The Darkest Hour (7 page)

‘He’s tall, isn’t he?’

Joe was great to work with, there was nobody better, but by god she wished he’d shut up now. She stared out the windscreen, her hands flat on the open directory. Her stomach was pure knots. ‘Right again.’

This was the street. She watched the numbers and saw Kennedy’s building. ‘Stop for a sec.’

Joe pulled over.

Lauren leaned close to the window and looked up. All the flats were dark. She wondered which one was Kennedy’s, and whether his widow was up there pacing the rooms or sobbing on the floor or . . . what? Taking sips alternately from a glass of scotch and a bottle of tranquillisers?

She couldn’t imagine now ever being able to face her.

Joe touched her back and she started forward, hitting her chin on the glass.

‘Jesus, sorry.’

‘’S okay.’ She sat back, rubbing her chin.

He turned on the cabin light. ‘Let me see.’

She wouldn’t look at him.

‘Loz.’

‘I’m okay.’

‘This is that stabbed guy’s place.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You know we did all the right things.’

The right thing would be to call that detective and tell her everything. Confess how she knew Thomas, how he’d attacked and threatened her in the alley, how he as much as told her he’d killed Stewart Blake. That if she’d had half a brain and kept away from him back then, or had been able to delay him longer, or even told the cops and had them start a search the instant they arrived, Kennedy would still be alive.

Maybe she should tell Joe first. A kind of practice run. Get used to the way the words came out, how it felt to admit to lying and perjury and whatever else it was. She looked over at him. He smiled at her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He undid his seatbelt, leaned over and wrapped his arms around her. ‘It’s tough when they hold your hand.’

Her face was hot with shame at what she’d done, and she pressed it into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his after-shave and sweat. ‘I did something bad.’

He went to move back but she tightened her grip. If he wasn’t looking at her, she might be able to say it.

‘Bad like what?’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘You lied about the bet? You’re not going to buy me coffee after all?’ He tried to pull away again. Again she held him close. They stayed like that, silent, for a moment. ‘Lauren.’

She pressed her face harder against him. She couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t come out. And now she thought, what good would it do anyway? They already knew Thomas killed Kennedy. If they caught him for that he’d go away for a long time, and really, what difference would it make to know that he’d killed Blake too? Besides, how could they prove it now, so long after the fact? Her testimony couldn’t be worth much after she’d lied so often and for so long. Then the case for Kennedy would be in jeopardy too: the defence would have a field day with anything she said, especially about Thomas. It would come down to her word against his, and meanwhile she’d probably get the sack, and who would then hire a perjurer? She and Kristi wouldn’t be able to keep up the rent and they’d lose the house, Felise wouldn’t get to go to big school next year with Max . . . their life as they knew it would be gone. Lauren swallowed back bile. It was wrong, she knew it was completely wrong, but she was going to keep this to herself.

‘That’s right,’ she croaked. ‘I’m not going to buy your damn coffee.’

Deborah Kennedy said she was up to doing the statement tonight, if that was what they wanted. They took her to Paddington Station and used a quiet room there to type it out. Down the corridor a meeting room was being prepared for the initial case briefing. From tomorrow it would be worked out of the Homicide office at Parramatta, but for now it was better to be close to the scene.

Tess sat close to her mother, holding her hand, saying nothing. Ella offered them coffee, tea, water, biscuits, more than once, but they shook their heads.

When it was over Ella and Murray drove them back to the flat in Bondi, and walked them to the door. ‘Would you like us to come up?’ Ella said. ‘Stay with you for a while?’

‘We’re okay,’ Tess said. ‘Thanks anyway.’

Ella gave them her card. ‘Ring any time, for anything. Somebody will be around tomorrow to talk with you further.’

Deborah Kennedy’s hand trembled as she tried to fit the key into the lock. She was crying silently.

‘We’ll catch him, Mrs Kennedy,’ Ella couldn’t help but say.

The Kennedys let themselves in and closed the door.

‘What’d you say that for?’ Murray said once they were back in the car. ‘What if we don’t?’

The briefing was well underway when they got back to Paddington. They squeezed into the rear of the room while Detective Sergeant Kirk Kuiper scribbled information on a whiteboard at the front.

‘A woman putting rubbish in her bin in Ocean Avenue saw a man walking, in her words, “extremely quickly” down the footpath.’ Detective Marion Pilsiger was in her twenties, with gelled bleached blonde hair and round blue eyes. ‘She said when he saw her he slowed, but she’s sure once he was out of view she heard him speed up again. She’s described him as young, medium build, dark hair and clothing. She said it was too dark to see anything else.’

‘The timing fits too,’ Detective Jason Lambert said. He was all elbows in his short-sleeved cotton shirt, his thin pale hair scraped sideways on his scalp. ‘The calls for an ambulance started at eight-forty-five. She saw the man at about ten-to-nine. I walked in the way she described from the scene to her house and it took roughly five minutes.’

‘Good,’ said Kuiper, writing up the numbers.

‘I have an elderly man in Albert Street who saw somebody get into a car parked in front of his house soon after that,’ said Detective Graeme Strong. His voice was deep, roughened by the cigars he smoked. ‘He was looking out his window for his daughter who comes by after she finishes a TAFE class at eight-thirty.’

‘He get the numberplate?’

‘Too frail to go outside,’ Strong said. ‘He said it was a dark sedan, maybe blue or green, possibly Holden or Ford. He didn’t know how long it’d been parked there, but after about ten minutes more a man hurried along the footpath, got in and drove off. Pretty smartly, the old guy said. He couldn’t give us any better description than a man of average height, average build, possibly with dark hair. None of the neighbours saw the man or noticed the car. We called the daughter up but she hadn’t seen it or anything else unusual when she got there about five minutes later.’

