by Amos, Gina
She hesitated, but then heard his footsteps behind. When she reached the top, she pulled out Robbie’s gun and ran the palm of her hand over the dull plastic grip. A shudder ran through her, which had nothing to do with the sharp wind blowing through the arches.
Patrick took the last of the steps, his breathing laboured. Fin raised the gun and pointed it at him. He froze.
‘Everything looks perfectly normal from here, doesn’t it, Uncle Patrick? Look out there. Everybody going about their business. Nobody has any idea you’re about to die. Within about two minutes, I reckon.’
Patrick took a step towards her. ‘What the hell are you up to?’
Fin ignored him. ‘If Robbie hadn’t found out you’d changed your name to Hill and were on a paedophile watch list, you wouldn’t be standing here, and neither would I.’
There was confusion and fear in Patrick’s eyes. Fin pulled the hood back from her face. She took a step back from him and aimed the gun at the middle of his forehead.
‘For Christ’s sake, Fin, is this your idea of some sick joke?’
‘It’s no joke.’ Fin laughed. ‘I’m fucking serious.’
‘Put the gun down. Let’s talk. I’m sure we can fix whatever’s worrying you.’
‘What’s worrying me! As if you don’t know. Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You ruined my life; ruined Robbie’s life and you killed my parents. And now, it’s time for you to die. To finally pay.’
‘Fin, I’m sorry. I was weak, I never meant to; it was the drink.’ Patrick held his hands out to her, palms facing up.
‘Shut up, you sick bastard.’ She waved the gun at him. ‘Gracie told Robbie everything before she died. Told him you were driving the night of the car accident. How you were drunk and drove our parents’ car off the road. Gracie covered for you because she didn’t want you to go to prison.’
‘Let me explain. Please, Fin.’
‘It’s too late for explanations.’
Patrick gasped for air, held his chest with one hand. He stepped backwards, tripped, leaned up against the wall, head bowed. He tried to stand upright, but didn’t have the strength after climbing the stairs.
Fin maintained her position — feet apart just like Robbie had shown her — but her hands were shaking.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Patrick’s voice was weak. ‘I’ll give you money. You can go away, make a new life for yourself. There’s no need to kill me.’
Fin stared at Patrick then looked down at the gun. Wasn’t this what Robbie wanted? Compensation for the pain Patrick had caused?
‘The money from Robbie’s and Gracie’s estates and Robbie’s life insurance policy will be more than enough. I don’t need your filthy money.’
‘What about the police, then? That woman detective, she’ll work out what you’re up to.’
Fin didn’t answer him.
Patrick slipped to the ground. Had he fainted? Died? Or maybe he was faking it. It was too dark to tell. She kept the gun out and walked slowly toward him. Once she was close enough, she jabbed him with her foot. He let out a little groan. He looked so pathetic, slumped across the uneven brickwork.
She hadn’t planned for this. She tucked the gun into her waistband and put two fingers on his neck. His pulse was weak, but he was still alive. Maybe he’d had a heart attack. He sure had been puffing at the top of the stairs, and then she’d pulled the gun.
She kicked him. He moaned and his lips moved, at first soundlessly and then she could make out her name. Was it to hear his dying confession? Fin wasn’t interested; she had to get him to his feet. She checked her watch. Adam would be here soon.
‘Come on, get up.’ She wrapped his limp arm around her neck and an arm around his waist. His eyes were half-closed. Fin whispered, ‘If you can get downstairs, I’ll call an ambulance. I promise.’ Fin looked at her watch. With each passing second her heart was beating faster, pumping with adrenaline. He wasn’t fighting her now, the promise of calling an ambulance did the trick.
After they took the last step, Fin guided him through the door and leaned him against the tower wall. He collapsed from the effort and Fin managed to ease him down the wall so he was in a sitting position with his legs splayed open. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and gave a rattled groan before his eyes fluttered shut and his head slumped forward.
