Slaughter Park

by Barry Maitland

  ‘Harry! Where are you, mate?’

  ‘In Sydney, Jack. We need to talk.’

  ‘Sure, sure. Come in and see me. Soon as you like.’

  ‘An hour?

  It takes all of that for the cab to make its way out through heavy traffic to western Sydney, and Anders is waiting on the far side of the barrier in the lobby of the glass tower when he arrives. Harry’s pass doesn’t work and Anders signs him through.

  ‘Coffee, mate?’

  He follows Anders to the kiosk in the waiting area and watches him join a knot of uniforms and office workers at the counter. It’s strange coming back, seeing them as if through a screen. He feels that he’s no longer the person who used to come here every morning.

  Anders returns with two paper cups and they go over to the lifts. Detached, Harry watches Anders press the button for the eighth floor. There are others in the lift and no one speaks.

  When they emerge they walk through the rogues’ gallery lined with old press cuttings and photographs of famous murders from the past and arrive at the main office area of the homicide squad, ranks of deserted desks and computers.

  ‘Everyone’s out?’

  ‘Yeah, busy, busy. Slaughter Park, yeah?’ Anders leads him to one of the meeting rooms. Deb Velasco is there, detective inspector, studying a computer screen. She gets to her feet. ‘Harry. Long time.’

  ‘Hi, Deb. Looking good.’

  She gives him a warm smile, but her eyes are examining him, assessing. ‘Take a seat. What’ve you been up to?’

  He mentions Cairns, the far north, the school.

  ‘Interesting. I’ve never been up there. Did you get hit by that cyclone?’

  ‘It missed us, fortunately. Deb, what’s this about Jenny?’

  They look at each other for a moment, then she nods. ‘We’re going to have to record this, Harry.’ She reaches forward to a console and presses a switch.

  ‘Is she in trouble?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Deb Velasco and Detective Sergeant Jack Anders interviewing Harry Belltree. Harry, when did you last see your wife, Jenny Belltree?’

  No mention of his rank. He has no standing anymore. He lifts his hands, exasperated. ‘The eleventh of December last year, at Westmead Hospital, intensive care.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She was twenty-two weeks pregnant and had Frank Capp’s bullet inside her and the doctors didn’t know if they could save either of them. She told me it was all my fault and she didn’t want to see me again. I complied.’

  ‘Really? You just walked out and haven’t seen her since?’

  ‘Yes.’ He feels that sudden nausea that hits him whenever he thinks of this. When he speaks again he has to clear his throat. ‘I thought she was right—I was responsible for what happened and I believed that they would be much safer without me.’

  Deb nods. ‘Right. I’m sorry. Difficult for you. Did you have any kind of contact with her after that?’

  ‘I got daily reports from her sister Nicole on their progress up until the end of January, when the baby had been safely delivered and they were both well on the way to recovery. Then I decided to leave Sydney. After that I phoned Nicole a couple of times to hear how things were going. I never spoke to Jenny.’

  ‘Tell me again where you were exactly up north.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it, Harry, for the record.’

  He tells her: first Cairns, then up in the Daintree Rainforest. She insists on dates, addresses, employer contact details, and he begins to wonder if he’s infringed the terms of his leave. He asks her, and she shakes her head. ‘No, Harry. Nothing like that. Did you travel further afield while you were up there?’

  ‘Out onto the reef a few times.’

  ‘How about the Northern Territory?’

  ‘Eh? No, nothing like that.’

  ‘You made monthly payments into Jenny’s bank account. Did she ever acknowledge those?’

  Anders lifts an eyebrow and pointedly studies his notebook. Harry stares at Deb and she stares right back. Why is she telling him that they’ve accessed her bank account? Is she trying to warn him or just piss him off?

  ‘No, she didn’t.’

  ‘And when did you return to Sydney?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nicole was worried about Jenny, especially after Jack here called on her and wouldn’t explain why. She hoped I could find out what was going on. So what is going on, Deb?’

  ‘We believe Jenny can help us with our enquiries into the suspicious death of a man at Blackheath in the Blue Mountains on Sunday or Monday of last week.’

  ‘Have you released her name as a person of interest?’

  ‘Not yet. We will if we have to.’

