‘You go and talk to him. If you’re going to insist on believing Vince’s ramblings then feel free but I want to eat now we’ve come to a stop for a few minutes.’ As if to reinforce his words, Pete leaned into the back seat and grabbed a plastic wrapped roll of some kind. ‘You wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.’
‘I don’t like you full stop. Not when you’re mean about Vince.’ Liz glanced at the sky as she climbed out, then stuck her head back in. ‘Paint trace doesn’t lie. Particularly when the car shouldn’t even have been on that road. Enjoy whatever that is.’
She hadn’t meant to snap at Pete but some days he pushed a bit too much. Before the rain could return, she hurried across and down the road.
This part of North Melbourne was on its way up in market value as people renovated and sold for huge amounts of money. Terrace houses lined both sides of the road and every one she passed was a work of beauty. Except for Abel Farrelly’s home.
His gate was rusted and squealed as she pushed it open. The short path to the door was uneven and where a small ornamental tree might have once thrived in the middle of the handkerchief sized garden was a dry shell of branches. Long dead. The front door needed painting yet there was one of those fancy schmancy talking cameras near the front door.
She didn’t ring the doorbell, curious to see how long it would take for him to answer the door if she stared into the camera. The flatbed ute was parked out the front so odds were he was home.
It took exactly two minutes.
He said nothing, just stood there staring at her.
‘Abel Farrelly?’
‘What of it.’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Liz Moorland.’ She flashed her badge. ‘Would you mind answering a couple of questions?’
‘Not much of a talker.’
Nevertheless, Abel stepped back and nodded for her to enter. Once inside, he turned one of several locks on the door and led the way to a kitchen. Not just any kitchen, but one straight out of a lifestyle magazine. For that matter, the little she could see of the rest of the narrow house matched it perfectly. Nothing at all like the outside.
Abel put a marble counter between them and crossed his arms.
‘I understand you recently reported a stolen vehicle. The property of PickerPack Holdings?’ Liz asked.
‘I did.’
‘When was the last time you saw the vehicle?’
‘Friday night. Locked up at the back of the driveway of the warehouse when I closed the place up.’
‘I saw it on Saturday night at the warehouse.’
His eyes didn’t waver, but one side of his lips flicked up for an instant. ‘I don’t work Saturdays. If you saw it, then it was stolen afterwards.’
‘You have a beautiful home, Mr Farrelly. Lived here for long?’
‘Why is a detective asking about a stolen van?’ His arms dropped and he placed both palms onto the counter.
‘I’m not at liberty to say but appreciate any assistance you can provide. Who had access to the van?’
‘Me. Bradley. Anyone who gets their hands on one of the sets of keys for it.’
‘So a set of keys is missing?’
‘Didn’t say that.’
She forced a smile. ‘Are any of the keys to the stolen van missing?’
‘Best to ask the boss, but not that I know of.’
‘Do other employees drive it? Mr Pickering mentioned it is used for pickups and deliveries.’
‘I’ve said what I know. Anyone could have got the keys, stolen the van, and who knows what. I drive it. Half a dozen of the others might drive it if I’m busy and need something done. Bradley drives it.’
You two need to get your stories straight.
She took out a card and dropped it on the counter. ‘Get in touch if you think of anything.’
‘Bradley told you somebody cut the chain on the gates the night it went missing? We found the gates open.’
‘He did,’ she said.
‘Hope you find it.’
‘I’ll see myself out.’
He didn’t argue and she didn’t waste any time leaving. He’d been perfectly civil, but her senses were on high alert.
Raindrops fell as she returned to the car and the temperature was dropping fast.
Pete gave her an odd look.
‘What?’
‘Tell you in a minute. What did he say?’
‘That he knows nothing about the theft. That he last saw it on Friday night. And that Bradley is one of the people who drives it.’
Pete’s lips curled up. ‘Lie. Lie. Lie. Let me show you something.’ He tapped his phone and started a video.
He’d taken it while she’d waited at Abel’s front door. A white Lexus coupe had pulled up on the same side as Abel’s house but a bit further along the road. The driver’s door opened, stayed open for about ten seconds before closing again. And the car drove off.
