A Murder Is Denounced
Page 7
‘I’ll find that shit if it’s the last thing I do.’
‘Be careful, he may be a trap set by the DEA,’ said the lawyer.
Cam looked at AJ who regretted speaking. The hatred festering inside Cam gave off an odour impervious to any gent scent.
Vlad, now James Lawrence Anderson, pondered his next move. Did he want to reach old age? Yes. How badly? Very. Were his chances better with his wife and son or on his own? He needed time to answer that. He’d read about men who walked out on their families. He reckoned returning to his family would not only put him in danger, (read face certain death), but his family as well. Cam would torture Vlad’s loved ones in front of Vlad before killing him. For Vlad, it had to be Plan B.
He prepared to leave the US and to never see or communicate with his family again. He day-dreamed about being a secret guest at his son’s wedding in 20 years’ time. So it was ciao Vlad and hello James.
Where would he go? Canada was too darn close to the US which gave him little choice as the second fake passport supplied by the DEA was Australian. The passport was aged to pretend that James left Oz many years ago to live and work in Canada. Now he was under a witness protection scheme, and set to be born again Down Under, although not with the good folk at Hillsong.
He searched online for the ideal city. Australia boasted many immigrants, reeked with prosperity, had English as its main language, and beaches with babes.
The proximity of Bondi and its bikinis to the business hub of Sydney sealed the deal. Sin City it was.
And speaking of sand, Jo and Billy Hughes drove into the yard of Melton Sand and Screenings, and approached the door marked Office. It was opened by a corpulent gent who would not normally get off his arse. Two females grabbed his attention. Unusual, he thought. Could they be cops?
Right first time, Russ. ‘Police,’ said Billy as she and Jo flashed their ID. ‘Are you the boss?’
They retired to his dump of an office and chose not to sit. Cleaning here was a dirty word. ‘What’s this about?’ he asked.
‘One of your drivers, Cooper Yale.’
Russ groaned. ‘Oh he hasn’t done it again has he?’
The detectives came alive. ‘Done what again, Mr …’
‘Gravel, Russ Gravel.’
Jo wanted to laugh and thought he was winding them up. ‘Is that your name or the name of the business?’
Russ was over the jokes and ignored Jo. ‘He uses the truck to dump rubbish for cash. It’s illegal and obviously against company rules. I told him if he’s caught again, he’s history.’
Billy remained calm. ‘Rubbish is not our priority, sir. We’re homicide detectives investigating a murder.’ Russ gasped. ‘Apart from fly tipping, what else can you tell us about Mr Yale?’
Russ was mortified. ‘Cooper’s wanted for murder?’
‘Is he reliable? How long has he worked here? Any disputes or fights with customers? What’s his history?’
Mr Grovel gravelled. No, Mr Gravel grovelled. He didn’t want the police anywhere near his books though Homicide had zero interest in dodgy GST accounts.
‘Look, he’s usually okay. Customers don’t complain which is all I ask. Can’t tell you no more.’
Billy persisted. ‘Where is he now and when’s he due back?’
Russ checked an old monitor. ‘He’s gone to Gisborne. Won’t be back till at least 4. Look, do I have to answer these questions?’
‘Not at all. But we’re trying to solve a brutal murder, Mr Gravel, and your co-operation may help us catch a killer.’
‘I can’t believe Cooper’s a killer.’
‘He’s not a suspect,’ said Billy.
Russ fumed. ‘Well why didn’t you say? And why are you here?’
‘Because he knows someone who is.’
‘Kevin,’ said the boss without hesitation, and the detectives got excited. ‘I bet it’s his mate. They’re thick as thieves. Both have wife worries, and trouble with access to their kids. Cooper craps on about the rigged system and how he and Kevin are fighting for men’s rights. But that’s all I know. So, who’s been murdered?’
‘You’ve seen this mate, Kevin?’ asked Billy.
‘Now and then and I reckon they’re only mates because of their wrecked marriages. I don’t think they even like each other.’
Billy pulled the plug. ‘Well thanks for your help, Russ. And you can do us a favour. Tell Cooper two Homicide detectives were looking for him and asking about his movements.’ They left and drove away.
