On The Job

by Sandi Wallace

  ‘What doting mum would leave her seven-year-old son without explanation or goodbye?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Reeve stopped pacing to pick up Sturt’s photograph of the young family. She mumbled, ‘Heidi’s the spitting image of her mum.’

  She looked shocked when Sturt lost it and thumped the desk.

  ‘Hell, I hate these cases, Jude. Adults can make their own beds. But kids…it’s so bloody wrong. What could Heidi have done to deserve this? Or the baby? Assuming Jennifer is pregnant. Jesus, I should’ve been a bloody teacher like my dad wanted!’

  Reeve slowly pulled her eyes away from her boss and stared at the photograph again.

  Sturt wondered if Reeve’s mind played the same trick that hers did. Their jobs hinged on violent death but cases like this were her worst nightmare. They got right under her skin. When she’d looked at that photo, after a few moments she hadn’t seen the little Heidi Denton as pictured – a round-faced imp with messy brown hair, huge liquid-chocolate eyes, cheeky grin. Instead, the image transformed into the child with torn clothes, bruised and bloody, dead.

  Reeve finally asked, ‘Really, boss? Reckon you had a choice?’

  Her smoky-grey eyes widened, but her tone said everything. Reeve had always planned to be a detective and once she’d achieved CIU status, she’d raised the stakes. She’d made an appointment to see Sturt, sat where she was today and announced she’d wait as long as necessary to achieve a post in the Homicide Squad. Four years later, she’d knocked back a promotion to Sergeant but gotten her wish.

  Truth be told, Sturt herself had been known to say she couldn’t imagine doing anything else, despite the brutality and bureaucracy. So she replied, ‘Hell no. My grandpa was a cop; my dad wanted me to teach. Trouble was I spent all my energy “solving” whatever hit the news… Tell you what, though, a couple of years in the job cured my idealism about making a difference. We don’t make a bloody difference. We just improve the commissioner’s clearance rates.’

  ‘Bit cynical, isn’t it?’

  Sturt shook her head, then admitted, ‘Yes and no.’ She didn’t elaborate. They both knew her cynicism stemmed from the irreversible violence they dealt with, day-in-day-out. They couldn’t bring back the dead. On the flipside, she liked to think they made a difference to the victims’ loved ones and just maybe protected the wider community by putting away brutal perps.

  Reeve backtracked. ‘So, do we believe Denton – that Jennifer’s pregnant?’

  ‘There’s usually some truth in every lie. If it’s early days, it’d explain why she hadn’t seen her obstetrician.’

  ‘But wouldn’t Denton have sought help if she was close to a nervous breakdown?’

  ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you?’

  With that, Sturt turned her attention to updates from her other crews and Reeve arranged an interview with Jennifer’s son, Shawn, and parents. They would come in together, as Geoff and Margaret Locke had been caring for their grandson since late-May. Reeve then worked the phones, verifying information supplied by Missing Persons, until they arrived.

  To make the process less intimidating for the child and grandparents, they gathered in Sturt’s office and both detectives wore shirts without their suit jackets. While Reeve offered Shawn jelly beans from a jar on the desk, Sturt observed the boy. He bore an even stronger resemblance to his father than photos revealed.

  As Shawn sorted his lollies into coloured groups, he relaxed into the sofa where he perched between his grandparents. Conversely, the Lockes grew more restless, obviously fearful of the worst from the summons to the St Kilda Road Police Complex.

  Sturt lifted her palms, aiming to reassure them. ‘Senior Sergeant Connolly has asked for fresh eyes on the disappearance of your daughter and granddaughter. We often combine resources on Missing Persons investigations, so please don’t read anything sinister into my unit’s involvement.’

  Reeve would have explained all that on the phone, yet Geoff Locke’s forehead smoothed fractionally. The inspector then asked the older couple to help her build a picture of the family.

  The Lockes constructed an image of the perfect nuclear family: a wife and homemaker, two delightful children, a husband who was a good provider, respected by his parents-in-law. They said the family lived in its own home in one of Melbourne’s growth suburbs. Despite the hefty mortgage for the purchase and renovations, they managed on Denton’s sole wage, as he and Jennifer valued stay-at-home parenting.

