The offices of Roscoe & Henderson were in Balwyn North in the eastern suburbs, on the second floor of an old brick building near the main drag.
Liz and Pete settled in uncomfortable seats opposite Richard Roscoe in a huge corner office with tiny windows and expensive furniture. The carpet though was threadbare and there were cracks in the walls.
She’d met Roscoe a dozen or so times. Met wasn’t the right word. Observed him. Listened to him defend killers in the courtroom—Malcolm Hardy being the first of many almost a decade ago. The Hardy case got him other clients because he’d managed to reduce the sentence using voodoo or something. Liz had no idea how he’d done it. But the lawyer had some talent which was wasted on defending criminals of the worst type.
A middle-aged woman with very high heels crept in with a tray, lowered it onto the desk, and hurried out.
‘Help yourselves.’ Roscoe waved an arm.
Pete wasted no time doing so. There was coffee and a plate of biscuits, and he grabbed a couple of those. How the man kept fit the way he ate and drank was one of life’s great mysteries.
‘Mr Roscoe, we’re here to ask about your recent visit to the home of Abel Farrelly,’ Liz said. ‘How do you know him?’
Roscoe’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a fraction. Was he going to lie about being outside Farrelly’s house? She had the video ready to show him if so.
‘Abel? He’s been a friend since school days. If you mean the day before yesterday, actually, the one prior to that, then I was in the area and planned to drop in to grab a coffee with him.’
‘Planned to?’
‘Phone rang before I could get out of the car.’
He was confident of himself. Once he knew this was about Abel he’d relaxed.
‘Important enough to stop you visiting your old friend?’
‘It was a client on the phone. Anyway, Abel wasn’t expecting me and for all I know, might have been out. What’s this about?’
‘Is Abel your client as well as an old friend?’
Roscoe smirked. ‘I’m not going to discuss my relationship with Abel unless you explain why you are asking.’
Mouth half-full of biscuit, Pete waved his spare hand around. ‘And Hardy?’
‘And Hardy… what?’ Roscoe frowned.
Pete swallowed and drank some coffee, wrinkling his face up at the taste. He returned the cup to the tray. ‘I can see why your secretary rushed out again. When did you last see him?’
Roscoe grabbed a cup and took his time sipping.
‘Last week? Today?’ Pete pressed.
‘Been weeks. Told your lot the other day I’d met with him in prison to talk about his next court appearance. That was it. Now, if there’s nothing else?’ Roscoe pushed himself out of the chair.
‘It would be in your best interests to assist us with locating Hardy.’
It was fascinating how a glow of redness grew around the man’s ears. He crossed his arms and said nothing.
‘Rightio.’ Pete stood and brushed crumbs off his front, grinning at the obvious disapproval on Roscoe’s face. ‘We’ll take that as confirmation that you’re in communication with Hardy. Keep in mind that he’s a cold-blooded killer. And not above sending a strong message to anyone who isn’t playing by his rules.’
He spoke the truth. Hardy was convicted for killing two colleagues who’d let him down. Being anywhere in his circle was a risk. Even for his lawyer.
Outside the building, Pete took a phone call and Liz caught up with messages. Vince was on about Pickering again and she was happy to explore the possibility the man was somehow involved in the deaths of Susie and David. It surprised her he not only agreed to her visiting later but asked her to come for dinner.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Pete was off his call. ‘Special date?’
‘Yes and no. Right to go?’
‘Not quite. Look who’s heading our way.’
Jerry Black hadn’t seen them as he crossed the road, waiting part way for a tram to pass. He was Roscoe’s right-hand man but his role was hard to define. Part lawyer, part investigator, part errand boy. He had sat in on all of Hardy’s appearances over the years and Pete had testified in several cases he’d been involved in. When he made it to their side of the road he scowled and went to pass them.
Pete stepped in front of the door. ‘Mate. Jerry—been too long.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Been to see Hardy?’ Pete asked.
‘Idiot.’
‘My feelings are hurt. So no sign of Hardy lately?’
‘God sake, just said that. Is there a point to you stopping me or is it entertainment?’
Black went to push past Pete, who moved with him, putting an arm around the man’s shoulders as if they were just talking. Liz grabbed her phone out.
‘Mr Black, would you mind looking at something for us, and then we will leave you in peace?’ Before he could respond she played the video of Roscoe’s car near Farrelly’s house. ‘Do you know who owns this house?’
‘No. But that’s Richard’s car so you need to ask him.’
‘We did,’ Pete hadn’t loosened his hold.
To a casual observer it would look like a couple of friends catching up, having a chat and sharing a video. Up close, Black’s hands were clenched, and they were one false move away from him taking a swing at Pete.
