by Angus McLean
He put hers aside and went back to the statement made by Tim Ashford. He stated that he had a couple of drinks at the party but stayed home when the others went into town, due to work the next day.
He’d heard Chris arrive home and shortly afterwards heard Jessie arrive. Lying in bed in the next room, he’d heard raised voices, then Jessie screamed. He’d rushed in and found them wrestling. Chris had her by the wrists and was trying to manhandle her out of the room.
From there, he confirmed everything Jessie had to say, up to the point he dropped her off at home and went back to the flat. He said he then spoke to Chris who told him that Jessie had barged in aggressively, swearing at him and trying to continue the argument they’d had. Chris told him that all he wanted was for her to leave, but all she wanted to do was fight. She’d pushed him then tried to hit him, and he’d grabbed her wrists to stop her. As soon as he did so she screamed and in rushed Tim to the rescue.
Dan sat back and pondered the evidence, making a steeple of his fingers and gazing at the ceiling while the facts bounced around in his head. It worked for Sherlock Holmes, famous private enquiry agent, but didn’t do much for Dan Crowley, not-so-famous private investigator.
He sighed and logged into Facebook. They had several fictitious profiles set up which were often of assistance during investigations. He quickly found Jessie and scrolled through her timeline.
The last few posts before the day concerned mostly talked about stupid customers at work, bargains she’d picked up in the shops, or chat about celeb news. There was a mention of the party planned for Friday night and how she was going to get wrecked. There was even a mention of Chris being the sweetest guy she knew.
There were no posts on the day after the party, but the next post, on the Sunday, talked about the party being lame and her and Chris having a fight. She said he was a dick and she had the mother of all hangovers on the Saturday.
Interestingly, thought Dan, there was no mention of being assaulted. He printed it all off and added it to the file. It never ceased to amaze him how much personal info people put out on the Web, or how handy it could be for people like him.
Rubbing his eyes, he mooched to the kitchenette where he made a strong tea in his favourite mug, a hefty vessel with a picture of a cowboy on each side. He stood at the bench and watched the traffic crawling past on the motorway. He’d heard sirens earlier from the local motorway patrol base and now saw the side effect of their call. The southbound lanes were inching along, the northbound lanes also banked up as the drivers on that side rubbernecked at whatever was happening on the opposite side.
Even from his position fifty metres away and on the second floor, Dan could feel the frustration coming off the drivers in waves. He felt an empathy for them, the natural comradeship between motorists the world over, but was glad it was them and not him.
He turned away from the window and listened to the sounds of the office. The electronic hum of the computers and fridge was like the birdsong of the modern workplace, constantly competing with the radio on the bookshelf by his desk-tuned to a classic hits station when Molly was in but usually switched to a rock channel when she wasn’t. Right now Skynard was playing, and he felt himself unwinding.
They had been busy lately, having to balance the usual day to day business with the demands of a complex investigation into a failed finance company, and Mike had gone to Christchurch for three weeks looking into insurance claims from the earthquakes.
He was half way through his tea and thinking about shutting up shop for the day when footsteps on the landing outside put paid to that idea. The door opened and a young man entered.
He was short and athletic looking, with a pin striped suit, gold cufflinks and an air of energy about him. He was slick and polished and had politician written all over him.
He strode over to Dan and extended his hand in a domineering overhand grip, a wide white smile spread across his tanned face. He seized Dan’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically.
‘You must be Danny,’ he enthused, ‘Brady’s the name. Paul Brady.’
Dan had a strong urge to punch him in the face. Instead he shook his hand, turning it so that their hands were both vertical. Brady’s grin faltered but didn’t break. Dan released his hand and stayed where he was.
Brady cast an eye around the office then turned back to Dan.
‘I represent a high-profile, very well connected man,’ he began, tucking his hands into his pockets and rocking on the heels of his shiny Italian leather. ‘He has an interest in a matter you are currently involved in, and we need to have a chat about it.’
Dan considered him over the rim of his mug for a moment. He swallowed and stroked his moustache.
‘I don’t know you,’ he said, ‘I don’t know your boss. And I don’t discuss cases with anyone but the client, so I can’t even confirm to you whether or not you’re right about my involvement in something. Right?’
Brady smiled benevolently.
‘That’s a very ethical approach, and completely appropriate.’ He nodded sagely. ‘I like it.’
‘Great. I’m pleased.’
‘But we already know you’re on the case, so to speak, so it’s no big secret. And it’s very important that we speak openly about this.’
He half turned and gestured towards the sofas, as if inviting Dan to sit down.
‘Shall we?’
‘Fill your boots mate,’ Dan replied evenly. ‘I can hear perfectly well from here.’
Brady paused and hovered above the sofa, half way into a sitting position already. He pushed himself up and eyed Dan with irritation now.
‘I can’t over-emphasise how important it is that we get together on this to move forward, Danny,’ Brady said seriously. ‘The potential fallout of something like this could have catastrophic consequences for my head, who is a very influential character both locally and nationally.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Catastrophic.’
