The Dark Series

by Catherine Lee

  “Why would she come to see you in person to ask for a quote on rewiring? Why wouldn’t she just call?” Stocky asked.

  “I wondered the same thing, to be honest. But she said she was in the area, and Rebecca had mentioned I was working on the new place going up on Patterson’s Road. Fair enough, if she wants to waste her time traipsing across a building site. Maybe she just wanted to hear the boys whistle at her. What do I care?”

  “How did you feel about Rebecca’s friendship with Carmel Payne?” Stocky asked, and Cooper was wondering the same thing.

  “What’s to feel? They were friends, end of story. I don’t get that involved in who my wife socialises with, Detective.”

  “What was your impression of Carmel?”

  “I didn’t like her at first, I’ll be honest. But Rebecca thought she was the bees knees, you know. They’d meet for coffee, lunch, that sort of thing. Rebecca only worked three days a week at the tax office — she had Tuesdays and Fridays off. So she’d go over to where Carmel worked in her husband’s real estate business, and the two of them would go out or whatever.” He shrugged. “Rebecca was right into this creative writing stuff, wanted to write a book someday, she kept saying. I told her to just do it, stop messing about with all these short stories, do what you want to do. Too many people just talk about their dreams, you know? If you want to do something, do it. That’s what I told her.”

  “But she didn’t? Start on the novel, I mean,” Stocky asked.

  “Not that she told me about.” Royce shrugged again. “Maybe you should ask Carmel. That’s who she talked to about her writing, mostly. I think she got frustrated with me. I’m more practical, a get in and do it kind of guy. I don’t have patience for all this waiting for the muse and so on.”

  Cooper jumped in with a question. “Did you have much to do with them? Carmel and Jack?”

  “Rebecca invited them over for dinner once, and we went to theirs a couple of times. I tried, but I had nothing in common with them. It was hard work, we didn’t really strike up any kind of friendship. I told Rebecca I was happy for her to hang out with Carmel, but don’t drag me into it.”

  “And Rebecca was okay with that?” Cooper asked.

  “Yeah, seemed to be. Look, I’m not the kind of arsehole who stops his wife from seeing her friends, if that’s what you’re getting at. I didn’t mind Rebecca being friends with Carmel. She changed a little after she met that chick, started looking after herself better, dressed nicer, even lost a little weight. I’m not going to complain about that, am I?”

  “But you’re adamant Carmel mentioned nothing about Rebecca having an affair with Jack when she came to see you on the building site yesterday? Nothing at all?”

  Royce shook his head. “Nothing. This is the first I’m hearing about any affair, and I’ve got to tell you again I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Rebecca and I had different lives in a lot of ways, Detective, but we loved each other. We loved each other, and we love our kids.” His eyes glistened, and he looked up towards the ceiling in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. A single tear escaped, and he quickly wiped it away before refocusing on Stocky.

  “Can I go and see my son yet?”

  10

  Cooper stood in the office kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. He’d put instant coffee into his mug — two spoonfuls this Monday morning. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  “You making one of those for me?” Stocky asked as he entered the room and put something in the communal fridge. His lunch, probably. Stocky always brought a sandwich to work, even though half the time it was closer to dinner when he finally got to eat it. They were away from the office so much Cooper just relied on grabbing something from a cafe or takeaway whenever he got hungry.

  “Of course I am,” Cooper said, reaching for a mug and a tea bag from an overhead cupboard. As he reached he noticed the strain on his shirt buttons. He looked down at his belly, which had grown considerably over the last couple of years. Perhaps his partner had the right idea.

  “You ready for the autopsy this morning?” Stocky asked.

  “You ready for your meeting with Professional Standards?”

  “Yeah, whatever. We need to go over a few things.”

  “Sure.” Cooper finished making the hot drinks and carried them to a nearby table, where Stocky had settled himself and opened his notebook.

  “So this Carmel Payne, supposed friend of Rebecca,” Stocky began, “finds out her husband and Rebecca have been having an affair. Instead of confronting her husband about it, she finds out where Rebecca’s husband is and goes to his place of work to tell him.”

  “Except Royce is adamant she told him no such thing. Talked to him about a house rewiring, that’s all.”

  “Right. So that’s our first issue — one of them is lying.”

  Cooper took a sip of his coffee, burning his lips. Still too hot. “I get why Royce would lie, ’cause if he knew about the affair it gives him motive. Why would the friend lie?”

  “Good question. Maybe we need to take a closer look. What was her alibi?”

  “Her husband. The two of them were home together. No-one else to corroborate, though.”

  “And we’re looking for two offenders.”

  “The guy she was having an affair with, and his wife? You think the two of them could have killed her together? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s establish means, first. Then we’ll worry about motive.” Stocky ran his hands through what was left of his hair. “Can you talk to tech services? Get them to do that thing where they check where their mobile phones were? They can do that, can’t they?”

  “If the phones were on that night, yes. I’ll get onto it.”

  “Great. What else do we know?”

