Shattered (32 page)

In the little kitchen at the back of the house, Jade sat at a table, accompanied by a mug of black coffee and a plate of Tiny Teddies.

Gemma slid into a chair opposite, stacking Naomi’s reference books and pads in a pile out of the way.

‘What is it, Jade?’ Gemma asked.

Jade sat silently, looking from Naomi to Gemma.

‘We’ve been talking,’ said Naomi, her attention on the young girl. ‘Tell Gemma what you told me.’

Jade pushed the Tiny Teddies around the edge of the plate, lining up their arms and legs.

‘I don’t want to end up like Maddy,’ she said. ‘Working on the streets and getting sick.’

‘Are you saying you’re willing to go home?’ Gemma asked.

Jade pushed the plate away and fiddled with a pencil, then straightened the pile of Naomi’s textbooks. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally said.

‘Jade, you don’t want to end up like me,’ said Naomi, pointing at the books, ‘trying to work and study at the same time. It’s too hard. And anyway, I was born into the life of the Cross. I know it. You’re different. It’s a tough world here.’

‘I know you’re angry with your mum,’ Gemma said. ‘And with your dad – and now there’s nothing you can do about that.’

Jade’s face crumpled. Naomi pushed a box of tissues closer to her.

‘Adults do stupid, stupid things,’ said Gemma. ‘I ought to know. I’ve done quite a few myself. Your dad – well, you found something out about your dad.’

Jade nodded, pressing her lips together, subduing her tears.

‘You were furious when you found out about your father’s affair. You wanted to punish both of them – your dad and his girlfriend. You told your father off, and then you took the superintendent police doll that someone had given him, removed its uniform, made a senior constable jacket and changed the doll’s appearance according to the photograph of Jaki Hunter you’d seen in the
Police Service Weekly
. Then I’m guessing that you smashed up whatever your dad had given you and used it to pin the Jaki doll’s heart.’

‘He’d given us both exactly the same thing,’ Jade whispered. ‘A gold leaf and crystal heart. As well as the necklace.’

‘He gave his daughter the same present he bought for his girlfriend?’ Naomi asked. ‘Unbelievable!’

‘And then you used a police envelope to post it in,’ Gemma continued, ‘so that it looked like it had come from someone in the job.’

‘We had a stack of them at home,’ said Jade, putting her hands to her face. ‘But how did you know that I made the doll?’

‘That’s my job,’ said Gemma. ‘To notice things and put them together. That wall-hanging in your room showed your skill with craft, then I found the copy of
Police Service Weekly
with that photograph in it. I saw the miniature superintendent’s uniform jacket fall out of your drawer when you were getting your clothes together. Add that up with some very understandable anger and jealousy .
 
.
 
.’

Jade looked up at Gemma through her fringe.

‘Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’ Gemma asked.

Jade nodded. ‘When that woman was arrested for the murder of my dad, I thought it might come out that I’d sent the doll and that I’d be in trouble. That made me really scared.’

‘And because you really trashed your dad over his affair,’ Gemma said, ‘you’re feeling terrible. Because now he’s dead and you don’t know whether or not to stay furious with him and never forgive him for as long as you live. Or whether to break your heart with sadness over the fact that he’s gone and it’s all too late.’

Jade stared at her, incredulous.

‘If you’re wondering how I know so much, it’s because what happened to you and your father is very similar to what happened with me,’ said Gemma, realising from a trembling round her heart and mouth that the wound hadn’t yet healed.

‘Dad said something that really hurt me,’ Jade whispered after a pause. ‘He said he wasn’t even sure that I was his daughter. When I asked him what he meant, he said to ask Mum about Donny. But when I did, Mum went ballistic and screamed at me. I thought she was going to hit me.’

No wonder the girl had retreated to her room, Gemma thought, and refused to have anything to do with Natalie. With her ill-judged reaction to Jade’s question, Natalie had practically confirmed her act of infidelity.

‘If you’re worried that you may not be your father’s daughter,’ Gemma said, recalling the photograph of Bryson Finn with Jaki, ‘I don’t think you need be. You’re the dead spit of your dad, you know. Have another look at the photo.’ Gemma fished the journal out of her briefcase. ‘I borrowed it,’ she said, handing it back.

