Before It Breaks (30 page)

Maybe he should have given everything to Marilyn but he didn't trust himself, and yes, he didn't trust her. And here's the wicked thing, he still didn't because he knew she had done the same thing, was still doing the same thing. The Marilyn with Brian, come on, was that Marilyn? He didn't believe so.

But maybe he was wrong and there was no real me or real you. Maybe, he surmised, we reflect the qualities our partners desire in us. As we change partner we shed one skin and grow another; different but not a fake, just a different truth. Your life was therefore a series of different yous. The young Daniel Clement who rode with Bill Seratono was no more true than the older one with Marilyn, simply the first; and the Marilyn he'd come to know no more or less genuine than the one now with Brian.

He walked into the detective room to news from Earle that there were no matches between Karskine's time in jail and any of the Dingos.

‘I think it's a dead-end,' Clement told Earle.

‘There's Darwin and Adelaide still.'

But Clement was sure as he could be that Karskine was not their guy, nor for that matter any of the Dingos, though Mal Gross had arranged for every single member to present himself for interview. That was something Clement would divvy up between the team.

In his office he stared at the board looking for inspiration, feeling the pressure build like a wave behind him. Now he had done the local paper it was inevitable Perth would get involved, television especially. With a second murder now, Eastern States media would inevitably follow. It irked that he still hadn't spoken to Schaffer's sister. He was about to call Perth HQ and ask for a
translator. Bugger it. He may as well give it a go himself. Hamburg was six or seven hours behind, breakfast time, a good time to find people home. He called the number for the sister's former neighbour, Frau Gerlanger. It rang for a few seconds and a woman answered, in German naturally. She sounded elderly.

‘I'm Australian. Do you speak English by any chance? I'm trying to reach Christiane Hohlmann.'

‘Moment.'

The single word was heavily accented. There were sounds in the background. A man came on. He sounded youngish. His English was excellent.

‘Can I help?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

Clement repeated what he had just said, explained who he was and where he was calling from. ‘I believe Frau Gerlanger might know how to reach Frau Hohlmann. Her brother has died and we're trying to notify her.'

‘I'll ask my grandmother.'

Clement waited during the exchange. The grandson came back on.

‘My grandmother says Frau Hohlmann died two months ago.'

Clement felt a pang of frustration, then immediate guilt for it.

‘Could you ask your grandmother if Frau Hohlmann was in touch with her brother much?'

Again the action played off stage.

‘She says they hardly had anything to do with one another. Christiane left Hamburg when she was young and settled here.'

With more to and fro Clement filled in a picture of Christiane Hohlmann. She had been single till quite late in life, at least for that generation. As Christiane Schaffer, she married Bernard Hohlmann in her late thirties but had no children. Her husband died quite a long time ago and she had lived at the apartment complex until health issues had made her move to a retirement village with medical staff. Her brother would occasionally ring her or write to her but they were not close. She had liked her brother's wife but the marriage had not lasted long and Christiane Hohlmann had sounded like she was not surprised, she blamed Dieter. According to her he had a gambling problem and had nearly lost the family home at one point. As far as Frau Gerlanger knew, her late friend was comfortably off without being wealthy. She had owned her apartment and sold it when she moved but was worried the money
would not be enough to last her the rest of her days. Sadly it had been more than sufficient.

‘Could you ask your grandmother the name of Dieter's ex-wife and whether there were any children?'

Dieter's ex-wife was Maria. Frau Gerlanger believed she had remarried but still lived in Hamburg, she did not know her new name. There had been no children with Dieter but Frau Gerlanger did not know if Maria had children of her own with her second husband or stepchildren. Clement obtained the address of the retirement village. Before he hung up he tried another pot shot.

‘Frau Gerlanger wouldn't know the executor of the estate would she?' He had to elaborate and expand on ‘executor' before the grandson understood.

‘Yes. Christiane left a favourite painting of hers to my grandmother.'

‘Would she have the contact number?'

‘I have it here.'

The grandson read off the contact number and address for a Munich solicitor. Clement thanked him profusely and rang off. Feeling pumped, he tried the solicitor's number fully expecting to strike out but once again fortune favoured him.

‘Do you speak English by any chance?' he asked of the pleasant sounding young woman.

‘A little bit.'

Her English turned out to be perfectly adequate. Clement explained the situation. He was hoping somebody might be able to tell him if the late Dieter Schaffer was to inherit something. The young woman cautiously told him he would need to talk to her superior Herr Broden. He was currently with a client. Clement gave her his numbers and said he would greatly appreciate Broden calling at his earliest opportunity.

‘Does he speak English?'

‘Yes very well, much better than me.'

They laughed. Clement imagined the young woman way across the other side of the world, her conditioned hair bouncing, nice perfume, a tight turtleneck—why he imagined a turtleneck he wasn't sure, some sort of cultural stereotype. A lifetime ago it would have been inconceivable they could have had this conversation. Now it was possible that they could be on a date in thirty-six hours; earlier, if Skype counted as a date.

‘Thank you again.'

‘My pleasure.'

