Jade looked away and started brushing her hair again. Gemma, who’d been aware of Maddison moving around in the room behind her, turned at the girl’s voice.
‘I’ve got to go out,’ Maddison said. ‘I can’t stand around here listening to you two all day.’
‘What was the fight with your father about, Jade?’ Gemma repeated. ‘Did you find out that he had another woman?’
‘Stop it!’ cried Jade. ‘He’s dead now! What does it matter?’ She threw the brush to the floor and grabbed a dark blue fabric dilly bag, her body shaking. ‘I don’t have to stay here and answer your questions. And you can tell my bitch mother that I’m never coming back! No way am I going back to that house of lies and deceit! Tell her I hate her! I hate both of them!’
Her face distorted with distress, Jade pushed past Gemma and raced across the living room, past the startled Maddison, to wrench the front door open. ‘I’m glad that he’s dead,’ she cried, ‘and I wish she was too!’ Then she turned and they could hear her racing feet on the stairs.
Gemma took off after her, concerned at the girl’s state. She knew these were the times that people ran under buses or straight into semi-trailers.
Gemma was aware of Maddison’s stilettos clicking down the stairs behind her and Jade’s flying steps echoing further ahead in the stairwell. By the time Gemma reached the ground floor, flung open the entrance doors and looked each way, Jade had vanished.
Damn, Gemma thought. Damn, damn, damn. She hadn’t handled that well at all. A sound behind her and she swung round.
‘Satisfied?’ said Maddison, swinging her leather bag over her shoulder and tossing her hair back. ‘Why can’t people just mind their own business?’
Gemma thought of a couple of smart answers, but decided silence was the better option. She watched while Maddison strutted around the corner, before making her way back to her car.
Gemma sat, staring sightlessly out of the windscreen, recalling Natalie’s distress during their first meeting at the hospital. I have done a terrible, terrible thing, she’d said. Had Jade discovered the terrible thing? Or was the terrible thing the accidental shooting of her own son?
These puzzles went round and round in Gemma’s mind. Her eyes followed a couple of youngsters, arms twined round each other, fluorescent hair and boots; she recognised them as the young lovers Karen Lucky had nicknamed Romeo and Juliet. With a shock, she realised they were probably both younger than Jade. What extremes of despair had driven them to the Cross, she wondered. How had their families failed them? Did their mothers cry for them at night?
Gemma tried to look fifteen years into the future. What if her baby ended up here? It was impossible to think that far ahead, she decided: she still didn’t know if she could keep this baby. Could she properly mother a child and keep it safe on her own?
•
Sitting in the crime manager’s office, Gemma tried to look inconspicuous as people came and went, some giving her a curious glance, others barely noticing her. Finally, Angie arrived and plonked down on a plastic chair beside her.
‘They’re about to start rolling any minute now,’ she said. Gemma glanced up at the monitor. A table, three chairs, a clock and bare walls. The interview with Dan Galleone hadn’t started yet.
‘Who’s doing it?’ Gemma asked.
‘A couple of detectives from homicide,’ said Angie. ‘Don’t know them personally. Want a coffee?’
Gemma’s mobile rang. ‘Natalie,’ she said, snatching it up. ‘I can’t talk to you now. I’ll call you back.’
‘I don’t know why Donny did that,’ Natalie ran on, ignoring Gemma’s words. ‘I’m his mother. I don’t know why he screamed at me like that. It broke my heart. I couldn’t get near him!’
‘I’ll call you, okay? Gotta go.’
‘I was so happy that he’d opened his eyes. Then he screamed at me as if I was some monster. He had to be sedated. I don’t know what to think! The doctors say that he may not have recognised where he was, or even me, and that he was screaming in fright.’ Her voice broke. ‘What will I do if he never comes back? If he never recognises me again?’
‘I’ll call you, Natalie,’ said Gemma firmly, ringing off and focusing all her attention on Dan Galleone, who had just entered the interview room. He was an imposing figure, ramrod straight in his uniform. Greying hair swept back from the temples of an intelligent, guarded face. Lips grown thin with controlling emotions, eyes hard as flint. He gave terse answers. Yes, there had been a dispute ten years ago over a sum of money, he admitted. But that had been settled long ago to everyone’s satisfaction. He carried no grudges. Yes, he agreed, he was facing an internal investigation into a sexual harassment claim, which he rigorously denied and would defend with all possible vigour.
‘He’s not admitting anything,’ said Gemma, just before one of the detectives asked, ‘Superintendent Galleone, where were you on the night of the murders of Superintendent Bryson Finn and his sister-in-law, Bettina Finn?’
‘At home. With my wife.’
‘She’ll confirm this?’
‘She will.’
‘Of course she will,’ Angie said in an aside. ‘That’s what police wives are for.’
‘How would you describe relations between yourself and the late Superintendent Finn?’ the second detective asked, a strand of short hair sticking up on the crown of his head.
Galleone considered. This was a cautious man, Gemma saw. Weighing words carefully, taking his time.
‘I would describe them as professional,’ said Galleone.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that we conducted ourselves in a professional manner at all times.’
