by Cenarth Fox
I am dead.
He tried to think straight. He needed to escape but quietly, normally. If people thought he’d been kidnapped or killed, the cops would start investigating, the last thing he wanted. So he lied.
His note for Sasha was about his horrendous disease which was back. He didn’t want her saddled with a dying man. He knew a clinic in Switzerland where miracles happen. She could stay in the flat and the rent was paid for ages. If he survived, he’d let her know.
The note for his boss was personal. Vlad’s sister rang from Canada. “Mother in a coma, must rush home before she dies”. He apologised profusely and promised to keep in touch.
Quietly he packed his 80 litre rucksack, dressed for travel, and crept to the door. He stopped when he saw the package Sasha set aside for her sister, Zoe, in Melbourne. He took it and fled.
Back in Victoria, in a North Melbourne pub, Kevin and Cooper nursed their beers. ‘Listen, mate,’ said Kevin. ‘The cops have got nothin’, so they pick you as the weak link.’ Cooper grunted. ‘They stir your boss and your old girl hoping they’ll pressure you into rolling over.’ Cooper sniffed. ‘If we stick together, mate, they can’t touch us.’
Cooper swigged. Inside, he spewed. ‘How did they know where I work? What if I lose me job? I can’t pay the lawyer’s bills as it is.’
‘Listen to y’self. This is what they want, to push you into panicking. Say nothin’ and they’ve got nothin’. Now, do you want the steak or the parma?’
Chapter 13
BEFORE SHE TURNED IN, Jo sent a text to DI Elly Rose.
Dear Ma’am. Sad to report my grandmother died tonight. Needless to say, DCI Robertson is shattered. He has asked me to arrange the funeral so I may be a poor team member for the next day or two. Thanks, Jo.
A text arrived within minutes
Deepest condolences, Jo and please pass same to Robbo. Once funeral details are known, please advise. I will expect you at Homicide when I see you. Elly.
Jo was impressed. Unlike her predecessor DI Steel, DI Rose had a heart. She commanded respect but had humanity to spare.
Jo thought about the people who knew Pop and how his loss would hurt. He worked with many colleagues and most, if not all, would know about his lifelong partner.
Jo opened Pop’s envelope with details about his and Nan’s affairs, including their funerals. Jo made notes, cried quietly then retired.
Sleep was nigh on impossible. Her mind was awash with memories of her childhood and Pop and Nan. She cried the more. She switched channels and replayed her latest conversation with DI Richelieu. At least the elephant in the room had been acknowledged. Their next face to face meeting could go either way.
Next morning, DI Rose informed her fellow detectives about the death of Ida Robertson. Then they discussed Kevin Grande, his mate Cooper Yale and their alibi. If true, Grande could not have murdered his wife. Without a confession from Kevin or a retraction from Cooper, the victim might never see justice. There were no other suspects. It was either charge Kevin or charge no-one. Billy reported on Cooper’s boss.
‘We told his boss a few home truths, and when we mentioned murder, he went right off. He knows Grande and guessed we were after him. Cooper will have copped it from his boss and probably Kevin.’
‘Ditto,’ said DS Fletcher. ‘Cooper’s mother and sister were not happy and he’ll cop pressure there too. And his daughter Chloe told the Family Court she’d spend time with Dad if he was nice to Mum.’
‘We could use that to pressure Cooper,’ added Baldwin.
‘Follow it up,’ said DI Rose. ‘So what else?’
‘He needs to be reminded of the perjury laws,’ said Billy Hughes.
‘True,’ argued Fletcher, ‘but if he thinks he’ll go inside if he buckles, that may force him to clam up.’ That point flattened the mood.
‘He’s between a rock and a hard place,’ added DI Blunt. ‘Why not strike now while he’s under pressure?’
The others looked at Blunt. ‘Strike?’ asked DI Rose.
Blunt struggled. ‘Get him in again and threaten him with charges.’
The new DI was the odd man out at Homicide, and unique in being the first member of the squad to be universally disliked.
