Dirty Weekend (26 page)

I sat in the car, thinking about what I’d just heard from Jerri, keeping my mind away from Iona by working hard at putting things together, trying to fit the pieces in the right way. Something had happened in the Terminator Rabbit lab, something to do with a rabbit pox assay and whatever it was, it had created the necessary conditions for the murder of a scientist. ‘She saw sixteen blue .
 
.
 
.
something’
Claire had repeated to her partner in the heated argument overheard by Kevin Waites. Sixteen blue
wells.
Claire must have been referring to Jerri and the assay results. But why? Why did sixteen positive wells create such a disturbance? Wouldn’t Dr Dimitriou have been more disappointed with the
negative
results from the other five test rabbits? At least RP4 had responded to the infection successfully.

Taking a break from trying to make sense of all this, I rang my daughter and left a message to tell her that I had some jobs to chase up in Sydney and that I’d be spending the night at Malabar, arriving later.

I stayed sitting in the car. I kept rerunning a scene in my head, like a video replay, of the grief counsellor brushing dandruff from a man’s suit. The intimacy of that gesture had been troubling me, stirring under the surface of my everyday mind. While in Sydney I was going to drop in on Earl Richardson. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t out of the frame for his wife’s death. Then I turned the car in the direction of the Pacific Highway and aimed for the Country Comfort.

I didn’t recognise Adam Shiner immediately but I could hardly be blamed—this was the first time I’d seen him clothed. I looked around the restaurant and, seeing a fair man sitting alone at a corner table, took a punt and won.

Shiner had unruly fair eyebrows, cagey eyes and a thin mouth. He watched me warily as I approached to introduce myself. He didn’t offer me a chair but I sat down opposite him anyway.

‘You having a drink?’ he asked and I shook my head.

‘Why didn’t you come forward earlier? You must have known we’d turned up your photograph,’ I said.

‘I thought the reason would be pretty obvious,’ he said after a pause. ‘Like I said on the phone, I’m a married man. You know how these things are. Besides,’ he added, ‘I was with Tianna the afternoon she died. It wouldn’t have looked good.’

‘It looks worse that you didn’t come forward,’ I said. He shrugged and I knew only too well what that meant. Don’t get involved. Never admit anything. Deny everything. Don’t get involved was the name of the game, and most men would stay quiet if they thought they could get away with it, especially cops. He was only here now because of the teamwork of two old partners, Bob Edwards and me.

‘What time did you leave?’ I asked, thinking of the fight with young Damien in the evening.

‘Must have been about three thirty, four o’clock when I left. We had lunch, then went back to her place and had sex. And she was alive and well, I can tell you,’ he leered.

‘We’ll need a DNA sample from you,’ I said.

‘For elimination purposes,’ he said dryly before I could say it myself.

I took down his details and got him talking about his background with the NSW police. He’d spent some years with stolen vehicles, circulated around various squads, including some time with South Sydney crime scene. Currently he was working as a detective in South West Sydney region.

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘how and when did you meet Mrs Richardson?’

‘I was on a secondment down there, with the Feds, a couple of years ago. I went to the Blackspot Nightclub. I’d heard a bloke could do all right for himself there.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said.

‘Tianna and I hit it off. I used to drive down when I could. Do a bit of fishing. Maybe once every month—six weeks or so.’

‘You must have realised we’d want to talk to you,’ I said. ‘That we’d find those photographs.’

‘Which photographs are you talking about?’

I told him about the one taken at the Cat and Castle and he remembered it. Then I mentioned the others, the athletic series.

‘Christ,’ he said. ‘She must have set that up without me knowing. I was very uneasy when I found out she was separated from someone who used to be in the job. I didn’t want a jealous husband on my back.’

‘Do you know Earl Richardson?’

‘A bit. He graduated from the academy same year as me. But I never had anything to do with him. We moved in different groups. I’d spoken with him a couple of times over the years before he left the job. Funny that your mate Bob Edwards was in the same intake as me, too. We marched together on graduation day.’

‘We’ll need an alibi from you,’ I said, uninterested in his graduation day reminiscences.

‘No probs. I had to hurry back to Sydney that night for a get-together at a mate’s place. I was there most of the night.’

I knew how a mob of cops could scrum down and rehearse a story, particularly if it meant protecting one of their own. But if he was telling the truth, I thought, taking the mate’s name and number and making a quick calculation, Adam Shiner was off the hook. According to Harry, Tianna had died later in the evening—somewhere around ten—give or take a few hours.

‘I’ll get my mate to do a formal statement,’ Shiner was saying ‘and bring it with me when I drive down for the forensic conference.’

