Natalie, loaded with wrapped gifts, face dark with anger, stood in the doorway. ‘How dare you question my son like this when I’m not here! Can’t you see how distressed he is?’ She stopped mid-step, glaring at Findlay. ‘What are
you
doing here?’ She glanced at the large block of paper on the floor. ‘Oh, I see. One of your twisted paintings. I don’t want you painting my son.’
‘I was just about to leave anyway, when these two arrived,’ Findlay said, his glare encompassing all three women. He began to pack up his overalls.
‘Natalie,’ said Angie, who had risen from her perch beside the bed, ‘it was important that we speak with Donovan. It’s a good thing a member of the family was here.’
‘I was stuck in the city or I’d have been here half an hour ago. You could have waited until I came.’ She hurried forward and bent to kiss her son. Gemma watched closely. In her peripheral vision, she registered Findlay Finn leaving the room.
‘How are you, darling?’
Donovan’s solemn expression didn’t change. Maybe it’s shock, Gemma thought. His whole system seems to have closed down, as if he’s still in some sort of emotional coma.
‘It hurts when I talk,’ he repeated.
‘Then don’t talk, darling. I’m here now.’
Natalie sat down in the chair Angie had just vacated and set about clearing the top of the bedside drawers in order to pile the gifts there. ‘Everyone’s sent you something, darling,’ she said. ‘Lots of your friends, Miss Henderson, Jeff and Marnie from next door. Look at all these lovely parcels. Would you like to open some of them?’
Donovan looked past the gifts to his mother. ‘What happened, Mum?’ he asked, his voice strained with effort.
‘When, darling?’
‘What happened on Monday night? Where’s Dad?’
‘You don’t remember?’
Donovan frowned, looking in puzzlement at the faces that surrounded him. ‘I remember Dad coming over and then I ran upstairs.’
‘I was just asking him why he ran upstairs,’ said Angie, ‘when you arrived, Natalie.’
Natalie took her son’s hand. ‘Did something happen to make you run upstairs?’ she asked.
Gemma willed herself to be aware of every tiny nuance and undercurrent between mother and son. If Natalie Finn was the person who came to the door last Monday night and shot three people, thought Gemma, she’d have to be the coolest customer in the world. She recalled Jaki’s comment about Natalie Finn: the brilliant poker player.
‘Dad was .
.
. I can’t remember. He was .
.
. he was talking really loud.’
‘Maybe he was angry?’ Angie suggested.
‘Leading question!’ Natalie snapped. ‘Donny said loud. Not angry.’
‘But I think he was angry,’ Donovan whispered, his eyes widening as he recalled. ‘Very, very angry. And he said something .
.
.’
‘What did he say?’ Angie whispered. Gemma held her breath.
Donovan looked from Angie to his mother. The animated expression on his face faded. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember.’
His voice dwindled to nothing. In the silence, Angie’s phone rang and she turned away to take the call.
‘I think you should go now,’ said Natalie. ‘Donny’s distressed and tiring. He’s already said it’s painful for him to talk. It’s no use badgering him like this. There’ll be time later for all this.’
Later might be too late, Gemma thought as Natalie glanced over at a senior nurse. ‘Don’t you think he should be left in peace?’ she asked the woman.
Gemma picked up her briefcase. Nothing more was going to happen now that Natalie had taken over.
‘Bye, Donny,’ Gemma said. ‘Thanks for trying to remember what happened. Sometimes it’s very hard to recall things. Especially when .
.
.’ She shrugged, ‘Especially when you’ve been hurt like you have.’
‘Oh, Donny,’ said Angie, diving into her briefcase and bringing out something enclosed in a paper bag. ‘I nearly forgot the most important thing of all.’
She passed the paper bag to Donovan who opened it. For the first time, a smile brightened the pale face. ‘Bear!’ he said, pulling the battered creature out. ‘Mr Old Bear! I thought I’d lost him. Mum and me have been looking for him everywhere! Where was he?’
‘Your father had him.’
‘Dad?’ said the puzzled child.
‘Thanks for that,’ said Natalie.
But Donny was frowning, holding the dirty toy, looking as if he was about to cry. ‘Who did that to him?’
‘Did what?’ asked Natalie.
‘Someone’s cut his ear off! Look.’
‘Have they? Let me see.’ Natalie examined the teddy. ‘It doesn’t matter, darling. It was probably falling off anyway. It’s a wonder he’s got any ears left at all the way you chew them.’
Still frowning, Donovan took the bear back and held it close to his face, comforted by its familiar shape and smell.
‘What do you think?’ Gemma asked as she and Angie left the small family group and made their way to the lift.
