Dark Country (9 page)

‘You asked those questions when I arrived.’

‘Yes, I did. But being arrested can be stressful, and sometimes people don’t think of things at the time that can later be
important.’

He had to respect her professionalism in ensuring the wellbeing of those she held responsibility for, the way she’d left it
open, easy for him to raise issues if he’d needed to, without losing face.

‘You can rest easy, Sergeant. As I told you, I have no allergies, drug addictions, medications or health problems.’

Obviously satisfied, she stood and walked towards the door. ‘Detective Petric will be in to talk with you again in a few minutes.
He’s just taking a phone call. Kent is on his way back over.’

‘Any idea whether I’ll be released or charged?’

Her relative ease with him gave him hope for the first time that day – he couldn’t imagine her being even slightly friendly
to anyone she believed a murderer – but her questions about medications suggested he might be in for the long haul.

She paused in the doorway. ‘It’s not my investigation, Gillespie. That’s up to the detectives to decide.’

He hadn’t really expected anything different. She might take a little pleasure in scoring a minor point against an arsehole
detective over coffee, but where police work was concerned, he doubted she’d play games.

He didn’t have to wait long before Kent Marshall returned, with Petric not far behind him. The Birraga detective, Fraser,
came in too, but it was clearly Petric running the show, and Gil figured Fraser was only there as a concession to the locals.

He swallowed another mouthful of coffee as they sat, and Petric turned the recorder on and completed the formalities.

Petric leaned back in his chair, pretending casualness. ‘Where were you the night before last, between seven pm and midnight?’

Immediately wary of the change of tack in both manner and questions, Gil answered briefly, ‘Behind the bar at the pub, working.’

‘You have witnesses to confirm that?’

‘Yes. It was a busy night. The new owner and a couple of his staff were there, learning the ropes. There was also a fair few
regulars and two-hundred-plus other customers, in the bar and the brasserie.’

Petric nodded, appeared satisfied, and in that same easy manner, asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Vince Russo?’

Shit, were they going to try to pin Vince’s shooting on him, too? Gil kept his face neutral, his gaze steady on Petric. ‘I’ve
seen Vince Russo only twice in the past five years or so. The last time was on Wednesday morning.’

‘Why? What was your business with him?’

He’d give them the truth, or at least the important parts of it. If Petric was one of the cops Vince had in his pocket, chances
were he knew the answer to the question, anyway. And if he
wasn’t … well, he’d been investigating organised crime for a while, probably knew more than he was letting on.

‘Marci was in debt to one of his son’s associates. I gave Vince the money to clear the debt.’

‘Why give it to him?’ Petric asked. ‘Why not to whoever she owed it to?’

‘If Marci learned that I’d paid her debts, she’d have just racked up more.’

‘How much did she owe?’

‘Twenty thousand dollars.’

Fraser whistled low under his breath.

Petric didn’t seem surprised. ‘So, you give Vince twenty grand, that night somebody shoots him, and then Marci turns up dead.’

Wondering where the insinuation might be going, Gil replied coolly, ‘We both know that twenty grand is small change for Vince.’

‘And small change for you, too, these days.’

Gil deflected the veiled question with a shrug. ‘I won’t starve without it.’

‘I heard you got over fifteen million for the pub. That would be more than enough to pay for a few … “favours”.’

Kent Marshall paused in his detailed note-taking and raised his pen in protest. ‘If you wish to examine my client’s financial
records, you will need to obtain a warrant, Detective. And may I remind you that you have only ten minutes remaining before
your time is up.’

Petric tapped his fingers a couple of times on the table before he pushed back his chair and rose with a cordial smile.
‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Gillespie. You’re free to go. Sergeant Matthews will sign you out and return your belongings.’

As suddenly as that, it was over. This round, at least.

Gil exhaled a long breath. Petric mustn’t have enough to charge him, but Gil doubted the man would drop him from his investigation.
And whoever had tried to set him up wouldn’t give up easily. But for now, walking out the door of that interview room as a
free man felt like a victory.

Marshall gave him a few more words of general advice, shook his hand, and hurried away to another appoinment.

In the custody office, the sergeant passed the plastic bag containing Gil’s personal effects across the counter to him, with
a faint smile that might have had a tinge of relief.

‘Check that everything is there, and then sign here that you’ve received them.’

A cursory flick through the contents of his wallet was all he gave before he scanned the document and signed his name. He
slid his wallet into his jeans, picked up his phone and switched it on.

‘What will you do now?’ Kris asked.

He hadn’t yet thought much beyond getting outside, into space and air. His car and the gear in it had been seized for examination,
and it would be ages – weeks perhaps, maybe longer – before he got anything back. The forensic people would go through his
clothes, looking for blood or any signs of his involvement in the murder. They’d probably even go through his laptop, check
his emails and other web activity.

In the meantime, he was stranded here, with only what he had on him. He was lucky they’d left him with the clothes he was
wearing; although one of the forensic mob had looked him over during the afternoon.

‘I don’t suppose there’s an express bus for Sydney tonight?’ he asked.

The corner of her mouth twisted in a sympathetic grimace. ‘Sorry, next bus is Monday morning. Bus to Dubbo, then train to
Sydney. Not exactly “express”.’

He swore silently. Monday. And today was only Friday. He ran through his options. Take his chances hitching out of town, find
a hotel in Birraga and ask Liam to drive up and get him tomorrow, or hang around another three nights, and take the bus. None
of them appealed.

‘Jeanie’s phoned a few times, worried about you. She said that if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome to use the cabin
out the back of her place.’ With a faint trace of hesitancy, she added, ‘I’ll be leaving here around six, if you want a ride
back to Dungirri.’