  ‘And that’s why we don’t believe for a minute that Jen forgot our lunch plans for the sixteenth of May.’ Margaret tugged a hankie out from her sleeve. She worried the lacy edges until Sturt thought she’d shred the fabric onto the floor.

  Little Shawn picked up the tension from his grandmother. He swung his legs, banging his shoes against the sofa. The grandfather put his arm around the boy.

  The detectives didn’t push to fill the gap and eventually Margaret spoke again. ‘Our daughter has good old-fashioned values. She’d never leave her husband and son voluntarily, even more so if she’s expecting again.’

  Sturt saw the older couple’s distress notch up. Fortunately, Shawn had tuned out and wandered over to her bookshelf.

  She leaned close, her gaze pinned on Jennifer’s parents, but Reeve beat her to it, gently asking, ‘You were surprised to hear she’s pregnant?’

  Geoff made a whistling gasp. ‘Stunned.’ He sounded pained. ‘We were first to know when our Jen fell with Shawn and Heidi.’

  Then, while the little tacker was engrossed in a bunch of photos, Sturt asked the vital question. ‘What are your feelings as to Jennifer and Heidi’s whereabouts?’

  ‘Stranger,’ Margaret answered immediately. ‘A stranger took them.’ She gestured to her grandson and halted, but the terror in her and her husband’s eyes spoke volumes. They believed their daughter and granddaughter were dead.

  They took a coffee break, Reeve popping out for a banana milkshake for the little boy, and subsequently the Lockes were more composed.

  On Sturt’s nod, Reeve chatted with Shawn about his family. He painted a similar picture of a tight-knit, happy household.

  ‘You’re doing a top job there, little man.’ Sturt offered the boy another dip into the lolly jar.

  Then Shawn gave them the first break in the case. ‘Daddy was really mad at Mummy before she went away.’

  Sturt’s pulse tap-danced. Finally, they had something greater than instinct, alongside his inconsistent stories, that indicated Martin Denton was behind the disappearances. But when they probed his statement, the boy became tearful.

  His grandmother hugged him, begging, ‘Tell the police ladies whatever you can remember that might help them find Mummy and Heidi, sweetie.’

  He nodded more gravely than any seven-year-old should. ‘Mummy’s friend Danny had been to our place and Daddy didn’t like it.’

  ‘Danny?’

  ‘He means Daniel Burns,’ Margaret explained. ‘He and Jen dated as teenagers and they’re still very close.’

  Geoff interrupted. ‘There’s no hanky-panky between them, mark my words.’

  Reeve sussed out Shawn’s impressions, while Sturt considered the information objectively. The boy described a platonic relationship. But the lead provided a motive for Denton—whether or not his powerful jealousy was justified—and it further involved Burns as a witness or suspect.

  After the family departed, Reeve gathered information on Daniel Burns, while Sturt worked through tedious budget reports until interrupted by a call from Connolly.

  ‘We’ve got something from hubby’s appeal.’

  He sounded excited. And as he clearly referred to an appeal Denton made for the return of his wife and daughter, Sturt demanded, ‘What something?’

  ‘A Tamara Schmidt called Crime Stoppers. She’s a family counsellor that Jennifer’s been seeing.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, all this is off the record, but Jennifer’s been troubled by a clandestine affair she’s been conducting for
the past year or so.’

  Sturt whistled. ‘How troubled?’

  ‘Pretty damn worried, especially because her baby is lover boy’s.’

  Eyebrows hiked, Sturt asked, ‘Does Schmidt know the lover’s name?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. Although she did add that Jennifer said her boyfriend wouldn’t be happy about the pregnancy and she didn’t know what to do. Apparently, an abortion wasn’t an option, but living with hubby while carrying another man’s child didn’t sit with her either.’

  An adrenaline rush replaced Sturt’s deep-set fatigue. Schmidt’s statement strengthened motives for Denton and Burns. Equally, it gave some credence to the further possibility that Jennifer had absconded. Still pondering, she described the interview with the Lockes and Shawn to Connolly, then summoned Reeve.