This man knew a lot more than he was prepared to tell them and Liz watched his face closely. ‘See how I’m at the door? When it opens you’ll get a look at the occupant.’
The instant that Farrelly appeared, Black’s eyes widened and he twisted out of Pete’s grip. ‘I’ll make a complaint if you ever touch me again, McNamara.’ He wrenched the door open and was gone.
‘Something I said?’
As she put the phone away, a curious sensation ran down Liz’s spine. She wasn’t big on the theory of knowing when you’re being watched, but… she took a moment to scan the opposite side of the road. Shops, people, cars. Nobody looking at her.
‘Do you reckon he knows Abel?’ Pete asked.
‘Mm? Yeah.’ She gave up looking and nodded. ‘And not in a friendly way.’
‘Between him and Roscoe, hopefully we rattled something loose.’
Back at the station, Terry was at the whiteboard again but this time he had a series of photographs held in place with magnets. No other detectives were in the office. Pete had somewhere to be and had dropped Liz and driven off.
‘What am I looking at?’ She dropped her keys and phone onto her desk and joined him.
‘Aerials of where Hardy escaped and likely routes he took.’ Terry tapped the central image which was the largest and was an overview of about four city blocks. ‘When he took off he had maybe thirty seconds head start. He should have been in ankle cuffs but was still wearing a brace after an injury a week prior. If anything, he shouldn’t have been able to run.’
‘Maybe he faked it.’
Terry shook his head. ‘Nah. X-rays showed two broken bones in his foot. One of a series of reasons his escorts slacked off but that’s for someone else to deal with. What we know is he headed in this direction...’ He pointed north, ‘with the last sighting being here.’
‘Close to Queen Vic Markets. We’ve looked for footage there?’
‘Yeah. But he’d have stood out with handcuffs on, so I reckon he skirted around some of these side streets until he found someone to help him.’ Stepping back from the board, Terry crossed his arms and stared at it. ‘Reason I’m doing this all over again is we found something. His cuffs.’
‘Where?’
‘Tossed them into a dumpster and a friendly informant who lives on the streets found them. Hardy had got more than a kilometre across town if they were removed close to where they were found.’
Liz squinted at the overhead image of the block where a circled dumpster was just visible in an alley. ‘Isn’t that close to… hang on a sec, boss.’ She grabbed her phone and scrolled through notes. ‘Ginny Makos. Pete has history with her—I think as an informant of sorts. We questioned her the other day.’
‘And she lives?’
‘A block away from that alley.’
Terry headed for his office. ‘We might have another chat with her.’ He was dialling his phone as he collected his keys. ‘Mate, any chance of rushing the prints on those cuffs? Yeah. This number. Thanks.’
‘Should I call Pete?’ Liz joined Terry on his way out.
‘Let’s see what we come up with first.’
Ginny was surprisingly nice. She still ignored Liz but invited them both in and asked where Pete was.
‘Miss Makos—’
‘Mrs. I might be a widow, but I still wear his ring.’ Ginny wiggled her ring finger with its plain gold band to prove her point. ‘But I only answer to Ginny.’
‘Sorry for your loss,’ Terry said.
Unlike the first time Liz had met her, Ginny was dressed, wearing jeans and a pink jumper. The doors to the other rooms were open and a news channel played on the radio in place of classical music.
‘We have some new information about Malcolm Hardy,’ Terry said. ‘Do you happen to own bolt cutters?’
With a nervous giggle, Ginny plonked onto the arm of a chair. She hadn’t suggested they sit so they didn’t. She might be laughing but her eyes were hard. ‘My dear policeman, what on earth would I do with such an item? My… visitors, might enjoy a little pain but nothing which would permanently scar them.’
‘Don’t you ever accidentally lock someone into cuffs and lose the key?’ Liz couldn’t help herself and from the corner of her eye she got the impression Terry was struggling not to chuckle. ‘I’d think it would pay to keep bolt cutters around for such situations.’
Although Ginny’s smile changed into a glare, she still didn’t speak to Liz.
‘Do you mind if we take a look around?’ Terry asked.
‘Actually, I do mind.’
‘When did you last see Malcolm Hardy?’
Ginny stood. ‘I told Pete the other day and I’ll say the same to you that Malcolm hasn’t dropped by in years. I went to visit him once in prison and it was so awful in there I never went back.’
‘And prison was the last time you spoke to or saw him?’ Terry asked.
‘Well, yes. That’s what I said.’
At the front door Terry glanced back. ‘Ginny? If you thought prison was awful as a visitor, think about how much you’d hate it as a resident. Easily avoided if you help us.’
Her face changed. She wavered. And then she shrugged and turned away.