‘Jade can stay here for a while, Gemma,’ Naomi said, coming back to the table after switching the kettle on again. ‘I quite like a bit of company from time to time.’

‘What do you think, Jade?’ Gemma asked. ‘Think over what you’re going to do next. I know it’s a cliché to say you’ve got your whole life in front of you, but it’s true. You’re at a real turning point.

‘Naomi had to grow up much too early, like you, and now she’s trying to regain some of the good things she’s entitled to – like a decent education. To give herself more choices.’

‘I don’t want to be a worker all my life,’ said Naomi. ‘I have other plans.’

‘Naomi’s doing it the hard way. She’s lost her parents too. You’ve still got your mum, and although right now you’re very pissed off with her –’

‘You could say that,’ said Jade. ‘Maybe I’ll stay here for a night or two. Until I know what I’m going to do next. If you’re sure that’s okay?’

Naomi gave her a reassuring pat.

‘Please don’t tell Mum where I am,’ Jade said to Gemma. ‘I need time to think.’

We both do, Gemma thought, as she drove back home. Soon she’d have to contact Dr Carr and tell him the bad news about his daughter. That she knew where Maddison was, but that the girl didn’t want to come home. She recalled Natalie’s heartbreak when she’d heard similar news.

•

After dinner, a bath and the news, which she watched curled up with Taxi cat on the blue lounge, Gemma went into her office and pulled out a piece of paper to make notes.

She tried to retrieve the memories of her daydream at the Family Planning clinic – she’d been circling around a name, the possible identity of the person who’d killed Superintendent Bryson Finn and his sister-in-law, Bettina. But now she couldn’t for the life of her remember what had made her so excited. Gemma leaned back in her chair and threw the pen down.

Had she been about to grasp something real or had those insights simply been Diazepam-generated delusions? Review what you have, she told herself, repeating an old instruction; when a line of inquiry peters out, have another look at its components. She stood up, recalling the four cartons Angie had gathered from Bryson Finn’s bachelor digs, especially the carton containing his personal papers. Everything in that carton had great significance for the dead man and thus to the investigation. The one-eared bear alone had opened a door on an old secret. What else, she asked herself, might be hiding among those personal effects?

She went to the filing cabinet and pulled out the manilla folder with her filched copy of the surveillance tape transcript. Thoughtfully, she returned to her desk, reading and rereading the lines underscored in pencil – presumably by Bryson Finn.

ASHTON: Fuckin’ bastard. Threatening me. Fucked him right over. (Laughs) And his fuckin’ missus. He’s in the fuckin’ Bay. Dunno where she is.

SAWYER: She was a good root, too. (Laughs) Bit of a prawn but a fuckin’ great body.

Bryson Finn had underlined a few sentences and behind those coarsely expressed remarks stood a criminal and his wife. Gemma stood up again, restless. Had Bryson Finn become romantically, or at least sexually, involved with a criminal’s wife? It was not an impossible scenario by any means. Operation Skylark had been Bryson Finn’s baby. She reached for the phone.

‘Sorry to ring at this late hour, Ange,’ she said. ‘You were going to talk to Dwight Ashton – that remanded cop – at Long Bay?’

‘I tried to. But he’s not there any more. The case against him fell over. Crucial police evidence disappeared.’

‘That memory card!’ said Gemma, suddenly remembering it was still in its housing in her office. ‘I’ve still got that.’

‘Hell. So you have. Why this sudden interest in Dwight Ashton’s case?’ asked Angie.

‘Any idea where he might be now?’

‘Are you still in denial about Jaki? Grasping at straws? Go to bed and let me do the same. It’s been a big twenty-four hours for both of us.’

The phone woke Gemma next morning and she glanced at the time. Heavens, she’d slept in.

‘I wanted to ring yesterday,’ Mike said, ‘but I thought I’d leave you alone to recover. How’s it all going?’

‘It’s going fine. I didn’t have to recover. I didn’t go through with it.’

