Harum Scarum (27 page)

He was right: other than the mysterious circumstances surrounding Emma’s disappearance, all Stevie had was an ambiguous poem on a web page which she couldn’t even prove was written by Emma.

‘The officer at the Breightlings’ house said you and Mr Breightling had words, that he hit you.’ Stevie indicated the bruise on Stoppard’s cheek.

‘And I told your officer that Breightling’s action was of no concern to me. I told him to put the outburst down to anxiety over his missing daughter. I won’t press charges.’

‘How very compassionate of you. But I understood it had more to do with the affair you’ve been having with his wife, to whom you’ve also been supplying cocaine.’

Stoppard moistened his lips. ‘He’s not the first man to have been cuckolded. Maybe if he’d given her a bit more attention it wouldn’t have happened. He’s no one but himself to blame.

As for the coke, well...’ he spread his palms to indicate its insignificance.

‘Did Emma come here, Stoppard, is she hidden somewhere in the Chateau?’

‘Why the hell would she want to come here?’

‘I understand the chateau means a lot to her; she knows the place well and has been visiting it all her life. She even writes stories about it.’ Stevie made a show of spinning around to admire her surroundings. ‘It’s a wonderful place, a fantasy place. You must have invested a lot of time and money in it.’

‘With the help of a very talented architect and an artist friend of mine,’ Stoppard said with false modesty. ‘An escape from the city, but less than an hour’s drive away. A place for people to bring their families, picnic and enjoy the art in a relaxing environment—and hopefully leave with lighter cheque books.’ A thin-lipped smile worthy of the
St Trinian’s
spiv flickered across his mouth.

‘I’ll bet the kids love it.’ Stevie didn’t bother to restrain her sarcasm.

Stoppard looked at her and tented his fingers. ‘You don’t give up do you?’

‘Emma has an active imagination. She might see this place as some kind of sanctuary.’

‘Well yes, that’s true, but please listen, officer. One, she’s never been here without Miranda or Chris. Two, she’s just a kid—how would she get up here? Three, if she was here I would have told her parents or the police immediately.’

‘You were in a hurry to get up here yourself.’ Stevie indicated to the boxes.

‘I told you I needed to get things ready for the film crew.’

Just then there was a shout as Tash came crashing down the stairs and triumphantly thumped a felt-wrapped bundle on the table in front of Stoppard.

Stoppard sucked in a breath.

‘Scalpels, Stevie, Breightling’s missing scalpels. In a bedside cabinet in one of the upstairs bedrooms,’ Tash said in an excited rush.

Stevie opened the bundle and the silver blades tumbled into her hands.

‘I’ve never seen those things before in my life,’ Stoppard said. ‘They must have been left there by a guest...’

Something inside Stevie snapped. ‘You’re a fucking perverted bastard, Stoppard, who preys on the weak and vulnerable, on kids who can’t fight back.’ Slamming her hands on the table she rammed her face into his. ‘Where is she, Stoppard, God damnit!’

Tash pulled her away from the table. ‘Easy, Stevie, easy. Why don’t I have a word with him while you continue the search? I’ve done upstairs, you can look downstairs and in the yard.’

Stevie nodded, wiped the sweat from her forehead, took a breath and tried to calm herself. ‘I’ll phone Central, tell Angus about the scalpels. That will get the whole team up here.’

Wayne sat in an interview room waiting for the arrival of Sammy Nguyen and the social worker. He drained his cup of coffee, leaned back in the chair and yawned.

Barry poked his head around the door. ‘What are you still doing here?’

‘I’m waiting for the Asian kid. I was supposed to see him earlier, but had to put him off when I went with Monty to the hospital.’

‘Don’t get me wrong mate, but that’s not part of the job description is it?’

‘Listen you wanker, I did it for Stevie. She wouldn’t have left otherwise.’

Barry ran his hand across his shaved scalp and straddled a chair. ‘Is Mont going to be okay?’

‘They think so.’

‘Has Stevie called in?’

‘Yep. She’s located Stoppard and thinks Emma’s somewhere at his place. They’ve found Dr Breightling’s scalpels and think Emma must have taken them from the safe. Angus is organising a warrant and the local cops should be on their way there.’

A constable showed Sammy and the social worker into the interview room. Sammy’s face lit up when he saw Wayne.