  Cooper flipped through his own notebook. “Interviews of residents in the houses surrounding the area of Lane Cove National Park near Devlin’s Creek were completed yesterday.” He’d been out there most of the day himself, and was more than disappointed with the results. “No-one saw anything. No suspicious cars in the neighbourhood, not that anyone noticed, anyway. The houses closest to the end of the road said they often get hikers parking their cars and going in there, they’re so used to it they don’t take any notice of cars parked down there anymore.”

  “So our offenders could have been there.”

  “That’s right. So we had two offenders, plus Rebecca, who by this stage must have had some idea what was happening, at the end of a dirt road, in the dark. And no-one saw or heard a thing?”

  Cooper sighed. “That seems to be the way it is, Stock.”

  “Shit. What about the old guy? How far away is his campsite?”

  “He’s set up a good kilometre north west of where the body was found. Nowhere near the entrance point to the park, either.”

  “Doesn’t want to get caught, I suppose. So he didn’t hear anything?”

  “Didn’t know a thing until his dog found the body the next morning.”

  Stocky brought the still steaming mug to his mouth and drank a huge gulp of tea. Cooper wondered how he could do that with it being so hot. He was still only able to sip his coffee.

  “What do the locals think of the guy?” Stocky asked.

  “Ben? The locals all know he’s out there. The consensus seems to be if he doesn’t bother them, they won’t bother him. There are a few elderly residents he helps out with odd jobs, lawn mowing, that sort of thing, in return for food. They all say he’s pretty harmless.”

  “Murder weapon?”

  “Still nothing.” Cooper wished he had more to report. He’d worked a long day yesterday, missed seeing his kids altogether, and for what? They’d no witnesses, no murder weapon, and no real leads. Rebecca Gilmore had somehow left her house when she wasn’t supposed to be going anywhere, wound up in the national park, been stabbed to death and buried in a shallow grave, and no-one saw or heard a thing.

  “What about public transport?” asked Stocky. “Any
taxis pick Rebecca up? Any record of her on public transport Friday night?”

  Cooper consulted his notes. “We checked all the taxi companies, none of them picked anyone up at the Gilmore’s address on Friday night. Rebecca’s opal card hasn’t been used for a week, either. So unless she walked a kilometre to the nearest bus stop and paid cash instead of using her card, she didn’t catch a bus. The nearest train station is a k and a half away, but we checked their surveillance footage just in case. Nothing.”

  “So that’s probably a conclusive no on public transport, then. No way she walked twelve k to the national park from her house on a Friday night, not in what she was wearing. She has to have been picked up.”

  “That’s the assumption. She was dressed for a night out.”

  They sat quiet for a moment, each digesting the idea that someone had picked Rebecca up for a night on the town. Her family had said she was going to have a bath and read a book, her usual Friday night personal indulgence, Cooper remembered. Ashley had been the last to leave home, about seven o’clock, and she’d said her mother was staying home. So what happened after seven o’clock that made her get ready to go out?

  Stocky must have been following the same train of thought. “Do we have her phone records for that night yet?”

  “I talked to the phone company yesterday. They were going to email them this morning. Hang on, I’ll check.” Cooper pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and opened the email application. He scrolled to the top, and was pleased to see the email from the phone company had come in ten minutes ago. He opened the attached PDF file with Rebecca’s mobile phone activity for the last month, and quickly located the right date. “Here it is. One call, seven twenty-six pm, from Jack Payne’s mobile number.”

  “That’s it?”

  Cooper scanned the file again. “That’s it. We knew about that call, didn’t we? That corresponds with Jack’s account. Said he called her, thought about coming over, but changed his mind. At that stage she was still set on the bath and book routine.”

  “So how does she go from that to dressed up and out in the national park?”

  “I don’t know, Stock. But I don’t think we’re going to come up with the answer sitting around here.” Cooper looked at his watch. “I need to get over to the morgue, and you need to get to that meeting.”

  Stocky drained the dregs from his cup and stood. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Cooper wanted to offer his partner some advice, but it was difficult with Stocky. Sometimes advice was well received, but other times he was likely to bite your head off. Cooper sensed this was one of those times in the second category, but still, he felt he had to say something.

  “Just try and keep your head, mate. Listen to what they’re saying before you go off.”

  Stocky turned to face him, and Cooper could see the veins in his forehead a little more prominently than usual. He prepared himself, but nothing came. Stocky simply turned and walked to the elevators.

  * * *

  Attending an autopsy was part of the job for a homicide detective, and Cooper had watched his fair share. It never got any easier, though, and he felt the familiar nerves and stomach-churning anxiety he normally felt right about here, at the entrance to the morgue in Glebe. He hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning, never did on days like this, but he was beginning to regret the second cup of coffee he’d made for the drive over.

  He went through the usual routine of washing and dressing so he could be inside the autopsy suite, rather than stand and watch from behind the glass. He preferred to be close to the action, but not too close. Doctor Garrett Byrnes had just started the external examination by the time he was admitted to the room.

  “Morning, Garrett.”

  “Good morning, Detective,” Garrett replied, without looking up. Cooper stood back and watched as he examined each section of the body and made periodic voice recordings of his findings.

