“We know everything, Carmel,” he yelled, and she stopped and turned to face him. She pointed her gun at him, and all he could think was at least it wasn’t pointed at anyone else. He returned the favour with his Glock, and they were at a standoff. People around them started backing away. Good.
“What do you think you know?”
“We know your real name’s not Carmel, for starters. We know you made Jack kill Rebecca Gilmore. He told us all about it. We know she’d been feeding you identity information she stole from the tax office. We have strong suspicions about the death of the real Carmel Simpkins. The fraud squad are investigating now, Carmel. It’s over. Don’t make it any worse.”
She was looking around again, but there was nowhere to run. Cooper kept his weapon trained on her, confident he had the stamina to outlast her and the reflexes to put her down if necessary.
Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary. Carmel might be a psychopath with no regard for other people, but she also knew when she was cornered. She lowered her weapon to the ground and held her hands in the air. When he was satisfied she was no longer a threat, Cooper holstered his weapon, approached her cautiously, and took out his handcuffs.
Quite a crowd had gathered, and as he put the handcuffs on Carmel they started clapping. She leaned forward and whispered to him under the cover of the applause, so no-one else could hear.
“How’s your partner? Left him to die, did you?” The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk, and Cooper wondered if he’d ever met anyone so evil.
19
Cooper paced the hallway outside the waiting room for what seemed like hours. Stocky had been in surgery when Cooper finally made it to the hospital, and his partner was still in there now. Stocky’s wife, Anthea, sat quietly in the waiting room. How could she do that? How could she be so calm?
“Will you sit down, Charlie?” Anthea called out to him. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry.” He came and took a seat beside her. The rest of the Homicide team, those not still working, were outside in the main waiting area, but family had a special little room. Anthea had asked Charlie to stay there with her until her daughter arrived from Melbourne. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. He’ll get through this, Charlie. He’s a stubborn old bastard.”
Cooper couldn’t help but smile. “That he is.”
They sat in silence for a while, watching every so often as a doctor or staff member passed by the window. Not many looked in as they passed, and the ones that did had ‘the look’ on their face. Cooper knew the look all too well; he’d worn it himself many times. It said ‘I’m sorry for your troubles, but I’m just doing my job’.
“He’s done with Homicide. You know that, don’t you, Charlie.”
Yeah. He knew.
“That stuff with Professional Standards was bad enough, but I’m not having this.” Anthea gestured towards the door all the official people kept coming in and out of, behind which, somewhere, her husband was fighting for his life. “I’m not going to lose him this close to my dream. I’m not having it.”
Tears ran silently down her cheeks, and Cooper took her hand in his. They sat there for the longest time, hand-in-hand, both in their own ways thinking of the man doctors were trying to save. Stocky had been Cooper’s partner for ten years. They worked well together, knew each other’s ways and moves, knew what they were going to do without having to say anything. They were a team, and a successful one at that. They had the best record in Homicide. And they still had one more bad guy to catch.
Cooper’s thoughts turned to the Adultery Killer, the psychopath that had so far managed to elude them. How was he going to catch the bastard without Stocky? He brought his free hand up to his face, rubbed hard at his eyes. When he opened them again, a doctor was entering the room. Anthea stood, and Cooper hauled himself up to stand beside her.
“It’s good news, Mrs Stockton. There was quite a lot of bleeding, but the bullet missed his vital organs. We were able to remove it and get the bleeding under control. There’ll be a bit of rehab, but he’s going to be fine.” The doctor smiled the smile that, working in Homicide, Cooper rarely got to wear himself. It was the ‘there was some trouble, but I’ve fixed it’, smile. If he moved out of Homicide and into a more general position in the force, maybe he’d be able to give people that smile once in awhile.
“Thank you so much,” Anthea was saying to the doctor as Cooper came out of his own head. “Can I see him?”
“Yes. They’re just moving him to recovery now, I’ll take you there and you can wait with the staff until they’ve got him all set up.” The doctor looked at Cooper. “You’re his partner?”
“I am. Can I come with her? I’ll wait outside when she goes in to see him.”
The doctor looked at Anthea, who confirmed she’d like Charlie to stay with her.
“Okay, that should be fine. Come on.”
It was a number of hours later, when Anthea and her daughter went to get something to eat, that Cooper was finally able to see for himself that his partner would be okay. Former partner, he should probably say now. Stocky had been moved out of recovery and into a general ward by then, but at least he was in a private room.
“Is it true?” Cooper asked after making a few jokes about the situation. “Are you going to retire?”
“Yeah, mate. I was thinking about it before this, well, you know I was. With all the stuff with Saunders and that. But Anthea’s right. She’s put up with the job for thirty years. It’s time I did something for her for a change.”
“But the job is your life.”
“It was my life, Coop. But it’s not worth losing my life.”
Cooper couldn’t argue with that. “What are you going to do?”
“Anthea wants to buy a caravan, do some travelling. Maybe spend a bit of time with the kids down in Victoria. I could live with that.”
“And the Saunders stuff? Professional Standards?”
