To make matters worse, when Wolcott and Singh arrived at the suspect’s apartment, they found he was not answering the door.
‘How can you be sure he is home, sir? It is the middle of the day, and there’s no obvious sign of a car outside his flat, or any lights on.’
‘Just experience Singh. I can smell him. Plus I saw him move through the blind when we walked up the stairs.’
‘Oh.’ Singh blushed.
Wolcott continued his rapping on the door, getting louder and more insistent with every second it remained unanswered.
‘Police. We know you’re in there Frank. Just open the door. We need to have a few words with you.’
Singh could now sense movement in the apartment as well. Frank must have been looking through the spy hole in his front door, as there was the sound of shuffling feet, and the door creaked as if someone was leaning against it.
‘We can see you moving in there Frank. Open the door! It’s the police.’
Singh hoped this guy would answer the door soon; otherwise Wolcott was going to take his frustration out on him. Eventually a wavering, frightened voice called back.
‘Prove you’re the police. I’m not opening up otherwise.’
Wolcott grumbled, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his badge and flicking it open so it could be seen through the spy hole. He wondered who else Frank could have thought it was. People weren’t usually scared to open up unless they had good reason.
The door swung open, revealing a garbage tip of rubbish, and a dishevelled man, pale and gaunt. He stood in a dressing gown that was tattered and stained; it hung off him like a hospital robe on an invalid. Wolcott stepped inside, introducing himself and the Sergeant to the skeletal man, who looked so relieved he was about to cry.
‘Were you expecting someone else?’ Wolcott asked, trying to find a place to stand where there wasn’t any rubbish on the ground. Singh wasn’t as careful. He followed his boss inside, stepping on plastic bottles, pizza boxes and empty beer cans. The heating was on, but the warm fug seemed nearly as bad as a cold one.
‘I wasn’t expecting the police.’ The man’s voice was hoarse. He looked like he wanted to dig a hole and disappear into it.
‘We find that a lot. But I got the impression you were pleased it wasn’t someone else. Who might that be?’
The man just shook his head. He led the two detectives into the living room, where rubbish had been piled in the corners and in front of the sofa, in a half hearted attempt to tidy up.
‘Bin man not been for a while?’ Wolcott offered, trying to ignore the stench of rotten food and sweaty skin.
The man kept shaking his head; his neck looked like it was straining under the weight of his skull, liable to snap if the shaking didn’t stop soon.
‘I haven’t really been going out much. Just busy working and stuff from home.’
Wolcott had seen messy home offices before, but unless this man was a garbage collector, there wasn’t much work happening in this apartment. Singh wasn’t doing a great job of keeping the appalled expression off his face. So Wolcott decided to get straight down to the questioning, to keep everyone’s mind off the state of the apartment. There was nowhere clean to sit, so he stood at the side of the sofa, leaning on a bookcase, while Singh stood a few feet from him, notebook open, pen at the ready. The man stood staring at them, still obviously coming to terms with the relief his visitors were not someone else.
‘Just to make sure we are in the right place, you are Frank Sporalli aren’t you?’
The man nodded.
‘Do you know a Matthew Harrison-Brown?’
The man’s eyes went wide and his neck reddened, his face remaining as white as a sheet.
‘No, I’ve never heard of him.’
‘You look like you do. People don’t usually look scared when I ask them if they know someone who they’ve never heard of.’
Wolcott held onto the silence for a few seconds, hoping Frank would come up with some sort of explanation.
‘Is there anyone else living at this address, who has a bank account number…’
‘… 98764359845 at the Old Broad Street branch of the Bank of Scotland?’ Singh finished off the details for his boss.
The man looked at Wolcott, then Singh and then at the ground. Wolcott hoped he wouldn’t start a string of excuses. But it soon became obvious he didn’t have it in him.
‘I thought he wouldn’t tell. That it would be too embarrassing,’ he mumbled.
Singh coughed into his fist. Wolcott hoped the lad had a tickle in his throat, and wasn’t suppressing a laugh.
‘It would appear he did find it embarrassing, but the thought of being hassled for more money for the rest of his life was rather more…uncomfortable… than what you were threatening.’
‘It wasn’t my idea. I just did what I was told.’
It was his last bit of defiance, before the will to care left him altogether.
‘So you are admitting you have been trying to blackmail Matthew Harrison-Brown?’
He nodded.
‘Do you want to explain the ‘it wasn’t my idea’ statement?’
The man still stood staring at the ground, his eyes unmoving, his arms hanging by his sides as if he didn’t have the energy to lift his hands.
‘It was the man I worked for, Danny. He came up with this plan, and I was just following orders…’
‘We hear that a lot Mr Sporalli. What was this plan?’
‘Danny owns…owned…a gym....’
‘Danny who?’ Wolcott asked, like an irritated headmaster.
‘Danny Wright. I did his accounts, you know, freelance like.’
The man didn’t look a bit like an accountant, but Wolcott reasoned that there were so many business students graduating in London every year, there must be some who didn’t look the part.
‘He got involved in this other stuff, too. His girlfriend, and her friend were, you know, working girls. Danny – er - scheduled their work, you know, dealt with the clients, the payments.’
