‘And passed over for promotion,’ said Leanne.
‘That too,’ said Gemma. She was going to mention her own bitter experience but thought better of it.
‘Talking about protégés, did you ever see or hear anything about Finn and Jaki Hunter?’
‘The woman they’ve charged? No. I vaguely remember some gossip about some girl, though. You know what the rumour mill is like.’
‘Do you know her name?’
Leanne frowned. ‘Finn was always very careful, I heard. Very few people even had any idea. I don’t think it was Jaki Hunter, though.’
Leanne started wriggling into her jeans. ‘You know, when I saw Galleone and Finn fighting at the Police Association dinner I realised I was just a pawn in some game they were playing. I didn’t know anything then about the history of hostility between them.’
Gemma almost dropped her notepad in surprise. ‘You saw Galleone and Finn fighting? You mean physically? At the Police Association dinner?’
‘Sure,’ Leanne responded. ‘I was at the dinner and wanted to talk to Superintendent Finn about withdrawing the sexual harassment allegation. It was already starting to cause me all sorts of shit. I followed him out of the dining room, trying to get him alone.’
‘Could you tell what the argument was about?’
Leanne pulled her jersey over her head. ‘No. I couldn’t really hear their voices.’
‘And Natalie, Finn’s wife?’ Gemma asked. ‘Where was she?’
‘She attended the dinner, but she wasn’t with him just then. It was the perfect chance, I thought, to grab him. But in the hallway, I saw that Galleone had already collared Finn just near the gents toilets and I’d lost my chance. So I continued further down the hall, towards the ladies. That’s when I heard Finn swear. I turned and saw him swing a punch at Galleone.’
‘What did he say exactly?’
‘The usual, when words fail you: “Fuck you, Galleone.” Then he tried to hit him. But Finn had been drinking and Galleone sidestepped the blow easily.’
The woman of the
I think he knows
letter could also have been there that night, Gemma thought excitedly. ‘You didn’t happen to see Finn in a huddle with a woman anytime?’
‘What sort of a huddle?’
‘The sort you might expect of two conspirators talking damage control,’ said Gemma.
‘God, half the police force are doing that most of the time. That night, Finn was circulating a lot. He talked to a lot of people. I know because I was keeping an eye on him all night, trying to get him alone. Come to think of it, there was one woman he spent some time with, but I didn’t recognise her. I can’t even remember what she looked like now. I just know she was wearing a black dress.
‘But there are plenty of little annexes in the hallway outside the ballroom where the dinner was held where a couple could have some privacy, sort of telephone alcoves off the main corridor. Or they could have ducked into one of the other function rooms for a private chat. At least one of them wasn’t locked.’ Leanne grinned. ‘I know because I was having a stickybeak to see what it was like and there was my boss upending one of the secretaries. There were legs and arms everywhere, going at it on the floor under a pile of stacked tables. If I get to stay in the job, that information has to be worth something!’
She reached into her bag and pulled out a comb. ‘I’m thinking of going for a private licence. Like you,’ she said, combing her hair back.
‘Good luck,’ said Gemma, trying not to sound dry.
‘Maybe I could get a job with you?’
They both laughed. But it wasn’t funny.
‘Were you involved with Bryson Finn?’ Gemma asked, now that Leanne was well and truly off guard.
‘Me?’ Leanne stood stock-still, shocked. ‘No way! I’m not that stupid.’
Someone was, Gemma thought, as she left the club and headed for her car. And so was Jaki Hunter.
Sitting in the car, Gemma tried a long shot, ringing Superintendent Galleone at work. To her surprise and his, she got straight through to him.
She explained who she was and launched right into it.
‘We’ve got a witness, Superintendent,’ she said, ‘to an incident at the Police Association dinner. You were seen involved in a heated exchange with Bryson Finn outside the main function room. Bryson Finn threw a punch at you.’
‘Who told you this?’
He’s not denying it, Gemma noted.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ she said. ‘But it was another police officer. Why did Finn try and hit you?’
