by Chris Krupa
‘No.’
‘Have you reported the incident to the police?’
‘No.’
‘Are you injured anywhere else?’
‘My right shoulder. I was hit with a baseball bat.’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Okay, sShirt off, please. We’ll take a look at your arm.’
‘It’s both arms, actually.’
The blood on my shirt had dried, and it took some effort to get the shirt over my head. My right upper bicep and shoulder had swollen considerably, and turned a darker shade of purple. My left already showed signs of bruising.
‘That doesn’t look very good, does it? We’ll X-ray both arms and check for any fractures. In the meantime, hold this ice pack over your nose to reduce the swelling, and we need to keep your head elevated, okay?’
I nodded.
She cleaned my face with a small bottle of cold, distilled water and a cloth, then applied a square piece of gauze over my nose, and taped it to my cheeks on either side.
She left me alone for a moment, and I took the opportunity to ruminate on recent events. I thought about what the silent man said at the warehouse: ‘Same as Mooregold.’ Did that mean they’d cornered Mooregold, the private investigator Carmine hired prior to me, and beat him up as well? It confirmed a direct line between them, Carmine, and the case.
The nurse reappeared and showed me into another room. They took X-rays of both arms and showed me to another small office.
A middle-aged Indian man in blue scrubs walked in, and stuck the X-rays up against a light box.
No matter how many times I saw it, the human skull always fascinated me. I stared at the black holes where my eyes were.
‘My name is Doctor Sood. Have you been in an altercation tonight, sir?’
‘A very one-sided altercation.’
He clicked his tongue like an annoyed aunt. ‘You have a nasal fracture. You can see here the bony part of your nose has been broken. It’s not a complicated fracture, which is good news. You won’t need any surgery. It should heal naturally over the next four to six weeks. Good news also with your arm, both arms I should say. They have some bruising but nothing is broken. Rub some liniment or oil to help with the bruising. Can you tell me what happened tonight?’
‘I’m a private investigator, doc. It’s a work hazard.’
He nodded as if to say, ‘There are better ways to resolve things than with violence,’ and checked under my jaw. ‘You are mixing with not very nice people, hm?’
I grunted consent. ‘My cousin was killed last week.’
He released my jaw and tilted his head. ‘My sincerest condolences. Do you mind if I ask his name?’
‘Not at all. Robert Demich.’
He clicked his tongue again. ‘It is always very sad when someone is murdered, but I do remember your cousin.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Oh yes. Yes, I remember Robert. He came here many times. Many times. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead.’
His comments intrigued me. ‘No, that’s okay. We weren’t close, but I’m aware of his character. From all accounts, he seemed to be a volatile individual not likely to make friends.’
‘Robert was always here, in and out, in and out. Fights, assaults. You understand that I do not ask too many questions. I treat the patient, patch them up, and send them on their way. If it’s something serious, we call the police, of course.’
‘Ever had to do that when Robert was here?’
‘Thankfully, no.’
‘Can I ask if you ever saw Rob’s brother, George? He’s the younger brother, early twenties, quiet?’
He tutted. ‘I have heard only from third parties. I have never met him, but I do know that George would go with Rob and do stupid things. I’m sorry. There is much bad blood in this town. Demich hurt a lot of people.’
‘I pegged George to be the harmless type.’
‘You tell me, would a harmless person steal cars and motorbikes? Would a harmless person assault an innocent child on the beach? I have not seen things personally, but my colleagues have seen many injuries perpetuated by George Demich and his brother.’
‘Would I be able to get the name of this colleague you refer to?’
‘You must understand, we as practitioners cannot reveal personal information about our patients. If I was to ask my colleague to provide this information, it is to remain strictly confidential.’
‘I understand. I might just ask some questions of him, or her?’
‘Her name is Doctor Alison Ashbury.’
He gave me the number and I created a memo on my phone.
‘I’ll give you these codeine pills for the pain. Do not take ibuprofen or aspirin, okay? Did you drive here tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t take them now, as they can make you drowsy. Here is some gauze, tape, and an antibiotic ointment to use when you need to change the dressing, preferably every twenty-four hours to stave off infection. Then rest up. Go home, shower, and clean up. And no more fighting.’
‘I’m a walking representation of the moral ambiguities of my job.’
‘Hm, that’s an interesting expression. Who said that?’
‘I did.’ I laughed.
Doctor Sood didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he made another condemnatory sound, and strode out of the office, no doubt tending to things far more important.
I drove back to the hotel at old lady-like speeds, my arming feeling twice the size it normally did. Once back in the comfort of my room, I peeled off my shirt, threw it in the corner of the bathroom, and took a good look at my face in the mirror. Heavy bruising had spread around my nose and at the edges of the dressing. It had swollen over the bridge and felt extremely tender to the touch. I also had two black eyes forming, which was normal when dealing with a broken nose.
