenced his footsteps and sailed past her unseen into Crighton’s office.

  Nelson noted that Marie Pastello from the Media Unit had already arrived and was sitting silently across from Crighton at his meeting table. She was pretty, neat and tidy and efficient - everything you would expect from someone intent on forging a career in public relations.

  Crighton’s personal advisor and chief head kicker, Senior Sergeant Nathan Brede was also there. As with Pasha, Crighton had brought him along from his previous posting when he had been promoted to the position. Unlike Crighton, Brede had had a decent operational career before switching to his admin
istrative role. Nelson smiled and nodded at Marie and gave Brede a curt nod before taking his seat. Along with Pasha, Brede was also on the long list of people that Nelson disliked. Nelson’s dislike of him stemmed from a previous investigation where sensitive information had been leaked to the media and Brede was his prime suspect.

  “Have a seat Detective Sergeant,” said Crighton without looking up from the papers he was reviewing. Nelson wondered if Crighton had slept since their early morning meeting at the crime scene. He looked tired and drawn but as usual, alert.

  “Alright Detective,” said Crighton pushing aside his papers. “Tell me what you and Detective Robards have been up to.”

  Nelson referred to his case summary and provided a brief update on how the investigation had proceeded. He chose to leave out any specifics about the evidence that had been discovered because he reasoned that the fewer people who knew the details the better. He had been burned on several occasions when crucial information in the case he was investigating had somehow found its way into the media, potentially jeapordising his case.

  Brede looked at him half smiling, half smirking. “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got? I mean, did you collect any hard evidence from the crime scene Detective?”

  “Yes we did,” replied Nelson flatly, knowing where the conversation was headed and gently maneuvering Brede into position.

  “And, what is it then. What did you find?” Brede said, his exasperation and his anger evident in the rising tone of his voice.

  “I’d rather keep that to myself right now if you don’t mind,” he replied calmly, looking squarely at Brede for the first time. “It’s not relevant to the press release and I want to keep the details of the case restricted to as tight a circle as possible.”

  Brede’s face turned beetroot red and Nelson had to concentrate in order not to smile. He was half wondering if Brede was going to have a coronary and he recalled that his first aid certificate had expired so he would be unable to perform CPR on the man.

  Before Brede exploded Crighton stepped in.

  “Marie, I think you’ve got enough for a first draft of the release. I need you to get back to me within half an hour please. Time is of the essence here.” Crighton turned to Brede. “Nathan, would you mind excusing us. I want to speak to Detective Nelson for a moment.”

  Brede wordlessly left Crighton’s office, glaring at Nelson from under a heavy brow as he went.

  “You seem to have a particular gift for antagonising people Detective,” said Crighton.

  “We all have our talents I guess.”

  “I’m sure. Let’s just hope you can put your talents to better use than annoying my support staff. Now, what can you tell me about Emilio Fogliani’s death Detective?”

  “Before I begin, can I ask you question first Boss?”

  Crighton gave Nelson a sharp look, further creasing the wrinkles around his eyes which then changed their pattern into something bordering on amusement after a few moments.

  “Go ahead Detective.”

  “I’d like to know why you chose me and Robards for this case? I mean, there are a dozen Detectives downstairs with twice as much experience as us put together. Some people, including VanMerle aren’t going to be happy we got this case.”

  Crighton leaned back in his chair, appraising Nelson with a calculating eye.

  “I’ve already told you not to worry about Inspector VanMerle. I’ve spoken with him. His role is purely administrative these days anyway. And, as far as why I chose you for this case, well, let’s just say that I haven’t been overly enamoured with the Detectives who were rostered on for duty last night. I need a good result in this case and I think you and Robards can get it for me. You’ve got a good track record for getting results in difficult cases and I want to see that continue here.”

  Nelson was surprised by the compliment and found himself without a response.

  “I see.”

  “This could turn out to be a very important case. If this is related to a gangland war then I want to be on top of it from the outset, even if the Gangs squad isn’t interested.”

  Nelson’s mind finally found a comeback to Crighton’s earlier point.

  “There are others who get results.”

  “I know that,” responded Crighton, waving away Nelson’s comment like a persistent fly. “I also know that some of the older Detectives cherry pick which cases they work on, often choosing the easiest ones and leaving the harder cases to the younger Detectives. I also know that some of the Inspectors, including VanMerle, allow this to happen.”

