Dirty Weekend (8 page)

There was another silence, broken only by the entrance of a morgue attendant wheeling in a body at the other end of the post-mortem room, a young woman wearing expensive European riding jodhpurs smeared with mud and filth.

‘I’m mystified, Jack,’ Harry said after a while. ‘The injuries she’s sustained are consistent with the head striking a hard surface at speed. But I can’t make any sense of how that might have happened.’ He gave a little grimace. ‘Maybe you can do better. I’m going to have a closer look at that bruise on her face.’

I’d worked with Harry for many years and I’d never seen him as puzzled as this. ‘Your wife’s right, Harry. You do need a break,’ I said. ‘All those early mornings and late nights. Not enough conversation down here with the dead.’

He looked up at me and for a second I thought there were tears in his eyes, but it could have been the light or the way his spectacles reflected. ‘It’s not the dead who worry me,’ he said.

I knew what he meant. For a split second I wondered if I could talk to him about what Charlie had said last night, but I just couldn’t do it so I silently signed for the bagged specimen Harry had given me and put it in my briefcase.

‘You might as well take these back with you too,’ he said. ‘Save me sending for the courier. The swabs from body cavities—there were signs of recent sexual activity.’

Considering the facts of the case, that didn’t surprise me.

‘You should get a DNA profile from the semen.’

My next stop was outside the neat, double-fronted brick veneer cottage of the late Tianna Richardson on Kincaid Street. I pulled up behind Brian Kruger’s crime scene wagon and walked up the cement pathway past several weatherbeaten garden gnomes huddled around a small declivity that might once have been a little fishpond before the big dry. Now, only grass grew in it. Apart from a vermilion geranium in a pot near the front door and a wide-branched pepper tree, the garden was bare. Just as I was about to knock on the front door, Brian called out.

‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s me. Jack.’

‘Give it a shove. It’s not locked.’

Brian appeared as I pushed open the door, hesitating because I wasn’t wearing protective gear. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘We’ve finished with the physical evidence sweep. Take a look.’

‘We?’ I asked, looking round.

‘Debbie was here but she’s gone out to get some eats.’

I walked into a large living room furnished with fawns and timbers, an old-fashioned floral carpet on the floor, framed family photographs standing on the mantelpiece and sideboard and lots of ornaments and knick-knacks. Genevieve had loved this sort of thing too, and our house had been infested with collections of coy shepherdesses, little donkeys and carts, draught horses and Toby jugs.

‘Have you had a chance to talk to Harry Marshall?’ Brian asked.

‘I have,’ I answered. ‘He says he knows what killed her but he can’t work out how. Except to say that her head was moving fast when it hit something stationary.’

‘That sounds like a fall,’ said Brian. ‘But where we found her, there was nowhere she could have fallen from.’

I told Brian about the odd marks on the dead woman’s body before looking around. ‘Find anything?’ I asked.

‘Nothing obvious. No sign of anything amiss here. It’s all neat and tidy. We’ve talked to her nearest and dearest and they all say the same thing. She was a popular girl. No enemies. Sure, she had boyfriends, but doesn’t everyone. She liked dancing and partying.’

From outside came the sound of a vehicle pulling up. I looked out the window to see a Holden ute, its hotted-up engine burbling before it was cut.

‘That’ll be the boyfriend,’ said Brian. ‘Damien Henshaw, local resident. Painter by trade. He’s agreed to an informal chat. You can help me do a search of the place.’

‘Hey!’ I remonstrated. ‘You said you were finished.’

‘I lied.’ Brian smiled. ‘I meant we’d finished the fancy stuff.’

A young fellow, long blond hair in a ponytail, swung out of the car, shoved his hands deep into his padded chequered shirt and approached the house. As far as I could see, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his teeth or jaw line. In fact, he was a strikingly handsome young man. Tianna Richardson, I recalled, must have been in her early forties; this youth couldn’t have been much older than my own son. Or hers.

Brian met him at the door and held it open while Henshaw came inside, scared eyes darting from Brian to me. ‘This is Jack McCain, Damien,’ said Brian. ‘He’s part of the investigation into Mrs Richardson’s death. He’s a scientist.’

Damien nodded at me, hands still firmly in his pockets, slightly stooped, standing awkwardly until Brian ushered him into the living room. He relaxed a little in the familiar surroundings and sat down on one of the lounge chairs.

Brian had his notebook out, ready to take a statement and I wandered around, leafing through the photo album that lay open on the coffee table, listening, while Brian took down the details. Damien was twenty-four and had known Mrs Richardson for about four months.

‘I did some painting for her,’ he explained.

‘That’s not all you did for her,’ said Brian. ‘Tell me about that.’