“I have a strong feeling all that will go away if I do. Saunders was just trying to hurt me, and with me retiring he’ll think he’s won. Let him, I don’t care. But you watch out for him, Coop. He’s a first-class prick if you get on the wrong side of him, and you being my partner probably puts you in that category.”
“Guilt by association.”
“Something like that, yeah. Just watch your back, mate.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not dead. Jesus Christ. I’m still going to be around. You just don’t have to look at my ugly mug every day anymore. That’s win-win, surely.”
Cooper smiled. “You could be right there.”
Stocky winced, and pressed the morphine button his left hand had a tight grip on. “You might have to get out of here now, let a fella get some rest.”
“Sure thing, partner.” Cooper took one last look to reassure himself that Stocky was going to make it, and left the ward. When he was back in the waiting area he pulled out his phone and called Liz.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Still at the hospital. Mum’s with the boys. Is he okay?” Cooper had called earlier and let Liz know what had happened to Stocky. She was at the same hospital, but had been about to go into surgery herself and couldn’t come and see him. She was obviously finished now.
“He’ll be fine. Want a lift home?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you outside.”
Cooper stood at the back entrance to the hospital and waited, watching all manner of people walk in and out of its doors. Everyone has a life to lead, everyone has a job to do. He was glad Stocky was retiring, even though it meant losing his partner. He deserved to be happy, and God knew Anthea did after all these years. He wondered what his own life would be like fifteen or twenty years from now. Would he still be in Homicide? Would Liz still be working as a surgeon? Would they still be together?
He watched as the doors opened yet again and his wife walked out. She was beautiful, she’d always been beautiful. She was every
thing to him; her and the boys. Would she put up with his long hours and dangerous work for another twenty years? Was he risking his family for his job?
“You’ve got that look on your face,” said Liz when she reached him. “Stocky’s going to be okay, Coop. I just talked to his surgeon in the locker room. Everything went well.”
“I know, I know. He’s going to be fine.”
“Then what is it?”
Cooper put his arm around her and they headed for the car. “The future, Liz. I think we need to have a talk.”
DARK HEART
1
Detective Sergeant Charlie Cooper threw his keys into the wooden bowl he kept on his desk for just that purpose. Their clink signalled the beginning of his work day, which he hoped was going to be a light one — he still wasn’t fully recovered from the fortieth birthday party Liz had thrown him on the weekend. No such luck, though, Senior Sergeant Frank Munro was already heading his way.
“Coop. Got a call from Leichhardt Local Area Command. They had an aggravated assault on a fifty-year-old male yesterday. Today it’s your new murder case.” Munro had never been one for morning pleasantries.
“The guy didn’t make it, huh?”
“His father agreed to switch off life support last night, so it’s officially a homicide. SOCOs are at the crime scene now.” Munro handed Cooper the file. “Take Quinn,” he added with a grin, before returning to his office.
Cooper pushed the hangover to the back of his mind and glanced over the file. The victim’s name was Fraser Grant, a real estate agent. He was found in his Glebe apartment the day before by his elderly father, shortly after one pm. Blunt force trauma to the head; no sign of a weapon. Taken by ambulance to RPA Hospital, where they pronounced him brain dead. Detectives from the local area command, along with the scene-of-crime officers Munro had referred to, would be all over Grant’s apartment by now. Cooper placed a call to the officer in charge from Leichhardt LAC. It was standard procedure for the Homicide Squad to be notified of, and provide an initial response to, any homicide state-wide, but often it was more practical to leave the majority of the investigation to the local boys. After a brief discussion, however, Detective Sergeant Perrotta from Leichhardt admitted he could use some help. Cooper agreed to interview the father.
“Quinn,” he called. The big guy looked up from where he was busy making coffee. “White with one for me, and put them in foam. We’re on the road in two.”
* * *
As Cooper drove the unmarked car out into the Parramatta traffic, he wondered how long it would be before the latest addition to Homicide started asking questions. He didn’t have to wonder long.
“So, you’re the lead on the Adultery Killer case, aren’t you?”
He’d been expecting it, but Cooper still flinched. “I’ve been investigating the murders that were given that name by the media, yes.”
“He’s been quiet almost a year now, hasn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he’s just about due?”
Cooper sighed. Every cop wanted to yap about that case, but when it came down to it, not many wanted anything to do with the investigation. Hardly surprising; no-one wants to be on a losing team.
The Adultery Killer had struck every year for the past nine years at around this time. He chose his victims carefully — all married women who were cheating, hence the nickname. Each time, a woman went missing and a few days later a photograph album and the victim's wedding ring arrived in the mail for the husband. The photos essentially documented the stalking, kidnapping, and murder of the victim. An identical set of photographs was sent to the Sydney Times. No bodies had ever been recovered, but the photos left no doubt the women had been murdered. The killer's message was simple — don't cheat — and in his own way he was trying to get that message through to the people of Sydney. At least, that was what Dr Max Christie believed. Cooper had spent so much time going over the case with the forensic psychologist that he’d accepted the conclusion as if it was his own.