‘So Danny was a pimp and these girls were prostitutes?’
Wolcott drew a straight line to the conclusion Sporalli was eventually going to get to himself. It was less painful to have the guy answering questions than to listen to his slow and drawn out explanation. Sporalli nodded and babbled nervously on.
‘High class, like. He thought they could make some extra dough, so he worked out who some of the clients were, and then went after them, saying he’d tell people about their private meetings if they didn’t pay him.’
The man whined like a schoolboy, every syllable intimating his lack of remorse. It was a tone that grated on Wolcott’s nerves.
‘And these payments were organised by you, into the bank account set up by you, and laundered through the gym by you. Is that correct?’
‘Yeah, I was told to do it. Like I said, it was Danny who made all the plans. He talked to the punters, and all.’
‘Oh really? We’ve been told you made a call just two days ago. Harrison-Brown is very sure who he spoke to.’
This wasn’t strictly true, but it was getting results. The man seemed to crumple even further into himself. He didn’t react, just stood uneasily on his feet, staring at the two detectives.
‘So this Wright, can you please tell me where I could find him? It sounds like we need to have a chat with him as well.’
‘That’s just it. He’s dead. Murdered. Someone came after him, and the girls. The girls were shit scared, so they pissed off, excuse my French.’
‘Murdered?’ said Wolcott, momentarily distracted by this possible complication of his case. ‘When and where was this?’
‘That’s the Chelsea murder, sir. We had notice of it a few weeks back.’
Wolcott grunted. He never read inter-office correspondence. Why bother, when Singh would do it for him?
Sporalli was interested in nothing but his own skin.
‘So I’m the only one left,’ he whined. ‘And t
hey’re after me too. I don’t know why. They seem to think I know something, but I don’t.’
‘Like what?’ Wolcott asked.
‘Like I said, I don’t know. They threatened to hurt my family too, if I told anyone. It’s only me mum left. She’s in a home. But I don’t know anything!’
‘So can I assume this is who you were expecting to be standing on your doorstep? The men who threatened you?’
A small nod.
‘And why you have created a cave of filth rather than go outside?’
Another small nod.
‘Right, I think you’ll have to come to the station with me, Mr Sporalli.’
Wolcott had met hundreds of people like Sporalli. Terrified and weak when pushed, but conniving and opportunistic when it suited them. Wolcott wondered what this man really knew, and what he had told to whom.
‘Can I have a shower first?’ Sporalli bleated, looking desperately pathetic, his robe falling open enough to show more than too much skin. Wolcott’s day was not improving.
Chapter 16
When we got home, Liam disappeared up to his room, and I thought it would be a good idea if I cooked dinner. I’d didn’t want him to think I was a high maintenance guest. But on finding all the cupboards empty, I distracted myself from deciding whether to venture out and shop by opening Liam’s laptop. I heard him coming back down the stairs, and he immediately noticed me on his computer.
‘Are you looking up more cheap hotels for us to visit tomorrow? I’m really looking forward to trekking all over Sydney again.’
‘Sarcasm noted. No, I’m just checking my email. Did you need the computer?’
‘No, you go ahead. I was just going to think about dinner. There should be something edible in the cupboard.’
‘Don’t worry about dinner. I was just going to the shop, after I’ve done this. I think I saw a supermarket on King Street.’
He looked very pleased at this suggestion. What man doesn’t love to hear a woman offer to cook? To complete the scene of being a kept man, Liam turned on the TV.
As my email inbox loaded, my attention was suddenly fixed on the latest message, received at 3:30 that afternoon, from Facebook. I had another message from Tina! I tried to stay calm as I clicked to open it. After all, it was possible she was just writing back to tell me she’d got nowhere. But when the email appeared, and I read it, I was momentarily lost for words.
‘Liam!’ I shrieked.
He jumped off the sofa, and I swung the laptop around so he could see what I was looking at.
‘Someone’s seen Sophie!’
Was it ok to believe it could be true? I needed him to say something before getting excited. He read the email aloud, as if trying to believe it too.
‘You’ll never believe it, but when I asked everyone from school if they had seen Sophie, Kylie wrote back and said it was such a coincidence, she saw her on Saturday! Kylie lives in Sydney now and she’s a nurse at a medical centre. She said Sophie came in with her baby and she instantly recognised her! Can you believe it! Do you want me to put you in contact with Kylie so she can tell you more details? I hope it’s been of use.’
Liam stared at me, waiting for me to react. Hundreds of thoughts were rushing through my mind.
‘It’s got to be her! The baby! It’s Charlie! She must have Charlie! Liam, this could be our best hope yet!’
Could it be true? Tina had actually done what she promised, and asked around, and now someone had seen Sophie! What were the chances! But Liam didn’t look ready to celebrate quite yet.
‘Are you sure this Kylie person isn’t making it up? Are you sure she would recognise her?’
I wasn’t going to admit I had no idea who Kylie was, but I already had plans for contacting her.
‘She went to school with Sophie. Of course she would recognise her. And she lives in Sydney and said Sophie had a baby. It just adds up too much to be a coincidence. I never told Tina that Sophie was in Sydney, so it’s not like Kylie knew to look out for her. She saw her last week! It’s such a lucky break!’
