The Simple Death (22 page)

MONDAY

Thirty-nine

T
roy was in Manly for a ten o'clock briefing. Five minutes before it was due to begin, he had a call from a man who introduced himself as Kevin Tryon. In a gruff voice Tryon said he ran a large security company, was up from Melbourne for the day. Could he take Troy to lunch?

‘I'm not looking for a job,' said Troy.

Tryon was the company that had provided security for The Tower.

‘It's not that. I'd just like to have a word with you about something.'

‘What?'

‘I'd really rather tell you in person.'

Troy wondered why, but he was still interested in anything to do with The Tower. One of the security guards central to the whole thing had escaped overseas. Maybe Tryon had heard something. He arranged to see him down on the Corso at midday.

Looking up, he saw Conti standing next to the desk.

She said, ‘Hello, detective.'

‘Officer.'

‘No ring yet?'

He held up his left hand and realised he hadn't even thought about putting his ring back on.

‘I told you, it's—'

‘Paula Williams still has a job?'

He took a deep breath; life goes on. ‘No idea.' Looked at his watch. ‘We'll find out soon.'

‘I heard the three files were handed over on the weekend.'

‘Someone was busy.'

‘Not you?'

‘Not me. I—'

‘You had other things to do.'

Conti went off and McIver appeared and said, ‘That file business is sorted. I had a word to Saunders.'

‘What are you going to do about it?'

‘It's sorted. Conti knows?' Troy nodded, about to ask what had been said. ‘Tell her to keep it quiet, briefing now.'

He walked away.

At the meeting, McIver introduced two new members of the strike force. One was Danny Chu, who'd just finished another investigation. The other was Donna Evans, an investigator with the Health Care Complaints Commission, a government agency responsible for investigating medical malpractice. Over the weekend the experts had decided the mortality stats were not necessarily sinister but deserved further investigation. It was, Troy thought, a deeply irritating con- clusion. Mac explained the HCCC would be obtaining and reviewing patient files for all who had died in Oncology, while Homicide concentrated on the staff. Evans would be their liaison with the HCCC, and also provide knowledge about hospitals.

‘The most useful thing I can tell you at this point,' she said, ‘is that the stats might not mean a thing. Even if they do, the unexpected deaths could have been accidents. Maybe a particular doctor or nurse was off their game, depressed.'

‘Or maybe it's the new ward-management system?' said McIver.

‘We can't find any evidence BRISTOL was associated with increased mortality in the UK.'

‘What's the worst possibility?' said Conti.

‘A member of staff is killing patients.' There was a murmur of conversation. ‘But we have no reason to think that.'

‘Why would anyone do such a thing?' said Conti.

‘Hypothetically? Could be a misguided sense of mercy, or for kicks. It's happened overseas, there's a range of possible motives.'

‘But hospitals are full of medical experts,' Troy said, recalling Ian Carter's argument. ‘They'd be the worst place in the world to kill someone.'

Evans was shaking her head before he'd finished. ‘A lot of serial killers have operated in health-care facilities. Nursing homes are most popular, they provide opportunity and lack of suspicion. If you
are
a serial killer, it beats leaving bodies in parks.'

McIver said, ‘All our other lines have run down. Late last week we discovered we hadn't been given three complainant files, they've now been obtained and checked out, all refer to deaths in Oncology.' He glanced at Troy and kept talking. ‘So today we hit the oncology department. Right now, the only motive we have for Pearson's demise is someone was trying to cover up deaths on the ward. We don't know how these people died, but maybe someone didn't want anyone making a fuss. The time of Pearson's death fits with the timing of his request for stats.' He looked around. ‘The pethidine angle also points to the hospital. As you know, the pethidine appears to have been stolen from the hospital pharmacy and that's being investigated by other officers.'

He looked at Rostov, who said, ‘We have no information yet.'

‘We're looking for a staff member who might have killed Pearson to cover up deaths, either because they'd killed people, maybe by accident, or just to make the department look good. Ian Carter has an alibi, we're looking at all other staff, including those who left in the past six months.'

‘But the stats are still there,' someone said. ‘Why would killing Pearson solve the problem?'

