Cooper cut himself on a particularly sharp piece of glass. “Shit,” he said, throwing his pile into the sink and snapping off a paper towel from the roll on the bench. He held the towel over the cut while he contemplated the idea.
“We’d have to be very careful. Even though we’ve ruled her out for the homicides, we can’t be absolutely sure she’s not involved in whatever drug operation they may or may not have going on over there.”
“I can’t see it, boss. She was distraught when her sister died. And she seems so proud of that family business. I think if she knew anything she would have told us by now.”
“I think you’re right, but nevertheless we tread carefully. Get Anderson and Baxter onside. They’d be the ones to approach her, not us. Every time she sees me I give her bad news.”
“Will do.” Quinn continued picking glass fragments out of the dishwasher. “You got a vacuum cleaner, boss?”
“Of course we do.” Cooper didn’t add that vacuuming was his next Saturday morning job before heading out to meet Liz and the boys.
Between the two of them they managed to get a bandaid onto Cooper’s finger, and vacuum the rest of the glass out of the dishwasher. Quinn wrapped the large pieces in paper before disposing of them and the contents of the vacuum cleaner.
When he came back inside he stopped in front of a picture on the wall. It was Liz’s favourite picture, one of her and Cooper with her brother, Nick, on a camping trip just after Cooper and Nick had finished high school. Liz was a couple of years younger, but they’d already become inseparable by then.
“We were eighteen, Liz was sixteen,” Cooper found himself explaining. “I had a hell of a time convincing their father to let Liz come with us. We went to a spot in the Blue Mountains, camped a couple of nights. There were some other kids from school with us as well, but the three of us were pretty tight.”
“Didn’t Nick ever resent the fact that you were dating his little sister?”
“I think he struggled with it initially, though he tried not to let on. But after a while, once he saw it didn’t interfere with us being mates, he was all for it. He gave me the usual ‘look after my sister or I’ll bash your head in’ speech, but Nick was such an easy going guy. And he and Liz always got on really well. You’d forget they were brother and sister sometimes.”
Cooper went back into the kitchen and took a seat at the bench, and Quinn followed. “What happened to him?”
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“You told me it was a hit and run, you didn’t tell me the details.”
“What else do you want to know?” Quinn didn’t answer the question, so Cooper told the story as he’d told it a hundred times before. “It was only a couple of months after that photo was taken. Nick was heading home from his new girlfriend’s place. She lived on a property, it was pretty isolated. There was this one section of the road where you could overtake, but it was risky. Nick was a good driver, he wasn’t into all that macho stuff we see too often with P-platers. Unfortunately, some other dick must have been. From the reconstruction of the crime scene, someone tried to overtake him but they weren’t quick enough about it. A truck came around the bend and the other car shot in and clipped the front of Nick’s car. He was pushed off the road and down into an embankment.”
“And the car just kept going? What about the truck?”
“The car must have seen and felt that he’d hit Nick, but he kept going. There would have been damage, too, so he’s definitely covered it up. The truck driver didn’t see Nick, and only got a glimpse of the headlights of the other car. That’s how we know what happened, or as much as we can make out. The truckie came forward after he saw it on the news. He swears he never saw Nick, otherwise he would have stopped. I believe him, poor guy was distraught.”
“And they never found out who the other driver was?”
“No. There was an inquiry, but with no cameras out that way and only a glimpse from the truck driver, there was no chance they were going to find him. Probably just as well, I reckon I would have killed him. Bastard.”
Quinn shuffled in his seat. “You told me before that what happened to Nick was the reason you became a cop. Did you ever look into the case? Once you made Homicide?”
“Munro convinced me it would just make things worse. Unsolved murders eat away at you, Joe. You’ll find that out soon enough. It’s bad enough when it’s just another case, but when it’s someone close to you…”
“I think I get it. But still, you must have been curious.”
“Of course I was. I spent some time on it in the early days. There’s no use denying it.”
“What stopped you?”
“Munro convinced me that my energy would be better spent on cases I could solve. He was right.”
They sat in silence for a while, Cooper glad he’d been able to open up to his partner. When they were first put together he hadn’t given Quinn much of a chance: at the time he’d been preparing to leave Homicide. All that had changed, though, and he was beginning to realise how lucky he was to have Quinn for a partner. The kid was alright.
“Tell me more about this idea of yours,” he said, bringing them back to the task at hand. “How exactly do you think Beth Fisher can help us?”
Quinn explained that with Beth being the legal representative for Fisher & Co, she would have access to most of the company’s documents and files. If they knew what they were looking for, she could help them get it without a warrant.
“If we knew what we were looking for. That’s the big question, isn’t it?”
“Maybe Beth can help with that. She’d be looking at this stuff all the time, wouldn’t she? She’d be the first to know if something was wrong. Can’t we just ask her to have a poke around, see if anything sticks out?”