‘Senior police sometimes don’t see eye to eye on operational matters.’
‘So you admit there was an altercation?’
‘It was nothing. Just an overreaction by a man who’d had too much to drink.’
‘What was the operational matter you were talking about?’
‘You know I’m not really permitted to discuss operational matters, Ms Lincoln. I’ve already been interrogated on this matter by Angie McDonald. But I’m about to go on leave and I’m in a good mood, so I’ll tell you what it was about. Finn was demanding more resources for a follow-up to Operation Skylark – to chase down more lines of inquiry. I told him that it wasn’t possible. We’d already run way over our budget. He wasn’t convinced. He believed money should be diverted from other areas.’
‘And he felt about this budget issue so passionately that he was ready to take a swing at you? I find that very hard to believe.’
‘I don’t really care what you find hard to believe, Ms Lincoln. That’s all I have to say on the matter.’ He rang off.
Gemma swore softly, noticing she’d missed another call while speaking with Galleone. The number was vaguely familiar, and at first she couldn’t recall the owner. Then she remembered Maddison Carr’s breathy voice. She called back but the phone rang out. Why was Maddison calling her? Curious, Gemma thought.
Back in her office, Gemma wrote up her notes from the interview with Leanne and the short conversation with Superintendent Galleone. She didn’t believe that Jaki was a murderer. She sighed, sinking back in her seat. She’d been here once before, she reminded herself. Once, she’d reopened a murder case because she couldn’t accept that someone close to her was a killer. Interfering in that case had almost been the death of her.
With Darren the escort missing, there was no way to confirm Natalie’s story. People who worked in the sex industry were often hard to trace, she knew, moving from place to place, state to state, chasing work. The confusion of working under assumed names, the unsettled lifestyle, made it hard to know where to begin.
Donny had screamed at the sight of his mother, and Gemma couldn’t forget that. Natalie certainly had the know-how to lay a false trail. Although she’d been out of the police for years, she worked in the legal profession and would know all about DNA contamination. It was not incredible that Natalie Finn might murder two people, and even accidentally wound her own son in the process. Furthermore, it was entirely possible that, determined to destroy her rival, she’d ensure that all leads would point to Jaki Hunter.
Gemma pushed back her chair and walked through her living room and out into the feeble sunshine, stepping off the timber deck into the small, wind-blown garden that faced the sea. Only very hardy natives survived here, and the boughs of the few stunted coastal trees that still managed to find a living in the rocky soil all pointed north, bunted by the strong southerly that lifted her hair, blowing over a lavender grey sea. She pulled her jacket closer. How could Angie be so sure of Jaki’s guilt? Until the identity of the woman who had written the
I think he knows
letter and who had called the Bryson Finn household was made known, questions remained in Gemma’s mind. Until such time as Jade was willing to talk about the fight she’d had with her father, and thus throw light, perhaps, on Bryson and Natalie’s relationship, that aspect of the investigation remained unresolved. Rather than let it all go, Gemma thought she could use her time in the interim to ensure that Findlay Finn’s movements were verified.
•
Early next morning, Gemma showered and dressed warmly and, before the traffic built up, set off for Katoomba. Like Angie always said, she was covering all the options. Findlay Finn, if he knew about his brother’s affair, and if he wanted to remove his brother and his unloved wife, could well have proved creative with Jaki’s DNA. It was a good trip and in a little under two hours she was parked in Katoomba’s main street, checking the notes she’d taken from her interview with Findlay. She climbed out of the car and immediately felt the chill of a mountain winter’s day. The sky was grey and a bitter wind lifted her hair. She stood by the car a moment, putting her coat on, then started walking. She spotted the café in minutes: orange checked curtains and brilliantly coloured plastic parrots hanging on gold hoops. So, she thought, the place at least exists.