‘Because he was the one who might have made waves. We know for a fact Saunders and Carter would have interpreted them into insignificance, their focus was on BRISTOL. If Pearson hadn't got interested, the stats would have been filed away like all the others.”

Troy said, ‘Anything on Valdez?'

‘The search continues,' McIver said. ‘But the timing's tight and I've got him down as angry, not someone who's going to arrange something this elaborate. Also, where would he get the pethidine?'

‘Plus, turns out he had a bushy beard at the time Pearson died,' Rostov said. ‘Bourke rang that through Saturday, and yesterday we contacted everyone who'd been at the Pearsons' party to ask if they'd seen a man with a big beard. No one did. So we can't explain how Valdez could have planted the pethidine at the flat.'

McIver had a list of the staff who'd worked in Oncology at St Thomas' for the previous two years. There were dozens of names. He explained the next step would be to obtain and examine their employ- ment records, and organised teams of detectives to start work that afternoon. He handed out copies of the list, and Troy took a copy and read, idly and then with surprise.

‘Julie Cornish,' he said. According to the list, she'd left Oncology six months ago. ‘She was at Charity Hospice, part of the hospital. She died last week.'

People stopped talking.

‘How?' said McIver.

‘She wasn't murdered.'

Evans said, ‘It's possible Pearson had a source for his concerns about Oncology.'

‘Julie?'

He recalled Cornish, the way she'd cared and her confidence in the room where a patient had just had some sort of attack. He could imagine her talking to an ombudsman if she had concerns about what had been going on in her own department. Maybe that was why she'd left.

‘If someone did kill Pearson,' Evans said, ‘they might go to his source too.'

McIver pointed at Troy: ‘Conti and you. Check out her death.'

After the briefing, Conti said, ‘What was that all about? With the files?'

‘Mac's dealt with it. Wants it forgotten.'

‘Williams should be charged,' she said, indignant.

Her face was flushed and he was reminded of the other night. Wondered if he'd lost Anna for good.

‘Saunders too, if he was behind it.' she said, Troy shrugged. ‘I'm going to have a word to the sarge.'

‘Don't. He'll have told Saunders he's keeping it quiet. That way he's owed a favour.'

‘But why did they hold back the files? Saunders might be a person of interest.'

‘Mac mustn't think so.'

‘You and I, we're just expected to accept that?' She was struggling with this, despite her intelligence.

‘Now you're getting it.'

‘I don't like this.'

‘You should write it up as a case study,' he said, ‘for your MBA.'

Forty

O
n the morning Leila returns to work there is nothing much happening; most of her colleagues are away at a conference. She reprimands Amie, her personal assistant, for not telling her about this last week. Standards have dropped while she's been away, but she'll change that soon. For two hours she reads emails, and some of the paper left for her by the woman who's been acting in the job, then hangs a few of her things on the wall, taking back possession. It is hardly worth it: she'll be moving as soon as the results of the selection process for the new job are announced.

The first call of the day is personal, from Paul Gorman the wine expert. He called Leila after the break-in, told her the police had interviewed him and he'd explained he hadn't been to the house yet. He sounded more amused than offended by the whole thing, promised he would do the job soon. And now he has.

‘No good news, I'm afraid. Would have been some wonderful drinking five years ago, but I'm recommending you throw out eighty per cent.'

Leila feels a stab of irritation at her mother's decision to keep all the wine. It was a folly, a folly buried in a basement. ‘That much?'

‘Australian reds, they're not built to last. The problem is, he bought them close to their prime.'

What a shame, she thinks, that all the soporific power of those thousands of grapes cannot be compressed into one small bottle and given to Alecia Parr. All she wants is to go to sleep forever.

‘Should get a few thousand if you send the rest to auction,' Gorman says, ‘or you can drink it yourselves. I've left you a list of what's what. It's on the kitchen table next to an old book I found behind some cases in the cellar.'

‘What sort of book?'

‘Looks like a ledger, but from the contents I'd say it's some sort of diary.' It takes a few seconds for what he's said to sink in. Like finding something in the wrong place and not recognising it at first. ‘I've left the invoice on the table too.'