“I don’t know, Joe. You’re getting into dangerous territory. She seemed pretty close to her cousin, David. And her uncle, come to think of it. What if she goes straight to them? Tells them we’re nosing around? If they’re involved they’ll shut the operation down and we’ll never get to the bottom of it.”
“You make a good point. Maybe it’s not such a great idea.” Quinn looked like a schoolboy who’d just been told off in class.
“All ideas are good ideas, Joe. As long as you run them by someone first. We talk it through, and decide from there. Don’t ever not bring me stuff like this because you think it’s a bad idea. It’s always worth the discussion.”
“Sure thing, boss. So where do we go from here, then?”
“We keep investigating the murders. I’m not done with Robert Fisher yet. His wife’s disappearance has me stumped: I need to know more about that.”
“You think it could be related to what’s going on now?”
“Stranger things have happened, Joe,” he said as he stood. “Liz and the boys are shopping. I’m supposed to finish up a few jobs here, then meet them at a local cafe. You want to join us? The boys would love to see you.”
Quinn shook his head and plucked his keys out of the bowl by the door. “No thanks, things of my own to do this weekend. Say hi to them for me.”
30
Despite her rush to get there, it was almost lunch time on Saturday before Beth and Gail managed to make the trip out to Rookwood cemetery. There were a lot of people there, and Beth counted at least four funerals in progress as they entered from the Strathfield Gates and drove along Necropolis Drive. She thought of the last time she’d been here, less than a week ago, for Jill’s funeral. She’d barely noticed a thing that time, so raw was her grief.
Gail was headed to the Old Independent section, where the two Charles Fishers who fit the time frame were buried. Beth followed on the map as they drove, marvelling at just how big this place really was. A bus line ran through the middle of the cemetery, and she also noted a number of taxis driving around, helping less mobile people to the graves of their loved ones.
“Do you think I can just park anywhere?” asked Gail, once they reached the section t
hey were looking for. There was less of a crowd here, and though there seemed to be no designated parking spaces in the area, there was enough room to pull over at the side of the road.
“I don’t see why not,” said Beth. “Stop here somewhere — the first grave isn’t far away.”
Gail parked the car and when they got out she peered over Beth’s shoulder at the map, crowding her. Beth gave in and handed the map over, preferring to look around anyway while Gail navigated the rows of the dead. She looked out over the sea of headstones, all standing at lopsided angles due to the ground sinking in different places over the years, and tried to imagine what this area must have looked like a hundred years ago. She’d read on the website that this part of the cemetery was now a heritage area. It was originally designed in the style of a grand Victorian garden, and Beth noted the section was surrounded by old brick guttering which must have been part of the elaborate landscaping.
Reading the headstones as she followed Gail through the rows, Beth was struck by the number of children buried so long ago. Almost all the graves contained more than one person, in some cases whole families including spouses, grandparents, children, uncles and aunts, nieces and nephews. One headstone in particular caught Beth’s attention. The first occupant of the grave was a young child, James Pearson, aged one year and four months. The second occupant was also a child named James Pearson, aged three years and two months. From the birth and death dates Beth was able to work out that after this family had lost their first son, James, they had a second son, and also named him James. Shortly after the death of the second James, the father, also James, had passed away aged thirty-eight. Beth found that this headstone, this tragic story of one family, moved her almost to tears. What must this mother have gone through?
“I think I’ve found the first one.” Gail’s call interrupted Beth’s thoughts of the Pearson family. She made her way over to where Gail was standing. The grave she’d found was marked by a plain looking headstone, at least by comparison to some of the more elaborate ones around it. The name at the top of the stone was Charles Fisher, and the grave also contained his wife, Emma, and their daughter, Anna. There was no mention of a son, not that there would be if this was James Fisher’s father, as James was the first person to be buried in the family plot which was located a fair distance from here.
“This isn’t the right Charles Fisher,” said Beth.
“Why not?”
“James was an only child. I remember reading that much in the history section of the company documents. There was no sister called Anna, so this can’t be the one.”
Gail nodded and looked up the map for the second record. After turning it around a few times, she seemed to get her bearings. “This way.”
As they walked, Beth couldn’t help but think of what would happen to her own remains when she was long gone. Did she really want to be buried in the family plot? What would happen once the plot was full? Would her own children, and their children, be buried somewhere else? In years to come, would their resting place resemble these ones she walked through now — faded, broken, and overgrown, a lasting reminder to no-one. A couple of the graves had large trees growing right where the occupant’s body would have been. Were these once tiny saplings, planted by bereaved family members to honour and protect their loved ones? Or had their seeds simply blown in and landed where they now grew tall? Not for the first time this week Beth found herself considering the merits of cremation.
“Over here,” called Gail from two rows away. “This looks like the one.”
Beth joined her at the headstone and read aloud.
“In loving memory of Charles Fisher, died 15th June 1898. Aged seventy five years. Also Elanora Fisher, wife of the above. Died 15th November, 1901. Aged seventy years.”
