Tell the Truth (2 page)

TWO

D
etective Ella Marconi crouched inside the car's front passenger door to study the pool of blood in the passenger footwell, while Detective Murray Shakespeare looked across from the driver's side. The car's owner was Stacey Durham, paramedic, last heard from yesterday afternoon. No criminal record. No DNA on file. No history of disappearances.

The car smelled like an unventilated butcher's shop. The footwell carpet was soaked with blood, the cracked surface strewn with thick drying clots. Dried blood stained the front of the seat and spatters marked the centre console and the underside of the glove box. The roof lining was clean.

‘Anything on the driver's side or in the back?' Ella asked.

The Crime Scene tech shook his head. ‘Nor in the boot.'

Behind him, a couple of uniformed officers watched on. Across the car park three men in civvies sat in plastic chairs, one holding a toddler. They were kept apart and silent by a heavy-set constable.

‘And it's human?' Murray said.

‘Definitely,' the tech said. ‘Hard to estimate exact amount, but based on the area it covers and the absorbency of the carpet, I'd say around one and a half litres.'

Murray whistled. ‘That's a lot, right?'

‘If you lose that much and you're still alive, you sure don't feel good,' the tech said. ‘The body only holds about seven.'

‘Don't feel good?' Ella asked.

‘I don't know the full ins and outs,' the tech said. ‘I guess you might be unconscious? Dizzy at least.'

Ella took out her mobile and pressed the first listing in the favourites.

‘Hey,' Callum answered, a smile in his voice.

‘I'm at work,' she said. ‘If a person loses a litre and a half of blood, how do they feel?'

He was immediately serious. ‘They'd be pale, sweaty, short of breath, nauseated, anxious and agitated. They'd feel weak and faint. Some people might be close to unconscious, or even already there. They need help, fast.'

‘And if they don't get it?'

‘If the bleeding keeps up, they die,' he said. ‘Even if it's stopped but they don't get help – fluid replacement and/or blood transfusion – they run the risk of dying anyway. Who are we talking about?'

‘I'll tell you later,' she said. ‘Thanks.'

‘See you tonight?'

‘I'll let you know.' She ended the call and put her phone away.

Murray winked over the car at the scene tech. ‘Doctor boyfriend.'

‘Ah,' the tech said.

Ella looked back into the car. ‘You ever seen this much blood in a faked disappearance?'

The tech shook his head. ‘Not even close.'

Every such case that Ella had read about or dealt with herself had involved small quantities of blood and insignificant wounds. People thought they could cut themselves to make it look like they'd been attacked, but soon found out it hurt. A lot. Cops saw the shallowest cuts and tiny tentative stabs as the would-be ‘victim' tried to get up the courage to go deeper. They very rarely managed it.

‘Might be a stabbing,' Murray said. ‘Carjacker forces her over, she fights back, he goes nuts.'

‘But there's no arterial spray,' the tech said. ‘You'd almost expect it with a stabbing that left this much blood in one place. And the shape of the spatters indicates sideways movement, which seems odd too.'

‘And if that is what happened, then what?' Ella said. ‘There're no drag marks, nothing on the sill or the ground, nothing that looks like it's been wiped down. Hard to get out without leaving any marks at all.'

‘We'll put it under Luminol later and see if anything like that was cleaned up,' the tech said. ‘Lab tests'll show us the rest, including DNA. If you can get some known sample of hers, hairs or whatever, we'll try to put a rush on the match.'

Ella's mind was in high gear. They needed to search the area, speak to everyone in the vicinity, check local CCTV. Everything. If this blood was Stacey Durham's, the situation was urgent. Unlike a murder scene where the person was dead and the task was to identify and find the killer, here they might have a missing and dying woman – a life they might be able to save.

‘Call the office,' she said to Murray. ‘Tell Dennis what we've got. Tell him to send everyone.'

Murray took out his phone and moved away.

