The Naked Room (25 page)

CHAPTER 42

Confessions and Collectibles

Detective Senior Sergeant Susan Prescott

Saturday: 8.00am.

We’re running out of time.
Fear held me tightly in its grip. I pulled into the underground car park, grabbed my briefcase and hurried to the lift, arriving as it was about to bear a brace of stalwart constabulary to the upper levels. A ’Morning, ma’am’ chorus erupted as I stepped in and smiled briskly. We all gazed at the floor indicator. The muffled snickers behind me suggested that I had interrupted a dirty joke.

My team were gravitating toward the white boards at the far end of the room while I shed my coat and poured what passed for a coffee. When we started collating reports, other CIB members would gravitate to our end of the campsite to listen in.

‘Ma’am, we’re ready.’ I grabbed my notebook and sat on the edge of a table, trying not to fidget. Inspector Bruce Peterson came and sat beside me. My neck muscles felt as though they had been tightened with screws. Briefly, I closed my eyes and willed strong vibes to Ally Carpenter.
Hang in there, Ally. Don’t let go.

‘Ben, what have you got?’ asked Evan.

‘Sarge, there’s nothing significant in Jessica Rallison’s email history, but her phone records show that during this previous fortnight she made one hundred and sixty three calls to a pre-paid mobile. On the landline, there were twenty-five to Michael Whitby, sixteen business calls, thirty to friends and one to Ally Carpenter at seven pm last Friday.

Setting up Ally? Maybe. I remembered the description of Jessica’s mother’s reaction when advised of her daughter’s murder by CIB Townsville. Oh, Jessica, you were such an unhappy, unloved girl. Would the sister care enough to come and sort out the house and collect the car or get professional packers to do it? Jessica must have known about the pregnancy. Perhaps the father wasn’t in a position to be embroiled in a scandal and killed her to prevent it…

My attention snapped back to the present. ‘Nothing from Briece Mochrie’s clothes as yet. Len?’

‘ No, but Mochrie had his DNA taken this morning, Sarge.’

‘Good, now—’

‘Excuse me a moment. Evan, surveillance on Miller and Mochrie. Anything yet?’ I asked.

‘No, there’s been no action, ma’am.’

‘Leave it in place until tomorrow morning. We’ll reassess then.’

‘A neighbour of Rallison’s rang in to report seeing a small, bronze hatchback parked under the trees Tuesday night last week. Her dog pissed on the wheel. A man was slumped down in the front seat, but she couldn’t see his face. Of course she didn’t get the number.’

Collectively, we rolled our eyes. That sense of urgency niggled me again.

‘Okay. Cody?’ Evan waited for the next report.

‘Townsville police rang this morning and advised they have identified Georgie Hird’s lover as Tommy Esposito, aged 58, one hundred and eighty centimetres, dark hair, skippers a yacht for—’ He named a prominent Townsville businessman. ‘The suspect has,’ Cody walked to the white board and proceeded to pin up a computerised photo, ‘this distinguishable feature.’

We examined the dark-haired, dark-eyed man, with swarthy skin and head so square it looked like a box with a face painted on it and a black wig on top.

‘He’s wanted for questioning into Georgie Hird’s murder, but has disappeared. The only link we have so far to connect him to this case is that Hird was Eloise Carpenter’s best friend and godmother to Ally. The post mistress stated Esposito had been seen walking on the cliffs with Miss Hird at dusk on at least one previous occasion.’

A detective constable came into the room waving a fax printout. ‘Following on your inquiry, ma’am, early this week, Ally Carpenter’s father started selling his art collection and cars, a Gull-wing Mercedes and an E-type Jaguar.’

My spirits picked up. ‘Sir, looks as though we might have a break-through!’ DI Bruce Peterson smiled like a shark.

The detective continued. ‘There’ve been large amounts of cash going out of his accounts during the last week. He visited his deposit box in the bank’s vault four times and obtained a substantial line of credit. He paid the money he got from the auto and art sales into his account, but then started spending it again.’

‘Maybe he just wanted to get rid of his collection and move in a different direction? Or perhaps he’s broke,’ one of the team speculated. I didn’t believe it. I picked up my now cold, half-empty cup of coffee, stood up and glanced in enquiry at my superior.

‘Carry on Susan. Let me know what you want. I can arrange for extra bodies from uniform.’