‘Hard to say,’ said Angie. ‘The kid’s been traumatised. God knows what he remembers and what he doesn’t. I spoke to one of the neurosurgeons earlier and he said that sometimes it’s like this. Sometimes the memories return slowly, bit by bit. Other times they’re lost and never return.’
‘Do you believe him when he says he can’t remember?’ asked Gemma. ‘Or do you think he’s scared, or protecting someone? He did seem reluctant to talk about his father’s state of mind.’
‘That reminds me,’ said Angie. ‘Is Hugo going to come in and talk to me?’
‘He’s adamant. He won’t dob.’
‘Get me his father’s phone number then and I’ll see what can be done. Hang on,’ she said as her mobile rang and she listened intently a few moments. ‘Okay,’ she said and called off.
‘Donovan’s testimony may be irrelevant now,’ said Angie. ‘Brace yourself. That was my girlfriend in homicide. Jaki Hunter has just been charged with two counts of murder and one of attempted murder.’
The shock hit Gemma like a blow. ‘Jaki, charged?’ she heard herself say.
‘DAL got a match for Bryson Finn and Bettina Finn from the blood on Jaki’s overalls,’ Angie continued, hastening her stride. She swung on Gemma. ‘I knew she was guilty. I just knew it. And until this information goes public, forget it.’
Gemma couldn’t forget. Nor did she try. All she could think of was Jaki’s awful predicament. She couldn’t believe that someone she’d known as a friend for some years could be capable of such terrible crimes. In the past, Gemma had met murderers – and dealt with them. She’d even known one very personally.
Not Jaki. It can’t be true, her mind kept saying. The news had pulled her mood right down. Everything in her life seemed to be falling apart.
Gemma decided to detour past Martin Trimble’s house on the way home to retrieve her surfboard. She didn’t want to spook Trimble till she had the results of the bloodstain testing, but she couldn’t afford to just throw assets away. She resolved to play it by ear if he was at home; if he was out, she’d grab her board and disappear.
By the time she’d parked opposite Trimble’s house, Gemma was even more convinced the police had charged an innocent person. There were still far too many questions. she couldn’t just rule a line under the case. Jaki Hunter was her friend.
Gemma leaned back, flinging her arm across the top of the passenger seat. She felt suddenly exhausted. What sort of life was she leading? What sort of career had she chosen?
Was Martin Trimble another murderer? She stared across the road.
What was she doing talking to murderers? Why was she living like this? It was the nature of her work that she was linked to people like this. Time, she thought, for a change of career. Most of her waking hours were spent in chasing cheats, liars and thieves. Once, she’d been able to find something noble in her work: the restitution of justice, and ensuring that honest people were protected from the contempt of petty criminals. She hadn’t taken into account the time she spent focusing on these crooks and sociopaths.
She crossed the road and knocked on the door and waited, and although the place felt empty, knocked again, waiting a few more minutes to be sure. Putting Jaki out of her mind, and keeping her stride purposeful, she walked around the garage to the window the Ratbag had broken on their earlier visit. The surfboard was no longer there. Unable to resist, she hauled herself up and peered through the window. She could see immediately that the carton that had contained the bloodstained wedding gown was missing. So was Martin Trimble’s car.
She swore under her breath. Maybe right this very minute, he was a long way away, disposing of any further evidence. Thank goodness, she thought, that she’d removed the stained dress. Without that, the eyewitness accounts of a teenager who’d broken into a garage and the irresponsible adult accompanying him might have had great difficulty standing up if this matter ever came to court. Even so, she hoped that her impulsive act would not end up being the factor that allowed Martin Trimble to walk free.
She called Toby Boyd to tell him the bad news, but his mobile was out of range.
When she got home, she found the lounge neat and tidy and Hugo and his possessions gone. He’d left a note: ‘Dear Gemma, thank you for having me. Dad says I have to stay with him now. CYA soon.’ He’d signed it with a smiley face, but Gemma wasn’t convinced.
She put the note down, wondering if that was the real reason he’d left or whether he was distressed by her threat to report his abusers. Sorry, Hugo, she thought. She would have to take action against such sadistic violence. She looked up Hugo’s father’s number and called Angie, leaving the number with her. Remembering that Darren the escort hadn’t yet returned her call, she tried his number again. Again, Brandon answered.
‘I’ve been trying to contact Darren,’ she said. ‘But I’m not having any luck.’
‘That’s because Darren doesn’t work here any more,’ said Brandon. ‘But perhaps I could help out?’
‘Did he leave a forwarding number or address?’
‘Just a moment.’
Brandon returned a few seconds later. ‘I can give you this number he left, but I’ve got to tell you that a couple of his other friends rang it and they couldn’t get anywhere with it.’
