‘The size of that thing,’ she says. The windscreen is filled now by the huge wall of steel sliding past.
‘Yeah.’
‘How are you?’
‘Good, yourself?’
He looks tired, a bit haggard, she thinks. Not his usual self. ‘I’ve got something for you, an old press report, never published. I don’t know if it ever made it to a police report.’
‘Go on.’
‘Ten years ago, Christmas, Konrad Nordlund took his niece Amber to dinner at the Bennelong restaurant at the Opera House. Just the two of them. At some point in the evening Amber grabbed a steak knife and tried to bury it in her uncle’s heart. There was a fuss, a doctor was called, but not the police. The next day the Nordlunds made a statement. Amber was unwell, diagnosed with affective psychosis, or manic-depressive illness. The family requested privacy, and they got it. The story was never published. If it happened today of course there’d be videos all over the web, but then it just went quiet. As if it never happened.’
‘Interesting.’ He nods.
‘You don’t sound surprised.’
He shrugs.
‘They’ve sent me up here because there’s been a report of another body on Ash Island. Can you give me any background on that?’
‘We haven’t found it yet, but there’s been evidence of a fourth victim.’
‘What kind of evidence?’
‘Can’t say.’
‘Who is it?’
‘They’ll be releasing the name of a missing person later today, name of Logan McGilvray…’
She gets him to spell it. ‘A crook?’
‘No record, but a recent charge of assault on his wife.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Possibly. They will also be announcing that drugs were found during a raid on a tattoo parlour in Islington called Dee-Dee’s Studio. The owner, Dee-Dee Perry, is currently assisting police with their inquiries.’
‘Okay, so what’s the background?’
He stares out of the window as if weighing up what to say. They watch the last tug go past behind the bulk carrier.
‘If you were to do a bit of digging, you might come up with the fact that McGilvray was a regular customer at Dee-Dee’s Studio. Coming from Sydney, you might also have noticed that this morning a man called Frank Capp was released without charge from Long Bay after being held for almost two months. He was the sergeant-at-arms of the Crows outlaw motorcycle gang, with whom, coincidentally, two of the Ash Island victims, Marco Ganis and Tony Gemmell, were also associated.’
‘Wow…’ Kelly’s pen is racing across the notepad.
When she looks up, he’s staring hard at her. ‘Detective Inspector Deb Velasco from Sydney Homicide has been involved in this, Kelly, and as you know she doesn’t like you. She suspects that I fed you stuff at Crucifixion Creek, so you have to make sure you have solid background on anything you publish that doesn’t point to me.’
‘Of course. I’m good at that. Umm…’ she flicks back through her notepad. ‘There was a report a couple of weeks ago in the Newcastle Herald…yes, the twentieth. An explosion in a house in Carrington. Was that connected with any of this?’
‘Forget it.’
‘Come on, Harry. It was, wasn’t it?’
He withdraws again, thinking, and she wonders if he’s about to get out of the car and leave, but then he sighs, and says, ‘There were rumours at the time that the explosion wasn’t accidental, and that the occupants of the house were a police officer and his wife, who were lucky to escape unhurt. But there’s a blanket suppression order in force, pending further inquiries.’
‘A police officer? Gee, Harry, that’s terrible. Who was it?’
‘You can ask, but they won’t tell you. Anything else?’
‘Yes, there is. I was in the Supreme Court on Queens Square this morning. When I came out I looked across the street and saw Karen Schaefer.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. She just stood there for a moment, staring at me, then she turned and was gone. It’s not a coincidence, Harry. She must have followed me there. I think she was trying to frighten me, and she bloody well succeeded.’
‘Tell the cops, Kelly.’
‘I can’t, not after what I did. You see? I’m just like you—I have to find out what’s going on myself or I’ll never have any peace. I’ve left home, so has Wendy, because Karen probably knows where I live, and I find different ways to come and go to work and look over my shoulder all the time. But I can’t go on living like this.’
