Branson followed Steve into the office and plonked down in the seat. It had been a frustrating morning with few hard facts to follow. Steve sat back in his old leather chair and placed his feet up on the desk.
‘What’s the latest on that fagot lovers murder?’ boomed the voice of Sargent Bellsworth. Bellsworth was part of the furniture around the Collingwood Police head quarters. He had been operating from here for close to twenty years, and was Sargent in charge of the station for the last seven. One thing the portly hard nosed cop believed in was old school police work. He was hardened tough because he had no choice. Coming through the eighties and nineties as a cop on the streets around Collingwood either made you tough as leather or it broke you. He didn’t break. He just became a hard man. And he became in charge.
‘Well?’ he demanded as he walked into Steve’s office and with one swipe knocked his feet of the end of the desk.
‘Not much to go on at this stage Sargent.’ Steve replied straitening himself in the chair.
‘What you got then?’ he asked Branson knowing he wasn’t going to get much useful information from Rickets on this one.
‘What we know so far is the victim was 53 year old James Firth, partner in the financial firm Firth & Pinkton. He was married to a Jane Firth, and had one child Anna Firth. Sometime last night between nine pm and midnight he was struck on the back of the head and repeated blows to the neck with what looks like a blunt device used to stab the victim. No other evidence at the scene as it rained all night cleaning the site.’ Branson informed him.
‘Hmmm not much to go on then!’ Bellsworth stated.
‘Well we do have a suspect at this stage who we are closing in on’ Steve offered.
‘Who’s that then?’
‘The business partner Alex Pinkton. He knew the body was found in Collingwood though we didn’t tell him. No alibi and quite possibly a motive given the firm was experiencing some financial troubles.’ Branson added.
‘Okay good. And forensics?’
‘Not yet. That is our next port of call!’ Branson said.
‘Good. Find out what forensics have for us. Then I suggest you focus in on finding out all you can about this financial trouble. We need to dig for the motive. Once we have that we can nail the son of a bitch Pinkton’.
‘Will do Sargent’ Branson agreed.
‘Just one thing Sargent. How did you know he was a fagot lover?’ Steve asked intrigued that the Sargent could already know vital information.
‘I did what you jack asses should have done up front. I checked if our victim had any form’ Bellsworth exclaimed.
‘And did he?’ Branson asked.
‘Sure did. Uniforms picked him up about three months ago trolling around St Kilda back streets for young male prostitutes. Let him go with a warning. Apart from that the usual speeding fines and so on.’ Bellsworth said as he thrust the file he was holding into the arms of Branson.
‘Thanks’ Branson said.
‘Now get to work on nailing Pinkton. Dig deep for that motive!’ Bellsworth said as he marched his stocky little body down the hallway.
Steve’s mobile phone rang. His ring tone was the sounds of ACDC’s anthem ‘Long Way To The Top’. Each time it rang Steve was instantly, and momentarily, transported back to his mis spent youth.
‘Hey Roxy. How’s things?’ he answered. Roxy was Roxanne Bright, a brilliant 28 year old forensics whiz. She was a true geek who would visit ComicCon each year and she was passionate about her work. Steve had a soft spot for her.
‘Things are A OK!’ she replied.
‘Good to hear. Got anything on the Gold Street murder?’
‘Not a lot to go by at this stage. The injuries to the back of the head and neck are large puncture wounds. Probably not caused by a knife. Something with more of a blunt edge to it. Multiple puncture wounds one of which severed the main artery in the neck which would have bled out within a couple of minutes. Most likely cause of death.’
‘So any ideas on what we are looking for as a murder weapon then?’ Steve asked taking notes.
‘Not yet. Possibly something like a tool from a garden shed. One thing is sure though the perp must have been shorter than the deceased as the initial blows appear to be coming in an upward motion.’
‘Like they were reaching up to him?’
‘Yes exactly. He was about six foot one. So perp might have been around five foot four possibly’ Roxy explained.
‘OK, great work Roxy’
‘Oh and one other thing. Not sure if it is relevant. We found traces of Cocaine on the body. Not in his system but on his hands and on his clothes’
‘Odd, so you don’t think he was using then?’
‘Well not in the last 48 hours he hadn’t been. But he had certainly been handling it’ Roxy said with certainty.
‘Great thanks Roxy.’ Steve said and hung up. He felt bad for ending the conversation abruptly so sent her a text message thanking her.
‘Interesting development.’ Branson said looking confused. ‘Why would he be handling Cocaine? From the profile we have of him so far it doesn’t seem consistent?
‘Yes but she said he hadn’t been using, but he was handling the drugs’ Steve said pondering the significance of the new information.
‘Well that might explain why he was in Collingwood?’ Branson said hoping she was on the right track.
‘Yes true. He could have been there buying Cocaine. Made the purchase and was walking down Gold street when he was attacked from behind. The attacker then took the drugs and fled the scene.’ Steve said thinking out loud.
‘Seems plausible’ Branson said following his train of thought.
‘Come on’ Steve said and grabbed his coat and keys. He picked up a photo of James Firth of his desk left there earlier by the uniforms and headed towards the exit doors. Sarah Branson did what she always did, following him trying to keep up.
Ten minutes later Steve was banging on the door of Charlie deBron. Charlie lived at 147 Easey Street in Collingwood which intersected with Gold Street just three hundred meters away from where the body of James Firth was found.
147 Easey Street was also infamous for having been the scene of a double murder back in January 1977. It irked Steve every time he dropped by to speak with Charlie. Charlie on the other hand loved telling everyone he lived in the house of the infamous grisly double stabbing murders. In some twisted form of logic he felt it somehow gave him street cred.