‘I’ll take it anyway,’ said Gemma, jotting it down. ‘Did Darren keep records of the clients he entertained?’ Gemma asked.
‘We don’t do that,’ said Brandon. ‘We just book rooms here. There are seven bedrooms. Maybe you should visit sometime,’ he said with a flirty giggle.
She thanked him and rang off. She was tired of all this, tired of chasing up people who didn’t want to talk to her.
She looked around the living room that had once seemed so sufficient to her happiness, the furnishings she’d chosen, the colours, the expanse of Pacific Ocean beyond the glass of the sliding doors. Once, she’d felt that here she had everything she needed. Now, it wasn’t so perfect
The phone rang.
‘I’ve made two decent invitations to you,’ said Mike. ‘If I don’t get a positive response, I’m going to have to call the next woman in my little black book.’
‘Oh?’ said Gemma, a little piqued. ‘Who’s that?’
‘My old mum.’
‘Mike,’ she said, ‘I’m not really feeling up to going out this evening.’ However, she thought, it would be good to see him, have some male company. ‘So how about a Thai take-away and a video?’
‘Done!’ he said.
They sat opposite each other at the dining table while Gemma told him what had happened to her friend Jaki Hunter. Mike looked good in a dark blue shirt open at the neck, and his thick hair neatly brushed back. She found herself wondering idly what it might look like if she ruffled it up. She hadn’t remembered how well-shaped his lips were.
‘Do
you
believe she did it?’ Mike asked.
‘I can’t. And yet everything points to her. Not just the physical evidence. Her emotional state too.’
‘It’s easy to be blind to a friend’s shortcomings,’ he said. ‘See, I think Steve Brannigan is an irresponsible bastard. Who doesn’t deserve you. Though you no doubt have a different position on that.’
She felt the defensiveness rising in her. ‘If you only knew,’ she said, and almost told him about Julie Cooper’s pregnancy. Instead, she filled him in on Hugo’s predicament.
‘Poor kid,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘That father needs a boot up the arse.’
‘Hugo’s back staying with him now,’ she said. ‘We could go round and I’ll hold him down while you kick.’
Her spirits had lifted, she realised, with Mike’s company.
Later, they sat together and watched an old favourite. Feeling about fourteen years old again, she was aware of Mike’s arm lying along the top of the blue leather lounge just behind her.
During a lull in the action on the screen, she was surprised to hear herself say, ‘The reason Steve got engaged to Julie Cooper is because she’s pregnant too.’
Mike drew away in astonishment, turning to fully face her.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
He jumped up and strode over to switch off the DVD. ‘That’s crazy. The man’s crazy.’ He turned to face her. ‘They do go crazy,’ he said, ‘the undercover guys. You know that.’
‘But he didn’t know about me and the baby. I didn’t tell him until the other business with Julie was well in place. Kind of set.’
‘In concrete? He could always call it off. Who is she?’
Gemma told him.
Mike came over and sat beside her again. ‘How do you feel about Steve now?’
‘I’m not sure. Something’s happened .
.
. since the funeral. Something’s different. I guess because my indecision is over. I know for sure what’s going on.’
He patted her hand then dropped it. ‘You’re better off without him. He was never here when you needed him.’
‘How do you know?’ she asked, surprised.
‘I notice things, Gemma. I knew you were pregnant and I was only working for you. Steve never twigged.’
‘We weren’t seeing each other,’ she said. ‘So how could he have?’
‘You still jump to his defence,’ said Mike. ‘So what does he think about your baby?’
‘He’s committed to Julie. They’re engaged. Anyway, I’ve decided against having the baby.’ Not entirely sure, she added, ‘I think.’ She told him about the appointment she had made.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘I realise it’s not my place – not anyone’s place except yours – to make that decision. And I’m not in the slightest bit religious. But there’s something about saying no to life that just doesn’t sit right with me.’
‘Easy for you,’ she said. ‘You’ll never be pregnant.’
‘You’re right of course,’ he said. ‘It’s your decision.’
He went over to the dining table and picked up his jacket. ‘I’d better be going.’
‘But the movie’s not finished yet. Don’t you want to see the rest of it?’
‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘Think I’ll shove off.’
Gemma watched him as he made his way up the steps to the road. He didn’t turn round.
She closed the door and switched on the security system. Surely she had a right to say yes or no to something as huge as bringing a whole new person into this world. The time wasn’t right. Nothing was right for her to have a baby.
•
Next morning, when she woke, she found herself thinking of Mike, of how he’d left last night. Of his unexpected remarks about life. She realised she’d wanted him to stay. She swung out of bed. He was being
kind
to her, that’s all. Kind and reliable, she thought. The qualities she had so far failed to value.
