Silvia Vasquez relaxed visibly. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘That’s a while ago now, isn’t it... Yes, I thought when I saw her photo on the TV, that I’d seen her here. But it seems I was wrong.’
‘Well, I wonder if you could go back over what you told the police then? You met the woman you thought was Rita Gonzalo somewhere here?’
‘Just in the lift. I got in and she was already there. I saw that she was from my country... the Philippines, you know.’
Cass nodded.
‘She was very nicely dressed. I thought she was a guest. It was in the evening, so I just said something about hoping she enjoyed her evening, something like that... what I would say to a guest.
‘She looked at me then, a funny look, because she realised who I was, that I worked here, and in that moment I understood. That she was, you know, a sex worker. In my country a lot of women, well they have to do that, there’s no other way for them to live.’
Cass nodded again. ‘What happened then?’
‘Really nothing happened. We were already at the ground floor and we both got out and went our own ways.’
‘And you didn’t see her again?’
‘Yes, I did. Two more times. The first, she was at the end of a corridor, maybe two weeks later, on the fourth floor. She was quite far away but I thought it was the same woman. The second time, she was in the foyer, just going out. At first I thought she was with a man who was near her, but then she left the hotel alone. I saw then it was the same woman.’
‘But when you were shown photos you couldn’t pick her out?’
‘No. None of them looked quite like her. I haven’t thought about it for a long time. But after I looked at the photos, I felt that they were different, none of the women had a lot of makeup on but the woman I saw did. And she did look like the woman in the photo on the TV, but that photo wasn’t in the ones they showed me.
‘And that policeman told me it wasn’t really important, anyway. Maybe she was here, maybe not. It wasn’t going to help them find the man who killed her. I felt stupid after I talked to the police,’ Silvia said. ‘I was sorry I ever said anything about it to my manager. But once I did that, he was very keen for me to tell them, so I agreed.’
‘And you were sure then that the woman you saw was Rita Gonzalo?’ Cass asked.
Silvia Vasquez considered this for a while. Then she said: ‘I was very sure at the time, but now I don’t know. At the time there was a lot of attention on the murder—it was horrible, and I was very upset that this had happened to a woman from my own country. So maybe that had an effect on me.
‘I understand that,’ Cass said. ‘One thing, can you remember what the woman was wearing any of the times you saw her?’
‘Yes. In the lift. I remember she was wearing a yellow skirt and jacket. The skirt was very short. And high heels. Black patent leather. She was very nicely dressed. Very smart. Very expensive. That’s why I noticed her.’
‘Ah!’ said Cass, trying not to sound as interested in this as she felt. ‘And—the time you thought there was a man with her: do you remember at all what that man looked like?’
There was a moment’s pause, then Silvia Vasquez shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I can’t remember that at all.’
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Cass said. She handed the woman a card. ‘If you do think of anything else, feel free to give me a call.’
On her way out, Cass dropped into the manager’s office. ‘Thank you for arranging that,’ she said. ‘It was helpful. And can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Was there CCTV in the hotel in 2009?’
‘In 2009? Yes, around the entrance and portico, and all the side and back entrances.’
‘Not in the lifts or the foyer?’
‘No, not in the lifts even now, although we’ve had it in the corridors and foyer since 2010.’
‘Okay, thanks again.’
***
Back at Sheridan Street, Cass got herself another coffee and sat down at her desk to type up her notes. First, she texted Zak: missing you too ++++ all my love C xxxooo. She emailed Drew, who would be working tomorrow. Spent all day on Rita, no joy yet. Then she typed a short report of her day’s activities.
It seemed very likely that it was Rita who Silvia Vasquez had seen in the hotel, and possibly on the same night that Ruth Davies had seen her wearing the yellow suit, but that this sighting didn’t lead anywhere. It was not certain that the man who Silvia reported seeing had actually been with Rita, and if he had, there was no way now of knowing who he was.
