After this, Conti had gone back to Manly, where she’d put in an application to transfer to the Homicide Squad. She was still at Manly. When Troy had called her yesterday and told her about the interview, he’d refused to tell her its purpose. This was improper and deeply irritating to Conti, but she was here anyway.
‘What I did,’ he said to Carter and the lawyer, ‘was get all the staff except Herron together and give them a little speech. Said I was going to interview each of them about their memory of the night in question. We were also seizing the computer used for the volunteer rosters, which showed Dr Carter there from six to nine that night. We’d be examining it to see if that record had been altered since. Finally, I handed out photocopies of the relevant section of the Act, showing the penalties for hindering police.’
‘Fascinating,’ said the lawyer. ‘So someone made a mistake—’
‘To cut a long story short,’ Troy said, glancing at Conti, ‘we can now prove Dr Carter left the clinic at eight o’clock, not nine as the computer record indicated. Ms Herron has been charged with perverting the course of justice.’
Conti was looking at him now, but showed no emotion.
The lawyer said, ‘What’s this all about? Carl Burns killed Mark Pearson because he’d become suspicious about the murders. That was in the papers.’
Carter cleared his throat, waved a lazy hand. ‘Roz lied to protect me,’ he said. ‘In fact, I did finish at eight, but then I went home to sleep. I was alone. That meant I had no alibi, and I was afraid you’d fit me up, because of the trouble I caused when Dirk died. I had an anonymous call back then, from someone who said he was a detective, saying they’d get me one day. So I asked Roz to cover for me.’
Good story, Troy thought. But he’d always figured Carter for a good story.
‘You knew Ms Herron would do anything for you.’
‘Yes. I know what I did was wrong. I’m very sorry.’ Carter glanced at the camera, contrite.
‘So you didn’t go to Circular Quay that night?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t catch a ferry?’
‘No.’
‘When is the last time you caught a ferry?’
Carter shrugged. ‘Maybe a year ago.’
‘Ian Carter,’ Troy said slowly, ‘you are under arrest for the murder of Mark Pearson. I must warn you that you are not obliged to say or do anything, as anything you do say or do will be taken down and may later be used in evidence. Do you understand that?’
It was the first time he’d charged someone with murder, and it felt good.
‘No,’ said Carter. He was angry, looked as if he didn’t understand anything at all. The lawyer began to complain, and it took a while to sort everything out and get them outside.
When Carter had been taken off to the charge room and the others were in the corridor, the solicitor turned to Troy.
‘This is crazy,’ she said. ‘You’re saying Ian’s a serial killer?’
‘My guess is he genuinely didn’t know why those people died.’ The latest estimate for the number of Burns and Cornish’s victims at St Thomas’ was five. ‘But we’re not charging him over them.’
‘You’ve got zip. Dr Carter is a hugely respected figure in the Sydney medical community. He won the University Medal, he’s about to go to Johns Hopkins to pioneer this new system that could revolutionise hospital management.’
Or not, Troy thought.
Conti was looking at him as though she thought the lawyer had a point.
‘There might be something else,’ he said. ‘We obtained all the tickets captured by the machines at wharf three at the Quay on the night in question. We’re fingerprinting them.’
Conti half opened her mouth and then closed it. Troy realised he was looking at her lips and turned away.
‘All of them?’ said the lawyer.
‘There’s over five thousand.’ He nodded. ‘Big job.’
Her surprise was evident immediately, painful. A woman that thin, Troy thought, doesn’t have the flesh to hide much.
‘You’re printing all of them?’ she said again.
Often a lawyer guessed their client was guilty, even though they couldn’t know it, not officially. But this one seemed genuinely thrown. Troy figured Carter had fooled her too. He was a very good liar, and this made Troy feel better about everything that had happened.
‘I might go see if my client wants to do another interview,’ she said.
‘Your decision.’
He watched as she clattered away on her high heels.
Conti grinned. ‘You’ve got a sense of humour, haven’t you? It’s not obvious, but it’s there.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Where did this all come from?’
Troy began to walk with her towards the front of the station.
‘Just before he shot himself, Burns told me he didn’t kill Pearson. It got me thinking.’
‘About how he could have planted the pethidine in Pearson’s bathroom?’
‘That and other things. But I didn’t get anywhere, so I stopped. Then we found Valdez, there’s no question he was a thousand kilo- metres away when Mark Pearson died. Then I had this strange call from David Saunders.’ He described the last bit of it to her and she smiled.
‘How is David?’
‘Still a CFO.’ He went on with the tale: ‘Carter probably didn’t know patients were being murdered, but I bet he knew they were dying too often. If that had come out, BRISTOL would have been blamed, which would have been the end of Saunders’ patronage. He would have made sure Carter never got to America. And Carter wanted that really badly, as much as it’s possible for anyone to want anything. So his future depended on keeping the deaths quiet. And then Pearson became interested in them.’
‘Carter said he suggested Pearson get the stats.’
‘I don’t believe him.’
They’d reached the front door.
Conti said, ‘You’ve found his ticket, haven’t you?’
‘I told his lawyer we were looking.’
‘Please! Good prints?’
He smiled. ‘Right hand, thumb and second finger.’
She thought about this and grinned.
‘But you wanted to have him on tape, denying he was there.’
Troy nodded.
‘Get him in front of a jury, it’s going to be a struggle,’ he said. ‘He’ll admit he was on the ferry after all, say they had an argument, Pearson tripped and fell over. They’ll discount Austin’s statement, maybe even get it excluded.’
‘But show a trail of lies, the jury might think twice.’
Troy nodded, looked at the DVD in his hand. ‘So we made a movie.’
She was smiling now, so much it exposed her, reached into every part of himself. She was a woman who admired success, a lot.
‘I wish . . .’ she said.
He remembered the letter Peters had given him, the response to Conti’s application for a transfer. Pulling out the envelope, he gave it to her. Wondered if a kiss on the cheek would be a good idea, thought probably not.
Kissed her anyway, said, ‘Welcome to Homicide.’
Acknowledgements
I owe a great debt to Michele Simpson and her tremendous hospital experience, feeling for drama, and generosity of spirit. This book is the love child of Michele’s stories and an essay by Philip Jenkins on serial killers and health care facilities. Sasha Shearman provided crucial ideas and advice. Thanks also to: Rosemary Caruana, Margaret Connolly, Tim Glover, Douglas Revette, Alex Snellgrove, Denis Tracey, Darryl Tuck, Peter Walsh, Jeanette Williams, Exit International, and the staff of the Sacred Heart Palliative Care Service.
I’m usually accurate in my description of Sydney, but not always. For plot purpos
es I created a big skyscraper in The Tower, the first Nicholas Troy novel, and here I have built a small bus stop for the same reason. St Thomas’ Hospital has been erected to avoid the risk of legal action had I chosen a non-fictional institution, although I have placed it on a site where a real hospital once existed—my daughter Isabel was born there. Local readers will be aware an action on the suspension bridge at Northbridge described in the final chapter could not happen now. The book was finished just before the anti-suicide fences were put up.
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