Ella looked across the car park to the three men sitting in plastic chairs. The first, aged about forty with short brown hair, sat back in his chair, his suit coat hanging open and his hands linked over his eyes as if he needed darkness to think. The next was older, in his late forties perhaps, fit-looking, balding, in khaki shorts, blue T-shirt and runners. He leaned forward, his back straight, his elbows on his knees, watching her and the activity around the car. The third and youngest, sandy hair combed sideways like a little boy's, in suit pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, bounced a giggling little girl on his thigh. The constable behind them stifled a yawn.

‘Husband's in the jacket, James Durham, owns a computer shop in Strathfield,' the senior uniformed officer said behind her. ‘Middle guy's Rowan Wylie, a frie nd and colleague of the woman. He noticed her car when bringing his granddaughter to the play place there.'

Noticed, Ella thought.

‘He saw the blood and called the husband,' the officer went on. ‘Young guy is Simon Wylie, Rowan's son, works for James as some kind of computer tech.'

It was all very buddy-buddy. Ella eyed them. James Durham pressed his thumbs into his temples. Simon Wylie and his kid pointed at birds in the sky. Rowan Wylie hadn't moved. His gaze was steady, watching them.

‘Anything else in the car?' Ella asked the officer. ‘Purse, handbag, phone?'

‘Nothing.'

Murray came around the back of the car. ‘Troops are on their way.'

‘Good.'

Ella looked back at the three men. You always started with those closest to the victim, because closeness meant emotion, and emotion of some kind – hate, love, jealousy, revenge, greed – were behind most violent crimes.

‘So which one's the husband?' Murray asked.

‘Follow me,' Ella said.

James Durham stood as they approached. His light blue shirt was creased under his coat, his navy tie pulled away from his neck. His eyes were dark and deep-set with reddened rims as if he'd been crying, and he smelled of anxious sweat.

‘Stacey's my whole life,' he said, as if by way of introduction.

‘Detectives Ella Marconi and Murray Shakespeare,' Ella said.
Closer up she could see he was a little older than she'd thought, with lines around his eyes and grey at his temples. ‘Can we have a word?'

He followed them a few steps away and leaned against the boot of a parked car as if he couldn't trust his legs. ‘So much blood.'

‘We don't know that it's hers,' Murray said, taking out his notebook.

James Durham looked at him flatly. ‘That guy said it's human.'

Ella took careful note of his response. People tended to hope, even against the odds, when someone they loved was missing. Despondency at this early stage could indicate that he knew Stacey wasn't coming back.

She asked him his date of birth, contact numbers and address, then Stacey's date of birth and mobile number. Murray sent both mobile and landline numbers to their boss, Dennis Orchard, to start the processes of getting their phone records and tracking Stacey's mobile signal in the hope that it might show them where she was.

Ella said, ‘When did you last talk to Stacey?'

‘Yesterday afternoon, about four,' James said. ‘I was in Melbourne for a conference. We talked for five or so minutes. She said she was tired and going to have dinner in front of the TV, a bath, then an early night.'

‘Who called who?'

‘I rang her mobile from mine,' he said.

‘Where were you staying?' Ella asked.

‘The Novotel on Collins Street, where the conference was held.'

‘When did you leave there?'

‘This morning,' he said. ‘I texted her from the airport and said I'd go straight to the office when we landed, but she didn't reply.'

‘Was that normal for her?' Murray asked.

‘It wasn't abnormal enough that I worried,' James said. ‘Sometimes she sleeps in. I tried her again later, when Rowan called about her car. Tried home too. Got voicemail on both. I called her sister too, but she hadn't heard from her either.'

‘What's her sister's name?' Ella said.

‘Marie Kennedy.'

‘Is she at work today?'

‘Home. It's her RDO.'

‘Where does she live?' Murray asked.

James gave them an address in Padstow. ‘She's a physio. She told me she talked to Stacey yesterday and she was fine. Her daughter, Paris, is a paramedic too. She works with Rowan there.'

‘Stacey's parents?' Ella asked.

‘Dead five years. Car accident. There are no other siblings.'

‘What about her friends?' Murray said.

‘The three she spends most time with are Aimee Russell, Claire Comber and Vicky Page,' James said. ‘Claire's a paramedic, the other two are nurses. They all go out for drinks sometimes, dinner, movies. That sort of thing.'

