The Charlton Affair (17 page)

“I see what you mean. He was compelled to act, either to protect the money or to stop Michael’s happiness or both?” Amanda interjected.

“Yes, that’s what I think. And he’s been pulling the strings ever since. What would give Michael even more pain that having to open the doors to his past? Doing it alone, without me and without his mistress.”

Amanda chimed in, “Maximum pain. Meanwhile the money remains untouched.”

“Yes, all ninety million dollars of it.” Phoebe replied grimly.

Amanda nearly fell out of her chair. She choked out, “What?”

Phoebe replied mildly, “Yes, I know. Ridiculous amount of money, isn’t it?”

“But how?” Amanda spluttered.

“If you invest it and don’t touch it, it grows.”

“But that much? That’s outrageous!”

“Not really. It would have been a lot more but for the stock market crashes and nine-eleven. Anyway, I don’t think Michael knows or cares how much it is. He’s never wanted to think about it or face it. I only found out this morning. The accounts go to his long-term accountant, someone he rarely speaks to, who only deals with this.”

“That’s a hell of a motive!” Amanda said, still shocked.

“Yes, but like I said, I don’t think it’s about that. I think it’s about causing pain. It’s the only scenario that adds up. The real question is, why?”

Amanda looked thoughtful, then said, “I’d better get going. Thanks so much for the information.”

Phoebe stood up, replying, “I’ll call Darren when I know more.”

*****

Amanda drove Charlie’s Lexus SUV over to Spring Hill mulling over her conversation with Phoebe as she went. It was too late to bother with the surveillance of Marita Sanchez that she had originally planned but she still wanted to see her apartment. Maybe seeing what sort of lifestyle the dead woman led might offer some clues. She plugged the address into Charlie’s GPS and let the voice lead the way. Finding a parking spot in busy Spring Hill was never easy but remarkably one opened up across the street.

The apartment block turned out to be nothing special on the outside, although she could tell from the landscape there would be city views from the other side. It was down a side street off the very busy St Paul’s Terrace. Nestled between a small strip of shops on the corner and a converted warehouse, it had six apartments spread over three floors. Marita’s unit was on the second floor. Some left over yellow crime scene tape flapped off the front letterbox.

Amanda took her camera out and snapped off a couple of shots for her own reference. She contemplated getting out to check the mailbox on the off chance there was something of interest in it. Before she could get out of the car, a man in a singlet designed to let the world know he worked out walked up and pulled out a key. She quickly started snapping some shots, using the zoom to see which box he was accessing. To her surprise it turned out to be Marita’s. She made sure to get some shots of his face before she put the camera down and flipped the switch for the tinted window to rise. She didn’t want him seeing her face. She acted as though she was programming the GPS in case he looked her way. He didn’t. He walked back up to St Paul’s Terrace, holding the mail in his hand.

She waited for a few moments after he had gone around the corner before pulling up to the intersection and looking for him. Scanning the footpaths and the road, she was shocked to find him completely gone. Cursing, she was about to drive off when she saw an older model Ford pulling out on the opposite side. She followed the Ford as it headed along St Paul’s Terrace, hoping it was him. Without getting too close to it, she tried not to lose it, even running a red light at one stage.

Eventually the car pulled up at a gym in Bowen Hills. She drove past the gym and parked around the corner. After entering the gym, she pretended to be interested in getting a membership. The sales person happily took her on a tour. She soon spotted him and carefully took note of the people he was with before leaving.

After heading back to Charlie’s car, she drove back up to the gym and found a parking spot across the road where she could observe the front entrance. It was down a little from the entrance, which meant no one inside the gym would see her sitting in the SUV. She took a couple of snaps of the smaller man’s car before she hit the speed dial to Charlie.

“Where are you?” Charlie answered.

“Outside a gym in Bowen Hills. I’m following a guy who just emptied Marita Sanchez’s letterbox.”

“Our muscle-bound man?” Charlie replied with interest.

“No, too short. But he seems to have some associates who might fit the bill.”

“How do you know that?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

“I pretended to want to sign up and got the gym tour.”

“For Christ’s sake, I wish you’d be careful. What if they recognize you later?” Charlie exclaimed.

“Don’t worry. Your windows are so heavily tinted they won’t see my face clearly.”

“What are you hoping to find there?”

“I’m not sure, but Sanchez had connections to a gym. It’s worth following up.”

“Just be careful. Did you meet with Phoebe this morning?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to speak to you about.” Amanda replied.

She watched the gym entrance carefully as she told Charlie what Phoebe had said about Stillman’s accounts. Before she’d finished, the man came out of the gym, along with a much heavier individual.

“Got to go,” Amanda said.

She ended the call and reached for her camera. Carefully, she lowered the window less than half way and made sure they weren’t looking before taking a couple of surreptitious snaps. Not wanting to push her luck she raised the window and pretended to be on her phone as she watched them through the darkened glass. They stood chatting near his car for a little while before the smaller man drove off and the larger man walked off to another car. Watching him carefully, she lowered her window as he entered his car and drove off. She captured a snapshot of the car including the plate details as it disappeared up the street.

After rummaging around in her bag she found a small fishing knife her husband had given her. Walking back into the gym she attended the front counter again. The same salesperson was there.

“Have you decided to join?” He asked brightly, hoping for the sale.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she replied. “I wanted to hand this in. I found it outside, I think that man with the tattoos and the singlet top dropped it? The one with short dark hair. He was talking to a larger man just before?”

She handed over the fishing knife.

“Ah yes, Henri Sanchez. He’s a regular. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he get’s it. Thanks for handing it in.”

