An Easeful Death (21 page)

‘Is there anything else you need, then?’ the man asked.

Monty drew a breath, as if trying to summon up his courage. ‘I need to see a bloke called Peter Sbresni.’

He felt himself being looked up and down. After a beat the man said, ‘You after work, mate?’

Monty shuffled his feet from side to side on the wooden plank. ‘No. It’s personal stuff.’

The man hesitated before wiping his hand on his windcheater and putting it out to Monty. ‘I’m Sbresni. What can I do you for?’

Monty said, ‘My name’s Steven Dunn.’

Sbresni switched his gaze from Monty to a young couple heading towards a shade house. If he recognised the name, he showed no sign of it.

Monty moistened his lips and continued. ‘I’ve been inside, see. Just got out.’

Sbresni turned back to Monty, shrugged and said nothing as he waited for more. A gust of wind blew an empty plastic pot off the table and it turned like a tumbleweed down the path.

‘Lorna’s mum and me haven’t been in touch for years,’ Monty said, pushing the emotion through a crack in his voice. ‘The only thing I know about my little girl’s murder is what I read in the papers and heard on the news. I remember hearing how you was the lead copper on the case.’

‘The second Park Killer victim?’ Sbresni said, as if to himself; then, in a louder voice, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Dunn.’ His hand dropped to his side in a convincing show of sympathy. ‘But I really don’t think I can help you. You see I’ve been retired for several years. I might be able to give you some names in Central who could help with your queries, although it’s now a closed case. As you probably know, the killer died in a car accident.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, Mr Sbresni, I’m not wanting to ask questions about the investigation, or out to get anyone over it. My daughter’s gone and so’s the prick who killed her. I just want to find some stuff out about my little girl, Lorna, that’s all. See, I never knew her. All I want to do is look up some of her old friends, find out what kind of a person she’d grown up into, what she liked, what she didn’t like. Hell, I don’t even know what her favourite flowers were. If I knew, then I could put them on her grave, couldn’t I?’

Sbresni rubbed his goatee and tried for a gentle tone. ‘It’s been several years now. I’m not sure if I can tell you much that would be of help.’

Monty drew a breath. ‘They said she worked on the streets. Is that true?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Sbresni paused for a moment. ‘I take it you didn’t know?’

‘Not till I read about the murder. I haven’t seen or heard of Lorna since she was five years old.’ Monty managed a disheartened shrug and fixed his gaze on the horizon. ‘I reckon she had good reason to be where she was, they always do. Maybe she needed the money for uni, an operation or something—there’s all sorts of reasons for a girl to take to the streets, aren’t there? I mean, who’s to judge?’

Sbresni shook his head and clucked his tongue. ‘Why don’t you try her mother? I’m sure she’ll know all the details.’

‘She won’t talk to me. Blames me for everything that went wrong.’

‘I see.’ Sbresni went thoughtful for a moment. Then as if deciding that it could do no harm, he said, ‘She and her friends used to walk the pubs and clubs district of Northbridge. My wife and I went out to a restaurant there the other night. There still seems to be a bunch of girls who walk that same patch. I recognised one who was interviewed over the murder. It surprised me to see a familiar face. Girls don’t tend to last too long in the job, if you know what I’m saying.’

‘Name?’

Sbresni’s eyebrows shot up at the abrupt question. Monty reminded himself this was not a police interview and did some hasty backtracking.

‘A name would be really handy if it’s not too much trouble. Then I’ll let you get back to work. Hell, I’ll help if you like. I know something about reticulation.’

A muscle leaping around in Sbresni’s jaw suggested Monty was beginning to outstay his welcome.

‘Charmaine Carol’s her name, but she goes by the name of Champagne Charlie. Now, Mr Dunn, I really should be getting back to work. Why don’t you stop off at our tea and gift shop and pick up some long-stemmed roses? I’m sure your sick friend would really appreciate them.’

Inside, Monty was elated. He had a name, something with which to get his investigative ball rolling.

On the outside he twitched Sbresni a grateful smile and murmured some stumbling words of thanks. When he turned to leave he saw a woman with the figure of a butternut pumpkin coming down the planks towards them. In her hand she clutched a steaming mug. ‘I brought you some tea, Peter,’ she called out in a high singsong voice.