A little bell rang when she walked inside. Gemma looked around. Oil paintings and watercolours hung on the walls, each with a price tag underneath. She had a closer look at one – a woman feeding chickens behind a country cottage. The colours and the mood were tender and she wanted to buy it. Feeling ready for breakfast, and confident of keeping food down, she approached the neat woman behind the counter and ordered orange juice, raisin toast and a pot of tea. The Sydney papers had already arrived and she flicked through a couple of them, interrupted by the proprietor bringing her order.
‘Thanks. A friend of mine recommended this place,’ Gemma said with a bright smile.
‘Really?’ The woman smiled back. Sometimes, Gemma thought, even though part of the job is bullshit, it can bring pleasure and goodwill to people.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s an artist. He was here last week. He mentioned he chatted to you about the paintings you have for sale.’
The woman’s smile vanished. ‘Him?’ she said. ‘I kept the place open late just for him. But he was very rude. Insulted my artists. Said he painted, and that if these were his, he’d burn them.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Gemma, thinking: that’s Findlay – he was here, all right. ‘And I was just thinking how attractive they are,’ she continued.
‘I’ll leave you to your paper,’ said the woman.
Gemma munched cautiously on the toast and waited. Nothing happened. She flicked through the newspaper until a heading caught her eye: ‘Sect unwelcome, say residents.’ Gemma frowned as she read the small piece. The Group was about to open a new centre in the Southern Highlands and the locals weren’t happy. ‘“I don’t want to be living next to a bunch of hairy hippies,” long-term Mittagong resident Mrs Elsie Pitt said.’ Gemma folded the paper. They must be doing very well, she thought.
•
On the drive back to Sydney, Gemma had to concede that Findlay’s alibi partly checked out. But there was no way of tracing the lost hour or so, when he said he’d visited Manly Beach, bought an ice-cream and been bitten by a dog. She’d wasted the morning, she thought. The time would have been better spent tidying up the paying jobs, not chasing after illusions that might get Jaki off the hook. Get over it, Gemma, she told herself.
But she couldn’t.
As she walked in her front door, her office phone started ringing and she ran to snatch it up. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Hello?’
A long silence made her wonder if this was a nuisance call.
‘Hello?’ she repeated. ‘Who is this?’
Finally, a soft, hesitant voice. ‘Is that Gemma Lincoln?’
‘Yes. Who is it?’
‘It’s Jade. Jade Finn.’
The missed call from Maddison Carr’s phone now made sense.
‘Sorry I missed your first call, Jade. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.’
Another silence.
‘Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your family.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Why else did you ring?’
‘You gave me your card,’ said Jade. ‘You said I could call. I need to know how Donny is. I can’t ask anyone else.’
‘You could call your mother. Or just go home.’
‘I do want to go home, but not like you mean it. I want to go back to the house. To get some stuff. But I don’t want to go there alone. You said I could ring you .
.
.’
Gemma took pity on the girl. ‘Donny seems fine. I saw him the other day and he was awake and on the mend.’
Jade gave what sounded like a half-sob – relief, Gemma thought.
‘So why don’t you want to go home alone?’ she went on.
No reply.
‘Tell me then why you don’t want to talk to your mother.’
‘I just don’t, that’s all.’
‘Human beings never do things without a reason. Are you scared of something .
.
. someone?’ asked Gemma. ‘Is that it?’
But Jade wasn’t talking.
‘I was hoping that you could just, you know, be there,’ she said, ‘while I get some stuff. I won’t take long.’
‘Jade, I’ve got a lot to do. Couldn’t Maddison go with you?’
‘Maddy’s really sick. She’s been diagnosed with Hep C and I’m getting scared. I want to get out of Sydney.’
Maddison’s predicament had spooked Jade, but driven her even further from home. ‘Where are you thinking of going?’
‘Byron. I know some people up there.’
Gemma considered. Carrying out this favour would give her a chance to look around Natalie’s house, maybe get something more out of Jade.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘When do you want to get your stuff?’
‘Kind of now? No one’s home.’
Clearly, Jade was scared of her mother, Gemma thought. She glanced at her watch. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I can be there in about half an hour.’