‘Okay, let’s work on strategy. We’re going with Ally Carpenter being kidnapped for ransom and it looks as though her father is amassing a lump sum to pay to the kidnappers. If so, we need to know when and where the drop is going to be made and who’s making it. They obviously haven’t done it yet or the girl would have been released, or…’ I paused.

We all knew what “or” might mean. One of the junior members of the team piped up. ‘Ma’am, what about Briece Mochrie for the drop? He’s Ally Carpenter’s boyfriend and he’s bound to know the father’s alive by now. May have known all along.’

‘You’re right. We’ll keep him under surveillance. If he has a coughing fit, I want to know.’

Open discussion started; ideas flew thick and fast. I excused myself and headed for the restroom. On the way back, I was waylaid by an Inspector from Fraud. As we conversed, I overheard something which didn’t immediately ring a bell.

‘I couldn’t believe it. There was this totally insignificant painting going for thousands of dollars on eBay last night. No one in their right mind would pay that much for it and that’s not all. There’s been stuff sold in fine china, jewellery—you name it, this dude’s buying it. And for stupid prices! Either he’s a total wanker, he’s opening a shop or he knows something I don’t. I tell you, it’s fucking insane, mate!’

I stopped talking and turned around. Two young detective constables were sitting at their computers having a slag session. EBay…

‘Susan?’ The DI looked at me, puzzled.

‘I’m sorry, Alan, you were saying?’ I apologised. We concluded our conversation, then I scooted back to my troops.

It was going to be a long day.

Saturday: 7.00pm.

The news was bad.

‘They’ve lost Briece Mochrie, Susan. One moment he was buying groceries and then he took a call on his mobile and disappeared. His car’s gone from the car park. An all-points bulletin’s been sent out to pick him up,’ said Evan. Fear for Ally ripped through me; I forced my mind to concentrate.

‘Bloody hell! What was he doing at the supermarket? He had a carload of groceries yesterday afternoon before we interviewed him, so how come he was back there tonight? And how long ago did they lose him?’

‘Around fifteen minutes ago. Somebody took their eye off the ball and they’ve been running around like headless chooks ever since,’ he thundered, as he bolted for the lift, followed by three of our team.

‘He’s deliberately given surveillance the slip. They’d better find him again or I’ll put them all on traffic duty,’ I snarled.

The eBay wanker. Why would someone buy rubbish art, jewellery and cars on eBay for outlandish prices? Wealthy people were canny with their money.

It hit me like as stab in the ribs with a knitting needle. Could it be possible that some of the ransom was being paid via eBay? Anonymous, discreet, it was a place where accounts could be opened and closed in short spaces of time, but amateurish. A way of keeping frantic parents occupied or very clever indeed? As long as money seemingly changed hands without problems, there would be no reason for anyone to suspect what was happening. If it hadn’t been for a young constable who just happened to know his collectibles market…gotcha!

I dialed Evan’s mobile. ‘Evan? Is Pamela Miller still at home?’

‘Yes, she’s there,’ he shouted against the roar of the surrounding traffic.

‘Get someone to go in and check it out. Make some excuse. Ditto, Whitby.’

‘It’s already done, Susan.’

‘Good. Where are you?’ I asked.

He told me.

‘I’m joining you out there.’

‘Best not yet, until we get a fix on Mochrie. I’ll let you know the minute we have a sighting. Sit tight.’

‘Remember, just follow and don’t lose him.’ My heart pounded. My inner voice screamed ‘Hurry hurry.’

‘Yes, Susan,
I know.’

He signed off quickly, before I could hound him any further. ‘Probably the whole damn orchestra’s in on this,’ I thought bitterly, but then I remembered a slight hesitation as Eloise denied talking to Briece Mochrie recently and it all slotted into place.

I snatched up my bag and coat, phoning Evan back as I ran.

‘I think I know where he’s going! Where are you now?’

I shot into the lift, tucked the mobile between my neck and shoulder and stabbed frantically at the button for the car park. Evan’s voice was faint, but the salient details got through. I talked fast, arranging to meet on the street that ran along the rear of James’s property and advising Evan not to use sirens.

Hurry! hurry!

I threw my belongings into the car, hurled myself behind the wheel and drove off, struggling to fasten the seat belt as I wove in and out of the traffic.

CHAPTER 43

Armageddon

Saturday: 7.30pm.

Angelo turned the engine off and coasted quietly through the back gate, thoughtfully opened by his stepmother for his father to gain entrance later that night. He was not going to miss out on playtime with Ally Carpenter. He was looking forward to it and June wouldn’t stop him this time. It would be great fun slaughtering Ally while he was fucking her, pleasure which had been denied him when he was forced to kill Jess.

