Chapter Forty

At the police station, Jack was left alone in an interview room, and he settled himself on the uncomfortable plastic chair to wait. Begley and Kowalski were no doubt interviewing the fishermen in another room, and organising an ongoing supply of crustaceans.

Jack’s phone rang – it was Nicola Fox. He answered, ‘I’m in the police station.’

‘I’ll be quick. There are faint abrasions and pressure marks on the remaining ankle. No embedded rope fibres. The pattern may be from a chain. You didn’t hear that.’ She ended the call.

The abrasions were just what Jack was expecting. Whoever killed Patrick must have submerged the body for a day or so and released it when they removed the orange buoy. Perhaps they thought the prolonged immersion would make the body look less suspicious, or wash away any forensic evidence. It seemed a lot of trouble to go to, and yet Jack shouldn’t have been surprised – everything had been so meticulously planned, the murderers had almost got away with the deception.

An hour passed before Begley and Kowalski entered and sat facing him across the table. Kowalski nodded acknowledgement. Begley just glowered.

Jack wasn’t perturbed when Kowalski switched on the equipment to record the interview, but was shocked when he began reciting the cautions Jack had heard so many times before. Surely he wasn’t being considered a suspect?

Begley asked, ‘Tell me why I shouldn’t charge you with murder?’

‘What?’

‘You found a leg in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. You had the crab fishermen take you straight to the exact location. That implies you knew where it was in advance. Oldest trick in the book, of course, pretending to assist us with our enquiries to remove suspicion from yourself.’

Jack laughed. ‘I thought you’d be offering me an honorary appointment at the station, given I’m the only one doing any policing around here. Or at least roll out some red carpet, even just a metre or two.’

Begley glared. ‘You still haven’t told me why I shouldn’t charge you.’

Jack told him about finding Eric in the forest, the vanishing orange buoy, and the crab fisherman. He didn’t mention it was Kowalski who suggested he speak with Rosco.

Begley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. ‘Okay, you got lucky. Someone saw the buoy and gave you the perfect cover story for going back for the leg and making yourself look innocent.’

Jack wasn’t intimidated by the bluster. ‘You’re sore because I made you look foolish, and so you want to take me out. Go ahead, charge me. You’ll just look even more incompetent.’

Begley looked at Kowalski then nodded to the recording equipment. Kowalski announced the termination of the interview and stopped the recording.

Begley said, ‘Your account is corroborated by the fishermen. I needed to be certain before the homicide detectives arrive from Sydney.’

Kowalski looked surprised. ‘Sydney? What about our guys?’

Begley turned to Kowalski, an eyebrow raised as if to say his question wasn’t appropriate in front of Jack. ‘Overruled by the assistant commissioner. He’s flying up Duffy and Maguire.’

‘For God’s sake,’ said Kowalski. ‘Not them.’

‘I know. Two of the most useless detectives on the planet.’ Begley turned to Jack. ‘And that’s off the record. In fact, this whole bloody thing is off the record.’ He placed his hands on the desk, clearly thinking, before addressing Kowalski. ‘Perhaps you’d fetch Mr Harris a cup of coffee?’

Kowalski’s faced tensed and, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he stood abruptly and left – operating the coffee machine was apparently not in the sergeant’s job description.

Jack wondered whether Begley intended to shirtfront him up against the wall again, but instead the policeman remained seated and spoke quietly.

‘Something really stinks here. Skippy the fucking Kangaroo has solved more crimes than Duffy and Maguire combined. Which means, as bloody irritating as it is to team up with a journalist, especially a Harris journalist, we find ourselves on the same side. I want to know what the hell is going on. So, anything you tell the detectives, or choose not to tell the detectives, I want you to tell me. I don’t trust them.’

Jack nodded, even though he wasn’t really sure what he was signing up for.

Begley continued. ‘And none of this is to go into your bloody shit-sheet, comprendez?’

Before Jack could respond, Kowalski re-entered and placed a cup before Jack none too gently, some coffee splashing onto the plastic table.

‘Now,’ said Begley, ‘tell me everything again, and I mean everything, or I’ll charge you with obstructing a murder investigation.’

Jack’s natural reaction was that if you were ever going to tell a policeman like Begley anything it would be to go fuck themself, but he knew he and Caitlin couldn’t do this alone and that they would need help – police help – if Patrick’s killers were to be caught. And it sounded like Begley and Kowalski would be better allies than the incoming detectives. He would have to trust them. Mostly. And so he started from the beginning: Patrick’s fears for his personal safety, the new life insurance policy, the laptop exchange, the duplicate security key to Patrick’s front door, The Beacon being searched, Eric’s account of the black van and the boat and, finally, Jack’s theory of the motive being to suppress the story Patrick was pursuing.

Begley was quiet as he digested what Jack had told them. ‘And that’s the lot?’ He stabbed a threatening, nicotine-stained finger towards Jack. ‘If you are holding anything back …’

Jack shook his head. Although there was one thing he was definitely not going to tell them – if he did, it would be goodbye memory stick forever.

Begley stood and offered his hand to Jack before leaving. It could have been interpreted as a conciliatory gesture if Begley’s face didn’t look as if he’d just been forced into a deal with the devil.

Kowalski waited until Begley was gone. ‘In the absence of anyone else, I’d like to thank you for your help.’ They shook hands. ‘Take care, Jack. These are dangerous people. I don’t want you to be the forensic pathologist’s next case.’