That voice.

Sbresni put his hand out for the tea and gave the woman a smile. Her bright eyes darted from Sbresni to Monty, waiting for an introduction. A nervous quiver ran through Monty’s stomach, along with a feeling that he should know this woman. But like an itch that moves out of reach when you try to scratch it, the memory shifted each time he came close to grasping it.

Unfortunately her memory was excellent. When he saw the light of recognition in her face he turned from her and nodded a curt goodbye to Sbresni. With his head down so she couldn’t catch his eye, he sidestepped through the mud to walk around her. Just as he thought he was getting away with it, she called out, ‘I knew it! Inspector McGuire, what a lovely surprise!’

Monty had no choice but to turn. He feigned a look of puzzlement, hoping she might think she was mistaken.

No such luck.

‘Long time no see. How’s everything at Central these days?’

Monty nodded and tried to smile but his cheeks felt as if they were being held down by weights. ‘Fine.’

She looked him up and down, an air of mischief about her. ‘You don’t remember me do you, Inspector?’

Monty glanced at Sbresni. He was standing with his mouth open, his eyes flitting between Monty and his wife. Monty mentally redrew the woman’s face, making it thinner and more careworn, taking about twenty kilos off her chubby frame.

Shit. It was the commissioner’s former wife, Gloria Summerfield. He remembered the wild rumours he’d heard about Sbresni having an affair with her. It must have been around the time of the Kings Park murders. The cases had come to a convenient close, evidence was manhandled, notes went missing. He’d decided earlier that the cock-ups were too grave to be bungles, and now, standing here before him was the proof he needed: Sbresni had been blackmailed. Well, what do you know?

Sbresni managed to pull himself together. Whatever his reasons, he was keeping quiet about Monty’s deception. Perhaps he didn’t want to make a scene in front of his wife. Monty was grateful for that.

‘You’d be the McGuire that took over the SCS after I left?’ The rapid clenching and unclenching of both his fists contradicted Sbresni’s expression of pleasant surprise.

‘That’s right. Good to meet you at last, Peter, and to see you again, Gloria. Now I really should be off.’

‘I forget to mention,’ Gloria said to her husband before Monty could turn away. ‘Monty’s ex-wife, Michelle, was here last week looking for you. I said you’d gone to the garden exhibition in town. She said she’d call back another time.’

Sbresni didn’t take his eyes off Monty when he said to his wife, ‘My my, what a coincidence.’

Monty matched his look of surprise with one of his own.

Sbresni continued, ‘I was shocked to read about her death in the papers this morning.’

Gloria’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Michelle? Dead? How awful. Monty, I’m so sorry.’ She looked to her husband, an unspoken ‘how’ on her lips.

‘I’ll show you the article later, love, I’m sure Monty doesn’t want to discuss it now.’ He put an unduly heavy hand on Monty’s shoulder. ‘I’ll come with you to the gift shop and show you those roses I was talking about. Gloria, I saw a young couple heading towards the shade house just a moment ago. Why don’t you go and see if they need a hand?’

Gloria gave Monty a sympathetic smile and said something about getting together sometime to talk about the old days, before heading towards a large covered structure. But when Monty turned to leave, Sbresni slammed his hand back on his shoulder, forcing him to turn. One of Monty’s feet missed the wooden plank and landed with a squelch in a muddy puddle.

The tea slopped over the mug in Sbresni’s hand as he jabbed it at Monty’s chest. ‘Just what kind of game do you think you’re playing at, Mister? Coming here with a cock-and-bull tear-jerking story, trying to wheedle names out of me?’

‘I got a lot more than a name, Sbresni.’ Monty jerked his chin in the direction Gloria Sbresni had taken. ‘I’ve suddenly got a plausible answer to some of the questions I’ve been asking myself about your very dodgy Park Killer investigation.’

‘You’re full of shit, McGuire.’

Monty now knew who it was who stayed silent about Sbresni’s affair with the commissioner’s wife in exchange for some favours—the conveniently contaminated body bag, Harper’s missing alibi, the missing details about the prostitute’s interview. But how to prove Baggly was behind all this?

