Night Realm (13 page)

While Wells was busy unloading the truck, Ryan ducked into the office and made a quick search of the desk. Yesterday’s invoices weren’t there. He then tried the filing cabinet. Even though he’d seen Wells lock it, the thing was old and he thought he might be able to shake the drawers loose. That wasn’t the case. The cabinet may be old, but it was built like a safe. When he heard the cellarman
returning with the pallet, he went back into the storage room.

Wells brought the forklift to a stop just inside the room,
cut the motor, then got off and lowered the door.

The pallet was a mix of different products, none of which was alcohol. It was all stock like glasses and straws and other bar accessories. The pair spent half an hour unloading the pallet and stacking the items in their appropriate locations on the shelves. No sooner were they finished and another delivery truck arrived.

Once more Wells went out with the fork to collect a pallet stocked with boxes of various spirits. When these were put away, they took a lunch break before starting on the task of restocking the night club.

Throughout the day Ryan never got to sight the new invoices, but he made sure to keep a mental total of all the alcohol that had come in on that second pallet.
He had no proof yet, but his instincts told him his theory would be proven right come tonight.

*  *  *

He called Selena Thorne about two hours after he arrived home. Once more Wells had insisted he leave at four instead of five. Ryan didn’t bother arguing the point this time.

“Did Gordon leave the invoices in your office?” he asked her the moment she answered her phone.

“Yes, he did.”

“Mind if I come in and take a look at them?”

“By all means.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Ryan took a shower, had a shave, sprayed on his best cologne and dressed smart-casual in designer jeans, white long-sleeve shirt and brown boots. As he walked down the hallway and passed his sister’s open bedroom door, he wondered where Chelsea was. Working again? He hadn’t seen her since he got home. Maybe, hopefully, she was hanging out with Emma and having her mind set straight.

As he strolled into town he relished the fact that the night was considerably cooler than it had been
in recent times. Not much chance of working up a sweat on the walk in.

He arrived at
Bliss
just after seven. The doors were open but no one was outside. Too early. Inside he nodded at one of the security staff. So far only one customer patronized the place. Bar staff were getting things ready behind the bar for a big night ahead, and waitresses were busy making sure tables were stocked with fresh coasters. The DJ was playing music at a low volume. He had his headphones on and seemed to be experimenting with a bit of ad-lib mixing.

Selena was dressed in black again. When she spotted him she came out from behind the bar and asked him to follow her to the office.
Ryan tailed her behind the bar and through a storage area full of cartons. They passed a cold room, then entered an open door. The club owner closed the door behind them and seated herself at a desk. Ryan took a seat on the opposite side of the desk and glanced about.

There wasn’t much to the room, apart from the desk and chairs, a filing cabinet and a laptop computer. At the end of the desk were a couple of plastic trays stacked one on top of the other. In the corner behind him was a decorative artificial palm tree, the fronds hanging over him and tickling the back of his neck. He moved his seat forward just a little
and out of its reach. From one of the trays Selena took the invoices from the past three days and handed them to Ryan. He rummaged through them until he found the two from yesterday. A huge grin split his face.

“I was right,”
he said and slid one of the invoices to the centre of the desk so he could point some things out to Selena. She studied it with her dark eyes. “How closely do you keep an eye on these?”

She shrugged. “I just glance them over briefly and pay them.”

“You don’t take notice of the unit price? Or the number of items ordered?”

“Not really.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk and
clasped her gloved hands together. Ryan caught a whiff of her delicious perfume. At the same time he idly wondered why she always wore gloves. Did she have scarred hands or something? “So what exactly is Gordon doing?” she asked.

“He’s creating new invoices, passing them off as the originals. And doing a good job at it, too. He’s even doing the folds the same way the originals were when sealed in the plastic shipping envelopes.”

“Explain it to me,” Selena said, still not seeing it. “What’s he changing?”

“This was the first delivery yesterday,” Ryan said enthusiastically. He always got excited when he felt like he was getting somewhere with a case, no matter how small the case may be. “There were sixty-four cases of VB on the pallet when it came in. I helped Gordon unload it and I counted them. This invoice says there were only sixty cases delivered, yet the grand total down the bottom is the same amount as the original.”

Ryan showed her the second invoice, the one for Smirnoff Vodka. “This one says ten boxes were dropped off when it was actually twelve. Once again the grand total is the same as the original invoice.” He sat back in his seat, satisfied. “He’s siphoning off alcohol from each order, redoing the invoices so that the amounts match up with the stock that’s left on the floor down there. So what he’s doing is decreasing the number of items delivered, then increasing the cost per item so it all adds up to the original invoice amount.”

Selena frowned and let out a long sigh. “So he’s selling off my alcohol as a sideline business for himself
?”

“It sure looks that way
. Either that, or he’s a very heavy drinker.”

“
So that’s why he’s been sending you home an hour early. It gives him time to change the invoices.” Surprisingly she smiled then. “That’s quite clever, actually. Not that his exploits deserve praise. Quite the contrary.”

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“Get rid of him. I’d like some proof first, though.”

“That’s easy enough to get. Just call or email the liquor companies and get them to email through copies of the invoices.
”

“Do you want to take over his job?”

“No. Thanks anyway, but it’s not for me.”