  They’ve got a lead on her, he thinks, and don’t want to spook her. He says, ‘You don’t sound worried about her safety, Deb. How do you know she isn’t a victim too?’

  ‘All the more reason to find her as quickly as possible.’

  ‘She may be dead.’ He hears the crack in his voice and tries to hold himself together. ‘Who’s the victim?’

  ‘A man called Terry Palfreyman. Heard of him?’

  ‘No. Who is he?’

  She turns to the computer and taps the keyboard, then turns the screen towards Harry. ‘This is a picture of him. You sure you don’t know him?’

  He studies the picture, shakes his head. ‘No. And he lived in Blackheath?’

  She doesn’t answer that. Instead she says, ‘So when you were up north, did you go over to Darwin?’

  ‘Darwin? No.’

  ‘It’s not far from Cairns, is it?’

  He laughs. ‘Only two or three thousand kilometres. What are you going on about, Deb?’

  She looks annoyed. ‘Do you know anyone who lives in Darwin?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does Jenny? Think before you answer, Harry.’

  ‘I’ve never heard her mention anyone living up there. Why?’

  She frowns, checks her watch.

  ‘Listen,’ Harry says, ‘I know Jenny better than anyone. If you’ll just give me the whole picture I may be able to make sense of it for you.’

  Neither of them will meet his eyes.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he says, ‘you can’t seriously have Jenny down as a suspect! There’s no way.’

  ‘But she’s done it before, Harry,’ Deb says softly. ‘She killed Frank Capp to save you. Maybe Palfreyman was a threat to her and her baby.’

  ‘In what way?’

  She shrugs.

  ‘Deb, please, let me in. Get me back into homicide and I’ll work with you, I’ll keep nothing back.’

  They look at him as if he’s joking. Deb says, ‘I’m sorry, Harry, that’s impossible. This has been a formal interview. Is there anything else we should know?’

  He sinks back in his chair. ‘No.’

  Deb presses the console switch again and gets to her feet. ‘I’ll see you out, Harry. Thanks, Jack.’

  ‘Sure.’ Anders shakes his hand, looking apologetic, and mutters, ‘Tough, mate. Chin up.’

  Deb is silent as they walk to the lift. It’s empty and she stabs at several floor numbers. The doors close and she says, ‘I’m sorry, Harry, my hands are tied. We’ve been told we can only talk to you as a potential witness.’

  The doors open and close at the next floor.

  Harry says, ‘I’ll speak to Bob Marshall.’

  ‘He isn’t our boss anymore. There’s been a lot of changes since you went away—new state government, two new deputy commissioners, and we have a new head of homicide, Superintendent Blake. You know Dick?’

  Harry shakes his head. Another floor comes and goes as they make their slow descent.

  ‘Bob’s retired?’

  ‘Moved to North Ryde, head of road safety division.’

  ‘Hell.’

  Next stop ground floor. Deb turns to him and says, ‘This is a bad time, Harry. Maybe later, when we’ve got som
e answers, we can talk again, catch up properly, have a drink.’

  The doors open and as he steps out she adds quietly, ‘We have grounds for believing that Jenny’s still alive.’

  The doors close and she is gone.

  8

  Kelly sits at her computer watching the film of the recent NRL annual general meeting. The camera pans across an auditorium filled with shareholders and turns towards the stage on which board members are seated behind a long table. Behind them a large screen glows with the title of the event. Each board member has a microphone, laptop and name plate, and one of their places is empty.

  A portentous voice announces, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the chairman of Nordlund Resources Limited, the Right Honourable Warren Dalkeith AO,’ and there is a solid round of applause as the member sitting next to the central lectern gets to his feet to address the gathering. He is a familiar figure, a former premier of the state of New South Wales, the silver hair and ruddy complexion, the statesmanlike poise modified by a cheeky grin, as if to say we’re all good mates here, out for a day’s sport. He welcomes the shareholders and introduces the people on the stage, apologising for the one missing board member, Amber Nordlund, prevented from attending due to ill health. Then he sets out the order of business and hands over to the company CEO to present the annual report.

  Konrad Nordlund is a very different character. He speaks in a low, emotionless monotone, making no attempt to engage his audience. His manner seems to imply indifference, or even contempt. When he sits down again there is a moment’s silence before uncertain clapping breaks out.