That was almost upon me. With everything that had happened recently, it had dropped out of my mind.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said. ‘It’ll be followed up in the usual way.’

Shiner signalled a waiter and called him over.

‘Sure you won’t change your mind?’ he asked, ordering a beer.

‘Very sure,’ I said.

‘There’s quite a big group of us coming down for the conference,’ he continued. ‘We’re going to get together one night and have a dinner—an informal reunion celebration somewhere in town. The accommodation at the AFP academy is booked solid.’

‘I heard a rumour that Tianna liked it rough. Was that your experience?’

Shiner, head on one side, considered. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I heard that too. And quite recently.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘You know how these things get bandied around.’

I murmured something. It was time for me to leave; I could feel the grief and weariness combine and I wanted to be alone to lick my wounds.

I took my leave of Shiner and, back at the car, left a message on Brian’s voicemail giving him the name and number of Shiner’s mate. Then I rang Bob to see if he was coming down for the conference, saying he was welcome to stay at the cottage. Like me, Bob had never been one of the boys and I knew he’d rather bed down with a king brown than with a whole mob of police.

I drove up the rise to my Malabar house, smelling the salt on the night air and listening to the pounding of the waves against Boora Point, always louder at night when other sounds fell still. An inside light was on, but Jacinta’s car wasn’t there.

Inside, I made myself a toasted cheese sandwich for dinner and sat down at the kitchen table, bringing my notes from the discussions with Jerri Quill and Adam Shiner up to date. I was almost finished when I heard the sound of Jacinta’s car arriving and I put the kettle on and went to the front door to welcome her.

‘What is it, Jass?’ I asked, alarmed by the expression on her face, the way she barely kissed me, but hurried inside with me following.

‘It’s Shaz,’ she said. ‘She didn’t come to lectures yesterday and she’s not answering her phone. I want to go round there. I’ve just been discussing it with Andy.’

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Tell her family.’

‘As if they’d care. Her mother thinks I’m jealous. She’s hoping Shaz will
marry
this pig! He’s a perfect gentleman, she told me.’ She paused. ‘I want to go round tomorrow and make sure she’s okay. Andy reckons I should stay out of it—that it’s Shaz’s business.’

‘She’s the only one who can make the decision to break it off,’ I said, ‘but if he’s bashing her, that’s everyone’s business.’

Automatically, I put some more toast and cheese on for her. ‘I’ve got some time tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’ll come with you when you go.’

‘There’s no need, Dad. Don’t make it into a big drama. Shaz lives in a share house anyway. There’ll be other people around. I don’t want you to come. You upset her dreadfully last time you were with her.’

‘I think it’s more upsetting to be used as a punching bag,’ I said. ‘If having the truth pointed out is worse—’

‘Dad! Give it a rest!’

‘And what if he’s there or comes round while you’re trying to talk her out of leaving him? Have you thought what his reaction might be?’

‘Dad! Stop worrying! I’m going tomorrow and that’s it. Okay?’

‘Make sure you don’t go alone,’ I said, knowing it was useless to argue with my wilful daughter. ‘I don’t want you going to a place where you might have to confront a violent man. Okay? Now wash your hands and come and eat something.’

She didn’t say anything as she went to the sink and scrubbed up, returning to the table and sitting down to the plate of toasted cheese sandwiches.

‘Has Iona moved out?’ she finally asked.

‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t stick around and watch. She moved out today.’

‘Dad, I’m really sorry.’ She got up and came around to stand behind me, kiss the top of my head and drape her arms around me. ‘I think you’ll get back together,’ she said. ‘I feel sure.’

‘Jass, it’s me. I can’t seem to take the time off. I mean to, but I can’t turn my back on my responsibilities.’

‘You’re hopeless,’ she said. ‘Mum used to say you were never there.’

I sighed. I didn’t want to discuss this with my daughter right now.

‘Promise me,’ I repeated. ‘You’ll take Andy. Or better still take Bob when you go round to Shaz’s place.’

Finally, I extracted the promise that she’d call Bob and, if Karl Docker arrived, she’d leave immediately. ‘That’s the deal,’ I said. ‘You don’t know how these things can escalate when you’re dealing with a man with no impulse control.’

‘Dad! You’re sounding like Uncle Chas! Stop worrying so much. Mum was right. You only look for the worst in every situation.’

I didn’t say, I don’t have to
look
for it, the worst has always been there. Instead, I made her promise one more time that she would not go round to Shaz’s place without Bob.

She went into her room and closed the door, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table feeling as lonely as I used to when I was a little kid.

