Jill looked down at Brian. ‘Come on, boy.’ She took a few steps, making her way across the park to speak to Patrick Hill’s neighbour, but then stopped. She wanted to speak to Jordan first. She double-backed to the patrol car. He was in the back seat, his mother by his side. They got out of the car. Jill introduced herself and was about to question Jordan more when she changed her mind. The boy was shaking and clearly in no state to talk. She arranged a time for him and his mother to come into the station tomorrow to give a formal statement.
The woman wrapped her arms around her son and they walked away. Jill tried to imagine her own mother but time blurred memories. She had photos of her, of course, and her father had talked about how kind and funny she was, but with her father dead there was nobody to share her memories. Even memories of her father were beginning to fade. They were slipping away and she could no longer hold onto them.
She sighed. ‘Let’s go, Brian.’ She pulled on the lead and headed across the park to Glover Street. They both could do with a walk. The ground was water-logged but at least the rain had stopped.
Jill stood at the front door of Patrick Hill’s neighbour’s cottage and rang the doorbell. Brian was jumping up on his hind legs, scratching at the door. Jill tugged at the lead and pulled him away.
The cottage was similar in style and age to the cottage next door and while she waited for the door to be answered, she looked around and noticed the well-kept garden. When she rang the doorbell again, the door opened. The woman was in her dressing gown.
‘Brian. Just look at you, what have you been up to?’
The dog pulled away from Jill and bounded off down the hall, sliding across the polished timber floorboards as he raced towards the back of the house.
Jill showed her ID. ‘Detective Brennan from Chatswood Police.’
‘Goodness, what is it? Has something happened to Mr Hill?’
‘Why would you ask that?’
‘Well, after that poor policemen killed himself the other day, we’ve all been on edge.’
Jill knew the neighbour would find out sooner or later. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Mr Hill is dead.’
‘Oh my dear Lord. Come in dear, you look half frozen. I’ll make us a nice cup of coffee.’
Jill set about removing her wet rain jacket and muddy boots then followed the woman down the hall into a large family room at the rear. The smell of coffee and toast reminded Jill she’d skipped breakfast. The woman put on the kettle, and while she waited for it to boil she picked up Brian; she didn’t seem to mind the dog was covered in mud. She stroked his back gently with her bony fingers and his pink skin showed through the fur.
‘It was his heart wasn’t it? I warned him.’
Jill didn’t respond.
‘I knew it would be his heart that got him in the end. It was the shock of finding that poor policeman in the park the other night. I’ve never seen Mr Hill so agitated. He was an old-fashioned type, not the sort of man to show emotion. Not like nowadays where everyone from pollies to footballers ball their eyes out on the telly at the drop of a hat.’
Jill gave a nod. ‘What sort of man was he apart from being old-fashioned?’
The woman put Brian down on the floor. ‘Well dear, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I did have my suspicions about him.’ The kettle had boiled and the woman busied herself making two coffees.
‘What sort of suspicions?’
The woman turned around, raised her eyebrows. ‘Drugs!’
‘Really?’ Hill wasn’t the typical drug-type.
The woman nodded and then loaded a tray with the coffees, milk, sugar and a plate of salt crackers. She led Jill through to the living room and they sat down on the sofa.
Jill poured milk into her coffee. ‘What makes you think Mr Hill was involved in drugs?’
‘It was all the comings and goings. I knew it had to be drugs. What else could it have been?’ She picked up the plate of crackers. ‘Would you like one dear?’
Jill waved her hand. ‘No, thanks. Tell me more about these comings and goings?’
‘Asians.’ The woman slurped her tea.
‘Asians?’
‘Yes, they’d pull up in their cars. Turn the engine off and wait. Then they’d go in. Sometimes they had children with them. I was outraged. Those children should have been in bed.’
‘So, how often did you see them?’ Jill asked.
‘Not very often, maybe once a month.’ She took another sip of coffee and stared out the window.
‘Was there anything else?’ Jill asked.
A pause, then, ‘Well, there was the night the policeman died. I just happened to be closing the curtains when I saw one of them. He was waiting like the rest, except he didn’t go next door to Mr Hill’s. I saw him get out of his car and walk off towards Callan Park.’