His father, the expert strategist, had hand-picked her for the “in” saying Pam Miller was no use, as she had no axe to grind with Ally. Using his exceptionally good-looks and charm to ensure an affair with Jess, stirring her festering jealousy to plant the suggestion in her mind to play a joke on Ally.

But when he arrived at her house on Wednesday night she had been hysterical, having realised they had used her jealousy for their own purposes and that kidnapping the Carpenter girl was not a prank after all. She had grabbed her mobile and tried to dial Triple 0. He smiled, remembering the terror in her eyes, the whimpering when she realised he was wasn’t going to bash her—just gut her like a fish. He padded past the windows of the lounge room, his joggers soundless on the concrete. That old goat, Bob, would be slumped asleep on the sofa, drooling into the cushions with his loaded shotgun beside him. ‘Got it in case of home invasion,’ he explained.

Angelo paused as he rounded the side of the building, licking his lips, studying the landscape like a wolf on the hunt testing the air for rivals to its prey. Nothing moved. Re-assured, he walked to the door leading to the tower, quietly opened it and slunk up the creaky stairs, well prepared with torch, gag and knife.

Saturday: 7.40pm.

James and Brie set out, carrying an extension ladder between them, using the light blazing from the main house as a guide until their eyes became accustomed to the dark.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the branches like wind chimes, overhanging the pathway; the silky fronds flicked their cheeks. In the distance a dog howled, telling the night air of abandonment. An owl hooted and launched itself from a branch which arched overhead, a great feathered kite gliding on its hunt for prey. Small animals scurried for cover.

The outline of the access door at the end the building was just visible. Shadows cast by the surrounding trees made it hard to judge the height, as they struggled to lean the top of the ladder against the wall. It clattered and bounced on the timber before the ends wedged safely under the slats. The noise echoed around the countryside. They held their breath, waiting for someone to burst out of the flat.

Nothing happened.

‘You got everything?’ asked James, softly.

‘Yep. Jemmy, torch and screwdriver.’

‘Remember, we only need to look inside. Any sign of someone being held, get back the way you came and I’ll text Eloise to ring the police regardless of what the bastards threatened. If I’m mistaken and there’s no one, or only a girlfriend of Angelo’s, come down by the stairs. The old man’s still in the flat. He’s quite deaf, but we’ve got to hurry.’

‘Ms Carpenter won’t come after us, will she?’ asked Brie.

‘No, I made her promise she’d stay at the house. If anything does happen, I want her safely out of it.’

Brie nodded, stuffed the torch into his shirt and tucked the iron bar in his belt where it swung awkwardly over his hip like a medieval sword. Cursing, he hitched it around against his back and checked his mobile was on vibrate.

‘Okay. I’ll text you if it’s clear.’

James held the ladder while Brie climbed to the top, braced against the wall and began to work on the rusty bolt on the access door. He dragged the jemmy out of his belt, hooked it under the end and wrenched. The bolt squeaked as he jerked backward and forward, then shot back with a sound like a gun shot. He remained motionless, waiting for a response from the staff quarters. When there was no reaction he opened the door.

The cavity between the rafters and the roof loomed black and menacing. Some ten metres ahead, according to the building plan, a narrow, metre-long ladder would be bolted to the wall of the tower room, giving access to its ceiling. Brie turned his face to the side, trying not to suck air as he waited for the first blast of mouse stink to disperse.

‘I’ll start now,’ James called up to him softly. Brie nodded, took the torch out of his shirt and switched it on, aiming into the blackness ahead. Beady eyes glowed and then vanished. He tried not to think about interrupting a carpet snake in the middle of a hunting expedition.

Scrambling across rafters whilst holding the light was not a normal activity for a classical musician, but he was young and fit. Fresh air wafted through the open access door behind him. Sweat trickled down his face, his hands stung from the rough splintered edges of the rafters and his knees burned. He crawled as fast as he could toward the ladder leading to the tower roof, where the atmosphere was thick with the stench of decay.

June Esposito’s friends would have been horrified if they realised what kind of entertainment the apparently kindly, middle-aged housekeeper and card fanatic was planning for later that night. She was known and much admired as the Demon Queen of Five Hundred, the envy of the fanatical card club with whom she spent three evenings a week.

She had switched the ring-tone of her mobile phone to vibrate in order not to disturb the game but, absorbed in the current hand, she hadn’t felt the text message arriving: changed mnd cmg home ar 10 min.

