Liz was ready for an afternoon nap, yet it was just after dawn. She’d worked through to close on two this morning interviewing potential witnesses and speaking to Crime Scene officers as well as first responders.
Thanks to another damned killing.
The call had come in just after she’d heard from Vince last night. Despite asking him if she could chase up the rego later, she’d been intrigued and run a search on the spot. Before she’d done more than take a few notes, Pete was grabbing his gear and telling her to hurry. Some poor late night walker had stumbled upon a body in a public toilet.
Pete’s complaints about going back out had ceased the second they’d arrived at the scene. Personality aside, the man was a gun. Hard working, intelligent, and street-smart. He’d put all of those qualities to good use by evaluating the gruesome discovery and instigating the investigation while Liz spoke to the young officer who’d been the first responder.
Alerted to a possible overdose by the member of the public who’d found the body, the constable had gone into the facilities unprepared. He had a greenish pallor and was shaky when she took him aside. One look at the body explained his reaction. A middle-aged male, stabbed in the neck and left to die in the filthy public toilet, was not a pretty sight slumped with his eyes open, against a toilet bowl. Coupled with the stench of urine, blood, and faeces, it was no wonder the constable excused himself twice to vomit behind a tree.
Eventually Liz and Pete left to get some sleep and now, hours later, body gone, the scene was quieter but curious onlookers still peppered the area.
‘Liz?’ Pete stuck his head out of the doorway to the men’s toilet. ‘Need your opinion.’
‘Air freshener. Lots of air freshener.’
Pete was already back inside and she followed. Crime Scene Investigators had finished, leaving markers and fingerprint residue. There were two stalls and a urinal, a grimy sink, and air-dryer hanging on one hinge. The building was brick, with a tin roof elevated a few inches above the top row for ventilation.
‘How long since anyone cleaned?’ Liz asked. ‘Surely there’s a contract for regular servicing.’
‘Have you never been in a men’s loo?’ Pete shook his head. ‘Why was our victim here?’ Pete crossed his arms. ‘Miles away from his home and his workplace.’
The image of the crumbled body loomed in Liz’s mind, and she forced it away. She loved Homicide but not the bodies. ‘Let’s step outside.’
A television crew was setting up on the other side of the tape. Liz and Pete found a spot out of their view, sheltered beneath trees but far enough from the building to lose the stench. It was icy cold though and Liz shoved her hands beneath her armpits.
‘Did we contribute to this, Pete?’ Liz knew nobody was responsible for a murder other than the murderer but there was a pattern emerging. ‘First we speak to Ginny, and she is strangled. Then we chat to Jerry Black and Hardy cuts his throat.’
Pete’s eyebrows flicked up. ‘Haven’t proved it was Hardy.’
‘It was Hardy.’
‘Okay. It was. You and I know that.’
‘Which means he’s still here in Melbourne. So why the hell can’t we find him?’ Liz wanted to scream. Malcolm Hardy was playing with them. Sending them on wild goose chases… ‘Jerry Black was the person who sent everyone to the airport after Hardy escaped. Do you remember?’
‘And his back peddling. We need another chat with Roscoe.’ Pete grinned. ‘We’ll inform him of the death of one of his employees. But I bet you he already knows.’
Liz agreed. ‘Reckon it’s a warning to Roscoe.’
But a warning about what?
Brilliant sunlight through open curtains woke Vince. That and the pounding in his head.
He covered his eyes and sat up carefully, disturbing a blanket over his body. He hadn’t put it over himself. He didn’t think he had. His feet touched the floor, and he groaned as the headache followed him.
The whisky bottle was on the coffee table, the lid on. The glass was missing.
Beside the bottle were the photographs and letter. No envelope. He had a vague memory of ripping the white paper to shreds and tossing them onto the floor. So where were the pieces?
For that matter… who opened the curtains?
Shit.
Vince pushed himself to his feet and waited a few seconds. The room wasn’t swaying or spinning. He turned his phone on and picked up the photographs and letter and took them to the bedroom. Melanie didn’t need to see that crap but he had no recollection of leaving them anywhere other than scattered on the floor. The sick feeling in his gut wasn’t from a hangover.
In the kitchen, Melanie’s back was to the door as she buttered toast. A glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee—its steam rising—were on a tray. The toast done, she added the plate to the tray. When she turned, her eyes widened seeing Vince and no wonder, he must look a sight with his clothes wrinkled from sleep and what was left of his hair uncombed.
‘Good morning, Melly. Is that for me?’
She nodded and carried the tray very carefully to the table.
‘It looks delicious. Are you having some?’
‘I had breakfast earlier.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall and his eyes followed. Almost ten.
‘Will you sit with me while I eat?’
Another nod and she slipped into a chair.
‘Where’s Robbie?’ Vince asked, taking a sip of coffee. He needed painkillers and a large glass of water but those could wait until Melanie left the kitchen.
‘In my room. He likes playing with the spinning top.’
‘He slept okay?’
‘I think he misses his mother.’
Her head was down, and it wasn’t just Robbie she was talking about.
