by Neil Cossins
Nelson quickly made a call to the Chatswood Police station and then to Inspector VanMerle. He took a seat in a comfy leather recliner while he waited in the apartment for the cavalry to arrive.
It had been six days since Emilio Fogliani was killed.
Chapter 49
Nelson spent most of the rest of the night at Bryce McKinlay’s apartment as a seemingly never-ending stream of people traipsed in and out of the apartment to perform their allotted duties. A forensics team of two combed the apartment for evidence and the staff from the State Coroner’s office removed the dead body of Manuel Torres. Detectives from the North Shore Local Area Command and investigators from the Professional Services Command - previously known as Internal Affairs - questioned Nelson time and time again about the events that led up to the death of Manuel Torres. Nelson kept his story straight and simple and told each of them that he had gone to the apartment on the pretext of asking further questions to Bryce McKinlay about the Fogliani case.
“Upon my arrival I found the door ajar and the lock broken. I entered the apartment, twice identifying myself as a police officer and encountered an armed man. He raised his weapon toward me in a threatening manner, at which point I fired three times. I searched the premises for other threats, checked the vitals of the offender who was deceased and phoned it in.”
It was close enough to the truth to be believable and Nelson thought it should fit reasonably well with the nosey next door neighbour’s account of things. Nelson mentioned nothing of Natalie Bassett and all that remained of her presence was a few drops of her blood on the floor and wall.
There were still obvious and unanswered questions as far as the investigators from the PSC were concerned. They wanted to know where the photographic and video evidence had come from, why Manuel Torres had come to McKinlay’s apartment and where Bryce and his girlfriend Natalie were. Nelson played dumb on the answers to these questions and claimed to have no idea as to the whereabouts of Natalie Bassett, which wasn’t a lie. She could be anywhere as far as he knew.
“Maybe Torres somehow found out about the stalking club and took it upon himself to eliminate those who he thought may have witnessed his crime,” said Nelson, by way of a possible explanation.
Nelson knew the internal investigation would drag on until they were satisfied nothing overly untoward had occurred. He’d been through several of them before. In Nelson’s favour was that there were no other direct witnesses to counter his version of events and he now had incontrovertible proof that Manuel Torres had indeed murdered Emilio Fogliani. Shooting dead a murderer in apparent self defence wasn’t something that would generate too many repercussions. And, after all, he had just saved the state of New South Wales about one hundred thousand dollars per annum for the next twenty years in upkeep of yet another maximum security prisoner. He knew he would have to wear yet another black smudge on his permanent record from the investigation even if he was completely exonerated, but didn’t concern himself with that for the time being.
Bryce McKinlay arrived home at ten p.m. to find his apartment awash with police. He had worked late and gone out for a couple of drinks with his work colleagues. When Nelson told him what had happened, his concern for the missing Natalie was almost painful to watch.
“I haven’t been able to contact her all day.”
Bryce checked his bedroom and discovered that the small amount of clothing she kept at his place for the occasions that she stayed over was gone. Bryce sat on his lounge and broke down in great wracking sobs from the strain. Nelson felt a pang of sympathy for him but doubted that he would ever see his Natalie again.
In the early hours of the morning an exhausted Nelson headed home for a few hours of precious sleep before returning to Police HQ to face more of the music. Superintendent Crighton had already been fully briefed on developments by the time Nelson turned up to work at nine a.m. and VanMerle corralled him and directed him to Crighton’s office before he had even had a chance to turn on his computer and grab a mug of coffee. Pasha let them sail through unmolested on this occasion, which Nelson took as a sure sign that he was expected and in trouble. Crighton was, as usual, seated at the table in his office and Nelson knew that he was displeased with him because Crighton told him so in no uncertain terms.
“What the hell are you up to Nelson?” he yelled, his blue eyes flaming and the ligaments in his neck pulled tight. “I’ve got a press release that makes me look like an idiot, Thoms’ solicitor was on all the breakfast television news shows this morning spouting to the media how we arrested the wrong man and I’ve got dead bodies turning up all over the place. And do you know what the common denominator is? It’s you Detective.”
Pasha, heard the raised voice and closed the door to the office without looking in at the occupants. Nelson wasn’t sure what to say. Crighton had seemingly answered his own question leaving him with nothing more to add.
“It’s over now. We’ve got the killer on ice,” he said hopefully.
Crighton ignored him and continued to rant while Nelson sat quietly, pretending to look chastened and waited for it to come to an end. As Crighton’s veins in his neck bulged dangerously, Nelson wondered if he was about to suffer from apoplexy and there would be yet another dead body which he would be connected with. He did his best to explain that in the end it had been a good result, the right result, but it did little to placate Crighton who continued to vent for another ten minutes.