I downed the pills the doctor gave me with two swigs of wine straight from the bottle, despite his orders, took a shower, then went online and transferred forty dollars to Alice’s account for her EBay purchase. As I lay there, entertaining ideas on what I’d do to the fat-arsed fuckwit who’d mangled my face and threatened my daughter, the throbbing finally eased, and I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
Chapter 13
A headache woke me up. My entire face throbbed, and my forehead felt as if it had shrunk an inch in diameter. I sat up, but immediately lay back down as sharp stabbing pains drilled into my forehead and white dots danced before my eyes. When the pain finally subsided, I managed to get up and dig out two painkillers from my bag. I washed them down with some water from the bathroom tap, and cringed at the water’s metallic, earthy quality. In the dawn light, I stared at my bruised face in the mirror. My eyes were engorged, and the bandage plastered across my face screamed, ‘I’m into domestic violence.’
My last meeting with Amanda at her workplace had been perfunctory, at best. She knew more than she’d let on. So I took two bottles of water from the fridge, made my way down to the ute, and slowly and carefully drove a kilometre southwest to the address on Henry Street that George had given me.
Her home sat amongst a small housing commission area, where all the dwellings were unkempt, single-storey, fibro affairs from the 1950s, with plastic trikes, soccer balls, and various other detritus littering the front lawns. I found Amanda’s house, noting a Ford ute in the driveway. I went around the block and parked at a spot five houses away. It offered a good vantage point, so I got comfortable and waited.
I sipped the water over two hours, until finally the Ford backed out of the driveway.
I followed.
The ute turned onto the Princes Highway and headed north. I made sure to stay at least three cars behind. Tailing a car is hard. It takes a robust driver to study a car while anticipating traffic lights and avoiding sporadic drivers.
We drove through Nowra, and the ute pulled off the highway into a sweeping side street. I followed it into a car park for the Shoalhaven Entertainment Centre, where it parked at the far en
d, and made sure to park three rows back.
I watched as Amanda emerged from the car. She wore a pink sloppy joe, faded skin-tight jeans, and thongs—hardly appropriate for the sophisticated offices of Nicholson & Law. She crossed to a shaded area, and Michael Le Mat appeared from another car dressed in a black Adidas tracksuit. They hugged and then kissed passionately.
I witnessed a none-too-subtle exchange of items and snapped some photos as quick as my phone would let me. I assumed this must be an early morning kick-starter before she clocked on.
They kissed again, then Michael ambled out of the car park as Amanda shuffled back to her car.
I got out and hustled towards her, aiming to head her off, and called out her name.
Upon spotting me, she quickened her pace.
I ran to intercept her, held up my phone, and showed her one of the photos I’d just taken. ‘You’re going to answer some questions, or I’ll report you for supplying methamphetamine to the Shoalhaven LAC.’
She crossed her arms and looked me up and down. Yesterday, she appeared relatively okay, young and, if not vibrant, somewhat healthy. Today, her face showed lines around the mouth and eyes, and her skin appeared pale, almost transparent. Clearly, the drugs were taking their toll.
To break the stalemate, I decided to take a punt. ‘I’m sure the police would be very interested in that meth lab on Henry Street.’
She baulked. ‘How the fuck do you know where I live?’
So much for airs and graces. Meet the real Amanda in all her glory.
‘I can’t share my sources, just as I won’t share what you tell me today. Look, I’m not here to bust you or bring the cops down on you. Not today.’
She scoffed and kept her eyes on mine.
‘I want to talk to you about Rob. Okay? Just five minutes.’
‘What are you, a fucking idiot? I told you I don’t know a fucking thing.’
‘Was it a deal gone wrong? Was it retribution? Did he rip someone off?’
She took out a packet of cigarettes and pulled one out, then dug into her other pocket and withdrew a lighter. In one swift motion, she’d lit it, taken two rapid puffs, and shunted the lighter back into her pocket.
I would have been impressed by the manoeuvre if I didn’t detest cigarettes.
‘You want to know who was hassling him?’ she said. ‘You want to fucking know who the real cunts around here are? It’s not the fucking Vietnamese or the fucking Lebanese or the fucking Chinese. It’s the fucking cops.’
The last bastion of blame for the criminally minded... always blame the cops.
She took two more quick puffs and hissed the smoke out through her teeth. She appeared to be particularly jittery, maybe experiencing some sort of withdrawal.
She stabbed the cigarette in my direction. ‘D’you know what those arseholes did? They hounded Rob every day, twenty-four seven. When Rob went to work, they were there. When he came home, they were there. Rob couldn’t take a shit without one of them arseholes sticking his fucking head up out the bowl.’
She took three rapid puffs and exhaled furiously. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about them.’
‘Like?’
‘It’s just stuff that goes through your head when you go to bed, you know? Rob’s Dad’s business was going to be left to the next beneficiary, and if Rob’s out of the picture....’
‘You’re insinuating George killed Rob?’
‘It’s just a thought I had one night, after they found Rob. He owed George money, so that might have been a way to get rid of the problem. You know, make sure Rob didn’t get the old man’s business.’
‘Is that what Michael told you?’
‘What d’you mean?’
I looked at her—thin and addicted, hopeless and without a clue—and held up my phone. ‘Your friend... what’s his story?’
‘He’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘I think he does, and the police have him down as the main person of interest in Rob’s murder.’
