by Bob Goodwin
Simon slid the newly installed bolt to open, then uncoupled the chain lock, and finally opened the door.
‘Good evening, Inspector. I wondered when you’d be paying me a visit. Care for a game of cards?’ Stacey couldn’t help himself. Cochran’s presence just seemed to bring out the worst of his sarcastic predisposition. ‘Do come in.’ Simon caught sight of Cathy Johnson. She was standing on the steps, a few paces behind Cochran. ‘Oh, I see you’ve brought your girlfriend. It promises to be a good night for everyone then, doesn’t it?’
‘Heaven forbid!’ said Johnson automatically. Bright-pink colouring immediately warmed her face. She could feel her ears almost glowing. The inspector’s head turned slowly to look at her. He pursed his lips and breathed heavily through his nostrils, but said nothing.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Cathy. She felt she should say more, but decided one foot at a time was probably enough.
‘Come on in,’ said Simon. ‘Make yourself at home. Have a seat.’ The two entered the lounge and sat on the red vinyl divan. ‘Anyone for coffee? Or perhaps you’d like something stronger?’
‘Nice of you to offer, Stacey. No thanks,’ Cochran replied politely. ‘I’d like to get to the point straight away. To be quite frank, you’re in serious shit.’
‘Really? Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘Where were you between midnight Tuesday and 4.00 a.m. Wednesday morning?’
‘I was at Duncan’s place. We had a card night on. I thought you knew that already. Tell me, Inspector, was Teddy murdered?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It was reported in the paper that he died from alcohol poisoning. It stated there was an empty bottle of scotch next to his body. Teddy was never a big scotch drinker. Maybe once or twice a year. Was he murdered? He was a friend of mine. I think I deserve an answer.’
‘Yes, he was, and not a pretty sight, either. And whoever did it was either very clever or very stupid. Anyone with half a brain could have worked out he was murdered. It’s all very mysterious, and we know that everyone except you left at eleven. When did you leave?’
‘About two I think. I’m not really sure.’
‘What if I told you that your friend Teddy died at one thirty?’
‘Then I left at one,’ replied Simon promptly.
‘Jesus, Stacey! I’ll have you on a charge if you don’t give some straight answers!’ shouted Cochran, as he jumped to his feet. Cathy Johnson sat in quiet amazement at Stacey’s defiant arrogance.
‘Look, I don’t know what time I left.’ Simon was up from his chair and pacing back and forth. ‘I’d had a few drinks. But I do know that Teddy Duncan was very much alive when I did. Dead people don’t throw rocks at your car when you drive away.’
‘Go on.’
‘We had an argument. The other boys had just left. We sat and had a couple of beers, then Teddy spent some time showing his photographs. It was his hobby, and mine, so I was quite interested. He had some rather nice shots, too. When I suggested I should go home, Ted said he’d like a few more hands of poker. I wasn’t keen, but Teddy was getting a little irritable, which was a little unusual. He was usually a pleasant drunk. Anyway, I decided to go along with him. It was silly of me, I suppose, because he was in no frame of mind to win, and losing would only make him worse. I decided it would be easiest for both of us if I beat him convincingly and quickly.’
‘Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Always be sure of your opposition. Know them better than they know themselves.’
‘Yeah, okay, poker genius. What happened next?’
‘I cleaned him out in just a few more hands. Then off he goes to get even more money. I told him we have rules with friends — only a limited amount. It’s all supposed to be friendly and fun. But he comes back with this wad of cash. I got up and walked out. That’s when he crash tackled me in the driveway. So, I pretended I would play some more. I sat back at the table and when he went to get us both another drink I bolted. The last I see of him is in my rear-view mirror, shouting and throwing rocks at my car. And that’s the story.’
‘Hmmm, was there a phone call during the evening?’ asked Cochran
‘You’ve done your homework! Nice one. Yes, there was a call.’
‘Well, what was it about? Who was it?’
‘It was Charlie Madden, my club manager. He said he had a brain wave for enlarging the night club area at Bodytone. He’s like that when he gets an idea in his head. Anytime of the day or night.’