  After the board presentations comes question time and Dalkeith steps up to the lectern again, beaming, inviting the questioners by name, as if he’s back on the floor of parliament at question time sparring with old rivals.

  ‘Mr Palfreyman!’ he calls and the camera swings to the unkempt figure in the audience who gets stiffly to his feet and speaks in a flat north of England accent that sounds out of place in this room.

  ‘I should like to ask the CEO if this company has adopted the iniquitous practice of postponing payment of bills from small suppliers and subcontractors for sixty, ninety, even a hundred and twenty days, which in these times of dropping coal prices and shrinking markets is having the effect of driving many viable small businesses into bankruptcy.’

  Dalkeith turns to Nordlund, who doesn’t bother to get to his feet, but leans forward to his microphone and says flatly, ‘This company follows general industry practice.’

  The camera returns to Palfreyman, who seems on the point of saying more, but then slumps back down onto his seat.

  Kelly pauses the video, looking at the people sitting around Palfreyman. There is a woman, three places along in the row behind, who looks very like Jenny Belltree.

  9

  Harry tries Bob Marshall’s old mobile number, hoping it still works.

  ‘Harry? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Bob. I’m back.’

  ‘About bloody time, mate.’

  ‘Can I see you?’

  ‘Come to my office in an hour. We’ll have a sandwich and a chat. Know where I am?’

  It’s an anonymous office building set back in a compound filled with patrol cars. The officer on the reception desk tells him that Superintendent Marshall is expecting him and gives him a pass and directions to the third floor.

  Harry is shocked by how much older Bob looks, diminished, as if only the uniform is holding him together. ‘Welcome to my domain, son,’ Bob says with a grim smile, gesturing at the large poster on the wall behind his desk: The Five Rules of Road Safety. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Up north, Cape Tribulation.’

  ‘Done you good by the looks of it. Maybe I should try it.’

  ‘Been rough, has it?’

  ‘Oh,’ Bob sighs, waves him to a seat. ‘Politics, you wouldn’t believe. It’s a relief to go out and talk to the school kiddies. But that’s not what you’re here for, is it? Jenny, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Her sister Nicole got a message to me, that Jenny hasn’t been seen since the thirteenth, and the cops—Jack Anders—were looking for her.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Jack?’

  ‘Just came from there. He and Deb interviewed me as a possible witness. They suspect Jenny is involved in the death of a man called Terry Palfreyman in the Blue Mountains.’

  Bob nods. ‘Did they tell you anything else?’

  ‘They asked me some strange questions about Darwin—had I been there, did Jenny know anyone there. Didn’t explain why.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Bob reaches behind him to a platter of sandwiches and puts it on the table between them, peels off the plastic wrap. ‘Have a bite to eat. Beer?’

  Harry looks at him in surprise. Bob had an iron rule about drinking on duty.

  ‘Who gives a fuck.’ Bob reaches into a small refrigerator beneath his desk and brings out two cans. ‘Strike Force Redgum traced a cash withdrawal yesterday from an ATM in central Darwin using Jenny’s credit card. Doesn’t mean Jenny used it of course. They’re waiting for CCTV images.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I may be in the cold outer limits of the galaxy out here, mate, but I still have a few connections to the throbbing heart.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Bob doesn’t reply. He opens his can, then reaches down and slowly selects a sandwich. He says, ‘Had any contact with Jenny in the last nine months, Harry?’

  He shakes his head.

  Bob goes on, ‘Must’ve been bloody hard for her, the operations, the trauma, family torn apart, coping with a frail baby. I was worried, called in to see her a few times. She put on a brave front, like always, but I could see the strain in her eyes, her posture. I was concerned.’ He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. ‘Then all of a sudden she walks out, leaves her baby with her sister and goes off for a weekend in the Blue Mountains—alone, she tells her family. Seems odd, yes?’

  ‘Absolutely. And gets herself mixed up in a murder. It’s crazy, insane…’ Harry stops. ‘No, I don’t mean…’

  ‘Well, that’s one possibility, I suppose, that all that accumulated stress caused her to snap and lash out and kill a complete stranger who maybe made an inappropriate or threatening approach.’