‘Nice car,’ Liz said.
‘Not many in the state.’
‘Should I know who owns it?’
‘I’ve been reviewing footage around the Hardy case. The day he escaped there were press all over the front of the courthouse and they tried to get an interview with Richard Roscoe. He bundled himself into a white Lexus coupe and I reckon if we do a check that this car,’ he pointed at the screen of the phone, ‘is his.’
Liz gazed over to Farrelly’s house and back to Pete, who had a ridiculously pleased expression on his face. ‘So what does Hardy’s lawyer have to do with our mate over there?’
Dropping his phone into the centre console, Pete started the car. ‘That, my colleague, is your job to find out.’
Following an afternoon of playing board games and making and eating macaroni cheese for dinner, they went their separate ways—Melanie taking a book to the living room and Vince cleaning up.
She’d talked a lot during the afternoon and mostly about the kitten and Lyndall. But one thing she said had stuck in the back of his mind.
‘I was so happy it was Lyndall and not the angry man.’
By then he’d heard about every detail of her following the cat and how she’d climbed into the woodpile to retrieve the little creature. He was waiting for her to ask—again—when she could visit Lyndall’s house and her throwaway comment took a minute to digest.
‘So, can I?’
‘Can you… oh, visit Lyndall. Yes, we’ll arrange something. But, Mel, who is the angry man?’
Her eyes had dropped, and she’d put a forkful of macaroni onto her fork and shoved it in her mouth.
Had he misheard? Perhaps she meant she was relieved it wasn’t an angry person … a stranger. From underneath the shelter in the pouring rain, the sight of Lyndall with that hat of hers pulled down and her oilskin coat flapping around was enough to frighten anyone.
He let it go but filed it away.
The rain was back after a late afternoon break, during which he’d restocked the wood supply, and for once he’d got the cottage warm. When Melanie was settled back at school and his time free again, he’d arrange a new hot water system and look at better heating options.
Vince gathered the mail he’d brought from Susie’s house and began sorting it on the kitchen table. Most of it was junk mail, which was something he didn’t get out here. Mail was delivered three times a week but never a free paper or retail catalogues, which suited him fine.
There were half a dozen bills. Power. Insurance on the house. Insurance on the cars.
He’d forgotten Susie and David had a second car and hadn’t ventured into the garage.
A letter from Melanie’s school was addressed only to David. He was vaguely familiar with the school by reputation and remembered Susie raving about the quality of the staff and advantages for Melanie to attend. How she’d been on some waiting list since birth.
Fancy school at a fancy price.
The letter was from the principal, Joyce McCoy, and again, was directed to David. There were only two relevant paragraphs.
As we approach term three with no sign of this year’s payments, we request an urgent meeting to discuss Melanie’s future with us. As much as we’d like her to stay as one of our students, the arrangements we accepted in term one have not been honoured by you.
We appreciate the difficult situation you are in with your business but remind you that fees are compulsory for our school. We cannot offer the range of options for a student without your contribution. Please contact me at your earliest convenience, but definitely before the next term begins.
He read it twice.
‘What difficult situation?’
Susie always said the business was going well. How long had David been missing school fee payments?
There was a second page.
An invoice.
‘Holy mother of…’
There was no way anyone should pay so much for schooling! What did they do there… three course meals? Excursions to the moon?
He ran his eyes down the list.
This was just for fees. Two terms unpaid this year.
Before his blood pressure hit the roof he returned the letter and invoice to the envelope. In the morning he’d phone the school and arrange a meeting and he had some thinking to do because those fees were out of his budget.
The rest of the bills were paltry by comparison. He made a list of who to contact tomorrow, who to pay, and which services to cancel or adjust. That done, he put everything into a folder and took it into his bedroom. There was no way he wanted Melanie seeing any of it.
She was in the living room, fast asleep. She’d changed into her pyjamas and her book was closed on the coffee table and Raymond cuddled under her arm. Ever so carefully, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom.