‘This is my colleague DS Barry Pickering,’ Wayne said to the new arrivals. ‘He was just leaving.’ Wayne nodded to the door and told Barry he’d see him in the morning.

The social worker, Mrs Jenkins, fussed over Sammy, pulled his chair out for him and asked if he wanted something from the vending machine in the corridor, to which he shook his head. She emphasised the lateness of the hour to Wayne and told them she had to have Sammy back at the hostel by nine thirty.

The boy glanced at Wayne and rolled his eyes. Kids like Sammy Nguyen were creatures of the night. He’d just be waking up now.

Wayne shot Sammy a wink before turning to the tape. ‘Interview with Sammy Nguyen, 18 February, 20:35 hours, those present...’ They stated their names for the tape. Wayne told Sam he wasn’t under arrest, explained his rights to him and thanked him for his cooperation. Then he folded his hands on the table in front of him and began.

‘Sam, we had a little chat yesterday and you started to tell me things but then you stopped, worried I think, that you might get into trouble?’

‘Yeah, but then you said I wouldn’t, that I was too young. You said if I helped you, you’d help me.’

‘That’s right. But in order for you to help us properly, I need to tape this talk in front of a witness, so we can use what you have to say in court, do you understand?’

Sammy nodded.

‘You have to speak for the tape,’ Wayne said.

‘Yeah, I’m cool with it.’

‘And no one is forcing you to talk are they, Sammy?’ Mrs Jenkins said.

‘Nah,’ said Sam.

‘Okay, tell us what you started to tell me yesterday.’ Wayne lifted encouraging eyebrows.

The boy scratched his thin arm. ‘I was living on the street, dossing with mates under the Narrows Bridge, when I heard someone say that some rich Chinese guy had just landed and was looking for someone to interpret for him. I speak Mandarin, Cantonese and my own Vietnamese dialect as well as bloody good English, right? I knew I was the man for the job. I got in touch with the dude, and he seemed fine, treated me good and I got to interpret his business dealings for him.’

‘What did this man do, Sam?’ Wayne asked.

‘He was a moneylender, name of Zhang Li. He was rolling in it, you should have seen all the bling, the posh hotels he stayed at. I started giving him English lessons too, and he picked it up fine. I was worried if I taught him too well he wouldn’t need me any more, so I slowed the lessons down a bit. Gave him wrong words every now and then.’ Sam sniggered at the memory. Wayne and the social worker exchanged smiles.

‘Tell us some more about this man Zhang Li,’ Wayne said.

‘He could be one rough bastard. He wasn’t well; I learned to stay clear of him when he was in one of his moods. Sometimes he’d get real aggro when people were late with their repayments. He carried a knife, once I saw him cut a bloke’s finger off with it.’ Sam made a scissor shape with his fingers. Mrs Jenkins winced and Sam capitalised on the effect by making geyser-like motions with his hands.

‘Tell us what happened on the night of the 27th of January,’ Wayne said.

‘Ummm ... when?’

Wayne pulled out a pocket diary and pointed to the date. ‘The day after Australia Day. You were at the river in Maylands.’

‘Oh yeah, then. We were out collecting a debt. Li said he was getting fed up with this prick who was way behind with his payments. Said that after we’d seen him, we’d visit the fella who put him onto us, because it looked like he’d given us a bum steer.’

‘Can you remember the names of either of these men?’

‘Nah, mate.’

‘Anything about them at all?’

Sammy scratched his head.

‘Never mind, continue with your story, maybe something else will come to you.’

‘Li said he’d had enough of this guy’s bullshit, the guy who recommended the other guy as a good catch, I mean. Oh yeah, that guy, the one who gave us the bum steer, had poncy white shoes, that’s right.’

‘Good boy.’

‘White shoes told us this guy was a soft touch, and filthy rich. Don’t know why he was borrowing money if he was so rich, but that wasn’t my problem. Anyway, he wasn’t paying back, and it turned out he wasn’t soft at all.’ He stopped for a moment.

‘Go on, Sam,’ Wayne said.

‘So we go to meet this guy in the city. Li poked him in the ribs with his knife, told him to find his car so they could go for a little drive. Li make him drive us to the river in Maylands, near all the bamboo. He told the guy he was going to cut his finger off for not paying his debts, and the guy begged him not to. He was crying and carrying on, said he wouldn’t be able to work without a finger, said it was all a mistake, he’d get the money blah blah blah. Li got him on the ground. He wanted me to help hold him down, but I seen him do it before and it was gross, blood everywhere.’ He shot Mrs Jenkins a cheeky look. ‘Li yelled at me, said I was fired. Then the doc reached into his...’

