The Stalk Club (10 page)

As it was a Saturday morning, the floor was relatively
quiet although he still spied a dozen or so heads at the other desks.  Nelson
noticed that his immediate supervisor and team leader, Inspector James VanMerle
– or Merlot when his back was turned because of his affection for wine -
was in his office.  Nelson hoped that he stayed there, at least for the time
being, as he tried to avoid Merlot’s company wherever possible because the man depressed
the hell out of him.  Despite his reasonable promotional prosperity, VanMerle’s
twenty-five years in the service and/or fifty-four years of living,
had left him with a permanent half glass empty outlook on life.  If there was a
dark lining in a silver cloud VanMerle would find it and share it with whoever
would take the time to listen to him.

Nelson knew VanMerle should be briefed on the progress
he’d made on the Fogliani case but decided he would wait a little longer as his
day had started off badly enough already.  After booting up his computer he
skirted VanMerle’s office and went to the kitchen and made himself a coffee,
helping himself to somebody else’s milk from the fridge.  He returned to his
desk by the same route, eager to make a start on the paperwork while the events
of the previous night were still fresh in his memory.

Over the next half hour Nelson worked on his notes and
developed a detailed account of case to date.  Apart from the perfunctory
greetings to other members of the squad as they walked near his desk he kept to
himself and was left alone.  He wanted to avoid any idle chats because a) he
didn’t have time and b) he knew there would be questions asked and probably jealousies
felt when word got out that he had been given the Fogliani case even though he
wasn’t the duty officer for the night.

At five to nine, he printed out his case notes and headed
up to the ninth floor where Detective Superintendent Crighton occupied a large
and relatively plush office that housed his desk and a medium sized meeting
table where he received – or some would say interrogated - his visitors.

Nelson noted that Crighton’s diminutive, fifty year old dark-haired
executive assistant Pasha, who sat outside his office, had her back momentarily
turned to him as she retrieved something from her desk drawer.  She was
nicknamed the Alsatian because of her excellent guarding ability and she was an
integral part of enforcing Crighton’s closed door management style.  Pasha’s
nickname was well earned as Nelson, and most of the other Homicide squad staff
could attest that her bite was an equal match for her bark and most of them had
at some stage had strips torn off them by her for some perceived indiscretion. 
Sensing a rare opportunity, Nelson silenced his footsteps and sailed past her
unseen into Crighton’s office.

Nelson noted that Marie Pastello from the Media Unit had
already arrived and was sitting silently across from Crighton at his meeting
table.   She was pretty, neat and tidy and efficient - everything
you would expect from someone intent on forging a career in public relations.

Crighton’s personal advisor and chief head kicker, Senior
Sergeant Nathan Brede was also there.  As with Pasha, Crighton had brought him
along from his previous posting when he had been promoted to the position.  Unlike
Crighton, Brede had had a decent operational career before switching to his
administrative role.  Nelson smiled and nodded at Marie and gave Brede a curt
nod before taking his seat.  Along with Pasha, Brede was also on the long list
of people that Nelson disliked.  Nelson’s dislike of him stemmed from a previous
investigation where sensitive information had been leaked to the media and
Brede was his prime suspect.

“Have a seat Detective Sergeant,” said Crighton without
looking up from the papers he was reviewing.  Nelson wondered if Crighton had
slept since their early morning meeting at the crime scene.  He looked tired
and drawn but as usual, alert. 

“Alright Detective,” said Crighton pushing aside his
papers.  “Tell me what you and Detective Robards have been up to.”

Nelson referred to his case summary and provided a brief update
on how the investigation had proceeded.  He chose to leave out any specifics
about the evidence that had been discovered because he reasoned that the fewer
people who knew the details the better.  He had been burned on several
occasions when crucial information in the case he was investigating had somehow
found its way into the media, potentially jeapordising his case.

Brede looked at him half smiling, half smirking.  “Is
that it?  Is that all you’ve got?  I mean, did you collect any hard evidence
from the crime scene Detective?” 

“Yes we did,” replied Nelson flatly, knowing where the
conversation was headed and gently maneuvering Brede into position.

“And, what is it then.  What did you find?” Brede said,
his exasperation and his anger evident in the rising tone of his voice.

“I’d rather keep that to myself right now if you don’t
mind,” he replied calmly, looking squarely at Brede for the first time.  “It’s
not relevant to the press release and I want to keep the details of the case
restricted to as tight a circle as possible.”

Brede’s face turned beetroot red and Nelson had to
concentrate in order not to smile.  He was half wondering if Brede was going to
have a coronary and he recalled that his first aid certificate had expired so he
would be unable to perform CPR on the man.

Before Brede exploded Crighton stepped in.

“Marie, I think you’ve got enough for a first draft of
the release.  I need you to get back to me within half an hour please.  Time is
of the essence here.”  Crighton turned to Brede.  “Nathan, would you mind
excusing us.  I want to speak to Detective Nelson for a moment.”

Brede wordlessly left Crighton’s office, glaring at
Nelson from under a heavy brow as he went.  

“You seem to have a particular gift for antagonising
people Detective,” said Crighton.

“We all have our talents I guess.”

“I’m sure.  Let’s just hope you can put your talents to
better use than annoying my support staff.  Now, what can you tell me about
Emilio Fogliani’s death Detective?”

“Before I begin, can I ask you question first Boss?”

Crighton gave Nelson a sharp look, further creasing the
wrinkles around his eyes which then changed their pattern into something
bordering on amusement after a few moments.

“Go ahead Detective.”

