by Chris Krupa
‘Jesus.’
‘I don’t know how much that exacerbated his behaviour. Was it a catalyst? More than likely. I mean, how it could it not? Teenage boys lose their mum, it’s bound to make an impact. Last thing I heard, Carmine sold up and took his boys down here.’
She ate some more cake and frowned. ‘So, this isn’t just a job for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
She pointed her fork at me. ‘You have a sense of moral gratitude towards your uncle.’
It shocked me, but as I thought about it, she was right. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head.’
‘Not just a pretty face.’
I ate more cake and sipped some coffee.
‘You look very far away,’ she said.
‘I remember this time when I was nine, maybe ten, just a skinny kid, if you can believe it. Zio owned a property in Appin, and I remember we drove there once. While the adults had coffee, my sister and I went out and explored the property. It was huge, maybe twenty acres, and had these big gumtrees everywhere. Real bushland, you know? I remember finding a rat skeleton in the early stages of decay, and I just stared at it. It was the first time I really thought about death. I wandered off into some scrubland, ended up face-to-face with a huge bull, and just froze to the spot. It stared at me with these big dumb eyes, and I was absolutely petrified. Just as it was about to charge me, Zio Fausto and my stepdad appeared and yelled at it. Zio threw a stick at it and scared it away. It took me the rest of the day to recover.’
She smiled. ‘I can imagine you as a boy.’
‘Really? And what was I like, as a boy?’
‘Gentle, kind, up for adventure.’ She finished her slice of cake and moved the crumbs around on her plate.
I looked at the corners of her mouth. ‘You’ve got a very sexy brain.’
She smiled. ‘It’s not all I’ve got.’
We quickly finished our coffees, and Annette followed me in her car to my motel. We were both eager, but not impatient. Though not as passionate as our first night, we took our time and discovered what pleased each other the most.
Chapter 20
Some time passed before we each caught our breath.
Annette played with my damp chest hair. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m still putting things together up here.’ I tapped my head. ‘Sometimes I want it to stop, but it’s like a spinning wheel—round and round and round. I think I got the prick who killed George last night, but I don’t know if he killed Rob or has any connection to him. I don’t even know what connection he has to George.’ I indicated my face. ‘There were two men at the warehouse when this happened. I have to find the other prick, too.’
She kissed me, and it hurt my nose but I didn’t care.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not what you want right now, and it’s not a complete victory, but it’s still a victory. I know your cousins have been killed, and it’s been horrible, but you got this guy. Even though you know two guys are involved, you got one of the bastards. And you risked your life doing it.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did. There’s no way in hell I could’ve done what you did.’
‘I was only talking to George two days ago. I found his body in a garage last night.’ The image wouldn’t leave my mind.
Annette rubbed my shoulder. ‘I have to get going. Will you be around this weekend?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I have to provide a statement to the police sometime today, if they don’t show up beating down my door in the meantime.’ I reached for her hand. ‘I’d like to stay in touch.’
She smiled. ‘Me too.’ She hugged me and climbed out of bed.
I admired her perfect legs and her carriage. When the shower started, I suddenly remembered I was supposed to meet Philip and Michael Le Mat last night. I sent Phil a text apologising, and arranged another time to meet.
Philip: I’m very pissed off at you. You’re not a man of your word.
Me: I’ll meet you tonight and keep the promise.
Philip: Mothmans at 6 PM.
I waited until Annette finish showering and reappeared in a halo of steam before I stepped into the bathroom. I peeled off the dressing over my nose and started the shower. The bruising looked worse. I had to keep the shower lukewarm to stop the intense stinging in my shoulders. I got out, applied a fresh dressing over my face, and stepped back into the main room.
Annette furiously opened and closed the drawers in the walk-in wardrobe. ‘Does this shithole have a hairdryer?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Fuck!’ She sat on the bed and shoved her shoes on. Strands of wet hair fell around her face. ‘I’ll be off then.’
‘I can park things for a while... if you want to do something today?’
She got up and collected her handbag from the side of the bed. ‘I remembered I’ve got a security job.’ She kissed me on the cheek and left.
The waft of her perfume hit me a few seconds later, as I sat on the bed and replayed our conversation in my head. It didn’t take a genius to know a frustrated woman when you saw one. My foodstuffs were low after the bed picnic with Annette, and I found myself reminiscing about our time together. Not a good sign.
I got dressed and, avoiding the overpriced Spar supermarket, drove to Nowra in the hope of finding one of the big duopolies, Woolworths or Coles. About three clicks before entering the CBD, a patrol car appeared in the rear-view mirror. It put the flashers on as I went through a set of traffic lights. I found a straight stretch of road and pulled right off into the half lane.
Two constables got out, stiff and business-like. One stayed at the vehicle while the other approached my window. His name badge said ‘Harris,’ and he was blonde and clean cut. He spoke in a shaky voice. ‘Mr. Matthew Kowalski?’
‘Yes. Am I under arrest?’
‘May I see your licence, please?’ I produced it, and he radioed to his compatriot. ‘I can confirm the identity of the driver.’
His walkie-talkie crackled and his partner replied. ‘Affirmative.’
