The Darkest Hour (28 page)

‘At the office.’

It could be a long search to try to pin down where Werner had called from. Actually, she thought, it could be worse than that. It might be impossible. How could they know
when
he’d rung? They couldn’t request caller information for every single number.

Veronique came in with a tea tray. The cups rattled as she moved and Ella saw her hands were shaking. She put the tray down with a clunk on the coffee table then sat opposite them on the very edge of a chair.

Wayne turned the page over. ‘Where’s the rest?’

‘I don’t know.’

Ella took the page from him.

. . . his mates would see and come for me, wherever I was.

We’re trying again to get out. I don’t know what will happen. I hope that things will be okay but

The page ended. Ella couldn’t help but look on the back just as Wayne had done.

‘There has to be more somewhere,’ he said.

‘I’ve searched and searched,’ Veronique said. ‘I cannot find it.’

‘Where was this one hidden?’

‘It was tucked in the envelope with our wills, in the safe at the warehouse. I can only think that in his fear he dropped the next page and didn’t notice it.’

Ella glanced at Wayne. From what he’d said, Veronique had been more than forthcoming so far, but she had to wonder if the second page held information that the woman had decided was best kept to herself – maybe information that would stain her husband’s name even further, or told where more money was hidden, or that might somehow incriminate her as well.

It was getting harder and harder for Sal to make the walk along the front of the factories to Preston’s Plastics. It was bad for people to see him coming and going – not that he did it often – but it would be worse for them to see his car stopping out the front, and so he parked further down or further up, or in a side street, making sure to vary it each time. Thomas said it didn’t matter, the street was so busy nobody took any notice, but that was from a man who didn’t care that the cops had his photo and were asking people about him by name and kept coming back around to ask again.

Sal focused on his breathing. Two more places to get past.
Don’t let me have a panic attack here.
In the front of a workshop a man paused in his welding and looked up, even raising his face shield. Sal tried to maintain his saunter. He carried two more fan heaters. That in itself must look strange, he thought. Fan heaters when summer was kicking in. Did undercover police know how to weld?

He glanced back. The man jerked his head to make the shield fall down into place and bent to his work again.

Sal kept on, but felt like his ears were pointing backwards, waiting for the running feet of Drug Squad and Homicide.

Inside Preston’s he looked back out. Sounds of hammering and grinding, somebody singing tunelessly to the radio, hits of the nineties, people standing beside cars conferring over dents or paintwork or rust bubbles. The air smelled of hot plastic and the occasional whiff of paint fumes from the panelbeater’s across the road.

‘Whatcha looking for?’

Sal turned to find Colin Preston right behind him. ‘I, ah, thought I saw somebody I knew.’

Preston peered past him, then looked down at the bags. ‘More heaters?’

‘Cold in there. The concrete, you know.’

Up close Preston smelled of Old Spice. His face was lined, and his blue eyes seemed to look right into Sal’s soul.

‘Comes up through your feet,’ Sal stumbled on.

Preston sniffed and turned away, as if whatever he saw came up lacking. He crossed the room and switched on the radio. The voice of the Family Man echoed in the factory.

‘
–Opposition spokesman for police, quoted in the papers today as saying “This amnesty has cost millions in advertising and man hours, as police have been taken from their regular duties on the street and told to man the phones then look into the claims made by these losers who would sell their own grandmothers for a snort of drugs. Meanwhile, the Police Minister cannot show us even one arrest produced by this hare-brained scheme.” Listeners, we invited the Minister to speak today but his spokeswoman would only comment that arrests aren’t reported because investigations are ongoing. Yes, folks, the same old double-speak. Hogwash, if you ask me.
’

Sal knocked at the steel door and glanced back at Colin Preston. He sat by the radio and watched Sal over the brim of a steaming teacup. Sal quickly faced the door and knocked again. ‘It’s me,’ he croaked, wanting to get away from Preston’s gaze and the Family Man’s words.

Thomas yanked the door open. ‘D’you get them?’

Sal pushed in past him.

‘Open them and set them up,’ Thomas said. He locked the door.

The room was hot. Four fan heaters ran at full speed on a makeshift bench. Thomas wore only jeans. His chest was tanned and sparsely haired and beaded with sweat.

Sal knelt to take the first heater from its box and unwind the cord.

‘Do I look like I have all fucking day?’ Thomas grabbed the second box and ripped it open. He yanked the cord straight then snatched Sal’s heater and took both machines to an already overloaded powerboard. He shoved the plugs in but the second heater was too much load and the powerboard clicked off. Thomas swore. He pulled the lead back out and reset the overload switch. This time all five heaters ran, though not at the same furious rate as before.

