‘Liz, a minute?’ Terry called from the doorway of his office.
She was in the midst of making a list of secondary contacts of Hardy. Pete was getting them lunch and then they’d head out.
Terry was back in his chair when she joined him. The palms of his hands rested on a file on his desk. ‘Grab a seat. What came of your visit to Pickering?’
‘He was a bit hostile but trying to cover it. But it may be due to our past dealings.’
‘Heard a rumour you’d had prior contact. What was that about?’
‘Oh gosh, it was years ago. I was in uniform but not partnered with Vince yet so I had no idea of the relationship between the two families until much later. They wanted to bring charges against the son of a new neighbour. He’d done nothing wrong, but they accused him of loitering outside their house and suggested… well, that’s the nice word, he was hanging around the front in order to case their house with a view to breaking in.’
‘Was this a kid?’
‘Young teen.’
‘So why was he there?’
She laughed. ‘The school bus stopped there for morning pick up. Same as it had since the Pickerings moved in. Funny thing was they’d never complained about any of the other kids who did precisely the same thing.’
Terry raised both eyebrows. ‘Wrong colour or faith?’
‘Both.’
‘Nice people. Not.’
‘They made a fuss. Tried to turn it into something it wasn’t, and I pushed back. Explained a few facts of life. A few laws. Bradley threatened to have me fired. I suggested he try.’
‘Go you.’ Terry grinned. ‘And the outcome?’
‘Given the situation, a house went on the market. People moved. Problem solved.’
‘What? Not the kid’s family?’
‘Nope. Bradley and Carla found a house in a suburb they felt suited their ‘needs’ more. And what made it all the better was they took a hit on the sale. Below market value because Carla couldn’t bear living there anymore.’
Liz had gone to the auction out of interest. The house was already empty and when the reserve wasn’t met, there’d been a hurried phone call between agent and vendors who immediately approved the highest bid.
‘And Bradley recognised you?’
‘Almost dropped his phone.’
She was pleased Pete was with her. Gave him a chance to see the kind of person Vince was dealing with. He’d been uncomplimentary about Bradley on the way back, calling him a loser in typical Pete-speak.
‘The warehouse is a dive. They resell toys rejected by importers. Apparently. His reasons for being in Susie’s house seem legit. But here’s something interesting, boss. The van I saw the other night? Stolen.’
‘Well, isn’t that convenient.’ Terry pushed the file across the desk. ‘It’s from Jim. Traces of black paint were found on the front passenger door of the Weaver vehicle. More on the same side but rear. And traces on the road mixed up with some from the other car.’
Vince was right. Instincts never fail him.
‘I’d like you to take a look at the scene of the crash with this new information in mind.’
‘So… this is official?’
‘More a fishing expedition.’
‘And Vince?’ Liz asked.
‘In the dark until something nibbles on your hook.’
Pete took the list of contacts to make a start after groaning when Liz said where she was going. She was good with being on her own to revisit the site of the accident.
She followed the route David had most likely taken that night. From Lygon Street to his house in the western suburb of Caroline Springs was about thirty minutes at that time of night if he’d used the main roads. A bit longer using back roads.
But it didn’t make sense why he was on that road.
By sticking to the GPS route from the restaurant to the Weaver house, she’d miss the accident site by several kilometres.
‘So where did you detour to first?’
Maybe one of the recovered mobile phones would provide some data. The car had no built in navigation nor a fitting for any. Another job for the understaffed, backed-up Forensic Services Department.
After a detour she turned onto the right road. There were no street lights and few homes so not many driveways. Lots of open paddocks with cattle or sheep. A few side roads turned off to goodness knows where. Under normal circumstances there was nothing to indicate this was a dangerous stretch.
The air was cool as she climbed out after parking on a grassy shoulder twenty or so metres from the scene and she glanced at the sky. Rain was on its way.
It was eerie being here again. This time there was no crumpled car, just deep indentations in the lower part of the gum tree. Pieces of bark and glass littered a radius around it. On closer inspection, fragments of metal pierced the trunk. She shuddered. This was a place of death.
Forcing away the urge to throw up, she walked slowly around the tree, taking a lot of photos with her phone and adding voice notes. Accident Investigation would already have done this and more, but she needed to make her own records.
The next step was to follow the barbed wire fence of a neighbouring property, zig-zagging from it to the road and back through the thick grass and weeds of the wide verge. She kept her eyes down searching for who-knew-what and after fifty or so metres, crossed the road and did the same. Halfway back to the tree, she saw it.
A half-smoked cigarette had clearly been dropped or tossed, not scrunched beneath a shoe.
Probably some dropkick litterbug.
But what if it wasn’t?
Once she’d taken photos of it and of the location, it went into an evidence bag.
She gazed in the direction of the tree. The car had faced this way, smashed and broken, its front seat occupants dead or dying. Had a passing car stopped, its driver tossing away their smoke before running to see if they could assist? Who had called in the accident? She made more notes.
Rain began to spit as she continued her search in the other direction and she pulled the hood up from her jacket. Nowhere along this stretch—a hundred metres or more—were any gates or driveways. Roaming livestock might be responsible for David changing lanes. She’d visit the closest farmhouses next.
But that didn’t explain the trace of black paint on two parts of his car. Nor the combination of black and red paint on the road a bit before he’d begun to brake and almost in the wrong lane.
Another vehicle had hit the Weavers. Now she had to find the driver.
As the rain intensified she returned to the tree and put her hand on the trunk. ‘I’ll find out the truth, Susie.’
After dropping the cigarette back to the station, Liz had one more stop before meeting with Pete. They still had a crap-load to cover before the end of the day.
She was back at Lygon Street and had driven via Williamstown where Carla and Bradley lived which was a straight run across country from the accident site. Had the couples headed back there after dinner? Or had the Weaver’s picked up and dropped off the Pickerings?
Spironi’s was at the tail end of its lunch service and although still open, had no customers. Two servers were preparing the tables for the dinner service and when Liz stepped inside, one of them immediately approached her. A young man with the name ‘Marco’ on his apron. Perfect.
‘My apologies, ma’am. We are now closed for lunch.’
‘That’s fine. I’m here to speak with Marco… and I can see from your name tag that I have the right person.’
Marco returned to the table. ‘I have to keep working. Are you the police officer? Mike said you’d be back.’
The man kept his eyes on his job, which he attended to with speed and precision.
‘I won’t keep you long. I understand that you overheard an argument. The night the Pickering and Weaver party was here.’
Moving to the next table, Marco shook his head. ‘Don’t remember.’
‘They are regulars. And there was a car accident which killed David and Susie Weaver on their way home that night. Funny you’d not know because when I was here yesterday, Mike knew all about it and said you looked after their table.’
‘I remember them. They were regular guests. Doesn’t mean I heard an argument.’
‘Yet you told your workmate about it.’
Marco glanced up. ‘He’s mistaken.’
‘So there was no argument? Two customers near the toilets?’ This was both annoying and interesting. ‘You heard no raised voices?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
‘Another question then I’ll leave you to your work. Did the guests all arrive at the same time?’
He straightened. ‘I didn’t seat them, but they were all present when I went to take them water a couple of minutes later.’
Liz handed her card to Marco. ‘Give me a call if you remember David Weaver—who died soon after, arguing with Bradley Pickering. It matters.’
She let herself out.