‘Even though there’d been this dispute over a large sum of money?’ the first detective said.
‘As I’ve already pointed out,’ said Galleone, with exaggerated politeness, ‘that was ten years ago. We have all moved on since then.’
‘But relations between you two were not cordial.’
‘Are you asking me that as a question, Detective, or making some statement of your own that you believe to be the case?’
‘Relations between you were not the friendly, easygoing matter they had been once. Your two families used to share holiday houses and lottery tickets. My inquiries indicate that this is no longer the case. And hasn’t been the case since the lottery ticket issue.’
‘I believe I’ve satisfied your questions in this regard,’ said Galleone. ‘I can only reiterate what I’ve already told you. That relations between us were professional.’
‘Are you aware that Superintendent Finn was instrumental in bringing the sexual harassment charges that you’re now facing against you?’
‘I’ve heard rumours to that effect. I take little notice of police rumours.’
‘Would you care to read this?’
‘They’ve given him Leanne Morrison’s statement,’ said Angie, squinting at the monitor.
Galleone studied the statement proffered by one of the interviewing detectives.
‘What do you say now, Superintendent?’
‘My position hasn’t changed,’ said Galleone, looking up and handing the statement back. ‘There was no sexual harassment. This allegation is based on lies and misconceptions.’
‘Leaving that aside for the moment, sir, do you have any idea why Superintendent Finn and his sister-in-law might have been murdered?’
‘No idea whatsoever.’
‘Do you have any knowledge of this matter at all?’
‘No. I do not.’
‘This is a waste of time,’ said Gemma. ‘What else were they expecting him to say?’
The interview was in remission. On the monitor, Galleone sat alone now, occasionally drumming his fingers on the table, looking around impatiently.
‘What’s
the Galleone marriage like?’ Gemma asked.
‘As far as anyone knows,’ said Angie, ‘it’s very tight. Susie Galleone is a straight-shooting country girl. They’ve got a couple of grown-up kids, one in the job somewhere in the country. They’ve got a nice little holiday house on the north coast. With retirement coming up in a few years, Dan Galleone is looking forward to a sea-change. Spending more time fishing and whatever else people do on the coast.’
‘So it’s a good marriage?’ Gemma asked.
‘Can’t say that,’ Angie admitted. ‘But it seems very strong on the surface. No one’s got any dirt on them.’
Gemma was interrupted by her mobile phone.
‘Have you found Jade yet?’ Natalie demanded.
‘I have spoken with your daughter,’ Gemma said, taking advantage of the lull in the interview.
‘Where is she? How is she?’
‘She looks well. She’s staying with a friend.’
‘You promised me you’d bring her home!’ said Natalie, her voice shrill. ‘Tell me where she is and I’ll go and pick her up.’
‘Natalie,’ said Gemma. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this. She doesn’t want to come home. She made that much plain.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She sounded very angry, Natalie. Very angry with you. And her father. She says she’s never coming home again.’
Gemma waited, listening to the weeping on the other end of the line.
‘Natalie,’ she said, as gently as she could, ‘something happened that made Jade change. Something concerning both her father and you. You must know something about it.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Natalie cried. ‘How often do I have to tell you that I don’t know! I begged her to tell me what was troubling her! Tell me where she is!’
‘Right this moment,’ Gemma said, ‘I don’t know.’
She terminated the call and brought her attention back to the monitor screen.
‘He’s a consummate interrogatee,’ said Angie, indicating Galleone. ‘He’s not going to give anything away.’
Gemma agreed. ‘I think I’ll leave you to it.’ She picked up her things, preparing to leave.
‘Talked to Darren yet?’ Angie raised a curious eyebrow.
‘Not yet. I’m also keen to talk to Leanne Morrison. See what she can tell us about Bryson Finn. And Galleone. What’s she doing now?’
‘She’s on sick leave,’ said Angie. ‘She’s probably finished as a police officer. And in the meantime, Galleone’s got Buckley’s of getting that promotion.’
Nineteen
On the drive home, Gemma fished out the card Natalie had given her and dialled Darren the escort’s number.
‘Brandon speaking. How may I help you?’
‘I was actually after Darren,’ said Gemma.
‘Darren isn’t here,’ said Brandon. ‘Can I take a message?’
‘Please,’ said Gemma, giving him her number. ‘Tell him I really need to talk to him.’
Back home, Gemma resisted the temptation to make herself a strong coffee and instead settled for a pot of green tea and an apple. There was no sign of Hugo. She pulled out the phone book, searching for Family Planning, squared her shoulders and called.
‘I want to talk to someone,’ she said when a woman answered. ‘I’m nearly three months pregnant and . . . and I’m not sure if I can have this baby. I need to talk to someone . . . about the best thing to do.’
She made an appointment to speak with a counsellor early the next week, noting down the time in her diary. She’d say nothing to anyone about this; she didn’t want to discuss it at all. It was purely her decision now.
Her mobile rang. Angie.
‘The interview with Galleone’s finished; he didn’t come up with anything enlightening. I’m on my way to DAL now to pick up the certificate – and get the names of the police who contaminated my crime scene.’