Selena smiled again. “I was only kidding. I have a more important assignment for you, which I will talk to you about in a couple of days. But right now I need to pay you.”

She opened a drawer in the desk and withdrew a bundle of fifty dollar notes that was held tightly together with a rubber band. Selena peeled off twenty notes and handed them to Ryan, who immediately slipped them into his wallet. It always felt good to get some cash.

When he got up to leave, Selena said, “Tell the barman to pour you a drink. I’ll call you in a couple of days about that other job I have for you. Right now I’m going to send some emails, then sit here and stew for a while.”

Ryan stepped out of her office and silently closed the door. He’d really like to see her outside of this club.

Four uniformed police officers converged on Orchid Avenue from different directions. Patrol cars blocked off access to each end of the street. They had just received a tip off from a member of the public that someone fitting the suspect’s description was standing outside a popular night spot. He was smoking a cigarette and looking at something on his mobile phone when the officers approached him.

“We need to see some identification,”
Sergeant Snyder, the most senior of the officers, requested in an authoritative tone.

The other three policemen surrounded the man. The suspect eyed them warily as he slowly reached for his wallet and handed it to the officer in charge.

“Why?” he wanted to know as his ID was checked. “What’s the deal?”

“Is this your current address?” Snyder interrogated, examining the young man’s licence. When the man nodded, Snyder added, “Mr Nathan Woods, we’d like you to accompany us to the station to answer some questions.”

“About what?” Nathan suddenly became very feisty in both his attitude and body language. He tensed as if getting ready to make a run for it. “Am I under arrest?”

“We would just like to ask you some questions.”

“And what if I refuse? I haven’t done anything.”

“No one says you have, but we need to ask you some questions to assist us with our enquiries in a matter,” S
nyder was patient. “If you don’t accompany us to the station willingly, then we do have the right to place you under arrest.”

“You can’t do that,” Woods said defiantly. “I know my rights.”

That last comment brought a wry smile to the sergeant’s face. “Had a bit of experience with the law, have we? Well then, you will know that we can arrest you if we have reason to suspect you have committed a crime. In this case, a serious crime.”

“Serious crime
!” Woods spat. “Like what?”

“Is murder serious enough for you?”

“What? I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Woods stood there thinking over his options, his eyes darting about rather erratically. In the end his shoulders slumped and he resigned to accompanying the officers to the Surfers Paradise Police Station.

Detective Marks was waiting for him in the interview room, having been informed immediately about the tip off.
He’d also just been told that the CCTV footage collected from around town for the night in question had drawn a blank. Surfers Paradise needed more cameras in streets that were just outside the main hub.

Snyder ushered Nathan Woods into the room, where the young man checked out Marks, then reluctantly sat down at the table.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked the detective.

“Not yet,” Marks said whil
st massaging his goatee and sizing up the guy. In front of him on the table was a copy on the police artist’s rendition of the man suspected of murdering Amanda Simms. The photo of Amanda was also on the table. A video camera in the corner of the room was recording the interview.

“Do I need a lawyer?” Woods said, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch as his nerves started to get the better of him.

Marks looked him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know. Do you?” He pushed the picture of the suspect across the table so Woods could see it. “An uncanny likeness to you, don’t you think?”

Woods looked at it briefly, then shook his head vigorously. “That’s not me, man. That could be anybody. Plenty of guys look like that.”

“But not many have eyes that look like yours,” Marks said.

“What? Blue eyes!” Woods was incredulous. “Yeah, really uncommon that is.”

“It’s the shade of blue that’s uncommon. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of comments from adoring females about how unique your eyes are.”

Woods didn’t respond, but the look on his face told Marks that it was true. He now pushed across the photograph of Amanda.

“Recognize her?”

“Never seen her before. Why?”

“She was murdered by this man.” Marks tapped the artist’s rendition firmly with his index finger.

The young man shook his head in disbelief. “This is a joke, man. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“A search of your records is being conducted as we speak. In a few minutes an officer will come in here with your rap sheet. Anything you want to tell me about it before I see it?”

Woods shrugged. “So I’ve been done on possession a few times. So what? That’s not even close to murder.”

“Killers all have to start somewhere. So what drugs were you busted with?”

“A bit of speed once, some cocaine another time. The last time I had three pingers on me.”

“Ecstasy?”

“That’s what ‘pinger’ usually means
on the streets, Detective.” Marks’s title was spoken with an edge of contempt, not respect.

“Where were you last Saturday night, say between the hours of ten PM and two AM on Sunday morning?”

Woods shrugged, sat back and folded his arms. “Out and about.”

“In Surfers?”

“I’m always in Surfers on a Saturday night.”

“Selling drugs?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Were you out with anyone? Can someone verify your whereabouts?”

Again the young man shrugged. “I don’t know. I was here, there and everywhere. I was drinking with a mate at The Avenue until about ten. After that I just went club hopping.”

“So, after ten o’clock you didn’t spend any time with anyone who could vouch for you?”

“I guess not.”

Nathan Woods didn’t look happy about having to admit that.

A constable came into the room and furnished the detective with the rap sheet for Nathan Woods. Marks quickly scanned it and smiled. He nodded, satisfied.

“So you were telling the truth about your convictions. The outstanding traffic offences is an interesting addition. We can arrest you for those unpaid fines.”