The Tower (25 page)

‘Just say no.'

‘There are other things she wants to discuss.' Suddenly Stone's voice was angry. ‘After the way you handled Jenny Finch yesterday, you have no credibility as a critic of my management style. You need to refl ect on that. Make sure you take Conti with you to see Blake. Do you think you can do that?'

Troy felt himself turning red. After Stone left the room, he sat staring at his computer screen for the next five minutes. Finally, he started to read through the new notes and witness statements on [email protected]. They were building a picture of Margot's life, her activities in the days before she died. There were no breakthroughs, no startling anomalies jumping out of the pile of information, but the investigation was acquiring a shape and substance. There was something there for his subconscious to work on.

The most important new information was the report on the CCTV he'd obtained from the bank, which had been viewed by Conti and Johnson. They'd compiled a list of everyone going in and out of The Tower on Sunday evening. It showed Margot entering alone at 6 pm, an hour before she landed on the roof of the police car. Troy wondered what she'd been doing for that hour. From what Jenny Finch had told him, he assumed Margot had treated the visits almost ceremonially, perhaps as a way of honouring her parents. Maybe she'd gone up to an empty floor and just sat there.

He looked again at the list of people who'd entered the building that night. There hadn't been much happening after the security guards changed shift at 4 pm, until just after 7 pm when Margot landed and the police activity began. The notes indicated that two of the people seen entering on the CCTV had not had their names recorded on the guard's list. One was Margot Teresi. The other was a man who'd come in at 6.05 pm. Conti and Johnson had called him Mr A, and there was a note saying they'd shown his picture to Inspector Harmer and several of the guards. No one could identify him.

Troy examined the photograph carefully. It showed a tall man, probably in his early sixties, although you couldn't see most of his face. He seemed to be bald on top, but it might be the way the light was falling in the photo. He didn't look like a construction worker. Troy picked up the phone and called Randall. The engineer answered immediately.

‘You're still employed?' Troy said.

‘For the moment. You too?'

‘Sure.' He wondered what Randall meant, then figured he must have given away more about his frustration with Stone than he remembered. ‘Can I show you some photos?'

He explained what he wanted, and Randall said he could visit the police station anytime. Troy looked at his watch and asked him to call by later in the morning. It was time to pay a visit to Damon Blake.

The singer lived at the massive old finger wharf that jutted out into a bay next to the Botanic Gardens. When they arrived, Conti leapt out of the car while Troy stayed seated, reaching into his pocket for a piece of gum. His hand was on it when he recalled what Kelly had said about the chewie. He looked at Conti, standing eagerly on the footpath. She dressed well, didn't smoke, didn't chew. You had to think about these things. He took his hand out of his pocket, empty.

‘This is where my grandparents landed,' she said as they walked inside the big building. Back in the nineties the wharf had been renovated with enormous effort. Now, like so many of the city's old buildings, it housed an upmarket hotel, as well as a complex of expensive restaurants and apartments. All traces of history seemed to have been purged.

The door of Damon's apartment was opened by a young woman of considerable beauty. Troy was torn between looking at her and the striking view of the city skyline over her shoulder. The woman said her name was Donna, and took them into a vast lounge room. She was tall and blonde and curvaceous, and had long red fingernails. She moved slowly, demonstrating a profound lack of interest in the two detectives.

The room was big and there were sliding glass doors along one side, looking out on a large balcony and then towards the Gardens and the tops of the city's towers over the trees. In the foreground, large white boats sat motionless in the sunshine. Conti looked at Troy and raised her eyebrows.

Donna called out and a man appeared immediately. In contrast to his girlfriend, Blake was keen and focused, beaming his personality at Troy and then Conti, as they turned away from the view. He was in his late twenties, average height and build, handsome but not overly so when his face was in repose. What made him different, Troy realised as he watched Blake working on Conti, was the way he moved. He moved like a dancer, and there was an extraordinary assurance there that insisted you look at him. Troy couldn't see how it worked, but the effect was undeniable.