The buoyancy he felt after the conversation with the pleasant girl and his information from the Gerlangers was quickly punctured by his tooth suddenly aching again but he sidelined the pain and called Shepherd for an update. He and Taylor had done every shop in town and the Roebuck Hotel. Nobody had seen Schaffer and Lee together. They had re-canvassed most of Dieter's former customers for another duck egg. None were admitting to having supplied Lee with a joint but Shepherd thought they were all shady.

‘I reckon they're worried about dobbing on bikers.'

‘Try the Cleo.'

Shepherd rang off with a grunt.

Just when Clement had hoped that there might be new momentum from Lee's murder, it was developing into a grind again. He wanted a coffee but wondered if that would exacerbate the toothache. He poked his head outside. Earle was yawning and stretching.

‘Lee's so-called girlfriend turns out to be an occasional bonk,' he informed Clement. ‘She didn't have anything useful on him.'

The phone in Clement's office was ringing again. He moved back inside swiftly.

‘Detective Clement, Kimberley Police.'

‘This is August Broden. You telephoned me about Christiane Hohlmann.'

‘Yes, I did. Thank you for returning my call. Do you want me to call you back?'

‘Will it take long?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Then please, proceed.'

Clement told him the basics. Broden was suitably alarmed to hear his client's brother had been killed, possibly murdered.

‘You think it could be for the estate?'

‘That's my question, was her brother a beneficiary?'

Christiane Hohlmann had left her brother virtually all her estate, over one hundred and sixty thousand euros.

‘And you had communicated this to him?'

He had. He had sent Schaffer an email at first and then Dieter Schaffer had called him. All the relevant forms had been emailed. Schaffer had signed them and posted them back.

‘You don't know this? There is no record?'

The German seemed offended by the slackness of Clement and his cohorts.

‘His computer was stolen and we found no paperwork.'

Clement ascertained that Dieter's payday was scheduled for about four months hence. The last time Broden and Schaffer had spoken was about three weeks earlier.

‘What happens now?' he asked the solicitor.

‘If Dieter Schaffer left a will, it would go to whoever he nominated.'

‘We found no will.'

‘Then if he has no family I suppose it gets put in trust until somebody claims it, a cousin, a relative somewhere.'

‘Dieter Schaffer had an ex-wife. Was she mentioned in the will at all? Her name is Maria but she has remarried.'

Broden said the only other person receiving anything was Frau Gerlanger. She had been left a painting.

‘And Frau Hohlmann's personal effects?'

Disposed of by the retirement home.

Clement thanked him for his assistance and mentioned it was possible he might need to speak to him again. Broden said that was fine and wished him well.

‘Dieter Schaffer's windfall probably had nothing to do with drugs.'

Clement stood outside the rear door of the station with Earle who was blowing a stream of smoke into a sky dark and unsettled like a room before an argument. The scent of wild flowers had been hovering until Earle's smoke stream obliterated it.

‘You think it was the inheritance he was talking about?'

‘Yeah. Over a hundred and fifty thousand euros.'

Earle wondered if somebody might have killed him for it.

‘There's no other beneficiary, no relatives.'

‘And Lee?'

‘Could be exactly as Marchant said. Somebody hands Lee a joint …'

Mal Gross, covered in the fug of tedium, joined them.

Clement didn't stop. ‘… “Wow, great grass where did you get it?” He approaches Dieter. Dieter says fuck off. He doesn't need to sell speed, doesn't even need to sell his pot. He's got a fortune coming. You saw how he lived.'

He turned to Gross and explained Dieter's windfall.

Earle ground out his cigarette. ‘So the argument was just an argument. But the murders have to be connected by something. It can't be coincidence that we're investigating Dieter Schaffer and his dope and the next person killed is a biker he argued with, who was at his place the night after his death. You don't think that?'

He didn't. And yet something wasn't right, wasn't natural. He wished he could figure it out but his brain was tired. Earle was still spit-balling.

‘Could it be somebody with a grudge against drugs and people who sell them?'

‘It could,
if
somebody knew Lee was here to make and distribute drugs but that was secret.'

‘Not totally. The Dingos could have leaked, or Lee's mob.'

Mal Gross shuffled. ‘I've been at it for hours. I can't find anything linking the victims. If the killer is somebody connected with the Dingoes then the reason they are doing it is because they want all the action for themselves but I don't think the Dingos have anybody smart enough or ambitious enough for that.'

Clement was inclined to agree but they had to pursue it. ‘Maybe there are factions within CZG. When is our first Dingo turning up?'

‘Ten minutes, Marinovic the landlord.'

‘They say there's a cyclone heading our way.' Mal Gross kept in close contact with all the Emergency Services.

‘How big?'

‘A big one, a cat four maybe.'

‘When?' Earle and Clement spoke simultaneously.

‘They reckon Wednesday or Thursday.'

‘That's all we need.' Earle had spoken what they were all thinking. Normally cyclones bypassed Broome. Onslow was more likely to cop it. But if a cyclone did hit it would mean a shutdown of most everything, communications, airports, shops. Even a small one would see the available uniforms diverted to emergency business. If it was a big one, they could lose buildings. He would have to make sure all evidence was totally secured.