An Easeful Death (14 page)

There was a moment of awkward silence. De Vakey cleared his throat, looked from one face to the other and said in a neutral tone, ‘I don’t wish to disturb the status quo here, but I believe the superintendent said that Monty wasn’t to be contacted by the investigating officers. I’m a civilian consultant, not an investigating officer.’ He met Stevie’s eye and gave her a faint smile. ‘I can see Monty whenever I need to.’

Stevie could have hugged him. ‘And I’m not officially on the case either, I’m only an intermediary. There’s nothing Baggly can do to stop either of us from contacting Monty.’

Angus reined in his temper. ‘Now, you know that’s not strictly so.’

Barry flicked her a wink. It would have annoyed her yesterday, but not today. ‘You go, girl,’ he said.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Angus said, ‘I’m just going to pretend we never had this conversation.’

A tap at the door interrupted their discussion and a man with a nose the colour of a ripe plum entered the room. Stevie recognised him as one of the cops who’d brought Monty in and then left to search his flat.

‘Thought you might like to know we found nothing at your boss’s flat, though he’d made it pretty hard for us—he’s not much of a housekeeper is he? The place was like a pigsty. I’m just going upstairs to report to the super. I’ll be around all afternoon so call me if you want to bring him in for any more questioning,’ Keyes said.

Angus nodded and thanked him.

As the big man turned to leave the room, Barry called out, ‘Hey! What happened to your nose?’

Keyes’ hand gingerly crept to the injured appendage. ‘I walked into a door.’

Everyone in the room exchanged glances when Keyes made his hurried exit. Barry’s laugh lifted some of the tension in the room.

Wayne said, ‘I won’t even say that was a relief, because we all know Monty didn’t kill Michelle, that they wouldn’t find anything in his flat.’

‘Yeah,’ Barry said, ‘this is nothing but a steaming pile of bureaucratic bullshit.’

Angus sighed. ‘It’s the system. Baggly has no choice; he’s merely following procedure. Now, we need to organise a search of Michelle’s apartment, talk to her neighbours, parents and friends, find out who was last to see her alive.’ He looked at Wayne. ‘I want you and Barry to spearhead that side of the investigation.’

‘Right,’ Wayne said.

‘Angus, did you find out anything else from the shop managers?’ Stevie asked, trying to put her frustration with him aside.

Angus shook his head. ‘Not much, the woman is adamant she set the alarm before she left. A guy who was putting in an all nighter in a nearby office later verified hearing it. He said he didn’t even think to report the alarm, said if he reported every alarm he heard he’d never get any work done.

Stevie said, ‘So to recap, our unsub cut the external phone line and got in through the window via the window-cleaning hoist, regardless of the jangling alarm which he knew no one would do anything about.’

‘Wait a minute. What’s this unsub caper?’ Wayne asked.

‘Sorry,’ Stevie shot De Vakey a smile. ‘That’s FBI talk, short for unnamed subject. Some of James’s lingo is rubbing off.’

Her smile faded when she caught Wayne’s smirk. She bit her lip. They might be on the same side where Monty was concerned, but nothing else seemed to have changed.

‘The shop manager said they have a permanent window cleaning facility on the building,’ Angus said. ‘A metal support that runs around the whole of the outside at the top. It’s just a question of knowing how to attach the contraption. The actual hoist that you found, Stevie, was from an equipment hire company. Our guy paid them to drop it off in the street for him. It sat there all afternoon and no one thought twice about it. He must have set it up after dark. I still have officers checking to see if anyone saw him, but so far no luck. I also have someone interviewing the people at the equipment hire company for a description.’

‘He’s really sticking it to us, isn’t he?’ Barry said, ‘Cocky bloody bastard. Has SOCO finished their examination of the hoist?’

‘Nothing definite yet, but they did find traces of silver paint.’

Addressing the whole team, Angus said, ‘You know the routine. I’m going to the hospital to get the latest from the pathologist. I’d like to schedule another meeting with Wayne, Barry and all other available detectives working both cases at...’ he looked at his watch, ‘five o’clock. Off you go then.’

A personality disorder is not to be confused with a mental illness. Someone with a mental illness will not take long to catch. The unsub who is technically sane will pose the greatest challenge to the investigators.