‘Charlie open the damn door’ Steve yelled out as he pounded on the door of the small single fronted terrace. Steve and Branson where crowded on the front door step.
He stopped pounding on the door for a moment to listen for signs of life within the house. It was just past one pm so it was not uncommon for the likes of deBron to still be passed out to the world.
Nothing but silence.
Steve turned back to talk to Branson when he noticed the looming huge dark figure moving in behind Branson. His heart skipped a beat as he shoved her to one side drawing his service pistol.
‘Hey ease up there detective’ Charlie deBron said reeling at the site of the gun being drawn on him. Charlie was a giant of a man and cast a shadow over the two detectives standing at his front door. Returning with the morning newspaper and milk he was shocked to have a weapon drawn on him first thing.
‘Jesus Charlie you scared the shit out of me’ Steve replied holstering the pistol. ‘Where the hell you been?’
‘Out getting the paper’ Charlie responded as he pushed past them to open the front door of the house. He opened the door and motioned for them to come inside. Steve and Sarah followed Charlie up the narrow hallway to the rear. The whole way Steve was fixated on the ink down both arms and up the side of his neck. Not a lot of real estate left for Charlie he chuckled to himself.
‘Coffee?’ Charlie asked them both.
‘No thanks, not a social visit’ Steve replied.
‘So what can I do for you then?’
‘Know this guy?’ Steve said thrusting a 6” x 10” photo of James Firth under his nose.
‘Sure I know him, so what?’
‘Did you know he was found dead about three hundred meters from here a few hours ago?’
‘Nope!’
‘Did he visit you by any chance last night?’ Steve asked. He knew that Charlie would tell him the truth and he didn’t need to push him too hard for answers. Over the years deBron and Steve had a working unspoken agreement. Steve turned a blind eye to his small time drug dealing in exchange for information when he needed it. The arrangement had worked well for both of them for the last six years.
‘He was always around here.’ Charlie said pouring his coffee. ‘I had to cut him off last week but he still kept coming around here trying to score!’
‘Why did you cut him of?’ Branson asked curious.
‘He wouldn’t pay up. He owes us at least two grand. Was always coming around here trying to score more but never had any cash. I had a soft spot for the guy but two grand was two grand too much!’
‘What time was he here last night then?’ Steve asked trying to piece together his movements.
‘Would have been around nine thirty I guess.’
‘And what did he ask you for?’
‘Same as always. Cocaine. Told him no and he cracked the sads with me. So as he was leaving I tossed him a small sampler bag’
‘Was he a big user?’
‘Nah. I don’t think he was much of a user at all really’
‘So what did he keep bothering you for the drugs for?’
‘To keep that little fagot happy. That’s why he wanted the drugs. He was keeping his little fagot happy is why’ deBron said taking a long audible sip from his coffee mug.
‘And who is this little fagot you are referring to?’ Branson inquired.
‘You don’t know?’ deBron asked looking at the two detectives. ‘Oh geeze, I have to do your detective work for you now?’ he let out a huge bellowing laugh that echoed back up the hallway.
‘Just bloody tell us!’ Steve cried out.
‘Marco. Marco Dennis the heavy metal musician who lives around the corner’. Branson took the name down in her detective standard issue notebook.
‘Right, thanks. And you think James Firth was having an affair with this Marco Dennis then?’ Steve clarified.
‘Damn right he was, though it was more of a business arrangement than an affair. Firth just paid him in coke. Marco has a girlfriend apparently but I don’t think she knew anything about the fagot part.’
‘And where can we find this Marco Dennis?’ Branson asked poised to jot down the information.
‘Come with me’ deBron said and walked back up the hallway and out through the front door with his coffee. Steve and Branson followed along until the three of them were standing out on the curb in Easey Street. ‘See that blue stone house with the iron bars on the window?’ he was pointing down to a house on the corner of Gold Street and Easey Street. ‘That’s where you will find him!’
‘Got it, thanks Charlie’ Steve said.
‘Anytime detective, anytime.’ Charlie replied and walked back inside the house kicking the front door closed behind him.
‘What do you think?’ Branson asked looking in the direction of Marco’s house.
‘I say we go pay lover boy a visit’ Steve said just as his phone burst into life. Steve pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and answered it.
‘Detective Steve Rickets, can I help you?’
‘Yes detective, my name is Melissa Johnstone. I have some information on a case you are working on that might be useful?’ the quiet voice on the phone said nervously.
‘Yes go on?’ Steve responded indicating to Branson to get ready to take notes.
‘Well its in regards to a Mr James Firth. I understand you are investigating his murder?’
‘Yes that is correct. How can you help us?’
‘Mr Firth was my boss for a good number of years, that is I was his PA. I have some information that may prove to be important’ she said her voice starting to sob slightly. The soft tone of her voice and the building emotion led Steve to believe that she had a close working relationship with Firth.
‘Ok, and what is the information?’
‘I can’t say, not over the phone. Can you meet me at Dales Coffee Cartel in Johnston Street?’
‘Sure, how about in fifteen minutes time?’ Steve asked. ‘At Dales Coffee Cartel, Johnston Street’ he said aloud so Branson could write it down.
‘Yes I will be there waiting. Good day’ with that Melissa Johnstone hung up.
‘Interesting development. Says she was Firth’s PA and has important information to share with us’ Steve updated Branson.
They headed towards Steve’s car and jumped in.