He nods. ‘Well, you take care.’ He turns to open the doorhandle and a thought strikes her.
‘It wasn’t your house, was it Harry? That got blown up?’
He turns back.
‘It was, wasn’t it? My God, you never said anything…Is Jenny all right?’
‘We were lucky.’
Harry’s phone rings. He listens to it for a moment. Says, ‘I’m on my way,’ and hangs up. ‘They’ve found the fourth body. Give me half an hour before you come out there.’
56
The missing fingers are the same, but other things are different with this one. The heavily tattooed body is found half a kilometre away from the other sites. Not buried this time, just dumped in long grass and covered with vegetation.
It’s a hot afternoon, humid with the threat of evening rain, and the CSO team labours and sweats. After a while the pathologist, Leon Timson, emerges. He’s spattered in mud, face red. Someone gives him a bottle of cold water.
‘Hello, Harry. It’s McGilvray all right. Possible cause of death a massive blow to the skull.’
‘Like Gemmell,’ Harry says.
‘Not as extreme as that, but more than enough to kill. Come and take a look.’
He follows Timson down a trodden path to the edge of the water where McGilvray’s body lies sprawled, face down.
‘How long ago did he die?’
‘Hard to be sure with all that tattooing, but he seems to have that marbling discolouration of the skin that comes four or five days after death. When was he last seen alive?’
‘Our last sighting of him was late night, Saturday before last. Has he been here all that time?’
‘Good question. I might be able to tell you when he’s cleaned up and on the table. The material that was laid on top of him doesn’t tell us much.’ He points to a heap of branches and leaves stacked on a tarpaulin. ‘Old debris. Nothing that’s been recently broken from a tree.
‘There is one hopeful thing, over here…’ He leads the way back down the path and points to an area of flattened grass just off the road. ‘Quite a reasonable tyre print, see? Fortunately there hasn’t been any rain since he was dumped.’ He looks up at the sky. ‘We’ll get a cast done straight away.’
As Harry walks away Ross catches up with him. ‘Press are starting to arrive.’ He nods over to a huddle of people at the barrier. Harry makes out Kelly talking to another reporter. ‘Fogarty wants us to attend the PM.’
‘Fine. We should have cameras up here, on the bridge onto the island and the main tracks.’
‘You think there’s going to be more?’
‘Who knows.’
They walk together to the cars. ‘Remember when we arrested McGilvray?’ Ross says. ‘“Loretta”. Didn’t see it ending up like this, mate. What the hell’s going on?’
‘Well, I don’t think they can pin this on Dee-Dee.’
Logan McGilvray naked on the dissection table is something to behold. Ross’s eyes roam all over the tattooed surface and he murmurs, ‘Jesus, will you look at that—he even had his prick done.’
Timson is sticking a syringe into one of McGilvray’s eyes. ‘The amount of sodium in the vitreous humour can indicate time of death,’ he says, and continues with his detailed inspection of the body, pointing out signs of restraints, probably tape, on the wrists and ankles. ‘Same as Cheung,’ he says.
He and his assistant turn the body over onto its front. ‘Ah yes, lividity.
’ He points to the darker areas over the shoulders and buttocks. ‘After he died he lay on his back for some time, at least six hours, before he was moved.’
He turns to the head, carefully probing the large wound on the rear right side. ‘At least two blows, probably three, and there’s a compression fracture here consistent with the shape of a bottle we found in the water near the body.’
They take a break while Timson has X-rays taken of the damage to the skull before he disturbs it further.
57
While Kelly waits at the barrier on Ash Island for the police to issue a press statement, she chats to the same reporter from the Newcastle Herald that she met before. The woman fills her in on the theories that have been circulating around the city about the murders.
‘There was a bit of panic when people thought it was a serial killer, then the police put it out unofficially that they think it’s gang-related.’ She mentions the names of the local bikie gangs. ‘I know a few of those blokes. Wouldn’t have thought they’d get into anything as heavy as this.’
