Читать книгу Payback - Harvey Cleggett - Страница 13

For the next thirty minutes both men introduced themselves to factory owners and staff, asking a series of standard questions that elicited almost identical answers.

After his fourth interview, Ballard waited in the street; five minutes later his partner emerged. As John approached Ballard he shook his head. In his best European accent he drawled, “I saw nothing! I heard nothing! I know nothing!”

Ballard laughed. “Same here. He looked across at the remaining factory located alongside the crime scene building. “Lucky last. Let’s see what we can dig up here.”

They approached the factory with ‘Tony’s Custom Designed Kitchens’ emblazoned across the front entrance. Both men walked up the steps, entering the small show room.

A short, trim, middle aged man approached them with a worried look on his face, his bald head out of proportion to his body. Reaching forward he extended his hand to Ballard, then John. “I’m Tony Padello. I’m the owner. I’ve been watching you go into the other factories. I can guess...”

“Yes Tony.” Ballard flashed a disarming smile. “I’m Detective Inspector Michael Ballard, this is Detective Senior Sergeant John Henderson. I’m sure you know why we’re here and yes I’m aware the police have already taken a statement from you.” Both men showed Tony their identification.

Ballard continued. “Unfortunately Tony, witnesses often don’t remember all the important details first up. That’s not a criticism… more a fact of life. As a consequence we need to ask you a few more questions.” He looked squarely at Tony, knowing what the response to his next question would be. “How are you placed for time?”

Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, hesitating.

John flipped open his day book. “Good. Let’s get started then shall we?” Ballard smiled, knowing his polite request was considered by John as pandering. With his pen hovering over a blank page and without looking at Tony, John prompted. “What time do you leave the factory each evening?”

Tony blinked rapidly, looking away before stammering, “Er, that’s hard to say, I… er… it varies.” He jigged on the spot. “Sometimes it’s quite late.” Ballard and John glanced at each other, knowing intuitively Tony’s discomfort was worth pursuing.

John pointed to at least five plastic bags containing groceries on the floor near the far wall. “A lot of shopping there Tony. Buy them this morning?”

“Yeah. There’s a supermarket around the corner.”

“Strange that you would buy so much in the morning. Any frozen items?”

A hunted look flashed across Tony’s face. “I’ve a fridge out the back. I put the frozen stuff in there earlier… then I got distracted, watching you guys going into the other factories, but I’m taking everything home tonight.”

“Married?”

Tony began to blink rapidly again. “Divorced.”

John’s questions became more pointed.

“Live alone?”

Tony’s agitation increased significantly. “Yeah. Well no. I live with my Mum.”

“Your house?”

Further hesitation. “No. It’s my Dad’s... was his. He died six years ago.”

John didn’t bother to offer condolences. Rubbing his chin he said, “Strange that you’d buy frozen stuff in the morning when it would mean less chance of loss if you bought it just before you went home. I mean supermarkets are open ‘til late.”

Noting Tony’s distress, John persisted. “Would I be correct in saying this area is zoned business only?”

Tony’s eyes widened and his face took on the look of a rabbit startled by car lights.

“Er, yes. That’s right...” his voice trailed away, but his large head kept bobbing.

John decided to cut to the chase. “Ever stay overnight when you’re backlogged with work? Customers pushing you for their kitchens to be completed?”

Tony shook his head then changed his mind. Looking uncomfortable he admitted, “Yes, sometimes I have to. You’ve no idea how cut-throat this business can be when you fall behind on orders.”

John pretended to look sympathetic. “Mm, must be tough.”

Ballard hid a grin, enjoying playing the good cop. “Tony, mate, we’ve no intention of letting the council know you sleep here overnight. That’s of no interest to us. What is of concern is whether you were here Monday night, Tuesday morning.”

The look on Tony’s face answered the question even before he opened his mouth.

“I… yes, I… was.”

“Thank you Tony. I understand this is difficult for you. Did you state this fact to the police when you gave your statement earlier?”

“No. I was going to tell them, but I shit myself. I can’t afford to be fined. Once the council start sniffing around here there’ll be all sorts of problems for me. I can’t run the risk of losing my business…”

Ballard raised his hand. “Your secret’s safe with us Tony. But you’ll have to make another statement. Did you hear or see anything during the night that may assist us?”

Tony looked down at his feet. John stepped closer, menacing. “A man was shot Tuesday morning Tony. Fifty feet from where you’re standing. Think very carefully before you answer the question. This is a murder investigation.” John’s sheer bulk and proximity was meant to intimidate; Ballard noted it was working.

The distressed expression on Tony’s face increased dramatically. Bobbing his head again he said, “Yeah. I was in bed in the side room and around 1.30 in the morning I heard a loud pop, sort of like a backfire, but muffled.”

John scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Did the sound wake you up?”

“No. I was already awake.”

“How did you know it was 1.30?”

Tony hung his head even lower, almost to the point where eye contact was lost. “I was awake and looked at the bedside clock.”

“Why were you awake at that time of the morning?”

“I uh … I had my girlfriend over.”

Ballard clapped Tony on the shoulder. “Tony, it’s ok mate. All we want is for you to tell it as it happened, you’re not going to get into trouble. You may well have information that helps us solve this crime.”

Instead of reassuring him, Ballard’s statement appeared to exacerbate Tony’s discomfort. In a high pitched voice he said, “I didn’t get up or anything, it just sounded like a backfire. I didn’t think anything of it until I heard the news next morning, that there’d been a shooting. I nearly did shit myself. Christ, next door! Mario’s a good bloke. I see him all the time.

