by Chris Taylor
“Are there any cameras in the foyer? Can we see him on the phone?”
“No. There are only two cameras. One gives us vision of the front yard area, out into the street. The other one takes pictures from a closer angle, of people entering and exiting the building. Unfortunately, as soon as they’re inside, we lose them.”
“Dammit,” Lane cursed softly.
“Yeah, but we can verify Franklin’s alibi by speaking with his mom in the first instance and of course, checking her phone records.”
“Do we have her details?”
“Not yet,” Jett replied. “But I’m sure they won’t be hard to track down. I’ll call Franklin again.”
“Stop the camera!” Lane shouted, pointing to the screen.
Jett clicked on the pause button and frowned. “What is it?”
“There,” Lane said, pointing again. “Behind those girls. That’s Roger Barber. I’m sure of it.”
Jett peered closely at the screen and cursed softly under his breath. He hadn’t noticed the girls’ return the first time. He looked at the time displayed on the security footage: one-twenty, and then realized why.
He’d stopped viewing not long after Franklin entered the building. At the time, he’d been focused on the fact Sabrina’s husband had arrived home more than forty-five minutes before he’d said he had. Jett wasn’t expecting the killer to walk in afterwards. After all, Jett had been working on the supposition that Franklin had entered the building and gone immediately to his condominium and shortly after, found his family dead.
Jett stared at the back of a tall, brawny-looking male with closely cropped, light-colored hair. The man wore long dark pants and a dark-colored T-shirt. He appeared to be carrying nothing in his hands.
Lane pulled out his phone and a moment later, shoved it toward Jett. “Here. I just did a search on Roger Barber. You can see him in the front row, here.”
Jett took the phone and looked at the picture on the screen. The rowdy crowd were shouting and held up signs that protested against Islam, terrorism and everything else in between. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the demonstrators stood a tall, fair-haired, heavyset man who bore a striking resemblance to the man in the CCTV footage who entered the Cooks’ building.
“You’re right,” Jett said grimly. “It’s him, all right. Coupled with the fingerprint evidence, it’s time we paid Mr Barber a visit.”
Lane nodded, his face filling with determination. “I already found his details in the system. He lives out at Mount Druitt.”
“We’ll get onto the boys out there. Get them to bring him in. They can call us when they locate him.”
“Good idea,” Lane said, pushing away from Jett’s desk.
“Where did you get that image?” Jett asked, pointing toward Lane’s phone.
“Off a clip on YouTube. It was footage taken by a news crew the morning of the murders. Barber and his buddies were outside the courthouse, expressing their concerns in a rather loud, explicit way. It proved to be a good sound bite. The clip’s had over one hundred thousand views.”
Jett shook his head in disgust. He was all for freedom of speech, but more often than not, it felt like a minority of people expressing minority viewpoints got the most airplay. It annoyed him no end.
“Keep that clip handy. I want to show it to Mr Barber if he decides to play dumb. It provides him with a pretty strong motive. Along with the letter, CCTV footage and fingerprints, he’s going to find it a challenge to prove to us why we shouldn’t arrest him on the spot.”
Lane nodded, his expression grim. “Let’s hope he doesn’t lawyer up.”
Jett shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about it if he refuses to talk, but at least we get to rattle his cage. He’s our best bet yet.”
“How’d things go with the sister?” Lane asked.
Jett’s gut tightened involuntarily at his words. Images of the beautiful Danielle Porter flooded his mind.
“She has an alibi for the time in question and we haven’t seen her leave or enter the building. Unless she got someone else to do her dirty work and so far, I haven’t been able to uncover a motive, it’s my guess she’s not involved.”
Lane nodded, accepting his explanation. “What about the maintenance man? He was seen outside the condominium during the relevant time.”
“Yeah and I finally managed to track him down at his sister’s place. He certainly had opportunity and according to his criminal record, he’s been violent in the past, but as yet, I haven’t found a motive for him, either. I’ve taken his clothes for analysis. We’ll see what they show.”
