The Simple Death (10 page)

He picked over the clothes on the floor, couldn't find any other stains of a similar colour. Conti was looking around too. After a bit she walked out into the hall, her eyes on the dingy carpet. The place was so gloomy it was hard to see, and he considered going back to his car to fetch a torch, but it was a long way off. Conti was moving down the hall and out into the backyard so he followed her, through the kitchen and outside.

‘Look,' she said.

He turned around and examined the doorframe, feeling the heat in the ground move into his shoes. Because of the time of day, the sunlight illuminated the back door as brightly as an arc lamp would have done. The patch of brown on the left of the frame was about where someone might grip it to steady himself as he came down the stairs. He hadn't noticed it when he'd come in, but it was obvious now. Conti took a step towards it, and for a moment he thought she was going to pull a magnifying glass from her pocket. But she just peered and then nodded and looked around.

The backyard consisted largely of a big patch of cracked concrete with a Hills hoist in the middle. Beyond that was an area of long grass with a shed against the back fence, about twenty metres away.

‘Big yard for a small house,' Conti said with feeling.

‘That's the way they used to do it,' Troy said cheerfully. His own place was as old as this and had a big yard; it had been left to him five years ago by a relative.

She said, ‘What's that?'

The concrete was mottled with marks from oil and petrol, but as Troy took a few steps towards the clothesline he saw what she was pointing at. There were some small dried splash marks of what might be blood, several metres away. He kept walking and saw a track through the grass to the back fence, which was broken down and led to a line of trees and bushes on the other side. It looked as though there was some sort of park beyond. Troy followed the path and turned off to the shed, a wooden structure as old as the house. It was just big enough to have a house door for its entrance, although the door reached right up to the tin roof and looked out of proportion. Troy grabbed the handle and wrenched it open.

Jim Austin was lying sideways on a pile of old sacks, with his legs drawn up towards his chin. He was still, and his shirt was dark and stained. Troy kneeled next to him carefully and felt his neck. There was no pulse and his skin was cool. He thought about Sam, wondered if he was dead too despite what Luke had said. A wave of pity surged through him from nowhere and he waited for it to pass, knowing it had to before he could go on.

‘He's dead?' Conti said from the doorway.

Troy nodded and said a quick prayer for Jim Austin. He would never find out now why he had taken the boat and led them on the chase across the harbour. But maybe Jim wouldn't have known anyway.

Austin had a towel over his stomach, soaked in blood. Troy wanted to move it but knew he couldn't justify this, would have to leave any further discoveries to the crime scene people. The dead man's hands were clasping the towel, which must be covering the wound. Troy figured it for a knife attack because he couldn't see an exit wound anywhere, but you couldn't be sure.

‘What's the story?' Conti demanded from the doorway.

She hadn't come in, but he guessed this was because she wanted to preserve the scene, not because she feared seeing the body up close.

He told her what he could see, then, ‘There should be more blood, you'd think. Outside at least, on the ground.'

‘Maybe he was carried?'

‘Dunno.' He stood up and looked carefully around the small shed. It was empty apart from some pieces of wood and an ancient bag of cement. ‘You want to call it in?'

While Conti contacted the locals, he rang McIver, who declared, ‘A Parramatta puncture.'

‘What?'

‘I did a stabbing there once, that was what the Crown called it.'

‘Are there lots of stabbings in Parramatta?'

He was glad Mac was sounding chirpy again.

‘Not in my experience. The barrister was an old bloke named Brown. Used to say things that didn't make much sense.' Troy thought, just like—‘Interesting fellow, had an influence on me.'

Troy repressed a sigh, kept his gaze moving over the backyard, searching for anything out of place. He said, ‘Are you coming over?'

‘I'll call Peters.' Pause, then with some force: ‘Shit.'

‘I know.'

‘Any chance left of a connection with Pearson? Toxicology said he'd taken pethidine, by the way.'

‘There's no reason to think that.'

They were a long way from Manly.

Later, when the locals turned up and the crime scene had been established, Alan Peters arrived from the Homicide Squad office, only five minutes away. The three detectives talked to the Parramatta crime manager, a man named Durack, who said he had something that might interest them.

‘Emerges this fracas in the park yesterday was linked to your bloke.' He pointed at the shed, where a queue of crime scene officers were waiting to get in. ‘Austin owed another addict, one Greg Gillies, twenty bucks. But due to some dispute, he'd announced he wasn't going to pay.'

Troy recalled the story Austin had told him about a business problem, and described this to Durack.

The other man shrugged. ‘There's always something going on with them,' he said. ‘You'd go mad trying to keep on top of it all. But Gillies and Austin were members of different factions among the squatters, so their dispute drew in other people. Our information is that's what led to the fight in the park the other day.'

‘But Austin was in Manly then.'

‘These things acquire a life of their own.'

Peters looked down at his shoes, thinking about this. ‘You've got Gillies?'

‘Not as such. We've got two witnesses who heard him make threats against Austin. Gillies is known to carry a knife, and Austin was stabbed.'