‘Yeah yeah yeah, heard it all before.’ Dan cut him off with a sneer. ‘Your boss is a big kahuna and knows lots of important people. So’s half the city, mate, so get to the point unless you want to go on the clock.’
Brady stiffened noticeably, took a breath through his nostrils and gathered himself.
‘Like I said-’
‘So far I haven’t heard anything worth listening to, so if your boss wants to talk to me, tell him to give me a call.’ Dan indicated towards the door with his chin. ‘Otherwise, I’m very busy working on things I can’t talk about.’
Brady paused as if coming to a conclusion, then made his way to the door. He stopped there, his shoulder level with Dan’s chest, and looked sideways at him.
‘I’m very disappointed at your attitude towards this, I have to say.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I don’t believe Mr Taylor will be very happy, either. I expect you’ll be hearing from him.’
‘Cry me a river, sunshine,’ Dan growled. ‘And if he wants to call me, fine. I’d rather hear from the dog than the bark.’
Brady’s nostrils flared angrily and his chin quivered. ‘You don’t scare me, you know.’
‘Really?’ Dan stepped forward so his chest was butting against the other man’s shoulder. ‘Well boy, you come in here acting like you own the show, or you dare call me Danny again, and I’ll break your damn nose. Understand?’
Brady tried for indifference, but couldn’t pull it off. ‘Whatever.’
He started to leave, and Dan couldn’t help himself. ‘Now run along.’
Brady got out the door and turned, a safe couple of metres away. ‘You’re not funny, you know.’
‘Oh, I am. Ask anyone.’ Dan eyeballed him coldly. ‘I’m a freakin’ riot.’
He closed the door.
Chapter Four
The next morning Dan was up early, showered and dressed and eating breakfast by six thirty. Molly had done some book work the previous evening then slept fitfully, tossing and turning. She was usually up by now and out walking, but he left her to sleep.
The slumbering form in the bed stirred and cocked half an eye at him.
‘What time is it?’ she croaked.
‘Quarter to seven,’ he said cheerily, bringing the tray over to her.
Molly sat up and propped another pillow behind her. She yawned widely and perched the tray on her knees.
‘You should have woken me up,’ she told him reproachfully, scooping at her cereal.
He shrugged. ‘You obviously didn’t sleep well, so I thought I’d leave you for a bit longer.’
‘I’ll have to go for a walk after work.’
Dan took his shoes from the wardrobe and sat on the bed beside her to put them on.
‘Something bugging you?’ he inquired.
Molly screwed her nose up. ‘No, it’s just bill time, that’s all. My favourite time of the month.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll do the investigation report for Mark this morning-’
‘Mike,’ he automatically corrected her.
She frowned, and continued. ‘And send out the invoice. Will you be out and about?’
‘Yep.’ He stood and brushed off his trousers. ‘I’ve got a couple of trees to shake, and we’ll see what falls out.’
‘Be good then.’ Molly leaned up to his kiss. ‘See you for lunch?’
‘I’ll try and make it, baby doll.’ Dan grinned and patted her cheek affectionately. ‘Take your time.’
‘Bye.’ She smiled and watched him leave.
Dan was a strong believer in gut instinct, and it had often stood him in good stead. His impression of Jessie Parker was that of a scatter brained drama queen, with a nasty edge. If his assessment of her was correct, it followed that she would seek medical attention if she broke a nail, let alone was punched in the head.
The fact that she hadn’t was something that had jumped out at him immediately upon reading her statement, and it added to his doubts about her story. He knew that Denise, a clerk for the Counties-Manukau District Health Board, started work at 7am in the Records Office.
The DHB had fantastic records of most people in the district, particularly the class that he regularly dealt with. Scumbags would take themselves or their kid to the hospital when they had the flu or some other ailment, or when they’d been beaten up or crashed their car, and every time they did, they had to update their contact details.
Dan had used their records numerous times to track people down at the address they thought was secret, or to establish relationships between people. Denise had been there for several years, and although she knew he was now private and not with the cops, she was still happy to help out when she could.
He called her at 8am and within five minutes had details of Jessie Parker’s GP. There was no record on the hospital database of the alleged assault, but that was normal if she had gone to her GP. He thanked Denise and asked after the family. He reminded her that he had season tickets available for the rugby, and she laughed.
‘What, to watch the Blues? No thanks, Phil watches enough rugby on telly as it is, he’s not dragging me out at night to watch it as well!’
They both laughed before ringing off, and Dan checked his map book.
The GP was located close to her Pakuranga home, and opened at 830 sharp. When the receptionist opened the front door, she found Dan standing there in a dark suit with a large hard cover notebook in his hand.
He smiled and followed her in to the desk, well aware that she had just arrived at work and he had caught her on the hop by getting there so early. Putting his notebook on the counter top, he opened it and shuffled a couple of pieces of paper. The top was the first sheet of Jessie’s statement to the Police, which was a data sheet containing her personal details.
At the bottom was a pre-formatted blurb authorising release of her medical, phone or other data to the Police in order to assist the investigations. She had signed this in her large scrawl.