Wayne straightened in his seat, ‘Wait a minute, kid, you said the doc—was this rich guy a doctor?’

‘Umm yeah, guess he was, guess I only just remembered,’ Sam rubbed his nose and glanced away.

Sure you did kid, and you’ve known both of the men’s names all along, but under all the cocky bluster, you’re too terrified to admit it. ‘Go on,’ Wayne prompted.

‘Yeah, he reached into his coat with his other hand, pulled out a gun and shot Li in the head—can you believe that? I mean just about no one in Perth carries handguns. If the bullet hadn’t killed him, poor old Li would’ve died of shock anyway I reckon.

‘I ran away then, and he shouted at me, said I was going to get it too, said he knew where to find me. I nearly pissed myself, man.’

‘Did you see what the doc did with the gun?’

‘No, I guess he chucked it in the river.’

He can’t have chucked it in the river, Wayne thought, because it was used just over two weeks later to kill Miro Kusak.

The kid’s hand shook on the plastic cup of water and he almost missed his lips. He seemed to have suffered quite a considerable drop in confidence since he’d made the mistake of mentioning the ‘doc’.

‘Sam, would you mind having a look at some photos with me?’ It wouldn’t be too hard to find a photo of the once philanthropic plastic surgeon. The pathologist’s report on the body from the river had mentioned how the face had been removed with surgical skill. It had to be him.

‘If you’ll just come with me, Sam...’

Sam shook his head.

‘I think he’s had enough, Detective Pickering,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘The boy’s had a horrific experience. My job is to ensure that this interview is conducted in a proper and non-exploitive way and that’s what I intend to do.’

Wayne blew out a breath but had to agree. The strain was beginning to show on Sam’s pale face, despite the earlier bravado. He turned off the tape. ‘Okay, I suppose we have enough to get started.’ He’d be making no arrests tonight, he thought, feeling tired and defeated, and yet he was so close. He could only hope that Stevie was having more luck at the Chateau.

He moulded his mouth into a smile and patted Sammy on the back. ‘How’s the hostel going?’

‘It sucks and the food tastes like shit,’ Sam said.

‘But don’t forget, if you continue with the program, they’ll see if they can find you an apprenticeship,’ the social worker said.

‘Whoopee doo,’ Sammy said. ‘They keep crapping on to me about taking one day at a time—that’s what I’m gonna do.’

And that, Wayne decided, was what he was going to have to do too. ‘I want you to go back to the hostel now, Sam, have a good sleep and try to remember some more about that night, like the men’s names, or anything else about them.’ He turned to the social worker, ‘I’ll need to see him again in the morning. I’ll dig up some photos that might jog his memory.’

The Chateau itself was much smaller than it appeared from the outside. Upstairs there were two bedrooms and a bathroom, which Tash had already searched. A galley kitchen, another bathroom and the main bedroom were located downstairs. The bed here was a four-poster, carved with elaborate geometric designs. A curtain covered a small in built wardrobe where Stevie found some men’s casual clothes and a pair of workboots. A small bookcase filled with yellowing paperbacks leaned against one of the walls.

In the bathroom Stevie found compressed cocaine hidden amongst echinacea tablets. She returned to the great hall and placed the bottle on the table before Stoppard.

He shrugged, ‘I get it from Mexico, for personal use. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to sell it.’

Stevie glanced at Tash. It seemed she had got no further with their suspect. If anything he appeared more relaxed. In some strange way his casual acknowledgement to the cocaine possession, the way he was trying to deflect from the major issue, was more disturbing to Stevie than his denial of seeing Emma.

‘I’m going outside to check out the tower,’ she told Tash.

The spiral stairs on the outside of the tower had no railing and she wound her way up carefully. On her way she examined three floors of circular rooms, all with dimly lit grottoes displaying a variety of exotic statues and carvings; creatures with strange hooked beaks and wings that were never meant to fly.

The topmost level was reached by a ladder from a trapdoor in the ceiling. Here she found a small office with shelves of files. She picked a CD from a neat pile. Unlike those in the boxes downstairs, this was clearly labelled: ‘Accounts 2005–2006.’