(2005) A Certain Malice Page 6

  But it was what was standing alongside the tin wall of the workshop that interested Cam the most: a custom-made Harley with studded leather saddlebags and more chrome than a Mack truck.

  “Umm, er, Sergeant Fraser. Cliff’s not going to like it that you’re down here in his yard. Shouldn’t you have a search warrant or something?”

  “Why? I’m not searching for anything. I’m merely talking to you.” Cam bent over the bike. He ran his hand over the chrome mudguard and made appropriate sounds of appreciation.

  “Do you know something about bikes then?” Angelo asked with a glimmer of interest.

  “Not really. I used to ride one, that’s all.”

  “A bike copper then?”

  “No. I just rode for fun.”

  “What, a rice burner?” Angelo said with the lip curl of a serious bike enthusiast.

  “A Fat Boy.”

  Angelo’s good eye lit up a pleasant face that glowed with an intelligence Cam hadn’t noticed earlier.“Cool,” he said.

  It always amazed Cam how teenagers could elongate that one word into two or three syllables. He looked back at the bike, caressing the silky paintwork of the fuel tank, then stopped. He glanced at Angelo then back at the blemish under his fingertips. It was a sticker: a triangle with two dots for eyes making it look like a hood. Around the border of the triangle were the words Made For Whites By Whites. He had seen stickers like this often enough and they never failed to make his neck prickle. This white supremacist sticker was a clear indication that the machine did not belong to any weekend biker.

  Cam straightened up. “Who owns this bike, then?”

  “A mate of Cliff ’s.”

  “In a club?”

  Angelo took a breath. “Maybe.”

  “Is Cliff in it?”

  “No. He says bikes are death machines. He just works on them sometimes.”

  “And you?”

  Angelo shrugged.“I like bikes. But I don’t have anything to do with the bikies, they’re a mob of animals.”

  “Sensible man, stay right away from them,” he said, jotting the bike’s numberplate in his notebook.

  Angelo wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.“Is this all you wanted to talk to me about, bikes?”

  “No. I wanted to talk about Sunday’s fire.”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “You got there at about 11.20?”

  Angelo nodded and licked his dry lips.

  “When you first arrived, what colour was the smoke?”

  “Um, the other cop asked Cliff that. Just ask him.”

  “But I’m asking you,” Cam said.

  Angelo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Cam moved to one side so the sun shone into Angelo’s face like a spotlight.

  “Greyish white I guess,” he said. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

  “Like an ordinary bush fire?”

  Angelo shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “Of course you know. You’re a fireman, for Christ’s sake. You know full well different fuels make different coloured smoke.”

  Angelo took a step back.

  Cam softened his voice. “How’d you get the black eye, son?”

  “I slipped in the shower.”

  Cam folded his arms and stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Angelo’s face. The kid swallowed but this time stood his ground.

  The sound of footsteps broke the silence; the boy glanced at the side entrance. The gate creaked and the sun was eclipsed by the shadow of one of the biggest men Cam had ever seen. Angelo seemed a midget beside him. He introduced Cliff Donovan to Cam before scuttling off into the workshop.

  The mechanic watched Angelo’s retreat. The thick beard around his mouth moved, suggesting a smile, though there was no evidence of one in his eyes.

  “He’s a good kid,” he said, paternally. “It’s hard to find decent apprentices these days, he’s one of the best I’ve had.” He paused. The heat radiated off the tin of the workshop walls, shooting stars of light off the chrome of the Harley.

  Cliff saw Cam looking at the bike. “How about coming into the workshop for a coffee? It’s a lot cooler in there.”

  Cam declined. “I won’t keep you long, sir. I just wanted to clarify the time you got to the fire.”

