Killing Sunday

by Amos, Gina

  ‘This is Nicolae Vladu, my personal assistant. Nicolae, this is Inspector Rimis and Senior Constable Brennan, they are investigating Freddie’s death.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Vladu.’

  Vladu nodded and looked down at his tattooed hands.

  Rimis removed his sunglasses and looked at the Bentley. ‘Nice set of wheels you’ve got here, Dorin. I’ve never had a black car; always thought they showed the dirt.’ Rimis ran the flat of his hand across the shiny bonnet. Vladu scowled, removed a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped away Rimis’s hand marks. He opened the passenger door for Chisca, waited for him to be seated, then walked around to the driver’s door.

  Rimis squatted down and spoke to Chisca through the open window. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow then, Dorin. Morning, before lunch, is better for me.’ Vladu started the engine. ‘One more thing,’ Rimis said. ‘Freddie's gallery assistant, Paloma Browne. You ever meet her?’

  ‘Freddie never mentioned her to me and, no, I have never met her.’

  Rimis and Brennan watched Vladu reverse the Bentley out of the narrow car space.

  ‘He’s a showy type of fella, our Mr Chisca. Likes to display his wealth, doesn’t he?’ Rimis said.

  Rimis dropped Brennan back at the Station and headed north on the Pacific Highway. He knew they would have to move quickly. The press were going to have a field day with the story when it broke. He could see the headlines now. Gallery Owner and Assistant, Murdered. The cases were now his number one priority; everything else on his desk would have to wait.

  He took the ramp north onto the M1. He pulled down the sun visor. The traffic was light, apart from a few interstate semi-trailers. He overtook the truck ahead of him but braked hard when he spotted a speed camera.

  Rimis knew he could have sent one of his underlings to tell Calida Winfred her sister was dead, but he liked the woman, and out of respect for her and Ted Mackie, he knew it was only right that they hear the bad news from him. He thought about the indignity of Freddie’s death. No one should have to die like that.

  By the time he parked his car, it was early afternoon. He looked towards the croquet lawn and recognised Ted Mackie immediately. He was hard to miss, being the tallest of the group. It was Ted’s turn to play a shot. He swung his mallet and gently hit the red ball. It passed through the hoop and Ted pushed back the aviator shades onto his head and placed his hands on his hips. He was wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts again. The sleeves were short and they revealed a pair of strong arms. Sturdy tanned legs poked out from beneath a pair of red cargo pants and his thick calves were covered with wiry sprigs of greyish, blonde hair. Ted spotted Rimis and walked up to him. ‘Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. You’ve got some news. Bad, by the look of it.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not good.’ Rimis gave a report of what had happened to Freddie. During their careers, both men had had their share of delivering bad news. The death message was a sobering experience and it never got any easier, no matter how many times you did it.

  They walked across the lawn together in silence.

  ‘You ever miss the job, Ted?’

  ‘Not one bit. After Mary died, I realised I still had a lot of living to do and that’s exactly what I plan to do.’

  Ted walked up to the reception desk and asked Jasmine if he had seen Calida.

  ‘Hello, Ted, and hello again, Inspector.’ She leaned forward on her elbows. ‘I saw her on her way to the arts and crafts room after lunch. I think she’s still there.’

  The two men crossed the reception area and made their way in silence to the eastern wing of the building. The smell of overcooked vegetables and lamb followed them down the corridor.

  ‘You want to tell her, or do you want me to?’ Ted asked. Ted tapped lightly on the door and looked at Rimis.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Rimis said.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Cal, it’s me, Ted. I’ve got DI Rimis here with me.’

  Calida opened the door. Rimis smelt linseed oil and turpentine.

  ‘How about we go to your room, Cal,’ Rimis said.

  Calida dipped a paintbrush in a glass of muddy-coloured water, removed it and wiped the bristles clean with a rag. She took off her painting smock and threw it on a chair. Rimis and Ted followed behind her down the corridor towards her room.

