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Detective Inspector Will Asher questioned me about my statement regarding the night I found George’s body on Stuart McCaskill’s property. McCaskill had come out of an induced coma, and confessed his connection to Paul Green. He’d been accused of indecent assault on a minor, and Green had promised to keep his name out of the court if he helped Green take care of the Demich matter.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I had suspicions George was in danger, and I entered the property on that condition only.’
‘Did you hear a scream or something that alerted you to that fact?’ Detective Inspector Asher hit me with leading questions.
I caught on quickly. ‘Yes, I heard something that alerted me and provided cause for me to enter the property.’
Of course, George was already deceased by the time I arrived, but a scream or a yell, from anywhere in the vicinity, was enough cause for me to investigate, and therefore clear me of any suspicion.
Ultimately, they deemed the evidence inconclusive, but he issued me a stern warning about my conduct, and the possible suspension of my investigative licence in the future if I stepped out of line.
Ballistics traced the bullet wound in George’s body to Paul Green’s service pistol, and conclusive physical evidence enabled the conviction of Stuart McCaskill to seventeen years in gaol for manslaughter, assault, and several counts of indecency against a number of minors.
I stayed another day in the motel, to sleep and recover, then spent Saturday afternoon with Annette before packing the ute and hitting the road back to my unit in the Gong. I promised Annette I’d stay in touch, and come visit often.
She seemed happy about that, but our parting peck felt anything but passionate.
Within ten days, Reggie, true to his word, consulted with Fabian Poulos and drew up some affidavits, supporting the fact that Michael Le Mat was in Randwick at the time of Rob’s murder. He was charged with possession and given a bond.
On my next day with Alice, I took her down to Belmore Basin, where she swam in the calm waters for hours, diving, jumping, and waving to me.
I wondered if I would kill someone if they ever assaulted her, didn’t like where my mind went to, and quickly came back to the present. I also put aside my feelings about Rob and George, not wanting them to spoil Alice’s day.
We had fish and chips, and salt and pepper squid from Levendi, then walked up to the Mr. Whippy van for a soft serve. Alice had pink sherbet on hers, and I had the choc top. I soaked in the whole experience, knowing she wouldn’t be eleven forever.
I handed my ute over to Raf, a brilliant mechanic I knew, who worked his magic on the front panel, bonnet, and driver’s side door. I considered posting a copy of my findings to Carmine but decided against it.
I wrangled another day off with Reggie, and drove back down to Sussex to meet Carmine at the automotive shop. Even though he seemed frail and shook my hand limply, he was obviously grateful I’d made the trip. We shuffled into his quiet office and shared a whiskey. There wasn’t much to say, and I offered to return his retainer in full.
He refused outright. ‘You do your job,’ Carmine said. ‘If you no do your job, maybe we never find George.’ With both sons gone, and no other legal beneficiary, Carmine considered selling up and entering retirement. Everything about him felt broken and lost.
I had no clue how to console him. I only wished I had something more tangible to give to him, with McCaskill in gaol and Paul dead, the resolution still felt like a horribly redundant one.
I thanked him for the drink, promised to catch up with him in the not-too-distant future, then left him to his thoughts and drove back home.
I drove over to see Zio Fausto and found him, once again, in the backyard by his small patch of garden.
He stared at my face, uttered a single, ‘Jesus Christ’, poured whiskey into two glasses, and passed me one. We went downstairs, through the garage, and out the back, where we’d sat the previous Sunday.
I went through the whys and wherefores of what happened in the inlet.
‘Rory couldn’t sleep alone. He was sharing his mother’s bed. Vicki and Paul must have grown apart, physically and emotionally. Their whole life for a year revolved around Rory’s needs. I think Rory’s death proved the catalyst of all that followed. Paul lured Rob out to the construction site, maybe just to threaten him, but the argument turned physical and Rob ended up dead. Paul proved more calculating with George. He pulled George off the highway in the patrol car, which is why George complied. Ballistics stated the wound in George’s head was a result of being shot from behind, which is consistent with a police officer conducting a search on somebody, placing their body against the car.’
Zio took a big pull on the scotch and nodded.
‘I overthink things, Zio,’ I said. ‘I can’t help but look at everything from every angle.’
He laughed. ‘You’d be shit at your job if you didn’t.’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Maybe it’s just me wanting to do the right thing.’
‘Listen, dickhead, you think too much. You found the fuckwit who killed them both, and he blew his fucking brains out. End of story.’ Zio shrugged and raised his hands. ‘You told me everything, and I believe you. You’ve never bullshitted me. There wasn’t a fucking thing you could do. That fuckwit Green wanted to blow his wife’s brains out too, but you stopped it. You saved her life.’
‘But not George’s.’
‘Shut the fuck up. And what about the other fuckwit? Rob? Jesus Christ! Drug dealer. He was killed for a fucking reason. Yes?’
I drunk a mouthful of scotch and nodded. ‘Rob wasn’t the type to contribute to society in a positive way. His life was drugs, booze, and getting high. Nothing good comes out of that. But, Zio, I believe people can redeem themselves, and even though Rob’s crimes were horrible, he never purposefully took a life, even if his actions drove someone to take theirs.’
‘But it fucking happened. It was a circle. They started their own shit. The copper hassled Rob and Rob hassled the copper. Who was the better person? Mannaggia, that fucking cop brought it on himself, fucking arsehole. And I don’t care how you look at it, Rob killed his son. He did all that fucking shit and he copped a fucking rock in the head. George was no fucking better. You exposed those arseholes, and that’s more than that other Mooregold fuckwit did.’
I blinked. ‘You knew about that?’
Zio put his hands up in surrender. ‘Your Zia didn’t want to say anything.’ He ran a thumb across his mouth. ‘I didn’t say shit. Mi dispiace.’
I felt the sting of betrayal in my gut. They knew Carmine had hired another private investigator but hadn’t told me. So maybe there was truth to my suspicions—my family didn’t trust my investigative abilities.
Sorry isn’t going to cut it.
I started to understand what might have been the catalyst for the rift between Zio and Carmine, and that it wasn’t completely one-sided. Secrets were being kept on both sides of the front. Distrust and misdirection appeared to be techniques both men relished.
He poured more scotch into my glass, and I drank a mouthful. It numbed my brain and calmed my nerves, but I couldn’t help but feel manipulated, even though I had volunteered to help Carmine.
I happened to look down at the concrete by my foot and noticed a hundred ants scurrying over the remains of a skink. The impermanence of everything was so fleeting, and I thought of Carmine trying to pick up the scraps of his life.
Zio must have read my face because he shrugged despondently, perhaps at the inevitability of the whole thing. They may have been estranged or separated by emotional and physical distance, but blood, after all, is blood.
I left Zio on his own and went back upstairs.
Zia Valeria cooked cannoli on her six-burner stovetop. She pulled me aside. ‘Fausto called Carmine yesterday.’
I must have looked flabbergasted because she smiled broadly.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Maybe this will bring them together.’
I kissed Zia Valeria goodbye. This time she had no sausage casing on her hands, and drew me in for a hug.