Jesus, someone needs to remove the rod from these guys’ arseholes, and quick.
‘We need you to accompany us to the Shoalhaven LAC for questioning,’ Harris said.
‘Under whose authority?’
‘Detective Inspector William Asher. He’s requested you to meet with the homicide detectives investigating your cousins’ murder.’ He hesitated. ‘Both cousins.’
I didn’t like the sound of that. I agreed to go, but I didn’t know the way to the station.
Constable Harris told me he and his partner would be glad to escort me. He radioed this detail to his partner and again received an acknowledgment. Constable Harris promptly returned to the squad car, his neatly creased pants swaying in the wind, and pulled out.
I smiled to myself and followed. We turned back south into Nowra, then drove at a respectable fifty kilometres an hour to a large, red-bricked, heritage-looking building. Stone lettering marked the entrance as the Shoalhaven Courthouse, so I assumed the building doubled for the police station.
My young compatriots escorted me down lino-tiled corridors into a windowless room with walls painted a dull grey.
I took a seat at a table positioned in the corner of the room, and they told me someone would be along in a moment. I almost expected them to click their heels and salute before leaving the room.
Within a handful of minutes, two men strode in. One, a dour man in his fifties with patchy dark hair, held a folder full of documents. The other appeared to be his younger replacement, a fresh-faced redhead with bad acne scars and pale blue eyes.
The dour one sat opposite me. ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Kowalski. I’m Detective Inspector William Asher, and this is Detective Mitchell Marcussen. We work together in the homicide division for the Shoalhaven LAC. Can we ask you a few questions about George Demich?’
I nodded. ‘Shoot.’
‘Witnesses at the Sus
sex Inlet RSL place you with George Demich on Monday night.’
‘That’s a statement, Detective Inspector.’
‘I’ll re-phrase that. Why did you meet with Mr. Demich?’
‘I met George for some drinks. He was my cousin. It was the first time we’d seen each other in many years, and we wanted to catch up on lost time.’
‘Did you talk about the murder of his brother?’
‘It came up.’
They proceeded to ask me the usual questions, but the air turned serious when Marcussen rolled his shirtsleeves up. ‘We believe the person or persons involved in the murder of Robert Demich may have targeted George,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to determine if there’s any connection that both individuals appear to be victims of foul play. Have you spoken to any individuals who may have brought suspicion upon themselves?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve made some general enquiries within the village, but I can’t say I’ve made any leeway in that regard—nothing more than you already know.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘That Michael Le Mat’s the main person of interest.’
‘Have you spoken to Mister Le Mat or seen him within the vicinity?’
I couldn’t jeopardise things with Philip Le Mat. If what he was saying was true, that he could prove Michael had nothing to do with Rob’s murder, then I at least owed him the time to uncover the truth. If the detectives swooped in now and arrested Michael, he’d be charged with murder regardless of the truth. The fact that McCaskill’s Subaru was seen returning to the crime scene could have been just the opportunity for the killer, either McCaskill or someone else, to plant Michael’s phone at the scene and frame him for the murder.
‘I don’t know where Michael is,’ I said. It seemed to be the best thing to say without compromising myself.
‘That doesn’t answer the question.’
‘I’m not saying anything further without my solicitor present.’
Detective Inspector Asher didn’t hide his annoyance. ‘I’ll issue a warrant if I have to, Mr. Kowalski.’
‘Then issue a warrant, but until that time, I can’t be held on suspicion, so I’d like to leave now.’
Detective Inspector Asher pinched his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. ‘I’m not holding you on anything, Mr. Kowalski. I assumed—wrongly, it appears—that you’d assist us in any way possible, seeing as though we’re on the same team. We are on the same team, aren’t we?’
I didn’t know how to answer that.
‘I understand your personal connection to the victims,’ he continued. ‘And I understand you’ve been hired by the victims’ father to look into the matter. Those bruises look fresh.’
I maintained eye contact but didn’t open my mouth.
‘If you’re withholding information, this can come back to you in a very serious way.’
No shit, Sherlock.
‘I’m due to take some medication for a serious ailment,’ I said. ‘So, if you don’t mind, Detective Inspector?’
I hated lying but I was on a very sharp edge. I had nothing against cops, and on any other day, I would have told them everything I knew, but there was too much at risk if I handed them Michael Le Mat now.
The Detective Inspector indicated the door. ‘You can go, Mr. Kowalski.’
They dismissed me without charges. Marcussen instructed me to complete a statement, and I took a seat in another small room. He handed me a writing pad, and I deliberated over what to include, because whatever I wrote could seriously jeopardise my licence.
I decided to swap the order of things. I wrote that once I was on the property, I’d concluded, or convinced myself, that my entering McCaskill’s property was justified, as I felt my cousin’s life was at risk. I was ‘emotionally overwrought’. I’d let the experts determine the validity of the statement.
Chapter 21
I handed my statement to the officer at the front desk and asked if he knew of Sergeant Green’s whereabouts.
The clerk shrugged, asked my name and if the matter was urgent.