Fin felt for a pulse. Patrick Hill was dead.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a white feather. She looked at it for a moment. ‘Coward.’ Fin opened Patrick’s mouth and slipped the feather onto his tongue. She stared down at his limp body. It was done now, finished with. She searched Patrick’s pockets for his wallet. If she took that, maybe the police would think it was a robbery gone wrong. She found it and tucked it into the pocket of her rain jacket. Fin wondered what she should do next. She hadn’t thought beyond this moment.
Adam Lee entered the courtyard by the eastern entrance avoiding the CCTV cameras, the way Fin had told him to. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone and saw Fin standing by the tower. She was looking down at a lump on the ground. It was only when he got closer that he realised it was a body.
‘Adam?’
He walked up to her and saw that it was Patrick Hill. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s dead. I only meant to frighten him, I didn’t think he would have a heart attack and die on me.’
‘Stupid bitch! Give me the gun and get out of here. I’m sick of tidying up your messes.’
Fin pushed herself off the bed. Nagging pangs of hunger played havoc with her stomach. Had she eaten last night? If she forced herself to eat something maybe the waves of nausea would pass. She changed her clothes without showering and went downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant. She didn’t have much time. It was a ten-minute drive to Gracie’s house. If she worked steadily she would back in Sydney by late afternoon. She didn’t want to stay in the Mountains another night.
She stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. She felt dizzy again. She wanted to lie down but she knew she had to eat and get over to Gracie’s house. The Salvation Army was coming at nine to collect the last of Gracie’s furniture. Fin had kept a couple of things aside, thinking she might make room for them in her apartment, but there were too many memories.
Fin joined the handful of people eating breakfast early. A large, energetic woman who Fin took to be the proprietor dashed to and fro between the kitchen and the reception desk, stopping to chat and joke with the guests. She gave Fin a quick smile and said hello when she walked past her table. The warmth from the open fire did nothing to ease the fear or Fin’s thumping headache. She looked around the room. Her eyes settled on the couple at the next table. Fin looked at him, ignored her. He reminded Fin of Robbie, that particular way he had of spooning his cereal into his mouth and the way he tilted his head to one side when he laughed.
Fin blinked hard. Robbie was gone. She dug her nails into her palms, while tears stung her cheeks. She distracted herself by looking at the walls covered in subdued wallpaper and the timber table, which was sticky and thickly lacquered. It wasn’t like the pub she’d stopped at in Lapstone. There were no poker machines or pool tables, no posters advertising Tuesday steak nights or trivia nights. She studied the breakfast menu and decided on eggs and toast.
A waiter poured coffee into her cup. He put a jug of milk and sachets of sugar down on the table, smiled at her but she didn’t smile back — she didn’t know why she should. She looked around the room and then fixed on the television. Video footage of Callan Park was on the screen. Someone turned the sound up. Ticker information scrolling the bottom of the screen caught her attention as much as the pictures being shown of the clock tower. ‘Another death at Callan Park.’ The words scrolled on and she listened to the news announcer. ‘Patrick Hill,’ he was saying, ‘the dog walker who found the body of a police officer in Callan Park a week ago, was found dead early this morning in the grounds of Callan Park. He was discovered by a tee
nager on his way to work…’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Jill looked down at Brian. ‘Come on, boy.’ She took a few steps, making her way across the park to speak to Patrick Hill’s neighbour, but then stopped. She wanted to speak to Jordan first. She double-backed to the patrol car. He was in the back seat, his mother by his side. They got out of the car. Jill introduced herself and was about to question Jordan more when she changed her mind. The boy was shaking and clearly in no state to talk. She arranged a time for him and his mother to come into the station tomorrow to give a formal statement.
The woman wrapped her arms around her son and they walked away. Jill tried to imagine her own mother but time blurred memories. She had photos of her, of course, and her father had talked about how kind and funny she was, but with her father dead there was nobody to share her memories. Even memories of her father were beginning to fade. They were slipping away and she could no longer hold onto them.