“No worries,” Amanda replied, smiling. “I’ll get back to you soon about that membership,” she said as she left.

Amanda sat back inside Charlie’s car, deciding what to do next.

*****

Phillips sped to the other side of Brisbane to get to the morgue on time for the autopsy. It was mid-morning so the traffic was relatively mild. Sally clung to the seat, silently reviling his driving but knowing he would get them there in time. If only Marsh hadn’t decided to dress her down for leaving his stupid lecture to take a telephone call. They could have left on time and she wouldn’t be clinging to the upholstery.

Tom Jeffers met them at the rear entrance to the Center and escorted them through to one of the dissection rooms.

“Doctor Maria Vastoni, this is Detective Sergeant Sally Middleton and Detective Senior Constable Karl Phillips,” Tom introduced them to the pathologist.

After shaking hands, Sally started to apologize for the behavior of Inspector Marsh. Maria Vastoni cut her off briskly.

She said in Italian accented English, “Don’t mention it. I pity you having to work for such a discourteous idiot. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Sally nodded.

Doctor Vastoni pointed to where the gowns and masks were. Sally and Phillips donned the appropriate gear, including safety glasses to prevent splatter, and then attended the mortuary table where the body of Marita Sanchez lay supine. Sally saw that even in death, Sanchez looked mildly surprised. Her naked body lay exposed on the slab and the smell of decay emanating from her corpse was masked by strong chemicals.

Doctor Vastoni switched on her bone saw. As shrill as a dentist’s drill, the high-pitched whine set Sally’s teeth on edge.
There’s no dignity in death
, she thought,
at least not this kind of death,
as the pathologist cut the skin away with a scalpel and then sawed into Sanchez’s sternum
.
The grating noise when the saw engaged with bone was horrible.
Sally clenched her jaw muscles. Next to her, Phillips turned his head away as the pathologist removed and weighed Sanchez’s organs one by one. After more cutting and sawing she finished removing the brain. Then the pathologist started to talk them through her work.

“The organs are all a normal healthy weight, size and appearance for a thirty year old woman. No signs of any disease.”

Next came the examination of the stomach contents. Doctor Vastoni announced, “Preliminary time of death would be around midnight, give or take an hour ether way, but I’ll know more after analysis.”

With the help of her assistant she rolled the body to a face down prone position. Examining the fractured skull, she said, “The cause of death is a single forceful blow to the occipital skull using a blunt weighty object. Impossible to say what it was, other than it had a definite corner to it, therefore it must have been rectangular or square shaped.”

“Excuse me Doctor,” Sally interrupted, removing a heavy lamp from her large bag and holding it up. “This was on one of Sanchez’s side tables, and a mark on the other side table corresponded to shape of it. I believe it’s one of a pair.”

The pathologist took the lamp and examined its solid square base. It was made of brass, accounting for its weight. She carefully measured the base of the lamp and placed it down on a bench.

After examining the wound thoroughly, her assistant taking photographs throughout, she explained, “An object of this nature has a distinct possibility of being the murder weapon. The square base exactly fits the dimensions of the wound and it’s heavy enough to have delivered a killer strike.”

Sally interrupted again, “Doctor, the prime suspect is almost five feet eleven inches high. Do you think he is tall enough to have used a lamp like that as a weapon?”

Doctor Vastoni replied firmly, “Almost certainly not. You see, the deceased is five feet eight inches tall, and look here, the angle of the wound shows us the arc of the swing, yes?”

Sally and Phillips leaned closer. It looked like a staved in bloody mess of skin, hair and bone to Sally. The pathologist leaned in with a small ruler and placed it adjacent to the wound so that Sally could see the angle of the staved in portion. Finally, she saw what the pathologist meant.

“This wound was caused by an object being swung downwards, like so.” Doctor Vastoni demonstrated by taking the lamp and swinging it up over her shoulder and then bringing it down. “You see, just like bowling a cricket ball, an overarm action.”

Phillips, a cricket player from his schools days, nodded enthusiastically, understanding the mechanics of the blow. Doctor Vastoni handed him the lamp and stood in front of him. “You are about six feet, two inches, yes?”

Philips replied, grinning, “Yes, spot on.”

She replied, “I am close to five feet nine inches in these boots. I want you to make a slow motion swing at me from behind and show your colleague what I mean, OK?”

“OK.” Phillips moved the lamp in a slow arc, holding it still at the moment it was to connect with the back of the Doctor’s skull.

“Do you see what I mean?” The pathologist said to Sally.

“Yes, I see. The person who hit Sanchez must have been much taller than her to get it at that angle.”

“Exactly.”

*****

Phoebe dutifully worked hard for the remainder of the day, after Amanda left. At close to seven that evening, she decided she was finished, despite having mountains of work still remaining. Her doctor had told her to take it easy on her return to work, but that was virtually impossible in her profession.

The firm was glad to have her back but not very happy about all the publicity she was attracting. As she stood up to leave she felt a twinge of pain across her chest. The doctor had assured her it would pass with time. Ignoring the pain, she fervently hoped she was right. 

She had passed the task of finding a decent apartment over to her secretary, as she didn’t have the time or the stomach for the constant disappointment. Her secretary, on the other hand, relished the task. It had been a very good strategy resulting in her having an appointment tomorrow at lunchtime to see a place at Southbank. If she took it she would be able to walk to work, something she’d love to do. At the moment she was catching cabs back to Roman’s when she didn’t car pool with him. She couldn’t even think about purchasing another Volvo yet even though she knew the car had saved her life. Every time she got into a car she remembered the crash.