A Certain Malice (26 page)

FIRE KILLS POLICE FAMILY

The wife and a son of a police sergeant due to testify against Razorback gang members, died yesterday when a fire swept through their Randwick home. Police Sergeant Cameron Fraser found his home on fire when he returned from his older child’s netball game, and was badly burned when he tried to rescue his family from the inferno. He was rushed to hospital where his condition is listed as serious. Sergeant Fraser had lead the recent raid on the $1 million Blue Mountains bikie dope plantation and was due to give evidence against two Razorback gang members next month. Police are treating the fire as suspicious and appealing to the general public for information.

Ruth’s husband had died in a mysterious house fire.

Cecelia and Cam had almost perished in the burning prefab.

Herb Bell’s body had been burned beyond recognition.

Cecelia screwed her hand into a fist and bit into her knuckles until she tasted blood.

33

SUNDAY

The wait for dawn had been interminable, but worth it. Cam stuck his torch in his belt and crouched on his hands and knees on Vince’s lounge carpet in the manner of a sniffing dog. He held the tweezers in the growing patch of natural light to examine the fibres he’d extracted.

“A perfect match,” he said to himself, feeling his heart leap. No matter how complicated the puzzle, the discovery of the smallest piece was one of the greatest highs he could imagine. Sometimes you just couldn’t fight what you were meant to be.

With shaking hands he dropped the samples in a small evidence envelope and buttoned it into his top pocket, giving it a pat for good measure. He took a moment to stretch the kinks out of his back before sitting on the milk crate to make his call.

Rod’s voice was croaky with sleep on the other end of the telephone line. “Jesus, Cam, have you any idea what time it is?”

Cam glanced at his watch and saw with surprise it was already 6 am. Time ceased to have much meaning when you’d been up all night.

“Actually, I thought it was earlier.” He heard his friend sigh down the line. “After I took Ruby home last night, I called in at the station just as a fax came in. I’ve spent the night following it through.”

“Out with it. It’s Sunday morning and I want to go back to sleep.”

“I have the proof that Vince was murdered.”

The silence was as long as the sigh that preceded it. Finally Rod cleared his throat. “You heard back from the pathologist?”

“Yes, the fax was from him. The toxicology test showed that Vince had chloroform in his system as well as high levels of alcohol.”

“Shit.”

“I went back to his house last night and sifted through it with a fine toothed comb. I found something SOCO missed. There was a wheelbarrow in the garage with traces of carpet fibre in the treads. It matches the carpet in Vince’s lounge room.”

Rod thought for a moment, Cam could almost hear the synapses firing down the line. “So Vince was knocked out with the chloroform, changed into his uniform and taken by wheelbarrow into the garage and hanged.”

“It seems that way.”

“Suspect? Motive?”

“Nothing I can prove yet, but I’m getting closer. Vince and Cliff were mates, but they’d had some kind of a falling out, I’m guessing over the stolen tanker. I think Cliff paid Vince to look the other way when it was stolen. Vince must have decided he needed some extra cash and upped the ante.”

“So Cliff wanted the tanker for parts?”

“More than just parts, it was full of fertiliser. The anhydrous ammonia in fertiliser is a major component in the manufacture of illegal amphetamines.”

“And that ties in with your theory about drug-making at the school.”

Cam caught Jenny’s voice in the background, probably grumbling about the early morning call. “Cam, hang on a moment, I’ll go to the other room.” There was the sound of creaking bedsprings and thumping feet. Rod continued a few seconds later.“So Vince was silenced because of what he knew and what he threatened to tell.”

“Exactly.”

“How does this tie in with Bell’s murder and the attempt on you in the prefab?”

“Bell was knocked off because he knew something valuable was being hidden in the sunken car – he’d probably seen people diving down to it on one of his marron poaching expeditions.”

“The drugs from the school?”

“Bell might not have thought drugs; money would be more appealing to a bloke like him.”

“So he was killed when he went to see for himself? By Cliff, you think?”

Cam watched the morphing shadows on the carpet and sucked at the earpiece of his glasses while he thought through his answer. He knew in his gut that Cliff was behind this, but would not allow himself to jump to unsubstantiated conclusions just yet.

