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I opened my eyes and looked around. I was upside down. My neck ached, and the whole left side of my torso burned. I heard the ticking of the engine as it cooled in the night air, and smelled oil and burnt rubber.
McCaskill’s body rested halfway out of the driver’s side window.
I looked carefully and noticed his chest rising and falling. Good. I wanted him to hear the clang of the gaol cell door closing... with him inside it.
My legs were twisted awkwardly under me. I held for breath as I slowly turned myself around, anticipating agony as I stretched my legs, but nothing hurt. I pushed my door open, gingerly clambered out, lay on my back on the grass, and carefully checked my joints and bones for fractures. I felt nothing out of the ordinary, and thanked God for that. Pain slowly ebbed and flowed across my entire torso.
I slowly lifted my legs and brought my tied hands around and under so they came out in front of me again. It took me a few goes. I grabbed my pockets, felt the familiar bulge of my phone, took it out and dialed triple zero. Then I lay on my back looking at the stars, waiting, until red flashers caught my eye.
A female ambulance officer with a face that seemed too young for the job leaned over me and introduced herself as Steph. She asked my name and the date, checked my pulse, gave me a cautionary all clear, and helped me sit up. She used a multipurpose tool to cut the nylon hand restraint, helped me to the ambulance, and gave me oxygen.
I looked over and saw a male ambo inspecting McCaskill.
‘Mr. Kowalski,’ Steph said. ‘We might need to take you to hospital for observation and make sure nothing’s seriously wrong.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘You could have internal bleeding.’
I indicated McCaskill’s prone form. ‘Make sure he doesn’t kark it. He killed my cousin.’
She glanced at the body, looked back at me worryingly, then tipped what smelled like antiseptic onto a cotton swab and applied it to cuts on my face. ‘The police will be here soon to take a statement. In the meantime, we really should take you to hospital for observation.’
‘You have good intentions, Steph. You’re well-meaning and you work a thankless job, but I’m not going to the hospital. Not tonight.’
‘You’re a very stubborn individual.’
‘I know. I’m also a right bastard, but my cousin’s body’s half buried in concrete in a barrel in that bastard’s garage, and I need to get back there and assist the police.’
As if on cue, a squad car appeared, and Constable Hunter and Sergeant Green emerged.
Constable Hunter stared at my face. ‘Jesus Christ, Matt.’
I realised she hadn’t seen me since my nose alteration, and held up a hand. ‘It’s been a long week.’
She cast her eyes over the carnage, and gave me a look as if I’d shat in her breakfast.
I gave them the back-story as best I could recall it, given the thumping I’d endured in the crash, whilst the male ambo prepped a gurney for the transportation of Stewart McCaskill’s broken body.
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke.
Sergeant Green elected to drive me back along the road towards Sussex to McCaskill’s property, where we’d meet the crime squad guys, and advised Constable Hunter to remain at the crash site.
We drove in silence, until I directed Sergeant Green to slow down as we approached the property. As soon as the welcome sight of my trusty ute appeared, we stopped.
‘There’s a male body in a barrel in the garage,’ I said. ‘It’s George Demich.’
Sergeant Green parked the car and told me to wait, then got out. He walked down the long driveway until he became just a dark shape amongst all the other black shapes around McCaskill’s garage. A torchlight came on, then went quickly off. He stayed there for a while, no doubt making observational notes and cordoning off the area as best he could. Soon he reappeared, walking back up the driveway with a resigned look on his face. He got back into the car and looked at me.
A wave of exhaustion washed over me, and it took a lot of my resolve to stay conscious.
‘The blue crow bar in the house is mine,’ I said. ‘I’d like it back after all this is over.’
Sergeant Green shot me a despondent look and took out his mobile phone. He dialed a number and asked for the homicide commander, then called the State Crime Squad, the Forensics Services Group. After that, he made contact with a Detective Inspector Will Asher at Shoalhaven LAC.
I took the opportunity to relax my aching muscles before Sergeant Green made a final call to Nowra for support in canvassing the area.
He finally hung up and turned to me. ‘Is there anyone in the house?’
‘No, he was alone. His wife’s overseas.’
‘I’ll have to notify her of McCaskill’s condition.’ He extracted his notepad from his belt and turned to a blank page. ‘I’ll need to ask you a few things before I let you go. Are you in any condition to talk?’
I opened my eyes and nodded. ‘Yeah. Fire away.’
‘Why were you on Mr. McCaskill’s property?’
