A Certain Malice (11 page)

Smithson’s eyes met his wife’s before returning to Cam. “He swore at me.”

Cam began to write a nursery rhyme on his notebook. Always be writing something down, he had learned. It gets people agitated. Makes them more likely to say what they’d rather keep to themselves.

“And then what?” he said.

“He turned his back on me and left the shed.”

Jack and Jill went up the hill…

“He didn’t attack you?”

“No, I would have reported him if he had. Exactly where are you going with this, Sergeant?”

“Mr Bell recently lost some teeth, that’s how he was identified,” Cam said. “His dentist said he’d an appointment for a denture fitting two weeks ago. Apparently he told the dentist that someone knocked his teeth out in a fight.”

Smithson stitched his lips into a thin jagged line and folded his arms. “That’s nothing to do with me,” he said.

To fetch a pail of water…

Cam’s pen hovered above the page. He glanced over at Leanne; her eyebrows were raised, and she leaned forward in her chair to study Mr Smithson as if he was an unusual insect. He’d have to have a word with her about that. Suspects often gave themselves away with body language, but cops did too. Cam had always likened the questioning of a suspect to an intricate game of poker. You had to know when to hold ’em, know when to show ’em. She was showing too much interest now.

Anne Smithson had turned a lighter shade of pale.

“It would’ve been quite a punch to get those teeth out. I imagine the person who hit him must have suffered some kind of knuckle damage,” Cam continued in his well-practised, neutral tone.

“I know nothing about any fight.” Jeffrey’s lips pursed. He placed his left hand over his right.

Jack fell down and broke his crown…

Cam leaned over to scratch an itch on his leg, straightened to gaze around the luxurious office. He had never understood the attraction of antiques. Elizabeth’s parents had a house full of them and they’d always made him feel uneasy. He was not comfortable with the idea of collecting the possessions of long dead strangers.

“Had you seen or heard from Herbert Bell since he stopped working for you?” he asked.

Husband and wife shook their heads.

“Do you have any idea where he went from here?”

Mrs Smithson explained she’d heard Bell had moved to be caretaker at a neighbouring property. Leanne’s pen made scratching noises as she wrote down the address.

Time for an awkward silence, Cam thought, let Jeffrey stew for a bit. The mantle clock ticked on as he took in the degrees and diplomas covering almost every inch of wall space. Between the two of them, the Smithsons seemed to have enough qualifications to staff a university. The largest of these framed documents caught his attention; he narrowed his eyes, attempting to decipher the gothic writing.

The clock bonged out the hour. Its deep vibrations shuddered through the oriental carpet under their feet. Finally Jeffrey said, “Will that be all, Sergeant?”

Cam abruptly switched his gaze from the diplomas back to Smithson. “Where were you on Saturday evening between six pm and midnight?”

Jeffrey stiffened at the unexpected question. “Are you asking me for an alibi?”

“Just answer the question please, sir.” Cam’s resolve to tread softly began to falter. These two were hiding something and he intended to find out what it was.

“This is preposterous! You surely don’t think…”

“It’s a routine question, sir. It should be fairly simple to answer.”

Anne cleared her throat, meeting Jeffrey’s eyes with an unspoken question. He stared at her for a moment then nodded.

Back to her diary, she found the relevant page and began to read softly.

“At 6 pm we had an emergency committee meeting with the Glenroyd progress association. After that we went out to dinner with the Hamptons. On the way home we discovered our neighbours’ sheep had wandered on to the road. We tried to call our neighbours on the mobile phone but found we had no range, so we drove over to their house and together rounded the sheep up. When we were finished, they asked us in for a coffee. We didn’t get home until almost two.”

Up until now it had been Jeffrey jumping in to answer Cam’s questions. This response of Anne’s sounded like a well-rehearsed reading.

And Jill came tumbling after…

Leanne handed Mrs Smithson a piece of paper and asked for the names and contact numbers of the people they’d associated with that evening.

The clock ticked on while she wrote. Cam’s gaze once more roved the room. Finally he said, “I see you were a civil engineer, Mr Smithson. Why did you switch to teaching?”

“I can’t see how this has anything to do with the death of Mr Bell,” Smithson said.