They stood in silence for a moment, before Beth pulled the death certificates out of her bag and matched this one to the grave. She also took out James’s birth certificate, and confirmed what her memory had already told her.
“James’s mother’s name was Elanora,” she said. “I think this might be the one.”
“We should check the other two, just to be sure,” said Gail, again consulting the maps they’d printed yesterday. “They’re not far away.”
Beth agreed, and after taking photos of Charles and Elanora’s final resting place, they quickly found the other two graves. One was buried with a wife named Donna, and the other was buried with a wife and five children, ranging in age from one year and three months, to seven years old. Beth took a closer look at this headstone, and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she realised the entire family had died on the same day.
Gail put her arm around Beth’s shoulders. “Come on,” she said gently, “this isn’t the one.”
But Beth couldn’t move, she felt as rooted to the spot as one of the trees on the graves she’d been looking at earlier. “What could have happened to this family?” she asked.
“Some kind of accident, I’d say.” Gail leaned in close to look at the date. “1895, so not a car accident. Perhaps a house fire?”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
They walked back to the car in silence, Beth overwhelmed by the solemnity and sheer awe of Rookwood cemetery.
31
First thing Monday morning, Cooper and Quinn got to work on the disappearance of Annie Fisher. They went back over what Cooper had learned from Sinclair, the detective on the original investigation, which hadn’t been much. Sinclair’s gut had told him Robert Fisher was responsible for the disappearance of his wife, but with no body, no physical evidence, and the rest of his family standing behind him, Robert was untouchable.
“How long after the son Tim died did the mother disappear?” asked Cooper.
Quinn consulted his notes. “Just under five years. Why?”
“I’m looking at it from the suicide angle. Maybe we got it all wrong, maybe she did take her own life.”
“Then where’s the body?”
“Maybe she didn’t want anyone to find her, didn’t want her high-profile family to suffer the stigma.”
“So she killed herself in such a way that no-one will ever find the body? Doesn’t really strike me as the usual way for a woman to commit suicide.”
As sexist as it sounded, Cooper realised Quinn was right. A man might do something like that, head off to sea in a boat and never return, perhaps, but not a woman. The job had shown him that most women want closure, a final resting place.
“What are the chances she’s still alive, boss?” Quinn asked. “While we’re throwing around theories. What if she got sick of the domineering husband and just left?”
Cooper shuffled through some pages in the file. “Zach had a look at her bank accounts, as they did when she first disappeared. There’ve been no transactions for fifteen years.”
“She’d have had access to enough cash, maybe she saved up for a while and just legged it?”
Cooper shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. But where would she go? Why would she give up the lifestyle of the rich and famous?”
“Money isn’t everything, boss.”
He was right about that. Money may have been the motive behind many crimes, but within families it was rarely to blame. Relationships caused a great deal of other problems, and Cooper had seen many a case where people walked away from financial happiness in order to escape relationship hell.
“Let’s start looking into her side of the family.” Cooper again consulted the case file. “It says here she has a sister living down in Wollongong. Feel like a drive?”
* * *
Cooper spent most of the hour and a half’s drive down the coast on the phone.
“Want to fill me in?” asked Quinn as he negotiated the bends down Mount Ousley.
“They’re lining up a Customs inspection of a couple of containers from the latest Fisher & Co ship. It’s coming in from Thailand. Drug Squad have been looking into a link between a furniture chain and the Chiefs. The owner is a cousin of a lo
w-level member of the gang. The shop regularly imports furniture from Thailand to sell locally. Business is apparently booming.”
“They get a warrant for the search?”
“No need. Customs are going to make it look like a routine random inspection. They reckon we can do two containers without raising any flags. Unless, of course, we find something, which is the whole point.”
“We? You and I get to be there? What about this?” Quinn indicated the city of Wollongong spread out before them as they rounded a bend.
“You see those ships out there, Joe?” Cooper pointed to the line of container ships dotting the horizon — he counted at least seven.
“Yeah.” Quinn had an uneasy look on his face.
“The ship we want is due to unload in Port Kembla first thing tomorrow morning. We’re the first ones here.”
* * *
Within an hour they had checked themselves into a local hotel and set off to find Annie Fisher’s sister. Mary Schofield lived on the fourth floor of a reasonably new-looking apartment building close to Wollongong Harbour. From the ages of the faces they saw coming and going, it struck Cooper that the place was popular among the down-sizers on their way to retirement. Not a bad idea, he thought. Certainly a lot less maintenance required in a place like this. With the sea at the doorstep these apartments had a lot more appeal than the boxes he was used to seeing in the city. He rang the buzzer and waited to be let in.
“Can I get you some tea or coffee?” asked Mary once Cooper was settled into her couch. Quinn stood by the window, admiring the partial view of the harbour. A much smaller version of Sydney Harbour, but no less picturesque, was how Cooper had once heard it described by a colleague. It turns out they were right.
The Dark Series Page 52