I needed an early night but I lay awake a long time, listening to the thud of the waves.

Next morning, Jacinta and I breakfasted together and before she left for the library I made her renew her promise about visiting Shaz.

‘You have a good day,’ I said. ‘I’ll ring tonight when I get back.’

‘What are you going to do about Iona?’ Jacinta asked.

‘What do you recommend?’ I replied. ‘Any suggestions gratefully received.’

‘Me and Greg got used to you not being around,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Kids have to stay. We didn’t have an alternative.’

‘You’re saying Iona is exercising her option. That’s not a suggestion.’

‘You really want a suggestion? There’s something you should’ve done a long time ago.’

‘What’s that? Leave the job?’

‘No. Reorder your priorities.’

I waved her off, considering her words, then rang Bradley Strachan at the Glebe morgue. I was in luck as he was on duty on a Sunday and I arranged to borrow the box containing 17/2000 from the bone room.

Bradley wasn’t there when I arrived, having been called out in the interim, but one of the technicians helped me locate the remains I was looking for and I filled out and signed the necessary receipts. I had a quick look at the contents—a badly damaged skull sat on top of the rest of the bones and under all this were plastic bags and containers holding the pitiful bits and pieces found with the remains.

With the box safely in a carry bag, I headed for the address I had for Earl Richardson. A semi in Glebe, it was easy to find and I pulled up across the road from it. Like most of those places, it fronted the main street with a lane at the back and I found its backside and looked over the sagging old timber fence. I stared at the clothes line running the length of the back of the house. Maybe Earl had a sister or other female relative staying with him and the sexy bras and panties swaying in the morning sunlight belonged to her. But I thought not. I walked back to my car and sat there thinking a moment. Then I rang Bob.

‘I’ve just taken delivery of one of your old friends, 17/2000, and I’m going to have another look at the physical evidence in the box with him. We’ll cop any expense.’

Bob was happy to hear it. It meant one less job for his Unsolved Homicide Unit and a little more in the budget kitty.

‘But there’s a catch,’ I said, giving him Earl Richardson’s address in Glebe. ‘There’s a place I want you to keep an eye on. See who comes and goes.’

I continued my drive south, linking back up with the freeway, travelling on automatic pilot, the speedo needle sitting on 110. I tried to make sense of Claire Dimitriou’s extreme reactions to a routine immunoassay result. After questioning Jerri Quill, I was still trying to work out what might have happened in that laboratory. Something had changed when Claire saw the assay plate results. Maybe with her husband away on a conference in New Zealand and finding her work partner seriously unbalanced and becoming irrationally religious, Claire Dimitriou over-reacted to an otherwise minor error on the part of her student. Perhaps I’d never discover what happened in that laboratory nor why Claire Dimitriou had died. We seemed to be no closer to finding the truth about who had killed her or why.

By the time I took the left hand of the Y-junction at the turn-off to the Canberra road, I was still wondering about the motive for her murder. Thinking about the enormous sums of money to be made from scientific improvements in pest control, I was starting to consider that Claire Dimitriou’s murder had been less about sex and more about science.

Once back at Forensic Services, I kept busy, trying not to think of the drive out to the cottage I had to make this evening. I logged the box containing the skeletal remains and, gloving up, sorted through the packets that lay at the bottom of the box. I found the labelled packet that I hoped would contain traces of the rare native orchid. God knows it was a long shot, but until we found a primary crime scene for Tianna Richardson’s murder, the investigation was handicapped. At the same time I could test for DNA, because every year the extraction and amplification of nuclear DNA was being refined and improved. Even though bone itself didn’t provide nuclear material it was just possible that there might be traces of protected genetic material in the cracks and fissures of the leather sandals that Bob’s unknown male from Queanbeyan had been wearing when he died. With our ability to amplify even the barest traces, it might be possible to make a nuclear DNA profile. At least give a family the chance to bury their son. A gravesite was better than never having anything at all.

Even though it was Sunday, I rang Gavin Samways home number and he agreed to do a plaster cast of the skull after Sofia Verstoek had taken anything helpful for her pollen assemblage. As I rang off, I realised I’d hardly thought of the Brazilian—Iona’s decision to leave me had swamped all my other recent concerns.

To prevent further brooding on this issue, I set to work worrying at one of the things Charlie and I had discussed previously. I had to admit to myself that it was almost impossible for me to do the very thing that Iona wanted from me—to simply be. I had to be
doing
or I started to feel like I was feeling now.