Thomas threw the spare heater hard across the room. The plastic casing shattered against the concrete wall and the innards fell with a clunk to the floor.

‘Hey!’ Sal said. ‘I could’ve taken that back.’

Tendons stood out in Thomas’s neck. ‘It’s still not working.’

Sal looked at the burners and glass flasks. ‘Really?’

‘That useless Chinese imbecile probably forgot something.’ Thomas glared at a handful of stained and wrinkled pages. ‘His handwriting’s fucking terrible too.’

It won’t work! He’ll have to leave! We won’t have to sell anything and we won’t get busted!

Thomas looked up at him. ‘What?’

‘What?’

‘What’d you say?’

Sal groped around for a reply. ‘Colin was listening to stuff about the amnesty out there.’

‘So?’

‘It’s just, if he’s listening to that, maybe he’s thinking about it. About using it.’
It’s so hot in here I can hardly breathe.
‘So maybe this is for the best. It might be safer to just quit now.’

‘Is it him thinking about using the amnesty – or you?’

‘What? No!’

‘You’re turning red.’

‘It’s bloody hot in here.’

Thomas came close and stared into his eyes. Sal struggled to hold his gaze.
Don’t look away, don’t look away, or he’ll know for sure and you’ll end up as dead as the others.

He swallowed. ‘Do you want me to try to read the recipe?’

‘Do I want you to read the recipe, when you’ve already shown what you want by telling me over and over again to give up?’

‘It was just a thought.’

Thomas turned back to the flasks. ‘Just get out of here.’

Sal heaved the door open. The air in the factory was cool and easy to breathe. He took in big lungfuls as he heard the lock turn behind him.

Preston was still by the radio. The volume was lower and Sal could make out the Family Man’s tone but not the words. Preston raised his teacup to Sal. ‘See you next time.’

Sal ducked his head and hurried out into the light.

Wayne dropped Ella at the office and drove off. She wasn’t going to wave, then changed her mind and turned back at the last second, but he stared out at the street and not at her.

She stalked into the lift and jabbed the button hard. When they’d left the Nolan house she’d voiced her concerns about what Veronique might be hiding and had practically seen Wayne’s hackles rise.

‘Wait, listen,’ she’d said. ‘Maybe she found the key piece of info that made her decide here’s where the sharing stops.’

‘I know this woman. You only met her today.’

‘Cake doesn’t mean a person’s innocent.’

He’d shot her a look. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.’

The lift doors opened and Ella walked into the office. Murray wasn’t at his desk. She threw herself into her chair. It was a totally legitimate suspicion to hold. Whoever heard of a person being
so
helpful anyway? Or telling a detective there was too much money?

She sat up at her computer and entered Veronique’s name. She had no record.

Maybe she never got caught.

Or maybe Wayne was right.

Murray came in bearing a coffee. ‘Oh, you’re back.’

She pushed aside the thought of nervous Veronique and the uncomfortable feeling that she might have just spoiled something good with Wayne. ‘Want to pay a visit to a certain young computer repairer?’

M
urray brought his coffee with him. ‘Drive smooth.’ Ella would drive any way she liked. ‘How’d it go, being out with Strongy?’

‘Tracked the guy to a squat in Surry Hills.’ He raised the cup to his mouth, one hand braced on the door as if that’d help. ‘Kids took off in every direction when we went busting in. We caught a couple and one of them fessed she knew him, said he went back to hospital just last night with his shoulder. We nipped around there but he’d only been in for a couple of hours and nobody knows where he is now.’

And he probably wouldn’t be back at that squat again, once he got the word from his mates, Ella thought.

Murray said, ‘So what’s the go with Drysdale?’

She explained what Nolan had written about Kennedy’s cash-in-hand job which led him to Werner. ‘If we make like we’re going to arrest Drysdale, that should shake his tree enough.’

‘Have we got grounds?’

‘I didn’t say
actually
arrest him,’ she said. ‘Anyway, he won’t know the difference.’

‘He might.’ Murray sipped carefully. ‘They give away so much on TV now.’

She zoomed around a corner. ‘I think we’ll be fine.’

Benson Drysdale opened the door. ‘Oh.’

‘Hello to you too,’ Ella said. ‘Yes, we’d love to come in.’

He stepped back. One computer was on, its screen showing a whirling pattern of colours, and another was spread out in pieces on the table.

