by Sarah Bailey
‘No,’ I tell her. ‘But we’re trying.’
‘Humph,’ she mumbles. ‘You’d want to hurry up. You don’t want the rich folk ending up as paranoid as us poor fellas.’
The police gym is dark and empty; the line of TVs along the ceiling give it an eerie glow.
I sit astride one of the bikes and pedal up to a steady speed, the burn surging quickly and filling my thighs. When I tune in to the news, the breakfast show hosts are discussing Sterling’s funeral tomorrow. They cut to a reporter standing outside the city cathedral who launches into an enthusiastic overview of where all the action will take place.
‘Do we know how the family is holding up?’ asks the pretty lady in the studio, her taut brow furrowed.
‘They’re living an absolute nightmare right now,’ replies the reporter, his voice running over recent footage of Matthew and April Wade outside their St Kilda hotel, looking scared and disoriented.
‘And what about his fiancée, Lizzie Short?’ presses the anchor.
‘Well, in what should be the happiest time of her life, she is about to farewell the man she was set to spend the rest of her life with,’ says the reporter grimly, as a montage of pictures fills the screen, all of the happy couple together.
‘And we’re hearing that Lizzie had more exciting news to reveal before this tragedy, is that right?’ chimes in the male host.
‘Yes, that’s right, Phil,’ says the reporter. ‘The production company behind Wade’s hit soap, The Street, has revealed that Lizzie is set to join the cast later this year. News that is now surely bittersweet for fans who would have loved to see the pair acting opposite each other.’
‘In the light of what’s happened, will she still be taking the role?’ asks Phil.
‘It’s unclear at this stage. The entire production was shut down after Wade’s death last Wednesday but we’ve been told that filming is set to resume next week. We should know more about how they plan to manage the departure of Wade’s character then.’
‘Well, one thing is for sure,’ murmurs the female host, ‘tomorrow is sure to be an incredibly sad day.’
They both make little tutting sounds before moving on to a story about hormones in meat, and I ease into cool-down mode.
Jumping in the shower, I think about how odd it will be for Lizzie to work with Sterling’s old cast without him being there. Or maybe it will make her feel closer to him?
I dress and head back into the office, falling into step with Brenton Cardona just as he ends a call.
‘Detective Woodstock,’ he says, tipping his head.
‘Hello, Mr Crime Scene Cardona,’ I say, smiling at him.
‘Feels like ages since we’ve met over a pool of blood or a lifeless body.’
‘At least a week,’ I reply.
‘Well, certainly my tweenage daughters have spoken of nothing but Sterling Wade since then. I feel like I know everything there is to know about the poor guy.’
‘How are they taking the news?’ I ask him as we approach the tearoom.
‘Not well,’ he replies wryly. ‘Though the young are resilient. You’ll be pleased to know my eldest asked if I could sneak into the morgue and cut off a piece of Wade’s hair to bring home to her. Reckons she could sell it on eBay for thousands.’
‘Very opportunistic,’ I say, laughing as he shakes his head in mock horror.
‘How’s it all going?’ he asks, his voice suddenly serious.
‘Okay,’ I say and meet his kind eyes. ‘Not as well as we would like though.’
He nods and says goodbye as I step into the case room.
Fleet is leaning over one of the juniors, their eyes trained on her screen. He lifts his head and his dark eyes bore into mine. I shift my gaze, feeling slightly uneasy.
‘Anything interesting, guys?’ I ask.
Fleet shrugs. ‘Not so far.’ He straightens up. ‘I’m still finding it hard to get a read on Paul Wade. I can’t work out if he’s as dumb as dog shit or hiding an incredible intellect under that stupid face.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, scanning the latest in the logbook. ‘There’s a lot that isn’t clear. And I guess we need to talk to Katya March today too.’
Fleet closes his eyes as if in deep thought. He doesn’t open them for a long time.
‘Are you okay?’ I prompt, perplexed at his odd behaviour.
‘Yes, yes,’ he says. ‘Sorry, I’m just thinking. I do that sometimes, you know.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Well, maybe save it until the case meeting is over. You can think when we’re on the way to find out what Ms March has to say.’