‘I'm afraid we have some bad news,' Troy said. ‘It's about Margot Teresi. She died on Sunday night.'

Blake staggered backwards. He stared at them as though he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. It was almost cartoonish, yet Troy suspected it was sincere enough.

‘Was it in the car?' Blake said.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘She drives like a maniac.'

Donna, who seemed to have been brought out of herself by the news, said, ‘They're from the
Homicide
Squad, Damon. Poor Margot.'

Conti said, ‘You knew her?'

‘Sure, we were all mates.'

Conti opened her mouth but closed it again. She looked at Troy, who related what they knew about Margot's death. He took it slowly, watching the singer's response. Blake seemed to be in shock.

‘We need to ask you both a few questions,' he said gently.

Blake stared at him as though he didn't understand the words.

‘I'm sorry to have to do this right now,' Troy went on, ‘but you might be able to help us work out what happened.'

Blake nodded, and Conti murmured something to Donna and the two women went out of the room.

‘When did you last see her?' Troy said as Blake sat down.

The singer was trembling and upset, and Troy realised he was nervous himself: the interview with Jenny Finch came back to him, his failure, and his legs went weak. He looked around, sunk down onto a sofa.

Blake shook his head. ‘We saw her last week.' He named a club that Troy had heard of but never visited. ‘We didn't talk, just nodded. We went out together for a year or so, but that finished six months ago.'

‘Why did it fi nish?'

‘She finished it. Margot did.'

There were tears in his eyes now.

‘Did you still see her socially?'

‘Sure. We were at a dinner party about ten days ago, at Miranda Edwards'.'

Troy recognised the name. They'd discovered from their work on the phone records that Edwards had been Margot's best friend; Johnson and Bergman were interviewing her that morning.

Damon added, ‘We had a good talk, Margot seemed fine. She and Donna get on, it's all very civilised.'

‘You visited her apartment on Sunday afternoon?'

‘Miranda's?'

‘Margot's.'

The singer looked steadily at Troy, not lifting a hand to the tears running down his cheeks, and shook his head. ‘No.'

‘Someone saw you in the street outside.'

Blake rubbed his cheek. He hadn't shaved and there were a few pimples around his mouth. Troy wondered how he dealt with that when he was performing. There must be some kind of makeup. Or maybe the pimples weren't usually there.

Blake said, ‘I go for long walks around the city. The street recharges me, you know? Sometimes I walk by Margot's place.'

‘Did you argue when you split up?'

‘Sure. But it's like, I haven't been dumped in a long time. It probably did me good.'

He gave a smile of patently false modesty. Troy stared at him and wondered how it must be, to have a life where every conversation was like giving an interview to a magazine. The question was whether there was anything else there, or if this was what Blake was. Troy suspected there was more, and he talked gently for another five minutes, trying to find a crack, but Blake stuck to his story and there were no inconsistencies.

Troy said, ‘Do you think Margot was happy?'

‘Very much so. She was one of the most centred people I know.'

‘Centred?'

‘Women are much stronger than men, don't you think?'

‘Her parents died not that long ago.'

Blake nodded. ‘That was before I knew her. I think the way she dealt with that was part of who she was. It made her strong.'

He looked at the doorway through which Conti had taken Donna, as though comparing his two girlfriends. As though inviting Troy to explore that avenue.

Troy said, ‘Did she ever talk about her father and The Tower?'

‘Not much. She'd put that behind her.'

‘Did she ever visit The Tower?'

‘No.' Blake's face expressed puzzlement. ‘Why would she?'

‘Her cousin told us she did.'

‘I wouldn't believe anything Jenny tells you.'

When Conti had finished with Donna, the detectives said goodbye and left.

In the car, Conti asked how it had gone. Troy thought it had gone well enough; no one had jumped off a balcony. But he didn't say that.

‘I wouldn't say he's all that easy to read. How was Donna?'

‘Smarter than she looks.'