‘Let me come with you,’ said Gemma, pleased to have a distraction from her personal problems.
Contaminated DNA wasn’t a new problem in forensic laboratories, she reflected, as she and Angie negotiated heavy traffic on the way to Lidcombe. Over the years, other investigations had been compromised by this – the potential for contamination, no matter how fastidious the precautions, was always logically present at both crime scene and laboratory whenever human intervention was necessary. It was just shockingly bad luck that this high-profile double murder had to be one of those unfortunate cases.
An hour later, Angie and Gemma were about to pull into the gates of the Division of Analytical Laboratories.
‘Oh hell,’ said Gemma. ‘I almost forgot.’ She unfastened a side pocket of her briefcase. ‘I’ve been meaning to take a closer look at this. I found it in Jade Finn’s bedroom.’ She pulled out the copy of Police Service Weekly and pointed to the photo of Bryson Finn and the two women officers.
‘Jaki Hunter,’ said Angie, taking it from her.
Gemma snatched the magazine back, frowning. She hadn’t noticed it until now.
‘Angie! Take a look at what she’s wearing round her neck!’
‘A Venetian necklace with a central glass heart. I hope there’s an innocent explanation to this,’ Angie said as they approached the receiving counter, still studying the photograph.
‘I hope so too,’ said Gemma, although thinking of Jaki’s recent behaviour, she wasn’t as certain as she’d like to be.
They both turned away from the magazine, hearing someone approach, and a young woman with an armload of gold bracelets and her hair in tiny tendrils around her forehead smiled at them inquiringly.
‘Is Linda Shipper around?’ Angie asked. ‘She’s expecting me.’
‘Just a moment,’ said the young woman, bracelets jangling as she picked up the phone. ‘I’ll let her know you’re here.’
‘Just remind me,’ Gemma turned to Angie. ‘Unless things have changed dramatically since my day, exhibits are bagged and secured right there and then at the crime scene?’
‘That’s right,’ Angie nodded. ‘And then they’re couriered over to the scientists here’ – she indicated the hidden warren of laboratories beyond the receiving area – ‘where they’re tested and analysed, the certificates and expert reports are compiled, then they’re locked up. The only people who get to touch them are the scientists here and the police who collect them in the first instance. And they’re all gloved and suited up.’
She turned, hearing Linda Shipper, whom Gemma remembered as a senior scientist, approaching. Angie took the woman aside and the two of them vanished down a corridor. Gemma waited near the doors, watching the trees beyond the parking area sway in a slight breeze. Her mobile rang and she went outside to answer it.
‘Mike,’ she said in surprise.
‘Just checking up on you,’ he said. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Right this minute, I’m at DAL at Lidcombe,’ she said. ‘Chasing up some DNA samples.’
‘You’re supposed to be out of the police.’
‘I know, but the police ain’t quite out of me yet, I guess,’ she joked. ‘Born with too much natural curiosity.’ She remembered something. ‘Oh hell,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Mike. I completely forgot to call and thank you for those delicious biscuits, and the cake. I’ve had a lot on lately.’
Mike brushed her apologies aside. ‘Do you feel like a movie or something?’ he asked. ‘Get you out of the house?’
‘Are you asking me on a date?’ she said, surprised.
‘Me? Now why would I do something like that?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, calling off.
It would be nice to go to the movies with him, Gemma thought. Take her mind off her troubles. She explored her feelings about Mike: the memory of her sometime attraction to him ha
d been completely overwritten by the events of the last few days. And when she thought of the scene she’d created in the front seat of Mike’s car not so long ago, she still winced.
She turned to see Angie heading her way, face tight and closed.
As they walked to the car, Gemma asked, ‘Well? Who was it? Who stuffed up your crime scene?’
‘It’s Jaki. Jaki Hunter.’
‘But that’s not possible!’ Gemma said. ‘She wasn’t even there! Someone must have put the shells in a container with other things – things Jaki had touched. It’s not Jaki’s fault.’
Angie stopped striding. ‘Gemma, I was there when Sean collected the cartridges. I saw him put them in sterile containers. There wasn’t anything else in them. Then they came straight over here. Still all sealed up for the analysts.’
Gemma was silent for a moment. ‘Then somehow,’ she suggested, ‘Jaki must have touched them before she brought the ballistics report to us in your office.’
‘Jaki wouldn’t have done any ballistics investigation on the cartridges until well after the swabs were taken and the cartridges sent back to her section.’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Gemma said finally. ‘Jaki must have handled them at some stage. But when?’ She looked hard at Angie. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘What I always do,’ said Angie. ‘My job.’
Angie unlocked her car and slid inside, leaning over to open the passenger door. ‘It gets worse. You know that damaged glass heart you found in the picnic grounds at the end of the bush track from Findlay Finn’s place? Jaki Hunter is all over that too.’
Gemma gasped. ‘This is going to be a blow to her. She’s just got her certificate too. She’s already in a bad way. The cat –’
‘I want her in a bad way. Telling me everything. I want to know about that Venetian glass heart she was wearing in the photograph. I want to know how she came by it. There are a hell of a lot of things I want to know.’
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