  “Let me see now,” the big man said. He scratched his bearded chin, making a sound like wire wool on a cooking-pot.“I had a real early start that morning. I like to work on a Sunday, it’s more peaceful, you know?” Cam nodded his agreement and Cliff continued, “I was working on old man Ronnin’s truck from about seven am. He came to check up on it at about 7.30. Angelo turned up for work soon after. His folks need the extra money so I often let him come in on Sunday. Then I had a long phone call from John Campbell, the shire president, about a fishing trip he’s planning.”

  Cam had not asked for an alibi, but he seemed to be getting one.

  “After that I went to Flo’s diner for smoko, chatted with Flo there for a while and got back here about eleven when I got the fire call. Would have got to the school at about 11.20, like I told Vince.”

  Cam wrote in his notebook and they made some small talk. Cam didn’t ask him about the smoke. It was in Vince’s report.

  He’d said the smoke was oily black.

  “You were spying on me weren’t you?” Ruby said the minute Cam walked through the front door.

  She’d opened another of the cartons and was surrounded by books. His mechanical manuals and law books were piled incongruously next to Elizabeth’s leather bound classics, Joe’s Where’s Wally stash and her own animal books. Ruby sat in the middle of the piles as if inside a walled fortress.

  “No, of course I wasn’t spying on you – you damn well knew I was there. I’d forgotten something. I came home to get it, you weren’t home and as you didn’t ring to say you were going out, I got worried. I don’t care that you have a boyfriend,” he lied. “It’s just that after what happened to Mum and Joe we have to look after each other, keep each other safe and above all tell each other what’s going on.”

  She sprang to her feet and twisted her face. “Lock me in prison, you mean! Embarrass me in front of my friends!”

  “He seems nice. How long have you known him?”

  Ruby stared at him for a moment, trying to read his neutral mask.

  “Since we first arrived.” She seemed to be expecting some kind of outburst. When none came, hope brightened her face and sped up her voice.“He has a good job. He’s an apprentice mechanic, but he wants to become a chromer. They’re the guys who put the silver stuff on old-fashioned cars and motorbikes. “

  Cam arched his eyebrows. “Really? I’m impressed.”

  “Can I see him again, then?”

  Cam frowned. “How did he get the black eye?”

  “He walked into a door,” Ruby said, innocently. “So?” she added.

  “So what?”

  “Can I see him again? I’m only asking to be polite, I don’t have to.” She stopped as if she knew that an argument at this stage of the negotiations would do nothing to help her cause.

  “I’ll think about it,” Cam said, picking up one of Elizabeth’s books. He sniffed at the leather cover and ran his thumb over the edges of the gold leaf: Wuthering Heights, one of her favourites. She must have read it a dozen times and it never failed to make her cry. He could never understand why she kept reading it.

  “I ran into an old lady I used to know at the stock feeder’s.” When Ruby didn’t answer he continued. “She needs someone to help out in the shop and was wondering if you could give her a hand this afternoon.”

  “Paid?”

  “Yes.” He’d already arranged to give Mrs Wilmot the money.

  Ruby shrugged. “Maybe.”

  That was good enough. “Good. Let’s go do some more unpacking, then I’ll take you over there and introduce you.”

  “What about your work?”

  Cam paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation h
e’d overheard in the park. “It’ll keep,” he said.

  9

  Cam was running late. He’d hoped to catch Toby Bell in his real estate office but was informed by the secretary that after waiting in as long as he could, Bell had left for a Home Open down the road.

  The real estate agent didn’t notice Cam pulling up in the police ute. His head was in the boot of his mustard coloured BMW where he was trying to untangle a bunch of Home Open signs. With a start, he jerked himself out of the boot and stuck his hand between his knees, bellowing a blue string of expletives into the quiet suburban street. Cam hurried over to assist, receiving some murmured words of thanks. It was only when they’d finished unpacking the signs that Bell gave him the benefit of a glance. One look at the uniform and he paled, dropped the sign he was holding, missing Cam’s foot by inches.

  “Sorry to startle you, sir,” Cam said.

