Getting Warmer (10 page)

Lara watched as her boss dispatched orders and lesser mortals with obvious relish. By contrast, DS Colin Graham looked like he would rather be somewhere else.

As soon as the body had been spotted, the firemen had called it in. In the wait for permissions and protocols the fire had come to life again briefly but now, properly extinguished, they were able to extricate the charred corpse from the driver’s seat.

‘Aw fuck.’ A fireman stepped back from the rear of the blistered Prado.

Lara exchanged glances with Graham.

DI Hutchens lifted his chin. ‘What?’

‘There’s another one in the boot,’ said the fireman.

Hutchens fixed a beady on Graham. ‘Any ideas, Col?’

Graham shrugged. ‘All of the Trans and associates are accounted for, except Mickey.’

‘And at this stage we’re guessing he’s the chauffeur. So we have a spare body. Curiouser and curiouser. What do you reckon, Lara?’

This was her chance to come clean, distance herself from DS Graham and his dangerous games. Do the right thing by the Papadakis family. ‘No idea, sir.’

The fireman leaned in closer to the body in the boot. ‘Jesus. You might want to check this out.’

DI Hutchens sauntered over for a look. ‘Aw fuck.’

‘Nails?’ said Lara Sumich.

‘About forty of them,’ confirmed Hutchens, reading from an email. He closed his laptop and switched his attention to DS Colin Graham. The door to the DI’s office was closed and the blinds were drawn. It was well after home time but nobody was going anywhere soon. ‘So Col, we have a problem.’

‘Sir?’

‘Running side errands with your Gangs mates and poor old Mr Papadakis.’ He flicked his hand at his computer, where the email had been. ‘What do you reckon we should say to the family?’

Colin Graham folded his arms and slumped back into his chair. ‘Sorry?’

If Lara had had a gun in her hand she probably would have shot him. ‘I’ll go and see the family, sir.’

‘Both of you will.’ Hutchens levelled his gaze back at Graham. ‘Then you’ll come back here, write a full report of your activities over the last seventy-two hours and have it in my inbox before you finish for the day.’ They stood to leave. Hutchens had his eyes down studying a desk diary but his finger was pointed at Graham. ‘Sergeant, I am initiating disciplinary proceedings against you. You’re off this investigation. Once you’ve notified the family you are to return to your usual duties with Gangs and await further instructions.’ He raised his head and looked at Graham. ‘You’re a disgrace. Get out of my sight.’

Lara turned to follow Graham.

‘Not you,’ said Hutchens.

She stayed.

‘Can you give me a good reason why I shouldn’t be disciplining you too?’

‘No.’

‘Did you help set it up or were you just along for the ride?’

‘The latter. Sir.’

‘It showed poor judgement.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘He’s a prick and he’s sloppy and he’ll take you down with him when he goes. You want that?’

‘No.’

‘Then be warned.’

Heading north on the freeway, she couldn’t bear to look at Colin Graham. Lara was driving: the passing traffic a blur, the tension in the car a thick choking presence. She cracked open a window to a warm breeze scented with fuel and bush smoke. ‘So what
do
we say
to Mrs Papadakis?’

‘The usual. We’re very sorry for your loss.’

‘Prick.’

‘Grow up, Lara. You’re a cop. Shit happens. Deal with it.’

‘We made this shit happen.’

‘We. That’s right. And
we
still have a long way to go to get to the other side of this. You got that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘United we stand, divided we fall.’ Graham reclined his seat, yawned, and closed his eyes. ‘Give me a hoy when we get to the Greek.’

‘Cato?’ It was DI Hutchens.

‘Yes?’

‘How you feeling?’

Hutchens attentive, again: twice in as many days. What was he after?

‘All the better for hearing you, sir.’

‘No need for the sarcasm, mate, I only asked.’ There was hurt in Hutchens’ voice. Genuine.

‘Sorry, yeah, on the mend, thanks.’

A pause. ‘Remember that day we were out bush with Wellard and Shellie?’

Cato tensed. ‘What about it?’

‘Remember the pig with the nails in it?’

Lara woke up late. She’d ignored the alarm set for her morning run. Her limbs felt heavy and it was an effort to even open her eyes. She crawled out from under the sheet.