  ‘No, not Jenny. That’s not possible.’

  ‘Nine months is a long time, Harry. A lot can change in a person in that time.’

  ‘Don’t tell me she’d killed once before. Deb gave me that line.’

  ‘She’s thinking what a jury would think. But there are other ways of looking at it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Jenny’s prints and DNA were found all over the victim’s cottage—the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. And on the murder weapon, a carving knife from the kitchen of the house next door, which Jenny had rented for a week. The knife was sticking in his chest, and there were bloody footprints leading from the body to the other house, a pair of Jenny’s bloodied shoes inside. Palfreyman had been drinking a bottle of red wine that was bought on the afternoon of the thirteenth from the local bottle shop by Jenny using her credit card. The girl there remembers quite well, because Jenny was with Palfreyman, who was a regular there—a heavy vodka drinker—and there was something different about him that day. He’d had a haircut and was wearing aftershave, and instead of his usual grumpy monosyllables he was cheerful, even flirtatious—that was the word she used, flirtatious. Want to see?’

  Reluctantly Harry gets up to watch as Bob taps at his computer, opening up the police e@gle.i database and finding the clip from the bottle shop security camera. And there is Jenny, looking smart in a jacket and skirt he hasn’t seen before, being ushered into the store by a rather clumsy older man. The camera shows them examining a rack of red wines from which they select a bottle and go to the counter, where the man—Palfreyman—hails the girl behind the till, then reaches out for another bottle, vodka this t
ime. Harry bites his lip as Palfreyman puts his arm round Jenny’s shoulder as she opens her purse and pays for both. It feels shocking and voyeuristic to be watching this, and he wants to cry out to her, Jenny, turn around, I’m here. As they walk towards the door Palfreyman staggers against the wall and Jenny takes his arm and leads him out.

  ‘A Brokenwood 2013 Nebbiolo,’ Bob says. ‘Forty bucks. Not bad, eh? That was the last sighting of the pair of them. So…’ Bob resumes his seat and selects another sandwich, ‘…what was going on? Have they just met by chance? A casual encounter? There’s another statement from a waitress in a café nearby where they had breakfast together that morning. Again she remarks about how happy and friendly they seemed, a regular couple.

  ‘Or did they know each other from before? Had they perhaps arranged to be staying in neighbouring cottages up there, secluded in the bush on the edge of town, old mates reconnecting? You got any thoughts on that, Harry? Not old schoolfriends—he’s too old for that—but maybe someone she met through her legal work? While you were in the army, perhaps? He did have a record of using lawyers, but I don’t know if they’ve checked if he was ever a client of Jenny’s firm. No doubt they’ll get around to that. So were they lovers? Was it a deadly lovers’ quarrel? They’d certainly been drinking pretty heavily—the pathology results show he had a blood-alcohol reading of point two three when he died, and he hadn’t been drinking alone.’

  Harry wants to tell Bob to shut the fuck up, but of course he can’t. He has to sit and listen as Bob forces him to confront all of the painful possibilities.

  ‘No,’ he says at last. ‘Jenny has better taste than that.’

  Bob chuckles. ‘Point taken. He’s not much of a catch. But maybe he had something else she wanted.’

  ‘And you’re going to tell me what it was.’ Harry drains his can and Bob reaches into his secret refrigerator and pops him another.

  ‘You can find most of it on the web. Born in Pontefract, Yorkshire, England, 1960. Degree in mechanical engineering at Manchester University, worked on the North Sea oil rigs, married Sheila 1987. In 1990 got a job on the Saudi oilfields, then came to Australia in 1993 to work on Bass Strait. In 1995 he moved to the Hunter Valley coalfields and in 1998 set up his own engineering company, Palfreyman Engineering, designing a revolutionary hydraulic stone duster machine for underground mines. In 2000 he went into partnership with Nordlund Resources Limited to produce and market his machine. Four years later the partnership collapsed and entered a protracted period of legal disputes. Palfreyman ran out of money, went bankrupt, wife Sheila divorced him and returned to England, and he was left a bitter and obsessed man. He was arrested in 2009 for setting fire to a Nordlund maintenance depot in the Hunter Valley, and served eighteen months in jail.’