De Vakey,
The Pursuit of Evil

Wayne and Barry crawled through the constipated Beaufort Street traffic on their way to Michelle’s gym. They’d learned from her parents that she worked out every morning except Sunday. Finding out if she was there yesterday morning would help start to trace her last movements.

‘At least we haven’t had to muck around with victim identification, but jeez...’ Barry thumped the steering wheel. ‘I’ve never seen Monty so shook up. I mean, it’s not like they were even still married!’

‘C’mon, I’m shocked and I only met her once. You wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy,’ Wayne said.

Barry’s eyes slid from the road to his passenger. ‘Quite the sensitive-old-age-dickhead, aren’t you, Wayne?’

Wayne smirked. Sensitivity was something he’d never been accused of.

‘And the way old man Birkby spoke about him,’ Barry continued, ‘you’d have thought he was holding Monty personally responsible. He could barely say his name without rupturing a blood vessel.’

‘Well, you know what grieving families are like, they always need someone to blame. Maybe he thinks this would never have happened if they’d still been happily married.’

‘I just hope no one lets on that Monty’s watch was found in her hand. When the shock wears off Birkby’s going to start asking questions.’

‘We’ll have Mont in the clear by then.’

After several beats of agitated tapping on the steering wheel, Barry said, ‘But it’s gotta be someone in Central who took the watch, hasn’t it?’

‘Or someone else with a legitimate excuse for being there, but a cop most likely.’

Wayne had investigated where Tye Davis was at the time of Linda Royce’s murder. It seemed he had a solid alibi: the shift supervisor at Paraburdoo to whom Wayne had spoken on the phone said Tye had definitely been working that day, he’d seen him himself. With one gone, but about fifteen other suspect cops to go, this was going to be a slow process of elimination. He sighed, staring vacantly at a passing group of schoolgirls wearing soup-bowl hats. He would have preferred a face-to-face interview with the supervisor and wondered if it was worth contacting a cop mate in the Pilbara to do it for him.

The chirp of his mobile interrupted his musings. Devoid of expression, he listened to Angus for a few minutes before punching off. ‘It seems the man who hired the window-cleaning hoist paid for it with a stolen credit card,’ he said to Barry.

‘Description?’

‘The bloke who organised the hire has just gone on two weeks leave. He flew to Bali this morning.’

Barry pulled a frog face. ‘That’d be right.’

They parked outside the gym. As Barry climbed out of the car he gave a yawn and a stretch, eyeing off some lycra-clad nubiles descending the front steps as he did so.

Wayne took a cursory glance around the car park for Michelle’s Alfa. They should be so lucky.

Barry said, ‘You ever belong to a gym, Wayne?’

‘What do you think?’

Wayne locked the unmarked and followed Barry up the steps to the front entrance. The air was fusty with the smell of mould and old trainers, and provoked an irritating tickle deep in his chest. In front of them, a young girl with pillow lips sat behind a reception desk, stabbing at a computer with red-taloned fingers. Above her head a noticeboard enticed potential members with discount packages. To Wayne, gym membership was about as alluring as a round with Mike Tyson.

Barry sidled up to the desk and produced his ID.

‘Hello, Miss...’ his eyes lingered on her name tag longer than necessary. ‘Sophie Preston.’ He pronounced the name slowly as if savouring every syllable. She appraised Barry under sickle-thin eyebrows and smiled back.

Wayne began to cough.

‘I’m DS Snow and this is DS Pickering. We’d like to ask you some questions,’ Barry said, doing his best to ignore Wayne’s hacking.

Sophie Preston regarded Wayne with a look of distaste. ‘Is your friend okay?’ she asked Barry.

‘He’s allergic to exercise. Even the thought of it sends him off.’

‘It’s never too late to start,’ she said with a slight curl to her lip.

Wayne managed to control himself, sucked in his stomach and approached the desk, conscious of how out of time his steps were with the thumps and music coming from the floor above.

‘Do you recognise this woman, Miss Preston?’ he said, producing a computer printout of Michelle’s photo. She examined the picture. ‘Yes, that’s Michelle Birkby, one of our regular clients.’ She frowned. ‘Is she all right?’