“Maybe,” he said cautiously. “His jemmy was in the car and fibres from Bell’s toes look like they come from his Ugg boots. The only footprints at the scene of the bushfire where the body was dumped were from firemen; the only tyre treads from the fire truck. It stands to reason Cliff murdered Bell at the dam when he caught him snooping around, then used the fire truck to move the body and dump it in the bush.”

“And what about the fire in the prefab?”

“To destroy photos of the school renovations; they show pictures of chemicals stacked in piles outside the building. They’re the most valid proof we have yet of drugs being manufactured at the school. I’m sure Ruth Tilly is involved. She’s probably the one making the drugs for Cliff in the science lab. She knew about Cecelia’s photos, told Cliff, and he decided to burn down the prefab to get rid of them. The locked door was more opportunistic, a good way of getting rid of a pesky cop. Then of course they realised they could pin the fire on Vince and kill two birds with one stone.”

“You never seemed to take Vince’s death on face value. You were cagey from the start.”

“That pushed-back car seat first got my radar working. Vince was big, but not as big as Cliff. The car seat was like that because Cliff moved the car from the garage to make room for Vince to swing.”

There was the sound of a cigarette being lit, then the crackling purse of an inhalation. “Poor old Vince,” Rod said, exhaling.

“The suicide note wasn’t right, either. It was too short, plus the paper had been cut, not torn from the pad. I think it was a clipping from an apology letter Vince sent Ms Bowman. I’ve asked Cecelia to look for it, but I don’t think she’ll find it.”

“Well, Cam, everything seems to fit your theory, but you know what you’re lacking, don’t you?”

Cam tossed his glasses on to the carpet and sighed. “Proof.”

“Exactly.” Rod paused. “I suppose we could always put the science lab under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

“Ancient history. I think they only make the drugs during the holidays, then hide them in the car waiting for Cliff’s bikie buddies to collect. Nothing will happen now till next holidays.”

“You might have enough to arrest Cliff over Bell, but evidence he was involved in Vince’s death is still a bit light.”

“I’m not ready to make any arrests just yet. Who knows what else will fall into my lap if I bide my time? I think the attempt on Mrs Wilmot’s life might be tied in to all this, too. I’m going to see her in hospital this morning and I want to speak to Ruth Tilly again, search the lab if I can. I’ll get cracking now, you go back to sleep.”

“As if,” Rod said, putting down the phone.

Cam raised his voice to match Ruby’s. “You’re going back to Sydney tomorrow and that’s the end of it.”

“I can’t believe you, Dad. This is so not cool. Only last week I was begging you to go back and you wouldn’t even listen to me. Now I want to stay and you insist I bloody go.”

“It’s a question of your safety.”

Ruby snatched the unopened cornflake box from the breakfast bar and stabbed at the lid with a sharp fingernail. “Mum and Joe died over three years ago. Just get over it and let me live my life.”

He flinched and turned to the mess at the kitchen sink, running the water for the washing up.“Look, love,” he said to the rising bubbles, “there are things going on here that you don’t understand.”

“How do you know I don’t understand when you’ve never even tried to tell me?”

Her voice cracked, but he didn’t look up from the task in front of him, he couldn’t face her tears now. Swirl, wipe, rinse, stack, swirl, wipe, rinse and stack.

Block out.

Compartmentalise.

He dried his hands on the tea towel, risking her a quick glance.

She’d poured the contents of the cereal packet all over the floor and was grinding it into the carpet with her feet.

He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go to Toorrup. I’ll see you when I get back. Get your suitcase packed and don’t go out. I’ll ask Leanne to look in on you.”

He crunched his way across the carpet of cornflakes to the front door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her reach for the milk.

Cam held Mrs Wilmot’s hand as if it was an injured animal; the skin, thin as tissue, showed a network of bulging veins. She squeezed his hand, her puffy eyes opened into slits.

“How are you feeling?” It was the best he could do.

She regarded him for a full ten seconds before answering. “Like I’ve been run over by a ute.”

“I guess I asked for that.” He cracked a smile. Her chesty chuckle turned into a nasty cough, making her bruises change colour like the skin of an exotic fish. When he reached for the call button, she held him back with a shake of her head.

