It felt wrong to be at work. Everyone who’d attended the funeral was quieter than normal and Liz understood. The gravity of the morning had come back to the office with them. She’d arranged for a basket of fruit and chocolates to be delivered to Vince and Melanie and it wasn’t nearly enough.
What else can I do?
Terry had a similar air about him, but he was also intent on catching Malcolm Hardy and was at a clean whiteboard with a marker.
‘Let’s start afresh, boys and girls.’ He tapped the end of the marker on the board. ‘Yesterday was a waste of resources with no sign of Hardy in Ballarat nor of the place where he was allegedly seen. We want to catch the little shit, but we need to be alert to false alarms.’
‘Probably in another state by now.’ One of the younger detectives said and there was a murmur of agreement by a couple of others.
Pete shook his head.
‘Why not, Pete? It’s been ten days since he escaped. Plenty of time to hitch a ride out of Victoria,’ Terry said.
‘He had a few minutes jump on us when he took off which meant we had all major exits covered before he could do more than fall into a hole to hide in until some of the heat came off. By then his face was plastered everywhere in the state. Freight companies and public transport authorities are on alert as well as police throughout the state.’
It was solid logic but with every passing day and no sign of the criminal, the chance of finding him lessened.
‘And I agree with Pete,’ Terry continued and began scrawling on the whiteboard. ‘We can’t keep surveillance on all his old haunts nor his main contacts. What if we draw him out of wherever he’s hiding?’
He’d written a name. Betty Hardy.
‘Boss, we’ve had his mum under watch since the first day,’ Liz said. ‘She can’t shop without a shadow let alone meet with her son.’
‘Time to have another chat with her. See if we can give her a reason to help us locate him. Or plant a seed in her head. Let him think he has a window of opportunity to leave town.’
Pete was grinning. ‘Her place or ours?’
‘Hers. Make it obvious we’re there. Take a unit and let them sit over the road to get the neighbours talking.’
Betty Hardy had claimed from the time her son was arrested the first time that she had cut him out of her life. She’d lived in the same house for most of her adult life and at close to eighty maintained she wasn’t interested in leaving it.
Liz had met her once or twice in the course of past interviews and the woman remembered her when she opened the door, staring up at her through thick glasses.
‘I suppose you’ll both be wanting coffee.’
‘Not necessary, Mrs Hardy,’ Pete said. ‘Just a quick chat if you don’t mind.’
‘Does it matter if I do?’ The elderly woman used a cane as she limped away from the front door and disappeared into another room. ‘Close that, young man.’
Pete had a silly grin on his face and Liz shook her head at him.
They joined Mrs Hardy in the living room, a small and gloomy part of a small and gloomy house. She was lowering herself onto a chair and grunted when she sat. The curtains were drawn and a couple of lamps cast weird shadows on old wallpaper.
‘Sit down and ask your questions. But don’t bother to ask if I’ve seen Malcolm or know where he is because I haven’t, and I don’t. Same as always.’
Pete sat on a sofa, his eyes darting around the room.
Liz stayed on her feet. ‘You’ve been clear about not having contact with your son for a number of years, but we wondered if you know a man called Abel Farrelly?’ She almost held her breath. She wanted to find a connection so much it hurt.
‘Name doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have a photograph?’
Pete opened his phone and showed her Farrelly’s drivers licence photo.
She peered at it for a long time then leaned back. ‘Can’t say I know him. Is he helping my son?’
It was never going to be that easy.
‘We don’t know. But thank you for looking. Have you heard from Richard Roscoe recently?’
Mrs Hardy scoffed. ‘Him? Useless man with more money than sense. He still phones me once a week to make sure I’m alive. Probably wants to be ready to snatch this prime real estate to sell to cover his fees the minute I go to God.’
Liz exchanged a glance with Pete, and he took over.
‘Bit of an odd thing to call you each week? Has he always done that?’
She nodded so vigorously that her glasses slid down her nose. ‘Ever since Malcolm went to prison. Once a week without fail, apart from a few times when he was overseas and then he’d get that Mr Black to ring instead. His assistant. Always the same.’ Her voice changed to a gruff, ‘How are you, Betty? Malcolm sends his love. Anything you’d like me to pass on?’
‘And was there?’
Mrs Hardy stared at Pete over the top of her glasses then pushed them back up. ‘Wouldn’t know what to say to him if he was sitting here with us right now.’
Pete took out his phone. ‘Sorry, message.’ He made a show of reading it then jumped to his feet. ‘We need to go, I’m afraid. Thank you for being so helpful.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Mrs Hardy touched a button on her chair which began to lift her to her feet. ‘Have you found Malcolm?’
‘No… but… I shouldn’t say.’
He showed Liz the ‘message’ which was a blank screen.
‘Oh! Perhaps you should tell Mrs Hardy. Just to keep her up to date.’