‘Gangs from out of town, then?’ Kelly suggests.
The woman shrugs.
‘There was an explosion recently in a house in Carrington, wasn’t there?’
‘Yes, that was strange too. The coppers have kept very quiet about that. I went and spoke to one of the firies who attended that night and he said he’d been told not to talk about it. He did hint that it wasn’t a gas leak though. Said it was a miracle no one was hurt. I spoke to the neighbours and they said the couple who were living there were out at the time. Nice couple, quiet, they said, but they didn’t know anything about them, except that she was blind. Seeing-eye dog, the works. They haven’t been around since, apparently.’
Superintendent Gibb comes to the barrier and makes his statement. The latest victim is believed to be a thirty-four-year-old local man by the name of Logan McGilvray, resident of Mayfield. The police are very anxious to trace his movements over the past eight days and are appealing for anyone with information to contact them. The cause of death is unknown at this stage, pending a post-mortem.
Kelly returns to her hotel and sets up her laptop, spreads out her notes and begins to compose her article. Facts to begin with: the bleak setting of Ash Island, the fourth body, a recap on the previous three. Then the more difficult part, describing the links between at least two of the victims and the Sydney Crows bikie gang involved in fatal shootings earlier this year, and mentioning the release today of their former vice-president from prison without actually saying that it’s connected. No mention of the Nordlund family, or Ozdevco or Crucifixion Creek. And the final line: If you have information about any of these events, or about the whereabouts of a Crows associate known as Karen Schaefer or Donna Fenning, call Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000, or contact our crime desk: [email protected].
She rereads it and sends it off, then goes downstairs for dinner.
At midnight she gets confirmation from the editorial office in Sydney that Catherine has passed the article without cuts. It’ll be on page five of tomorrow’s paper.
58
Harry takes Anna Demos with him to the house in New Lambton Heights. ‘I always hate these visits,’ she says. ‘There’s nothing you can say that sounds right.’
‘Especially if the deceased was a scumbag. But at least his wife’s had a bit of time to get used to the idea of being a widow.’
McGilvray’s father-in-law answers the door, sombre but brisk, obviously not unduly upset by last night’s news. ‘Come in, come in. My wife is with Olivia now. They didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘I’m sorry to disturb you again,’ Harry says.
‘Oh, it’s all right. I know you have to go through a process. Sooner it’s all over the better.’
‘Is she very upset?’ Anna says, in a hushed voice.
‘My wife? Good heavens, no. It’s a bloody relief, frankly. Olivia was contemplating going back to him. She wanted a baby, but she’d held off because he kept talking about covering the infant with tattoos.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sometimes I find it impossible to understand human nature. She’s bright, had a decent education, knows the difference between right and wrong. And yet for some unimaginable reason she became infatuated with that thug.’
‘Obviously we’re interested in who might have wanted to kill him,’ Harry says.
‘Apart from me, you mean? Afraid I can’t help you.’
‘You don’t know any names of his friends, acquaintances?’
‘Sorry, you’ll have to ask Olivia. I’ll get her for you.’
He returns with the two women, both looking pale and exhausted. Everyone sits. Harry introduces Constable Demos and himself again, and Anna begins.
‘Olivia, we’re so sorry for your loss. And we’re sorry to disturb you at such a sad time, but in a murder investigation time is of the essence.’
Olivia’s face crumples and she looks ready to burst into tears.
Anna hurries on. ‘We’d just like you to help us by telling us the names of Logan’s friends—male friends especially. People he was close to, liked to have a beer with, that kind of thing.’
Olivia takes a deep breath and begins a halting list of names. Harry writes them down. A couple were on Dee-Dee’s phone, small-time dealers in pubs and clubs. They’ve already been interviewed. The others sound innocuous, but they’ll all be spoken to.
When she’s finished, Harry says, ‘How about someone called Sammy?’
She ponders. ‘The only Sammy I know is Sammy Lee. Runs the Chinese restaurant.’