‘You don’t have one of those new mobile phone gadgets, do you?’
‘At around three grand each! That’s a joke, right?’ said Simon. ‘No, I don’t have the need for one. He called me on Teddy’s home phone.’
‘How did he know where you were?’
‘Didn’t ask him. He probably rang my place first. He’s a resourceful character. Anyway, he would know all my regular contacts. Very thoughtful and persistent, that’s why I like him. That’s why I hired him.’
‘He’s probably a cunning bastard like you, no doubt,’ said Cochran without sounding too objectionable. ‘You never returned to Duncan’s house later that morning?’
‘No, I did not. I did not kill my friend, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Stacey, do you own a firearm?’
‘I did own a single-barrel shotgun. You probably found it in the ashes of my house. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Cochran.’ Simon couldn’t sit still. He found himself standing up and pacing nervously for the third time since the police had arrived. The bent metal framed dining chair rocked back and forth every time he stood. He remembered Charlie Madden once again, and how his behaviour had caused him irritation back at the club. Now he was doing the same. It felt strange. Disguising anxiety, even fear, had never been difficult before. Perhaps events were taking their toll. Pictures of the sinister swimming pool filled his mind. Being drawn in. No strength to fight or resist. A filthy pit of despair that would control him forever.
‘Where is Adrian Devlin?’ asked Cathy Johnson. Her soft voice was a pleasant change to the harshness of her colleague. Simon fixed his attention on her voice as he dragged himself back to the present. He locked his eyes onto the delightful policewoman.
‘Inspector, it was rather remiss of you not to introduce me to your charming companion.’
‘Simon Stacey, meet Constable Cathy Johnson. Now answer the bloody question, formalities are over.’
‘Cathy, I don’t know where Adrian is. He was at the poker night. He left early, and I haven’t seen him since. I suspect he’s out with a girl called Angela, getting his bones jumped.’ Stacey maintained eye contact with Johnson and settled himself back into his rickety chair.
‘Angela?’
‘She’s a part-time personal trainer at Bodytone. Angela Philpot.’
‘Thank you, Mr Stacey,’ continued Cathy most politely. ‘I realise it may be difficult for you, but I do need to ask you some rather sensitive but very important questions about your wife.’
‘Please go ahead, Cathy,’ said Simon, trying to sound equally polite. John Cochran raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.
‘Did you have any reason to suspect that she may have been having an affair?’
‘Alison and I were very happy. I’m sure she wasn’t seeing anyone else. I’m sure I would have known. I guess that’s a typical response of most men about their wives, isn’t it? But I’m positive it’s a correct one. Do you have a husband, Cathy?’ At the mention of Alison’s name, that sickening knot in his chest returned. He needed to focus on something else to maintain control. The young policewoman seemed fair game.
‘Was Alison expecting any visitors on the night she died?’ The inquiry went unanswered. Simon thought for a moment that he could detect a slight quiver in her voice. He decided there would be two possible reasons for this. Either she was inexperienced in her work and a little tentative and apprehensive, or there was an interesting connection developing betwee
n the two of them. He opted for the latter. It certainly was the most preferable distraction and the easiest to work with. Somehow, though, it also seemed wrong, but he pursued it regardless.
‘No. No visitors, Cathy. At least not when I left for Teddy’s place. How is it for women in the force these days?’
‘What about enemies, Mr Stacey? Johnson ignored his remark.
‘Enemies? Sure, I’ve stepped on a few toes over the years,’ admitted Simon. ‘A few rough and tumble card games here and there, but nothing to deserve such retribution.’ He focused back on the constable. ‘I’m sure with your good looks and such wonderful charm you could handle most of the lads back there at the station.’
‘One more thing, Mr Stacey. Can you tell me where you went to when you left Edward Duncan’s house? I believe it was nearly five in the morning before you were sighted at the scene of the fire.’
‘Feel free to call me Simon, Miss Johnson. It is Miss, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is Miss, Mr Stacey. And let’s be quite clear. You have no chance of manipulating your way into either my head or my vagina. Now, do I need to repeat the question?’ Cathy remained softly spoken, with an obvious forced smile.