She told him about Angie’s visit, how her big decision about how she was going to live in future had inspired her to race over to the clinic at the eleventh hour. How she’d persuaded Gemma.

‘Actually,’ she added, ‘I don’t think I really needed much persuasion. Just a gentle push.’

‘Good. Then can I push you into a nice celebration?’

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘though right now, I’m more interested in locating someone. An ex-police officer.’

‘Give me the name and I’ll see what I can come up with. I’ve still got a lot of contacts with both feds and staties. Current and ex.’

‘Mike,’ she said, ‘I simply can’t afford you. You know that.’

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘I’m not making the offer as an employee. I’m a friend. Can you handle it?’

She thought about that. ‘Okay. As long as I pay for dinner?’

She was smiling as she rang off.

In less than an hour, courtesy of Mike, she had a mobile number for Dwight Ashton. Gemma prepared her pitch then rang the number.

‘Ashton.’

‘Mr Ashton, my name is Gemma Lincoln and I’d like to talk to you.’

‘Yeah? What about?’

She told him.

‘You’re joking.’

She caught him just before he rang off. ‘Once you see what I’ve got, I think you’ll meet with me,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling you’ll be very happy to cooperate.’

‘Listen, little lady, they couldn’t make those corruption charges stick. No evidence is why. The police evidence doesn’t exist any more. I had that on the best authority. There’s absolutely nothing to connect me with Louis Fayed.’

‘Is that a fact?’ she said. ‘Give me your email address and I’ll send you something that’ll change your mind.’

‘Bullshit.’ But the tone was less assured.

‘I’ve got some images from a memory stick found in the possessions of the late Bryson Finn. Switch on your laptop. I’ll send you some bullshit.’

It took Ashton only minutes to ring back. All tendency to little ladyisms had vanished. He was furious. And scared.

‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘Where did you get those pictures?’

‘Let’s talk,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell you. What about we meet at Sweethearts in Darlinghurst Road? You know it?’

‘When?’

‘No time like the present.’

She called Mike back. ‘I’m meeting a crooked ex-cop and that always makes me nervous. I want back-up.’

‘You got it. I’ll pick you up shortly.’

She was sipping a virtuous banana smoothie when she heard Mike’s car on the road above her place.

Sitting beside him on the way to the Cross, Gemma thought of the last time she’d been in this car. That night, she’d found him devastatingly attractive. Now he sat comfortably beside her in his bulky winter windcheater, and she felt a surge of gratitude to him for being so kind, for being her friend. She also realised he was a very good-looking man.

She picked Dwight Ashton the moment she walked into Sweethearts, even though he was more highly coloured than in the photographs. Like many ginger-haired men, he had too much ruddy pigment in his face from too many beers. Gemma walked through the dim interior of the café, passing Mike who’d sat down a few minutes earlier, to join the man hunched down in the last banquette, nearest the exit to the kitchen.

She slid in beside him, and his suspicious eyes, under their pale brows, narrowed at her arrival.

‘You’re the dead spit of your likeness in those photographs,’ she said.

He was fidgety, unable to smoke, and already having demolished what looked to have been a deadly macchiato, he was signalling for a second.

‘What did you think of them?’ she asked. ‘Reckon they do you justice?’

He grunted.

‘You were part of Operation Skylark. You were supposed to be investigating Louis Fayed. Instead, you were on his payroll.’

‘What do you want?’ he snarled.

‘Information,’ she said. ‘Everything you know about Superintendent Finn and Skylark. Anything you might know about the murders. Finn had a copy of some surveillance transcripts you and Sawyer featured in,’ she continued, ‘mentioning a crim and his “missus”. Who were they?’

He looked around then leaned over the table. ‘I want those photographs. That disk or memory stick or whatever they’re on. You give me that .
 
.
 
. and I might be able to help you.’

A young waitress hovered and Gemma ordered a café latte.

‘You give me the information first,’ she said once the girl had gone. ‘Otherwise I give that memory stick to my contacts in the DPP and you’ll be back in Long Bay.’

Ashton leaned back, hating her. She could feel it in the cold steel of his eyes.

‘Start talking now,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘My time is limited.’