‘Sweetie… did you pick up those photographs and papers off the floor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. Um… did you look at them? I’m not cross if you did.’
‘I think Robbie would like to go outside and play in the sunshine today.’ She fidgeted with her fingers, still not looking up.
Vince jumped when his phone rang. Liz’s number came up. ‘Sorry, Mel, I need to answer this. I’ll be back in a—’
‘Robbie needs to visit the litter box.’ Melanie jumped up and tore out of the kitchen.
‘Dammit, Vince,’ he muttered, then tapped accept call. ‘Hello, Liz.’
‘Sorry it took so long to get back to you. We’ve had another murder… Chasing Hardy is… well, you know.’
He did.
‘Can we meet up? I’d rather talk face to face.’ Liz said.
‘Melanie has an appointment with her shrink at three. But not long enough for me to leave the hospital.’
‘Text me the time and place and I’ll come to you.’
‘Need to talk to you anyway. Think Melanie overheard Pickering threaten her father, night of the crash.’
There was a pause. Vince thought he heard a soft ‘dammit’ but wasn’t sure.
‘I can’t leave what I’m doing at the moment,’ Liz said.
‘You don’t need to. See you at three.’
He hung up before she could say anything else. He couldn’t deal with Liz’s well-meaning sympathy right now. Or anyone’s.
‘We’re sorry for your loss,’ Pete said. ‘When did you last see Mr Black?’
Richard Roscoe’s elbows were on his desk and his head was in his hands. To the casual observer he was shocked and distraught by the news of his colleague’s death.
‘Yesterday. Here, in this office. He came to ask for a few days off.’ He mumbled into his palms.
‘Was that normal?’
‘No. But he’d not had leave for a while so I granted it. Told him to rest up because we’d need him once Hardy is found.’
‘And when did Mr Black last see Hardy?’ Liz asked.
Roscoe’s head shot up. ‘Huh? Why would he need to see him? Jerry was taken off Hardy’s case after the unfortunate misunderstanding about the airport. He was completely misled by an anonymous caller, as well you know, but I thought it prudent to have him step away.’
Now why did you raise that?
‘As I asked, when did the men last see each other? Was Jerry Black meeting Hardy yesterday?’
An interesting rush of colour appeared above Roscoe’s collar, travelling quickly to the top of his ears. ‘No of course not! Why would he?’
‘Where was he going?’ Pete asked.
‘Going?’
‘On leave. Holiday?’
Roscoe shrugged. ‘Not my business. He asked for time off. I approved it. End of story.’
Certainly was for Jerry Black.
‘Any idea why he was near Hopper’s Crossing last night? Long way from home.’ Liz asked.
‘Told you he was on leave. What people do on their own time isn’t my business. And I need to call his wife now, so if there’s nothing else?’ He made a show of picking up the phone and dialling.
Pete closed the door behind them and held his finger against his lips. There was an odd sound coming from somewhere between the office and the reception desk.
The source was in a kitchen, where behind a partly closed door, the secretary who’d brought coffee the other day was crying.
‘Excuse me… ma’am, are you alright?’ Liz stepped inside.
The secretary—her back to the door—jumped. She grabbed a handful of tissues from a box and did something to her face. ‘I’ll be right there. Sorry. Something in my eye.’
‘Thanks for the coffee and biscuits the other day.’ Pete went to her. ‘Why are you crying? We’re police officers if you need help.’
She shook her head and sniffed. ‘Being silly. Just about Jerry.’
‘Very sad. My condolences. Were you close?’
‘Not really. We’d have a laugh sometimes. And always chatted at staff functions and the like. It just is such a shock for him to be murdered!’
‘Where did you hear that?’ Liz asked.
‘Oh… Mr Roscoe told me it was him on the telly. They said he was visiting a men’s convenience and some junkie attacked him. I can’t imagine why he was even in that area because he always refers to himself as an Eastern suburbs man.’
‘He’d said nothing about going on leave? Any chance he was on his way somewhere for a break?’
Her face screwed up as she thought. Then she shook her head.
‘Didn’t know he was on leave. I’m not his assistant but even so, I’d expect he’d have said something. Particularly as I saw him briefly yesterday. He came out of a meeting with the boss and we almost collided around a corner.’
Footsteps headed down the hallway in their direction and Liz quickly gave her card to the woman just as Roscoe stormed in.
‘Why are you bothering my staff?’
‘Mr Roscoe, how did you know Jerry Black was the person found last night?’ Pete asked.
‘I didn’t. I guessed. Get a warrant if you want to come back.’
The woman shrank back against the wall, her eyes down.
‘We’re going.’ Liz followed Pete out of the kitchen.
‘What did you tell them?’ Roscoe started.
‘I was upset about Jerry and they just asked if I was okay. Nothing else, Mr Roscoe.’
A moment later she rushed from the kitchen going in the opposite direction.
‘Hope that little shit doesn’t take it out on her.’ Pete kept his voice down as they headed for the main door. ‘Reckon she might know something, even if she doesn’t realise it.’
Liz agreed on both counts. What she didn’t yet know was how to connect all the dots together.