‘My name’s Dan Crowley,’ he told the receptionist, a portly older lady with permed hair and a paisley blouse, ‘and I’m investigating an assault allegation by Jessie Parker, who I understand is a patient of yours?’
The receptionist looked at him blankly. ‘Okay.’
‘The day after the assault she came here and was treated by Doctor Sharma, who I understand is her GP.’ He leafed through the statement as if to check the name, holding the top page at an angle that she could clearly see its title ‘Evidential Statement.’ ‘Yeah, Doctor Sharma.’
‘Okay.’ The receptionist seemed to have switched on a bit now. ‘So you’re after the medical notes then?’
‘That’s it.’ He nodded and put the statement down, giving her his full attention now.
‘Have you got an Official Information request? I can’t release the notes without that.’ She pulled a face. ‘Sorry, but it’s to cover our backsides, you know.’
‘I know.’ He smiled empathetically. ‘So much red tape, aye? Things used to be so much easier, didn’t they?’
‘Oh, I know,’ she enthused. ‘These days it’s all forms for this and policies for that. It’s a wonder we get anything done.’
‘Tell me about it. There’s always another hoop to jump through.’ He slid the top page of the statement across the countertop to her, and tapped the authority at the bottom. ‘This is the authorisation she signed on her statement.’
He always made sure he never identified himself as a member of the Police. He knew she would get the impression he was given that he walked the walk and talked the talk, and he knew that Kennedy would probably find out, so it was vital that he didn’t give him any ammunition to make something of it. Impersonating an officer was a crime that would certainly cost him his license, and there was a fine line to walk around the legalities of it.
The receptionist read the authorisation quickly and nodded before sliding it back across to him, and he knew he was in.
She logged onto her desktop and asked him for the date. He waited while she opened up the file. Her forehead wrinkled as she read it.
‘Oh. Are you sure that date’s right?’
‘Yep, double sure.’
She frowned again. ‘Oh. Um...she came in that day, but it wasn’t for an assault. Well, it doesn’t mention that here, anyway.’
‘Oh, okay...’ Dan looked at her quizzically. ‘What did she come in for then?’
‘Um, well...’ She seemed to be mulling over what she could tell him. ‘It doesn’t seem to be anything related to what you’re talking about.’ She tapped her chin thoughtfully with a forefinger. ‘Perhaps I should wait for one of the doctors to come in...’
‘Look, I don’t want to get you in any trouble if you’re not sure about it,’ Dan told her reasonably, ‘I mean, she’s made the allegation and everything, and it needs to be investigated, but if you’re not sure...’
He let it hang, putting silent pressure on her. After what seemed an age, he saw her back straighten and she glanced up at him. Decision made. He remained cool.
‘She actually came in for the morning after pill.’
Dan couldn’t conceal his surprise. ‘Really? Have we got the right day?’
‘Yes, it’s the right day.’ She shrugged, unable to explain it. ‘She came in at about 11am and was seen by Doctor Sharma, and was given a prescription for the morning after pill.’
‘Hmm.’ Dan drummed his fingers on his notebook and gave her an arched eyebrow. ‘That certainly puts a different spin on it, doesn’t it?’
‘Certainly does,’ she agreed, totally drawn into it now. ‘Do you want me to email the notes to you, or do you just want a hard copy?’
‘Oh, look, just a hard copy will be fine, thanks.’
‘Suits me, I always have trouble with those attachment t
hingies anyway.’ She laughed and the printer beside her whirred. She passed the notes over to him, and he tucked them into his notebook.
‘Thanks very much,’ he told her with a smile, ‘you’ve been very helpful.’
‘No problem.’ She smiled back, and felt a warm glow of contentment. It was always satisfying to help the Police...
Dan got back into his car and opened his notebook, scanning through the medical notes. It certainly put a different spin on things, and raised a number of questions that needed to be answered.
Not least of all, who’d had sex with Jessie Parker that night?
Chapter Five
Tim Ashford worked at Stylz Fitness Centre, a gym in Manukau which seemed to cater mainly to the local business community. They advertised corporate package deals, group concessions, and opened early and closed late to fit in around the irregular working day.
The car park outside was half full and Dan pulled the silver Vectra into a slot near the door. He passed a couple of tanned muscle heads who were loitering near the doors in tight singlets and the latest sneakers while they chatted over a sports drink.
Probably comparing protein intakes or the speed of their muscle fibre twitches, he figured sarcastically. He crossed the foyer to the front desk, where a muscular young man was chatting to an even younger girl, both of them wearing polo shirts in the company colours and with the logo over the breast Doin’ it in Stylz.
High-tempo music pumped in the main workout room off the foyer, and through the windows in the doors he could see a trio of people jogging on the machines against the far wall.
The guy had a shaggy mop of dark curls and a flavour saver under his lip, and the almost obligatory Chinese lettering tattooed on his inner forearm.
The girl was blonde and bouncy and he took in their body language as he got closer. The way they were standing and looking at each other indicated a level of familiarity most colleagues didn’t share.
He reached the desk and waited until the young guy could tear himself away and look over.