Rimis had finished his caffeine hit for the morning and was hunched over his desk with a pen in his hand and a pile of reports in front of him. The girl washed up at Woolwich Baths still hadn’t been identified. The enquiry had lost its initial momentum. New demands on time and manpower were being made.
They had been trying to put together an identikit picture of her but the face was barely recognisable. And he had hoped the tattoo would help, but Doctor Ross had told him it was recent. One of the team was checking tattoo studios across Sydney. He thought they might be able to locate the tattooist who carried out the work, but Jenny Choi had already told him most tattoo artists have their own distinctive style when it came to design or custom pieces. The artist would be recognisable by people in the know, but if the tattoo were picked off the wall in a tattoo shop, there wouldn’t be a way to trace it back to the artist.
Off to one side of his desk, the Sydney Morning Herald was open at the cryptic crossword puzzle. He looked at the coffee rings and scribble smeared across the newsprint. He reached for his phone from under a pile of half-completed crime reports and dialled Brennan’s number.
‘This is Jill Brennan. I’m not available to take your call right now, so please leave a brief message.’ Rimis hung up and tossed his phone in frustration across the desk. He thought about ringing the gallery’s number, but less than a minute later his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and expected it to be Brennan. He was surprised when it wasn’t. It was Col Morrissey.
‘Col, how did you go at Burns Bay?
‘We scoured the place, but it was Clean up Australia Day last Sunday. The Girl Guides did a good job. There were just a few McDonald’s wrappers in the bushes they missed. We sent them off to Forensics, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. You ever been there?’
‘No.’
‘Nice spot. There’s a footy field, picnic tables, barbecues, and I was told it’s good fishing in that part of the river.’
‘Yeah, so I’ve heard.’ Rimis said. ‘You called me. So what have you got?’
‘Thought you’d want to know. A DCI I worked with at the Federal Police phoned me. He retired a few years back after his wife died. You’ve probably heard of him, Ted Mackie?’
‘Yeah, I remember Mackers, old school, good cop. I worked with him at Campbelltown for a while. How is he?’
‘He’s okay, but I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s organising a reunion or something?’ Rimis flicked over a page of a report.
‘No, nothing like that. It’s Freddie Winfred.’
Rimis sat back in his chair. ‘Freddie Winfred? What about her?’ Rimis gave Morrissey his full attention.
‘Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like she’s missing.’
‘What do you mean, missing? Missing on purpose, or missing, as in a missing person?
‘Hard to say. All I know is, her sister, Calida, seems to think something’s happened to her. She reckons she wouldn't take off without telling her.’
‘Well, I suppose she could be right. Middle-aged women don’t usually disappear unless they’ve got a bloody good reason to. Tell me about Mackers. What’s his connection in all of this?’
‘He knows Freddie’s sister. They both live at that fancy retirement village in the Hunter Valley. It’s advertised on late night telly and in the Sunday papers. Acreage Hills. You heard of it?’
‘No.’ Rimis tapped his pen on the desk. ‘So tell me, why does Freddie’s sister think something’s happened to her?’
‘She hasn’t returned any of her phone calls. Ted rang me to see what I could do after he’d checked all the hospitals and her neighbours. I didn’t go through the usual channels because I know this art fraud case is sensitive.’
‘You did the right thing. Leave it with me.’ Rimis ended the call. Could Freddie Winfred have known they were onto her? Perhaps she developed a conscience or had become a threat to someone and needed to disappear for a while. Rimis tried Brennan’s phone again and this time she answered after two rings. ‘You at the gallery?’
‘Hello boss, yeah I’m here. I was about to call you.’
‘I thought I told you not to call me boss while you’re undercover?’
‘I keep forgetting. So, what do I call you then? Nick? Mr Rimis?’
‘Don’t be a smart arse. Call me, Nick.’ Silence. ‘Hope you’ve been studying for the Bull Ring.’
‘Trying to.’
Rimis knew it could take years for her to get into the detective’s education programme, if and when she passed the Bull Ring. He had no idea why the interview was called such a stupid name but remembered what it felt like as a twenty-five year-old constable to sit in front of three detective inspectors and answer four questions from fifteen broad topics. He had studied every piece of legislation and standard operating procedure available to him. It was still the most stressful experience of his career.
‘So,’ Rimis said, ‘what are you doing besides dusting the pictures?’
‘Paintings.’
‘Yeah, okay then, paintings.’
‘I’ve phoned Freddie’s gallery a couple of times, but all I get is her answering machine. Thought I’d ring first before fronting up.’
‘You might be waiting a while,’ Rimis said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s missing. Her sister reckons something has happened to her.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘No, I don’t kid. First up, I want you to go to her gallery, see what you can find out. Then I want you to check her apartment, talk to the neighbours, see if they know anything, and Brennan —’
‘Yeah, Nick?’
‘Tell me you’ve got her address.’
‘Of course I have, give me some credit. Why are you giving me such a hard time?’
‘You don’t have any training in undercover; you’re not even a detective. What are you doing there at that gallery anyway?’
‘It all takes time. I’m trying to establish myself. I’ve contacted all the gallery owners in the area. It’s not as if I volunteered for this assignment.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Rimis leaned on his elbow and rubbed his forehead. ‘Look Brennan, I’m not going to have a slinging match with you. If I say I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m under a lot of pressure from the Super. For both our sakes, we need to solve this case.’ Rimis rubbed the back of neck and sat back in his chair.
Silence.
‘You still there?’
‘Yeah, I’m still here,’ she said.
‘Look, there’s something else I want you to do for me.’
‘What is it?’
‘I want you to keep an eye on Taggart. I want you to keep him close, let me know what he’s up to.’
‘Kevin?’
‘He’s an artist isn’t he? He could be mixed up in this art fraud business and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has something do with Freddie Winfred’s disappearance. I know I don’t have to remind you he was a suspect in Rose Phillips’ murder.’
‘Kevin had nothing to do with that.’
‘I was thinking more about his other neighbours, Edi and Rhoda Blake.’
‘I might be out of line here, but I thought we were investigating art fraud.’
‘We are, but I want another crack at Taggart. The Blake deaths were more than an accident.’
Jill knew about Rimis’s obsession with Kevin Taggart and the Blake sisters. He had taken the case personally and she wondered why. ‘But the Coroner said —’
‘I don’t give a monkey’s what the Coroner said.’
The next phone call Rimis made was to the Acreage Hills Retirement Village. He left a message for Ted Mackie to phone him.