Her eyes gleamed with excitement, spectacles glinting in the firelight as she contemplated a perfect hand: King, Queen, Ace, Joker and a run of Diamonds. How lucky could you be? They were only playing for dollar coins, but it didn’t matter. She had almost a million dollars already.

James slipped into the shadows and worked his way slowly along the side of the building, a tyre lever tightly in his right hand, a torch in his left. A figure came around the side of the house and disappeared quickly through the door at the bottom of the stairs leading to the storeroom overhead. James halted, hardly daring to breathe. It moved so fast that he had almost missed it. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the weapon.

He started forward, only to duck down beside a large, wooden keg filled with flowers as a car slid through the back gate and stopped behind the house. The headlights went out and a car door clunked, followed by the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. A flash of colour from the television, a short burst of sound and a neatly-dressed man with something strange on his head stepped into the house, closing the front door behind him. James sent a text warning Brie of the arrival and waited to make sure the stranger stayed inside.

Brie crouched beside the bottom of the short ladder which led to the access door above the tower room ceiling. A scream came from somewhere underneath, high and urgent like the cry of a small animal. His heart pounded, rage surged through him. A woman was in danger.

He jammed the torch between his shoulder and neck and reached to shove hard against the access door. At first it didn’t give, then creaked inward. Another blast of foetid air hit him. Ignoring it, he stuffed the torch back in his shirt, scrambled up the ladder, squeezed through the aperture and fell in a heap next to the manhole in the ceiling of the tower room.

Underneath the ceiling a man laughed, followed by the sound of a fist thudding into flesh. A woman shouted and another bark of laughter followed. James’s plan flew out of Brie’s mind; he didn’t feel the vibration of his mobile phone as the text message arrived.

A large box covered half the manhole. He yanked it away, over-balanced and fell back. The edges of the rafters bit into his spine. A thin shriek came from the room below. He dragged himself up and lunged forward, scrambling for a handle on the cover. Wresting the screwdriver out of his pocket, he dug it into the crack at the edge of the cover fighting for leverage, hooked it under the timber and wrenched the hatch up. In one fluid motion he flipped it back and dropped feet-first into the gap.

His legs crumpled as he crashed to the floor, his right ankle twisting. For an instance he was winded, but oblivious to pain, he pushed himself up in one swift movement. It was then he realised he had left the jemmy in the ceiling. A huge torch lay on the floor, its beam lighting up a man who was crouched over something against the wall. For a second they stared at each other in shock, before the other bared his teeth like a wild animal and leapt.

Brie dodged, his assailant sailed past to land on his knees. The man scrambled for something on the floor, then sprang up and lunged back at him.

A blade flashed.

Brie leapt aside again and kicked out, catching his adversary on the thigh but lost his balance and toppled over, upending a metal stretcher.

A muffled scream came from underneath.

As he tried to get to his feet, his assailant leapt on him. They rolled across the room, gouging, punching and clawing.

Brie was fighting for his life.

As James reached the entrance door leading to the stairs, he heard the high-pitched squeal come from somewhere directly above, followed by a man’s laugh.

He paused for a moment, listening. A muffled shout came, followed by a crash and sounds of a fight. He stumbled up the stairs, tripped on the top step and went down on one knee, trying to keep a grip on the tyre lever. The torch rolled out of his other hand and bounced. He groped on the floor and found it just in time to turn the beam onto a man hurtling up the stairs behind him, face twisted with menace.

Using the lever and torch like epées, James kept the new arrival at bay. His assailant’s arms threshed wildly, as he tried to get close enough to attack. James smacked the metal tyre lever into his face. With a muffled howl, the man fell down the stairs, cannoning into another halfway up.

As both men rolled to the bottom, James turned back to the door, dropped the torch and tried to wrench it open.

It was locked.

He thrust the tyre lever into the crack between the jamb and the edge, jerking it from side to side, trying to spring the door open.

The wood cracked.

The sounds inside the room escalated, as bodies crashed into the walls and hit the floor.

The door started to give way, then suddenly crashed outward, almost knocking him off balance. He leapt aside, then dived into the dimly-lit room, slipped and fell heavily onto his side. A torch on the floor spun around, its beam flashing in turn on the up-turned stretcher, a porta potti lying on its side and the legs of the combatants. Locked in mortal combat, the struggling figures staggered and lurched to the centre of the room.

As James tried to get to his feet, the world exploded with a deafening roar, and he was showered with blood.