‘She looks pretty smart to me.'

Conti gazed at him with round eyes but there was no humour there: she was a serious kind of woman. Finally she said, ‘They saw quite a bit of Margot; there don't seem to have been many hard feelings.'

‘Why did Blake and Margot split up?'

‘She dumped him, but it was no big drama apparently. She never stuck with anyone for more than a year.'

‘Like a sort of policy?'

‘I got the impression Blake's the same, one for moving on.' She stopped for a moment and looked away. Then: ‘Donna said they all had dinner together not long ago.'

‘At Miranda Edwards'.'

‘Margot seemed happy, her normal self. Donna says she was a beautiful person.'

He looked out at the traffic. The council was tearing up part of the road, and they'd been stuck for five minutes.

‘Call Johnson,' he said. ‘See what they got from the best friend.'

He listened while Conti rang the other detective. When she'd finished she said, ‘Edwards says Margot was deeply depressed. At the dinner party ten days ago she hardly said a word. Donna was very hostile towards her. Miranda says she only invited both women because Damon insisted. She doesn't think he understands women very well.'

Troy nodded. This was better.

‘She says after he dumped Margot she was upset, there was still a lot of emotion there.'

‘The beautiful people have been lying to us.'

‘You going to turn the car around?'

He thought about what they'd just learned and asked Conti to call Ruth to find out who had done the follow-up search of Margot's apartment. By the time she found out, the traffic had freed up and they were almost back at the station. The detectives had been Ryan and Bergman.

Troy pulled up outside Central.

‘You can't park here,' she protested.

‘We're not staying. Go get the keys to Margot's place.'

They found what they were looking for at the Horizon almost straight away. Troy led the way into the kitchen and opened a sheet of newspaper on the large table there. He pulled on some gloves and located a big rubbish bin inside a cupboard, and tipped its contents onto the paper. Conti looked at him.

‘They already did this,' she said. ‘I saw the list. It's just tissues and stuff.'

There were no food scraps there, just what looked like the contents of the bin from the bathroom. Someone must have transferred rubbish from one bin to the other. He spread out the tissues and the cotton buds, a toilet roll and a few empty packaging boxes. One of the clumps of tissue was bigger than the rest, and he gently prised it apart. Inside was a used condom.

Troy thought about Bergman. He'd have to have a word to Stone about getting rid of him. Or maybe this was unfair, maybe it was Ryan who'd missed the condom. But he didn't think so. Being a cop meant making snap judgements about people that were usually right.

When they got back to the station, Randall was waiting for them. Troy experienced a surge of affection on seeing the engineer that took him by surprise. For a moment his emotions were all over the place, and he had a vivid memory of Sunday night. He'd assumed its effects would gradually fade, but it didn't seem to be happening yet. Conti left them and Troy took Randall down the corridor to the screening room, and ran the part of the Westpac CCTV footage that showed Mr A walking along Norfolk Street, his head bare, looking down at the footpath.

‘Recognise him?'

‘No.'

Troy told Randall that the guy was not mentioned on Asaad's list, and played the film again. It was definitely a man not wanting his face to be seen. When he got to the entrance he glanced up and down the street before disappearing inside.

‘Like a man ducking into a brothel,' Randall said.

The comparison hadn't occurred to Troy, who grinned.

Randall leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘Don't say policemen never stray.'

‘I'm sure it's been known.'

‘No need for some. That's a very attractive detective you've got working with you.'

‘I'm a married man,' Troy said, still smiling. He found Randall uncomplicated to talk to. The way he reduced everything to sex.

‘I'll swap her for my secretary. We could double date.' The engineer rubbed his hands together.

‘You can dream,' Troy said. He shook his head and, forcing himself to concentrate, said, ‘How likely is it Asaad would have made a mistake and left two people off his list?'

‘He'd have been sacked if his company ever found out. It's one of their performance criteria in the contract.' Randall laughed. ‘I'm still learning about security, but contract management is something I do know.'