•
Jade turned her key in the front door and disarmed the alarm as Gemma walked in behind her. Donny’s toys had been piled up in the corner of the living room. Jade hurried down the hallway. ‘I won’t be long,’ she called back.
‘Take your time,’ Gemma said.
A half-opened door on her right looked like the marital bedroom and Gemma pushed the door open and stepped inside, hastening to the bedside tables, the dressing table, a small desk in the bay window that looked out onto a tiled patio with palms in pots. A very handsome bedroom, thought Gemma, even though the bed looked as if it hadn’t been made for days. After a hurried look around, she went down the hall and knocked on Jade’s bedroom door.
Jade didn’t answer so Gemma stepped in anyway to see the girl shoving clothes and personal items into an airline carry-on suitcase with a tall handle.
‘Is that all you’re taking?’ Gemma asked.
Jade turned to face her, and when Gemma saw the girl’s eyes, haunted with grief and desolation, she put a hand on her shoulder.
‘What is it, Jade? There’s something troubling you. Tell me.’
‘I don’t want to live like Maddison,’ said Jade. ‘Like I said, I’m going up north. I’ll get a job. Find a nice place to live.’
‘But this is your home,’ said Gemma, looking around at the beautiful room furnished with fashionable and expensive fittings: the heavy, luxurious curtains that hung either side of a damask blind, the large dark timber French bedhead and footing, the graceful heart-shaped dressing table. ‘And what sort of job could you get without any qualifications? Without even finishing school? You must think very seriously about this move. You’re home now. Why not stay here? It’s certainly in your best interests. And it’s what your mother wants.’
‘No way,’ said Jade, shaking her head vehemently and pulling clothes out of drawers. ‘I hate this place. I hate all the lies, the secrets.’
‘What lies?’
A pile of clothes fell to the floor: jeans, singlet tops and something else that made Gemma take notice. She stepped forward and picked it up. It was a miniature superintendent’s dress uniform coat, stitched with care and accuracy, complete with miniature stars and embroidered patches.
‘Do you have a police doll?’ Gemma asked, frowning.
Jade shook her head and snatched the uniform from her, stuffing it back into the drawer together with the spilled garments. Alerted, Gemma turned to look at the beautiful wall-hanging above Jade’s bed, the fabric collage of Cinderella and her sparkling glass slipper.
‘Did your father have a superintendent doll?’ Gemma asked.
Reluctantly, Jade nodded.
‘Where is it now?’
Slowly, Jade sank to the bed. Seizing the moment, Gemma grabbed the heart-shaped seat in front of the dressing table and dragged it closer.
‘Why don’t you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you.’
Jade’s despairing eyes filled with tears. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘No one can help me.’
‘Tell me why you left home. Tell me what the fight with your father was about. Tell me why you hate your mother. What’s been happening in this family to make you so distressed?’
Across Jade’s face flashed a series of emotions that Gemma felt she could read: hope, relief, sadness and an openness that almost spoke. Then something happened and the display finished. The young face hardened.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, grabbing the airline bag and a large fabric shoulder bag that she filled from the dressing table – cosmetics, hairbrush, some photos. A pink box.
‘How much money do you have?’ Gemma asked.
‘Enough to get up the coast.’
‘And then – what?’
Gemma could see the pink box sitting on top of the other items in the shoulder bag.
Jade shrugged. ‘Can you give me a lift?’ she asked. ‘To Central?’
‘Okay,’ said Gemma. ‘That pink box. May I have a look?’
Frowning, Jade pulled the pink box out of the bag and Gemma lifted the lid, revealing a mess of hairpins, scrunchies, lip glosses and other teenage girl paraphernalia. The inside of the box was lined with a softly radiant pearly pink paper. Gemma had seen this before; the
I think he knows
letter had been written on paper identical to this.
‘This is from a stationery set, isn’t it?’
‘Used to be. I use it for stuff now.’
‘Must have been really pretty,’ Gemma said. ‘But sometimes these fancy finishes make it hard to write. Did you find that?’