Читать книгу Priors - Stuart Jackson E. - Страница 4

“This is not going to be easy.”

Barron was standing in the office of his Chief Superintendent, Charles Lefroy. It was a spacious office, on the fifth floor of the office block. There wasn’t much of a view - other office blocks across the road that towered over them. Towards the docks, a sliver of green that was Flagstaff Gardens.

“Why not?” Lefroy asked.

Lefroy stood up as he asked the question and wandered slowly to the window. He was a thin man with a bush of deep black hair, and dark eyes set deep in their sockets. He wore a grey suit, neatly tailored to fit the contours of his body, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white shirt with a red tie. The trousers had sharp creases above immaculately polished black leather shoes. He’d come into the AFP from outside, something to do with intelligence, and that was all most people knew. Barron was impressed by Lefroy’s easy mix of practicality and strategic view.

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

“What? As in drunk?”

“No. As in amnesia.”

“You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.”

“Has the MO had a look at him?”

“Yes...”

“And?”

“Confirms the diagnosis.”

“Christ. And Christie remembers absolutely nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“What does the MO say exactly?”

“Thinks it’s likely to be temporary amnesia. You know, bought on by a traumatic event.”

“Like butchering this woman? What’s her name?”

“Amy Deacon. At least that’s what we’re working on. Formal identification is not going to be easy. We’re trying a fingerprint match, but if she hasn’t got a record then that’s pretty inconclusive. The chance of getting some ID from dental records is almost impossible. The forensic people are trying, but aren’t very hopeful. The shotgun made quite a mess and was probably aimed at making identification impossible.”

“Where does the name come from?”

“Christie was known to be ... to be in a relationship with a woman of that name. Christie owns the place. We’ve checked the place and there are other traces of her there. Evidence of her having lived there - women’s clothes, that sort of thing - but no sign of the woman herself. Green is double-checking with other residents in the block - using her photo. If it’s not her, then we could be in real trouble finding out the hell it is. No one knew it was Christie’s place.”

“Any other links with evidence at the murder scene?”

“Found items of women’s underwear in the murder room. Bra and panties. Same size of similar items found in the bedroom. Also some other items with the same labels. Forensic will do some checks to see if there’s any sort of match.”

“What about head hair?”

“Deceased was blonde. Matches knowledge of the Deacon woman and also some photos.”

“Photos?”

“She was a model. That’s as much as we know. There were some photos of her in an album we found at Christie’s place.”

“How do you know they’re photos of this Deacon woman?”

“There’s a few notations against a couple of them. You know the sort of thing - Amy at the beach, Amy in her new hat.”

“Anything else at Christie’s?”

“Nothing obvious. One of the lads is with Forensic there at the moment.”

Lefroy was suddenly quiet. Barron sensed that he was worried. The Christie link made it very nasty. With all the potential to blow up in their faces.

“This is a bloody mess,” Lefroy said, as if reading Barron’s mind.

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Barron said.

“Where’s Christie now?” Lefroy asked.

“He’s downstairs with the MO.”

“And the MO is quite firm about this amnesia thing?”

“As clear as he can be. I’d suggest...”

“What?”

“I’d suggest we transfer Christie out of here as soon as possible. As few people here know about this the better.”

“Agree. Who does know?”

“Only the investigating team. And two members of Forensic. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Good idea. Where are you going to take him?”

“Mornington.”

“You think so?”

There was a facility on the Mornington Peninsula that the AFP used - and sometimes shared with other agencies. Like Special Branch and ASIO. Barron had given the matter a fair amount of thought and he could offer no better alternatives. He knew also that Lefroy operated best with his officers when they were giving him suggestions. Showed they were thinking and not just relying on Lefroy to come up with all the answers. This thing was likely to get messy in the future and if Lefroy and he worked together on it, it would make the process cleaner. Easier.

“It’s not ideal, but it gets Christie out of here and out of the city,” Barron replied. “We can keep the place secure. And secure not only to keep people out, but also to keep Christie in. I’d need a couple of men.”

“No problem,” and Lefroy allowed himself a short laugh. “Well, it is a bloody problem. Finding extra staff out of a declining budget is always difficult, but this is bloody serious. Let Admin know I’ve said it’s okay.”

Barron knew Lefroy to only use mild expletives - if he used them at all. He saw that as a good trait in a superior. It set a good example.