Liam started to walk quickly around the room, not sure what to do with his sudden burst of energy.
‘Ok’, he said, ‘what next? We need to speak to Kylie. Call Tina and tell her you need to speak to Kylie.’
‘I don’t have Tina’s number.’ I tried to keep the impatience from my voice. Couldn’t he have worked out that I hardly knew these people? ‘Tina was Sophie’s friend at school. She hasn’t seen me for over 10 years. But mum might be able to help me to get in contact with Kylie. There’s still a chance her parents have the same phone number they did when Kylie was at school. If mum can find her parents, they can put us in contact with her.’
Liam looked like he was going to burst if we didn’t jump into action that very second.
‘Then call your mum! Quick! We need to get onto Kylie, and find out where she works.’
He looked like he was starting to panic. How odd that I was the calm one.
Thankfully, mum answered her phone, and was eager to help. Her organised study drawers would have a stack of old school buzz books in them somewhere. She sounded more hopeful than she had since first telling me of the search. She focused on looking for the phone number, before asking me for more details about what we had found.
‘There was only one Kylie in Sophie’s year 12 class. It must be her,’ mum explained, as I tried to remember her.
‘What was her last name?’
‘Granger. Her address was in Maylands. Have you got a pen? I’ll give you the phone number.’
Liam was getting more and more impatient as I spoke to mum. He wanted me to get off the phone, and call Kylie’s parents, but mum wasn’t easy to hang up on. She was still worried, still needing reassurance I wasn’t going to get myself killed.
‘Ok mum, I’ll call you later, and let you know what we find.’
I hung up and quickly typed in the number mum gave me, hoping desperately that Kylie’s parents hadn’t moved house. I wasn’t going to admit to Liam how little I liked using my phone, especially calling someone I didn’t know. I hoped he wouldn’t register how nervous I sounded.
The phone seemed to ring for ages. Or was that just because I was so impatient? Finally, a man answered, his voice snappy, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of something important.
‘Hello, what do you want?’
‘Is that Mr Granger?’
‘Yes, what do you want? You’re not trying to sell me something are you? I’m eating my dinner. You people always call when I’m eating dinner. It’s very rude…’
A bit taken aback, I tried to get him to listen.
‘No, I’m not selling anything. I went to school with your daughter, Kylie. And I would really like to speak to her. Are you able to tell me where she works?’
‘What? Kylie? She doesn’t live here anymore...’
There was a woman’s voice in the background. The phone was partly covered, but I could hear Mr Polous telling the woman I was looking for Kylie. Then I heard the woman take the phone.
‘Hello? Who’s this? You went to school with Kylie?’
‘Hi, this is Ellen Goddard. I went to school with Kylie, well, my sister Sophie was in her year, but I was a few years behind…’
‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘I remember you, dear! Aren’t you the piano player? Such a talent! We used to love to hear you play at the concerts. There was one time you played something that was just so beautiful, now what was it, I’m sure it will come to me in a second…’
Oh dear. Liam was making hand gestures at me, trying to get me to hurry things along. I rolled my eyes, hoping to make him see I was trying my best.
‘Yes, that’s me. Look, sorry to be rude, but I would really like to get in touch with her. You wouldn't happen to know where she works, would you? It's a long story, why I need to know...’
The woman was a bit taken aback by my tone, but it had the desired effect.
‘Well, she used to work at a lovely cl
inic in Lane Cove, but that was a while ago... I just can't think of the name of the place she works now.....'
'Could you maybe give me her number, so I can just call her?'
'Of course, that's probably best. My brain isn't what it once was. It will probably come to me, when I get off the phone. You know how it is. I’ll just give you her number shall I? Wait a moment, I’ll get it out of my mobile phone.’
I could hear her pressing buttons; it took her a painfully long time to find the number she needed. I wrote it down as she carefully recited each digit, and then I tried politely to get off the phone.
‘When you speak to Kylie, say hello to her for me. She doesn’t ring us enough, tell her that. It was lovely to speak to you, dear. I hope you are still playing, you really did play very well…’
‘Ok, thanks, bye.’
I hung up, hoping she didn’t think me too rude. Again, I quickly typed in the phone number, not pausing long enough for Liam to vent his frustration at how protracted this all was, or to think again about how much I hated making calls. At least I was getting somewhere, wasn’t I?
Kylie’s mobile rang. I had a sinking feeling after a couple more rings, and sure enough, the voice mail cut in. Typical. I found the right number, and she didn’t answer her bloody phone! My body went tense, my hand squeezing the phone tight, trying to control my reflex to throw it at the wall. Kylie sounded cheerful on her message. I still had absolutely no idea who she was. I just hoped she checked her messages often.
‘Hi Kylie. This is Ellen Goddard. You probably don’t remember me, but Tina told me you’d seen my sister Sophie, and I was just hoping to speak to you about it. Can you call me back on …’ The voicemail ran out, beeping in my ear to tell me time was up. Before Liam could get angry, I explained: ‘It’s ok, she’ll have the missed call. She’ll get my number from that.’
Times of Trouble Page 12