Leila disconnects and goes to the door. She tells Amie to get her a car out of the pool, immediately. Something has come up.

As she drives, she thinks about Alecia Parr and the pain she must be feeling at this moment. There is a temptation to drive faster but she resists, knowing that people like Alecia can only be helped if others stay within the law, as much as possible. The key is not to draw attention to yourself. But now Alecia's suffering is almost over. Leila called Carl from the office and he sounded excited, said he'd meet her at the house, with the bottle. Leila desperately wants to do this, for Alecia and for Stuart. Once she hands over the bottle, a debt will be repaid.

Carl is waiting in the front garden, dressed quite well in a long-sleeved shirt and chinos. He is smelling some of the roses with an air of authority. That is one of the things that has confused her about him, she realises as she opens the gate: that he acts and often looks like someone more important than a nurse. This is snobbish, but she's realised lately she has become less tolerant. On the whole this does not worry her.

‘These Cecil Brunners are magnificent,' he says. ‘Hello, Leila.'

‘Carl.' He is bigger than she remembers, pale and drawn today, and why not: he has just lost his girlfriend. ‘I am so sorry about Julie.'

‘Yes. It's the shock. She was such a healthy person.'

‘How are you bearing up?' she says as she takes out her keys.

He is not looking at her, but that is how he is, not one for meeting your eye.

‘Not too well. Have you seen the diary?'

‘No. Someone else found it. Let's go and have a look.' She smiles at him. ‘A tradesman. He assured me he didn't read it.'

He nods and says, ‘I found something Julie hid in my place.' He pulls out an envelope and goes to give it to her, but she is busy with the lock. The envelope looks familiar. ‘It's five hundred dollars,' he says. ‘I think it must be the expenses you gave Julie.'

It's the money Julie said she'd lost at the shops. Leila opens the door and they go into the front hall.

‘She left it at your place?'

‘Julie was a bit that way, I'm afraid, theft and lies. You didn't know?'

‘It surprises me.'

They go down the hall to the kitchen, see the diary sitting on the table, with Gorman's invoice next to it. He says, ‘It was one of the reasons we had to leave Brisbane.'

Leila nods and puts it aside, to be thought about later. It's a shock, but Carl is obviously distraught, he might be exaggerating.

The ledger is red and formal. She wonders if she would have read some of it's contents if she had the chance.

‘You've got the Nembutal?'

He takes a bottle out of a pocket and places it on the table, along with the envelope, then puts his hand on the ledger. The bottle looks just like the one she gave Julie. It's strange to realise she handed over something like this to someone she knew so little about.

‘I'm sorry about what I said on the phone,' he murmurs. ‘I was just desperate for this, it's about protecting Julie's memory.' Sounding choked with emotion, he starts to cough and in a moment there are tears running down his cheeks.

‘I'll get you some water,' she says.

‘No. I need to go to the bathroom.'

She nods, picks up the invoice, trying to ignore the awful sound of his rasping coughs as he leaves the room.

She takes up the bottle and checks it is still full. There are no puncture marks in the rubber on top. She puts it down and looks at the diary, thinks she might have a quick look after all. Her right hand moves down, almost of its own volition, and opens the cover. She hears a slight noise behind her. As she begins to turn, there is a flash of pain across her head, and the room slips out of sight.

Forty-one

D
anny Chu was okay, Troy had always thought. He was ambitious but a heavy lifter and modest with it. You got with him, you knew things would go all right, or at least as well as possible. A few of the detectives joked about the fact he was gay, and he took this well enough, which went in his favour too. So they overlooked his Italian suits and the waistcoats he wore in winter.

Plus, the guy liked his food.

‘Let's have lunch,' he said just before midday.

Troy hadn't had much to do since the briefing. He'd arranged to meet the detective handling Julie Cornish's death at Marrickville, but not until two. He explained this to China, and also his appointment before that with Kevin Tryon.

‘Guy from The Tower?'

Troy nodded. ‘I've no idea what he wants.'

‘Probably offer you a job.'

‘He says not. I'll have a coffee with him, we can have lunch after.'

