by SJ Brown
Kate was first in. “So we should delve deeper in your considered opinion?”
Before an answer was forthcoming, the phone trilled and Mahoney put it on speakerphone. “DI Mahoney here.”
“John, it’s Ted.”
Mahoney picked up the receiver. “Yes, Sir.” As the short conversation ensued, his expression became more drawn. At its conclusion he replaced the receiver and looked up. “Seems we won’t need our spades after all as I’ve been given the wind-up signal in no uncertain terms. The official status of this investigation is that it is now closed. We are to prepare all material to present to the Crown Prosecution Service as soon as possible.”
As it sank in, he held up his palms to his junior officers. “I have a fair idea what you’re thinking and I agree but that was a clear directive to halt. Believe me, I’m frustrated too but we are duty-bound to follow this order. It is what I would expect of you and it is what is expected of me.”
Kate sat silently but not so Munro. “But you wouldn’t give such a bloody stupid order.”
Mahoney breathed deeply and slowly exhaled. “That’s as maybe. I’ve only surmised what is behind it. There may be more going on than we know.”
“Too bloody right,” snorted Munro.
“That’s enough. Let’s not eat our own. And don’t dare quote Nuremberg and My Lai to me. There’s a time and place to question orders and that is not now.” The volume was up just a notch but the delivery was very measured. “I don’t believe you would undermine me by flagrantly disobeying orders so you can hardly expect me to do so here. Ted Phillips has a long record of integrity and deserves our respect. It’s unsatisfactory for us but the time to fight this battle is not right now.”
Munro and Kendall sat chastened. Their boss leant forward. “However, just because a public declaration is being made doesn’t preclude us from finalizing the case. Are you with me?” They were and there was a quick lightening of the mood. “Tim, you’re in court soon?”
“Yep, preliminaries for the Calvert hearing. Should be done by midday at the latest.”
“Good, we’ll talk later. Kate, we’re going for a coffee at Café Commandant. I feel like a short break from the confines of this building. A change of scene may give us some earthly idea of where to go from here.”
CHAPTER 31
Wednesday 17th March 11am
“So that’s how it is, is it? We sit on our hands and whistle. Terrific.” Mahoney knew his best DC had fire in her belly for the job but up to this point she had been relatively unflappable. Now she was fuming. “These people, the faceless men, call the shots now, do they? Just who are they? I don’t remember electing them. When were they appointed? We can’t be that impotent, surely.” She was fired up but briefly out of steam.
Sensing no immediate reaction from her superior, she slumped back in the couch and stared ruefully out the window. What she saw through the window of the cafe did precious little to lighten her mood. A cold southerly was shooting leaves up Elizabeth Street. The sky was clear and the sun was stoically trying to warm the streetscape but there was minimal encouragement for the stolid pedestrians beating their way up the footpath. A cold snap overnight had instantly taken the energy out of everyone’s step. Even the students congregated at the bus stop opposite were none too cheerful this morning.
A distinct chill had fallen over the investigation. Mahoney sipped his latte. Rubbed his stubble. No shave this morning. Bugger it. At this point in proceedings he lacked the energy and perhaps the will to show a brave face to the world. He gazed at the Federation style post office and tried to conjure a response to what he truly hoped were answerable questions. Publicity banners flapped wildly in the wind.
So, so different from yesterday. In a number of ways. Was there more to this changeable climate? Any quick change in conditions was almost always met with the stock response: that’s Tassie for you. Four seasons in one day. Usually quite happily. It was a wonder many a bride could fit on a ring after a week of having her fingers crossed for clement weather. Was this general attitude a sign of gritty stoicism or an apathetic acceptance of things? The old English ‘mustn’t grumble’ approach. That could easily suggest an unwillingness to tackle problems. Just let things be. Fatalism. Perhaps that was what he was doing now.
Suddenly he thought of the old Red Lion pub. “Are you receiving me?” Kate was tapping his knee.
“Now that was a band. Out there, like Talking Heads.”
