by Neil Cossins
He parked his car and entered the building. He impatiently ignored the perennially slow arriving elevators and bounded up through the stairwell. By the time he reached the eighth floor he was breathing heavily. He was pleased to see Robards working at his desk as he had half a dozen things lined up for him to do. Nelson reversed his chair towards Robards’ desk.
“I’ve got some news,” he said in between gradually quietening breaths.
“Me too,” replied Robards evenly. “But you go first.”
Nelson told him how his morning had panned out. He described his meeting with the retired Sergeant Soward and how they had discussed the car accident that left the parents of a young girl named Kylie Faulkner dead. He told him that Craig Thoms had been one of the main suspects at the time but was never charged through lack of evidence.
“Is this the car accident we talked about yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you were that interested in it.”
“I wasn’t. But I am now.” Nelson told Robards that he had gone to the address at Woollahra that Robards had given him for Kylie Faulkner and had been confronted by none other than Jennifer Nolan. Nelson briefly skimmed over his discussion with her because he felt embarrassed to admit that he had been slow to regain his composure and that he’d had the door slammed in his face.
Robards listened quietly to Nelson’s speedy recitation of events and although he was surprised and mildly intrigued at the discovery of a possible connection between Jennifer Nolan and the car accident from fifteen years ago he was not fully infected with Nelson’s enthusiasm. It did little to sway him from his own theories, which to him, seemed to have a much stronger foundation than Nelson’s flights of fancy.
“This afternoon I want to find out everything we can about Kylie Faulkner and what the connection is with her and Jennifer Nolan. I know there’s something there, I can feel it. We just have to dig down and unearth it.”
Robards leaned back lazily in his chair. His arms were folded and his chin rested on his chest. Nelson realised that in his own excitement he hadn’t noticed that Robards’ body language was all wrong.
“What’s up? You’re not still angry about our disagreement last night are you?”
“Na, that’s water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned,” replied Robards good naturedly.
“Well, what is it then? Here am I thinking we’re just about to bust this case wide open and you’re sitting there as if your best friend nailed your missus and she told you he was much better at it than you,” said Nelson.
Robards managed a smile. “That’s unlikely.”
“Well what’s the problem then?”
“The problem is that as of now, the case is closed.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Well, after I gave you the address for Kylie Faulkner this morning, VanMerle and I were ordered up to Crighton’s office where I was asked to give an update on the case. I told him where we were at and that we were still chasing up some loose ends but Crighton would have none of it. He said that it looked like we had enough on Thoms to convict him three times over and that if there wasn’t an obvious underworld connection then there’s no point in spending weeks looking at it as there’s a huge backlog of cases. He ordered us to close the case.”
“I don’t believe this,” said an incredulous Nelson.
“Look, if it’s any consolation, Crighton said to pass on his thanks to you for doing such an excellent job in arresting the suspect so quickly.”
Robards watched Nelson as he took the news in. He forced himself to stifle a smile as patches of red coloured Nelson’s cheeks and neck. Although Robards’ description of the discussion with VanMerle and Crighton was reasonably accurate, he had omitted the part where he had provided his own full and frank opinion on the case and Craig Thoms’ guilt. You lose Nelson.
Based on Robards’ summary of the case, Crighton and VanMerle had been equally convinced that Craig Thoms was good for the conviction and that there was no more work to be done on the case. Nelson sat silently with mouth slightly agape while he processed the information.
“That’s just crazy. We’ve only just begun to look hard at this one.”
“I told them they should speak to you first but Crighton was pretty adamant. Sorry Nelson. I tried to call you but your phone was off. They’ve already issued a press release saying that the investigation has been finalised.”
“You’re kidding? Already?” Nelson got up and kicked his chair away. He began to pace back and forth and massage his forehead.
“Yep. VanMerle said he’d speak to you about it when you got back to the office. I think he’s out to lunch at the moment.” Robards handed Nelson a copy of the Press Release which he read carefully before screwing it up and tossing it at the bin, only to see it rim out.
“This is bullshit! We just need a couple more days.”
Robards decided to get all the bad news out of the way while he was at it.
“And VanMerle’s already dumped a new case on us. Some bigshot property developer was knocked off in his home in Potts Point this morning. The Kings Cross LAC boys say they’ve got their hands full investigating half a dozen deaths from drug overdoses during the last couple of days and have asked for assistance. Bovis is working up a profile on the deceased for us. VanMerle said we should head out to the crime scene asap and close out the Fogliani case paperwork in our spare time.”
Nelson’s anger hit the rev limiter. He wanted to mindlessly lash out at something but forced himself to calm down. In some ways he was surprised that he hadn’t foreseen this. Sydney was the sort of city that kept Homicide Detectives busy and he knew that VanMerle’s in-tray was always full. He realised he should have spent more time buying time from the likes of VanMerle and Crighton instead of leaving it up to Robards while he chased down leads.
