Shattered (23 page)

•

Sitting in the crime manager’s office, Gemma tried to look inconspicuous as people came and went, some giving her a curious glance, others barely noticing her. Finally, Angie arrived and plonked down on a plastic chair beside her.

‘They’re about to start rolling any minute now,’ she said. Gemma glanced up at the monitor. A table, three chairs, a clock and bare walls. The interview with Dan Galleone hadn’t started yet.

‘Who’s doing it?’ Gemma asked.

‘A couple of detectives from homicide,’ said Angie. ‘Don’t know them personally. Want a coffee?’

Gemma’s mobile rang. ‘Natalie,’ she said, snatching it up. ‘I can’t talk to you now. I’ll call you back.’

‘I don’t know why Donny did that,’ Natalie ran on, ignoring Gemma’s words. ‘I’m his mother. I don’t know why he screamed at me like that. It broke my heart. I couldn’t get near him!’

‘I’ll call you, okay? Gotta go.’

‘I was so happy that he’d opened his eyes. Then he screamed at me as if I was some monster. He had to be sedated. I don’t know what to think! The doctors say that he may not have recognised where he was, or even me, and that he was screaming in fright.’ Her voice broke. ‘What will I do if he never comes back? If he never recognises me again?’

‘I’ll call you, Natalie,’ said Gemma firmly, ringing off and focusing all her attention on Dan Galleone, who had just entered the interview room. He was an imposing figure, ramrod straight in his uniform. Greying hair swept back from the temples of an intelligent, guarded face. Lips grown thin with controlling emotions, eyes hard as flint. He gave terse answers. Yes, there had been a dispute ten years ago over a sum of money, he admitted. But that had been settled long ago to everyone’s satisfaction. He carried no grudges. Yes, he agreed, he was facing an internal investigation into a sexual harassment claim, which he rigorously denied and would defend with all possible vigour.

‘He’s not admitting anything,’ said Gemma, just before one of the detectives asked, ‘Superintendent Galleone, where were you on the night of the murders of Superintendent Bryson Finn and his sister-in-law, Bettina Finn?’

‘At home. With my wife.’

‘She’ll confirm this?’

‘She will.’

‘Of course she will,’ Angie said in an aside. ‘That’s what police wives are for.’

‘How would you describe relations between yourself and the late Superintendent Finn?’ the second detective asked, a strand of short hair sticking up on the crown of his head.

Galleone considered. This was a cautious man, Gemma saw. Weighing words carefully, taking his time.

‘I would describe them as professional,’ said Galleone.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that we conducted ourselves in a professional manner at all times.’

‘Even though there’d been this dispute over a large sum of money?’ the first detective said.

‘As I’ve already pointed out,’ said Galleone, with exaggerated politeness, ‘that was ten years ago. We have all moved on since then.’

‘But relations between you two were not cordial.’

‘Are you asking me that as a question, Detective, or making some statement of your own that you believe to be the case?’

‘Relations between you were not the friendly, easygoing matter they had been once. Your two families used to share holiday houses and lottery tickets. My inquiries indicate that this is no longer the case. And hasn’t been the case since the lottery ticket issue.’

‘I believe I’ve satisfied your questions in this regard,’ said Galleone. ‘I can only reiterate what I’ve already told you. That relations between us were professional.’

‘Are you aware that Superintendent Finn was instrumental in bringing the sexual harassment charges that you’re now facing against you?’

‘I’ve heard rumours to that effect. I take little notice of police rumours.’

‘Would you care to read this?’

‘They’ve given him Leanne Morrison’s statement,’ said Angie, squinting at the monitor.

Galleone studied the statement proffered by one of the interviewing detectives.

‘What do you say now, Superintendent?’

‘My position hasn’t changed,’ said Galleone, looking up and handing the statement back. ‘There was no sexual harassment. This allegation is based on lies and misconceptions.’