‘Aren’t you all business today?’ he mutters, but his tone is friendly. ‘I’ll round up the troops.’
I finish scanning the logbook as our uniforms file in, looking at me expectantly. I try to banish the negative thoughts that have me doubting their commitment to the case. Doubting their commitment to me. Surely if one of them leaked the blog post it was down to foolishness, not malice.
‘Right, we’re one week into this thing and Wade’s funeral is tomorrow,’ I say to the panel of eager faces. ‘It’s time to get this done.’
I reel off our areas of focus, then inform the team that Fleet and I are seeing if there is any relevance in the historical charge against Cartwright that was dropped.
Heads nod and notes are made. Surely, I think, looking at them all, we will solve this thing. I clench my jaw, riding a pleasant surge of confidence that we will nail this guy.
‘I want Wade’s finances looked into again,’ I say. ‘I want to review anything that doesn’t add up. Maybe he was being blackmailed, or perhaps he was mixed up in a business deal that went bad. Maybe he had funds stashed away somewhere. And we still need to work out where that engagement ring came from.’
Fleet and I have agreed that Brodie’s doubt about Wade’s proposal was an obvious reaction for him to have, but it still bothers us that we can’t trace the origins of the ring. Where did Sterling get it from? Could it have been stolen? Given to him?
And I still think it’s possible that Sterling told Brodie about the engagement—maybe even broke up with him at some point during that week. If so, in terms of motive, Brodie moves to the top of the list alongside Paul.
‘I also want to be alerted if anything pops up on the CCTV as the analysis comes in,’ adds Fleet. ‘Especially if it looks like someone was fleeing the scene.’
‘Lastly,’ I say, my voice strong, ‘I want to be sure that nothing goes any further than this group. Unfortunately, it seems some information was leaked recently. This is inexcusable. A full internal investigation will be carried out. We need to be a tight team on this. Our ability and professionalism is not to be the focus of news reports, am I clear?’
There is a rumble of agreement as the group rises. I eyeball each of them while they file out. One of the techs pops her head into the room just as the last uniform exits. I raise my eyebrows at her expectantly as she walks over.
‘We might have something,’ she begins.
‘We’re taking anything you can give us,’ says Fleet.
‘Well, we’re doing searches on all of Wade’s computers, as you know. And we’ve seized all the shoot tapes from the film and the production company. We’ve also done a search on one of the film company’s computers about their insurance policy. You know, to find out exactly what was covered and what wasn’t.’ She impatiently pushes her unruly hair behind her ear. ‘So, I called the insurance company to get a copy of the policy, and they said that Katya March, Cartwright’s executive producer, called them last week, two days before the attack on Sterling, asking that the full policy be sent to her as well.’
Wednesday, 22 August
1.28 pm
Katya March crosses and then uncrosses her long legs. Her knitted black jumper has a large blue embroidered eye, adorned with sequins and pieces of loose thread, on the front. She is wearing an aqua beret and her lips are the brightest shade of red I have ever seen. She looks like a piece of
art.
Loud pop music blares from the speakers hanging on the wall in the cafe and blends with the rock song a busker positioned outside the main door is playing on his guitar. A waitress with a tear-drop tattoo on her cheek takes our order, swaying to the music as she scribbles on her notebook.
‘I was worried about the production,’ Katya says. ‘I just wanted to ensure I covered all our bases.’
‘What were you worried about in particular?’ I ask.
Katya looks at us, clearly weighing up what to reveal.
‘He was using again,’ she says, after we’ve ordered.
‘Sterling?’ Fleet asks.
‘No!’ she snaps, then lowers her voice. ‘Cartwright.’
‘Drugs?’ I ask.
‘Of course, drugs. Anything he can find, generally.’
The waitress deposits coffees in front of us and I wait for her to walk off before I ask, ‘Did you see him using?’
‘Believe me, you can tell. When he’s on it, he’s bouncing off the walls.’
‘Tell us about the sexual assault charge you filed against Cartwright a few years ago,’ I say.
She purses her lips as she loads a teaspoon of sugar into her drink. ‘That’s in the past.’