He wordlessly returned to his desk and thought about what it all meant for the Fogliani case. He understood that VanMerle would expect them to work the new case full time. At best, they would only be able to continue working the Emilio Fogliani case on a very limited basis. There would be precious little time for chasing down leads in between, or around the other cases that would become their priority. They had done it before, but Nelson knew it was a poor substitute for working a case full time.
Nelson sat at his desk, watching and waiting for VanMerle to return from lunch. He had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the case was slipping away from him. There had been cases like this before, cases that no matter what your suspicions might have been, there just wasn’t enough evidence to nail someone’s arse to the wall before time pressures required them to put the case aside and move on. These were the cases that nagged at Nelson and during the few quiet moments he had at work, he would pull the old case files out of his three drawer cabinet again and go over them in the hope of finding something he had missed or possibly linking them to a new case. He was realistic enough to understand that not every case could or would achieve a conviction but it didn’t make it any easier for him to let them go. It was never easy to look into the eyes of the victim’s family and tell them that a killer remained free to continue their life while the family of the victim received a life sentence of sorts. For these people the loss was devastating and every time a birthday or anniversary rolled around, the celebration would be tempered by the memory of the lost one who wasn’t there to share it with them. This case was different though. They had Craig Thoms in custody and would more than likely get a conviction, but Nelson was almost certain that they didn’t have the right person in custody and as lead Detective on the case, this bothered him just as much as any unsolved case.
Nelson saw VanMerle return from lunch and duck into his office. He stormed off after him, his rage building quickly again and shut the door to VanMerle’s office behind him. The other Detectives in the office sensed the conflict and watched the vague outlines of the two men through the opaque glass of the office as
Nelson’s voice carried out to them. It was unusual for Nelson to be so fired up on a case and they smiled and nodded to each other in amusement.
“I just need a few more days!”
”I’m sorry Nelson,” came VanMerle’s smug reply. “There’s nothing I can do. My hands are tied.”
“How about Robards and Bovis work the new case while I finish up the Fogliani case in the next forty-eight hours? Surely that’s not too much to ask? And it will be good experience for Bovis.”
“You know the rules Nelson. What Crighton says, goes. And I’m too close to retirement to start pissing the exec off.”
“This place is crazy! We’re more concerned with statistics than ensuring the right man goes to jail.”
“Nelson, I’ve seen the evidence,” replied VanMerle, now matching Nelson’s verbosity. “That isn’t the case here. You’ve already got the right man in custody so move on.”
Nelson stared at the man in front of him and all of a sudden wondered why he had bothered starting the argument in the first place. VanMerle had no authority to overturn Crighton’s decision and probably wouldn’t even if he could. He hadn’t had an original idea in the last twenty years. VanMerle just enjoyed wielding the ounce of power that he possessed because that was all he had. He wasn’t liked, he wasn’t respected and ten minutes after he retired everyone would forget he ever existed. Nelson realised he was wasting his time and energy talking to him. He stormed out of VanMerle’s office and headed up to the ninth floor to take it up with Crighton directly but was told bluntly by Pasha that he was in meetings for the remainder of the afternoon. Nelson returned to his desk and sat quietly fuming, swishing alternatives around in his mind. He thought about ignoring VanMerle’s directive to move on, but as attractive and heroic as that thought sounded, he dismissed it. The realities of life were that he still needed money and he still loved and needed the job. However, he vowed quietly to himself that he would continue working the Fogliani case with every spare moment that he had.
Chapter 39
Kylie Faulkner sat down on her lounge and tried to fight the feeling of nausea that was churning inside and threatening to overwhelm her. The plan which had been carried out in seemingly flawless execution had for some unknown reason started to unravel and now she suddenly felt alone and scared. She breathed deeply in an effort to calm her jangling nerves.
During the course of planning Craig Thoms’ setup she had given thought to every conceivable eventuality and how she would deal with them, including the seemingly unlikely event that she may in some way be linked to Craig by the past. She had thought the likelihood to be almost non-existent and yet somehow Detective Nelson had managed to find the ethereal link within two short days and follow it to her door. She felt as if she could feel his hot breath on her neck and the thought of losing everything she had worked so hard for sent fresh waves of nausea radiating through her body.
She thought long and hard and tried to fathom where she had gone wrong, which mis-step she had taken, but for the life of her couldn’t locate it. It had all gone so perfectly. “The evidence is too strong,” she said aloud to herself as she slowly paced in circles around the lounge room of her apartment. “Why the hell is he running around tracking down Kylie Faulkner instead of nailing Thoms’ big white arse to the floor?” It just didn’t make sense.
She knew that she needed to be very careful with her next step, as one wrong move could spell her ruin. She put herself in Nelson’s shoes and tried to imagine what he was thinking. She reasoned that if he had come so far so quickly then he would be putting all his attention into proving her connection to the past and to the murder. If he was smart enough to track down Kylie Faulkner, then he was probably smart enough to find the link between her and Fogliani’s death. It would only be a matter of time.