‘Leaving that aside for the moment, sir, do you have any idea why Superintendent Finn and his sister-in-law might have been murdered?’

‘No idea whatsoever.’

‘Do you have any knowledge of this matter at all?’

‘No. I do not.’

‘This is a waste of time,’ said Gemma. ‘What else were they expecting him to say?’

The interview was in remission. On the monitor, Galleone sat alone now, occasionally drumming his fingers on the table, looking around impatiently.

‘What’s the Galleone marriage like?’ Gemma asked.

‘As far as anyone knows,’ said Angie, ‘it’s very tight. Susie Galleone is a straight-shooting country girl. They’ve got a couple of grown-up kids, one in the job somewhere in the country. They’ve got a nice little holiday house on the north coast. With retirement coming up in a few years, Dan Galleone is looking forward to a sea-change. Spending more time fishing and whatever else people do on the coast.’

‘So it’s a good marriage?’ Gemma asked.

‘Can’t say that,’ Angie admitted. ‘But it seems very strong on the surface. No one’s got any dirt on them.’

Gemma was interrupted by her mobile phone.

‘Have you found Jade yet?’ Natalie demanded.

‘I have spoken with your daughter,’ Gemma said, taking advantage of the lull in the interview.

‘Where is she? How is she?’

‘She looks well. She’s staying with a friend.’

‘You promised me you’d bring her home!’ said Natalie, her voice shrill. ‘Tell me where she is and I’ll go and pick her up.’

‘Natalie,’ said Gemma. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this. She doesn’t want to come home. She made that much plain.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She sounded very angry, Natalie. Very angry with you. And her father. She says she’s never coming home again.’

Gemma waited, listening to the weeping on the other end of the line.

‘Natalie,’ she said, as gently as she could, ‘something happened that made Jade change. Something concerning both her father and you. You must know something about it.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Natalie cried. ‘How often do I have to tell you that I don’t know! I begged her to tell me what was troubling her! Tell me where she is!’

‘Right this moment,’ Gemma said, ‘I don’t know.’

She terminated the call and brought her attention back to the monitor screen.

‘He’s a consummate interrogatee,’ said Angie, indicating Galleone. ‘He’s not going to give anything away.’

Gemma agreed. ‘I think I’ll leave you to it.’ She picked up her things, preparing to leave.

‘Talked to Darren yet?’ Angie raised a curious eyebrow.

‘Not yet. I’m also keen to talk to Leanne Morrison. See what she can tell us about Bryson Finn. And Galleone. What’s she doing now?’

‘She’s on sick leave,’ said Angie. ‘She’s probably finished as a police officer. And in the meantime, Galleone’s got Buckley’s of getting that promotion.’

On the drive home, Gemma fished out the card Natalie had given her and dialled Darren the escort’s number.

‘Brandon speaking. How may I help you?’

‘I was actually after Darren,’ said Gemma.

‘Darren isn’t here,’ said Brandon. ‘Can I take a message?’

‘Please,’ said Gemma, giving him her number. ‘Tell him I really need to talk to him.’

Back home, Gemma resisted the temptation to make herself a strong coffee and instead settled for a pot of green tea and an apple. There was no sign of Hugo. She pulled out the phone book, searching for Family Planning, squared her shoulders and called.

‘I want to talk to someone,’ she said when a woman answered. ‘I’m nearly three months pregnant and .
 
.
 
. and I’m not sure if I can have this baby. I need to talk to someone .
 
.
 
. about the best thing to do.’

She made an appointment to speak with a counsellor early the next week, noting down the time in her diary. She’d say nothing to anyone about this; she didn’t want to discuss it at all. It was purely her decision now.

Her mobile rang. Angie.

‘The interview with Galleone’s finished; he didn’t come up with anything enlightening. I’m on my way to DAL now to pick up the certificate – and get the names of the police who contaminated my crime scene.’

‘Let me come with you,’ said Gemma, pleased to have a distraction from her personal problems.