He glared at her, then, after a few moments, capitulated.

‘Superintendent Mickey Finn was shafting the de facto of Louis Fayed’s favourite nephew, Benny. From what I heard, she was spreading it around. Even that dog Sawyer got a serve.’

Gemma remembered the crude references in the transcripts, the sexual involvement of the criminal’s wife with Sawyer.

The mystery woman flashed again in Gemma’s imagination. If this was true, Superintendent Bryson Finn had not only compromised the Skylark operation, he’d been sleeping with the enemy. The investigation suddenly swung out into a wild ellipse that swept Jaki Hunter away. The Fayed clan could well have murdered Bryson Finn after all. She might still be able to help Jaki.

‘Ex now,’ Ashton was saying. ‘Benny dumped her when he found she was sleeping with Uncle Louis as well. Old Louis is rumoured to still be sweet on her. Known her since she was a baby. Old perv.’

‘Who else knew about this?’

Ashton smiled a tight, hard smile. ‘Hardly anyone. But the real joke is that she went completely apeshit over Superintendent Mickey Finn. From a gangster’s moll to a copper’s moll!’

The boundaries blur,
Steve had once told her.
They go mad,
Mike had said of those living too long undercover. A superintendent could easily go over the line.

Her latte arrived and she slipped some sugar into it, feeling a complete sinner.

‘It’s hard to believe that someone like Bryson Finn got himself mixed up with a woman from that background,’ she said as she stirred.

‘That’s just it. That was the best part of the bloody joke! Finn was a straight arrow. He didn’t have a clue the girl was linked to the Fayed family. By then, they were split and because they’d never officially married she’d kept to her maiden name.’

‘Which was?’

‘Now, that’s something I can’t help you with. Except to say she was an Anglo, not a Leb.’

‘So how come you know all this?’

‘In my game, trading information is one way to keep your arse covered.’

‘Can you prove it?’

‘I’ve got a picture of the two of them together.’

Gemma felt elation. At last, the shadowy figure whose existence she’d intuitively guessed at was about to reveal her identity.

Ashton pulled out an envelope and passed it across the table. Gemma opened it. A glossy photograph of poor quality revealed a dimly lit bedroom, clothes strewn on the floor and hanging off a chair. She recognised the square profile and heavy body of the late Bryson Finn, wearing nothing but his socks, on top of a woman – but all that could be seen of the woman were her long slim legs grasping his, and her dark hair spreading over the pillow. Gemma looked up from the photograph.

‘Is this it?’ she said, disappointed. ‘It could be anyone.’

‘It’s her. I can guarantee that.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘None of your business. Holding something like this put me in a stronger position with the super. Now he’s dead, I don’t need it.’

Gemma peered closely at the photograph but it was impossible to discern any of the woman’s features, or even much of the room.

‘And you’re trading me this,’ she tapped the photo dismissively, ‘in exchange for what I’ve got? Clear evidence of you taking a lot of money from a drug baron.’

Her mobile rang and she fished it out, all the time keeping her eyes on the man opposite.

‘How’s it going?’ Mike asked from his end of the café.

Gemma glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

She hurriedly drank half the latte. It was barely hot and she left it, put her phone away, rose to her feet.

‘What about our deal?’ Ashton said, standing as well.

‘Not much of a deal,’ she said. ‘They’ve already charged someone for the murders. This photograph is useless.’

‘But it’s all you have,’ he said. ‘And you’re not sure the cops have the right person, otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me. Wanting to know the things you want to know.’

Gemma picked up her bag.

‘What about that memory stick?’ he asked as she made to leave. Gemma turned back to him. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

On the drive back to her place, she filled Mike in as to what had happened. ‘I don’t want to alienate him completely,’ she said. ‘He might be useful. He’s obviously got links to Finn and his enemies.’

‘Let’s have a look at the photo,’ said Mike once they were inside. Gemma passed it to him.

‘I might be able to get something off it,’ he finally said. ‘My laptop’s in the boot – I’ll bring it in and see what I can do.’

‘Like what?’