“I suppose it’s up to me to again clean up this mess. I’ll have to re-issue the press release and try and smooth things over with the Exec. God knows what they’ll make of all this. However before I do, go and tell Detective Robards that I want to see him. He’s a part of this debacle too, so he can share the repercussions,” said Crighton, his tone ominous. As Nelson got up to leave, Crighton stopped him in his tracks. “One more thing Detective, there’s the small matter of one of the Gangs Squad’s informants being assaulted. Apparently he was admitted to hospital yesterday with cracked ribs and a broken cheekbone, but I assume you know nothing about that?”
“Nothing at all Boss. I’m guessing there weren’t any witnesses? Otherwise we could make an arrest,” said Nelson with a dead-pan expression that would have done justice to a B-Grade actor. He felt no sympathy for Dendy. He chose his side.
“Don’t get smart Nelson, it doesn’t suit you. Detective Superintendent Chisholm is livid. No, there weren’t any witnesses, but I’m sure the PSC will want to speak to you yet again if they get wind of it. They’ve probably got your number on speed dial.”
“I’ll be sure and make myself available. Is that all Boss?”
“Get out of my sight Nelson.”
**********
Nelson’s next appointment was a follow up interview with the PSC where he spent the next two hours going over his statement regarding the death of Manuel Torres. They questioned him about the other blood on the floor of the apartment which did not belong to Manuel Torres and the bullet in the wall which did not come from Nelson’s weapon. Nelson continued to plead ignorance and stuck to his story to the obvious frustration of the two PSC detectives. Fortunately for Nelson, the old woman in the adjoining apartment who he had almost shot, suffered from mild dementia and was unable to provide any worthwhile counterpoints to Nelson’s version of events.
Although the detectives from the PSC made it clear that they were far from satisfied, they eventually tired of asking him the same questions to which he provided the same answers and ended the interview. Nelson breathed a sigh of relief as he left the room, thanking his lucky stars that they hadn’t questioned him about the Mark Dendy incident.
Ignoring his waiting phone messages and emails, Nelson grabbed his coat and drove out to Silverwater Prison to arrange for Craig Thoms’ release. He waited patiently, read the paper and tried to work out his footy tips for the weekend while the Department of Corrective Services officers took over an hour to process the paperwork. Craig changed out of his orange prison overalls and into the u
nwashed clothes he was wearing when he had arrived. He collected his few belongings from storage and as Nelson accompanied him out of the centre he smiled, saluted and waved not so fond farewells to the guards he passed on the way out. Nelson said nothing and kept his face tight.
They walked through the front gates of the centre together. Nelson looked around but saw no eager journalists ready to snap the picture of a free man. There was nothing newsworthy in that.
Craig took in the day, which promised to be fine and clear, breathing in the sweet free air and stretching his arms up to touch the sky. Nelson indicated for him to follow and they walked together to Nelson’s car.
“Don’t talk yet,” said Nelson. “You can never be too careful.”
After ten minutes of driving in silence and making sure that no-one was following them, Nelson pulled into the carpark of Finegan’s hotel at Parramatta. He parked at the rear of the building and they entered through the back door. He checked that there was no-one who knew him in the hotel, ordered two beers and carried them to a quiet corner table at the rear of the bar, which afforded them a good view of the door and the other patrons but also privacy in the dim light. It was a pub Nelson frequented when he needed to take a break from being a cop. In the two years that he had been going to it he had never seen another officer in the place.
Craig Thoms tasted his first beer in a week. He normally drank most nights and as a result of his enforced sobriety it tasted like nectar from the gods. Nelson began to explain the events that had taken place in the previous few days in good detail. Craig sat and listened in stunned silence, finding it nearly impossible to believe the person he knew as Natalie Bassett had been involved in the car accident all those years ago and had slowly and methodically plotted her revenge against him by setting him up for murder.
“How the hell did she pull all of this off? How did she fake the gloves?” Craig asked incredulously.
“I think the gloves were real, taken from the hospital.”
Craig stared blankly at Nelson, reaching into his memories. “She came to the hospital just over a week ago, when Bryce was sick with gastro. That was good timing.”
“Maybe, maybe not. There are plenty of ways to give people food poisoning. It would have given her a good reason for being there.”
“Crazy bitch.”
“Maybe, but if she is then it’s probably my fault,” said Nelson quietly.
Craig studied Nelson’s face, thinking on his words. He looked away and drained his second beer.
“Adam, I want to thank you for getting me off. You went above and beyond the call for me and I appreciate it. I don’t know how long I would have lasted in there.”
“I’m just sorry you had to spend any time at all in there, but it was impossible to swing bail for you with the evidence as it was.”
“What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger right? Isn’t that what they say?”