“Just give me some water, I’ll be all right.”

He handed her the glass and she took a sip.

“The cough’s from the anaesthetic, they said.” His worried expression made her add, “Don’t worry, Cam, I’m not about to die on you, though it’ll be a while before I can chase you with my wooden spoon.”

His gaze travelled to the rectangular tent keeping the weight of the bed linen from her injuries. He’d been told her legs had been pinned together with surgical steel. She’d be lucky if she could walk again, let alone chase him.

She’d been hospitalised for less than twenty-four hours but her room already resembled a florist’s. Unfortunately the flowery scent did nothing to mask the hospital smells and associated memories he’d been three years trying to forget.

“I’m a silly old fool for getting myself into this mess, aren’t I, Cam?”

Cam shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Mrs W, but someone’s to blame, and we’ll catch him, don’t you worry. Can you remember anything at all?”

“The last thing I remember is the supermarket having baked beans on special.”

At that moment the door opened with a vacuum whoosh and a small group of women entered, treading with the hesitant steps of unaccustomed churchgoers. Cam looked at their pink and grey uniforms, assuming them to be hospital nurses. He realised this wasn’t the case when one of the women walked straight past him, tiptoeing over to Mrs Wilmot.

“We managed to sneak by the ward secretary,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper.“I think she thought we must work here.” She tittered at her own guile, giving Mrs Wilmot a peck on the cheek. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a ute.”

Awkward laughter, then sudden silence when they noticed Cam.

“Oh, I’m sorry, officer,” a plump woman said. “In our excitement we didn’t notice Lulu had a visitor.”

He read her nametag: St Luke’s nursing home. Now, where had he heard that name before?

Under any other circumstances, he would have insisted the women leave so he could continue with his interview, but the name St Luke’s had struck a chord. He decided to let the women be while he processed this latest piece of information. He offered one of them a chair and stepped over to the window. Once he’d faded into the background, the women lost their shyness and descended upon Mrs Wilmot like a flock of galahs.

Cam’s racing mind competed with the noise of the chattering women. Only when he noticed how quiet the room had become did he realise how his unintentional expletive had shocked them all into silence. He was apologising when a nurse with a face like a deformed potato came in and asked them to leave. She impaled Cam with her stare, folded her arms and told him there were to be no exceptions.

He pulled the nurse to one side as the women said their good-byes and trooped out of the room.

“Look, Miss, er, Sister. I’m investigating Mrs Wilmot’s accident and something new has just come to light. It’s really important that I get to speak to her alone for just a few minutes.”

“The poor woman’s exhausted. Doctor said visitors should be restricted. The racket from this room was enough to wake half the ward. It’s not to be tolerated.”

Cam looked at the woman and gave one of the smiles Elizabeth always said could charm a nun out of her habit. “Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?” He wagged his finger, glancing down at her nametag. “Sister Cuthbert. Don’t tell me you’re Sally Cuthbert – Miss Glenroyd Agricultural Show 1976?”

A wave of red coloured the sister’s face. “Well, actually that was my cousin; my name’s Jean.” She smoothed down her apron and looked at her toes. “People say we are very alike, though.”

Cam let out his breath; that was a lucky guess.“I went to St Bart’s. The Ag show was the highlight of our year, especially the Miss Glenroyd competition.”

She arched her eyebrows and searched his face for a familiar feature. There was nothing to recognise, but fond memories softened her expression.“We used to feel so sorry for the boys at St Bart’s.” Her smile wiped away the wrinkles like a Magic Slate.“I’m not stupid,” she laughed, “I know the game you’re playing. Go on then, talk to Mrs Wilmot, but no longer than five minutes, understood?”

Cam tipped his hat and gave her another charming beam. When she’d gone, Mrs Wilmot said, “Blimey.”

Cam sat down on the edge of her bed.“The end justifies the means. I’ll buy her a drink sometime.”

“Then I’d better warn her off accepting.”

“Listen, Mrs W, I don’t have long so I’ll get straight to it. You worked at St Luke’s nursing home – correct?”

“Yes, for nearly ten years, after I left the tea shop.”