“Good. The MO’ll go out with him. He can undertake a more thorough examination and let us know how we stand.”

Lefroy smiled to himself. If he had to choose any of his officers to handle this case it would have been Barron. He was competent, knowledgeable and engendered a great team spirit amongst the people he worked with. They trusted him and, in the process, supported him solidly. He also had a good network and if there were operations that involved liaison with Customs or the State Police or even the intelligence people, there was no friction, no demarcations, no petty squabbling for the points that went with making the final bust. Barron had a good track record and he’d handle this well.

“He thinks a murder could have brought on this amnesia?” Lefroy asked again. This was a complication they could well do without. He watched Barron as he answered.

Barron looked worried. “Yes. But he’d like more time on it.”

“Does he know whether it’ll go away? When it’ll go away?”

“No. Too soon to tell.”

Lefroy assessed the look on Barron’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

Barron ran his hand across his face and kneaded his tired eyes with his fingers. Then he looked straight into Lefroy’s face.

“Well?” Lefroy asked.

“We’ve got Christie cold on this one. Caught at the scene of the crime.

“So?”

“There’s no obvious motive. There’s...”

“Hey, look. That we have a murder as gory as this one is bad enough. That Christie is involved is unbelievable. But as you quite rightly say, he was caught at the scene of the crime. All you have to do is bring together the evidence that we need. Just wrap it up thoroughly and wrap it up quickly. It’s not our job to investigate murders, but in this case we make the exception. We don’t get outsiders involved in our business.

“I want you to take charge of this. Keep it contained. I do not want the media involved. Not even a whiff of it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t want to be fielding the Victorian Police because they’ve found out about it.”

“That may be easier said than done.”

“Try. Make sure your team understands all of this. I’ll talk with Forensic.”

Lefroy turned his back on Barron and looked out the window. Without turning he said, “You keep me informed on a regular basis. Me and only me. I’ll talk with the boss and let him know what’s happening.”

Barron nodded. Lefroy turned back to face him.

“Make sure this is done by the book. No loose ends. The boss’ll go through it very thoroughly. You know what he’s like.” Barron nodded. “If it’s done properly we can complete the investigation, make the submissions and convince the Internal team - and then close the file.”

Barron was thinking ahead. This was an unusual case and he knew that Lefroy was taking a chance that it could all be resolved by having the boss create an Internal Investigation Enquiry. There was, he realised, a pretty good chance of that happening. The alternative - resolution in a much more public arena, could be very damaging to the Force. With absolutely nothing to gain by it. He hoped Lefroy could swing it. It would be simpler all round.

“Okay.”

“Thanks, David. I know I can count on you. Coffee?”

“Thanks.” Barron suddenly realised how hungry he was. He’d been at the crime scene all night, making sure that nothing was missed and he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Barron followed his superior into the small room off Lefroy’s office that held an urn, a fridge, and other basics. He watched as Lefroy spooned coffee into the empty cups and then added the water.

“There’s milk in the fridge. Sugar’s there.”

Barron put more sugar in the coffee than he needed and walked back into Lefroy’s office.

“What’s first?” Lefroy asked, sipping at the hot drink and looking at Barron over the rim of the cup.

“A number of things. We’ll follow up on the Deacon woman. Establish positive ID. We’ll have to rely on Forensic, but we should be able to supplement their evidence with some empirical stuff. Confirm the link with Christie. Do the best we can at re-creating their time together over the past six months or so. I don’t think Christie knew her for long. That shouldn’t be difficult. Christie also has a sister and I think they were pretty close.”

“Avoid that if you can.”

“I will.” He took a drink and appreciated the feel of the hot liquid as it went down his throat. He decided he’d go and have a big breakfast when he left here. “And because there’s a link - albeit distant now - with Doyle, I’ll go and see Doyle’s wife again.”

“Doyle? That could be tricky.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll work it out.”

“Does she still not accept that he committed suicide?”

“I don’t know. I know I should have gone and seen her, but I haven’t, for a long while. Maybe she’s had some time to think it over. After all ...”

“I know. Go carefully, that’s all,” Lefroy offered.

“I will.” Another drink. “My guess is that Christie and the woman had some falling out. I don’t think its complex.”

“And the sexual thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you said he mutilated the Deacon woman. Blasted her groin away. That’s not normal.”