  Nelson knew it was true. Time and again he had been handed the stale cases at the bottom of the pile, the cases with little or no accompanying evidence or witnesses. The types of cases where there was only a small chance of a quick result. He took them all on without complaint and worked them energetically and to the best of his ability. They were all the same to him with the same objective. Do your best to bring those responsible to justice.

  “Now I know you’ve had some internal management issues in some of your cases, however I’m sure that’s all in the past now.”

  Nelson pursed his lips into silence. Crighton’s not so subtle reminder about the times he’d been investigated felt like a cattle prod in his ribs. He had been investigated three times in the past three years by the Professional Services Command - previously known as Internal Affairs – as a result of official complaints received regarding his conduct during investigations. Nothing untoward had ever been substantiated and he had been allowed to continue his duties without penalty, however Nelson knew his career had been badly damaged as a result. The investigations would remain as a permanent stain on his official record and he had been told by other officers who had suffered similar fates that those stains had a habit of resurfacing when transfers or promotions were applied for. It was a common source of complaint among the front line police that because of the often conflictive nature of their work they inevitably received official complaints – some justified, some not. While the officers who worked behind the lines, the pen pushers, the report writers, who never left the safety of their desks, who never had to make arrests, retained their pristine record which stood them in good favour come promotion time.

  “Those investigations were bullshit,” Nelson said sullenly.

  “Maybe they were Detective, but you need to understand that despite what you may or may not have done in your investigations in the past, this is not the sort of case that you will get away with cutting corners on. This case will be scrutinised from every angle, by me, by the department, by the media and no doubt by the Foglianis. So although I want you to exercise your best problem solving abilities on this case you need to be very meticulous in how you go about it. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Abundantly.”

  “Good. Now unless you have any more questions I’d like you to give me a full report on your progress. Leave nothing out this time.”

  Nelson put his annoyance aside for the time being and took a deep breath.

  “We’ve got a few things going for us. We found some latex gloves about one hundred and fifty metres from the crime scene. They had blood on them which is being tested and hopefully matched as we speak. We also found the discharged firearm cartridges and a couple of intact slugs that can be matched to the murder weapon if we find it. Robards is presently collecting the security camera video from the warehouses so I’m hopeful we’ll also get something there as the place was well covered.”

  Crighton listened intently while Nelson referred to his case summary.

  “Also, the SOCOs have taken a few plaster casts of footprints we found nearby in the park.”

  After ten minutes of intense clarifying questioning by Crighton which made Nelson feel as if he’d just been cross examined by a QC, he was summarily dismissed. Upon his exit he gave a saccharine filled greeting to Pasha and in return felt her gaze bore into his back until he was out of her sight.

  He returned to his desk and put in a cal
l to Robards.

  “It’s Nelson. How are you travelling?”

  “Good. McAuley left about an hour ago to take the evidence to the lab. I’ve been through half a dozen of the warehouses looking at their security tapes from last night and I think we might have some good stuff here. I’m just finishing up now.”

  “Good work. Any sign of the murder weapon?” asked Nelson hopefully.

  “No, not yet. Shooter probably took it with him. If he had any brains he will have ditched it by now.”

  “Alright, when you get back meet me at Meg’s and we can plan out our day.”

  “Done.”

  Chapter 15

  Nelson arrived at Meg’s Café just before ten a.m.. Meg’s was located in the heart of Parramatta on Church Street, a good five minute walk from Headquarters. Nelson often made the trek to Church Street because he liked the ambience, the coffee club culture. In contrast, the cafes in the immediate vicinity of Headquarters always seemed full of high ranking police officers, which made him feel uncomfortable when he wanted to discuss a case with colleagues.

  Robards was already waiting for him and had taken a table outside under the annex, despite the coolness of the morning. Nelson had exchanged his large jacket which he had worn to the crime scene, for a grey suit which he kept in his locker at work, but was already beginning to regret it as it was only of summer weight thickness.

  “Hi Pete. Sorry I’m late. VanMerle nailed me as I was getting my jacket from my desk and I had to fill him in on developments.”

  “What did he say about Crighton giving the case to us?”

  “He wasn’t happy,” smiled Nelson. “He spent five minutes telling me how Crighton should have gone through him first. I told him he should take it up with Crighton and not me, but he’s too gutless to do that. By the way, I’ve got a present for you.”

  Nelson handed Robards a copy of the press release that he had picked up from Marie in the media unit on his way out of the office. Robards quickly read it.