“I’d like to know why you chose me and Robards for this
case?  I mean, there are a dozen Detectives downstairs with twice as much
experience as us put together.  Some people, including VanMerle aren’t going to
be happy we got this case.”

Crighton leaned back in his chair, appraising Nelson with
a calculating eye.

 “I’ve already told you not to worry about Inspector VanMerle. 
I’ve spoken with him.  His role is purely administrative these days anyway.  And,
as far as why I chose you for this case, well, let’s just say that I haven’t
been overly enamoured with the Detectives who were rostered on for duty last
night.  I need a good result in this case and I think you and Robards can get
it for me.  You’ve got a good track record for getting results in difficult
cases and I want to see that continue here.”

Nelson was surprised by the compliment and found himself
without a response. 

“I see.”

“This could turn out to be a very important case.  If
this is related to a gangland war then I want to be on top of it from the outset,
even if the Gangs squad isn’t interested.”

Nelson’s mind finally found a comeback to Crighton’s earlier
point.

“There are others who get results.”

“I know that,” responded Crighton, waving away Nelson’s
comment like a persistent fly.  “I also know that some of the older Detectives cherry
pick which cases they work on, often choosing the easiest ones and leaving the
harder cases to the younger Detectives.  I also know that some of the
Inspectors, including VanMerle, allow this to happen.”

Nelson knew it was true.  Time and again he had been
handed the stale cases at the bottom of the pile, the cases with little or no
accompanying evidence or witnesses.  The types of cases where there was only a
small chance of a quick result.  He took them all on without complaint and worked
them energetically and to the best of his ability.  They were all the same to
him with the same objective.  Do your best to bring those responsible to
justice.

“Now I know you’ve had some internal management issues in
some of your cases, however I’m sure that’s all in the past now.”

Nelson pursed his lips into silence.  Crighton’s not so subtle
reminder about the times he’d been investigated felt like a cattle prod in his
ribs.  He had been investigated three times in the past three years by the Professional
Services Command - previously known as Internal Affairs – as a
result of official complaints received regarding his conduct during
investigations.  Nothing untoward had ever been substantiated and he had been
allowed to continue his duties without penalty, however Nelson knew his career
had been badly damaged as a result.  The investigations would remain as a
permanent stain on his official record and he had been told by other officers
who had suffered similar fates that those stains had a habit of resurfacing
when transfers or promotions were applied for.  It was a common source of
complaint among the front line police that because of the often conflictive
nature of their work they inevitably received official complaints – some justified,
some not.  While the officers who worked behind the lines, the pen pushers, the
report writers, who never left the safety of their desks, who never had to make
arrests, retained their pristine record which stood them in good favour come
promotion time.

“Those investigations were bullshit,” Nelson said
sullenly.

“Maybe they were Detective, but you need to understand
that despite what you may or may not have done in your investigations in the
past, this is not the sort of case that you will get away with cutting corners
on.  This case will be scrutinised from every angle, by me, by the department,
by the media and no doubt by the Foglianis.  So although I want you to exercise
your best problem solving abilities on this case you need to be very meticulous
in how you go about it.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly.”

“Good.  Now unless you have any more questions I’d like
you to give me a full report on your progress.  Leave nothing out this time.”

Nelson put his annoyance aside for the time being and took
a deep breath. 

“We’ve got a few things going for us.  We found some latex
gloves about one hundred and fifty metres from the crime scene.  They had blood
on them which is being tested and hopefully matched as we speak.  We also found
the discharged firearm cartridges and a couple of intact slugs that can be
matched to the murder weapon if we find it.  Robards is presently collecting
the security camera video from the warehouses so I’m hopeful we’ll also get
something there as the place was well covered.”

Crighton listened intently while Nelson referred to his case
summary. 

“Also, the SOCOs have taken a few plaster casts of
footprints we found nearby in the park.”

After ten minutes of intense clarifying questioning by Crighton
which made Nelson feel as if he’d just been cross examined by a QC, he was summarily
dismissed.  Upon his exit he gave a saccharine filled greeting to Pasha and in
return felt her gaze bore into his back until he was out of her sight. 

He returned to his desk and put in a call to Robards.

“It’s Nelson.  How are you travelling?”

“Good.  McAuley left about an hour ago to take the evidence
to the lab.  I’ve been through half a dozen of the warehouses looking at their
security tapes from last night and I think we might have some good stuff here. 
I’m just finishing up now.”

“Good work.  Any sign of the murder weapon?” asked Nelson
hopefully.

“No, not yet.  Shooter probably took it with him.  If he
had any brains he will have ditched it by now.”

“Alright, when you get back meet me at Meg’s and we can
plan out our day.”

“Done.”

Chapter
15

Nelson arrived at Meg’s Café just before ten a.m..  Meg’s
was located in the heart of Parramatta on Church Street, a good five minute
walk from Headquarters.  Nelson often made the trek to Church Street because he
liked the ambience, the coffee club culture.  In contrast, the cafes in the
immediate vicinity of Headquarters always seemed full of high ranking police
officers, which made him feel uncomfortable when he wanted to discuss a case
with colleagues.

Robards was already waiting for him and had taken a table
outside under the annex, despite the coolness of the morning.  Nelson had
exchanged his large jacket which he had worn to the crime scene, for a grey
suit which he kept in his locker at work, but was already beginning to regret it
as it was only of summer weight thickness.

“Hi Pete.  Sorry I’m late.  VanMerle nailed me as I was
getting my jacket from my desk and I had to fill him in on developments.”