Contaminated DNA wasn’t a new problem in forensic laboratories, she reflected, as she and Angie negotiated heavy traffic on the way to Lidcombe. Over the years, other investigations had been compromised by this – the potential for contamination, no matter how fastidious the precautions, was always logically present at both crime scene and laboratory whenever human intervention was necessary. It was just shockingly bad luck that this high-profile double murder had to be one of those unfortunate cases.

An hour later, Angie and Gemma were about to pull into the gates of the Division of Analytical Laboratories.

‘Oh hell,’ said Gemma. ‘I almost forgot.’ She unfastened a side pocket of her briefcase. ‘I’ve been meaning to take a closer look at this. I found it in Jade Finn’s bedroom.’ She pulled out the copy of
Police Service Weekly
and pointed to the photo of Bryson Finn and the two women officers.

‘Jaki Hunter,’ said Angie, taking it from her.

Gemma snatched the magazine back, frowning. She hadn’t noticed it until now.

‘Angie! Take a look at what she’s wearing round her neck!’

‘A Venetian necklace with a central glass heart. I hope there’s an innocent explanation to this,’ Angie said as they approached the receiving counter, still studying the photograph.

‘I hope so too,’ said Gemma, although thinking of Jaki’s recent behaviour, she wasn’t as certain as she’d like to be.

They both turned away from the magazine, hearing someone approach, and a young woman with an armload of gold bracelets and her hair in tiny tendrils around her forehead smiled at them inquiringly.

‘Is Linda Shipper around?’ Angie asked. ‘She’s expecting me.’

‘Just a moment,’ said the young woman, bracelets jangling as she picked up the phone. ‘I’ll let her know you’re here.’

‘Just remind me,’ Gemma turned to Angie. ‘Unless things have changed dramatically since my day, exhibits are bagged and secured right there and then at the crime scene?’

‘That’s right,’ Angie nodded. ‘And then they’re couriered over to the scientists here’ – she indicated the hidden warren of laboratories beyond the receiving area – ‘where they’re tested and analysed, the certificates and expert reports are compiled, then they’re locked up. The only people who get to touch them are the scientists here and the police who collect them in the first instance. And they’re all gloved and suited up.’

She turned, hearing Linda Shipper, whom Gemma remembered as a senior scientist, approaching. Angie took the woman aside and the two of them vanished down a corridor. Gemma waited near the doors, watching the trees beyond the parking area sway in a slight breeze. Her mobile rang and she went outside to answer it.

‘Mike,’ she said in surprise.

‘Just checking up on you,’ he said. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Right this minute, I’m at DAL at Lidcombe,’ she said. ‘Chasing up some DNA samples.’

‘You’re supposed to be out of the police.’

‘I know, but the police ain’t quite out of me yet, I guess,’ she joked. ‘Born with too much natural curiosity.’ She remembered something. ‘Oh hell,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Mike. I completely forgot to call and thank you for those delicious biscuits, and the cake. I’ve had a lot on lately.’

Mike brushed her apologies aside. ‘Do you feel like a movie or something?’ he asked. ‘Get you out of the house?’

‘Are you asking me on a date?’ she said, surprised.

‘Me? Now why would I do something like that?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, calling off.

It would be nice to go to the movies with him, Gemma thought. Take her mind off her troubles. She explored her feelings about Mike: the memory of her sometime attraction to him had been completely overwritten by the events of the last few days. And when she thought of the scene she’d created in the front seat of Mike’s car not so long ago, she still winced.

She turned to see Angie heading her way, face tight and closed.

As they walked to the car, Gemma asked, ‘Well? Who was it? Who stuffed up your crime scene?’

‘It’s Jaki. Jaki Hunter.’

‘But that’s not possible!’ Gemma said. ‘She wasn’t even there! Someone must have put the shells in a container with other things – things Jaki had touched. It’s not Jaki’s fault.’