There was nothing in all she’d seen and heard today to link Rita’s murder to Dorentina and Marcellina Lavides, apart from all three being sex workers from the same part of the world. By far the most likely explanation for Rita’s murder was a client who Rita knew since she’d let him in, who probably hadn’t called first. As the Brisbane team had already concluded. Because he hadn’t needed to? Because he knew she would let him in? A client who, if he had left any traces of DNA behind him, wasn’t in any of their databases.
Or a client who had only ever met Rita outside the unit? Then he should be in Rita’s phone log, and it seemed he hadn’t been. Perhaps, though, Ruth Davies was right, and there had been another mobile, a black one that wasn’t in Rita’s name? Maybe given to her by the mysterious client, who murdered her then took the phone away with him? Along with every other trace of himself.
These speculations, Cass realised, had probably already been carefully explored by the Brisbane homicide team, who’d found as she had, that they led only to yet another dead end. Like everything else about Rita.
And Dorrie? Dorrie’s death, it was now clear, was not suspicious. There was no evidence that anyone except Dorrie herself was involved in the abortion. As sex workers, she and her cousin were doing nothing illegal. If they were working for a syndicate, well that would be a job for the Taskforce. And as for Maria Ramos and the other women, Leslie was almost certainly right—they were probably all happily somewhere interstate.
She decided to call Marcie again. Just to see how she was. She knew that a hospital social worker had been arranged to help her with organising a funeral, but she felt sorry for the girl.
After three rings voicemail switched on. Marcie was probably right now with a client. ‘Hello, this is Shari! Just leave your number and I’ll be right back to help you. Bye!’
Cass hung up then dialled the number again and listened to the voice. She couldn’t be sure that was actually Marcie’s voice. However, she decided to leave her own message: ‘This is Cass, Detective Diamond, calling Marcellina Lavides. Just calling to see you’re okay. If we can help you with anything, please get in touch.’
She sat for a moment thinking about the call. Had Marcie changed her work name? Or had someone changed it for her? Was the owner of the voice, in fact, Marcie?
Well, Leslie planned to hand the whole business over to the Prostitution Taskforce. Cass would let them know what she and Drew had done, and they could take it from there.
It was time to go home for the day. She shut down her laptop and headed for the door. Just then her desk phone rang.
‘Detective? This is Ruth Davies. I spoke to Maureen, my neighbour. She’s very sure the red car she saw at Rita’s unit was a Mercedes. A red Mercedes. She thinks it was a station wagon.’
‘A Mercedes. Well, thank you very much, Ruth. I’ll look into it.’
Cass sat down again at her desk. So, there was a red Mercedes leaving Marcie’s unit yesterday, and there might have been a red Mercedes somewhere near Rita Gonzalo’s unit in 2009. Joe Migliori’s Merc didn’t come off the production line until 2010, so while he may have been driving it away from the Mooroobool unit yesterday, he certainly wasn’t parking it anywhere in 2009. Whether Mr Lovell had departed this life prior to the murder of Rita Gonzalo should be easy to discover.
That left Mr McFadden of Teak Solutions. Assuming that the supposed red Merc of four years ago actuall
y belonged to someone from Cairns.
Well, that was a job for tomorrow. Right now, Cass was going home.
14
Cairns
Saturday 25th August 2013
The morning was warm and lazy. Scarlett sprawled on Emily’s bed while Emily lolled at her desk. Meredith was out shopping, Blake was in his study with the door closed, and Emily’s brother Finn was away at university in Brisbane. Nevertheless, they spoke in hushed voices.
‘I just can’t believe it, Red! She’s so phoney. What does he see in her?’
‘I know! And the bitch keeps coming here and drinking with your mum! I guess she only does the driving with you, so she can get into the house.’
‘That’s okay, I don’t want her to like me.’
‘What if your mum had found it? Doesn’t she look in his study?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think she’d do it when I’m in the house, anyway. And he shredded it straightaway. I guess maybe Karen texted him and said she’d left something for him in his desk. Probably she’s done it before. And looking at Meredith’s underwear. Maybe to see if hers is sexier? It really makes me sick. ‘
‘So—are you going to tell your mum?’