The encounter with Mrs Papadakis had been predictably ghastly. While the woman had anticipated the worst, that wasn’t the same as having it confirmed. The wailing and keening had seemed primeval to Lara whose upbringing had been essentially emotion-free. Colin Graham, to her surprise, had risen to the occasion: he’d oozed sympathy. It had been so effective that the family seemed to forget it was actually his machinations that had killed their patriarch. Their dark wet eyes seemed instead to probe Lara for coming around all shiftless and guilty and making promises she couldn’t keep. Was that why she felt like shit?

Or was it the fear that the affair with Colin Graham was dead? In the last few days her fascination for him had lurched over to revulsion at what he seemed capable of: yet still there was this longing for what she felt only a week ago. It went beyond the sex; inventive as he was, he wasn’t irreplaceable. Flushing Colin out of her life also meant flushing away her immediate hopes of a ticket into Gangs. But it was more than that too. Lately people kept getting the better of her. She’d misread Santo, and now Graham too. Was she losing it?
It.
Control over her life and her destiny.

‘Stupid bitch,’ she said aloud.

After the visit to Christos’s family she’d dropped Graham in the city. Lara had returned to the office to file her report. Graham hadn’t attempted to coach her as to what it should say. He knew he didn’t need to.
United we stand.
She flicked on the kettle and chucked a teabag into a mug. Her report said Christos Papadakis, after years of paying protection money to the Trans and after
forming a close personal bond with the now deceased officer Santo Rosetti, had volunteered to be wired for a meeting with Jimmy Tran in order to help gather evidence of Tran’s involvement in the murder of Rosetti.

He came to see me that last night. He ate here. He said he was going to meet you.

Was Santo really intending to meet Jimmy that night or was it a line fed to Christos to wind Jimmy up? If the former then she needed to know what the planned meeting was about. Her report concluded that Tran was now believed to be behind the subsequent abduction and murder of the old man after somehow becoming aware of the wiretap. It was recommended that Tran and his associates be arrested and questioned over the murder.

Divided we fall.
DI Hutchens had kicked Graham back to Gangs and was initiating disciplinary proceedings against him. Lara suspected Graham could look after himself, but what would Hutchens do with her? He’d already given her a second chance after the Hopetoun affair. She couldn’t see his goodwill stretching much further. Her phone went.

‘Lara?’

‘Boss?’

‘Autopsy on the old Greek. Ten o’clock.’

‘Will DS Graham be attending?’

‘No, he fucking won’t.’

It had been a while since Hutchens had talked to her like that. Like she was just the same as everybody else.

Cato sat in his Volvo station wagon in the car park at Casuarina. He had phoned ahead for an appointment and made it sound like official business even though he was still meant to be on sick leave.

‘Nasty business you had the other day. Surprised you’re up and about so quickly.’ Superintendent Scott seemed distracted, conducting two or three conversations at the same time: all the better, thought Cato.

‘The longer you stay down, the harder it is to get back up again,’ Cato had replied manfully.

He was fairly confident that the Super would, sooner or later, make a crosschecking phone call to his boss DI Hutchens. In some ways that was the aim: the boy who kicked the hornets’ nest. The Wellard accomplice track was a dead end, at least for now, until Cato returned to work and had access to databases and such. In the meantime he thought he’d try shaking things up a bit. He checked the dashboard clock. Visiting time.

‘Just the two of us? Nice and intimate.’ Wellard took a seat as directed.

Cato had persuaded Superintendent Scott to allow them some privacy. He’d hinted that he wanted Wellard to be able to open up and say things he may not be able to say in front of the guards, or the DI, he’d added enigmatically. Cato had met the Super’s look with a carefully crafted one of his own that suggested anything and said nothing. The hint that Cato might be working against DI Hutchens had no doubt tickled Scott and the wish had been granted. All’s fair in love and turf wars. There was still the backup of CCTV surveillance on the room and Scott would cover his arse by contacting the DI after a diplomatic amount of time had elapsed – enough for him to hear and record any dirt that might come in useful at some point in the future.

‘You, me and these four walls, mate.’

‘And the camera and the microphones,’ said Wellard, playing bored. ‘Found my Briony yet?’

‘No, any ideas?’ said Cato.

‘Nah, not today.’

‘Good, we’ve got that out the way then.’

Wellard perked up; apparently there was a new game afoot. ‘Where’s Mr Hutchens today?’