‘Yes,’ I interrupted. ‘How did that come about?’ I looked up from the photograph I’d been studying of Tianna out for dinner with a group of people. ‘Who made the first move?’

Damien Henshaw looked around the room, his gaze fixing on a shopping bag and scarf thrown over the back of the other lounge chair. He shrugged. ‘She came out of the shower when I was doing the hallway. She put it right on me. Asked me how about it.’

‘And?’ I prompted.

‘It started from there.’

‘What sort of relationship was it?’ I asked. ‘How often did you see each other?’

‘I can’t believe it,’ Damien said, ignoring my question, ‘I can’t believe she’s dead like that.’ His words sounded strained and unnatural and his head suddenly slumped down.

‘Please answer my question,’ I said. ‘Can you describe what sort of a relationship you had with Mrs Richardson?’

Damien shifted in his seat and looked accusingly at Brian. ‘You told me this was just going to be a chat.’

‘It is,’ said Brian, reassuring him. ‘We will need you to drop down to the station sometime, though. And do a proper statement. No need to be worried. It’s standard procedure with a case like this. Okay?’

Damien was still uneasy but he straightened himself on the chair.

‘So tell us,’ I prompted.

‘I’d drop by a couple of times a week, usually in the evenings, and we’d have sex.’

Couple of times a week, I thought. If I was his age, with a woman so obliging and attractive, I’d have been dropping in a couple of times a
day
.

‘I just want to get an idea of what happened the night before last,’ said Brian. ‘Monday—when Mrs Richardson went to the nightclub. Did you see her that day?’

Damien nodded. ‘I dropped round after work finished and she wanted me to stay in and watch a video. That’s the other thing she was always wanting me to do.’

‘And the first thing?’ I asked.

I thought he’d blush, but his answer wasn’t what I was expecting. ‘Bloody dancing,’ he said. ‘She loved going to nightclubs with bands and
dancing
.’

Shocking behaviour, I thought.

‘But you wanted to go to the pub with your mates?’ I suggested.

‘Right. Then she started saying she wanted to come with me. To the pub.’ There was a long pause. ‘But I didn’t want her to come. I didn’t want her hanging round me when I was with my mates.’

‘What did she think of that?’ I queried.

‘Not much.’

A long silence.

‘So you argued?’ I asked.

Damien nodded. ‘We had a fight. It ended up with her calling it off. I told her I didn’t care and I walked out. She came after me, screaming at me.’ His expression changed as he suddenly realised the implications of what he was saying. ‘Look, I didn’t touch her! I mean, she was upset at me. Yelling. But I didn’t do anything!’

I could see he was scared now and I decided to lean on him a bit.

‘You and Tianna had had this fight before?’ I asked. ‘You never wanted her to come to the pub with you because you’ve got a girlfriend, haven’t you? Someone your own age.’

I saw his face change and soften. ‘Yes. We’re getting married at Christmas time.’

‘Name?’ Brian asked.

‘Kylie McGovern.’

‘And you didn’t want them to know about each other,’ I said.

Damien Henshaw’s eyes flickered between Brian and me.

‘Is that what the fight with Tianna was about? Is that why she called it off? Because she’d found out about your girlfriend?’

‘She’s not just a girlfriend!’ There was energy and enthusiasm in his voice. ‘She’s my
fiancée.
’

‘Did Mrs Richardson find out about your fiancée?’ Brian asked.

‘No! I’ve just told you. She was pissed off about not coming to the pub.’

‘So why didn’t you tell us this in the first place?’

I saw the red flush rising from his neck. ‘Because it’s none of your bloody business, that’s why!’

I stood up and walked to the chair where the shopping bag and scarf hung. ‘Let’s get something straight, Damien,’ I said, gripping the back of the chair, facing him. ‘Tianna Richardson was murdered the night before last and it’s my business to talk to everyone who knew her. That includes you. And the people
you
know. People like your fiancée, Kylie.’ I came closer, standing over him but remaining as polite as possible. ‘We want to know about them too. In fact,
everyone
who knew Mrs Richardson is our business in a murder investigation.’

The red flush in his face subsided, although his lips were set in a thin white line. This was a very different character from the casual knockabout image he’d first presented. Now I had the sense of someone maintaining tight control.

‘So what happened that night?’

‘You’re getting this all wrong. I don’t have to talk to you.’

Although we’d rattled his cage, I didn’t like the way things were going. We didn’t want to get him offside at this stage. Much easier for everyone if he cooperated.

‘You’re quite right,’ I said, glancing over at Brian who got the message.

‘But it makes our job easier,’ said Brian, ‘if we’ve got an idea of what happened that night.’

‘We understand that couples argue all the time,’ I continued in the same tone as Brian. ‘You should have heard me and my ex.’

‘We weren’t a couple,’ he said. ‘You’re not listening!’