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic,” Lane drawled.
“Kevin Thompson sounds good in theory, but he comes across as way too sincere.” Jett looked up at Lane and shook his head. “I believe it when he tells me he’s innocent. I don’t think he’s our man.”
“Fair enough,” Lane agreed. “Many would question your gut instinct, but I’m not one of them. I’ve seen it hit the money too many times to discredit it. Call me when you hear back from the Mount Druitt guys.”
“Yeah, I will and thanks,” Jett said to Lane’s departing back. Lane lifted his hand in acknowledgement, but didn’t break stride.
Jett leaned back against his chair with a sigh, but this time, it wasn’t a sigh of defeat. They were making progress. At least, it felt that way.
“Detective Craigdon?”
Jett looked up and nodded in acknowledgement toward the junior officer who approached Jett’s desk.
“Yes?”
“I have the letter from Franklin Cook.” He handed Jett a piece of paper, clearly visible through the plastic evidence bag. Jett took it from him.
“Thanks.” Tugging on a pair of gloves, he pulled the letter out of the bag and scanned the contents.
It had been typed on a computer and was in standard twelve point Times New Roman font. While there was no direct threat against Cook’s family, the letter left the recipient in no doubt that if he didn’t stop acting for Bilal Al-Jabiri, he’d live to regret it.
It must have come from Barber, or at the very least, at his direction. Adrenaline surged through Jett at the thought of confronting the man. Perhaps they’d wrap up the investigation inside a week, after all. The possibility brought with it a smile.
CHAPTER NINE
Jett glared at Roger Barber who was seated beside his lawyer. Barber merely smirked, as if he was well aware of Jett’s irritation. Along with Lane, the four of them sat across from each other in an interview room in the Mount Druitt Police Station.
It had taken the local police a few hours to locate Barber, but finally, the call had come in. Jett and Lane had made the drive out west to the station and were in the process of interviewing the man they’d both begun to suspect had murdered Sabrina Cook and her daughter.
Lane had obtained a copy of the news footage and Jett had watched the entire clip more than four times. Each time, he’d paused on Barber’s angry features and was more and more convinced Barber was their man. That near certainty was the reason why he was so irritated by Barber’s arrogance. If Jett had his way, the prick would shortly be behind bars, facing a string of charges and unlikely to see his family for quite some years.
“What were you doing at the Cook building?” Jett demanded, his voice hard.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barber smirked.
Jett’s blood boiled. It was time to wipe the smirk clean off the asshole’s face. “Wrong answer, Roger. We have your fingerprints right outside the door.”
Barber paled and his cockiness dissolved. A moment later, two spots of angry color appeared on his cheeks. “Bullshit.”
“There’s no bullshit about it, Roger,” Lane said, his tone mild. “Our fingerprint guys are among the best in the world. They identified all five of your fingerprints and a partial print of your palm. Unless you’re going to tell us someone else is walking around with your hand, you’d better ditch the attitude and start
answering our questions.”
Barber shot a quick look at his lawyer, his expression tinged with panic. The lawyer looked at him with a questioning expression on his face.
Jett dragged a laptop toward him and clicked on the CCTV footage he’d loaded onto the device. He turned the screen around so that Barber and his lawyer could see.
“This is security footage taken from outside the Cooks’ building the day of the murders. Here’s you entering the building at one-twenty in the afternoon.” Jett tapped the screen, his eyes narrowed on Barber’s.
Barber’s eyes widened and panic flashed across his face. Once again, he turned to his lawyer.
“And here you are exiting the building, seven minutes later,” Jett added. He glared across at Barber. “Plenty of time to stab a woman and her baby to death.”
The four of them watched as the figure of Barber reappeared on the screen, this time hurrying away from the building. He looked frazzled, glancing more than once over his shoulder. The dark clothing he wore didn’t reveal evidence of any blood spatter in the black-and-white footage, but a routine analysis of his clothes from that day would put the issue to rest.
