Vince’s phone rang when his hands were in a sink of soapy water.
‘Shall I answer for you?’ Melanie was drying up.
‘Um, yes, okay. I’ll be there in a sec.’
She shot out to the living room while he dried his hands. Dinner was done and his next job was to talk to Melanie before Liz arrived.
Melanie was smiling as she reappeared, chatting to the caller. ‘That will be nice to do. Grandad is here now. Bye, Liz.’ She held the phone out with a solemn ‘Liz the detective is on the phone for you.’
‘Well, thank you. Do you mind finishing the dishes and I’ll be right back?’
‘I will have them all done.’
She probably would. Vince waited until he was in the living room to speak. ‘Sorry, had my hands in water.’
‘Melanie is so sweet. She asked when I am coming over for dinner.’
‘She did?’
‘I suggested next time you both come to my house.’
He couldn’t recall the last time he visited her at home. Must be years.
She continued. ‘I rang to let you know I’m caught up at work tonight. I’m really sorry because I know this is a big deal for you…’
It was relief he felt. Not disappointment.
Call me selfish.
‘What’s happened?’
There was a pause. In the background was shouting. A vaguely familiar voice. ‘Are you at Spironi’s again?’
Liz sighed. ‘Yeah. We found Marco. Just not alive.’
‘Shit. Not an accident?’
‘Not unless he accidentally wrapped his apron strings around his neck and then accidentally moved his body ten metres. Mike is blaming you.’
He checked his watch. ‘When was he killed?’
‘Couple of hours ago. Got an alibi?’ There was a touch of humour in her voice.
‘Probably was walking the pony up to Lyndall’s house about then.’
‘Cool. I’ll get Apple’s statement tomorrow.’
Somebody called her name. McNamara.
‘I have to go, but Vince? Not to alarm you but I have a feeling this wasn’t Hardy. Pete disagrees but something is off. Really off. We’re waiting on a warrant to search Pickering’s warehouse so will you take extra care?’
‘Always. You too. But why the warehouse?’
‘Gotta go.’
‘Lizzie… damn.’
She’d hung up.
Why would they seek a warrant? What was at the warehouse which had anything to do with Hardy… or was he misunderstanding?
This is about David.
Vince sat on the sofa, turning the phone in his fingers. According to Susie, her husband wanted to move further out to a new house. Unbeknown to her, he’d also planned a career move, a big one. Did Pickering know any of this? Was that why they were arguing that night?
And the message on the answering machine. The threat.
I’m done with you ignoring me. Time’s up, Weaver.
Not Pickering—it would be redundant seeing as they were about to have dinner. But Pickering had a stake in something important enough to fight about in a restaurant. In front of a little girl.
‘Grandad? Are you alright?’ Melanie moved her beanbag so she could see him when she flopped into it. She carried one of her art books and some pencils.
‘Sure am. I was just thinking.’
She tilted her head, curious.
‘Nothing important. Did you enjoy your day with Lyndall?’
Her smile answered. ‘She’s so fun. Did you know she used to be a famous artist? Some of her paintings are in big art galleries around the world. But she used a different name and now I’ve forgotten it.’
Is that right? Who is my neighbour?
‘I didn’t know. Well, I know she paints and is very good. But not the rest of it. Did she tell you the name of any of the paintings?’
‘One is called The Alone.’
‘The Alone? That’s kind of a strange name.’
Melanie frowned. ‘She painted it after her family died. All of them did. At least I have you, Grandad.’
Her hand reached out for his and he held it, forcing a smile even as his heart thudded. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Melly-belly. You mean the world to me, and I’ll protect you and be there for you always.’
She seemed satisfied with his answer and withdrew her hand to open the art book. ‘I drew Lyndall, would you like to see?’
‘Sit up here and show me.’
There were so many drawings. Lyndall must be helping Melanie with technique as the quality got better on the last few pages.
‘Here is the one I did of Lyndall while she was drawing me. Isn’t that the funniest idea?’
‘It is very clever. And you have a lot of talent.’
‘Oh! Lyndall said that. She said if I keep practicing then in a couple of years I should find a school which spesh… um, speshal…’
‘Specialises?’
‘Specialises, yes. Thank you. In art.’
‘Hm. That sounds expensive.’
Melanie gave him a slightly impatient look. ‘She says I could get a scholarship.’
‘I see. And what is this? Did you draw a donkey?’
She giggled. ‘They are kinda cute from a long way away. I might draw Apple next.’
‘What about Robbie? Actually, where is Robbie?’
Jumping to her feet, Melanie ran out of the room. Vince picked up the art book and went back to the beginning. Page after page, the images were sad. Random drawings of tears and hearts that were broken in two. She really was talented. One of her mother, smiling, but with angel wings. A small groan left his lips.
