Silent Fear (4 page)

‘Those cops asked us.’ Roberts-Brice pointed to the uniforms. ‘None of us heard a thing.’

‘So you claim.’

‘It’s true.’

Murray stepped close. ‘You know who shot him and why, don’t you?’

‘I do not!’

Ella stuck her arm between them. ‘Okay.’

‘This isn’t fair,’ Roberts-Brice said. ‘My friend’s dead, and that cop said we had to stay and tell you what happened and that’s what I’m doing, but all I’m getting from you is crap.’

‘Then tell us the truth,’ Murray snapped.

‘Okay.’ Ella put one hand on Murray’s shoulder and one on Roberts-Brice’s. They were both tense and shaking. ‘Take a step back and a deep breath.’

‘My friend is dead!’

‘We understand.’

Roberts-Brice pointed at Murray. ‘
He
doesn’t.’

‘Point at me again,’ Murray snarled.

‘Okay!’ Ella’s voice rose above theirs.

Tom and Anthony and the blond friend looked over. Ella could see it all unfold in her mind: the struggle, the joining in of at least Tom and Anthony if not Roberts-Brice’s friends as well, the injuries, the hassle. All because Murray’s head and heart were full of his dad’s stabbing and the belief that every person he saw was somehow involved.

‘How about you call the office and update them on our progress?’ she said to him.

‘We need to finish here first.’

‘Then let’s do that,’ she said pointedly.

He and Roberts-Brice glared at each other.

Across the grass Tom and Anthony finished with the blond friend and gestured at the guy with the mole.

Ella touched Roberts-Brice’s arm and smiled. ‘Hot enough for you?’

He didn’t answer, eyes still locked on Murray.

‘What happened to your face?’

Now he glanced over. ‘I was mucking around on this kid’s skateboard and stacked straight into a brick wall.’

‘Ouch.’

He smiled back weakly and touched the bruise on his cheek. ‘You should’ve seen it a few days ago.’

She said, ‘Tell me about Paul Fowler. How long have you known him?’

‘Couple of years,’ he said. ‘We’re mates, all of us.’ He motioned to the group behind him. ‘We hang out together.’

‘How did you meet?’

‘He was friends with Seth first. Seth brought him along when we were going out one night.’

‘Which one’s Seth?’

‘He went with Paul to the hospital. His last name’s Garland.’

‘What’s Paul’s family situation?’

‘He split from his wife a while back, they’ve got a little girl.’

Poor thing
, Ella thought. ‘You know his address?’

‘Of his old place or where he lives now?’

‘Both.’

‘He’s staying with Seth since he split with his missus.’ He recited an address in Brighton-Le-Sands. Murray wrote it down. ‘His wife’s still in their old house.’ Another address, this time in Belfield.

Murray said, ‘You ever been in trouble before?’

‘What? Why?’

‘Answer the question.’

‘I had nothing to do with this,’ Roberts-Brice said.

‘Answer the question then,’ Murray said.

They glared at each other. Ella squinted in the sun to see Roberts-Brice’s eyes but then he looked away from both of them.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was in a bit of trouble when I was younger. So what?’

‘What did you do?’

‘I used to drink a lot and then I’d get in fights. I was underage, a stupid kid. I’m not proud of it.’

‘I’d hope not,’ Ella said.

‘I was cautioned a few times,’ he said.

‘A few times?’ Murray said. ‘Always for fighting?’

Roberts-Brice put his hands on his hips. ‘I once shot at a parked car. Again, I was drunk. And underage.’

‘Anyone hurt?’

‘No way,’ he said.

‘You a good shot?’ Murray said. ‘Reckon you could hit someone in the back of the head from a distance?’

‘I was right here on the field when Paul collapsed.’

‘I didn’t ask if you’d shot him, just whether you’d be capable of it.’

He screwed up his face. ‘I grew up in the country. Rabbits, feral cats, foxes everywhere. You get good.’

‘So how hard a shot is that?’ Ella pointed to the treed area near the car park where Crime Scene was searching, then to the spot where Fowler had lain. She wasn’t a bad shot herself so had her own thoughts on it, but wanted to hear what he’d say.

‘I told you, I was here on the field.’

‘We’re asking for your thoughts,’ Murray said. ‘Got a problem with sharing?’

Roberts-Brice made a face. ‘It’s not an impossible shot.’

Ella raised her eyebrows.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely possible. Any good shooter could do it.’

‘Back of the neck like that?’ Murray said.

‘He was stationary,’ Ella said. ‘Doing up his shoe.’

Murray clicked his pen and squinted at the distance.