She froze at that.
‘And he was mates with Rob,’ I continued. ‘And you two have been seen together in, shall we say, romantic situations. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going on, Amanda.’
I paused to give her time to consider her options. ‘I think the police would be very interested to talk to him. They seem to have some evidence against him.’
‘Why are you so fucking interested, anyway?’
‘I’m Rob’s cousin.’
‘He never mentioned you.’
‘We weren’t close.’
‘No shit.’
The verbal volleying got to me, and I snapped. ‘Do you want to see Michael locked up? Because that’s the way it’s going to go as soon as the police spot him.’
Her face dropped, and something changed in her. ‘Please don’t hurt him. I love him.’
Jesus, what a piece of work.
Maybe she was the insecure type. Maybe she needed a strong alpha male to steer her along, to tell her how hot she looked when she was high.
I nodded as if in sympathy. ‘Was Michael jealous of Rob? Did he kill Rob for you?’
She looked away, and the wind teased the strands of hair around her ear. She shifted her weight from side to side, and when she looked back at me, her eyes worked left to right. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and started chewing the nail.
Finally, she said, ‘I wasn’t going behind Rob’s back, okay? I’ve known Michael for years. He used to come over. I could talk to Michael. He was like a second brother to Rob. When Rob and I called it a day, it was another six months before I hooked up with Michael. Rob didn’t like it, and it might’ve caused some bad blood between them, but Michael didn’t kill Rob. If anything, it’d be the other way around.’
‘Do you think there’s a very good possibility that Rob did attack Michael, initially? Is it possible that the tables turned on Michael?’
She gnawed furiously on her thumbnail. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Did Michael say anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘Amanda, what it comes down to is this. I have motives for both you and Michael. Either you wanted Rob out of the way and you had Michael take care of it, or Michael wanted Rob out of the way because of his feelings towards you. Either way, you’re the meat in the sandwich.’
I let the words hang, and saw the effect.
Amanda twitched, gnawed her thumbnail, and sucked her cigarette.
‘I want to talk to Michael today,’ I said.
‘You can’t. He’s on his way to Sydney. So, can I go now?’
I perceived a sad determinism in her eyes, so I stepped aside and let her climb in her car. When she started the engine, I bent down and pressed my phone screen against her window. ‘You tell anyone about our talk, Amanda, and I share these.’
She fumbled with the gearstick until she found first, then pulled away without looking back.
Chapter 14
I got back into my car and pulled out my phone to check my banking. Carmine’s retainer had gone in and bolstered my savings considerably. I appreciated the boost to my funds, and felt a little vindicated—my very first retainer on my first murder case.
I used some of it to fill up my car and buy an energy drink, and having no pending business in Nowra, decided to drive back to Sussex. A picture slowly formed in my mind of Rob and his family. I figured losing his mother at a young and impressionable age caused some level of mental anguish. His brother George had seriously misaligned feelings towards him, jealous at his father’s preference for Rob, which he’d admitted openly. Where did that leave him? Not in the best financial situation, to say the least. Then there was the twenty grand that had gone to waste. No doubt, George would’ve been angry about that too. Was that enough motivation for George to kill his brother? People have killed for less, but it seemed too simple, and the case didn’t exactly scream open and shut. Amanda didn’t seem the ambitious type, but maybe she became anxious to get
Rob out of the picture and cement her partnership with Michael.
My phone rang from an unknown number, and I pulled off the highway into the bicycle lane that ran along it. ‘Kowalski.’
‘I have it on good authority that you’ve been stalking my son.’
I recognised the gruff tones of Philip Le Mat. Maybe someone had spotted my ute when I tailed Michael and Amanda through Nowra.
Before I could get a word in, he continued. ‘I explained to you that I would arrange to have him meet you at a future time.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time at my disposal, Philip.’
‘You said you were on his fuckin’ side, so what’s with the surveillance shit?’
‘I stand by my claim that I will defend Michael in any way I deem fit.’
He laughed. ‘And who made you King Shit?’
‘Philip, as of Monday night, George Demich is missing, presumed dead, and it seems to me your Michael had a link to both of the Demich brothers. I need to talk to him. For his sake.’
‘Like you’re such a frigging saint. You’re not in a position to be making demands, Kowalski. Jesus, you come across as if your shit don’t stink, the way you’re carrying on. No, mate, my son doesn’t do anything until you agree to a few conditions.’
There’s always a catch.
I acquiesced and waited for his terms.
He said, ‘One: I need your word that you won’t bring in Michael on any murder charges. No cowboy shit. You are to meet with him at a location of my choosing. This is to clear his name. Do you understand?’
‘That’s a tall order, Philip. I’ll try, but I don’t know if I can uphold that.’
‘You’d better uphold it, mate. That’s the fucking agreement.’
I considered my options, and although the terms didn’t sit well with me, I couldn’t afford to let Michael slip through my fingers. ‘I’m happy to meet him at an agreed location as specified by you,’ I said. ‘You call it.’
‘Mothman’s Gym. It’s one of those twenty-four-hour joints in Nowra. Tomorrow night, ten o’clock.’ He hung up.