Angie stopped striding. ‘Gemma, I was there when Sean collected the cartridges. I saw him put them in
sterile
containers. There wasn’t anything else in them. Then they came straight over here. Still all sealed up for the analysts.’

Gemma was silent for a moment. ‘Then somehow,’ she suggested, ‘Jaki must have touched them before she brought the ballistics report to us in your office.’

‘Jaki wouldn’t have done any ballistics investigation on the cartridges until well
after
the swabs were taken and the cartridges sent back to her section.’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ Gemma said finally. ‘Jaki
must
have handled them at some stage. But when?’ She looked hard at Angie. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘What I always do,’ said Angie. ‘My job.’

Angie unlocked her car and slid inside, leaning over to open the passenger door. ‘It gets worse. You know that damaged glass heart you found in the picnic grounds at the end of the bush track from Findlay Finn’s place? Jaki Hunter is all over that too.’

Gemma gasped. ‘This is going to be a blow to her. She’s just got her certificate too. She’s already in a bad way. The cat –’

‘I want her in a bad way. Telling me everything. I want to know about that Venetian glass heart she was wearing in the photograph. I want to know how she came by it. There are a hell of a lot of things I want to know.’

•

When Angie, with Gemma close behind her, knocked on the door of the beachside flat and Jaki opened it, the ballistics officer’s sad expression brightened momentarily.

‘This is a nice surprise,’ she said, stepping back to allow them to come in, pulling her dressing-gown closer around herself.

‘It is a surprise, I guess,’ Angie said, moving into the room as Jaki closed the door. ‘But I’m sorry to say there’s nothing nice about it.’

Gemma’s forced smile died on her lips as she saw Jaki’s expression change to bewilderment, then fear.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘If it’s about that stupid police doll,’ Jaki began, ‘I didn’t even want to report it. I should have thrown it in the bin. I don’t want any more trouble.’

‘Get dressed, please, Jaki,’ said Angie. ‘I need you to come with me.’

‘What?’

‘Jaki, this is an official visit.’

Jaki’s eyes darted from Angie to Gemma. ‘Official? I don’t understand.’

‘Jaki,’ Gemma said, ‘Angie wants to talk to you – about crime scene contamination.’

‘I want you to come with me to the Police Centre for an official interview, Jaki,’ said Angie. ‘I can’t conduct it myself because of our friendship. But I’ll sit in.’

‘What official interview? What are you talking about?’

‘The murders of Superintendent Bryson Finn and Bettina Finn. Have you anything to say about that?’

‘Anything to say? You bet I have!’ said Jaki. ‘This is crazy! I’m at home sick as a dog and you come here asking me about a double murder! I thought we were friends, Angie. Is there some problem with my evidence? It’s true I haven’t been working at my best. But surely this could have waited a couple of days till I’m back at work rather than you coming to my home and playing this heavy-duty cop routine. And Gemma too. I’m really hurt by this.’

Jaki clutched the dressing-gown tighter, knuckles white. ‘And now I’d like you both to go. I can’t deal with this just now!’

‘You’re not getting it, Jaki,’ said Angie quietly. ‘You have to deal with it. Right now. This is not about a problem with your ballistics evidence. This is about murder.’

Jaki blanched, and even seemed to wobble a little, unbalanced by the word.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘On the night of the murders, you were allegedly at home having a bath?’

‘There’s no allegedly about it! That’s exactly what I was doing. Why are you asking me all this?’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

There was a silence.

‘I’m starting to feel really frightened,’ said Jaki. ‘What is going on?’

‘And as for friendship,’ Angie continued, ‘the only reason I’m here with Gemma now is because of our friendship. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been us two knocking on your door, but a couple of strangers from homicide.’

Jaki seemed to have shrunk inside the loose gown, her dark eyes huge in the pallor of her face.