“Then the cops … er police officers came in and started asking questions. I told them I’d gone home so I wouldn’t be involved. Most nights I do go home, but for the last week or so I’ve been snowed under.” He took a deep breath, striking his forehead with closed knuckles, looking despairingly at both detectives. “Sorry… I’m sorry. Am I in trouble? What happens now? I don’t want my name on TV or in the papers. I don’t want the bastard who did this coming after me.” A look of raw panic flashed across his face.

Ballard grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “Jesus… Tony! Take a breath! Your identity isn’t going to be made public. This is a murder investigation. Believe it or not the press and media know what they can and can’t report. But you have to understand, you may well be the one person who can clarify when Mario was killed.”

Wanting his comments to reassure Tony, Ballard looked at him closely. “Having said that, we’ll need to interview your girlfriend. Give me her contact details so my detectives can arrange a time to meet with her.”

Tony hesitated, but after seeing John’s expression, jotted down two telephone numbers in the folder handed to him. John took back the folder. “Tony we’ll arrange for the Crime Scene officers to take some photographs of the room where you were sleeping. In the meantime I want to take some of my own.” Grinning he said, “Don’t worry if you haven’t made the bed. We’ve seen it all before.”

All resistance evaporated from Tony. Almost in a trance, his head still bobbing, he led them into the work area. Walking past the Bosch edge-bander, the Altendorf table-saw, the Hettich hinge inserter then the spray booth, John meticulously noted the brand name and type of each item in his day book.

Younger detectives often viewed this degree of detail as over-the-top. Ballard knew that John’s reasoning would be that if the medical examiner discovered an injury on Mario able to be attributed to a specific piece of equipment, then recording the items in the first instance was disciplined investigating. Nothing John ever did in relation to his work could be regarded as less than disciplined.

Kitchen cabinets in various stages of construction were positioned throughout the workshop. Sawdust lay on the floor and in some areas mounds of it were waiting to be bagged. Throughout the room minute dust particles swirled in the air.

Tony ushered the detectives through a closed door into a remarkably clean kitchen that led to a small bedroom. A double bed was situated against the far wall. One side of the room had hanging space for an assortment of clothes and several towels were drying on hangers. To the left of the bed was a side table with an electric clock-radio on top. Ballard and John instinctively cocked their wrists, checking the displayed time against their watches for accuracy.

John made a number of notes in his day book. “Tony, the Crime Scene officers will be here within the hour.” Then with an added questioning look. “Has anything changed in the room since Tuesday morning?”

Tony shook his head. “No. As I said, I bunk here when I need to start early, or I’ve finished late.”

Ballard pointed to a closed door leading off the bedroom. “What’s through there?”

Opening the door Tony pointed inside. “A shower and toilet. The job’s dusty… you have no idea. I scrub up before clients come over to inspect their kitchens.”

John and Ballard looked at each other, silently questioning his claim he slept in the factory only occasionally. After glancing in the bathroom, John turned back to Tony. “Don’t go anywhere for the next two hours. We’ll need another statement from you, along with some photographs of the rooms. As I said, my team will be here within the hour.”

Softening his expression he said, “Many thanks for your cooperation Tony. A bit late, but you now know the importance of providing us with all the facts.”

Ballard joined in. “Yes Tony. You’ve been very helpful. Just remember, tell the truth when you’re questioned again. You’ve nothing to hide.” He chuckled. “Besides, what red blooded male wouldn’t be doing what you were doing at 1.30 in the morning given the chance. Lucky guy.”

Tony shook his head, relieved.

Both detectives turned, retracing their steps to the front of the factory. Tony trailed behind them and despite Ballard’s comments, asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No Tony. But cooperate with the police this time when they arrive.”

“Do I need protection?”

Ballard stopped and after a quick glance at John, looked reassuringly at Tony. “It’s very unlikely the killer knows you were here. You’re no different to any of the other owners except for the fact you happened to hear the shot, if in fact what you thought to be a backfire was the shot. That’s yet to be proven. Now… had you gone outside while he was leaving and he saw you… well that would be a very different matter.”

Tony began to tremble again. Once he had calmed down, Ballard and John shook hands with him then exited the showroom, heading to the footpath.

With a measured glance back to the factory, Ballard commented, “Well John, despite what I said to Tony, it’d be a hell of a coincidence if what he heard wasn’t the shooter.” Smiling, he added, “Who will you pick to re-interview him?”

John favoured him with a scowl. “You know damn well. Bloody Bobby. A fantastic detective, yet every now and then he stuffs things up.”

Ballard knew John was referring to one of his most effective detectives, Bobby Georgadinov, Macedonian, young, hyperactive and a workaholic who achieved amazing results but every so often, due to his impetuous nature, missed vital clues.

John shook his head again. “How could he have cocked-up the fact Tony was lying when he said he wasn’t in the factory at the time of the shooting?”

Ballard laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make him aware of his faux pas in your own subtle way. You make the call to get him and the Crime Scene boys here while I nip over and ask William to keep an eye on Tony… make sure he doesn’t leave the factory. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

Five minutes later both men sat contemplating with the motor running. John was the first to speak. “A lot of activity but we haven’t achieved much.”

Ballard scanned through his notes. “I agree. Random bits of information but we’ve been around long enough to know they’ll fall into place eventually. My worry is it won’t be soon enough. Come on, let’s do Forensics.”

John flicked into ‘Drive’ and with a brief wave to William, they headed towards the main road.