“Who were?”
“XTC. That’s some of the lyrics. The one decent cover a local band used to do.”
“Back in the day.” Kate teased.
“Yeah, in that foreign country. Back when I had your idealism, I guess.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m going to pretend that moment never happened. Doing the tired and wounded old stag is so not you. Earlier was bad. But so what, we pick ourselves up.”
Mahoney considered carefully this young woman. Surely she was right. They were halfway up Mt Kilimanjaro and failing to get to the top was not an option. Well, not one he could truthfully live with. One path in the wood had proven a dead end. But there had to be others. “Yes, we dust ourselves off and start searching for other ways. Thank you, Kate. I never thought you’d be the boot up my pants my father used to be.”
Kate blushed and lowered her eyes. When she looked up from the table her voice was softer. “When Gerard, my selfish unfaithful ex, buggered off last Winter, I couldn’t see a way forward. Stuck here in Slowbart. But my Mum came down, mothered me for few weeks and then went back home. Told me I had resilience. That I’d be more than OK. She was right. I am, and on this team, I’m far more than OK. I’m flying. To be recruited to your squad has finally made all the crap disappear. I really don’t want this to end. You know, with our tails between our legs. We’ll find that link somewhere.”
Mahoney had been hunched forward as she spoke. He sat bolt upright. The passing reference to infidelity had sparked something. “Yes, yes, we will. Kate, quick, think back. When you were back at the Kingston site, what sort of car did you say the manager was driving?”
“One of those flash Holden utes. Brand new model. Bright red. Looked too smooth to be a fair dinkum builder’s car. Why?”
“I’ve seen it before. Where it shouldn’t have been perhaps. Come on. We’ve got a house visit to do.”
As they drove out of the State Cinema car park, Kate could sense the heightened energy of her passenger. The Beekeeper was excited by something. As she turned the Commodore from Strahan Street into Argyle Street, he was tapping the digits on his mobile and then held it to his ear. “Jerome, it’s John Mahoney. Yes, well but flat chat as you can imagine. I’m hoping you can do me a small favor. Good, thank you. It’s this. Remember the morning last week when I came by and there was a shiny new car at your place next to the convertible? Both with Tassie plates and we surmised they were locals on a romantic but not perhaps totally legitimate sojourn? Well, at least, I did. Can you tell me who those two cars belonged to? Can you quickly check for me while I hold? Righto, thanks.”
Kate assumed the pause was for the call’s recipient to check some sort of guest register. She concentrated on the traffic at the Federal Street intersection and held her curiosity at bay. “Gotcha, Larry Owen of Balwinnie Street, Lindisfarne and the lady was Jane Watson of Oceana Drive, Tranmere. Hers was the Mazda X5. Yes, I’ve got all that. Thanks again, Jerome. I’m in your debt. Hope to see you soon.” He rang off. “Did you hear that?”
“What? The names.”
“No, the satisfying clunk of some jigsaw pieces clicking into place.”
“Um, I think so. Dots aren’t quite joined up though.”
“Get in the left lane. We’re going over the river.”
Kate indicated and eased into the Tasman Bridge traffic lane in front of Hobart’s original university. “And?”
“A few links are
emerging. This romantically inclined Larry Owen isn’t just a randy chap getting it away down at Dover last week. He’s also Cartwright’s brother-in-law and the guy in charge of the building site at Osborne Esplanade. Has to be. It was all in the different reports on my desk but I allowed myself to be distracted and didn’t follow up.”
He turned obliquely to Kate as the car passed Government House. “We couldn’t work out why the body was left down at Kingston. Well, I’d hazard a pretty good guess because it was established beforehand that was where it was going to go. Someone in the know set it up. Knapp and Coutts didn’t know but I think we’re going to find out pretty soon who it was suggested that spot.”
Kate drew a line. “Owen sorts things so there’s a convenient place to put Finch. The delay with the cement for the foundations gave him the perfect opportunity and he hotfoots it out of town to avoid any immediate enquiries. And Cartwright put him up to it?”