‘Not working today?’ she said.

‘Had the early shift. Finished at two.’ He pushed some computer manuals off a chair. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘We’re fine.’ She took her time, looking into the kitchen and the bedroom. ‘Heard from Thomas lately?’

‘Thomas . . . Werner?’

‘How many Thomases do you know?’

‘I don’t even know that one.’

Murray stood by the TV with his hands in his pockets. ‘We’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘It was back in May that you said you’d seen Werner, but then you were able to describe him to us quite well.’

Drysdale frowned.

‘If I meet somebody once, months back, I’m lucky if I remember that they exist,’ Murray said. ‘See my point?’

‘Not really.’

‘Perhaps you’ve seen him more recently.’ Murray idly ran a finger through the dust on the TV. ‘Maybe you actually know him well.’

‘Then why would I tell you his name?’ Drysdale said. ‘Why wouldn’t I just deny ever having met him?’

‘Because you didn’t know what we knew,’ Ella said. ‘And because a half-lie is easier to tell than a complete one.’

Drysdale shook his head. ‘I don’t know him. I only saw him once. I just have a good memory for faces.’

‘Let’s just take him in and be done with it,’ Ella said to Murray.

‘What for?’ Drysdale said.

‘I agree,’ Murray said. ‘We’re not getting anywhere here.’

Ella said, ‘You’ve got your cuffs?’

‘Hang on,’ Drysdale said.

‘Here somewhere.’ Murray felt along his belt.

‘Hang on,’ Drysdale said again. ‘What do you want to ask me? You haven’t asked anything yet. I’m not refusing to cooperate. How can I when I don’t know what you want?’

Ella pretended to consider. ‘I guess that’s true.’

‘Just ask me,’ he said.

‘How did Kennedy and Werner meet?’

‘How would I know that?’ Drysdale said. ‘I wasn’t there. I don’t know anything about any of it. I only met Werner once, when he was sitting in the van.’

‘Somebody told us that you know.’

‘They’re lying.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Don’t ask me, ask them!’

‘We’d like to, but they’re dead,’ Murray said.

Drysdale slumped onto his chair.

‘Just tell us,’ Ella said. ‘How did Kennedy and Werner meet?’

‘I honestly have no idea.’ Drysdale’s voice cracked. ‘I never did anything other than sell some computers. Yes, James Kennedy helped me, but that was it. That was the end of our involvement. Whatever else he was up to I have no idea.’

Ella had a thought. ‘How did your involvement with him begin?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How did you come to ask him to deliver computers for you, and not some other driver? Why did you feel safe about asking him when you knew it would mean trouble if Peres found out?’

Drysdale pressed the sleeve of his T-shirt to his nose. ‘When I’d just started working there, about three years ago, James brought in a couple of bottles of Midori. He said he’d been given them, he and his wife didn’t drink it, and did anyone want them.’

‘And?’ Ella said.

‘And my girlfriend at the time liked the stuff. I went up to him and asked how much he wanted for them, and he said again that he’d been given them and so I could have them. I said, wow, that’s a good deal, who gave them to him? And he kind of looked around to see who was nearby, and said that it was an under-the-counter kind of deal from a customer.’

‘A Quiksmart customer?’ Murray said. ‘A cash-in-hand thing?’

‘Booze rather than cash,’ Drysdale said. ‘But yes, a Quiksmart customer.’

Ella said, ‘Which Quiksmart customer?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s handy,’ Murray said.

‘Hey, you wanted to know why I felt comfortable about asking him to take the computers. That was why.’

‘Because he’d obviously done similar stuff for somebody else,’ Ella said.

‘Exactly.’

‘What type of businesses does Quiksmart deliver booze to and from? Bottle shops?’

‘Kennedy only ever drove a van, so if he went to bottle shops they would’ve only been small ones, or taking small deliveries, like specialty orders.’ Drysdale thought for a moment. ‘I guess it could’ve been for nightclubs too, and for sports clubs, and restaurants.’

Nightclubs.

‘Ever heard of a club called Rosie’s?’

‘Nope.’

‘You never heard Kennedy mention it?’

‘Never.’

Murray was already headed for the door. Ella looked down at Drysdale. ‘If you’re spinning bullshit, we won’t be happy.’

‘That’s all I know, I swear.’

They agreed that Sal, as sometime half-arsed supervisor and son of one of the owners, would be the place to begin. ‘Plus he had that breakable vibe,’ Ella said, powering towards Maroubra. ‘I reckon we could get way more out of him than that Davids.’

