‘Marco? Well, you must be.’ Vince rested the palm of his hand on the wall near the waiter’s head, effectively blocking him from running thanks to the dumpster on his other side.
The kid shrank back. ‘I’m not Marco.’
‘Apron says otherwise.’
‘Um… not mine. Borrowed.’
‘Your colleagues inside have been most helpful, Marco,’ Vince said. ‘Ran through the events of the evening David Weaver, Bradley Pickering, and their families were here for the final time together.’
‘I wasn’t working.’
There was panic in the kid’s eyes. Someone had threatened him. Or blackmailed him.
‘Yes you were. Mike’s confirmed it.’
Marco expressed his feelings about that in a string of expletives. Even one Vince had never heard.
‘Feel better? Good. Look, I’m not here to arrest you. Not this time. And we can keep this conversation between us? Okay?’
Perhaps his run of bluffing people was at an end. Marco’s lips were clamped together. Was it fear? Or fear of losing something if he talked?
‘We both know you overheard an argument between David and Bradley. I’m not interested in you… not unless you refuse to help me.’
‘Wadda you want?’
‘The little girl. Melanie? Did she hear what they said?’
Marco’s eyes darted left and right and then back to Vince’s. ‘How could I know what she heard?’
‘Did you see her near them?’
Beads of perspiration formed on Marco’s forehead.
Give me something.
‘She’s a little girl, mate. Whole life ahead of her. Did you know she was in the back seat of the car when a van hit it and forced it into a tree? She saw her parents die. Did you know she is all alone in the world apart from her grandfather? She’ll never see her mum again. Never hug her. Or her dad.’
‘Then you’d better keep her safe.’ Marco ducked under Vince’s arm and ran.
‘Holy shit.’ Vince took off after him.
Marco was gone by the time he reached the end of the alley. As he doubled over, desperately drawing in air, the words ran through his mind over and over.
You’d better keep her safe.
Short of a road trip to Gippsland, the best Liz could do was trawl through years’ worth of news reports from Abel Farrelly’s home town of Moe. She’d been there a couple of times on the way to other destinations and remembered little other than a sense of a town not ageing well despite its pretty aspect. Lots of empty shops.
Statistically, the town had a high crime rate compared to the state average. Almost double. Income was lower. Not unlike many small towns which once flourished but over the decades had failed to grow and thrive.
Beginning the year of Farrelly’s birth, she searched for his surname. There was mention of his birth as the first child to his parents. No later children appeared. His father owned a hardware store which burned to the ground in a non-suspicious fire when Farrelly was a young teen. The newspaper article described it as a loss to the town and that it was lucky nobody was hurt.
She found the obituary of his parents only two years on… killed in a house fire.
‘Are you serious?’
This had made the front page of the local paper with a disturbing image of the destroyed home and a body in a bag being carried out. Abel was described as an orphan with no remaining family. He was fifteen. Later reports advised the fire was deemed accidental after a fireplace mishap. Six months on was a sports article about promising AFL players Abel Farrelly and Richard Roscoe being suspended from the local football grand final for undisclosed club offences.
Liz cut and pasted all the references and printed off one document, complete with links. As minors, Farrelly or Roscoe would have had any disciplinary action kept quiet but someone would know. It took several phone calls to track down the man who’d coached the team that year.
‘My goodness, that was half a lifetime ago, officer.’ Bob Kirk now lived in Queensland in his retirement. ‘That team suffered with the loss of those two boys but I had no choice. Break the rules, lose your place.’
‘What rules in particular?’
‘Am I allowed to speak of it? I don’t have to make a formal statement do I?’
‘Not at all. This is purely to help me piece together the early lives of Abel and Richard. Anything at all you remember will make a difference.’
‘Well, in that case, I remember being disappointed in Richard. He came from a good family, a stable family. Both boys were bright, but Richard had the ability to do anything with his life. Abel… well, his background was different.’
‘With his parents’ dying?’ Liz scribbled notes.
‘Before then. I don’t usually speak ill of the dead, but his father was a nasty piece of work. The kid worked in that hardware shop of his from a young age and was knocked to the ground in front of customers more than once. When they died, Abel went to live with Richard’s family and I thought it would help but if anything, he led Richard down a bad path.’
‘Mr Kirk, do you recall why they were suspended?’
‘After the fuss Richard Roscoe senior made when I made that decision?’ He snorted. ‘Stuck to my guns despite him telling me boys will be boys. Rubbish. Boys are no different from anyone else and if they blackmail a fellow team member then they get what’s coming. Lucky it wasn’t escalated to the police.’
‘Blackmail?’
‘They got photos of another lad kissing a girl—means nothing these days but the kid was from a strict religious family and would have been in a helluva lot of trouble. Never found out how far it went but those two had the lad scared and paying them weekly. Wasn’t having that nonsense in my team.’
After finishing the call, Liz returned to the whiteboard.
Farrelly and Roscoe on the pier that night had seemed such an odd pairing. The argument, the push, and then the shaking of hands. Were they even friends or was this adult relationship connected to their past behaviour? A lawyer and a warehouse foreman on opposite ends of the professional and financial world. At least, on the surface.
‘What did the coach say?’
Pete joined her to pin up a printed image.
‘That Farrelly and Roscoe not only lived in the same house as teens but blackmailed another kid for a while. Farrelly was abused at home. The family business burned down when he was thirteen and the family house two years later and both parents died in it.’
‘Shit. That’s a whole lot of backstory from one phone call.’ He pointed at the image. ‘All I have is this shadowy figure at Talbot railway station.’