They walked over to the Corso and found Tryon, a heavyset man in his early sixties with a balding head above a pinstripe suit.

‘I've only got twenty minutes,' said Troy. ‘Is that enough?'

Tryon nodded, almost eagerly.

Chu headed off for the road along the beach, to search out a restaurant for lunch. Tryon led Troy into a nearby cafe.

‘I
do
want to offer you a job,' he said, as soon as they sat down. ‘Don't be mad with me until you know what it is.' Troy shrugged. ‘You remember Eman Jamal?' Jamal had run the Sydney area for Tryon, and this had included security on The Tower's building site. ‘He's just left us. Charged with drug dealing.'

‘A tribute to your recruitment program.'

Tryon frowned. ‘I'm being open with you here. We have a very reputable organisation, and I can give you references to that effect. One of them is the Victorian deputy police commissioner. Sydney has been a problem, but that's unusual for us.'

‘Okay.'

Troy didn't care. He was thinking about the visit to Marrickville, wondering if it was worth it. The detective he'd spoken to on the phone had sounded competent, said Julie's death was not suspicious.

Tryon coughed and smiled.

‘I want you to replace Jamal and run the whole state, not just Sydney. I'll pay you fifty per cent more than what you're earning now, and that'll go up steadily over the next two years.'

He kept smiling, kept looking at Troy, who saw this must be important to him. The guy must be desperate.

Troy had been offered money to cross over before, but not this much. And not this much responsibility. It was a flattering offer for a senior constable, a reminder of the publicity The Tower had attracted. And a reminder that he needed to think about his future when he had the time. But he didn't have time now.

He stood up. ‘You lied to me,' he said. ‘I don't appreciate that.'

Tryon wound back the smile, starting to withdraw his charm.

Troy walked out of the cafe, and saw Chu wandering along the mall.

‘I've got a place,' China called out. ‘Table free in ten minutes.'

Troy nodded and turned back to Tryon, who had pursued him, was saying something.

‘The answer's no. I like being a detective. I don't want another job.'

‘From what I hear, you'd be very good at it.'

‘The answer's no.'

His phone rang and he went for it with relief, pulling free of Tryon's hand and turning away. Get thee behind me.

It was Detective Sergeant Jim Needham from Marrickville.

‘Thought you should know, just had a call from Eastwood. I'd tagged a bloke by the name of Carl Burns, boyfriend of the deceased.' COPS, the police database in which all events were logged, allowed officers to mark a name. If it was entered again, in relation to some other event, the officer involved in the original mention would be notified. ‘His name popped up as victim of an assault up there this morning. Plus someone called Leila Scott.'

Troy remembered he'd seen Burns at the hospice with Carolyn Moore. Big, pale guy. ‘Who's Scott?'

‘She's the woman found Julie Cornish's body. Julie'd nursed her mother for a while, and Scott went round to pay her. This morning, Burns went to Scott's house to collect a diary Julie left behind. While he's there, an intruder comes in, knocks them both out, used some sort of cosh on Scott, and steals some stuff. Eastwood reckon it's opportunistic. Big house, front door open, someone just walks in.'

‘What about Cornish's death?' Troy said. ‘Any thoughts on this guy Burns?'

‘No alibi for the time she died, he was home alone. But no reason to suspect him.'

‘What about Scott?'

‘Like I told you this morning, Cornish wasn't murdered.' Needham sounded impatient.

‘I know,' said Troy. ‘It's just with this business at St Thomas', I'm going the extra mile on this.' He'd told Needham earlier about the Furnace investigation. ‘Think I'll go to Eastwood first, see you later.'

He hung up and saw Tryon and Chu chatting. When they realised he was free, they shook hands and Tryon walked off towards the end of the mall.

‘Friend of yours?' said Troy.

‘Everyone's still interested in The Tower. Let's go and eat.'

But Troy wasn't hungry anymore. He explained he had to go to Eastwood with Conti. He was still trying to work out the tangle of new names Needham had just given him; he had no particular suspicions, but it was something to be getting on with.

Chu looked unhappy and Troy patted him on the shoulder. It wasn't something you were supposed to admit in Sydney these days, but he wasn't all that interested in food.