I decided not to give my name or tell him what it was regarding, and instead went outside and bought a latte and toasted banana bread from a coffee van in the car park. A cool southerly breeze had picked up and cast clouds into shapes that reminded me of confetti. My mind wandered and I recalled Constable Hunter telling me Paul’s wife, Vicki, worked at Henley’s Optometry. Once the coffee took effect and my stomach was satisfyingly full, I searched my phone for the address.
I cruised through minimal traffic to get there, and entered the shop.
A prim and proper man with pink, smooth hands busied himself stocking glasses in a revolving display cabinet.
I introduced myself, and when he asked my business, I mentioned Vicki Green.
He frowned. ‘Vicki Pearce? The assistant manager?’
I nodded. ‘Sorry, yes. Ms. Pearce.’
He promptly picked up a phone, punched a number, and whispered into the handset.
I wondered briefly why Vicki was going by another name when a woman of average height appeared from a back office.
She had shoulder-length, styled hair, which gave off an expensive air. Her high cheekbones and round eyes gave her an upper-crust look—like a young Sigourney Weaver, but with a softer jaw. She appeared pleasant enough, and shook my hand firmly.
I introduced myself and she nodded vaguely, tucking one stray hair behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Paul may have mentioned you but I’ve been very busy.’
She stared at my face, and I touched it self-consciously.
‘Rough week,’ I said, apologetically. ‘I’m a private detective, and I’ve been talking to your husband about my cousin’s murder.’
Recognition sparked her eyes. She raised a finger and pointed at me. ‘Yes, I remember now. He mentioned a private investigator... must be you. I’m glad you came by. I have to give you something. Come through to my office. Paul wanted me to give you some paperwork to fill out after last night.’
She beckoned me through the doors, and I followed her down a carpeted corridor into a small office suite. Potted ferns took up various places around the room. A sofa lined the far wall, and a desk sat on the left. Posters displaying eyes at various stages of disease adorned the walls. A calendar pinned to the wall by her computer had last Monday circled in red. The word ‘solicitor’ was also written in red and underlined against that date.
Several framed photos sat on the desk, and one in particular stood out to me, in which a young man with blonde hair and the obvious facial features of a person suffering Down syndrome wore a flat cap on his head, and cooked sausages on a barbecue. He had a wide grin on his face.
Vicki rounded her desk and retrieved a stack of papers.
As she handed the blank incident reports to me, I noticed she didn’t wear a wedding band. I thanked her.
She pointed to the papers. ‘Don’t sign them. Your signature needs to be cited. Just do that at the station with Paul. That should be fine.’
‘I appreciate that.’ I pointed to the photo of the young man by the computer. ‘Handsome young man.’
‘That’s Rory.’ Vicki pushed some hair behind her ear. ‘That’s one of the last photos we have of him.’
I stared at the photo, finding it hard to believe that someone with so much life no longer walked the Earth. ‘Do you mind if I ask...?’
Vicki sighed. ‘It was an accident. He fell from a bridge.’
Dread washed over me like ice water,. Doctor Ashbury had told me about the boy with Down syndrome who jumped from a bridge. What were the chances? What were the odds, in a town this small, that two teenage boys with Down syndrome had fallen, or jumped, from a bridge in recent years? Rory was her son, and Paul Green’s son. Did that mean Rory was the boy Rob and George had abused on the beach? It fit into a logical and direct line that linked Rob, Rory, and Paul Green.
I almost said something, then stopped. The calendar said ‘solicitor’ in red
, and Vicki wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Despite the small odds that she never wore a wedding band, the coincidence of the date of Rob’s murder and the same day being circled on Vicki’s calendar seemed too much. What did ‘solicitor’ mean? Maybe she’d filed for divorce? It made sense with the loss of Rory and the disintegration of the family. Paul would have reacted to the divorce with anger, and he had every reason to aim that anger at Rob.
‘Ms. Pearce, I need to talk to Paul. Do you know where is?’
She looked at me anxiously.
‘Vicki, your husband may be facing some very serious charges, and I need to know where he is. Right now.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure where he is, exactly....’ She rubbed her hands together.
‘Ms. Pearce....’
She raised her hands, palms out. ‘I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. Paul and I aren’t on speaking terms. We haven’t been for a long time. Whatever he does is his own business. I can provide an affidavit, if it comes to that.’
‘I don’t think you understand. Two men are dead, and everything points to Paul’s involvement.’
She brushed her hair back with both hands and sat in the chair. Her pretences dropped and she spoke softly. ‘One day, Rory begged us to let him go to the ocean by himself. We didn’t like the idea but we let him go. He was eighteen, and needed a little independence.’ She paused and caught her breath. ‘They left him face down, crying, and your cousins got off scot-free. Rory never went outside again. He withdrew. He wanted to sleep in our bed, and started to have night terrors, seizures. We reported it to the police, but they couldn’t take his word because he couldn’t explain what had happened to him. Rory suffered every day until the day we turned his machine off.’
She wiped her eyes and shook her head. ‘I don’t know if heaven is real or just some bullshit fairy tale, but I need to believe Rory’s in a better place. I don’t have anything else.’