‘Busy.’

‘I can imagine. Lot of bad people out there.’

‘Few in here too.’

‘That’s for sure. Any developments on your little Finders Keepers case?’ He’d used two fingers from each hand to do the parentheses mime. Eyes twinkling merrily as he tried to provoke Cato.

‘Nothing,’ said Cato. ‘Some crank probably.’

‘Reckon?’

‘Have to be. Nothing normal about teasing some woman about her dead kid is there?’

‘S’pose not.’ Wellard tilted his head. ‘So why
are
you here?’

‘I want to know about you and my boss. Apparently you go way back.’

Wellard glanced up at the winking red light on the wall. ‘This official?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think you might be straying from the path. Wandering in the wilderness.’

‘Why’s that Gordon?’

‘You tell me. Why are you going off on your lonesome?’

‘Okay. I think you know something about my boss and you’re holding it over him.’

Wellard seemed to like that idea. ‘Really? What makes you think that?’

‘The thing is, I watch you and the DI together and it’s not like your usual master–servant relationship. He’s meant to be in charge but you don’t act like it. See what I’m getting at?’

A frown. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong,’ said Wellard. ‘I’d never be a servant.’

‘What are you then? Equal partner? Colleague? Or is it you that’s in charge?’

‘If I’m
in charge,
how come I’m in here?’

Good point.

‘I haven’t worked that out yet. Maybe you thought you’d become untouchable but you got it all wrong.’ Cato smacked his forehead. ‘Eureka! Is that it? You’re just an idiot like all the rest?’

Wellard yawned. Exaggerated. He was no longer enjoying himself. He was twitchy. Score one.

‘What’s wrong, mate? Have I touched a nerve?’

Wellard closed his eyes for a moment, like he was gathering in his frayed edges, folding them over, tucking them under. ‘I can see now why Shellie likes you.’

Wellard had reverted to the old game plan. Running out of ideas already? ‘I like her too, Gordy. She’s pretty special.’

A blink at the word ‘Gordy’; he didn’t like it. Score two?

‘I think Shellie appreciates that you have the gift of empathy,’ said Wellard. ‘You’re a parent too. You can imagine what it would be like to lose a child.’

‘Is that meant to be a threat, Gordy?’ Another flinch. Cato recalled his conversations with Andy Crouch, he’d called him Gordy too, comparing him with his big brother. ‘While we’re on the subject of family, you must miss your brother. Kevin was it? I read it in the paper.’ This time it was Cato who curled his fingers mockingly in inverted commas.
‘We’ll meet again. Miss you mate. Gordon.’

Wellard slammed his hand on the table. ‘Back off, chink.’

Score three. ‘Quite a temper you’ve got there, Gordy. You need a cool head to prevail in a man’s world, though. Kev never really took you seriously, did he?’ Cato shook his head. ‘Short fuse like that. You’d be a liability in a tight corner.’

Wellard looked up at the camera. ‘I’d like to go back to my room now. I’m finished here.’

‘What was it that triggered you on your honeymoon with Shellie? Eggs too runny? Air conditioning on the blink? No sugar in your tea?’

‘I said I’m finished here.’

‘You’re not as special as you think, Gordy. Gatecrashing vulnerable people’s minds isn’t an art; it’s bullying and cowardly. You’re no different from all the other dickheads in here who have no perspective or self-control. If you think this is all a game, then it’s one you’ve already lost. You’re in here and you’re never coming out alive, Gordy.’

Wellard’s hand lashed out and smacked Cato hard across the left cheek.

Cato returned the favour, opening up Wellard’s lip. Wellard lunged across the table, fury and blood on his face, spittle around his mouth. Cato stood and stepped back out of his reach.

‘Cool it, Gordy. Nothing personal, mate.’

The door opened and in walked Superintendent Scott with a
broad smile, an outstretched hand, and two burly guards. ‘Detective Kwong, your boss is worried about you. He reckons you should still be at home in your bed.’ An arm went around Cato’s shoulder and he was guided towards the door.

‘He attacked me. I want to press charges.’ Wellard dabbed some blood from his lip. Fury quashed, replaced by fear, hurt, and victimhood. Impressive. ‘It’s all on camera.’

‘Yes, Mr Wellard, it is,’ said Scott. ‘And you started it.’