  The younger detective had discovered noteworthy information, too. Burns had form for his involvement in a student protest back in ’91, various minor traffic infringements and an altercation with a man in a nightclub two years ago. Burns was no ‘Chopper’ Read but he had a history of low-level violence, coupled with reason to be angry: his girlfriend’s unwanted pregnancy…if he was Jennifer’s lover.

  Senior Sergeant Dinkerton entered Sturt’s office. As the three conferred on another case, Sturt’s mobile phone rang out, then Reeve’s. The latter call transferred to message bank before the impromptu meeting concluded.

  Reeve checked her new message. She stared at the small screen for so long, that Sturt wondered if she’d received bad news.

  Eventually, Reeve turned to her and said, ‘Ring Baz. He’s tried texting and ringing you. You’re in the shit.’

  Sturt slapped her forehead. She’d forgotten to return her hubby’s calls.

  ‘Meanwhile, I’m getting Denton’s phone records.’ A smile spread over Reeve’s face. ‘We need to take another look. I think we’ve got him!’

  Recalling the man at the last appeal—his appearance just too immaculate, his tone and brown-eyed gaze just too earnest, everything about him just a fraction too doleful and charismatic to be true—Sturt’s heart beat out of rhythm.

  Minutes later, they spread the telephone records across Sturt’s desk and studied the landline and mobile phone traffic for the weeks around Jennifer’s disappearance.

  ‘Right, frequent quick calls from the landline to Denton’s mobile and some from his mobile to her mobile, as well as the landline. It’s almost as though she had to check in at certain times of the day.’

  Sturt shook her head, impressed by Reeve’s jump from Baz’s missed calls to Jennifer’s patterned behaviour.

  ‘But there’s no traffic between the landline or Denton’s phone and Jennifer’s mobile after 13 May, the day that Shelley Simpson reportedly saw Jennifer and Heidi…because Denton knew it was pointless calling his wife after he’d killed her. If he really thought she was missing—for whatever reason—he would’ve constantly tried to contact her.’ Reeve waved her hand. ‘Look at good old Baz. Your hubby wants to speak with you, but you don’t answer your phone. So he has to send me an SMS, to put a bomb under you to call him back. The point is: he keeps trying.’ She hesitated and chewed her bottom lip, her thinking habit. ‘But why do you reckon Denton killed his wife and daughter, but not their son?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who knows how these scumbags think, Jude. Boy-child, he’s more like his dad than his mum, whereas Heidi’s the opposite. Maybe Denton’s suspicious as to whether she’s his.’ Sturt tapped her blunt fingernails on the desk. ‘Let’s get him and Burns in.’

  Reeve’s answer was lost in a massive yawn. Sturt could’ve counted all her fillings, not that she had many.

  ‘Organise it for tomorrow. Get Burns here first thing and Denton around lunchtime, if you can. Connolly will want to sit in on the interview with Denton, if not both.’

  Reeve nodded and moved to make the calls.

  ‘When you’ve done that, Jude, go home and rest. Do not pass go.’

  ‘And you,’ Reeve pointed, ‘go kiss and make up with Baz.’

  Sturt saluted and followed orders.

  Midway through the next day they faced Martin Denton across a plain square table. They had dealt with Burns earlier and what he’d told them made Sturt carefully blank her expression. Connolly entered the stark chamber last, activated the illuminable ‘Interview in progress’ panel and slammed the soundproof door. He stood behind Denton.

  Sturt pinned their suspect with her eyes. He smoothed the lapels on his jacket, then gave her a smile. So out of place that it made her gut knot.

  After Reeve addressed the formalities for the recording, Connolly launched their strategic attack. ‘Lost a bit of weight, Martin.’

  The man turned to the Missing Persons officer behind him.

  Reeve said, ‘It must be hard all on your own. It’s been nine weeks now. How are you coping?’

  She sounded concerned but again Denton didn’t answer. He shot a nervous glance at his solicitor.

  Sturt’s voice made the suspect turn to her. ‘Miss them, do you, Mr Denton?’

  He cleared his throat and admitted missing his wife and daughter.

  Sturt dropped the faux sympathy. ‘Regret it, Denton?’

  ‘Regret what?’ he replied in falsetto.

  ‘Well,’ Connolly said, causing the man to spin around again. ‘How about the emotional abuse of your wife for the past eight years?’