‘Nice tag, Sarge,’ said Jo. ‘Russ will be all over Cooper when he comes back.’
‘Grande is strong. We’ll only get him if Cooper cracks.’
Jo mused. ‘So let’s hope DS Fletcher winds up his family.’
‘He will. Now, where can I drop you?’
DS Justin Fletcher and Detective Senior Constable Charlie Baldwin went cold calling in Ringwood, to interview the sister and mother of Cooper Yale, Mr Alibi in the Christine Grande murder. The ladies were given no warning. This was a brutal homicide, and the desperate position of the investigation demanded smart thinking.
Jocelyn, Cooper’s sister, opened the door. She was her mother’s fulltime carer and led the men inside. ‘It’s the police, Mum.’
The elderly Mrs Yale only looked worried because she was. ‘What do they want?’ The detectives entered the lounge where the matriarch sat in a corner chair watching the racing channel. She liked a punt. ‘You don’t look like police,’ she said.
Justin switched on his charm routine. ‘We’re detectives, Mrs Yale.’ He introduced himself and Baldwin. Jocelyn dragged magazines and knitting from the sofa, and the cat excused himself. ‘Thank you,’ said the DS and the men sat. ‘No need for alarm, we’re not here with any bad news.’ Justin smiled. ‘Your son, Mrs Yale, …’
‘What’s he done? He’s never been in trouble with the police.’
‘Cooper is helping us with our enquiries.’
‘You always say that,’ blurted Jocelyn. ‘What sort of enquiries?’
‘We’re homicide detectives.’
‘Murder,’ yelled Mrs Yale sounding like the bloke in The Man from Ironbark. Jocelyn was distressed about her Mum’s distress.
The police fought to restore order. ‘Please, there’s no question Cooper is involved.’ That’s not true. ‘He’s given an alibi for someone and we want to find out a bit about Cooper.’
‘He’s got a horrible wife,’ said his mother.
‘A total bitch,’ added his sister.
‘We know he’s had issues with the Family Court,’ added Fletcher.
‘And it’s so stupid,’ said Jocelyn. Police ears pricked. ‘Chloe said she’ll stay with her Dad if he stops being rude to her Mum.’
‘Who’s Chloe?’ asked Baldwin who should have known.
‘His daughter. She told Cooper if he’s nice again, she’ll tell the judge she wants to stay with her Dad.’
DS Fletcher took this in. ‘Does Cooper know what Chloe thinks?’
Mrs Yale answered. ‘Of course but he’s too damn stubborn to …’ She suddenly burst with joy. ‘Yes, yes, go, you little beauty.’
She stared at the TV as her horse flashed home to win. She bubbled. Fletcher looked at Baldwin. The police thanked Cooper’s family and Baldwin led the way out. The DS lingered.
‘Ladies, there’s no need to mention our little chat this afternoon. We’d hate to upset Cooper. Bye.’
Outside, Charlie spoke. ‘Nice one, Sarge. I bet they tell him.’
‘That’s the plan, and we can use that info about little Chloe. I reckon we’ve found our weakest link.’
At home, Jo made herself a snack, and switched from solving murders to sorting sweethearts. The business with DI Richelieu needed fixing. Why did he woo, wine and dine her without announcing he was married? Their relationship moved from the casual to the careful and was approaching the colossal when Jo got the married news, but not from lover-boy.
She wanted to know why he didn�
��t tell her but wanted to ask him face to face. None of this explanation by phone business. This must be up close and personal. And if the seductive Frenchman didn’t have the right explanation, they were no more. The would-be lovers would be colleagues only.
Her phone rang and she smiled at the caller. ‘Good evening Dr Chan. How lovely to hear from you.’
‘I rang to see if you’re okay? How are you handling your latest romantic disaster?’
‘You’re a kind man, Michael Chan.’
He ummed. ‘Kind is good. Unbelievably attractive is better.’
Jo laughed. She would always want Michael as a friend and colleague but not as a lover. She knew his unrequited love hurt.
‘I have a new homicide, nasty and tricky.’
He ignored her switch of topics. ‘What about the GP who fancies you? They make good money, doctors.’