“Quite probably. But that pig isn’t going to squeal just yet.”
“So we’re off to get Owen?”
“Later. There’s another link in the chain I want to test first. One that won’t be quite as strong.”
“Who, the woman?”
“Not just any woman. A grieving widow.”
Another twenty minutes and they pulled up outside a McMansion with a jaw dropping view of the expansive river, Wrest Point Casino and the mountain behind. A vista of marketing dreams. They stepped out of the car to be buffeted by a boisterous wind. Exposed to the southerly wind, this new subdivision was still raw but most owners were making significant headway with landscaping. Timber sleepers supported terraced lawn spaces bordered with native plants. On the last stage, Mahoney had made two more calls and seemed satisfied with what he had learned.
They half jogged up the steps to the entrance of number 374. A tall woman in gym gear answered the door. She did not seem surprised to see them on her doorstep. “Hello officers, please come in. Thank you for coming again.”
Again? Some police were expected but not these particular ones, Kate guessed. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson.”
She led them into a Scandinavian interior not of blonde wood paneling but of clean lines and rigidly geometric furniture. Chrome and black leather chairs were configured precisely on a cobalt grey, polished concrete floor. Neat as a pin. Ascetic. Their hostess displayed about as much emotion as the room. If she was distressed it was being kept well in check. The detectives took the proffered chairs, declined coffee and introduced themselves to Jane Watson.
Mahoney offered his condolences before venturing into the conversation proper.
“Mrs. Watson, where were you last Friday?”
She looked taken aback. An eyebrow arched. “Friday. Well, I imagine I was dealing with the wash-up of the estate or something like that. I can’t say definitely. The last week or so has been something of a blur. Why do you ask? Are these questions about my husband’s death?” The jaw was tight and the lips slightly drawn in.
I’m beginning to think there’s something fishy there, thought Mahoney. “Not at this stage, Mrs. Watson. There’s no suggestion it was anything but a regrettable accident.” Not that he was going to voice now anyway. “My colleague and I are conducting an entirely separate investigation.” She relaxed ever so slightly. “Have you recently reported your car as stolen?”
“No, why on earth would I?” She paused and crossed her legs. “I’m sorry but what are you actually here for?”
“As I said, we’re crossing a few t’s in another investigation. An acquaintance of yours has been of some assistance to us and we’re hoping you can corroborate some information.” Kate suppressed a smile. Her boss was right. It was just that Owen was doing it unwittingly. She kept her eyes on Jane as Mahoney worked away. “A Mr. Larry Owen was at Taldana Retreat, near Dover, on that day and I’m wondering if you can confirm that.”
She was good. Almost priceless. Her mind must be whirring as to how they knew that. What to divulge? Her eyes flickered to the view of the whitecaps on the water and back to the man who was most surely now her interrogator. “What I’m about to tell will doubtless not meet with your approval but I doubt that sanctimony genuinely helps anybody. He was there. So was I. We were playing together most of the day. Have been for months, if truth be told. My husband was barely interested so I got another builder in for some hands-on work. Do I shock you, Inspector?”
Well, just a bit, he thought. He secretly hoped they had shown some remorse following her husband’s death. An intriguing tangent occurred again. Resisted pursuing it. There was the matter at hand. “No one is here to assess your sexual morality. It’s impossible to be both a police officer and prurient. We simply wished to confirm that you were both there. And you have. Thank you.” Smooth as silk. “By the way, when was this trip arranged?”
“Day before, I think. Larry said he’d had a brainwave. Told me there was some to be a delay on site because the concreters weren’t available ’til the next week so he was giving his men a day off. He suggested a getaway. I packed a black negligee, in case you’re concerned.” She had struck a discordant note: in her desire to be unflappable she came across as callous. Into the damning silence that followed, she asked a question that should have occurred much earlier. “Why do you need to know where Larry and I were that day?”