She came to the conclusion that she had only one option. It was time to tie up loose ends and sever the connection once and for all between her, the murder and the murderer. It was time to enact her insurance policy. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, it was something she had hoped to avoid, but now she knew she had no choice.
She made herself a strong cup of coffee and started to think her way through her actions for the next morning.
She slept fitfully that night and in the mid-morning, as light rain fell from low hanging grey clouds, she made her way into the city. She had done her homework on the Fogliani family. It wasn’t hard. Their wealth and past notoriety ensured that their name was well known in Sydney and although they kept a reasonably low profile, she had found several interesting and insightful newspaper articles on them while searching on the Internet and had come to an understanding of where the power lay. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and placed a call from a phone booth.
“Fogliani Investment, can I help you?” The voice that answered was female, young, yet self-assured.
“Hello, I need to speak to Michael Fogliani,” responded Kylie, hoping that she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt, as a swarm of butterflies fluttered inside her breast. She savoured the feeling and tried to hold on to it but it soon passed and calm again prevailed.
“I’m sorry, Mr Fogliani is not receiving calls at the moment. Can I help you?”
“Oh he’ll want to speak to me I think. Tell him I know who killed his uncle and that it’s not the person the cops arrested. Tell him that if he talks to me for a moment I will give him some information that will prove invaluable to him. Go and tell him that. I’ll hold.”
After a moment of indecision the young woman put Kylie on hold to the strains of Neil Diamond singing Shiloh. Kylie tunelessly hummed along as she waited. She didn’t mind Neil Diamond, even though he was ancient. After less than a minute a man’s voice came on the line.
“Hello, this is Michael Fogliani. Who is this?” He sounded anxious but still in control.
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is who killed your uncle. I know who it was and I know that it wasn’t the guy they arrested. They’ve got the wrong man.”
“Look, if this is some sort of joke it’s not very funny.”
“Mr Fogliani, this is no joke. I know who killed your uncle and I’ve got incontrovertible proof. Now are you interested or shall I walk away?” Kylie’s confidence was building now as she knew she was already on top of Michael Fogliani. She listened to the silence on the other end of the line with a smile and could almost read Fogliani’s thoughts as they came to him, just as she had planned.
“I’m interested. But, why haven’t you taken this information to the police?”
“Well let’s just say I don’t like the cops ok? And I don’t think they’d pay as well as you.”
“What sort of evidence do you have and how did you get it?” Fogliani responded, trying to stay calm.
“I’ll be honest with you. I guess I was in the right place at the wrong time and I witnessed your uncle being murdered. I took a video of the whole thing.”
“You have a video of my uncle being murdered?” Fogliani said, his voice involuntarily rising in pitch. Kylie noted it.
“Yes. You can see all that you need to see to be absolutely certain about who killed your uncle. It’s not pretty though so I hope you have a strong stomach.”
Anger flared inside Fogliani. He wanted to reach through the phone and grab the person on the other end.
“Where are you? What do you want?” He fired his questions at her. Kylie smiled at his eagerness and sensed his desire. She had judged him well enough. She judged all men well enough.
“What do I want? What does everyone want? Money of course, something that you no doubt have plenty of.”
“Of course. Come down to my office in the city and we’ll talk.”
“No,” she responded flatly. “This is the deal so listen carefully. I’ll give you a couple of photographs free of charge, as a sign of good faith. They should be more than enough to whet your appetite and convince you I’m not full of shit. If you want the full video of the murder then it wi
ll cost you a hundred grand.”
Michael Fogliani’s mind raced with a heady mixture of thoughts and emotions. He shook his head in an effort to clear it and focus on the one thing that mattered – playing this out and getting his hands on the photographs. That was the first and most obvious step. “Ok. I’m with you so far but this better not be bullshit.”
“It’s not. Trust me.”
“That’s not going to happen, but for the time being I’ll assume you’re on the level. So how do we do this?”
“I’m going to tape an envelope to the underside of the shelf in the public phone booth outside your building. Inside that envelope is a memory stick with a few photos on it that are just a small part of the video. I’ll call you in a week and we can talk business. Have the money in cash ready if you’re prepared to deal.”
Kylie hung up the phone, attached the envelope underneath the shelf of the phone box and rapidly moved away to the north up Pitt Street. She was dressed in a dark blue business suit that clung to her lithe body and quickly disappeared into the lunchtime crowd, merging seamlessly with the office workers who filled the street. When she was satisfied that she was far enough away she stopped and waited. She had a clear view of the phone box from where she stood. Within two minutes a young woman emerged from the office and made a beeline for the phone box. Kylie wondered if she was the one who had answered the phone. Just as quickly the young woman returned to the building with yellow envelope in hand.
Kylie smiled and disappeared up the street. She was pleased with the way things had gone and that Fogliani had at least taken the initial bait. She sighed aloud and mentally patted herself on her back for having the foresight to take a video of the murder. At the time it hadn’t seemed necessary, but now it was about to pay a handsome dividend by extricating her from a deep hole that Detective Nelson was trying to put her in.