‘You have no need to repeat anything.’ Simon immediately felt somewhat deflated and subdued. Yet another blunder. Another symptom of his inevitable slide towards personal incompetence. ‘I didn’t go anywhere in particular, just drove around. I had a few things to think over.’ Stacey realised he had said the wrong thing. Johnson had thrown him off guard.
‘What things?’ asked Cochran. Simon stalled. He had no immediate reply. He sat and shrugged his shoulders. He was annoyed at his floundering behaviour. Screaming and shouting somehow seemed the appropriate thing to be doing. Totally out of character; but then so was everything else he seemed to be doing at present. Restraint was fortunately exercised and the outburst was internalised to a mental barrage of self-abuse.
‘What things did you have to think over? I want an answer, damn it!’
‘Nothing important. Nothing that concerns your investigations.’ Simon was disappointed at his answer. There was no way Cochran was going to let it rest at that.
‘I’ll be the judge of that. Now what unimportant things kept you out driving half the night, instead of going home to your loving wife?’ demanded Cochran.
‘I have nothing further to say. I wish to speak to my lawyer, and I want you to leave now.’ Despite his floundering efforts, Simon was clear on a couple of points. There was no way he was about to confess to shooting some guy in the head. And he was not about to give them any more reasons to think he was in some way responsible for the arson and death of his own family. Sooner or later they may well find the gun and the jerry can, and then his life would be over.
‘Stacey, let’s sort this out right now!’ shouted the inspector. ‘You got something to hide?’
‘I have nothing further to say. I wish to speak to my lawyer, and I want you to leave now.’
‘Did anyone see you out driving? Did you stop anywhere?’ asked Cathy.
‘I have nothing further to say. I wish —’
‘C’mon, Johnson, it’s the broken record routine. The shop’s closed. Let’s go.’ Cochran walked to the front door. Cathy quickly followed suit. ‘We’ll be back, Stacey, tonight, with a warrant to turn this place inside out.’ Cochran slammed the door closed. The vibration was too much for the outside light, which promptly extinguished itself.
Walking towards his car, Cochran glanced around the street. The vehicle he was looking for was parked in the shadows, on the opposite side of the road to his own.
‘It’s Dempsey and Hogan. About bloody time, too!’ grunted Cochran. He crossed the quiet street, with Cathy Johnson hot on his heels. ‘Where the hell have you two been? You should have been here before me!’
‘We stopped off on the way to buy something to eat, sir,’ explained Dempsey, while trying to swallow a mouthful of hot chips and sauce.
‘Did you, Dempsey? Well I’m not impressed, not impressed at all. In fact, I’m bloody angry. Would you care to appease my anger, Dempsey?’ asked Cochran, leaning through the open car window.
‘Certainly, sir. If I can,’ said Dempsey tentatively, rather unsure of what was to follow.
‘Thank you very much, Detective,’ said Cochran, taking hold of the packet of chips, which was still three-quarters full. ‘Now, you two, I’ve told Stacey I’m coming back tonight with a search warrant. It just might be enough to provoke him into doing something stupid, so be alert.’
‘Are you really getting a warrant, sir?’ asked Dempsey.
‘What do you think? Of course I am, you goose! That is, after I get something substantial to eat. Thanks again for the chips.’ Cochran left the two men to their task and proceeded to his own vehicle. ‘Back to the car, Johnson. Mind out for the curbing this time, won’t you?’
* * *
Simon watched through the bedroom window as Cochran drove away. Overall, he considered the police had been rather slow in getting their act together. He lifted a recording device to his mouth and once more started pacing.
‘Adrian, where the hell are you? If you’re out screwing Angela I hope the wait was worth it. You need to be careful, her phone number has somehow ended up on a list of people I don’t trust. I have to tell you that I’m in trouble, really big trouble.’ Simon pressed the pause button on the handheld recorder. There was much to say, but words needed to be selected carefully. Deep in thought, he continued his slow walk back and forth.
