The wind picked up. Rimis gripped his coat closed with one hand and darted across the road to the Great Northern Hotel on the corner of Mowbray Road. He would have preferred to meet DCI Scott Carver at Otto’s Bar, but it was on the other side of town and he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him back on his desk.
The hotel’s wood-panelled interior, antique Chesterfield lounges and faux deer head, reminded him of an old English hunting lodge. He spotted Carver sitting at a table next to the open fire, studying the lunch menu.
There were advantages to being a DI, Rimis thought as he stopped at the bar but he thought he’d be pushing his luck if he ordered a glass of red, so he ordered tomato juice instead. When his drink arrived he went over to join Chief Inspector Carver.
Carver stood up. ‘Good to see you again, Nick.’ They shook hands.
‘Good to see you too, Scotty. It’s blowing a gale out there.’ Rimis put his glass down on the table and draped his coat over the back of the chair. He glanced up at the flat-screen television mounted on the wall. The soccer was on and Argentina was playing Uruguay. The volume was turned down low. He picked up the menu and gave it a momentary glance.
‘Still playing golf?’ Rimis asked.
‘Yeah, I’ve been working on my handicap. Takes time, lots of practice, like anything else.’ Carver looked down at his glass. ‘I was having a look at last quarter’s crime stats before I left the office. North Shore Local Area Command figures are looking good…there’s been a drop in break and enters.’
‘We do our best. Community policing seems to be working. Detective Choi, our local liaison officer, does a good job interfacing with the Chinese community.’
‘Yes. Detective Jenny Choi. I read her report on Adam Lee, the Asian boy who was attacked at the Interchange. I still think the assault on Lee has something to do with these Asian gangs operating all over Sydney. That attack last week on the restaurant in Dixon Street, we’re pretty certain was part of Red Cave’s bid to extend its control from Hurstville and Parramatta to Chinatown.
They could be pushing for control in Chatswood as well. Keep me informed, will you? We’ve got to put a stop to these gangs before we lose control. Up until now they only targeted the Asian community for its membership, but now they’re recruiting along social rather than ethnic lines.’ Carver took a sip of his water. ‘And what about this optometrist who was murdered, David Cheung?’
‘I’ve got Detectives Brennan and Rawlings working on the case.’ Rimis pulled at his tie. ‘We established Mrs Cheung and their son, Benjamin, boarded a flight to Hong Kong the night Cheung was murdered. If we can track them down, they might be able to shed some light.’ Rimis eyed Carver, sensed he wanted to talk to him about something other than crime statistics and Asian gangs. The conversation to date was a phone call, not a lunch meeting.
‘What do you feel like to eat? I normally have the fish and chips, they’re always good,’ Rimis said.
‘Okay then, I’ll have the same. Order some extra lemon with it, will you?’
Rimis ordered the two meals and returned with a set of cutlery and napkins.
Scott fiddled with his knife. ‘Terrible business, this suicide at Callan Park.’
Ah, so that was it.
‘How’s morale?’ Carver asked.
‘Not good.’
Carver nodded.
Rimis glanced up at the screen. Argentina had just scored a goal. ‘We checked Calloway’s computer. He’d visited a couple of mental health sites and when I spoke to his boss, DI Perris, he told me Calloway had used up all his annual leave and sick leave. Also said he’d seen a change in his attitude recently.’ Rimis took a sip from his glass. ‘There’s talk he had a gambling problem.’
Carver raised his eyebrows.
‘Horses,’ Rimis said. ‘Perris was planning to have a disciplinary talk with him, but never got the chance.’
‘What about drugs and alcohol? Usually if you’re addicted to one, you’re addicted to the other.’
‘We’re still waiting on the autopsy,’ Rimis said.
Scott Carver moved the salt and pepper, shakers to the middle of the table. ‘What’s your opinion of Jill Brennan?’ Carver asked.
‘Jill?’ Rimis smiled. ‘She can be a loose cannon at times but she’s one of the best officers I’ve ever worked with. She’s hard-working, intelligent, dedicated, and possesses an inherent tendency to follow her instincts.’
Carver leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. ‘Her father was the same. Mickey was always going out on a limb to get a result, and look what happened to him.’
Rimis didn’t need to be reminded of what happened to Mickey Brennan. The man behind the Kevin Taggart art fraud case was Dorin Chisca, a Romanian drug lord who gunned down Jill’s father in a drug raid in Lakemba.
Rimis rubbed his chin and remembered how he’d taken Brennan to task about the way the Taggart case had ended, but he’d also praised her for her cool head when the crazy mongrel turned up at her apartment with murder on his mind.
‘Scotty, there’s something I think you need to know.’
‘Go on,’ Carver said.
‘Calloway’s gun’s missing. We’ve searched his house, but there’s no sign of it.’ Carver was silent for a bit, then: ‘I might as well be frank with you, Nick. I did have my doubts at first, but the more I hear about what was going on in Calloway’s life, the more I’m convinced it was suicide. And now his gun? Maybe he had plans to use it on himself, chickened out at the last moment and jumped from the tower, instead.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. But that doesn’t explain where the gun is. Either way, we need to find it.’
Scott Carver nodded. ‘I agree.’
They talked about golf and Rimis’s gym class he’d signed up for until their meals arrived.
‘Fish and chips?’
Both Carver and Rimis looked up at the attractive waitress. She smiled and put the plates down in front of them.
Rimis squeezed tomato sauce over his chips. Carver squeezed lemon on his fish. They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Carver spoke between mouthfuls.
‘Look, Nick, as you know Calloway’s death has wider repercussions. And everyone knows politically, Callan Park is a no-go zone.’ Carver put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘The less attention drawn to it, the better. And the Commissioner is none too happy with the effect Calloway’s suicide is having on morale.’ Carver took a few more bites. ‘The media and the police association are up in arms over it as well; they’re calling for more support for police officers living with PTSD. Did you watch that documentary last night on SBS?’
‘Yeah, couldn’t believe the timing.’ Rimis knew frontline policing was one of the most difficult and selfless jobs in society. Just by doing their job, police officers faced as much emotional trauma as military personnel serving inside a war zone. But nobody within the force wanted to talk about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was considered a contagious disease; show empathy to colleagues, you become weak and end up in a downward spiral yourself.
They finished their meals in silence.
When he was done, Carver pushed his empty plate to one side. ‘There’ve been mumblings from above, Nick. When mental health and Callan Park are mentioned in the same sentence, there’s always a political backlash. Nobody wants to have a cop suicide rubbed in their faces, nor do they want a reminder of Callan Park’s dark past as a lunatic asylum.’
Rimis sighed. It was a no-go zone, all right. Now he just had to convince Jill.