‘It’s not much different from a headshot on a little rabbit,’ Roberts-Brice said. ‘Probably half the farm people in the country could do it.’

It was what Ella had thought as well, and it didn’t make their job any easier. Better if it’d been something only a professional sniper could’ve pulled off. Narrow the field down.

She said, ‘While the ambos were working on Paul, did you see anything else going on? Anyone rushing away, any cars taking off in a hurry?’

‘There was one thing.’ He pointed to a house facing the park. ‘A car drove out of that driveway and along the street to that corner.’

‘How convenient that you remember it now, immediately after telling us that you could’ve pulled off the fatal shot,’ Murray said.

‘I was here!’

‘According to your friends.’

‘Make? Colour?’ Ella said.

‘White, I think. Light-coloured anyway. A sedan. Medium to large, sort of like an older Commodore.’

‘Could you see the plates?’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It was really just a glimpse.’

Murray shook his head as he wrote the information down. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘I only just remembered,’ Roberts-Brice said. ‘I’m traumatised, okay? How would you feel, seeing your friend shot down in front of you like that?’

‘All right.’ Ella could feel the heat rising through the soles of her shoes from the ground, sweat trickling down her sides and her back now too, and the sun burning her scalp through her hair. Murray’s attitude was making it all worse. She motioned to the car park. ‘Is one of those cars Paul’s?’

‘The bike,’ Roberts-Brice said.

There were no panniers on it. ‘Did he have any belongings with him?’

‘Keys and his phone, I guess.’ Roberts-Brice looked around to the pile of keys and phones on the grass. ‘You want them?’

‘Please,’ she said.

He brought back keys on a ring with a red leather tag embossed with the letter P. ‘His phone’s not there. Maybe it’s in his pocket.’

Ella took the keys. ‘Thanks.’ She could hear Tom telling his witness the usual guff about coming in for the formal interview and gave Roberts-Brice the same spiel. ‘As soon as you can.’

‘I can’t go there now.’

‘Somewhere better to be?’ Murray said.

‘Yeah. The hospital, with Paul and Seth.’

‘How about later this afternoon?’ Ella asked.

‘I have to work.’

‘Where?’

‘Bottle shop in Ashfield.’

‘Address,’ Murray said.

‘How is that relevant?’

‘What if we find the car you say you saw and we need to get more information from you?’

‘I told you everything I can remember.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Murray said.

Roberts-Brice sighed and recited an address on Liverpool Road. Murray wrote it down, then shut his notebook with a snap.

Ella looked across the grass. Tom and Anthony were shaking the mole guy’s hand. The blond one stood near the pile of keys and phones, the football in his hands.

Roberts-Brice said, ‘Can I go now?’

‘Just a sec.’ Ella went towards the blond man. ‘Detective Ella Marconi.’

‘Carl Sutton.’ He tucked the ball under his arm and shook her hand.

‘Any idea where Paul’s mobile is?’

‘None, sorry.’

Mole-face came over. Sutton said, ‘This is Jared Kelly.’

‘Do you have Paul’s phone?’ Ella asked him. ‘Or do either of you know if Seth took it?’

They shook their heads, then Kelly said, ‘It might be in Paul’s pocket.’

Ella nodded. ‘Thanks.’

The three of them gathered up their stuff and started over the grass towards their cars.

‘They all know something,’ Murray said behind her. ‘And not just about this. All the scumbags in this city know about all the shit that’s going down. If we could get these low-lifes alone, really
make
them tell the truth, we’d learn all sorts of things.’

‘There’s no way they know who stabbed your dad.’

‘Put me in a room alone with one and we’ll find out.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘The ATM is less than ten minutes from here,’ Murray said. ‘You know I’m right.’

‘About what?’ Anthony said as he and Tom joined them.

‘Nothing,’ Ella said. ‘The friend we spoke to thinks he saw a car leave that driveway just after Fowler collapsed.’ She pointed to the house Roberts-Brice had indicated.

‘Tell them about his juvenile history of bashing people and shooting at shit in the street,’ Murray said. ‘And don’t forget how he brought up the car only after admitting to that past.’

‘Because that was when I asked him about what he saw or heard,’ Ella said.

‘He could’ve volunteered it earlier,’ Murray said.

Ella explained what Roberts-Brice had said about his past. ‘But he says he was here when Paul collapsed, and the way the female bystander describes the scene supports that.’

‘We’ll see,’ Murray said. ‘Yours come up with similar lies?’