‘Still want to make a complaint.’

‘No worries, we’ll get you a form.’

Cato caught Wellard’s eye as he was shepherded away by the two guards. ‘Maybe you can tell me all about your big brother next time. Real tough nut, I hear. Staunch. See you soon, Gordy.’

Wellard failed to hold Cato’s gaze. It felt good to have got under the bastard’s skin. It felt good to win.

‘Forty-two of them, eighty-five millimetres long, fired into the back of the head and along the spine at point blank range from a standard cordless, gas-charged nail gun.’ Professor Mackenzie wiped some grime from her spectacles. ‘Widely available for sale or hire: Bunnings, Mitre 10, Home Builders, you name it. My hubbie’s got one, never uses the bugger though.’

‘Fucking animals.’ Hutchens shook his head.

‘And I suspect Mr Papadakis was probably alive for most of the ordeal.’

Lara felt like throwing up. The charred carcass lay curled on the steel table, foetal in its final agony. Melted body fat had congealed in the creases and crevices. Organs, tissue and other samples glistened in bowls and bags on a nearby bench. The nails were lined up and numbered on a sheet of plastic. Photographs had been taken to show where a certain numbered nail had been positioned in Christos’s body. The smell of blood, offal and over-cooked meat was overpowering.

Hutchens glanced her way. ‘You okay there, Lara?’

She straightened up. ‘Fine, sir.’

‘Nasty one this, eh?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Whoever’s responsible, we’re going to make them pay. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘Which brings us around to the other corpse,’ said Professor Mackenzie.

‘Mickey Nguyen,’ said Hutchens. ‘Deep fried.’

They turned to the second table and the shrivelled remains of the Tran henchman.

‘Was that what killed him?’ said Lara. ‘The fire?’

Hutchens gave her a glance as if to say, duh.

‘As far as we can tell, so far, yes. There don’t appear to be any other wounds or inconsistencies.’

‘So the Trans torture and kill Mr Papadakis. Somewhere offsite we presume, as a police raid that morning found no sign of him or Mickey at the compound.’ Hutchens strolled around looking thoughtful like a TV detective. ‘Then later that day, after the police depart, and with an approaching bushfire, Mickey is ordered to dispose of the body. Tragically, he is caught by the speed of the fire and trapped in the vehicle. Perishing in the inferno.’

‘That’s your department, Inspector.’ Mackenzie squinted in the harsh light. ‘I’m getting a wee headache from all...’ she waved a hand at the bodies, ‘this.’

Hutchens turned to Lara. ‘Is that your reading of it, Lara?’

‘The fire moves so quickly he doesn’t even have time to drive out of the shed?’

‘Not unheard of. Read the Black Saturday Report.’

Lara turned to Mackenzie. ‘Any drugs or alcohol in his system?’

‘No traces so far but, particularly in the case of alcohol, the heat could have evaporated it.’

Lara back to Hutchens. ‘Do we bring the Trans in yet, sir?’

‘May as well,’ he sighed. ‘Although I suspect that until we get any other evidence, Jimmy Tran is going to flick-pass all the blame to Meltdown Mickey.’

That’s exactly what he did, accompanied once again by his well-heeled young lawyer, Damien.

‘Mickey, he’s mad as. Gets a bit Freddy Krueger you know? A real loose cannon. Terrible way to die though, eh?’

Hutchens flicked through the skimpy file in front of him. ‘And what did you and your brother Vincent do between the time our officers visited you, and the fire coming through? A period of approximately four and a half hours.’

Jimmy furrowed his brow. ‘We were a bit shaken to tell the truth. Those TRG guys can be pretty rough and scary. We sat around and had a few beers to settle our nerves then we packed our valuables and evacuated as instructed by the fire authorities. We were out of there by early afternoon.’

‘And Mickey?’

‘As we told your officers yesterday morning.’ A yellowy gaptoothed smile towards Lara. ‘We hadn’t seen Mickey since the previous day.’

‘When was that?’

‘Last thing Tuesday night.’

‘After your meeting in Zorba’s with Mr Papadakis?’

‘Oh, how do you know about that?’

‘You were being followed. The meeting was recorded.’

Tran turned to his lawyer, seemingly perturbed. ‘Is that legal, Damien?’

‘Probably best to just answer the question for now, Mr Tran,’ said Damien.