Billy Hughes introduced a new possibility. ‘Have we considered getting Social Services to offer him a carrot?’ Ears pricked.
‘How so?’ asked Rose.
‘Both men hate the Family Court. Both reckon females get special and favoured treatment. Both men have limited visiting rights to their kids. If we tell Cooper we’ll have a word with Social Services to maybe get the Family Court to give him a better deal …’
‘We can’t do that,’ said Rose killing the idea.
‘What, not even off the record?’ asked Hughes. ‘We’ve got a savage murder here, ma’am. Why can’t we bend the rules? Unless Cooper caves in or Grande confesses, we’ve got nothing.’
‘What if Cooper’s a part of the murder?’ asked Baldwin. That got people thinking. ‘We know he’s probably lying to give his mate an alibi but is he giving himself an alibi as well?’
Several officers spoke at once. ‘One at a time,’ called Rose. ‘Charlie.’
‘He might have been the lookout, the driver, or even involved in the actual killing. If that’s true there’s no way he’ll change his statement. If he won’t put his hand up for perjury, he’ll never do so for murder.’
Silence. ‘Thanks for nothing, Senior,’ said his boss. ‘We need to go back to Forensics and the pathologist. As it is, we’ve got nothing to link either man to the scene.’
‘And the grandmother and neighbours saw nothing?’ asked Fletcher. Rose shook her head. ‘A car parked up the street; a dog-walker we missed?’ More head shaking; more silence.
‘At the risk of getting my head bitten off,’ said DI Blunt who drew everyone’s attention, ‘could someone else be responsible?’
This got short shrift. ‘I think you suggested a burglary or druggie who lost it before, Inspector,’ said Rose, flattening her colleague.
Blunt persisted. ‘Or mistaken identity or a hit because she owed money.’
Hughes lost it. ‘Are you saying the victim’s a drug dealer?’
Blunt shrugged. Nobody supported him. They knew this was a long and torturous murder. Blunt’s anger grew. He hated his colleagues.
‘We need Jo Best to help sort this mess,’ said Hughes and several murmurs of support were heard. Not from DI Blunt who was growing to despise the missing detective senior constable.
Rose ended the meeting. ‘Right, more calls to Forensics and the pathologist. Billy, talk to Social Services about the access rights of both men but just for information purposes. And any neighbours not yet interviewed need to be seen.’
‘Ma’am,’ said Billy with mutterings from the team.
‘And don’t forget I want a full roll call at DCI Robertson’s wife’s funeral. I may be the only current officer to have served under him but remember how he and a couple of other former Homicide officers solved that cold case last month. Don’t be late and it’s a ties-for-guys day. And clean shoes. None of this beach volleyball gear. Understood?’
‘Ma’am,’ was spoken by all except Blunt.
Jo felt terrible, washed out, flat—and looked it. She’d spent the last two days meeting with her grandfather, mother and sister and the funeral director. Arranging a funeral is tough at the best of times. When the deceased is a loved one, tough is replaced by bloody awful. Her grandfather left detailed instructions as to coffin, service, speakers and even the flowers. Jo merely painted by numbers but even so ….
It was an 11 am service followed by a cremation, all at Springvale. Jo offered to take her mother but Shirley’s chauffeur was her elderly beau, Antonio from Italia. Jo reckoned Shirley wanted to show her former husband, Malcolm X, she could still pull a bloke.
Jo’s sister was going with her husband, and Pop’s neighbours of 49 years were taking him. Bloody hell, thought Jo. I haven’t got a date
.
Her phone rang. ‘Hello Dr Chan.’
‘Jo, I’m so sorry. Charlie Baldwin rang and I’ve only just heard about your grandmother. Please accept my condolences.’
‘Thank you, Michael and I’m sorry I didn’t call you.’
‘No problem. So how is the redoubtable Detective Chief Inspector?’
‘Bearing up. It’s hard to imagine what losing your life’s partner feels like even if the signs were there.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Well in the words of the poet, I’ve been better.’
‘Which poet?’
Jo smiled for the first time in a long time. ‘Thanks, Michael, I needed that.’