‘Jared Kelly says he saw nothing, heard nothing,’ Tom said. ‘Carl Sutton said the same initially, then claimed to remember seeing a man cross the bridge carrying something long, a stick maybe, that he dropped into the river partway across. Said it happened while they were waiting for the ambulance. He doesn’t know CPR so couldn’t help and was just standing there. He said he thought Fowler had collapsed from heat stroke or something so thought nothing of what he saw until later, when he realised it could’ve been a rifle.’

‘Truly amazing how their memories work,’ Murray said.

‘I don’t know,’ Anthony said. ‘I’ve had witnesses do the same in the past – start remembering, even start imagining things sometimes.’

‘We’ve all had that,’ Murray said. ‘This is something else. Think about it. Who plays touch at midday on a day like this? And only five of them? Rough game with those numbers.’

‘They said they were just tossing the ball around,’ Ella said.

‘Maybe,’ Murray said. ‘Or maybe it was a set-up. Get Fowler out into the open and bam.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Ella said. ‘Apart from there being a million easier ways to do it, what’s their reason?’

‘Scumbags like that don’t need a reason,’ Murray said.

Ella turned to the others. ‘I’m going to look at Fowler’s bike.’

It was a Suzuki with scratched red paint. There was no bag slung over the seat, no compartments anywhere. A blue helmet hung over the handlebar and Ella turned it by the strap to see it was empty. ‘No phone stashed in there.’

Murray started to write down the numberplates of the two cars parked beside it, and Anthony held out a piece of paper. ‘Here’re the regos of the cars the friends were driving.’

Ella looked into the cars’ empty back seats and tapped an idle knuckle on the boots while scanning the surrounds. Houses, gardens, playground, street. Suburbia could look so innocent.

Tom wiped his forehead on his sleeve. ‘Check out the bridge?’

The bridge was sturdy white-painted wood. They climbed the stairs without touching the railing and went onto the span over the river. Ella peered down into the water. It was murky and she couldn’t see the bottom. The sunlight glittered on the ripples raised by the hot wind.

‘Your guy say where the man was when he dropped the stick?’ she asked.

‘Couldn’t be specific.’

‘What a surprise,’ Murray said.

Ella looked at the far side of the river where the Marrickville Golf Course clubhouse stood in a half-empty car park. Four golfers led their buggies down the fairway. The grass was less brown than in the park but it was a push to call it green. Four more golfers were putting their bags into their cars. She started across to the far stairs.

‘Excuse me.’ She held up her badge. ‘We need a minute of your time, please.’

None of the men had noticed anyone dropping a stick or anything else in the river, none had seen anyone hurrying away from the area, none had even seen the ambulance come or go. Ella wasn’t surprised. From where she stood the crime scene was well hidden by the mangroves lining the riverbank.

She and Murray stepped back to let the golfers drive away. Anthony and Tom had gone on to speak to those on the course, and she could see them talking and Anthony pointing back across the river. She looked at the cars parked around her, then checked for security cameras under the clubhouse eaves. There were none.

‘Where’s this driveway go?’ she asked Murray.

‘Some Marrickville backstreet.’

His tone irked her. ‘You want to get it together? You’ve got the shits so bad your vision’s stained.’

‘And your glasses are way too pink.’

‘I think as little of the low-lifes as you do. I just don’t think this incident has anything to do with your dad.’

He huffed. ‘You also think every one of Fowler’s mates is an innocent darling cherub.’

‘I never said any such thing.’ The heat and Murray were tag-teaming to drive her insane. ‘You –’

Murray’s mobile rang and he grabbed it from his pocket. ‘Mum, slow down. What’s happened?’

Ella walked away, into the start of the shaded path that followed the river north. If Anthony and Tom’s witness had really seen someone come over here, really seen him drop a rifle into the water, then the guy had multiple options in getting away. Hop into a car parked among those belonging to the golfers; join friends who were actually playing; head up the driveway to a car waiting on the street; walk along here like he was just out for a stroll on a hot Saturday afternoon.

She glanced at Murray. He’d turned his back and stood with the phone hard against his ear and his elbow cupped in his hand. She hoped he wasn’t crying. She even mostly hoped his dad wasn’t dead. They had history, she and ol’ Frank, kicking off in fine style the long-ago night she’d thought he was a dopey civilian and told him to get the fuck out of her crime scene, then developing strongly in the Homicide office recently when she’d mistaken him for a maintenance man and hinted he should hurry up and fix the boiler. He was known to be a stubborn old bugger so she hadn’t been surprised to hear that he’d refused to give his wallet to the mugger. Rumour had it that he’d even said, ‘Don’t you know who I am?’