  “Jesus Christ, Officer. Tracking me over here is really too bloody much. Don’t you have anything better to do with your time? I thought my lawyer had sorted it all out with those wankers, they have no right to...” He looked at Cam for a moment. A glimmer of an idea crossed his doughy features. “Ah, I know what your game is.” He reached into his back pocket. “Maybe we could come to a mutual understanding - will a fifty keep that annoying little piece of paper in your pocket?”

  He flashed Cam a smile as sweet as glass toffee and just as brittle.

  “This isn’t about any kind of summons, sir,” Cam said, “if that’s what you mean. Please put your wallet away.” He paused for a moment, trying to make his voice gentle. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Can we go into the house?” He nodded in the direction of the Home Open. “You might need to sit down.”

  Toby Bell ran his fingers through his bleached curls. “I think I’ve made a bit of a faux pas haven’t I?”

  “Given the circumstances, I’ll forget it.”

  “OK, OK.” Bell’s hand went to the gold chain at his throat. “Bad news?” His voice faltered. He leaned back against the car. “Is it my, er, niece, Tiffany?”

  “Please come with me, sir.”

  Cam led the way into the house and sat Bell in the dingy living room. This was the hard part; he never got used to this side of the job. Despite his years of experience, he knew he was clumsy and inadequate when dealing with the emotional pain of others.

  Cam took a step back. The man would need space. “I regret to inform you that the remains of your brother, Herbert, were found in bushland on Monday. The cause of death has not yet been ascertained.”

  “Herbert? You’re talking about Herb?”

  He drew his breath in and stared at Cam for a moment. From his briefcase he removed a silver hip flask. After a large gulp he let out his breath, closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest of the sofa.

  Everyone reacted differently to grief; Cam decided to give the man time to collect his thoughts.

  The room in which they sat was claustrophobic and dark and smelled of old people. A faded portrait of a very young queen stared down at them next to a Highland landscape print. Souvenir mugs from English seaside resorts lined the wooden mantelpiece. Cam could just imagine the flying ducks on the wall in the kitchen and the Kookaburra stove in the corner. Though not to his taste, he liked the generic familiarity of this home; at least there were no surprises here.

  Bell started at the sound of a car door slamming and voices coming closer. He sprang to his feet. “Quick, quick, you have to hide. You can’t be seen here. You’ll put them off.”

  “But I still need to ask you some questions,” Cam said. He’d expected the man to at least cancel the Home Open.

  “Oh, Jesus, they’re coming in.” Bell’s eyes darted around the room.“OK then. You just stand behind the door here.” He tried to manhandle Cam behind the open door of the lounge room, and said in an urgent whisper, “I’ll leave off showing them this room ’til last. When you hear us coming back into the passageway, you slip into the bedroom opposite, got me?”

  Clearly a master of avoidance: court officials, ex-wives, debt-collectors, police. Cam knew the type. He removed Bell’s hands from his shoulders. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

  “Knock knock, anyone home?” said a woman in a singsong lilt.

  Bell turned to Cam in a panic.

  Cam said, “Just let them in. I’ll slip out by the back lane and return when they’re gone. I’ll start bringing the signs in. It’s not a good idea to continue with this Home Open thing. You might find you have a delayed reaction to the shock.”

  Bell opened his mouth in protest but closed it when he caught the look on Cam’s face. He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.” He shot the cuffs of his black silk shirt, pasted the smile back on his face and moved towards the front door.

  Toby Bell took another slug from his hip flask then offered it to Cam who shook his head.

  “Of course my brother had a drinking problem you know,” Bell said.

  Cam wished he hadn’t chosen to sit next to him on the three-seater. He shifted closer to its overstuffed arm. “When did you last see your brother?” he asked.

  Bell stuck his feet out in front of him and leaned back. “Mum’s funeral.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Oh, five years ago at least. We had a bit of a falling out. I was Mum’s favourite you see. What little she had she left all to me.”