‘Maybe you can explain to me,’ Angie went on, ‘how your DNA came to be on the cartridge shells collected at Killara? Maybe for some crazy reason you opened the exhibit bags before they went off to DAL and handled them without proper precautions? Did you do something like that?’

Angie’s giving her an out, Gemma thought. Although it would only serve to take the heat off for a little while. Everything Jaki said about those shells would be checked and double-checked, and breaking seals was a serious matter.

‘Of course I didn’t unseal the exhibit containers!’ said Jaki. ‘I had nothing to do with them! I wasn’t even there that night! What are you saying?’

‘Then I have to ask you again, how did your DNA get onto the cartridge shells?’

Jaki shook her head slowly. ‘No. It can’t have. It’s not possible. It can’t be.’

‘Let me assure you that it most definitely is,’ said Angie, her face severe.

Jaki backed away like a hunted creature, until she stumbled into one of her dining chairs and slowly sat on it. ‘I don’t know how that could have happened,’ she said. ‘I have no explanation. I’m completely .
 
.
 
. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Okay,’ said Angie. ‘Maybe you’ll be able to help me with another matter.’

She whipped the copy of
Police Service Weekly
out of her briefcase and thrust it at Jaki. ‘Tell me about this photograph, please.’

Jaki stared at the photograph, then pressed her lips together in a white line.

She’s scared she’s about to cry, thought Gemma, knowing the gesture too well.

‘It’s just a conference photo,’ she said. ‘Someone from the magazine was taking photographs around the place. Superintendent Finn was standing with that girl from Northern Beaches and he asked me to join them.’ She passed the magazine back to Angie.

‘Tell me what you’re wearing around your neck in the photograph,’ said Angie, thrusting it back to Jaki again.

‘It’s a piece of jewellery,’ said Jaki.

‘Where did you get it?’

Jaki looked from Angie to Gemma and back again. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Where did you get it?’ Angie repeated.

‘A friend gave it to me,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘I can’t remember,’ said Jaki.

‘Okay. I might be able to remind you.’ Angie paused for deadly effect. ‘It was given to you by Superintendent Bryson Finn, wasn’t it?’

Jaki looked away, stricken.

‘And furthermore, a similar heart was found in the picnic grounds at the end of a bush trail that leads to the house where Bryson Finn and Bettina Finn were murdered. Damaged, but again with
your
DNA all over it.’

Jaki’s face drained of blood and her eyes seemed darker and larger, staring at them like those of a terrified nocturnal animal caught in the hunter’s spotlight.

‘You’d better get dressed,’ Angie continued. ‘We’ll wait here.’

As Jaki shuffled out of the living room, Gemma’s head seethed with possibilities. She recalled Jaki’s tears and distress, her sickness, the fact that she was teetering on the edge of burnout. The gift of the heart of glass. Her weight loss.

When Jaki re-entered the room a few moments later, now wearing a grey sweater and jeans, hair brushed back, no lipstick, a dark green corduroy coat over her shoulders, Gemma asked her straight out. ‘Jaki, are you pregnant?’

‘What sort of a question is that?’ cried Jaki, halting mid-stride.

‘Are you?’

‘Of course I’m not!’

‘Jaki,’ Gemma continued, throwing a quick glance in Angie’s direction, ‘have you ever been to the Finn house at Killara – before the murders?’

Jaki looked away and pulled out a handkerchief, covering half her face with it, hiding. She finally put the handkerchief away and slowly faced them again.

Angie’s mobile rang and she turned to take the call. Gemma watched as Angie rehoused her phone before turning to Jaki again.

‘Why don’t you sit down and tell us the whole story?’ Angie said, pulling out a chair.

‘There is no story!’

Angie regarded her steadily. ‘Jaki, it’s going to be very difficult for you from now on. That was Sean. DAL just rang him to say that your work overalls have blood spray all over them. And fragments of glass consistent with the Venetian glass beads Bettina Finn was wearing embedded in the fabric by high velocity impact.’