“I know Christie - obviously - but I don’t know him that well. Maybe the woman was playing around and it was Christie’s way of making a point. You know as well as I do that all sorts of things can throw people over the edge. Can make ordinary people into barbarians. And this wouldn’t be the first woman to drive a man to murder. Even her own.”

“True.”

“And while this is going on, hopefully the MO can make some progress with Christie.”

“That could be a deciding factor.”

“In what way?”

“It’s hard to know which way the Internal could jump. They may think there’s not enough of a case if Christie still can’t remember at the time we go to court. They may want his confession to make it a watertight case.”

“That may not be possible.”

“I know. That’s why the other evidence has to be perfect. The priors, Dave, the priors. Important in every case, but if this amnesia thing lingers on, they’ll be even more invaluable.”

“Okay.” Barron downed the last of the coffee. “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Lefroy walked over to his desk and Barron knew that their meeting was over. He headed for the door.

“Oh, Dave.”

“Yes?”

“Get some sleep. You look terrible.”

Barron nodded and left. He went into the toilets and filled one of the sinks with cold water and then he pushed his face into it and held it there. He dried himself with a bunch of paper towels and raked his hands through his short hair. He looked at his watch. Almost eleven.

He reminded himself that he was hungry and he took the lift to the ground floor and left the building.

The rain had stopped, and the pavements and streets were drying, small pools of water here and there. There was still the hiss of tyres as the cars drove past. The people on the street were prepared for more rain and the skies promised more was to come. A light breeze shifted around him as he walked.

He’d ring Fay at work, apologise for missing their date last night and see if he could set up another. Not tonight. Maybe the night after.

How was this investigation going to pan out? How long was it going to take him? He turned off the pavement and into the shop.

“G’day, Mr Barron. Nice day.”

“Morning, Nick.”

Nick’s shop was empty save for Nick and the young girl he had behind the counter. She looked up and smiled at him and then went back to stacking the packs of cigarettes in the display cases. She knew that Nick would look after Barron, that Barron was one of Nick’s special clients, someone he liked to keep in good favour, provide the personal touch.

“What’ll it be, Mr Barron?”

“How about a big plate of bacon and eggs?”

“No worries. And some sausages?”

“Sounds good.”

“You sit down and I’ll get it for you. A coffee?”

Barron nodded.

“Maria, get Mr Barron a coffee, hey?”

There was a copy of the morning paper on the table and Barron looked at the front page. More economic woes, increasing balance of payments debt and falling retail sales. And increasing unemployment. No one was safe these days, he thought. Even public servants - once thought to have jobs for life - were being laid off. Down sizing was the current terminology, along with redundancy. But it still amounted to the same thing - the sack, dismissal. No job. And not much chance of picking up another.

And Lefroy had hinted at problems in the Australian Federal Police. Decreasing budgets. That meant less money allocated to them and with less money you couldn’t afford to keep employing and paying the same number of people. There was a story going around the office that they’d hired a private consulting firm to look at the AFP’s human resource budgeting. Another set of nice words to see how the people were being used. If the duties were relevant, if there were better ways of getting things done, if they could do the same jobs with less people.

Reggie had left a couple of months ago because he thought he could make it on his own. Gone to an easier job and only earning a little less than with the AFP. And they hadn’t replaced him. Let natural attrition solve their budget problems.

“Coffee, Mr Barron,” Maria said and laid the cup in front of him.

“Thanks.”

She’d been working for Nick for the last two years, an attractive girl with the large and dark Greek eyes, the olive skin and the flashing white smile. And breasts that filled out her uniform to perfection. If Barron remembered well, Nick’s last assistant had been similarly built. He smiled and watched her walk back behind the counter.

Increasing unemployment. It made it even more important that he make arrangements for his future. Maybe he could persuade Fay to move out of Melbourne with him. To the Gold Coast. It was warm there. No, maybe not Fay. He would sever all links with this place. Just leave and never come back. There’d be women in Queensland. He felt himself smiling and wondered what his problem was with Fay. Why would he think about severing the ties with her? Too serious?

“There you go, Mr Barron,” Nick said and laid the plate in front of him, placing a knife and fork next to it, wrapped in a paper serviette. “Enjoy.”

It looked good.

A lot of the boys talked about getting out. But to many it was just that - talk. Dreams they might never realise. He didn’t want to end up like that. He’d make it to the Gold Coast. He would.

He jabbed the fork into the egg and watched the thick yellow fluid flow out. He started to eat.