Headlights from a car turning into the driveway caught his attention. The light beamed through the thin curtains and moved across the wall of the darkened room. He moved back to the window. The car looked like the yellow Holden Commodore from flat four. As the vehicle entered the driveway the headlights illuminated the outlines of two persons sitting in a parked car underneath the broken street light. He wasn’t sure how long Cochran might be, or who else may decide to pay him a visit. He knew he had to hurry. He released the pause button.
‘It’s Thursday night. Good old Inspector Cochran seems to be gathering a case against me. If you read tomorrow’s paper you’ll see why. Yes, he suspects me of being involved in the murder of my own family. Teddy Duncan is dead. Murdered. Once again, I seem to be prime suspect. In fact, I think I’m the only suspect. It might seem hard to believe, but I think Alison was being pursued by those bastards from that so-called sex club from years ago. And I don’t even think she was aware of it. That seems to be the cause of all this bloody horrible mess. Apart from me, others might be in danger. Who exactly, I am not sure. You need to be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Angela included. I have a plan, both to buy myself some time, and hopefully to find some answers...’
* * *
Richard Dempsey looked over at his partner. Gerry Hogan had just demolished another slice of pizza. There were two pieces left.
‘Gerry, how about sharing that pizza with your mate?’
‘Get out! This is my dinner. It’s not my fault you gave yours away to guts-ache,’ snapped Hogan.
‘I didn’t give it away. It was stolen!’
‘Stolen, eh! Better report it to the cops then.’ The penultimate piece of supreme was beginning to disappear.
‘Listen, I did you a big favour. If I hadn’t insisted on driving, it would have been a case of stolen pizza, not chips,’ Dempsey retorted.
‘You know, that’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day. But, I’m a reasonable man. How about you go for first walk, and take this last slice with you to keep you warm?’
‘Why the hell not?’ Richard Dempsey wasted no time in getting his hands on the lukewarm food. ‘I’m off then. I’ll be round the back of the flats. See you in a while.’ Hogan’s mouth was too full to respond verbally, so he raised his hand in an affirmative salute.
The two men had time to exchange positions four times before Cochran and Johnson returned with the warrant. The inspector wasted little time in leaving his vehicle an
d checking with Hogan on developments during his absence. John Cochran was rarely in a hurry. But when the situation required more immediate action, he was equal to the task. During his police career, he had seen numerous examples of faulty judgements, made under pressure. The teenage girl perched precariously on the Story Bridge railing was a tragic case in point. He had been talking to her for twenty minutes, she was just beginning to reconsider her options, when an overzealous patrol car came hurtling across the bridge, siren blaring. As it screeched to a halt with doors opening, the young lady lunged forward and ended her life on the rocky escarpment below.
‘Hogan, how long have his lights been off?’ asked Cochran.
‘Five minutes after you left, sir.’
‘And you haven’t heard a sound since?’
‘No, sir, but he’s definitely in there,’ replied Hogan, nodding his head, trying to reassure the inspector.
‘I’m sure he is, but what the hell is he up to? C’mon, there’s no time to waste. I have the warrant. Let’s go.’ A hint of urgency had crept into Cochran’s voice.
* * *
Simon’s eyes opened. He had trouble focusing. The spinning room prompted memories of the octopus ride at the Brisbane Ekka, which, despite Alison’s reassurance, made him sick time and time again. But this was worse. It was like there was a drive belt attached to his brain, spinning it around inside his skull. He was lying on the divan near the door. He could hear voices, and felt a sense of impending doom. Got to get out, got to get out, danger, he thought. The door seemed light-years away rather than just two metres. He attempted to stand, but somehow found himself lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, but the merry-go-round continued. His limbs felt like jelly. Edging across the floor, he felt for the door, then stretched and stood as he reached for the doorknob. As part of his earlier plan he had deliberately left the door unlocked. With the support of the windowsill and the doorknob, he managed to achieve a near standing position. The latch turned with the weight of his hand. Suddenly the door swung open, depriving Simon of one of his major means of support. With one hand still on the windowsill, he took one step forward. His knees began to buckle. He swung around the doorframe. Everything went black as he plunged headlong down the stairs.