After tucking her in and kissing her forehead, he closed the door and returned to the living room. His intention to check the fireplace and go to bed was interrupted by headlights on the wall and his heart jolted. The last time that happened he had got the worst news.
He looked through the worn curtains and grunted.
Liz ran to the steps with a jacket held over her head. He held the door open as she shook the jacket and hung it on a hook outside.
‘Not the best night to be out.’
‘Needed a beer.’ She grinned and showed him the six-pack in her other hand.
‘She’s just gone to bed, so head for the living room.’
They sat opposite each other. The remnants of the fire were the only light, flickering and casting shadows. Liz pulled two beers out and handed one to Vince.
‘You look exhausted,’ she said.
‘You don’t exactly look like someone ready to party all night.’
Two beers were opened. Two mouthfuls were drunk.
‘How’s Melanie?’
‘Yeah. Asleep.’
Another mouthful. Or two.
The beer was good. He might be tired, but he’d been far from relaxed. This helped a bit.
Liz settled back in the chair and crossed her legs. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to visit.’
‘You doing okay, Lizzie? Seems a long time between drinks.’ He raised the beer.
‘Too long. Still love my job. Still have no interest in climbing the corporate ladder. Not home enough. The usual. And chasing my tail thanks to Malcolm Hardy being invisible. We’re struggling to pin down where he is.’ She tapped the side of her beer with her fingers then leaned forward. ‘How much do you know about PickerPack Holdings?’
What have you been up to?
‘Pickering is a criminal,’ he said.
‘Quite possibly. Do you know any of his staff?’
Now, he snorted.
Liz smiled. ‘Shall I rephrase?’
‘No need. He has a poor track record with employees. I warned Susie about it when he got fined last time.’
‘Illegals?’
‘Yup and underpaid. Far as I know only one person has stayed with the business. His right-hand man, Abel Farrelly.’
‘Impression of him?’ Liz was watching him closely, so it meant something to her.
‘He looks squeaky clean. Gut feeling is he’s dirty. Susie wasn’t a big fan. Why?’
‘I’m trying to make the connection between Farrelly and Richard Roscoe.’
‘Roscoe?’ A spark of excitement, almost unsettling, fluttered in his gut. Just like police days when he was close to an arrest. He’d not felt this in years. ‘Roscoe is Hardy’s lawyer.’
‘Well, yes. I know. And Farrelly might be his client as well. Or a friend. The other thing is… the report came back on the vehicle. David’s.’
With a sense of dread he put down the beer.
‘There’s some evidence a second vehicle was involved in the crash.’
‘What evidence?’
‘Paint transference. We’re working to identify paint from what kind of vehicle, exactly. It still might have been accidental.’
It wasn’t.
Rain pattered on the roof. Liz’s eyes moved to the mantlepiece, to the photograph of Vince’s wedding day. ‘She’d have been proud of you taking in Melanie. Marion would.’
‘She’d be here if not for me.’
‘You were saving lives. Possibly mine. Innocent bystanders. You couldn’t be in two places at one time so think about forgiving yourself, Vince.’
Not so easy.
He gestured toward the back of the cottage. ‘That little girl down the hallway? She disappeared for a few minutes today. Ran out of the cottage in the rain. I thought… I thought the world had stopped.’ He finished his beer with a couple of big mouthfuls.
‘Where did she go?’
‘She rescued a god-damned kitten, Lizzie. Then she helped clean up the mess I’d made running out to look for her. Soup everywhere. And she even let me tease her.’ A ridiculous lump filled his throat and he reached for a fresh bottle, unwilling to meet the eyes of his friend. ‘Melanie deserves better.’
‘Than?’
‘Have you taken a good look at this place? Hardly the best environment for a little girl to grow up in and before you say it, I know Susie did. But Susie should have had a nice house and been closer to other kids and the like. I was wrong to make her live that way.’
‘Yet she turned out just fine. And so will Melanie. She’s lucky to have you.’
Later, after Liz had driven away and the fire had died down, Vince found himself holding that photograph. Marion’s smile still lit his heart. She would have been proud of him. He touched her face and put the photograph back where it belonged.