The doctor had confirmed this.

‘So you're saying Jim Austin might have been killed over a twenty-dollar debt?'

‘Yes.'

Peters nodded and thought about it some more. The Homicide Squad took over the investigation of most murders in the state of New South Wales, but not if it seemed like the locals were on the point of a breakthrough. He looked around, taking in the activity in the yard.

Conti broke the silence. ‘Why did Austin hide in the shed?'

‘Seems to have been stabbed in his room early this morning,' Durack said. ‘Maybe he didn't realise how badly he was hurt; there wasn't much blood at the start, and he was probably off his face anyway. He was afraid his attacker might come back, so he came out here to hide. Fell asleep and bled to death.'

Peters ran a finger around his collar. ‘Jeez it's hot, don't you think?' he said, then: ‘Bit of a coincidence, the only eyewitness in a murder ends up a victim himself a few days later.'

It sounded like a comment rather than an argument.

Durack lifted his palms. ‘We've got eight squatters in custody from the affray. We'll re-interview them now and get Gillies pretty soon. I think we can handle this.'

‘Keep us in the loop, will you?' Peters said, and the two men shook hands.

Troy was surprised; he'd been assuming Peters would want to take on the investigation. As Durack headed off, he said, ‘Don't you think—'

‘What's the argument?' said Peters.

‘The coincidence,' he said. Obviously.

Peters nodded. ‘Well, they've got a coincidence too, a twenty-dollar one. Let's give them a day to find Greg Gillies. They seem to be on top of things. Then we reconsider.' He shrugged and started to walk around the side of the house, and the others followed him. Troy knew when Peters made up his mind there was no changing it. He was a reasonable sort of man, but didn't like his judgment questioned. This made him difficult to work with at times, but people went along with it because his judgment was usually right.

When they reached the footpath, the inspector drew him aside.

‘What do you think about Pearson now?' he said.

‘I'd like to go through this with Mac.'

Peters looked annoyed. ‘Go through it with me. What's your best guess?'

Troy forced himself to think quickly. ‘I'd say Austin was telling the truth, which means Pearson was killed by someone who might have planted the pethidine in his bag and his flat, to muddy the waters, maybe make it look like suicide or an accident. You say someone was an addict, people will believe anything of them.' Peters nodded. ‘The fact the drug used was pethidine, and also that it was planted at the flat, makes me think it's someone connected to the hospital.'

‘Which cuts out Valdez. He's a mechanic when he's working.'

‘Yes.'

‘Unless,' Peters said, ‘he has a half-sister who's a nurse and got him the pethidine, which he planted by walking into the flat during a very lively party when the door downstairs was left open and no one knew just who had a right to be there.'

‘Yeah, unless it's that. Or unless—'

Peters smiled, took pity. ‘So what about the times and the initials LS in Pearson's diary? The nonexistent training course? You think he was gay? An affair?'

Troy had been brooding on the diary too.

‘You'd think, if that had anything to do with it, the killer wouldn't have left the diary for us to find.'

Peters nodded. ‘That's if there
is
a killer.'

‘Yeah,' Troy said, smiling and wondering just how serious this conversation was supposed to be. ‘I guess that about covers the range of possibilities.'

Peters pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his brow, said, ‘I want you to think about doing the PQA.'

‘Okay.'

The pre-qualifying assessment was the first cull point in the promotion process.

‘I'm serious. We need more good sergeants.'

‘You've got Danny.'

Danny Chu had joined Homicide at the same time as Troy, and had been promoted six weeks ago.

‘And we want you. We'll be losing some people in six months because of rotation.' It was current policy in State Crime Command that officers could stay in a squad for only five years. This meant a lot of experienced homicide officers were now wasting their time in areas such as property.

Troy said, ‘I'll think about it. I mightn't get Homicide.'

The way the system worked, experience in a particular area did little to help get a promotion there.

‘That's what I'm saying,' said Peters. ‘Do it now, do well, and you probably will, because of the timing. Because so many blokes are moving.'

‘Would I stay on your team?'

‘I'd like that, but it wouldn't be my decision, ultimately.'

‘Working with you and Mac, I learn something each day,' Troy said. ‘I don't see how it could get any better than that.'

Peters stared at him as though he'd said something surprising, and then shook his head with a flush of annoyance. ‘It won't stay like this forever, you know. You're better than you realise. Seriously. You need to think about the future.'

Troy felt pleased but also uneasy. ‘I will think about it.'

‘How many years in are you?'

‘Fourteen.'

‘The average time people stay who came in when you did is eight to ten. It's all speeding up, mate.'

‘I guess.'

‘You don't watch out, you'll wake up one day being managed by someone younger than you.' Peters looked over at Conti, in earnest conversation with Durack. ‘Younger and prettier.'