‘And the funeral’s tomorrow?’
‘Yes, 11 at Springvale.’
‘I’d like to come.’
‘Fantastic, Michael. You’re a star.’
‘Can I offer you a lift?’
Jo breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks; that would be brilliant.’
‘I’m no expert but funerals and driving don’t always go well together.’
‘Wise and kind.’
‘How about 9 for 9.15?’
‘Perfect. And thanks again.’ The call ended.
She pondered her friend Michael Chan, the man who helped her solve cases and continually demonstrated the meaning of friendship. Sadly, certainly for Michael, their friendship didn’t involve romance.
If you reckon yellow is a happy colour, it was a good day for a funeral; overcast with showers. Jo slept badly and was up running at dawn, then, as the family representative, rehearsing her speech for the service. Pop refused point blank to speak and those who knew him understood. If the term, “leader of men” applied to anyone, it did to DCI John Robertson. But now, for him, faced with a tragedy of super proportions, he couldn’t bring himself to go public. His love for Ida was all consuming and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it together.
Jo opted to wear her police uniform. Complete with hat she looked sharp. She knew her grandfather would approve and be proud. He was.
Michael was early and she admired his quality suit.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.’
‘Weddings and funerals,’ he replied but didn’t start the car. She looked at him. ‘Have we forgotten anything?’
‘I’m not sure about the royal we but thanks and no. I’ve got my speech and two boxes of tissues.’
He gave his ubiquitous half-smile and they drove to Springvale. Jo wasn’t sure which chapel to book but settled for the one with a capacity of about 200. She knew Pop’s funeral would attract a huge crowd although perhaps not so for his wife. Jo was wrong. It was packed.
Michael was Mr Understanding. ‘I’ll be here if you need me and good luck with the service.’
Her feelings for him kept getting stronger. ‘Thanks,’ she said and kissed his lips gently then wandered off to find the funeral director.
Everything was so-so until she saw Pop. He’d aged in a few days. His elderly neighbours supported him. Jo moved in and his face lit up, and her embrace put some fire in his belly.
‘Hello, love. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Pop. But how are you?’
‘Not bad for an old bloke.’
He looked frail and Jo felt helpless. Then Don Quixote and Sancho arrived, the other members of WATTI, Robbo’s former colleagues. DS Tuck and DSC Colin Melk eased themselves either side of their former boss. They winked at Jo and pushed her to the edge of tears.
The service went well. The celebrant researched Ida and spoke with understanding. Ida’s cousin, the family history buff, gave a fascinating account of Ida’s life. Jo spoke for the family. When she stood she got her first look at the bumper crowd. There were cops and ex-cops with several of the top brass. She prepared notes on cards and referred to them until blurry eyes made reading tricky, so placed them on the lectern and spoke from the heart. It was a good move.
She remembered the love her grandmother showed to Jo and her sister Caitlyn. The cooking treats, birthday presents and hugs; stories full of love. The tale about chocolate frogs from both grandparents, who weren’t aware the other was doing the same thing, got a big laugh.
If the service and attendance were good, the sandwiches and cakes were outstanding. Many people greeted Jo with congratulations and condolences. As people drifted away, she spotted her family. There were many kind words including from her sister, stoic in light of her cancer battle.
Jo was approached by a gathering of police officers, both active and retired. Those who worked with Robbo spoke about him, while her fellow officers stepped forward to offer their sympathy and support.
It was time to move and most of the police drifted away. Jo looked at her family who seemed to be distracted. She turned to see why and there stood a surprise guest, DI Pierre Richelieu.
His colleagues were as surprised as Jo. He stood still, a few metres from Jo and her family. Everyone stared. Everyone sensed this was a significant moment. Why? Some knew, and several put two and two together. Who would move first?
‘Bonjour Mademoiselle,’ said Pierre, giving the hint of a bow.
Finally Jo spoke. ‘Bonjour Monsieur.’
‘I am so sorry for your loss.’