She sighed. ‘Let’s go, Brian.’ She pulled on the lead and headed across the park to Glover Street. They both could do with a walk. The ground was water-logged but at least the rain had stopped.
Jill stood at the front door of Patrick Hill’s neighbour’s cottage and rang the doorbell. Brian was jumping up on his hind legs, scratching at the door. Jill tugged at the lead and pulled him away.
The cottage was similar in style and age to the cottage next door and while she waited for the door to be answered, she looked around and noticed the well-kept garden. When she rang the doorbell again, the door opened. The woman was in her dressing gown.
‘Brian. Just look at you, what have you been up to?’
The dog pulled away from Jill and bounded off down the hall, sliding across the polished timber floorboards as he raced towards the back of the house.
Jill showed her ID. ‘Detective Brennan from Chatswood Police.’
‘Goodness, what is it? Has something happened to Mr Hill?’
‘Why would you ask that?’
‘Well, after that poor policemen killed himself the other day, we’ve all been on edge.’
Jill knew the neighbour would find out sooner or later. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Mr Hill is dead.’
‘Oh my dear Lord. Come in dear, you look half frozen. I’ll make us a nice cup of coffee.’
Jill set about removing her wet rain jacket and muddy boots then followed the woman down the hall into a large family room at the rear. The smell of coffee and toast reminded Jill she’d skipped breakfast. The woman put on the kettle, and while she waited for it to boil she picked up Brian; she didn’t seem to mind the dog was covered in mud. She stroked his back gently with her bony fingers and his pink skin showed through the fur.
‘It was his heart wasn’t it? I warned him.’
Jill didn’t respond.
‘I knew it would be his heart that got him in the end. It was the shock of finding that poor policeman in the park the other night. I’ve never seen Mr Hill so agitated. He was an old-fashioned type, not the sort of man to show emotion. Not like nowadays where everyone from pollies to footballers ball their eyes out on the telly at the drop of a hat.’
Jill gave a nod. ‘What sort of man was he apart from being old-fashioned?’
The woman put Brian down on the floor. ‘Well dear, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I did have my suspicions about him.’ The kettle had boiled and the woman busied herself making two coffees.
‘What sort of suspicions?’
The woman turned around, raised her eyebrows. ‘Drugs!’
‘Really?’ Hill wasn’t the typical drug-type.
The woman nodded and then loaded a tray with the coffees, milk, sugar and a plate of salt crackers. She led Jill through to the living room and they sat down on the sofa.
Jill poured milk into her coffee. ‘What makes you think Mr Hill was involved in drugs?’
‘It was all the comings and goings. I knew it had to be drugs. What else could it have been?’ She picked up the plate of crackers. ‘Would you like one dear?’
Jill waved her hand. ‘No, thanks. Tell me more about these comings and goings?’
‘Asians.’ The woman slurped her tea.
‘Asians?’
‘Yes, they’d pull up in their cars. Turn the engine off and wait. Then they’d go in. Sometimes they had children with them. I was outraged. Those children should have been in bed.’
‘So, how often did you see them?’ Jill asked.
‘Not very often, maybe once a month.’ She took another sip of coffee and stared out the window.
‘Was there anything else?’ Jill asked.
A pause, then, ‘Well, there was the night the policeman died. I just happened to be closing the curtains when I saw one of them. He was waiting like the rest, except he didn’t go next door to Mr Hill’s. I saw him get out of his car and walk off towards Callan Park.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Rimis parked on Arundel Street and walked into the Glebe Morgue. He didn’t recognise the woman behind the glass but he figured even morgue receptionists had to take leave at some point.
He held up his ID and was buzzed through security. ‘I’m here to see Doctor Ross,’ he said. He signed the blue visitor’s book and headed down the corridor towards the autopsy rooms.
The dead were the dead as far as Rimis was concerned — death was what happened to everyone in the end — but attending autopsies was still the worst part of his job. He walked into the autopsy room, took off his jacket and grabbed a green gown. The room was chilly and smelled of chemicals.