One day, I thought, I should find out what happens if I don’t allow the restlessness to push me into further action. What would happen if—as I’d suggested to the reality-denying AA newcomer about drinking—I stopped and stayed stopped? One day, I vowed to myself, I’d find out. But not right now, with every spare moment needing to be filled. No way I wanted to sit in the cottage alone. A drive would get me moving so I looked up the address Brian had given me and headed out to the foothill country. I wanted to find out more about Jason Richardson’s childhood.

It was a pleasant drive and in less than forty minutes, I’d found the small foothill village and taken the turn-off to Sparrows Ridge Road. As I pulled up at the address, I saw Jason’s panel van and a small two-door hatchback parked in the driveway outside the cottage, which lay partly hidden in a garden of native vegetation.

I rang the doorbell and soon after a pleasant woman in her sixties answered and ushered me inside while shooing her over-friendly golden Labrador out of my way.

‘Jason’s told me about the necklace,’ said Alana Richardson, after I’d explained why I was there. ‘It was very wrong of him to take it. But it’s good to know where it is.’

‘Where is Jason?’ I asked, smiling reassuringly. Behind Mrs Richardson, wide picture windows looked across a valley.

‘He’s out the back. Fixing the back fence. Earl’s father was going to do it, then Earl.’ She opened her hands in a gesture of helplessness as if to say ‘Men!’ ‘I’ve told Jason he’ll have to pull his weight if he wants to stay here. I love him but I’ve made it clear I don’t think it’s right for a young man to be idling away his life like he is. I keep telling him he’s got to settle down and
do
something.’

I nodded in assent, sympathetic but wondering for a fleeting moment if Jason could give me a few tips.

‘We’ve all been in shock, I think, with Tianna’s death. The way it happened. It’s time to move on and make the best of our lives.’ She turned away quickly and went to put the kettle on.

‘How did Jason and Earl get on?’ I asked.

Alana shrugged. ‘Okay. There were fights. But then that happens in any family.’

‘What were the fights about?’

‘Earl is a pretty tough father. He’s always expected a lot from Jason.’

‘What about when he was a little fellow?’ I asked, remembering Charlie’s hypothesis about violent backgrounds. ‘Was Earl tough then?’

‘Earl’s always been tough,’ she said. ‘His father was too. In the last few years, the fights were usually about Jason’s lifestyle. The way he just travels round Australia surfing. He’ll be twenty-one soon. And he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s going to have make a living for himself. A 
life
for himself.’

I thought about what ‘tough’ might mean to a two or three year old. And then I thought about the kids for whom there were no decent jobs. Even after Jacinta and Greg had finished their studies, there were no guarantees of employment at the other end.

‘The sad thing is that Jason absolutely adores his father. He’d do anything for him. If only Earl would just soften a bit, not come down so hard on the kid, he could have Jason eating out of his hand. He responds so well to me when I’m encouraging. But he really needs his father.’

‘We all do,’ I told her, feeling an ache in my own heart.

Alana Richardson suddenly looked embarrassed, as if she’d exposed too much family business.

‘That necklace,’ I said, ‘is worth a couple of thousand dollars. The jeweller gave me an estimate.’

‘I hadn’t realised,’ she said. ‘And I doubt if Lily realises it either.’

She saw my puzzlement and explained. ‘It’s not mine. It belongs to Earl’s first wife, Lily. Lily Meadowes she was. Such a pretty name and so is she—or was, when I knew her. There are still a few of her things around my place.’

‘What was Jason’s mother like?’ I asked.

‘Lily?’ Alana Richardson thought a moment then reached behind her for a small framed coloured photograph. ‘Here she is.’

The image quality wasn’t good, with its fading eighties Polaroid colours showing a young girl looking down at a baby in her arms. It was hard to see her features because her thick, dark hair all but hid her face. I turned it over and read the date and inscription:
Jason’s first birthday 23.3.84.

Twenty-third of March, same month as Greg’s birthday, I noted, as Alana continued.

‘She and Jason had the same birthday nineteen years apart. She was just a kid and I think it was all too hard for her, leaving the UK, new country, new family.’ Mrs Richardson took the old photo from me and replaced it on the shelf. ‘Then later, after she left Australia, I think she just wiped her hands of us. I know she found it hard being a mum. I did all I could to help, but she resented me a bit. The intrusive mother-in-law. Jason was a difficult little kid. Spitting image of her. And had her temper too. You know what little boys are like.’

I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t been around much when Greg was a little fellow. I’d left most of that to Genevieve.

‘Lily never had a mother herself,’ Alana was saying. ‘She was raised by her grandmother too, like Jason. So I used to make allowances for her.’