  ‘Now then, what news of Freddie? I assume that’s why you have come.’

  ‘You might want to sit down, Cal,’ Ted said.

  ‘I’m alright, Ted. I’d prefer to stand to hear what Inspector Rimis has to say.’

  Rimis looked at her and tried to frame a gentle way to tell her, but he knew from experience there was no way to relate bad news, other than to come right out and say it. ‘Cal, Freddie’s dead.’

  Both men heard her catch her breath. Ted guided her to an armchair. The window was open about eight centimetres and Rimis heard a ride-on lawn mower, laughter from the croquet lawn, and a far-off crow, shrieking.

  ‘You’re certain then?’

  ‘No mistake,’ Rimis said.

  ‘I told you, didn’t I, Ted? I knew something had happened to her. I’d almost resigned myself to it.’ Calida sat down and picked up a framed photograph from the window sill. ‘This was taken in front of the ferris wheel at the Royal Easter Show.’ She ran her fingers over the photo. ‘Freddie was six years old, I was sixteen. It was the first year Dad let me drive the dodgem cars. I can still remember the sparks flashing off the high poles and Freddie telling me to drive faster. Typical Freddie,’ she smiled. Calida’s eyes filled with tears but she made no attempt to wipe them away. Rimis was still standing by the door. She looked over at him. ‘Was it her heart, Inspector? Is that what killed her? I don’t remember how many times I told her to do something about her weight, and the drinking. She was always drinking.’

  Rimis walked over, knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his.

  ‘She didn’t have a heart attack, Cal.’

  ‘If it wasn’t her heart, then what was it?’

  It was a difficult question for Rimis to answer. He didn’t have it in him to tell her she drowned in a toilet bowl. That piece of information would be best saved for another day.

  ‘Drowned,’ he said.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ she looked at him, her eyes wide. ‘Freddie was a good swimmer. She always won the age races at school.’

  ‘I have to tell you ―’

  ‘Tell me what, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re treating Freddie’s death as suspicious.’

  Calida’s face crumpled. ‘Sweet Jesus. What are you saying? She was murdered?’ A hand went to her mouth. Ted moved to her side but she waved him away.

  ‘Take a few deep breaths, Cal.’ Ted said. ‘Do you want me to call for the nurse?’

  ‘No, I’m alright. It’s the shock.’ Tears were running down her flushed cheeks. She removed a handkerchief from her sleeve.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. Who in the world would want to hurt Freddie?’ Calida stood up from the chair and wiped her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t tell you that,’ Rimis said. ‘Was there anything bothering her? Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm her? I’m sorry to have to ask you these questions.’

  Calida didn’t hesitate. ‘Definitely not. Everyone loved Freddie. Of course, there were people who thought she was a little loud, eccentric even, but ―’

  ‘Think back to the last time you saw her. Do you remember the conversation you had with her? Did she mention anyone you hadn’t heard her speaking about before?’ Rimis asked.

  Calida had calmed down a little now. ‘I have no idea what kind of people she dealt with. She didn’t discuss her clients with me.’

  ‘Try to think,’ Ted touched her arm.

  ‘There was that fellow she met at the Archibald. He was the winner of the Wynne Prize last year. She liked his work. She did tell me his name, but I’ve always been terrible with names. I think it was Kevin, someone or othe
r.’

  ‘Kevin Taggart,’ Rimis said.

  ‘Yes, that was it. She phoned me and told me she had met him. She didn’t like him. She told me there was something strange about him. You don’t think he murdered her do you?’

  ‘Anyone else?’ said Rimis, ignoring her question.

  ‘No, I can’t think of a single soul who would want to harm her.’ Calida wiped her eyes.

  Rimis looked at her closely.

  ‘Did Freddie ever mention a Romanian art dealer by the name of Dorin Chisca?’

  Calida was staring out of the window now with her back to Rimis and Ted.

  ‘Cal, did you hear what Inspector Rimis asked you?

  ‘Who did you say?’

  Rimis repeated Chisca’s name.