‘We’re trying to trace her movements yesterday. We believe she came here yesterday morning.’

Sophie’s eyes shot to Barry. She shrugged. ‘Yeah, she came in about six. I’m not sure about today though. I wasn’t on this morning, I’ll have to look it up.’ She reached for the register and slid it across the counter towards her, running a finger down the names on the page.

Barry put his hand out to stop her. ‘This morning isn’t necessary, but I’d like to see yesterday’s list of clients, please.’

She leafed the page back and Wayne examined the scrawled signatures. ‘They sign in each time they come, do they?’

Barry gave Wayne a look that said of course it was obvious they had to sign in. If he’d ever been to a gym he’d have known.

Only ten signatures were listed between six and seven, the first hour after the gym opened. Apart from Michelle’s, none of the other names was familiar. Barry jotted them down in his notebook for checking later.

Wayne said, ‘Was there anything different about her yesterday? Did she leave with someone? Did she seem anxious, worried?’

Sophie examined her nails while she considered the questions. ‘I think she was in a bit of a hurry, actually. She rushed towards the door looking at her watch without even saying goodbye to me. And she usually weighs herself before she leaves,’ she tilted her chin towards a set of digital scales in the corner of the foyer, ‘but yesterday she didn’t. Look, what’s all this about?’

‘So what time was this?’ Barry asked.

‘About seven.’

Wayne said, ‘Did anyone leave with her?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Do you have any idea why she was in such a hurry?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘She’s a journalist, isn’t she? She’s always going to meetings and stuff. She sometimes has breakfast appointments. Quite a few of the members go to Cinder’s Pumpkin after a workout. It’s just across the road, so they can leave their cars in our car park and walk. It’s about the only place around here that’s open early. She could’ve gone there.’

Barry gave her a smile and added the name of the cafe to the list in his notebook. ‘Is there anywhere else for members to park other than the spaces outside the front of the gym?’ he asked.

‘There are a few spots behind the building. They’re supposed to be for staff but some of the regulars park there.’

‘One last thing, Miss Preston...’ Wayne was interrupted as a man elbowed him out of the way and signed in, muscles bulging under his smooth tanned skin.

Wayne scowled at the man’s back before turning back to Sophie. ‘I’d like a list of current gym members, please.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that.’

The interview had been going well and Wayne didn’t have the patience to cope with such petty pitfalls this close to the finish. Unable to hide his impatience, he said, ‘We’re cops. We’re not going to sell the list to internet spammers or charitable organisations.’

Barry leaned towards the receptionist on his elbows and lifted two fingers in the ‘Scouts honour’ sign.

‘We could easily get a search warrant,’ Wayne added.

She looked from one to the other of them, raised her eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ she said, and stabbed the print button of the keyboard.

***

Wayne and Barry identified Michelle’s red Alfa Romeo in the gym’s rear car park. After contacting a forensic team to photograph it and tow it back to the station, they made their way across the road to the cafe. There they spoke to the moustached man at the front counter, ordered coffee and cake and were shown to a table on the verandah, sheltered from the winter wind by quivering plastic walls.

They sat for a while in silence until Barry said, ‘You okay? Thinking about the dead girls?’

Wayne paused before answering. ‘Yeah.’

Barry nodded. ‘Me too.’

A few minutes later a young man with floppy blond hair and unnaturally blue eyes weaved his way through the tables towards them with their coffees. Wayne introduced himself. One glance at the detective’s IDs and the waiter’s eyes darted to the man at the counter.

Wayne said, ‘It’s okay, son. We’ve had a word with your boss, he said for you to take five and sit with us. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.’

‘Look, if it’s about the joint he caught me with the other day, I hardly ever use the stuff. I—’

Wayne put his hand on the young man’s arm. ‘Relax mate, we’re not the drug squad. Sit down. We want to ask you some questions about one of your customers.’

The waiter licked his lips and nodded. His expression, no longer one of fear, was now a mixture of relief and curiosity.

Barry produced the photo of Michelle. ‘Seen her before?’

‘Um ... yes, don’t know her name, but,’ the waiter said.

‘The bloke at the counter said she was here yesterday morning, that you served her.’