“I’ve never believed that. I don’t feel so strong right now. And anyway, it’s not quite over. There may be some charges over taking the drugs from the hospital.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that in the first place. I didn’t think it had anything to do with this so I didn’t mention it. I should never have got involved in that shit. It was stupid.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but if you get your solicitor to trade off any charges against the wrongful arrest you should be ok. The Exec don’t like handing out compensation money, so they should be prepared to deal.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s ok. We’re tied together you and me. You looked after me in the past and I’ll look after you now. Anyway, enough about that, now that you’re a free man, what’re you going to do with the rest of your life?”
“I’m going to go straight, or at least reasonably straight, and start up that internet business. Wanna be an investor?” Craig asked with a straight face. Nelson looked at him for a moment and then laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard in ages.
Chapter 50
After three or four beers with Craig Thoms, remembering old times, some good, some not so good, Nelson had to forcibly drag himself back to Headquarters. Now that the case had come to an end, the events and lack of sleep from the preceding week seemed to catch up with him all of a sudden and his energy deserted him. He toyed with the idea of calling in sick for the remainder of the afternoon and returning to the pub where he had left Craig with one hundred dollars to celebrate his freedom and pay for a taxi home, but decided to make the effort and put in an appearance for at least an hour or so.
As he reached his desk, Robards approached him from behind. Nelson spun around slowly on his chair to face him.
“Can I talk to you?” Robards asked quietly. His face was downcast and Nelson guessed correctly that he had been raked over the coals long and hard by Crighton for this part in the case. Nelson nodded, feeling a moment of guilt and followed Robards as he weaved his way between desks and into a small meeting room down the corridor. Robards closed the door behind them and they sat facing each other from opposite sides of the small table.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve requested a transfer to a different Homicide team,” started Robards evenly. “It’s nothing personal but I think it would be for the best.”
Nelson thought for a moment. It didn’t come as any great surprise. He had butted heads with Robards on several cases before, but this case had been different. On this case they had openly and divisively argued. Robards had railed against Nelson’s seniority and right to control the case and as a result Nelson had shut him out of the investigation at crucial moments. Nelson knew it wasn’t good form from either of them.
“I guess that’s your choice Pete. Maybe they’ll be able to teach you about Detective work better than I did.” Nelson replied looking Robards squarely in the eye, the alcohol providing an edge to his words.
“What do you mean by that?” questioned Robards, eyeing Nelson suspiciously.
“Look, you’re a good cop and I don’t doubt that you’ll eventually get to wherever the hell you wanna be, but you’ve still got a lot to learn about being a Detective.”
Nelson saw the anger rise in Robards face but couldn’t help but continue, wanting to clear the air between them perhaps once and for all, for good or for bad. “You were wrong on this case because you were more interested in getting a good result rather than getting the right result.”
Robards took the comments on the chin and jutted it forward, readying himself for another flurry of jabs. “Are you finished?”
“No. All I’m saying is that if you’re going to send a guy down for twenty years, you have to be certain. Otherwise it catches up with you one way or another. At no stage was I certain with Craig Thoms despite all the evidence against him. And maybe if you’d followed up and properly profiled each of his friends as I asked you to, you would have found out that Natalie Bassett didn’t exist up until three years ago. We should have been working as a team, but instead, I got the feeling that you were watching me instead of watching my back.”
“Ok, Ok. I hear you,” he said sullenly. “I admit I made some mistakes on this one but I’m sure you made mistakes too when you were learning the job. Crighton did ask me to keep an eye on you. He put me in a difficult position and I didn’t know how to handle it. Maybe I should have been more up front with you or told Crighton to get fucked, I don’t know,” he added, throwing his hands in the air in an unusually exasperated fashion. The point hit Nelson hard and spidery doubts crept into his conscience, undermining his lofty perch on the high moral ground. He wondered how his mentor Sgt Mick Neale would have handled Robards and guessed that he probably would have done a better job.
“But maybe if you’d trusted me from the start instead of shutting me out things might have ended differently,” Robards continued. “But you don’t trust anyone do you?” Robards got up to leave and opened the door before turning back and again facing Nelson. “You know I found something out
when I was profiling Craig Thoms. Did you know that he went to the same high school as you, in the same year?” Nelson’s face betrayed nothing but Robards’ small hooded blue eyes bored into him and saw the truth as if it was written on his forehead. “It seems strange that you don’t remember him? Anyway, it’s not important now, and it’s none of my business. I’ll see you around,” he said with no hint of malice or victory.
Chapter 51
It had been a week since the Fogliani case had been finalised. Nelson had requested a months leave from Inspector VanMerle which was approved on the proviso that he wait until the Crenshaw murder case was wrapped up. Fortunately, the original gut feel of the LAC Detectives had paid off soon enough. After a week spent gathering evidence and conducting hour after hour of interviews with family members and business associates, the wife of the youngest son had cracked from exhaustion and repeated badgering at the hands of Robards and admitted to being involved, but placed the blame squarely on her husband. Nelson had felt enormous relief and elation when the case broke and as he sat at his desk he finalised the paperwork relating to his involvement in the case in record time.