  “Detective, you’ll want to take a closer look here,” said Garrett, once he’d finished recording the technical details. He pointed to Rebecca’s left wrist. “See that bruising? It’s on her other wrist, as well.”

  “You said at the scene you thought she’d been held, rather than tied up. Is that what you’re finding here?”

  “Yes. These marks are consistent with her being held. But there’s something else. See the shape of the bruises? You can actually make out some of the finger marks, and, more tellingly, the thumb. Same over here.”

  “What’s it telling you, Doc?”

  “The way these bruises are orientated tells me her arms were held over her head.”

  Cooper thought about it then raised his arms up over his own head. “Like this?”

  “Yes. But, obviously, if you’re going to hold someone’s arms over their head, they must be lying down.”

  Cooper looked briefly at the floor of the autopsy room, decided it was probably cleaner than his floor at home, and got down on his back with his arms stretched above his head. “You mean, like this?”

  “Exactly. One person knelt at her head and held her wrists down, while the other inflicted the damage with the knife.”

  Cooper picked himself up off the floor, surprising himself by making old person noises as he rose. He suspected he was a little red in the face, and for the second time today the thought crossed his mind that he might not be as fit as he used to be. As he should be.

  “Do the stab wounds line up with your theory?” he asked.

  “They do. And there’s something else.” Garrett moved around to the foot of the autopsy table, and pointed to Rebecca’s shins. Cooper could see more bruising here, but couldn’t make out any fingerprints or specific shapes. Then he realised what Garrett was trying to say.

  “He sat on her legs, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Cooper took a deep breath. “So one arsehole held her arms above her head so she couldn’t defend herself, while the other arsehole sat on her legs and stabbed her in the stomach and chest.”

  Garrett nodded. “That’s what the evidence suggests, Detective.”

  “Jesus.” Cooper paced the length of the autopsy room, past the other empty tables, all the way to the other end where another forensic pathologist was working on another body. He came back to find Garrett getting ready to make the Y incision in Rebecca’s chest. “Who does these things, Doc?”

  “That’s your job, Detective. I’m just here to tell you what happened. You’re the one who has to figure out the who and the why.”

  There was a single chair in the corner of the room, and Cooper took a seat while Garrett opened his patient up. He was upset with himself. Why did he always let autopsies get to him? They never made him squeamish, it wasn’t that. He was proud of the fact he’d never fainted or thrown up during or after an autopsy, unlike many of his colleagues. But they always got him in the heart. Hearing about the extent of the injuries, what the offenders must have done to the victims to cause those injuries, that’s what got him. Even after all the homicides he’d attended, he’d never understand what made one person take the life of another. It was the ultimate betrayal and, he supposed, it was what made him want to be a homicide detective. The people who did this needed to be caught.

  Cooper pulled himself together and up out of the chair. He extracted his notebook from his pocket, and got to work making notes as Garrett got to work cutting and slicing and weighing and measuring. The whole process took just on three hours, and Cooper’s feet were beginning to tell him how long he’d been standing by the time Garrett wrapped things up. He’d taken a lot of notes. The fact that there were two assailants had been confirmed by Garrett’s findings, and the cause of death was a stab wound to the heart. Interestingly there had been a number of hesitation wounds, which Garrett suspected had been inflicted before the final blow through Rebecca’s heart.

  He folded his notebook away in his pocket and looked up through the glass just as Stocky was entering the observation room next door. Cooper turned up his palms
and shrugged his shoulders slightly in a ‘what’s going on’ motion, and Stocky pressed the button on the intercom that allowed conversation between the two rooms.

  “I’m done. Are you?”

  Cooper looked over to Garrett, who nodded. There was nothing more to learn here. “See you out the front in five.”

  Once they met up on Parramatta Road, Stocky frowned. “You smell like death,” he said. “I don’t know why you insist on being in that room. You can see and hear perfectly well through the glass, you know.” They started walking towards the city, and Cooper sniffed at the sleeves of his shirt. Stocky was right, he did smell, but he wasn’t going to change his habit. It felt too impersonal behind the glass. Disrespectful, somehow.

  “A bit of fresh air will sort me out. Plus I’ve got a spare shirt in the car. What happened with you and Professional Standards?”

  Stocky shoved his hands into his pockets, and didn’t say anything. They were silent as they walked down Broadway and into the shopping centre, and Cooper tried not to pry as they bought lunch and sat at a central table in the food court. Cooper remembered his struggle getting up off the autopsy floor earlier, and was eating a salad. He was not enjoying it when Stocky finally spoke.

  “They’ve accused me of stealing from a crime scene.”

  Cooper put down his fork. “What? That’s crazy. What are you supposed to have stolen?”

  “Ten grand in cash. It’s bullshit, I think Cadogan invented the ten grand. I don’t think it ever existed. He’s saying one of us must have taken it while the other one distracted him.”

  “You and Davis? Conspiring to rob a guy who’d just confessed to murdering his wife? That’s bloody ridiculous.”

  “Tell me about it. But that’s not the worst part.”

  “What’s the worst part, then?”

  The guy investigating from Professional Standards? The one in charge of the case? Des Saunders.”