“I didn’t do it! I swear! I don’t even know the people!” Barber cried, his eyes now full of distress.
“Roger! Don’t say anything,” the lawyer intervened, shooting his client a stern look.
“There’s more, Roger,” Lane drawled, once again maintaining a casual tone. Lane nodded toward Jett.
With a few clicks of the mouse, Jett pulled up the YouTube video Lane had shown him earlier. The clip clearly showed Barber in the front row. His face was a mask of anger as he shouted and incited the crowd. He held up a placard that was succinct and demeaning of the Islamic race.
“Look a little familiar?” Jett growled and Barber’s panic appeared to know no bounds. He stared at the screen and then back to his lawyer, his gaze becoming more and more frantic.
“That’s you, isn’t it, Mr Barber?” Jett asked, his eyes narrowed on the man opposite. “This was taken outside the courthouse where Franklin Cook was inside with his client. Bilal Al-Jabiri. You know that name well. This isn’t the first time you’ve demonstrated against Mr Cook and his client. A few hours later, Mr Cook’s wife and child were dead.” Jett’s voice rose with his anger. “The two of them were brutally murdered. An innocent woman and her baby. Together, they were stabbed a total of forty times. And you’re the one who did it.”
“No!” The word was torn from Barber’s mouth. His skin had gone deathly pale. Sweat popped out on his forehead. His frantic gaze moved between the officers and his lawyer.
“That’s enough, Detectives. Mr Barber will not be saying anything more,” the lawyer stated, pushing himself to his feet.
“In that case,” Jett replied, tugging out his handcuffs, “we’re going to arrest Mr Barber for two counts of murder and that’s just the start of it.”
“No, please! You have to believe me! It wasn’t me!” Barber protested, his eyes now wide with fear.
The lawyer frowned down at his client. “Mr Barber, please. Stop talking.”
“I want to tell them what happened,” Barber pleaded, his gaze filled with desperation. All signs of the arrogant asshole had long since disappeared.
The lawyer looked at Jett. “I’d like a few moments to confer with my client.”
Jett glanced at Lane and then gave the lawyer a brief nod. “Okay, but don’t take too long. We’ll be waiting outside.” Gathering his laptop and notepad, Jett followed Lane out of the room.
“What do you think?” Jett asked as soon as they were outside.
Lane’s lips compressed. He looked thoughtful. “There’s a lot of evidence against Barber and his prints put him at least outside the door. He also has motive. He looked pretty angry outside the courthouse and that footage was taken only hours before. He’d need to have a good explanation and even then, I won’t buy it without absolute proof.”
“You’re talking about his clothing,” Jett guessed.
“Yeah. It was impossible to tell if they were bloodstained, but we can find out easily enough.”
“I’ll make sure I remember to ask for it. Given that we have him on camera, it will be hard for him to hand over anything but what he wore.”
“Unless he just happens to own another pair of dark pants and a dark T-shirt,” Lane replied, his lips twisting into a wry smile.
Jett grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s hope he thinks we’ll be able to tell the difference and comes up with the goods.”
Lane nodded and indicated the door to the interview room. “Shall we?”
Jett smiled, filled with anticipation of what was to come. “I think they’ve had long enough.”
Jett pushed open the door with his shoulder and the two officers regained their seats. Barber stared at the scarred Formica table, his hands twisted in front of him.
“What did you decide?” Jett asked, directing his question to the lawyer.
The lawyer’s expression was stoic. “Against my advice, my client has decided to participate fully in an interview for the record. We’re ready to proceed.”
Jett ignored the shaft of elation that surged through him and concentrated on the matter at hand. Asking the right questions to shore up a confession was one of the most important things to do. Without one, or with one that wouldn’t stand up in court, they were often left scrambling for enough evidence for a conviction. Jett didn’t intend for that to happen. After advising Barber that the interview would be videoed and recording the man’s personal details, Jett took him to the day in question, careful to follow the rulebook every step of the way.