‘I’m still thinking about it. There are four options,’ Emily said.
‘Four?’ asked Scarlett. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. One: I do nothing. Wait for it to play out.’
‘You can’t do that,’ said Scarlett. ‘You’ll go nuts waiting for something to happen, I know you!’
‘Yeah, okay, not an option. Number two, then: I confront Karen. Tell her to get out of my family’s life.’
‘Well,’ said Scarlett, ‘you don’t know how your dad feels about it all. It might be serious, horrible though that might seem to us. You know my dad married a woman half my mum’s age.’ When Scarlett was seven her father had left his family for his children’s babysitter, and now lived in Western Australia with her. He paid Scarlett’s school fees and read her school reports, but that was the extent of her contact with him.
‘Yeah, right. Shit, she might turn into my stepmother. The evil witch! Like Cinderella! And so, the same thing applies to option three, which is telling Dad I know about it.’
‘And the final option is telling Meredith,’ finished Scarlett. ‘Which, since she’s your mother and she’s been upset about him having an affair, seems like a bloody good idea!’
‘Yeah,’ said Emily, ‘you’ve got it. But I think I’ll wait till Monday. Doing it over the weekend while they’re both here: the whole place will go right off the Richter scale. On Monday she can think about it at work, talk to Faith at the office before she comes home and jumps into the deep end.’
Emily stood up and went across to her mirror. She took the band from her ponytail and began to brush out her thick auburn hair. Still brushing, she sat on the bed where Scarlett was lying. She put the brush down then slowly leant forward until her lips touched Scarlett’s.
For a long moment they shared the kiss. Emily’s right hand strayed to Scarlett’s jeans.
Shaking her head but smiling, Scarlett gave Emily a little push, wriggled free, and sat up.
‘No, Em,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet! I’m not ready. And not here, with your dad down the hall.’
‘When, then?’
‘It’ll happen. Just give me some time. Maybe we should get some of the homework done, if we’re going for a ride this afternoon.’
***
After a phone call to Teak Solutions, Cass and Drew drove south along the highway towards Edmonton. Cass had already checked through their databases to see if McFadden had any kind of record. A few traffic fines was all.
All along the road new housing developments were interspersed with old sugar farms. The pale purple fronds of the cane, two metres high, shimmered in the morning breeze. In the distance was the smoke from the chimneystack of the Gordonvale sugar mill, as it chomped great mouthfuls of cane and spat out molasses.
Halfway along the road to Gordonvale, not far from the turn-off to the Gillies Highway, they saw a sign pointing to Teak Solutions.
Cass parked the unmarked car at the rear of the building. No red Mercedes was visible, although in the space marked ‘Director’ was a black Toyota four-wheel drive.
Teak Solutions was both a shop and warehouse and, as promised, there were many exotic creations to admire. Cass stopped for a moment to take in several pieces she wouldn’t mind for her own rather sparsely furnished unit.
‘I might come back sometime as a customer,’ she told Drew.
‘You fancy Thai baroque then?’ he asked. She giggled.
‘We’re here to see Mr McFadden,’ she told the young Asian woman at reception. They were ushered into an office behind the shop, appropriately furnished with elegant timber desks and chairs. Martin McFadden was a large man in his early sixties, smoothly shaven, with silvery hair drawn into a central pouffe and held there with plenty of product. His most prominent feature was his eyebrows, trimmed back like an ixora hedge and almost meeting above his nose. He studied Cass’s ID, looked mildly perplexed, and asked: ‘How can I help you, Detective Diamond?’
‘Mr McFadden, I’ve been asked to revisit one of our unsolved cases. The death of Rita Gonzalo in 2009, in fact.’ There was no trace of emotion on McFadden’s features as he heard the name.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I remember the case.’
‘Rita Gonzalo was murdered in a unit in Richard Street in Mooroobool,’ Cass continued. ‘The reason we’re here is that we have new information about a car being seen in Richard Street around about the time Rita Gonzalo died. The car in question is a red Mercedes station wagon. I understand you currently own a red Mercedes station wagon and that you did so in 2009, too.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘Your wife is Tina McFadden?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you both use the car?’