  It was hard to imagine this man being anyone’s favourite. Cam wrote himself a note to ask the Toorrup money guys to check into Bell’s financial affairs.

  “To be honest, Sergeant…”

  Cam straightened in his seat. That phrase always activated his radar.

  “He was a black sheep, an embarrassment. I didn’t even know he was still in the state. Thought he would have gone to Queensland by now,” Bell said.

  “He was living in Glenroyd. He had part-time job at the school there.”

  “Well, good for him,” said Bell.

  “We are regarding his death as suspicious.”

  “You think someone might have knocked him off, then?” With a sound like an emptying water-cooler, Bell took another slug from the hip flask.“That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “It was probably that old bitch he lived with, unless he did her in first, which wouldn’t have surprised me either. They were about as bad as each other.”

  “Do you know the name of this woman?” Cam asked.

  Bell looked to the ceiling and tapped on the flask with his manicured fingernails. “Um, it was a while ago. Began with G.” He sounded the letter like a kindergarten teacher. His eyes rolled around the room for a moment then he snapped his fingers, “Gay, that’s it. I remember thinking how inappropriate it was. Unless it was the other kind of gay. Now that I could imagine.”

  “Surname?”

  “No idea.” He made a humming noise and touched his hair. His fingers bounced off his head as if the tight curls were springs. “Unless they married; but probably not. He was a professional social securities con; they got more money by staying single. They were a couple but as far as the government was concerned, they just shared a house.”

  “Interesting,” Cam said, writing in his notebook.

  “Oh, it gets better.”

  Cam raised his eyebrows. Bell gave him a calculating look in return.“It seems to me that I’m providing you with quite a lot of useful info here,” he said. “It’s been bloody inconvenient for me to close up the house. God knows how many potential buyers could have been through by now. I might have sold the place twice over. I don’t suppose…”

  “No. You don’t suppose, sir. Withholding information during a murder investigation is an offence.”

  “OK, OK, don’t fart sparks over it. I’ll co-operate. What else do you need to know?”

  Cam took a deep breath. “How old was your brother?”

  “Well.” Bell paused and did some mental calculations. “Fifty-six or sixty-six, it depends.”

  “On what?”

  Bell s
lapped his hands on his knees and laughed. “On which birth certificate you’re looking at! He told me this scheme of his years ago, and to be honest,” – there it was again – “I thought of dobbing him in over it often enough. He’d a fake certificate you see, saying he was ten years younger than he actually was.”

  Cam could see where this was going. “Had he been claiming an invalid pension?”

  “Yeah, he’d been on one for years. Sore back or some such crap.”

  “So he could go on receiving the invalid pension instead of the aged pension, which pays out a lot less.”

  “Spot on.”

  “You’ve mentioned this Gay woman. Do you know the names of any other friends or associates of your brother?”

  “Never have and never want to.”

  “Any other family members?”

  “No, just him and me.”

  “For the record sir, where were you last Saturday night?”

  Bell did not seem surprised or offended by the question. “That depends,” he smiled, giving Cam the feeling that he was in fact quite keen to divulge his whereabouts.

  Jesus, here we go again.“Depends on what?” Cam asked.

  “On who you ask.”

  “Your niece?”

  Bell drew an hourglass shape in the air with his hands and winked. “You’re a quick one, Sarge, I’ll give you that. OK, I’ll cough up. Tiffany and I went out to dinner, then I went back to her place. I didn’t get home till late Sunday afternoon. My wife thinks I was in Albany. Now I hope I can count on your discretion here.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You really don’t need to write it down in your little book.” He shifted a buttock and reached for his wallet, freezing when he saw the look on Cam’s face. His voice smarted with hurt.“My card, Sergeant, I want to give you my card.” He extracted a crumpled card and held it out. Cam took it as if it was smeared with something foul.

  “I don’t suppose you’re in the market for a house, are you?” Toby Bell said.