One of Vince. The cottage—much nicer than it was in reality.
Then a series of faces. Carla, smiling. Pickering, angry. And another man… a lean face was all he could make out because she’d scribbled over it and all that was left was his eyes.
‘He’s angry.’
Vince shut the book.
‘You found Robbie.’
‘He was playing with the spinning toy.’ She gently deposited him on the bean bag, and he meowed at Vince. ‘It’s okay to look at the pictures.’
‘Who is the angry man? Only if you want to tell me.’
‘I don’t know his name. I might draw for a while. Robbie, will you sit on my lap?’
Vince handed over the art book and tickled Robbie’s head. ‘Do you mind if I go do some more boring paperwork? You sit here near the fire and stay warm, and I might pop that apple pie into the oven to warm up.’
She grinned. ‘Hurry up!’
‘But what if it doesn’t taste good?’
‘Impossible. It was made with love.’
He bit his lip to steady himself. This little girl was his whole world. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for her and that included finding out who the ‘angry man’ was.
Carla wasn’t at home.
After driving around for half an hour processing what happened at the cemetery, Bradley knew he had to make an appearance. She’d be worried.
He stopped at the local liquor shop, chatted to the assistant for a while in full view of the camera, then went home to a house in darkness.
‘Baby? Where are you?’
When no answer came, he ran upstairs. Then back down again.
‘Carla, I’m home.’
Hadn’t she said she was having a shower then starting dinner? But the shower hadn’t been used… she always left the extruder fan on for ages. And the kitchen showed no signs of any preparation.
Did she go shopping?
That must be it. All day, she’d been loving and thankful for his small gesture of helping with the furniture for Melanie’s room and she must have decided to buy ingredients for a special dinner.
His stomach turned. What if that bedroom ended up as a memorial for a child caught in the middle of a war not of her making?
He shook the thought away and dialled Carla’s number. It went to her voicemail. ‘Hi baby, I’m home now. Did you go shopping? I can order in if you like. Anyway, give me a call.’
This was annoying. She never went out without leaving a note. He poured a gin and tonic and stared out through the living room window for her car, rubbing his neck.
Roscoe was a nutter, grabbing him like that.
And Abel’s threat to the man, his so-called friend, who’d done nothing other than intervene? It showed a whole different side to his employee. Bradley had been under the impression the two were old school mates, leveraging off each other’s positions for mutual benefit. But tonight painted a different picture. Roscoe acted as though he was afraid of Abel. He’d backed down more than once during the conversation.
A message arrived from Carla.
‘Hurry up, Carla, I’m hungry.’
Another message… but not his wife—signalled a deposit into his secret account for an eye-watering amount. Roscoe had come through with the up-front payment for their next client which meant they were in business.
Early retirement with his own yacht and European home was just around the corner.
The warehouse entry points offered little resistance to bolt cutters and a battering ram. Liz and Pete led a small group of uniformed officers who spread out to cover different parts of the property.
Pete collected the chain he’d cut. Anything that might lead to the theft of the van would go to FSD.
‘You know it wasn’t stolen, Liz?’ Pete caught up with her inside the side door. ‘The question is who drove it the night of the crash.’
‘Agree. And much as they’ll try to pin it on someone else, only Farrelly and Pickering had anything close to a motive.’ She found the overhead lights. ‘If Vince’s information is correct and David wanted out because of criminal activity, then he was a liability.’
‘So which one do we call to advise we’re here?’
‘Pickering. He’s the owner.’ Liz headed to the back of the warehouse. ‘How many shipping containers were here the other day when you stuck your head in?’
‘Four.’
‘Three now. Let’s take a look at his office. Find out where it went.’
A search of Pickering’s desk came up with an answer of sorts. Pickering had signed a contract with Duncan Chandler to make space available to new destinations. In the same week, he had made an agreement with a local freight company to pick up regular containers from the warehouse.
‘All looks legit,’ Liz said. ‘But there’s an interesting receipt here.’ She handed it to Pete. ‘Three months payment as a deposit. Is that normal?’
‘Doubt it. Either they weren’t sure of his commitment or solvency, or he needed something done quickly. Do you have the specs on that container?’ He took a photo of the receipt.
‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘According to this, the first shipment was due to leave the day before yesterday but was delayed until last night.’ Liz felt sick. ‘Terry and I passed a truck loaded with a container around the corner when we got back from Roscoe’s place. Thought nothing of it as it was in the direction of the docks… but also the freeway.’
‘You couldn’t know. I’ll help you find its number and chase up the freight company. I’ve left a message for Pickering.’
‘Then give me a hand going through that filing cabinet before he gets under our feet.’