Ella nodded. They'd track them down later. ‘Do you know your wife's blood type?'

He glanced past her at the car. ‘AB positive.'

‘Is she on any medication?'

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘Oh, the pill. Does that count?'

Ella wrote it down. ‘What did you think when Rowan told you Stacey's car was here?'

‘First I assumed she was in the kids' place, waiting to surprise Em and Rowan.' He nodded towards Playland. Ella saw a couple of people watching them through the glass door. ‘Then when he said he couldn't find her, and I couldn't see where her phone was through that app, and there was blood in the car, I started to worry.'

‘What did the tracking app show?' Ella asked.

‘That the phone's turned off,' he said. ‘Or the battery's flat, or the SIM's been removed. The last time it was working was at Bicentennial Park in Homebush, at ten past six last night.'

‘Is that a place she would normally go?' Ella asked.

‘She likes the boardwalk-type things there. She's been a couple of times in the past year, but never at that time of day.'

‘Did she ever meet anyone there?'

He glanced sideways at Rowan. ‘Not that I know of.'

Ella noted his action. ‘Have you had any immediate thoughts about what might've happened?'

‘All the worst ones, I guess.'

‘Like what?'

‘What do you think? Kidnapping, abduction, assault – god, you want me to say it? You want me to actually say out loud that someone's taken her? Might've killed her?'

‘Okay, Mr Durham,' Murray said. ‘Does anyone have any reason to want to hurt her?'

‘None,' James said. ‘None whatsoever. She's perfect. She's a complete sweetheart.'

‘How about wanting to hurt you?' Ella asked.

‘No.'

‘No other computer shops in your area?' Murray said.

‘You're thinking another business owner might've done this?' James shook his head. ‘There are always people who'd like to see competition go down, but I can't imagine anyone doing this.'

‘So you haven't had any calls or threats?' Ella said.

‘Not recently. Three months back somebody told you people that I was running a scam. I wasn't. You people checked it out. The investigating officer said anonymous tips are generally bullcrap anyway.'

‘Do you recall the officer's name?' Murray asked.

‘DC Elizabeth Libke.'

‘You've got a good memory,' Ella said.

‘I remember her because she was useless,' James said. ‘More or less shrugged and said there was nothing she could do.'

They'd check that later. ‘How's your marriage?'

‘Better than anyone else's that I know,' James said. ‘Five years this year, we hardly fight, she's my entire world.'

‘Kids?' Ella said.

James shook his head. ‘It's just us.'

‘When did you leave for Melbourne?'

‘Friday afternoon, 5 pm flight. Simon came with me.' He nodded at the young man with the toddler.

‘He works for you, correct?'

He nodded again.

‘And you're friends with his dad Rowan?'

‘For years,' he said.

Ella chose her words carefully. ‘How close are he and Stacey, do you think?'

‘They've worked together a lot.' He shrugged, a rather tense shrug in Ella's eyes.

‘Do they socialise?' she asked.

‘She sometimes meets him and the baby for coffee, or here at the play place.' He glanced over at Rowan again. ‘We sometimes get together in a group, though that hasn't happened for a while.'

‘Why not?' Murray asked.

James shrugged once more. ‘Life's busy, I guess. Between shift work, the business, and the baby, we never have the same time free anymore.'

‘When did you last actually see Stacey?' Murray asked.

‘Friday afternoon when I left home for the airport.'

‘She didn't drop you off?'

He shook his head. ‘It was peak hour. She would've spent an hour stuck in traffic. We took a taxi.'

‘Was she working over the weekend?' Ella asked.

‘No, she was off.'

‘So why didn't she go with you?' Murray asked.

‘It was a computing conference,' James said. ‘She's not into any of that. I said she could come along and spend the days shopping or just wandering about, but she said no.'

He could've slipped back into Sydney without anyone knowing, Ella thought. He could've arranged for someone else to deal with Stacey while he was fully alibied. He looked anxious, and she wondered if he was trying
to act the scared and worried husband, trying
to remember to use the present instead of the past tense:
I love my wife
as opposed to
I loved my wife
, which could slip out if he knew she was dead.