‘Take us on a trip down memory lane,’ says Fleet.
She sighs. ‘Look, it was a big misunderstanding. Riley is an intense guy. We were working together around the clock on a film and there was a lot of pressure. I didn’t get how the industry worked back then. I was young and I freaked out. Reacted too quickly. After a while I realised that Riley has his issues but isn’t a bad guy. I dropped all the charges and we’ve worked together ever since.’ She sips her drink, leaving kisses of red around the rim of the glass. ‘He’s a genius and I look after him. Or at least I try to.’
‘We’ve heard rumours of gambling,’ I venture. ‘Do you think…?’
‘Yep,’ she cuts me off. ‘It’s all linked. Drugs, booze, money. Like a game of dominoes. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of guy.’
‘Was that how it was with you?’ asks Fleet, noisily slurping his drink. ‘He wanted it all?’
‘Like I said, I was young back then,’ she says firmly. ‘I misunderstood the situation. He didn’t mean anything by it at all.’ She drops more sugar into her coffee and gives it a forceful stir as if to change the subject. ‘The worst part is that I really fought for him to do this film. I thought he was ready.’ She takes a sip. ‘That’s why I was so fucked off when I could tell he’d started to slip.’
‘Let’s talk about Ava James for a minute,’ I say.
Katya rolls her eyes.
‘I’m assuming you’re aware that Ms James has made a formal complaint about Cartwright, which we’re looking into.’
Katya gives a tiny nod.
‘We know Sterling was pretty protective of Ava,’ I continue. ‘And that he confronted Cartwright about his inappropriate behaviour toward her last week. Do you think Cartwright was pissed off that he was getting in the way? If he thought they were hooking up in secret, he might have been pretty jealous.’
‘Look, I heard all the rumours about Sterling and Ava but I don’t know.’ She pushes her hair away from her face and it stands up tall in a little quiff. ‘Maybe they were screwing, maybe they weren’t. Sterling was protective of her though, that’s for sure.’
‘Protective enough to make Cartwright feel threatened?’ Fleet presses.
Katya shrugs. ‘He was annoyed at being lectured about it. He was always calling Ava, pretending he wanted to talk about the movie but really just trying to hook up with her. Ava seemed fine with it at first. I think it was Sterling who made her think it was a big deal. She’s a total drama queen. To be honest I think she liked the attention until she didn’t.’
I tilt my head, disappointed in her flippant dismissal of Ava’s claims.
‘Were you there when Cartwright and Wade argued?’ Fleet asks.
‘Yeah. It was just Sterling being Sterling. He had a real righteous streak.’
‘How heated was it?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘Heated enough.’
‘Did they kiss and make up?’ asks Fleet.
‘Sort of. I think Cartwright was shocked at being called out on the thing with Ava. People don’t normally stand up to him like that. But he and Sterling spoke on the first day of filming and they were fine. The whole situation wasn’t ideal but, like I told you, Cartwright’s not rational when he’s like this.’
‘Do you think he had anything to do with what happened to Sterling?’ I ask, trying to ignore the gaze of the huge staring eye on her jumper.
She looks at us like we’re mad. ‘No way,’ she says. ‘Cartwright’s a good guy, he’s just a bit of a mess. He mixes with some shitty people, sure, but he doesn’t benefit from Sterling’s death. No one does.’ She fiddles with her watch, an oversized wooden panel with black hands and markings. ‘Believe me, this is beyond a disaster to manage. No one knows how to deal with it.’
‘Well, he doesn’t have to do the film now,’ I point out. ‘but he still gets paid, right? He can sit around at home out of his mind. Maybe he was looking for an out and thought this was it. Maybe he was pissed off after that argument and just figured to hell with the whole thing. Maybe he didn’t want to have anything to do with Ava after her rejection and was worried that she might report him. Could he have called on one of his drug-dealing mates to deal with Wade?’
Katya looks at me, eyes wide as if it’s just sinking in that Cartwright might be in serious trouble. ‘No way, I can’t see it. He’s not malicious. Plus, and maybe you don’t get this, but it doesn’t matter how fucked up he is, he would always want to make the film. Movies are his passion. In a way, that’s all he’s got.’