‘Remember that enhancing program?’ Mike said. ‘I’ve used it a couple of times before. There’s not much to go on in this photo, but we might get something off the clothes. I’ll try and get the section of her face a little clearer, although I’m not too hopeful of that.’

‘There’s part of some sort of dressing table there on the side,’ Gemma said, pointing, ‘and the door to the wardrobe is a little open. We might be able to get a line on her fashion sense.’

She paused. ‘I’m starving. How about brunch?’

They worked together in the kitchen, Mike making scrambled eggs while Gemma sliced tomatoes, made a stack of toast and picked some parsley from the only plant that hadn’t gone to seed in the neglected planter box on the timber deck. The day was unsettled, like her mood, with a blustery southerly tipping the waves with white spray and the grey sky cold and enervating.

Yet from somewhere nearby came the scent of flowering jasmine, and its aroma took Gemma back to past winters and the memory that jasmine brought, that spring was on its way.

It was too cold to eat out on the deck, so they sat companionably together at the dining table. Then Mike carried the plates over to the kitchen and Gemma rinsed them while he set up his laptop and the enhancing program.

‘All ready,’ he said, returning.

She smiled at him. Funny how she’d never really noticed how his eyes smiled even when his face was still. Her heart was suddenly flooded with warmth and gratitude. ‘Mike,’ she said, ‘thanks for everything. All the kind things you’ve done for me. The bikkies. The invitations that I haven’t taken up. The shoulder to cry on. Your fancy computer skills. I’m sorry if I’ve taken you for granted.’

He gave a wry smile back at her. ‘It’s all part of my strategy,’ he said.

‘Strategy?’ she frowned.

But then the office phone rang, and she ran up the hallway to answer it.

‘Toby Boyd,’ a voice said when she answered. ‘I just wanted to let you know that Steffi’s home and she’s fine.’

‘Great. But what happened?’

‘It was almost exactly as you suggested,’ Toby said. ‘She walked in on Trimble. He was bloody well wanking while wearing the wedding dress she’d been paying off to marry him in! He even had her bridal suspender belt and stockings on! Steff said that she just went crazy. She hit him and he hit her back. The bastard split her lip open.’

That confirmed the blood on the dress, Gemma thought.

‘Then she grabbed a few things,’ Toby continued, ‘took a lump of cash with her – all the money she had – and picked up a lucky cab on the corner. She took the bus north and ended up in a pub in Grafton and got a job there. She’s been working in the hotel kitchen and doing counter teas and lunches. I barely recognised her when she walked in. She’s lost a lot of weight and her hair is really short and dark brown. I’m just so happy she’s home and safe. Mum’s over the moon.’

‘I’m very relieved to hear it,’ Gemma said. ‘I’ll close the case and finalise your account.’

‘I want to thank you,’ Toby said. ‘You put a lot of work into trying to find my sister.’

When she rang off, she noticed a missed call. Not recognising the non-metropolitan number, she called back, curious.

‘Hello?’ The voice at the other end of the line was hesitant and frail.

‘This is Gemma Lincoln. You just called my number but I missed you.’

There was silence.

‘Jade? Is that you?’ Gemma asked.

The silence was finally broken. ‘No. It’s .
 
.
 
. it’s Grace. Grace Kingston. I didn’t mean to – I found your number. I wanted to ring you but then .
 
.
 
. I changed my mind. I didn’t mean to trouble you.’

‘You’re not troubling me! You’re my sister! I’m longing to see you! What is it Grace? Your voice sounds really faint. Are you ill? Where are you?’

But it was too late. She’d rung off. Gemma redialled, but Grace didn’t answer. Instead, the phone just rang out.

She hurried out of her office across the hall into the operatives room.

‘Mike! Please check the area code for this number?’

Mike pulled up his OzOnDisk program.

‘It’s Mittagong,’ he said.

‘Right. I want to go to Mittagong.’

He was taken aback. ‘But weren’t we going to take a look at this photograph?’

‘Sure. But that can wait.’

‘I’ve already set it up. The program is running now.’

‘We can look at it when we get back.’

‘We?’

She blinked. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I meant .
 
.
 
.
I
could look at it when I get back.’