Gemma listened to the news on the radio while she had breakfast, then threw on a jacket and hurried down the hill to the small grocery shop to buy a paper. Jaki Hunter’s arrest was headline news. The police media unit had called a press conference, and Gemma read the piece with a sinking heart. According to the media unit’s spin, Jaki was an unstable woman with a history of depression. The few days she’d taken off recently with flu had been turned into indefinite sick leave.
Back home, Gemma threw the newspaper down in disgust at the inaccuracies. The police department would barely have known of Jaki’s existence, let alone been closely monitoring her mental health, as the journalist’s piece suggested. By the end of the half-page article, any reader would have been left with the impression that an unstable woman had been removed from her job well before the crimes were committed.
If Jaki was innocent, the best way Gemma could help her was to keep the investigation into the Finn murders open. And find the killer.
She looked up the number for her friend Melissa Grey from Parramatta crime scene.
‘I want to talk to Leanne Morrison,’ Gemma said, after the initial greetings. ‘The woman who brought the sexual harassment claim against Dan Galleone?’
Melissa gave Gemma several possible phone numbers and she got through on Leanne’s mobile. Within a few minutes, they had a date.
Gemma drove to an address in Newtown, a second-floor kick-boxing club. Leanne, slight and wiry, dressed in a body leotard and sweating like a Broken Hill brickie, picked Gemma straightaway and walked over, wiping her hand on a towel before extending it cautiously.
‘I need a shower,’ she said, her green eyes making a cool appraisal. ‘Melissa said you were okay. I mean, that you’d been in the job yourself once. Come over with me to the change room. We can talk there.’
Gemma stood outside the cubicle, talking to the semi-closed door, feeling conspicuous as women in various stages of undress moved around her.
‘Tell me about the harassment claim you lodged against Galleone,’ she said through the door.
‘That bloody thing! I wish I’d never done it! It’s caused me nothing but trouble. I thought it was a good idea, sticking up for women. But all I did was stick my own head above the parapet. I’ve been stunned by the hostility it’s caused.’
The shower was turned off and Leanne emerged from the cubicle, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping.
‘Why did you do it?’
Leanne tiptoed over to a long batik carry bag resting under the benches that lined the far wall. Out of it she pulled another towel, which she wrapped around her head, and then unpacked bra, knickers, jeans and a South Sydney jersey. Stooping forward, she continued to dry herself, green eyes suddenly blazing. ‘You mean who leaned on me to do it! Bryson Finn carried on as if he’d been personally insulted. He insisted that I do it!’
She straightened and turned around. ‘Look, I’m not one of those women who gets the vapours when a man makes a sexual remark about them. And after lunch that day, it was clear that Superintendent Galleone was pissed. I thought he was stupid and it was ill-judged of him to make the remarks he did and I told him on the spot that I didn’t welcome his attentions. But I would never have put him on paper if it hadn’t been for Superintendent Finn. He overheard a couple of us talking about it and next thing I know he’s called me into his office and it’s suddenly World War III and he’s telling me I’ve been the victim of serious sexual harassment. He made me feel like I was derelict in my duty as an officer if I didn’t take a stand on this. He said he was putting in a recommendation about me and that he would be deeply disappointed if I didn’t uphold the new workplace sexual harassment regulations. What sort of an example was I setting the junior officers, he asked, if I let something like Galleone’s comments go unchallenged?’
She pulled her knickers up and shrugged herself into a bra.
‘So it was all Finn’s idea?’
Leanne paused in her hair-drying. ‘Not entirely. I have to admit to an interest,’ she said. ‘I knew how Finn liked to cultivate protégés, and I guess I hoped that I could make that work in my favour. I wanted a good report. So although it was his idea, I guess I was happy to go along with it.’ She threw the towel back over her shoulders. ‘Boy, have I grown up since then! I’ve seen more foul play in the job than I ever saw anywhere else. The politics are unbelievable! If there was any way of taking back that complaint without looking like I was a complete idiot, I’d do it. In fact, I even tried.’
‘You said Finn liked cultivating protégés,’ Gemma said. ‘Were they always female?’
Leanne hesitated. ‘There was one young fellow: a constable – Hayden David. He seemed to be a favourite for a while. But then I heard they’d gone their separate ways and David transferred out.’
It took Gemma a few moments before she remembered where she’d heard the name before. Angie had mentioned Hayden David as a recently recruited member of the crime scene group.
‘I’m really worried now,’ Leanne was saying. ‘This complaint might fuck up my career in the police for good. What do you think?’
‘You may have reason for concern,’ Gemma said, choosing her words. ‘Sadly, that’s how it usually goes. Make a legitimate complaint, detail corruption, do all the things that you’re supposed to do, and you’re the one shunned and ostracised.’