Anne Smithson, though, seemed to brighten at the change of topic. She ignored the hostility in her husband’s voice and said, “Because I asked him to. My husband is a mathematical genius, Sergeant. He was once CEO of Super Tech. I imagine you’ve heard of the company?”

She wrote down the last name with a flourish of relief and handed the list to Leanne. Cam nodded. Even he had heard of the high-profile engineering company.

“I’d been unable to find a suitable head of the maths department and he agreed to the job. Jeffrey is also a highly skilled construction engineer. It is he who designed and supervised all the renovations.” She waved an arm around the lavish office, like a queen in her kingdom. “I would never have been able to do all this without the support of my husband.”

Smithson’s chest swelled but he only allowed the most humble of smiles to grace his face. Cam wondered about the circumstances behind Smithson quitting his engineering company: shonky trading, a collapsed building? Why would a man throw in a job that probably paid him hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to become a schoolteacher?

“I must compliment you both on the job you have done, though as a future school parent, I only hope the fees aren’t going to be reflecting these massive improvements.” He smiled, drawing a diagonal line through the writing on his note pad. All Smithson could see was the decisive hand movement. Cam noticed the little man’s frown, and the way he touched the knot of his tie.

But Mrs Smithson took the remark with its intended humour.“You don’t have to worry about that, Sergeant, just thank the generosity of a wealthy old girl, Jane Featherstone. She died childless and bequeathed a considerable part of her fortune to the school. We plan to name the boarding house after her.” She turned to her husband. “It won’t be completed for a while though, will it Jeffrey?”

“I hope to get it started by next summer. It’ll be stage four of the building project and will mean that we can become a boarding school again. We’ve had many inquiries from overseas, Asian families mainly. I expect to have doubled the student population within two years.”

Cam smiled as he got up to leave. “I’m looking forward to watching it grow,” he said.

Cam and Leanne walked back to the car park. “Do you really think that little runt had something to do with Bell’s death, Sarge?” Leanne asked

“I don’t know if he killed him, but I think he hit him. He didn’t get those swollen knuckles from arthritis, that’s for sure.”

Cam settled into his seat, holding up his right fist to Leanne. Despite the scarring from the burns, it was easy to see how his middle knuckle was twice the size of the others. “Hit someone that hard and your knuckles are never quite the same again.”

“Ouch.”

“You should have seen the other guy.”

“Sure, Sarge.” Leanne rolled her eyes, very like Ruby did at one of his dad jokes.

“That little bloke must have been pretty riled to hit out like that, and knock Bell’s teeth out to boot,” he mused as he started the engine.

“I’ll check through the names on this list.” Leanne indicated her notebook.“Other than that there’s not much we can do until the autopsy.”

“Don’t you worry, there’s plenty to do. You can start by running a background check on Jeffrey Smithson. Go to Super Tech and find out when and why he left.”

Leanne let out a low moan.

“Or maybe you’d rather do traffic?”

“Super Tech, I’m on it.”

“I want to visit the neighbour Bell was caretaker for. You’d better contact him and arrange a meeting.”

Leanne flicked the page of her notebook. “Mr Lou Blayney.”

“Yeah, that’s him. And Toby Bell said the last time he saw his brother he was living with a woman. There’s a chance she might still be around.”

“Or else another one.”

“Quite.” Cam gave Leanne a quick glance. “You can come with me when it’s time to break the news. She’d probably handle it better from another female. Softer touch and all that.”

“Sarge, that is so sexist,” said Leanne, stretching out the
o
in so.

Cam smiled. “It’s the truth.” He looked at his watch. “Shit. At this rate I’m going to be late for the autopsy in Toorrup. It would’ve been a good experience for you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here.”

Leanne smiled. “Bummer,” she said.

13

Rod beckoned Cam over to a bench by the wall and they sat down under a garish abstract painting. Cam had been in enough hospitals over the last few years not only to recognise their universal smell and sounds but also the consistent theme of the art works: mashed body parts.

Rod’s hound-dog face creased into a smile. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?” he said.

Cam raised an eyebrow.“No. What?”

“One of the office bearers of Satan’s Sons has been admitted to ICU with head injuries.”

Cam gave Rod a puzzled look. “Why the smug satisfaction? Doesn’t that just mean more trouble?”

“It wasn’t even from a fight.”