‘Did you get paid cash, too?’ Monty gestured to the valuable property surrounding them. ‘I imagine this would have cost a bomb to set up. Hardly within the realms of an inspector’s retirement package.’

‘Get off my property.’

‘Here’s my card if you decide you need to get a few things off your conscience. It’s old news now. The commissioner’s remarried; you’re off the job. It’ll go no further than me. Your wife need never know how low you sank.’

Sbresni swiped the proffered card from Monty’s hand and ground it into the mud with the heel of his boot.

‘Anything you got from me today was obtained through deception. You’ve got nothing on me that’ll stand up in court.’

Monty prodded the man in the chest. ‘I don’t give a shit about what’s legal and what’s not right now. I just want the truth. The ends justify the means as far as I’m concerned.’

And with that, Monty pivoted on his heel and headed back to his car, his shoes spraying water, the mud squelching between his toes.

Often the killer will not harm the person who frightens or intimidates him the most, using substitute victims instead. He even give his biggest tormentor souvenirs from his victims in the guise of gifts. This will increase his sense of power and make him revel in the knowledge that the joke, if you will, is on them.

De Vakey,
The Pursuit of Evil

When De Vakey returned to the hospital later that afternoon, Stevie was in the middle of trying to persuade the doctor to discharge her. He smiled at the fight she was putting up, taking it upon himself to assure the flustered young registrar that he would keep a personal eye on the patient.

Monty had been incommunicado since his early morning visit and Stevie was relieved he wasn’t here now. Having Monty and De Vakey together in her hospital room had been nothing less than awkward. It had been clear from the look on Monty’s face when he saw De Vakey’s bouquet that he knew something had happened between them. She silently reaffirmed her resolution to resist any further advances from De Vakey until the case was over.

He pulled up at the curb outside her house and turned the engine off. The sky had turned grey and gloomy. The wind buffeted the car in the ensuing silence and leaked through the window seals, tickling her cheek with fingers of cold. She knew the only way she could continue working with this man in any kind of professional capacity was to be up front and honest. ‘James, about last night.’

Her phone rang. Shit. Even Barry’s phone-tampering skills can’t have got this good.

‘Stevie? It’s Malcolm,’ a voice chirped.

Stevie mouthed a stream of obscenities. What the hell was this guy’s problem? She thought he’d got the message weeks ago.

‘Heard you had a bit of bother. How’s the head?’ Malcolm said.

‘Much better, Mal. But look, I can’t talk, I’m working.’

‘Back on the job already? I figured you’d still be in hospital.’

‘No, I’m out, but I can’t talk now.’

‘Have you given my dinner invitation any more thought? I want to try this Italian joint in Collins Street—’

‘I’ll ring you back.’ She shut the phone and leaned her head back on the headrest, closing her eyes for a moment.

She opened them when she felt De Vakey’s hand on her cheek.

‘One of your admirers?’ he asked.

She pushed his hand away, endeavouring to keep him in the same faraway place she’d stored the memory of his kisses. ‘Listen, about last night,’ she said. ‘That was a one-off. The champagne made me reckless. I don’t usually let myself go with strange men quite so easily, especially with strange men I have to work with. Can we just forget it happened? I have to maintain my focus. It’s not fair to the victims or their families if I don’t give these cases one hundred percent.’

‘A few sips of champagne? No wonder you don’t drink it much,’ he teased.

She opened her mouth, trying to think up another excuse and failed.

His smile softened. ‘I understand; I feel the same. Although I have no wish to forget last night, I can put it to the back of my mind until the case is over, or my involvement in it anyway. Perhaps then you will consider having dinner with me and we can start again. You may not find me so strange then.’

He raised an eyebrow.
God, he was sexy when he did that.

She nodded, feeling a load lift from her mind.

For reasons she knew she shouldn’t have, she didn’t want the profiler to see the inside of her shabby house and asked him to wait in the car. The wind tore at her clothing as she battled up the garden path. It whipped at the trees and made the window frames of her old house rattle, the loose gutter flap.

Angus had given Stevie and De Vakey the go-ahead for a thorough background check on Martin Sparrow. She would touch base with her mother and Izzy, warn them she wouldn’t be around much for the next few days, throw on some clean clothes, then head to Central with De Vakey.