‘Michael, enough.’ She paused remembering her recent visit to Jack Carr’s abode and his goodnight kiss with a mysterious blonde.
‘Oh don’t tell me you’ve thrown him over too.’
‘Thrown him over? Michael, you must stop reading Barbara Cartland. Now tell me, how is Alan?’
‘Well and up for a chat any time you’re passing.’
‘Sounds good, and Michael, thanks for the call and your concern. You’ll be the first to get any breaking news.’
He thanked her and rang off. She looked at her silent phone.
Why has the debonair Detective Inspector not been on the blower? Is he expecting me to call him? Does he know I know about his missus? Is he worried he blew it by not coming clean when he had the chance?
She ran a bath and finished the last bit of unpacking from her trip to Paris. Her new shoes and boots gave her a tingle. The water temperature was a smidgeon above perfect and the bubbles beckoned. She slipped beneath the suds and Murphy’s Law kicked in.
She screamed. People wait till you’re on the loo, in the bath or closing the front door on your way out, and then ring. Being a cop got her going. Being courted by a delicious detective helped as well.
So out of the bath and dripping everywhere, she wiped her hand and looked at the caller ID. ‘Bugger,’ she said and picked up her phone. ‘Hello, Mum.’ Nobody spoke. Jo worried. ‘Mum? Is that you?’
‘… had a stroke.’
Jo panicked. ‘Mum? What’s happened? Are you okay? Mum?’
A croaky voice responded. ‘Mummy’s had a stroke.’
Jo felt sick. She thought of a million questions. Where are you? Did Pop tell you? Does Caitlyn know? Where is Nan? Is she alive?
That night, a luxurious bath and matters of a romantic nature went out the window.
Chapter 10
JO TOOK OFF. In the car, she rang her mother who kept crying. ‘I’m on my way, Mum. I’ll be there in fifteen. Where’s Nan?’
‘I don’t know,’ gasped Shirley.
Jo wanted to ask her to ring Pop but did so herself. ‘Hi Pop, it’s Jo.’
His voice struggled. ‘Have you heard?’
‘I’m driving to collect Mum. Where are you? Where’s Nan?’
‘She’s here with me at Box Hill. I’m not sure which ward.’
‘We’ll find you; won’t be long. Chin up Detective Chief Inspector.’
She didn’t know what more to say. The man who inspired her to join the police and then Homicide, the man who stood up to bullies and murderers and witnessed gut-wrenching scenes was facing his toughest case. She heard it in his voice. Next year would be his and Ida’s diamond wedding anniversary. Now his world was under attack. Despite her full-blown dementia, his girl was still his girl. Losing her would be a hammer blow.
Jo rang her sister. Caitlin knew. ‘I’m not up to going, Jo.’
‘No problem. I’ll take Mum. How are you?’
‘Good.’ Jo found her voice and words unconvincing. ‘Give Nan and Pop my love. Please explain I just can’t make it.’
‘Of course. Put your feet up. I’ll ring once I have some news.’
Jo reached her mother’s place. Shirley was an emotional wreck. If it’s true the closest relationship is between a mother and daughter, then Ida and Shirley were a perfect example. They often argued and complained about the other but underneath was a deep and solid love.
Jo drove her mother to the hospital and did all the talking. Shirley struggled to speak. ‘Have you heard anything else, Mum?’
‘She had a stroke and the ambulance took her to Box Hill.’
‘Well let’s get there and find out. How is Antony, sorry, Antonio?’
Shirley gave a quiet whimper of despair and Jo wondered if he’d suffered a stroke or worse, broken off their relationship.
Now is not the time to ask, Joanna.
They parked and found their way to the right ward. The nursing staff explained. ‘Mr Robertson’s with his wife. I’ll tell him you’re here.’
Pop came out looking shattered, unsteady on his feet. He hugged the two women. Jo, though desperately sad, tried to keep matters normal. Her grandfather was not only sad but suffering from guilt.
‘If only I’d been there. If only I’d stayed,’ he chastised himself.
‘Pop, enough.’ Jo shocked her mother and startled her grandfather. If Jo wept and despaired, they could understand. But no, here she was acting like a grown-up while her elders blubbed and lost it. ‘We can’t let Nan see us like this.’