Liz peered closer. A man waited on the dark platform, hands in the pockets of an overcoat and a hat pulled down. ‘Is that the best one?’
‘So far. I’ve asked local police to talk to their local traders who have cameras on the streets he might have taken but I think he’d have kept to back roads.’
Liz patted his shoulder. ‘Okay, I’ll keep you for a bit longer. Good work.’
‘Before you two get too lovey-dovey, Vince just called. He’s at Spironi’s and is about to get himself into trouble.’ Terry waved them out. ‘Remind him he’s not a cop, please.’
‘He misrepresented himself as a police officer! Isn’t that illegal?’ Mike’s face was red and he waved his arms around.
Pete nodded solemnly, clearly enjoying the situation they’d walked into. He’d be loving the idea that he could turn the tables and get Vince in trouble as payback for the investigation into Pete which almost ended his career all those years ago. He’d been exonerated but Vince had done the right thing reporting Pete’s suspicious behaviour at the time. Not that Pete saw it that way.
They were in the alley behind Spironi’s with Mike and Vince, who’d been shouting at each other when they arrived. Liz immediately sent Vince to the opposite side with an ‘I’ll get to you shortly’ before trying to placate the waiter. He was getting more worked up and she’d had enough.
‘Mike, do you remember me having a meal here recently? I asked about the night the Weavers were here.’
‘No.’
‘Sure you do. You told me they were nice people. Good customers. You remembered their little girl.’
He glared across at Vince, who stood, legs apart and arms crossed, staring back. ‘He chased off my waiter.’
‘Who was hiding out here waiting for you to give him the all clear.’
‘Vince, shut up.’ Liz turned her back to him. ‘Mike, ignore him for the minute please. You told me that Marco had served their table and that he mentioned overhearing an argument. Up past the restrooms, you told me.’
Finally meeting her eyes, Mike nodded. ‘I did say that.’
Oh thank heaven!
‘When I came back another time and spoke to Marco, he denied it. Said you were mistaken, so if you sent him out here while Vince was inside asking questions about him, there must be a reason.’
‘He was scared.’
‘Of what?’
‘Ask Marco,’ Mike said.
‘I’ll need his address and phone number. Did someone threaten him? Because we can offer protection.’
Mike’s mouth opened and closed again.
‘Something happened in your restaurant, Mike. We think it led to the car crash which took the life of Vince’s daughter.’
‘You should have said.’ Mike gazed at Vince. ‘I did not know you were her father.’
Vince kept his mouth shut for once.
‘Marco was told to stay quiet about what he heard or saw, and I have no more details. I’ll get his address.’ Mike made for the back door, Pete on his heels.
Liz took a deep breath. This was progress.
‘I knew he was hiding something.’
‘This is time I needed to use elsewhere, Vince.’
He didn’t look the least bit ashamed of himself and why would he?
‘Lizzie, before your idiot partner comes back, Marco said something which is bugging me. He told me I’d better keep Melanie safe.’
‘Context?’
‘I’d said she only had her grandfather left in the world now.’
‘He didn’t tell you to be careful?’
‘No. To keep her safe.’ He looked down for a moment and muttered something she didn’t catch.
‘Vince?’
‘Maybe… okay, you can talk to her. About that night.’ His expression, when he raised his head, hurt her to see. This was painful for him.
‘Do you want me to come to you… or bring her to the station?’
‘Am I right to go? I have ground to cover before I pick her up.’
‘Sure. Let me know?’
He nodded and turned on his heel. In a moment he was out of sight. He was on some kind of mission today, focused. Determined.
Just stay out of trouble.
Marco wasn’t at his apartment and a door knock of his immediate neighbours didn’t help. Nobody knew anything.
‘Can’t sit here waiting for him, Liz.’ For someone complaining about waiting in the car, Pete looked comfortable. He took a large bite of the burger he’d just picked up.
‘We’ll stay until you finish eating. Which smells disgusting.’ She wound down a window. ‘I’d really like to chat to young Marco and find out who he met with.’
‘Pickering.’
‘Most obvious choice. But what if Pickering is in the middle of something criminal? Something bigger than we know. All he’d need to do is let slip he had that argument and one of his cronies might step in. I’m not seeing where Hardy fits in. Nor Roscoe and now he and his fancy car are cut loose with no evidence. ‘
Her phone beeped a message. Vince.
It was going to be another long day.
‘Pete, you’ve had a bit to do with child witnesses… I have permission to speak to Melanie Weaver about the restaurant, maybe even the car crash.’
He chewed for a while, thinking. Pete’s experience was broader than hers thanks to undercover assignments and time working closely with Terry back in organised crime. She always trusted him with serious matters. It was the peripheral stuff which annoyed her.
‘She’s a smart little cookie, which means she’s sensitive as well. For whatever reason—shock, fear, disbelief—she’s closed off the normal channels of communication. Trauma. As long as she remembers, you’ll find a way if you tiptoe. But don’t underestimate her. If you are direct with your questions, in a gentle way, she’ll feel more trusting.’
Crap. How’d did you get so wise?
‘I think she likes me so that’s a start. The other thing is that she draws a lot. Like, everything.’
‘Get her to draw what happened.’ Pete shoved the rest of the burger into his mouth.
After another look down and across the road, with no sign of Marco, Liz started the car. She’d ask for someone to watch for him. Sooner or later he’d go back to Spironi’s or home. It wasn’t as if anyone else was looking for him.