Phone back in his pocket, Pete took his time making a decision. By then, Mrs Hardy was upright and leaned on her cane, waiting.
‘The message was from our boss, who is overseeing the search for your son. He wants all available police to concentrate on an area on the Mornington Peninsula. Sounds like a big search planned with most of our units heading down. Anyway, thanks again. We’ll lock the door on our way out.’
A minute later, Liz and Pete hurried to their car.
‘She’s not a stupid woman,’ Pete said as he climbed in.
‘Not at all. But if she cares at all for her son she might just let something slip to Roscoe.’
‘And if she knows where Malcolm is, it might make him feel confident enough to make a mistake.’
Bradley nosed his car up the warehouse driveway and turned it around to face the road again, parking alongside the side fence. The flatbed ute wasn’t here, nor was the hire van Abel had organised to manage deliveries and pickups until theirs was located. The theft was disturbing. Abel was particular about keeping the place locked up and having the heavy chain cut and the van stolen had sent a ripple of worry through the staff.
‘Still there, Brad?’
He was on a phone call with his solicitor, who had a list of issues to address thanks to David’s death, but their subject for the past few minutes was every bit as important.
‘Sorry, Gary.’
Gary continued. ‘As I was saying, with Vince Carter in the picture as Melanie’s only viable relative, and being willing and able to become her custodian, it makes things tricky.’
‘Tricky? Or impossible?’ There was silence and Bradley tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Are you telling me we have no way to ensure Melanie has a better life? No way to bring her home to a place she loves and will thrive in?’
‘Anything’s possible. I’m laying it on the table so you can manage your expectations. And Carla’s. On the surface, Vince Carter is a hero, a decorated, retired police officer. He strikes a sympathetic figure by losing his daughter. And he has the widower card. His wife died the same day he was saving lives in a highly publicised shooting. Who wouldn’t want him to have his grandchild in his life?’
‘Jesus. I’m almost rooting for him when you say it like that.’
Gary laughed. ‘I’m good at my job.’
‘Then tell me what to do instead of adding glowing testimonies to our enemy.’ Bradley spat the words.
‘Chill. He’s not your enemy, he’s just a man standing in the way of what you want. You need compelling evidence to counteract the sympathy vote.’
‘Compelling? How.’
‘Incompetency. Abuse. Substance or otherwise. History of neglect. Unaddressed mental illness. Anger issues. Dig up some dark secret.’
Abel drove past in the flatbed ute.
Bradley smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘For the record, that wasn’t legal advice.’
‘Sure. Yep. Talk to you soon.’
‘But we need to cover the—’
Bradley terminated the call. He sent a message to a number in his phone then opened the door as Abel headed toward the warehouse. ‘Abel. A word?’
That word turned into twenty minutes of debate about how far behind they were. Not debate. Full on yelling. At least from Bradley’s side because Abel didn’t as much as raise his voice.
‘Dunno what you’re so riled up about, boss.’ Clearly tired of standing in the middle of the warehouse being told off, Abel stalked toward the containers at the back. ‘Have you even looked at the fit out?’
Although his temper still had things to say, Bradley’s brain figured nothing was coming of the discussion other than an increased risk of heart attack. The workers had slowed down as well during the conversation, casting curious looks at him.
‘Back to work, you lot.’
He followed Abel, who opened the back of the first container with a loud clang. Bradley waited until the door was propped securely before stepping foot inside.
‘This is almost ready to pack up and put on the truck.’ Abel brushed past. ‘See those tracks…’ He gestured upwards. Several rows of tracks—an industrial equivalent of the kind found in windows for vertical blinds—criss-crossed the roof. Within them were multiple hooks able to slide into a range of positions. ‘Lets us configure nets or straps to contain whatever is packed. We can mix and match boxes with small machinery. Or send part loads if our brands aren’t needing transport.’
‘Bit of a waste not to fill the thing.’
‘Not at the rates Duncan will pay. He just wants a no-nonsense solution to getting his products interstate now that he can see how easy expanding will be and this is by far the cheapest option,’ Abel said. ‘If he takes you up on the offer to buy some of our toys then that solidifies the working arrangement.’
Bradley touched the sides. ‘Why add interior walls?’
‘Insulated. Better for sensitive cargo.’
‘Like?’
Abel shrugged. ‘Alcohol. Bottled water.’ He grinned. ‘People.’
Moron.
He looked outside to make sure nobody overheard that.
‘How much did this cost?’
‘Within budget.’ Abel ran a hand over the wall at the front of the container.
‘When was this done, Abel? I’ve been here every day for weeks and—’
‘Night time, boss. Easier without working around the staff considering how noisy a job it was. One done. Another ready to start when you say.’
Bradley had had enough of the confined space and stepped out.
‘Before you go.’ Abel closed the container doors then leaned against them. ‘Those cops here the other day… I heard everything.’