Brian spread his hands in appeal. ‘I know this is tough for you, but we have to ask these questions.’

The moment passed and I saw Damien relax.

‘So just tell us,’ I said, ‘in your own words. Your own time.’

‘Like I said, I went to the pub, then I went to Kylie’s place. I stayed there all night.’

Further down the track, all this would have to be checked. But I didn’t want to mention that just now. ‘See?’ I said, with a friendly smile. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about. We appreciate your cooperation.’

‘We’ll get you downtown at a convenient time over the next couple of days and you can make a statement. I’ll need to talk to your fiancée too. Okay?’ said Brian.

‘No way,’ said Damien. ‘Don’t drag her into this!’

‘Hey, take it easy,’ said Brian. ‘We won’t mention your extra business with Mrs Richardson. We just need her to alibi you.’

Damien stood up, still wary. ‘I’ve left a bit of gear here. I need to pick it up.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible for a little while,’ said Brian. ‘We’re required to keep the house intact just for the moment. I’m sure you understand.’

Damien looked alarmed. ‘But it’s gear that I need. Work gear.’

‘We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.’

Damien anxiously looked from one of us to the other. ‘When? When can I get them back?’

I noticed the change in language. ‘What have you left here?’ I asked.

‘My boots. I need them for work.’

‘We’ll make sure you get them back as soon as possible,’ said Brian. ‘And we’ll need to get a sample from you, for DNA testing.’

He didn’t like that. ‘Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. What do you want to test me for?’

‘Cops and doctors have their fingerprints on record,’ I said. ‘Mine are on the database. It’s for elimination purposes only.’ I gave him a reassuring pat. He wasn’t much older than my son and for a moment I felt sorry for him. ‘Because of your association with the deceased, there are legitimate reasons for your genetic material to be around this house.’ I leaned on the word ‘legitimate’.

‘Don’t worry, the samples are routinely destroyed once they’ve served their purpose,’ I added. ‘You have no reason for concern. It’s normal procedure.’

While Brian took down Damien’s details and made a time for him to come down to the station at Heronvale for a statement, I studied the young man, thinking again of how he was young enough to have been Tianna’s son. Which reminded me.

‘Did Mrs Richardson ever talk about someone called Jason?’ I asked.

Damien nodded. ‘I knew about him. She mentioned he was travelling around Australia. He’s a surfer. Follows the surf.’ He shrugged. ‘She said I reminded her of him.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘No worries,’ said Brian. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

Brian took him to the door and saw him out. Outside, the ute revved up and took off.

Brian returned, closing the front door behind him. ‘What do you make of him?’ he asked.

‘Your average opportunistic young bloke,’ I said, wandering around the living room, looking for items of interest. ‘Steady relationship, older woman on the side.’

‘Half his bloody luck,’ Brian muttered as I followed him into a small room, fresh and light with white-painted furniture and pale pink and white curtains billowing from the window behind the double bed.

Tianna Richardson might have liked low-cut tank tops and high-heeled shoes, but her bedroom resembled that of a little girl.

‘We need to find Jason Richardson,’ said Brian, looking around. ‘And talk to Damien Henshaw’s fiancée.’

‘What about the neighbours?’ I asked.

‘We’ve already had a chat to number seventeen,’ said Brian, indicating the neighbour on the right.

‘And the other side?’

Brian shrugged. ‘The woman’s away, apparently. But I’m told she’s the street watchdog and knows everything that goes on. I’ve got her name here somewhere.’ He flipped through his notebook. ‘Vera Hastings.’

Unlike the rest of the house Tianna Richardson’s bedroom was untidy, with shopping bags on the floor and swathes of tissue paper issuing from empty boxes. She’d opened those boxes like a whirlwind. Shopping frenzy?

I surveyed the scene, trying to work out what this room revealed about the woman, what was important to her and where she put her energy. Except for the dark brown bedspread, everything was pink and white and very feminine. It was a little too frilly and had too many bunches of artificial flowers for my taste, but it was still a pleasant room.

‘You can see how pissed off she was,’ said Brian, following my gaze to the shopping. ‘The place is really tidy except for this room and the parcels. She’s just ripped things open, put the gear on, left the mess where it was and driven straight to the Blackspot.’

‘And somehow, between doing all that and us finding her, she goes and gets herself murdered,’ I said. Brian stooped to lift the corner of a square of tissue paper and squinted under it.

‘Tell me what you think about young Damien’s story,’ I said.

‘I think it probably happened like he said it did,’ said Brian. ‘Mrs Richardson gets the dirts because her young boyfriend prefers to go off to the pub alone and drink with his mates rather than go dancing with her.’ Brian lifted up another piece of tissue paper and peered under it. ‘My problem with him as a suspect is that I can’t see he really has a motive.’