“Mr Barber, tell us about your presence outside the courtroom on the day Sabrina Cook and her baby were murdered.”
In a halting voice, Barber told them how he’d organized a group of likeminded individuals to stage a protest outside the courtroom every time Bilal Al-Jabiri’s case came before the judge. As he talked about the fifteen-year-old Islamic boy, some of his confidence returned. Jett was stunned at the man’s self-righteous and narrow-minded attitude. Roger Barber was a racist and a bigot, but was he a murderer?
Jett kept peppering the man with questions until Barber’s anger rose. It was exactly what Jett intended. Angry men usually spoke without thinking. It was easier to discover the truth that way.
“Mr Barber, why were you at the Cooks’ condominium?” he asked, pitching his voice low and firm.
Barber glanced at his lawyer. The lawyer shook his head. “You know how I feel, Roger. I advised you at the outset not to answer their questions. My advice still stands. It’s not too late to bring this interview to an end. In fact, I strongly advise you to do just that.”
Barber stared at him and shook his head. “No, I want to finish it. Let’s just get it over with.” He turned back to face Jett.
“Okay, I was there. It’s me in that footage. But I only went there to scare her.”
“Why?” Jett asked, his gaze fixed on Barber’s.
“You saw that lawyer on the TV. You heard him defending that piece of shit. The boy was found with explosives, timers and everything else he needed. He was planning to walk into the Penrith Westfield and blow himself and everyone else to pieces. He should be in jail already, not being paraded before us. If it wasn’t for that lawyer, that’s exactly where he’d be.”
“So, you found out where Franklin Cook lived and you decided to pay him a visit,” Jett supplied. “Only, you knew he wouldn’t be home, right? Because it was obvious he was at work. You’d seen him on the steps of the courthouse a few hours earlier.”
“Right. I knew he had a wife and child. I’d seen them in the papers. At some social event. I can’t remember what. I guessed his family might be home, given that it was the middle of the day. I was pretty certain the lawyer wouldn’t be with them. As you said, I figured he’d still be at work.”
“How did you know where he lived?” Lane asked.
“I followed the
prick home one night. I waited for him outside his office. He hopped on the bus, headed for Hunters Hill. I got on behind him and sat a few seats back. He didn’t even notice me. He had his head stuck in the paper the entire way. It was easy enough to get off at his bus stop and follow him to his door.”
“How did you know what floor he lived on?” Jett asked.
“I guessed he’d probably live at the top, but I didn’t know for sure. I waited until he got into the elevator. Lucky for me, he got in alone. He asked me if I was going up, but I told him I was waiting for someone. As the elevator rose, I watched the numbers and saw where it stopped.”
“Didn’t he recognize you?” Lane asked, frowning.
“No, that’s the funny thing. I’ve been in the news almost as much as he has these past weeks. He looked right at me, but I didn’t see any hint of recognition. I’m guessing his head’s so far up his ass, he doesn’t notice anything but him.”
“What happened when you got to the condo?” Jett asked, making a few notes on his pad.
“Lucky for me, his was the only one on that floor. I tried the door, expecting to find it locked, but it wasn’t. That must have been when I leaned against the wall. I opened the door and went inside. Everything was quiet, not even the TV was on. I headed down the corridor, intent on checking rooms. I wasn’t sure exactly what I intended to do, but finding the wife was my first priority.”
The man paused. Jett looked up at him. “Keep going.”
Barber drew in a deep breath and blew out on a heavy sigh. “The first room I came across was the bathroom. The door was open. I could see something red all over the floor. I looked at it and thought it looked like blood, but that didn’t seem right. Why would there be blood all over the floor?
“I walked closer. That’s when I saw the woman. She was in the bath. The water was crimson. She had her throat slit. There was no doubt she was dead.” Barber shuddered at the memory and scrubbed his hands across his face.