“Well, it might be best if he explained that himself. Would you ask him to come out from his hidey-hole?” She narrowed her eyes at him but he simply waved towards the kitchen bench. “Two cups next to a full plunger of freshly brewed coffee and a pair of work boots by the kitchen tidy. Just call him. Don’t muck us about.”
“Alright. Larry?”
A tallish figure emerged through the pantry door and trudged sheepishly into the open lounge area. “Mr. Owen, I’m Detective Inspector Mahoney and this is Detective Constable Kendall. Mrs. Watson I think you already know.”
“Very funny. Can’t say I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Fair enough. I presume you’re up to speed on our conversation. If you’d just like to tell us now who prompted you to arrange for the site to be used, we can be on our way.”
“And what if I don’t like?” Standing his full height now.
“We’ll start checking on your recent whereabouts with your wife, Mary.” Check.
The cockiness departed as quickly as it had arrived. “She’ll clean me out. Don’t you dare. You pricks.” Exasperation. His head was turned by Jane’s voice.
“Tell them. I don’t think there’s much future in alienating your wife. Not for my sake, anyway.” Owen looked like he had been smacked in the head with a large fish. No more of an affair by the sounds of it. Dismissal. Not a leg to stand on.
“James Cartwright.” Checkmate. “I’m guessing you want me to come with you.”
Kate spoke for the first time. “Yes, Mr. Owen. We will require a statement.”
CHAPTER 32
Wednesday 17th March 5pm
If Cartwright was surprised to see him he certainly did not let on. Perhaps he expected Mahoney to call on him at his workplace as a matter of course. Regardless, the man who welcomed the detective into his spacious corner office was not displaying the slightest degree of tension. Mahoney immediately noted the similarities to the occupant’s home library: not in size, obviously, but more so by its Spartan nature. There was a Blackwood desk just off center on the carpeted floor with ergonomic chairs either side of it. On the desk was a large ink blotter, a writing pad, Parker pen, and one of those ornate lamps with an emerald green shade that were all the rage in solicitors’ offices. Apart from a rectangular window that overlooked the private school adjoining the UTAS campus, the walls were covered with bookshelves. Unlike the eclectic collection in his home, the books appeared to be solely to do with the lecturer’s academic interest. The daylight was rapidly fading so the desk lamp was on. Cartwright remained seated at his desk where he had been do
odling on the pad: some sort of letter was there.
He gestured to Mahoney to sit in the chair opposite him. “I was anticipating a visit, Inspector. I’m glad you are alone. It will be easier for me to speak frankly without your muscular sidekick. He unsettles me. I assume that’s his role, but there’s no necessity now. I am free to talk. Unburdened, shall we say?”
Mahoney simply nodded and sat down. He unbuttoned his jacket and looked straight into Cartwright’s eyes.
“Jane Watson called a short time ago and apprised me of developments.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, that sounds pompous. I tend to get rather formal when I’m verbalizing my thoughts. Anyway, Larry told her to contact me and I’m aware of how the webs of deceit are unravelling. I’d appreciate a chance to talk with you before anything more formal occurs.” He looked searchingly at Mahoney.
“Yes, Dr. Cartwright, I can do that.”
There was a brief silence. A staccato series of shouts from the training session on the adjacent school’s football oval came through the open window. Cartwright got up to shut it. Having sat down, he eased back into his chair. “Have you always lived here, Inspector?”
Mahoney saw no problem with this diversion. He had time to converse. They would surely get to where Cartwright, and he, wanted to go. “No, not at all. I went to England in the late ’80s and stayed for just over a decade. It was a very worthwhile experience.”
“Ever married?”
“Again, no. I was very close to it when I was young but it just didn’t work out. If it had, perhaps I would never have left. House, children, Queensland holidays, school sport, shack, and retirement after forty years’ service. It could all have been so different.”
“Any regrets for that?” Cartwright was a dab hand at the open-ended questions but there was no harm in continuing. The academic was trying to establish some sort of camaraderie for whatever reason. Mahoney paused as he gauged his response.