“An MVA, then?”

“Kind of,” said Rod, obviously enjoying the guessing game.

“The suspense is killing me.”

“OK. This old bloke was riding along the main shopping drag on his brand new custom-made chopper, thinking he was looking pretty cool. He was so busy admiring himself in one of the shop windows he didn’t notice that the semi in front of him had stopped at the lights and –” Rod smacked his hands together.“Thwack.”

Their laughter was cut short by the appearance of three men in the lobby. Clad in denim and leather, two had shaved heads and bristling beards, obviously having taken great pains to conform to their non-conformity. The third man was shorter, dressed more conservatively than the others and had a luxurious mane of white hair. He saw the seated cops and swaggered over, extending his hand to Rod with a twisted worm of a smile.

“Well, g’day, Superintendent, how’re they hangin’?”

Rod kept his hand to himself and remained seated. “Fine until you came in, Matthews,” he said. Cam looked from his friend to the man, intrigued by the hostility between them.

Matthews put out his hands, palms up, turning to his companions. “The Superintendent doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a chat.”

“Nah, and I thought cops were always supposed to be courteous and friendly to the general public. This one treats us like we’re common criminals.” The speaker grinned and nudged his unkempt mate in the ribs.

“It’s just a matter of time, Phlegm,” Rod said to the man. “Now get about your business. My cholera inoculation’s out of date.”

Good one, Rod, Cam thought, trying to suppress a smile.

Phlegm bristled and stepped forward. Cam’s hand edged toward his gun; not that he was expecting to use it, more to prevent the wired-up bikie from grabbing it. Matthews gave Phlegm’s arm a warning squeeze and directed his companions towards the hospital lifts. Cam caught sight of their colours as they turned and felt a prickling sensation run up the back of his neck.

As the lift doors were closing Matthews called out, “Give my love to Jenny and the boys, Superintendent,” and blew Rod a kiss.

Rod remained seated, ignoring him, though his clenched hands were a giveaway. He took a cigarette out of the packet he’d been clutching and flicked it into his mouth. Cam pointed out the No Smoking sign, wagging his finger.

“Shit,” Rod said, putting the smokes back in his pocket. He sat back down on the bench and breathed out heavily.

Cam gave his friend a moment to compose himself, then said, “I’m waiting.”

Rod passed his hand across his forehead and rubbed his eyes.“The one with the white hair is Eric Matthews.You’ve probably heard him referred to as Chainsaw.”

Cam exhaled through his teeth. “The president of Satan’s Sons?”

“Yeah. He’s a slippery bastard, getting more powerful by the day. The SS have a monopoly on all aspects of organised crime in the area now that they’ve all but eliminated their rivals.”

“The Dugites. I read about the drive-by.”

“Yeah, that was a couple of months ago. Two Dugites killed and I haven’t been able to pin anything on Chainsaw or his thugs, though I know they were behind it.”

Cam felt a cold patch growing in his chest. “Have they been threatening you and your family?”

Rod shook his head. “It’s not the same as in your case, Cam. I’ve got nothing on them that would stand up in court, so there’s nothing to threaten me over. Chainsaw just wants me to know that when that day arrives, I’m in the cross-hairs.”

“Then you just make damn sure that you get the necessary protection.”

Rod paused and then said softly, “It didn’t do Elizabeth and Joe much good, did it?”

Cam said nothing. The threatening letters had never mentioned his family. It was assumed he was the target. It was he who had the armed escort wherever he went, while Elizabeth and Joe were home, alone and vulnerable.

Rod seemed to sense the direction of Cam’s thoughts. “I don’t want this little incident to concern you; there’s no bikie worries on your patch, yet.”

But the backtracking didn’t work. Cam could hear the uncertainty in Rod’s voice and found himself holding his breath.

Rod continued, “Though this does lead me to my next point. While I was waiting around for you, quite a few guys like that have been coming in to the hospital to check up on their mate in the ICU.”

“Any trouble?”

“One of the nurses complained of harassment, but there’s been no further trouble since I posted a couple of my guys in the ICU waiting room. But sitting here, waiting for you, I recognised quite a few familiar faces, plus one new face who came waltzing in with a group of bikers like they were bosom buddies.” Rod paused.“It was your mate, Cliff Donovan.”