I explained the assault the previous night, how I sighted the Legacy and traced it back to McCaskill. I told him I tailed his car to the property.
Green looked at me. ‘Were you here in an act of retaliation against the suspect?’
‘You might do well to focus on the connection between McCaskill and Rob’s murder. He wasn’t acting alone.’
‘You’ll have to forgive my directness, Mr. Kowalski, but you’re in no position to be providing direction. The detectives and the homicide squad are going to have to determine, firstly, if you had cause to enter the suspect’s property. Unless there’s irrefutable evidence or eyewitnesses to the attack you allege the suspect perpetuated against you last night, it unfortunately becomes your word against his. And that’s not going to happen until the suspect is in a condition to do so, if at all.’
Well, fuck you, Jack!
Green met my eyes. ‘Did the suspect say anything to you?’
‘The usual thing. He ruminated on the fact his life was over.’
Green sighed and scribbled some notes. ‘Did he make any confession in relation to being responsible for the killing of Mr. Demich?’
I shook my head. ‘No. He didn’t directly say anything in that regard.’
‘Are you going to be okay to drive?’
I nodded.
‘Then I suggest you go back to wherever it is you’re staying, clean up, and don’t leave town. I’ll have to get a statement from you tomorrow morning, and I’m sure the homicide guys will want to have a word with you too. Let due process take precedence now. If there’s anything you can recall that Mr. McCaskill said to you, let me know. You may need to transcribe it while your memory is fresh—anything that can be used to assist in the investigation.’
I said, ‘Can I ask you something?’
He nodded.
‘Could this come back to me in a bad way?’
‘At the very worst, you might have to prove just cause in court. And unless the evidence says otherwise, you should be able to substantiate your claims, based on character references and any notes or evidence you’ve managed to compile.’
‘What about George’s father? He’s the next of kin.’
Green made a note. ‘He’ll be contacted in due course.’
‘Listen, I’ve got his number. Maybe it’ll be best coming from me.’
Green went to say something, then stopped and looked at his pad. He crossed out his last note. ‘If you’re up to it, go for it. Like I said, you need to rest tonight. You might be in for a very long day tomorrow.’
I opened the door and gingerly climbed out. My arms ached and the pain in my left shoulder felt excruciating. I very slowly walked to my car, pulled the tonneau back, retrieved the flask, and downed several large slugs. Feeling tired and dizzy, I got in the ute and rested my head against the headrest, closed my eyes, and psyched myself up for the phone call to Carmine. The silence of the cab made my ears ring.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number.
When he answered, Carmine sounded muffled and husky, as if I’d woken him.
I told him I’d found George, and could almost feel his slow-dawning devastation through the phone. I consoled him the best way I could, only giving him the barest of information, and allowed him some time to absorb the news. When I sensed he’d regained some semblance of composure, I told him the police would require him to identify the body at the Shoalhaven Memorial hospital, as a matter of procedure, and said I’d pick him up and drive him there.
I drove, slower than a little old lady, to Carmine’s house and pulled into the driveway.
Within a minute of my arrival, Carmine emerged from the front door wearing loafers, tracksuit pants, and a sloppy joe, appearing smaller and frailer than on Monday. He collapsed into the passenger seat, removed tissues from his sleeve, blew his nose, and wiped his eyes.
As I reversed out of the driveway, I caught him looking at me worryingly, and realised that, as with Constable Hunter, he hadn’t seen what happened to my face. I explained the incident from Tuesday, and he nodded sombrely. Our lack of intimacy stymied my ability to console him, which produced an even more awkward car ride.
I allowed him to grieve in silence for the majority of the journey, until we parked at the hospital. We followed the signs to the morgue in the western wing.
The coroner, a short Sri Lankan man named Deets, met us and went through the procedure in a soft calming voice he’d obviously perfected over the years. He said there was a delay in transporting the body, and asked us to kindly wait.
I got us both a black coffee from a dispenser, and gave Carmine the events that led up to the discovery, leaving out the details.
My phone said 2:15 AM by the time the forensic pathologist, a man in his fifties with a stooped back, approached us, explained that he had completed the preliminary examination, and motioned to us to enter the morgue.
Carmine asked if I could accompany him, and together we silently entered. The instant he saw the body, a gulping sob escaped Carmine. He fell onto the body and his head shook as he struggled to suppress his crying. He looked so small and alone.
His rawness cut through me like razor wire. I leaned over and gripped his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Zio.’
