Vince had never considered himself a tech-savvy person but lately he was surprising himself with what he could work out. Finding his way around computer systems had been part of being a police officer, but more recent technology such as navigation on mobile phones wasn’t around back then.
His maths was strong, and his father was a carpenter so he’d learned from a young age how to calculate measurements. What he was doing now was simply a mixture of several skills.
He had a map of the city laid out on the kitchen table, folded to show the western suburbs out as far as his home and back across to Lygon Street in Carlton. He’d downloaded his travel record to his computer and moved the data to a spreadsheet showing start and end points, distance, time. With a black marker and ruler he traced where he’d been.
Pickering’s house to Susie’s house.
Susie’s to the police station.
Police station to Lygon Street.
Lygon St to warehouse.
Warehouse to Balwyn North.
Balwyn North to home.
He calculated the route from the Pickering’s to Susie’s and then worked out Lygon Street to Susie's. He knew what time the bill was paid at Spironi’s, thanks to David’s credit card statement arriving in the post at Susie’s house this morning.
‘And it doesn’t add up.’
After checking his notes he sat back, unsettled. Unless David had stopped somewhere between the restaurant and home, the time of the accident made no sense. There was more than half an hour missing. Bradley had looked him in the eye when he’d asked about the moment his family left Spironi’s. ‘They drove off with a wave. Melanie was sleepy. Nothing out of the ordinary, Vince.’
Then why did it take so long and why would they take that road?
He messaged Liz’s phone.
Within a minute his phone rang.
‘I was going to message you the same question,’ she began. ‘I looked at the time and thought it might be a bit late.’
‘Why?’
He got to his feet not wanting to disturb Melanie. The living room felt cold without the fire.
‘A lot has happened this evening, Vince. For one, we think… we’re pretty certain, that Malcolm Hardy is hidden inside a shipping container on its way to Far North Queensland. Him and a load of toys.’
‘Pickering.’
David must have known something.
‘Yes. Who we can’t locate at the moment. The other thing is that we have new information about the night of the crash.’
Vince sank onto the armchair. ‘Go on.’
‘A waiter from Spironi’s came forward. Pickering arrived late and left early that evening. From what he understood, Susie and David were going to drop Carla home.’
His eyes closed and his body slumped back. ‘That’s why.’
‘That’s why what?’
‘There was half an hour missing that night. And why else would David take that road?’
‘I’d wondered it myself but hadn’t had a chance to do the calculations with all the crap around Hardy,’ Liz said. ‘I can’t believe this is all connected.’
‘He lied to me.’ He rubbed his eyes with his spare hand then opened them. ‘Little shit told me he’d waved goodbye as they drove off when they all left the restaurant. Lizzie, he would know what their route was.’
‘You think he’s behind the accident.’
‘Don’t you?’
There was a long silence then Liz spoke softly. ‘I’m going to come to you. Is the cottage locked up?’
‘Why? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘You told me Melanie said something about David arguing with Pickering.’
‘Except he doesn’t know that.’
‘Yeah. I think he does.’
You told him somebody had overheard. He thought it was the waiter and killed him.
‘Have you led a killer to my grandchild—’
‘I haven’t. As far as we know he loves her. He certainly loves his wife and wants Melanie to be in their care, so it is you I’m worried about because you are the obstacle to their perfect life. You told us he’s tried to blackmail you, and somebody is doing the rounds getting rid of people in their way. If he imagines Melanie told you anything then of course you are in his sights.’
Vince went to check the windows. There was no sign of movement outside, not even any traffic. Just a typical late evening. In the far distance, lightning streaked through the sky.
‘Look, either bundle Melanie up and bring both of you here, or else I’ll head up shortly.’ There was an edge to Liz’s voice. Worry.
‘Rather not frighten her. Okay, if it makes you feel better, come up. I can show you what I’ve been working on.’
‘See you soon.’
Nobody would get into the cottage. Not unless they made a hell of a lot of noise breaking windows and by that time, Vince would have Melanie out of here. He’d thought about escape plans a hundred times, not just for Mel but for Susie after he’d killed the Anzac Day shooter. For years he’d lived in fear of some relative or friend coming to get him.
Nothing and no-one would harm Melanie.
Liz was heading out when the watch officer called her. Somebody wanted to report a missing woman—Carla Pickering.
You have to be kidding.
Bradley Pickering waited where he’d been sent to sit.
Here, in the station, we couldn’t identify a current wanted person when he rocks up?
As she passed the officer, he whispered, ‘Thought it best to keep him unaware of his status.’
I take it back.
Pickering looked up when she neared, a scowl crossing an already angry face. ‘You?’
‘Do you want help finding Carla?’
He got to his feet and followed her. Until she got him into an interview room she wasn’t about to spook him. Having dropped himself into her lap, as it were, he obviously had no idea there was a city-wide alert for his apprehension.
‘Take a seat, Mr Pickering.’
She ran through the usual words about the interview and sat opposite.
Pete will be annoyed he missed this.
‘When was the last time you saw Carla?’
‘Um… before dinner. Well, she said she was going to shower and then begin dinner. I had a meeting to go to.’
‘But what time?’
‘Six? Bit later.’
‘Was that the last time you spoke to her?’
He shot her an impatient glance.
‘Mr Pickering, is Carla missing? Or just not at home?’
‘Missing. She never just goes off. Ever. And she sent me a text message at seven forty-five saying she was shopping. Getting something nice for our dinner. We have a lot to celebrate.’
‘Something special?’
‘Yes. But she still hasn’t come home, and I’ve dialled her dozens of times.’
Of course you have.
The man was certifiable.
‘Where have you been for the past six hours or so?’
‘Me? What does that matter?’
‘Putting a picture together.’
‘Fine. I had a brief meeting to attend, went home, waited for Carla, then went looking for her. Local shops, then a bit further afield to some she likes to go to when she’s after special ingredients. There’s a couple of places open late she likes.’
‘Where was the meeting?’
Mouth open to answer, Pickering snapped it shut.
‘General area?’
‘Nothing to do with Carla being missing.’
‘In that case, tell me about your arrangement with Richard Roscoe to transport Malcolm Hardy to Far North Queensland.’
And there it was.
If a person could have shrunk into the ground, it would have been Pickering. An expression of disbelief, then horror crossed his face. Liz was happy to wait. It didn’t take long.
‘I want to see my lawyer.’
‘Why did you lie about leaving Spironi’s early the night of the crash, and that your wife was driven home by David Weaver?’
‘I said I want a lawyer.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
As soon as she left the room, Liz texted Vince.
The message from Liz helped. He’d been on high alert and now, he let himself breathe—Pickering’s people would lay low until they heard from their boss.
In preparation for a quick exit, his laptop and important items were in a backpack along with chargers and bottled water. If he’d had to get them out of the cottage without time to pack, at least they’d have something to drink until they got to a safer place.
But now I can rest.
Or at least lay down until dawn.
He tapped a message back to let Liz know not to bother driving up and then turned off the kitchen light and went to his bedroom. Rain began to fall in a gentle staccato on the roof.