Quinn was looking at him expectantly.
“His last victim was kidnapped in late August, so yes, it’s been twelve months. We are still actively investigating that case, Detective Quinn, but for now I suggest you focus on the one we have in front of us.” Cooper indicated the case file. “You finished reading that?”
Quinn shook his head and returned his attention to the file. At least he knows when to shut up, thought Cooper. But the kid had touched a nerve. Cooper knew the whole squad was wondering if the real reason he was quitting homicide was to spend more time with his family, or because he couldn’t find the Adultery Killer.
* * *
Jack Simpson, the father of today’s homicide victim, lived in a modest Californian bungalow on the outskirts of Marrickville. As Cooper opened the wire gate and stepped onto the front verandah, he guessed that Jack had probably lived here most of his life. At the very least, he made his mark here long before the suburb became trendy. Quinn knocked, and they waited a full minute before the door finally opened.
“Yes?”
The old man seemed sturdy enough, so Cooper got straight to the point. “Mr Simpson? I’m Detective Sergeant Cooper, this is Detective Senior Constable Quinn. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your son.” Jack said nothing, giving a tired nod and opening the door wide.
They entered a small lounge room decorated in the browns and beiges of a long-ago era. A large wall unit covered in a wood-grain material housed knick-knacks along with an old analogue television, a set-top box, and a box for pay TV. Horses and their brightly-coloured jockeys raced silently across the screen. Jack lowered himself into a worn-out armchair, and with a wave of his hand invited Cooper and Quinn to sit in the matching brown-striped velour lounge. Quinn took out his notebook and they both sat.
“Mr Simpson, I realise this must be a difficult time for you,” Cooper began.
“I signed papers last night, gave permission for them to take out my son’s organs and give them to other people,” said Jack. “I think that’s about as difficult as it gets, Detective.”
Cooper always struggled when it came to interviewing the relatives. They each dealt with grief in their own way. He studied the old man for a moment: neatly dressed, clothes old and worn but tucked in and tidy. His trouser belt had begun to fray along the edges years ago, but the buckle was shiny as new.
“Mr Simpson — Jack — can you tell us exactly what happened yesterday?”
“I got to Fraser’s place just after one. I have to get two buses, so it takes me quite a while. When I got there I knocked, but there was no answer. I checked the door and it was unlocked, which was unusual for Fraser. I went in, and that’s when I saw him lying there on the floor. There was blood…” Jack’s eyes moistened and he focused on the television, the horses kicking up the track. It was a good thirty seconds before he continued, but Cooper was patient. “He’d fallen and hit his head, that’s what I thought, at first. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t rouse him, so I called an ambulance. They don’t reckon he fell. They said someone must have hit him.”
“Jack, let’s go back a step. How did you get into the place? It’s a security building, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, except the main door doesn’t always shut properly, so sometimes I don’t need to buzz. Fraser had a good ol’ stoush with building management about it, never seemed to get fixed though.”
“And yesterday?” Cooper prompted.
“Yeah, it wasn’t shut properly yesterday, so I went straight in. Took the lift to his floor, that’s the second floor, and then down the corridor to Fraser’s unit.”
“Okay. When you entered the unit, did you touch anything? Besides Fraser, I mean?”
The old man took his time. “I used the phone to call the ambulance, so I touched that, and probably the counter around it. I don’t think I touched anything else, I just sat with him until the ambulance arrived.”
Cooper nodded, took another tack. “Tell me, Jack, why doesn’t Fraser have your surname?
Are you his stepfather?”
“No, that’s not it. Look, you’ll probably find out anyway. My son, his name was Jimmy. James Simpson, he was christened. But he got into some strife when he was young, went to jail. When he got out, he needed to make a break from his past. So he changed his name, got a start in the real estate business, and worked hard to make a new life for himself.”
This was interesting. “Do you think it’s possible someone from his past did this?”
“That’s your job to find out, isn’t it?”
Cooper nodded, figuring he’d heard all he was going to on that subject. He glanced at Quinn, who was busy writing notes. It looked like the kid had written word for word everything that had been said. He was about to wrap it up for now so they could go check out the crime scene, when Jack had something to add.
“I did bring that with me, from Fraser’s place.” He pointed to a soft leather briefcase on the kitchen table. “It’s his work bag. Never saw him without it. I took it to the hospital, because I thought he might need it. I haven’t opened it, though. He never wanted anyone to touch that bag, was real protective of it. I don’t think he’d want me going through it now, either.”
“Okay,” said Cooper. “We’ll need to take it with us as evidence, but we’ll get it back to you as soon as we can.” He stood and looked at Quinn, who rose and picked up the briefcase. “Thank you for your time, Jack. We may need to speak to you again, but we’ll leave you in peace for now. We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Jack nodded, remaining silent as he showed the detectives to the door. Once outside, Cooper heard the sounds of horse-racing come to life on the television. He was suddenly glad gambling had never been his problem.
The Dark Series Page 12