  Calida turned around. ‘Dorin Chisca? No. I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘You seem quite sure,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Freddie was a very private type of person, Inspector; she kept everything close to her chest, strictly on a need-to-know basis. Why are you asking about this Dorin Chisca?’

  ‘We have reason to believe Freddie was involved in an art fraud scam operating out of Sydney. She was passing off your innuendos as originals.’

  ‘What?’ Calida looked at Rimis with wide eyes. ‘I don't believe you. Freddie would never get involved in anything illegal.’ Calida got to her feet and wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘Now, if there isn’t anything else, I think you should leave. I’ve had enough bad news for one day.’

  ‘I’m leaving now, but there’s another matter. I know this has been a shock for you Cal, but we need your consent to search Freddie’s gallery and apartment.’

  Calida walked over to her bedside drawer and opened it. She pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Rimis. ‘Here, take these and I’ll give you anything else you need. Just find whoever killed Freddie.’

  Rimis took the keys. ‘Because you’re the next of kin, I also have to ask if you can identify your sister’s body. We can ask someone else if —’

  ‘No, she’s my sister; it’s proper I do it.’ She tucked her handkerchief up her sleeve. Rimis looked at her before he turned to leave. The room was full of misery and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the anger set in.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jill lived in Bondi in one of four Art-Deco apartments on New South Head Road. It was up two flights of stairs on the second floor. The rent was more than she could afford, but she was prepared to pay it because it was within walking distance of Bondi Beach. It was one of the nicest places she had ever lived.

  Jill was in the bathroom putting the final touches to her make-up when she heard the knock at the front door. She quickly applied some lipstick and took one last look in the mirror. She didn’t normally wear make-up, her complexion was clear enough that she could get away with only wearing tinted SPF 30 sunscreen. She combed her fingers through her hair. She had decided to wear it out tonight instead of tying it back in a ponytail. The heels she was wearing added another five centimetres to her height. Her father had told her she took after her mother’s side of the family in the height department. In her stocking feet she stood at one hundred and sixty-five centimetres.

  She removed the brass security chain and opened the door. She stepped back, but before she had a chance to say anything, he pulled her to him. She closed her eyes and he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and then his hot breath was on her neck. He kissed her again, touched her hair and throat. Intimate. Maybe it might work out between them after all.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.

  She pulled away from him. Her face blushed and she waved him into the only armchair in the room. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the grease stains on the arms. She should have told him to sit on the lounge instead.

  Before William arrived, she had run the vacuum cleaner over the floorboards and had even thought to pick up a bunch of gardenias from the greengrocers on her way home, but they had been a mistake. The scent was overpowering in the confines of the small apartment. ‘I’ll get us something to drink. Red wine okay?’ She said.

  She went into the kitchen and grabbed an open bottle of Shiraz from the bench, and two large wine glasses. When she returned to the lounge room he was standing, looking at the art on the walls. ‘You painted these?’

  She nodded.

  ‘They're very good.’

  ‘You’re just being polite. I painted them when I was at University.’ She put the wine and the glasses down on the coffee table, walked up to him and stood by his side. ‘They're technically competent I suppose, but I lack what it takes to make a great artist. Kevin Taggart on the other hand, has no formal training, yet he has passion, vision. He's a genius.’

  ‘I was impressed by his latest works, but what about you? Are you still painting?’ he asked.

  ‘Wish I had the time. I used to go down to the beach with my sketchpad before I took over at the gallery. I keep promising myself I’ll enrol in life drawing classes, but something always seems to get in the way.’

  ‘Life’s like that. What was it that John Lennon said? Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.’

  ‘You’re a Beatles fan?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yeah, got all their albums. Grew up playing them on my old 45 record player.’

  ‘I wasn’t even born when John Lennon died and I don’t even know what a 45 record looks like,’ Jill said.

  ‘What are you trying to do, make me feel old?’