  Burns had supplied that gem to them a few hours earlier.

  Reeve added, ‘Or the murder of your daughter? Assuming that Heidi was your child. Of course, Jennifer’s unborn baby wasn’t.’

  The left nostril of Denton’s solicitor twitched. He cautioned his client.

  ‘Perhaps the only thing you regret is letting your wife take up with her old flame.’ Reeve leaned forward and adopted a conspiratorial tone. ‘Danny Burns is quite a honey, actually. Gorgeous eyes. You know, they’re similar to Heidi’s in colour.’

  Red discs burned on Denton’s cheeks.

  Sturt said, ‘Very smart withdrawing the cash from the ATM using Jennifer’s card, by the way. If you’d ticked just one more box, you might’ve got away with it. The thing you forgot was the phone calls.’

  Denton stretched his neck forward in unspoken query.

  ‘You forgot to fake telephone calls between you and Jennifer. In all those nine weeks that your wife’s been missing, you’ve not left one message on her mobile. Yet, you were distraught. You implored her abductors to release her. Then, you begged her to come home, after spinning the story that she’d had a nervous breakdown and run away. Come on, mate, you used to touch base at least five times a day.’ Reeve’s tone was caustic. ‘And you haven’t tried to call her once since she disappeared.’

  Denton’s solicitor rose and gathered his gear.

  ‘Sit down,’ Reeve snapped. ‘Your client’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘Not until we’ve charged him with the murder of his wife and three-year-old daughter.’ Connolly’s stress upon Heidi’s age highlighted the heinous breach of the duty of care by father to daughter.

  Denton covered his face with shaky hands. His solicitor’s deadpan expression slipped for a second as he returned to his seat.

  The three detectives pummelled Denton without pausing.

  ‘When did you learn of your wife’s affair with Daniel Burns?’

  ‘When did you discover your wife was carrying his child?’

  ‘When did you start to question if Heidi was your daughter?’

  ‘I put it to you, sir,’ this came from Sturt, ‘that you murdered Jennifer and Heidi Denton on or about 13 May this year. I further put it to you that you caused the termination of Jennifer Denton’s pregnancy during this act. Do you understand, sir, that this, too, is a crime?’

  A sob escaped from Denton. His hands still hid his face.

  ‘Mr Denton,’ Reeve said. ‘Detective Inspector Sturt asked if you understand what you have done.’

  Denton mumbled incoherently.

  �
�Speak up for the recording, sir.’

  The solicitor laid a hand on his client’s shoulder and murmured into his ear. Denton uncovered his face and placed his palms on the table. He shrugged off his counsel and looked directly at Reeve.

  ‘Gone,’ he said. ‘My little problems are all gone now.’

  The hairs on Sturt’s forearms prickled.

  ‘Gone away.’

  After ninety seconds of silence, Connolly spoke. ‘Where have they gone?’

  Another sixty seconds elapsed.

  Reeve asked, ‘Did you kill Jennifer and Heidi?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Denton replied. He sounded happy. ‘It was easy. You see, they were all asleep. I hit Jennifer with Shawn’s cricket bat, across the back of her head. She made a kind of uwfugh noise but it wasn’t very loud. I only had to hit her a couple more times,’ he pointed to his temples and the base of his skull, ‘then it was all over.’

  ‘What did you do then, Mr Denton?’

  ‘Went to sleep,’ was his matter-of-fact reply.

  Hell. He slept with the body of his wife nearby – though surely not in the same bed. Sturt made a note to follow up that detail later.

  Reeve must’ve thought likewise, as she pushed the chronology along. ‘What did you do after you woke up?’

  ‘I gave the children their breakfast and took Shawn to school. The girl grizzled for her mother. So, I took her to Jennifer. The pillow made her quiet.’

  The bastard smothered his little girl. Sturt sensed a change in Reeve’s posture and swivelled her eyes. She realised her junior was peripherally watching her, or more accurately, her hands, which were balled on the tabletop. She dropped them to her lap, still clenched. She’d love to belt the crap out of Denton.

  ‘Did you suffocate Heidi with a pillow?’

  The man’s eyes flicked sideways at his solicitor, then over the faces of the Homicide detectives. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are Jennifer and Heidi now?’