Some might call this tough love and the two “adults” could see how serving as a detective in Homicide helped Jo behave calmly in this tricky, difficult situation. She guided her family to seats and told them she would speak to the medical staff.
The doctor she found believed in hanging black crepe. ‘To be blunt, Jo,’ she said after names and positions were exchanged, ‘I think it’s just a matter of time. It wouldn’t matter if your grandmother was fit and well, the severity of her stroke is such she would be just as incapacitated, probably more than she is with her Alzheimer's.’
Jo closed her eyes fighting tears. ‘Have you told my grandfather?’
‘Not in as many words. He blames himself for his wife’s situation.’
Jo nodded, tried deep breathing then asked for more straight answers. When she reckoned she knew the facts, she thanked the medico and headed off as the bearer of terrible news. The look on Pop and Shirley’s faces made the task a hundred times harder. They hoped for good news while dreading her words.
Jo made her mother and grandfather proud by explaining the facts in a sympathetic way. Her news wasn’t news, it was something they either knew or suspected.
‘It’s a massive stroke,’ said Jo. ‘They believe Nan will not recover.’ Jo let the fact sink in. ‘There’s nothing the hospital can do except keep her comfortable. She’s unconscious and not in any pain.’
‘I want to take her home,’ said Robbo. Shirley discovered more tears and Jo looked at him. He understood. ‘Then I’m staying.’
Jo paused. ‘I think we should all say our goodbyes to Nan now because she may not survive the night.’ More silence, tears and restricted breathing. Pauses between sentences seemed natural. Jo stood and held out a hand to her elders. ‘Come on, let’s go in together.’
They did and moving farewells began. Jo struggled to speak to her grandmother and worried in bending to kiss her, the pillow might cop a soaking. Jo whispered. ‘Thanks for the chocolate frogs, Nan.’
After the farewells, Jo took her mother’s arm and guided her outside. Is this the right thing to do? Am I preventing my mother from being with her mother when Nan dies?
Shirley went without resistance. She and Jo sat in the corridor and held hands. Only a few minutes passed before they heard a groan. Pop held his wife’s hand as Ida died. Outside the room, the women wept.
Going home wasn’t easy. Which home and in whose car? Jo wanted to drive the others but Pop had driven himself to the hospital. There was no way Jo would allow him to drive but before she could figure out a solution, a stranger appeared. Well, not a complete stranger
.
Jo’s father, Shirley’s former husband and Robbo’s one-time son-in-law strode towards them. Shirley’s nightmare was complete. She called him Malcolm X, and the fact he married a child bride and sired two children after their divorce only rubbed salt in her wounds.
‘Robbo, I’m so sorry,’ said Malcolm offering his hand.
‘She’s gone,’ said the widower. Malcolm grimaced and looked at the women. He kissed his daughter’s cheek and Shirley drew back in case he planned a similar move with her.
‘Caitlyn rang me and I came to do whatever I can to help.’
‘Thanks Dad,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll drive Mum and Pop. Can you please drive Pop’s car to Glen Iris?’
‘Sure. Keys please, Robbo. I’ll meet you there.’
Malcolm left and the trio of mourners headed off to Jo’s car. Pop froze. ‘I haven’t done anything about the funeral.’
‘All under control, Pop,’ said Jo. ‘I gave my card to the nurses in Reception and told them to pass it to the funeral director you chose when Nan went into care. Remember you gave me your instructions.’
Shirley was too upset to ask questions and the elders looked at their flesh and blood and both hugged her. ‘Come on,’ said the detective, ‘let’s get you both home.’
Malcolm drove Pop’s car to Glen Iris but didn’t stay. He called a cab and headed back to his car. Inside, Jo and Shirley argued over who would make the tea. Jo yielded and sat with her grandfather.
‘I don’t want you on your own, Pop. I’ll stay in the spare room.’
He nodded. He wanted to speak but found it easier to say nothing. Jo struggled and figured a change of subject might do the trick.
‘We’re got a tough homicide, Pop.’ That took his mind off his misery but only just. ‘Did you ever have a case where everyone knows the killer but can’t get the evidence to charge?’