‘Ah, yes, we do.’
‘Would you or your wife have had any reason to be in the region of Richard Street Mooroobool around August 2009? Did you or your wife know Rita Gonzalo?’
‘No, we didn’t know her,’ replied McFadden. Then he added: ‘My wife is from the Philippines and she’s part of a group of women who help other women from the Philippines when they have problems here—it’s charity work. We were asked about the car at the time of that terrible murder. I certainly remember it, and Tina explained that she had gone to the house sometime afterwards with some of the other women to help the young woman’s mother. To collect some clothes or something similar. I don’t recall the exact details now, but you could ask Tina.’
‘Ah! I see. So, you were never near there yourself with the car around that time?’
‘I can’t think that I was near there. It’s a while ago now, though. I mostly use my Toyota, which I’ve had for the past five years. Do you have the rego number of the car that was seen? It might not have been ours.’
‘No, we don’t. But there aren’t many red Mercedes station wagons in Cairns,’ Cass said.
‘That’s true,’ McFadden agreed.
‘Mr McFadden, can I also ask if you were in Mooroobool just this last Thursday evening?’ Drew sprang the question.
McFadden looked genuinely perplexed.
‘On Thursday, just past? No, I was here at work. Then,’ he thought for a moment, ‘in the CBD, at dinner with friends in the Casino. And then I went home with my wife.’
‘In your Toyota?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could we speak to your wife?’ Cass asked.
‘Um... yes... yes, of course. I can give you our home number. We live in Bayview.’
‘Thank you, Mr McFadden. Sorry to have troubled you.’
McFadden took a business card from his desk and scribbled the number on the back. As she stood up to leave Cass saw a number of coloured brochures on the desk. These featured the exotic imports. They also featured the photo of McFadden and his wife that Cass had seen on the website. It struc
k Cass that having a good quality photo of McFadden could be useful. And she could come back some weekend soon to look at the exotic imports. She picked up one of the brochures.
McFadden made no move to stand up for their departure. Drew opened the door for Cass and they stood for a moment outside, waiting as the receptionist approached from the other end of the corridor. Cass was just able to hear McFadden say on the phone: ‘There are police coming to see you about Rita, again. Two boongs.’ Cass raised her eyebrows at Drew who had also clearly heard him.
***
‘So, what do you think of the white fella?’ asked Drew, as they turned out of the car park.
‘Apart from him being a racist pig?’ Cass answered.
‘Yeah, well, I’m staying calm on that, like my Fijian grandma taught me to. All these white guys, the ones who go for Asian women, even marry them, the ones who call the mobile phones, take the cheap Tiger trips to Thailand and the Philippines, they’re all racist to the bootstraps. You know that.’
‘Yeah,’ said Cass. ‘The double whammy. Racist misogynists. So, McFadden himself? Most of the time he was ice-cold, but plausible. Until the final remarks—he couldn’t get onto his wife fast enough to warn her. I vote we visit her. I’ll call her right now. If we go now, she’ll have less time to prepare herself, if there’s anything to prepare. Of course, we’ve nothing on them at all. He might be telling the truth, he really didn’t know Rita, and I guess his mobile number wasn’t on Troy’s list or he would have been screened when all the others were. His name doesn’t appear anywhere in the file.’
‘Can we ask the wife if she was at the Mooroobool unit on Thursday?’ Drew wondered. ‘If it was him and she doesn’t know that, we might cause some marital disharmony...’
‘Yeah,’ said Cass. ‘I was thinking just that myself. Neither sighting of the car, if it’s the same car, is suspicious and he’d certainly have grounds to complain if we insinuated that he was visiting a sex worker—or planning to—and he could show that he was nowhere near the place. Let’s just ask around the Rita case, and then I’ll think of some other question to ask her. If she seems really jumpy then we can bring up Mooroobool.’
Blood Sisters Page 13