Greer was taking photos but stopped when she saw him. She looked up and greeted him with a nod, a look that said business as usual. ‘Where’s Detective Brennan? You two seem inseparable.’
Rimis detected a hint of jealousy in her voice. ‘I didn’t think she needed to be here for this one.’
Greer turned back to the body in front of her. ‘I’ve just started with Robbie Calloway. I shouldn’t be more than two hours and then I’ll begin on Patrick Hill.’
Rimis had learnt to maintain a stoic front whenever he walked into the autopsy room at the Glebe Morgue. It was the last place he ever wanted to be, but he stood impassive by the table, flinched only once when Doctor Ross stabbed needles into the cadaver and collected vitreous fluid from the eye. How did she do this job? Dealing with the dead every day.
‘You feel all right? You’re looking…’
‘Fine.’
Greer stopped what she was doing and looked at him over her facemask.
Rimis cleared his throat. ‘I want to apologise again for the way I walked out on you yesterday morning. I was embarrassed by what had happened given we work together and, to be honest, it’s been a while since I… I mean…Oh, shit, help me out here, Greer. You know what I’m trying to say.’
Greer smiled beneath her mask. ‘Apology accepted.’
Rimis let out a deep sigh. He focused on the case again, more familiar and comfortable territory. ‘So, what can you tell me?’ he said.
‘Everything so far points to suicide or accidental death. He could have been skylarking, a few drinks too many, hit his head, lost his balance and fallen. When we get the tox reports we’ll have a better idea.’ Greer reached for the dissection knife and confidently sliced through the torso. She picked up a pair of shears, snapped apart the ribs and lifted off the sternum, releasing the foul odour of blood and offal.
Rimis saw the concentration on her face. ‘You look tired.’
‘I don’t suppose that would have anything to do with me working extra cases.’ Greer put down the knife. ‘Nick,’ she said and removed her splatter shield, ‘what happened between us, well, I know it’s not going to work. It’s better if we’re friends. Okay?’
Rimis gave a small nod, but wasn’t sure if he was ready to drop it. Doctor Ross got back to work.
After a few moments Rimis said, ‘I’ve never slept with her you know.’
Greer stared at him. ‘What?’
‘I said, I�
�ve never slept with her.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Brennan.’
Greer frowned. ‘Why did you tell me that?’
‘Because I thought you should know, in case someone’s said anything to you. There’s always talk around the station about who’s sleeping with who. The truth is, I’m Jill’s friend and mentor.’
‘Why do you think I’d be the slightest bit interested in who you have or haven’t slept with?’
‘Because you’re a woman and from my experience women are curious about that sort of thing.’
Greer shook her head.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ Rimis said softly. No matter what he did and how many times he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t get Greer Ross out of his mind. Maybe this whole idea of not dating women he worked with was bullshit. With the long hours and the type of work policing involved, how else was he going to meet someone who understood his life?
‘And why would that be?
‘Do you always ask so many questions?’
She met his gaze. ‘It’s my job to ask questions. Look, Nick, I like you, but we’re both professionals doing a difficult job and we need to focus. So I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t flirt with me or distract me while I’m working.’
‘Message received loud and clear, Doctor Ross.’ Rimis saw the slightest twitch of her lips. ‘But you must know by now I’m the persistent type. I don’t give up easily.’ He flashed her a grin and walked towards the door. ‘I’m going out for a coffee. I’ll be back later.’
An hour and a half after Rimis left the morgue, the gurney carrying Patrick Hill’s body was rolled into the autopsy room. Doctor Ross looked at his face; she’d seen worse. It was pale and cold, nothing unusual about it, apart from the bullet wound to the forehead, a single round hole, no external bleeding. Of all parts of the corpse, the face was the most personal. Someone wanted to leave their mark.
The teeth of the forceps clamped down on the prize. ‘Ah, got it,’ Doctor Ross said just as Rimis walked into the autopsy room.