He could only think that Jeanie’s trust and offer of accommodation had reassured Kris of his character. Another reason to
be grateful to Jeanie. He’d seen her by the road, when they’d arrested him this morning, her obvious worry for him painful
beneath his anger. The girl had been there, too. He still had to do something about her.

He added Jeanie’s offer – and the sergeant’s – to his list of options, and quickly dismissed the others. Dungirri wouldn’t
want to see more of him, but as well as seeing Jeanie, he had a
couple of things he could do there before he left for good, like trying to find out for himself if anyone had seen anything
last night, and making some financial arrangement with Jeanie for the girl. He could get Liam to drive up tomorrow, and they
could be out of Dungirri in twenty-four hours.

Not totally sure if it was the right decision, he nodded anyway. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate it. Anywhere still open that I could
buy a change of clothes?’

‘Robertson’s will be open until five-thirty. And there’s a new Target in the old bank building on the corner. But don’t expect
the kind of range you’d find in Sydney. If money is a problem, I can phone Captain Tan from the Salvation Army and I’m sure
they’ll be happy to assist.’

‘Money’s not a problem, Blue,’ he told her, more roughly than he intended.

The door from an inner office swung open, and Petric and Macklin sauntered through, hardly glancing at Gil.

‘We’re off, Kris,’ Petric said. ‘Thanks for all your help.’

‘Drive safely.’ She shook hands out of courtesy, but there was not a lot in the way of warmth, by Gil’s reckoning.

That shouldn’t have cheered him, but it did.

On his way out, Petric turned back, with that expression of polite concern that Gil was fast coming to distrust. ‘Oh, by the
way, Gillespie, we just heard. Unfortunately, Vince Russo passed away this afternoon. He never regained consciousness.’

Kris caught the flare of anger, quickly controlled, on Gil’s face. Not good news then, as far as he was concerned.

Joe didn’t wait for a response, just dropped that information as if it were an afterthought, and continued on his way. Afterthought
be damned. Petric had to be playing some sort of game. She’d overhead him earlier this afternoon, telling Craig Macklin of
the Russo guy’s death. What the hell his strategy and purpose was, she had no idea.

She opened her mouth to ask Gil about Russo, but her phone rang and by the time she’d dealt with a night duty officer reporting
in sick, Gil had left.

Needing some answers, she went straight to Steve Fraser. He’d been flat-out since arriving in Birraga on temporary transfer
a month or so back, juggling the workload of two vacant detective positions, and her opinion of him wavered. She’d worked
with him before, when he’d been called in on the two child abduction investigations that had shaken the area in the last couple
of years. But those times had been intense, with a large team headed by a senior officer focused exclusively on the urgency
of finding the children. The first time, they’d failed, and the repercussions of that failure still shadowed them all. The
second time, they’d found the child alive – but not before people had died and officers, including Steve, were injured.

In the day-to-day of normal operations this past month, she’d found that, like Craig Macklin and a lot of other guys she’d
worked with, Steve had the testosterone-charged cockiness not uncommon in the predominantly masculine environment of the police
force. His flippant attitude bordered on exasperating at times, and his casual approach to paperwork and procedure had her
tearing her hair out. Yet underneath the bravado she caught
occasional glimpses of something deeper, and they’d established a friendly enough working relationship in the past month.

When she swung into his office Steve gave her his lazy, bad-boy grin – but along with it his full attention. She sat in the
chair in front of his desk and came straight to the point.

‘Who’s Vince Russo, what did he die of, and what does he have to do with Gillespie?’

‘He’s a businessman. Successful and very wealthy, apparently. Gillespie had some dealings with him, and so did the dead woman.
He was shot the other night in a car park and was in a coma until he died this afternoon. No witnesses or security camera
footage.’

‘Is Gillespie a suspect?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

Her breathing came a little easier. ‘What kind of dealings did he have with Russo?’

‘He’s known him for a while. Some money changed hands recently. I don’t know all the details. Probably legal.’

‘Probably
legal?’

‘Joe asked a few questions, but wasn’t interested in pursuing it. The woman had run up some debts, and Gillespie bailed her
out.’

Rent on an apartment in Melbourne, money to get there, cash, and he’d paid off her debts.

‘A regular bloody boy scout,’ she muttered.

‘I’m not sure I’d bet on that,’ Steve replied dryly. ‘You want my advice, Kris?’

‘You’ll give it, anyway.’

‘Yeah. Look, leave it to Homicide, mate. It’s their case, and they think the murder happened in Sydney and someone just tried
to frame Gillespie by dumping the body here. The unofficial first impressions from Sandy Cunningham in Forensics support that
theory.’

‘Did you talk with Adam? What does he think?’ She had a lot of respect for Sandy, but she had a lot, too, for Adam’s traditional
knowledge and observation skills, learned from the elders of his community.

‘He agrees. He and Sandy had a long discussion.’

She’d seen Adam working with colleagues often enough to know that, despite his youth, he used his skills with tact and respect
for others’ knowledge. She must remember to mention that in his performance review, whenever they managed to find time to
do it.

Steve glanced at his watch, and reached out to close his laptop. ‘Joe’s going to follow up a few other leads down in Sydney,
and I’ll be surprised if we see them back here. Which suits me, because I’ve got more than enough on my plate already.’

He unplugged the laptop, getting ready to leave, and although he wasn’t hurrying her, she quickly asked the most important
question.

‘What do you think about Gillespie? Is he involved?’

‘In either of the murders? Can’t be certain at this stage, but I doubt it. Why?’

‘I’m giving him a ride back to Dungirri.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Do you have to?’