He nods. ‘Someone called Tolliver?’
She shakes her head.
‘Jason Tolliver? Doesn’t ring a bell?’
‘No.’
‘How about Tyler?’
She frowns, thinking. ‘I think we did meet someone called Tyler. When was it?…It was in a pub, but I can’t remember which one.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Oh no, no. I can’t remember.’
‘What if I show you a picture.’ He takes out a copy of a photograph taken from the last NRL company report and offers it to her.
‘Oh…Yes, that might be him. Yes, I’m sure it is. He was big, friendly, very charming really. Well off. I remember now, Logan told me he had a special car, something fancy, like an Asian girl’s name…’
‘Lotus Elise?’ Anna suggests.
‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘I’ve seen it around,’ Anna says.
‘Is it important?’ Olivia asks. ‘I only saw him the once, at that pub.’
‘No, not important, Olivia, but thanks anyway for your help.’
She sighs. ‘If I hadn’t left him, this might never have happened.’
‘That’s nonsense, darling,’ her mother says sharply. To Harry she says, ‘Tell her it isn’t true, officer.’
‘Your mother’s right,’ Harry says. ‘There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this.’
‘Did he suffer?’
‘No.’ Harry sees Anna’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘And I know you’ve already been asked this, Olivia, but are you quite sure you have no knowledge of Logan’s movements over the past week or ten days? Or can think of anyone who might know?’
‘No. I’ve no idea.’
They leave. When they get into the car, Anna says, ‘Who’s Tyler?’
‘Good question.’
When they get back to the station, Harry goes to his computer to write up a report. Halfway through, he spots Ken Fogarty circulating round the room, and when he reaches his desk Harry says, ‘I went with Anna Demos to interview McGilvray’s widow and her parents, boss.’
‘Anything?’
‘One thing. I was asking about his friends, and I showed her this picture, of a local man called Jason Tolliver. She identified him as someone she and McGilvray met in a pub. He isn’t on the lists we have. I think he’s worth investigating.’
‘Hang on, you’ve lost me. Who is he? Do we know him?’
>
‘No, no record. He’s the head of security at the NRL coal loader.’
‘So…how did you just happen to have a picture of him in your pocket?’
‘You remember the business of Tyler Dayspring and the Dark Riders that McGilvray told me about?’
Fogarty folds his arms, staring at Harry. ‘How could I forget?’
‘Well, boss, in the Marvel Comics story, Tyler Dayspring also uses the name Tolliver. So I looked into that name. There’s only one in Newcastle—this bloke, Jason Tolliver.’
‘Who Mrs McGilvray thinks she once saw in a pub. That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
Fogarty runs a hand through his thinning grey hair, shakes his head. ‘You astonish me, Belltree. We’re trying to run a rigorous homicide investigation here, and you talk about comic books. Get off your arse and go and do some bloody work.’
After he’s gone Ross comes over with a copy of the Times. ‘Seen this, Harry?’
Harry reads it, frowns.
‘That bit at the end,’ Ross says. ‘Who’s Karen Schaefer and Donna Fenning?’
When he gets a chance Harry finds a quiet spot and calls Kelly. ‘Just read your article. What are you playing at? Trying to provoke her?’
‘Don’t worry, Harry. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Well, I hope you’ve got someone down there watching your back, Kelly.’
59
It arrives late that afternoon, an email:
Dear Kelly Pool, I can tell you where to find Karen Schaefer. Best wishes, Insider.
Kelly replies: Dear Insider, Can we meet? Kelly.
Nothing happens for two hours. Then, as Kelly is about to leave the building, the reply arrives:
Tomorrow morning 10AM, bench in Riverside Park, Strathfield, opposite Dogwood Avenue. I will need $500. Confirm. Insider.
Kelly confirms that she’ll be there and leaves, picking up a hire car on the way to her hotel.
It’s another sleepless night, trying to think it through again and again, struggling to fight off the demons of memory and fear.
Ash Island Page 18