Wednesday, 22 August
3 pm
Wiry bristles have sprouted on Cartwright’s cheeks and chin since we saw him on Saturday morning. It seems he’s slept very little during that time. His eyes are carved into his face and his movements are small and jerky, the ticking of his thoughts seeming to echo around the room.
‘Ah, sorry,’ he says, gesturing at his messy loungeroom, ‘I was going to tidy up a bit this morning but we had a fire evacuation, if you can believe it. Um, maybe sit here.’ He sweeps a pile of newspapers and clothes along a small futon to clear a space, clapping his hands as he looks at us expectantly.
‘Thank you,’ I say, plonking myself down firmly.
Riley’s apartment seems to match him perfectly. It’s haphazard and seems to transcend eras. It’s a bit rock, a bit pop and very eclectic. I’m tempted to water some neglected-looking indoor plants that run along the wall under the mounted flatscreen TV.
‘I’ll stand,’ says Fleet, his eyes on a fresh newspaper that rests on a slab of beer. Sterling’s perfect face stares up at the ceiling with the words ‘FINAL ACT’ in giant letters next to it.
Riley hovers for a second, looking between the two of us, and then sits on a small stool across from me. ‘It’s just so bad,’ he says, seemingly to himself. ‘I just keep playing that moment over and over in my mind.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘Do you think it would have made a difference? If I’d realised earlier?’
‘Doubt it,’ says Fleet bluntly, ‘the knife went straight through his heart.’
‘God,’ Riley chokes out.
‘We’ve been hearing that you haven’t been in the best state of mind lately,’ says Fleet, flicking dirt from under his fingernails. ‘Even before the attack on Wade.’
Riley jerks his eyes away from Fleet’s hand and meets his gaze. ‘I told you, it’s always stressful shooting a big film. Making movies isn’t just about the art anymore, I can tell you that for sure. It’s about the big fat executives getting bigger and fatter.’
‘Nah, that’s not what I’m talking about.’ Fleet obnoxiously clicks his tongue. ‘We hear you’ve been a bit of a mess. Maybe taking things you shouldn’t.’
Riley scowls but then his jaw wobbles and he looks around the r
oom as if he’s hoping someone will appear and distract us. ‘I’ve not been in a good place.’
‘How’s your drinking?’ I look pointedly at the kitchen bench where empty brown glass bottles are scattered.
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘That’s not what we’ve heard,’ I press.
‘Okay, I drink a lot, but so what? Who doesn’t these days?’
‘Wade didn’t,’ I respond. ‘It seems like he was quite the kale-eating fitness freak.’
‘Yeah, well. Mr Perfect was on the other side of the camera. It’s different for actors. They just turn up and get all the glory.’ Riley’s snort turns into a bitter laugh.
‘We’ve also heard that Ava James isn’t the only woman you’ve had a bit of hassle with over the years,’ Fleet adds. ‘Katya filed a complaint a few years ago.’
Cartwright itches at his wrists. ‘That was nothing. Katya and I are mates now. She overreacted to some friendly attention, but we sorted it out. Ava’s the same—if I could just talk to her about it, we’d be fine.’ He looks toward the kitchen and his face shakes with a small tic. I notice the tremors in his hand as he scratches his face.
‘That is not a good idea,’ I say. ‘I strongly suggest that you leave Ms James alone.’
His gaze drifts to the floor and I’m not sure he’s even listening to us.
‘Were you committed to this movie?’ asks Fleet.
‘One hundred per cent,’ says Cartwright. ‘This year was all about this movie for me. If I’m honest, it was keeping me going. I’d waited a long time for it to happen. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.’
‘Maybe the answer is in that pile of mail,’ says Fleet, gesturing toward two large stacks of unopened envelopes resting on a fat leather ottoman. He pushes away from the wall and walks toward the door, fingering framed photos as he passes. ‘Unless it’s just a load of bills.’
‘Mr Cartwright,’ I say, ‘the issue we have is that through our investigations it’s become clear that you’ve had regular communication with several people we happen to know quite well.’