Fourteen

T
hat night Anna called, and when they'd finished with Matt, she asked what he'd been doing. He told her about
The Fatal Shore
, and going to listen to McIver and Ruth at the Bridge Hotel on the weekend. The place had been packed. He'd heard them once before, but the night at the hotel had been a surprise. Just two guitars and vocals, the songs mainly blues and roots, not Troy's music of choice. But there was something moving in the way their voices went together, and he hadn't been the only person aware of this.

‘Who would have thought it?' said Anna. ‘Mac.'

The night had been almost uplifting, not just the music but the fact it had found a good audience. Sometimes, driving around the city and seeing the glow of television screens in every home you passed, you could start to think everyone was the same. But they weren't, of course.

They talked of other things. He told her about the builders but she wasn't interested. Finally he said, ‘How're you finding it, looking after Matt all the time?'

‘The life of the single mum isn't all it's cracked up to be.'

‘Well, it doesn't have to be your life. Come home.'

Pause.

‘After what you did, Nick, with that woman? We can't just pretend it never happened.'

Sometimes, like now, she sounded just like her mother, although he couldn't have said why. It wasn't the words but the sense that things were set and couldn't be changed. He wished she wasn't up there with her parents, living in their house. They'd wanted her to marry an Indian man.

‘I'm not pretending,' he said.

‘I need more time.'

‘It's been four months.'

No response. Then, ‘I'm thinking of going back to work. Part time.'

He stood up, holding the phone tight, and ran a hand through his hair. This was hard, it suggested the separation was permanent.

‘As a nurse?' he said.

‘Of course as a nurse. What do you think I'd do?'

‘Okay.'

‘Just two shifts a week.'

‘You need more money?'

‘It's not that, I'm grateful for what you send. I just want to feel independent.' It didn't sound like quite the word she wanted. ‘I want to get my life moving again, I feel I've been stalled.'

He said nothing, listening to the silence on the line, hoping some meaning might emerge from what she was telling him. About them. But she seemed to have said all she wanted. Maybe it really was over.

‘Mary will look after Matt?' he said.

‘I've got a friend, Jaira Navez. She's a nurse too.'

‘Have I met her?'

‘We went to uni together, but when I came down to Sydney we lost touch. She's a single mum now, two children. Her boy Jaime and Matt get on really well.'

Then she changed the subject again. The abruptness was one of her things, made his heart ache. ‘Father Luke,' she said quickly, ‘isn't it terrible?'

Troy described his visit that morning, and how the Church was handling the abuse claim.

‘I never liked that Walsh,' she said fiercely. ‘He's always been too political.'

Anna had grown up Anglican, converted to Catholicism before they got married, but it hadn't stuck. She'd spent time with different churches, including a stint with evangelicals. Troy wasn't sure where she was at the moment.

‘Well, they have to wait till Sunday to see what else there is,' he said.

‘Did you see
A Current Affair
?'

‘When?'

‘Tonight. The segment on Luke.'

It was as though something had jolted Troy. Stupidly he walked over to the television and looked around for the remote. ‘I was still working,' he said.

‘A man who was a kid at the camp, he was interviewed.'

‘Brian Hughes?'

‘Someone Napoli. He says he remembers Luke and Hughes going off to the river during dinner.'

That was what Hughes said had happened. Troy felt another jolt, felt himself sweating. He recalled what Luke had said that morning:
I have committed some serious sins. But not this one
. He looked around the room without quite seeing anything, wondering where he'd left the remote. Shit.

Luke had denied going off alone with the boy, said he hadn't left the dinner from beginning to end, from 6 pm when he started cooking to 9.30 pm when the boys had gone to bed. It was what he'd told the Church investigators, and Walsh had released it to the
Telegraph
for its story last Sunday.

Troy thought about Luke. Everyone lies, it was what they told you when you entered the job. But not Luke.

‘Nick?'

‘They had Hughes on the show too?'

‘Yes. He's kind of creepy, but the other one's a lawyer and member of his parish council. He wasn't abused, looks okay. He says he has a vivid memory of that night, he doesn't want to hurt the Church but his conscience made him come forward.'

‘To a prime-time current affairs program?' Troy felt angry. He was pacing the house, out to the kitchen and back up the hall. The place felt small.

‘Apparently he talked to someone about it who mentioned it to a friend at the TV station, they rang him. He wanted to make that clear, it wasn't his choice to do it this way. I guess the archbishop won't be happy.'

Troy thought Napoli might not be worrying too much about that. Walsh was not popular with many Catholics.

‘Nick?'

Back in the lounge he looked around the room again, seeing it as though for the first time. ‘There are too many chairs here for one person,' he said. ‘Won't you come home?'

It was a weird thing to say, but the distress created by Luke's situation was bleeding into everything else.

After a bit she said, ‘I just need some time.'

He could hear the defensiveness in her voice, ready for an onslaught from him that almost never came. As though she didn't know him at all. Neither of them was very good at this, he thought.

‘Time can run out, you know. Eventually.'

‘If you love me . . .' she said, and then she hung up.

‘I love you,' he said.

But it felt different to the way it used to.