‘About that night at the restaurant?’
Abel nodded.
‘Trouble is I don’t remember seeing anyone around while he and I were talking. Susie came and had words with us but she’s dead, so she doesn’t count. The waiter was in and out of the door but never long enough to overhear anything.’
‘Think. Were you facing the back door or the dining area?’
‘Dining. But around the corner, near the toilets… oh, shit.’
How had he forgotten Melanie?
Bradley’s phone rang. It was the number he’d texted after speaking to Gary. ‘Hold that thought, Abel. I have to answer this.’
Carla finished clearing the dining room table and took a bottle of wine from the fridge. Dinner had been quiet with both of them preoccupied. It was partly the after effects of the funeral and on top of that, whatever was bothering Bradley, he was keeping to himself.
It didn’t matter. Sooner or later he’d talk to her, and she had enough on her mind.
Going through her phone after the funeral, she’d found a forgotten photo of herself with Susie a few weeks after they’d met. Carla was in her final year of university at an open day, talking to prospective students and parents. Susie was half interested in the course Carla was finishing and after they’d spoken for a while they discovered a mutual interest in musical theatre. They went to a play together and then it became a regular thing. That photograph was taken outside Her Majesty’s Theatre.
‘And then we were best friends. Forever.’ Carla had wept anew, holding the phone against her chest until there were no more tears to cry. She’d kissed the image of Susie. How many beautiful memories they’d shared, and she’d never let her be forgotten.
She was still exhausted from grief and seeing Melanie without being able to bring her home. Picking up the bottle, she collected two glasses and went in search of her husband. He sat in the living room, turning his phone in his fingers, frowning.
‘Good thinking.’ He took the glasses and held them while she poured.
‘You look worried, honey,’ she said.
‘Hm? Oh, no, just work stuff.’ He patted the sofa. ‘To us, baby.’
Joining him, she tapped her glass to his. ‘Are there lots of problems now David’s gone? Are you doing his work as well as yours?’
‘Kinda. The pressing issue is he hadn’t signed off on a transport deal and I’m scrambling to get up to speed and make it happen. Our business is on the cusp of booming and this new supply chain contract was key.’
‘I thought your supply chain was local.’
‘We’ve had the chance to put containers onto interstate trucks each week. Duncan wants to expand, and this is a cheapish option to do regular runs to places like Far North Queensland and the Northern Territory.’
‘Still transporting toys and stuff? And ours as well as his?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Will open some new markets.’
‘So what needs doing to make it happen? Was it just changes on the contract?’
‘They got cold feet. Said with David dying they were worried about the stability of our company—losing one of two partners, and the one who was the logistics expert. I’ve sent them a new proposal and they just returned an amended version. They want a guarantee of three months of shipments paid up front.’
‘Then what are you waiting for?’ Carla frowned.
Bradley took a long drink from his glass.
Melanie had a stake in this. The legal people on all sides would work out what would happen with David’s share of the company, but their success meant more for the little girl’s future.
‘Brad don’t wait. If Duncan is ready to commit then do the same. Three months up front is nothing compared to the long-term benefit and anyway, just pass it on.’
He almost spluttered his wine out. ‘To Duncan?’
She nodded. ‘Tell him their quote came in a bit higher. Up your price to him to cover the cost. Do whatever you must to ensure the future of this company!’
Bradley chuckled, put down his glass, and took her hand. ‘You are sensational, baby. I’d forgotten how passionate you are about business.’
‘I do have a degree in business management, Brad. It just never gets put to good use anymore.’
Because you chose a man to be your partner instead of your wife.
Not knowing where that thought came from, or why it suddenly mattered, Carla took a sip of her wine. She didn’t want to fight. Or look too closely at what was going on at the warehouse. Better to think about Melanie. ‘I was considering a soft lilac with some yellow accents.’
‘Sorry?’ Bradley obviously had no idea what she was talking about.
‘And I know she wants a kitten, but we might have to persuade her a fish tank is better. I can’t abide the idea of litter trays and a cat scratching our furniture, can you?’
‘Whatever are you talking about?’
‘I’ve been thinking of how to redecorate the second bedroom for Melanie. Soft colours. A double bed with a canopy… like a princess’s bed. Lots of beautiful toys. I’m so pleased that bedroom has its own ensuite otherwise we’d need to renovate. But I think I can turn the existing one into a beautiful little room for her.’
‘Slow down.’ Bradley kissed her fingers. ‘There’s a lot of water under the bridge ahead.’
‘Susie would want her living with us. Why else make us her godparents? Why else cut Vince out of their lives?’
Bradley held his arm out and she moved closer to lean against him.
‘Melanie is going to be our little girl. Isn’t she?’
What did the lawyer say? Get dirt on him?
‘Yes, Carla. I’ll make it happen. One way or another, I promise Melanie will come to live with us.’