‘Merci,’ said Jo. He held out his hand giving Jo the chance to take it. If this was a scene in a movie, the music would have switched to sweeping and heart-tugging. Jo approached Pierre, took his hand and used it as a steadying influence as she stood on tip-toe and kissed the Frenchman. If ever a short kiss could pack a punch that was it.
Wow. Death and sex make for a powerful mix. Wow again.
Chapter 14
MOURNERS KNOCKED OFF THE SANGERS, said their goodbyes and drifted away. Homicide cops chatted about DI Richelieu’s unexpected return and his interesting “handshake” with a certain Detective Senior Constable.
DI Rose sidled up behind Jo and whispered. ‘Congratulations on your eulogy, Senior.’ Jo looked at her boss. ‘That was an interesting greeting for someone who is just a friend.’
‘Ma’am?’
Rose made powerful eye contact. ‘See you tomorrow.’ She vanished leaving Jo doubly upset.
Michael Chan appeared. ‘Brilliant eulogy, Detective. Your grandmother would have been thrilled.’ Jo beamed but wanted to cry. ‘Can I book you to speak at my funeral?’
His kindness and sincerity tipped her over the edge. Tears crept out. He hugged her and she liked and needed it.
‘Enough!’ The command separated the couple. But more hugging ensued as Gabrielle Strange cut in, embraced Jo and winked at Michael. He half-smiled. ‘Bloody good speech, girlie. I nearly missed it because someone failed to send me an invitation.’
Not many people can get away with being critical at a funeral but the strange medico was just being herself.
‘How did you know?’ asked Jo.
‘DS Hughes kindly gave me a call. I was caressing a cadaver only two hours ago so I won’t shake hands. And I’ll have you know I broke several traffic laws to make it.’
Jo smiled. ‘Thank you, Doctor. I really appreciate you being here.’
She smiled and they hugged again.
Jeremy, Jo’s narcissistic brother-in-law hovered. ‘Jo, I think we should go.’ He spoke in an apologetic voice as the cremation service was due to be held.
‘See ya,’ said Strange who departed calling. ‘Ring me.’
Jo looked at Michael. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said.
‘Are you sure, Michael? I can get a lift with someone.’
‘It’s no problem. When you’re ready.’ She squeezed his arm and joined her family. Michael would always hang around for Jo Best.
Ida was cremated in a brief, family-only ceremony. Robbo seemed better and looked better because his wife’s suffering was no more. Sadness and relief went hand in hand.
Outside in the sunshine, several chauffeurs waited beside or in their vehicles. Shirley’s senior beau, Rob
bo’s senior neighbours and Michael Chan opened respective doors. It was farewell to Ida as the various mourners left the Springvale Botanical Cemetery.
‘Thanks for waiting, Michael,’ said Jo as they drove across town.
He sang a well-known song about friends and made both of them smile. A silence settled until Jo asked about the elephant in the room.
‘How would you describe the kiss I gave Pierre?’
‘What kiss?’
She ignored his response. ‘My boss thinks we’re having an affair.’
‘You do know my thesis was in IT and not Sex in the City.’
Jo’s frustration showed. ‘I should have confronted him earlier about his wife. I had plenty of chances but blew it. Now he’ll think I’ve forgiven him and will want to pick up where we left off.’
‘And do you?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s the problem, Michael, I don’t know.’
He paused before he replied. ‘So it’s love or career.’
She looked out the window and spoke to herself. ‘But can you have both, Joanna?’
In Paris, the English aristocrat entered the bank, took the lift and approached the receptionist. ‘The Honourable Antony Heron-Royhay to see Monsieur Droit.’ Antony waited on an expensive settee.
Droit appeared with hand extended and the men entered the banker’s spacious office with carpet and furniture to sigh for.
‘You have news, sir?’ asked Florent.
‘I do. Your brother-in-law has made a new will. And in addition, has made a gift of his mother’s house in Paris to your sister.’
The banker whistled. ‘The house in Rue Cremieux? Fine, but she will never live there until he dies.’
‘It’s not a bequest. He wants an immediate change of ownership.’
Droit was suspicious. He saw trickery in others. ‘What? But why?’