‘We should talk to the father this time too.’

The Rios house looked closed up tight. Ella knocked till her knuckles were sore. Murray looked up at the windows.

‘Excuse me,’ a voice called.

Ella saw one of the neighbours waving over the side fence. The woman said, ‘Are you looking for the Rioses?’

Ella walked towards her. ‘Do you know where they are?’

‘Julio collapsed this afternoon and the ambulance took him to hospital,’ she said. ‘They all went to be with him.’

‘Do you know which hospital?’ Ella showed the woman her badge. ‘It’s important that we speak with them.’

‘St John’s in Randwick.’ The woman lowered her voice. ‘It’s a hospice. Where people go to . . . you know.’

Ella knew. ‘Thanks.’

‘I don’t know about this,’ Murray said. ‘If the guy’s dying, we shouldn’t be tackling his brother about stuff we’re not even sure he knows about.’

‘This is a homicide case.’ Ella kept driving. Randwick was just a couple of suburbs away.

‘We’re not going to solve it today though, are we? It makes no difference if we leave Sal till tomorrow. He’s hardly going to be cooperative if we drag him away from his dying brother’s bedside, and we’ve got lots we can do in the meantime.’

Ella didn’t slow.

‘Let’s go to Rosie’s and talk to Paul Davids again, and see if we can get a look at their delivery records,’ Murray said.

‘He’ll probably demand a warrant.’

‘It’s worth a try.’

They approached a big intersection. Right took them into Randwick, where skin-and-bones Julio Rios was slowly toppling from his perch while all the other Rioses watched. Straight on took them towards the city, to the Cross, to Rosie’s, where implacable Paul Davids would hold out his hand for the warrant, his empty palm pink and lined and . . . empty.

Ella hovered along the edge of the right-turn lane then swore and accelerated forward.

Paul Davids’s hand wasn’t as pink as Ella had imagined – the creases were actually quite grimy – but it was every bit as empty.

They got back into the car. ‘I’m still not going to that hospice,’ Murray said. ‘We should head for the office and type our reports, and make a start on the warrant paperwork.’

‘I don’t think we have enough to get one,’ she said. ‘We need to talk to the Rioses.’

‘No way.’

‘They might be persuaded into giving us access.’

‘They won’t.’

‘They might,’ she said. ‘If they’re fine upstanding citizens.’

‘Is this before or after their son and brother dies?’

‘Okay, okay.’ Ella turned west. ‘We’ll go back to the office.’

‘You are a good person.’

‘Ha.’

It was almost peak hour. Traffic was sludgy. She crawled through a set of lights, thinking how after this the Rioses would be arranging the funeral and Murray wouldn’t want to interrupt them in that. Then they’d be at the funeral, then recovering from it. She mightn’t get near them for days.

This was the kind of task Murray loved. Ella watched him type merrily away while she hunched over her keyboard.

We should’ve at least gone past the hospice. Sal might’ve been outside getting some fresh air. He might’ve been climbing into his car, about to head home.

She put her forehead in her hand.

‘Need some Panadol?’

‘Huh?’

Murray was looking at her. ‘You’re holding your head. I thought you must have a headache.’

‘Yeah, I do,’ she said quickly. ‘Maybe I’ll go home. You don’t mind, do you?’

He was already typing again. ‘No worries. Take it easy.’

‘See you in the morning.’ She grabbed her bag from her desk drawer and headed for the door.

She turned right from the car park, heading citywards. It wouldn’t matter if Murray was at the window. This was the way to home too.

Sal Rios wasn’t in the hospice car park nor in the gardens near the front door. Ella hesitated on the steps, then went in.

A nun looked up from behind the front desk. ‘May I help you?’

Show the badge or not?
Ella chose not. ‘I’ve heard that Julio Rios was admitted this afternoon. I was wondering if I might be able to visit him, please?’

The nun typed something into her computer. She typed faster than Ella did. ‘He’s on the third floor, in room nine. The lift is along the corridor there. Turn left when you get out, and the room is the third on your left.’

‘Thank you.’

The lift was slower than the office one. Ella watched the lights change and told herself she hadn’t just lied to a nun. The nun never asked if she was a relative or friend, did she? So she never needed to explain that she wasn’t.

The lift doors hauled themselves open onto a brown lino hallway. Jesus on the cross watched her from the opposite wall.
You’ve lied to a nun, you may as well go and disturb a grieving family.