  ‘Not at all, old man.’ Jill laughed. ‘Come and sit down.’ She poured him a glass of wine. She had planned to tell him after dinner but changed her mind. She knew it would be better if he heard the truth from her, rather than finding out about it in the morning papers. ‘William, there’s something I have to tell you.’ She filled her glass and sat down on the ottoman opposite him.

  ‘Sounds serious,’ he said.

  Jill took a mouthful of wine. It brought colour to her cheeks. She fell silent for a moment, then she looked up at him. ‘Did you hear about the woman they found in the warehouse in Chatswood today?’

  ‘I heard it on the news on the way over here.’

  ‘And the girl washed up at Woolwich Baths?’ She said in a quiet voice.

  ‘I remember reading something about it in the papers.’ He leant over and put his glass down on the coffee table. ‘Where are you going with all this? You’ve left the police.’

  Jill took another mouthful of wine. ‘The two women are thought to be involved in this art fraud racket that’s been in all the papers and that everyone’s been talking about.’ Jill looked down at her hands and picked at her nails. ‘You remember, Nick Rimis?’

  ‘Of course I do. Funny you should mention him; he came to see me the other day about Kevin. He gave me his card and was asking all sorts of questions about my mother and the Blake sisters. He’s convinced Kevin had something to do with their deaths and told me if Tommy Dwyer hadn’t killed my mother, Kevin would have. I couldn’t believe he said that to me, after everything Kevin did for the elderly women in the street.’

  ‘Nick Rimis takes his cases seriously. I think in some way he holds himself responsible for those women’s deaths.’ She saw the puzzled look on his face.

  ‘So, he’s working on this art fraud business then?’

  ‘We’re working on it together.’

  ‘Together? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was assigned to a special task force to help with the investigation because of my art background.’ Jill looked at him. ‘I haven’t resigned from the service.’

  William got to his feet. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ There was anger in his voice.

  ‘I haven’t resigned. I was working at the Dunworth as an undercover operative.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  She stood up from the ottoman. ‘I had to immerse myself completely in the assignment and convince everyone that I was the assistant director of the Meghan Dunworth
Gallery. Not even Bea Travers knew.’

  Silence.

  William looked at her. Frown lines appeared on his forehead. ‘I hope you find whoever killed those two women.’ He stood and put his empty glass down on the coffee table. ‘And thanks for the wine. You’ll understand if I don’t take you to dinner. I’ve lost my appetite.’

  Jill stared at him. No, she didn’t understand why he had changed his mind about taking her to dinner. During the investigation into his mother’s murder, Jill had learnt that Rose Phillips had lied to him about who his father was and that his birth mother had given him up to Rose Phillips to raise. Perhaps that was why he was so sensitive to any form of deception.

  Jill leaned on the balustrade and watched him leave. She wanted to run after him but she knew she should let him go.

  ‘Good luck saving the world,’ he called out on his way down the stairs. She expected him to turn around, to apologise, and to tell her he had been caught off guard, but he didn’t look back. She listened to his footsteps as they thumped down the stairs. The last sound she heard was the shudder of glass in the lobby door.

  Jill walked back into her apartment and dropped onto the sofa. She picked up the bottle of wine and refilled her glass to the brim. She thought about phoning Rimis for a reason she didn’t quite understand, but decided against it. What would he say to her? He had told her William Phillips was bad news from the start, and he had been right. She should have listened to him and left William alone. She emptied her third glass of wine and knew if she didn’t find some balance in her life, she would end up like Rimis.

  It could have been the alcohol or the maudlin state she was in, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about her father. He was the most decent and kind-hearted man she had ever known. Morrissey’s description didn’t match the memory she had of him. Morrisey said her father had been hot-headed, had a quick temper. She remembered his outbursts, but she had been a difficult teenager, hadn’t she?

  She poured herself another glass of wine and knew she needed more than ever to understand what happened four years ago in Lakemba. She staggered to the bookcase and picked up the photo of her parents on their wedding day. They looked so right together, but she knew the timing had always been wrong for the Brennans.