‘No weapon found anywhere? Blood away from the scene?’

People shook their heads.

‘We’ll extend that search tonight and tomorrow,’ Kuiper said. ‘Marconi, Shakespeare?’

‘James Kennedy worked as a courier for Quiksmart Couriers in Leichhardt,’ Ella said. ‘According to his wife, he usually finished work at six then went to a bakery in the shops on New South Head Road. They apparently kept a certain loaf aside for him every day.’

‘There was no loaf found on the scene?’ Kuiper looked around. ‘Check with the bakery people in the morning then, see if he’d made it there yet. If so, was he alone.’

‘Kennedy was on his motorbike, and would usually be home by seven, even with that detour,’ Ella went on. ‘Mrs Kennedy said she tried to call him but he didn’t answer. She suspected then that something was wrong.’

Kuiper nodded. ‘There’s a mobile in the list of his effects and clothing. We’re getting onto his service provider to check all recent calls.’

‘We’ll need to confirm with Quiksmart that he did indeed leave at six,’ Murray said. ‘But assuming for now that he did, that leaves a sizeable period of time unaccounted for.’

‘We’ll need to locate that motorbike too.’

‘Maybe the killer stole it,’ Strong said. ‘Did Kennedy still have the keys?’

‘Keys are there with his belongings.’ Kuiper’s pen ran out and he grabbed up another one. ‘Anything with the neg driving?’

Ella said, ‘Mrs Kennedy says there’s been nothing.’

‘Check the husband out later anyway,’ Kuiper said. ‘Okay, tasks for tonight. Continue that canvass of the scene and all the streets around there. We want that weapon. Keep an eye out for CCTV on private properties – we might just get a glimpse of our man that way. We need to find that motorbike, and then track Kennedy’s progress from there to the shops.

‘Questions? Okay then, people, clock’s ticking. Let’s get out there.’

T
he bright morning sunlight hurt Lauren’s eyes. She shoved her sunglasses on as she followed Joe out of the station to his car.

‘We should ring them, tell them we’re too tired, we can’t do the statements today,’ she said. ‘Tell them we have to go home and sleep because we have to work again tonight.’

‘They need them.’ Joe started the car and pulled out.

‘For what?’ Lauren said. ‘It’s not like they’ll help them catch the guy.’

‘They might.’

‘The detectives already know what we know, they took down the pertinent details last night,’ Lauren said. ‘This is just paperwork.’

‘It won’t take long.’

‘Yeah, right.’ She folded her arms and glared out the window at the heavy traffic coming the other way. Reflected sunlight flashed from bumpers and windshields, and she hated all the cars and all the people inside them. Night shifts generally left her feeling like crap, but last night she hadn’t been able to rest even when they did get back to the station for a short time. When she’d tried to drink coffee she thought she could smell blood on her hands, and repeated washings didn’t help that or the occasional stickiness she felt on her palms. She hadn’t been able to decide whether to tell the detectives she knew a Thomas Werner, and her head hurt from worrying.

‘I’ll even buy you breakfast afterwards,’ Joe was saying.

Lauren raised the sunglasses to rub her eyes. ‘I’m not hungry.’ Outside, a truck blasted its airhorn at someone, making her want to scream.

Ella said, ‘They’re late.’

‘They don’t finish till eight,’ Murray said. ‘Then it’s, what, forty minutes’ drive out?’

‘Less than that. They’re coming against the traffic.’

‘Maybe they got overtime.’

‘And didn’t have time to call us?’ She was restless, wanting to get going on the next task, wanting to be out there, talking to people, digging for facts. She was tired but buzzed. She wanted more action than typing.

Movement at the door caught her eye. The paramedics stood there looking in, and she elbowed Murray. ‘I’ll take the woman.’

Murray took the man across to a far corner of the room while Ella led the woman back to Murray’s chair. ‘Lauren, right?’

The woman nodded. She looked tired but tense, as if she was exhausted and running on caffeine alone.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Ella said. ‘Tea, coffee?’

‘I’m fine.’

Ella had the computer ready to go. ‘You’ve done statements before?’

Lauren nodded.

‘Let’s get started then. Name, address, age and occupation?’

Lauren kept her hands clenched between her knees under the desk. Every time she said Thomas’s name she felt herself tense up further. She watched Ella for signs that she picked up more in Lauren’s voice or behaviour than she should, but the detective typed on merrily, pausing to nod every so often when Lauren talked, rephrasing some things she said into the statement-speak Lauren had seen before. There was no room in statements for emotions, and though she knew she never could tell anyone – perhaps
because
she knew she never could tell anyone – Lauren found herself wishing she could open up to the detective about how she felt knowing that Kennedy’s death was down to her.

‘And then what?’ Ella said.

‘I completed my handover to the hospital staff and they took over Mr Kennedy’s care.’

Ella typed the words then hit the full stop. ‘Beautiful.’

Lauren looked across the room. Joe and the male detective were laughing about something. They’d probably been long finished, as Joe hadn’t heard as much as she had. If Joe had heard nothing, would they be there now?

‘Just read this over then sign at the bottom of each page.’ Ella handed her the printed pages of her statement. ‘Then you can go.’

Lauren skimmed it and signed and gave the pages back. ‘So,’ she said.
Tell her you might know him, tell her! You think it will be easier later?
But she couldn’t make the words come out.

‘Yes?’

‘Have you caught the guy yet?’

‘I wish,’ the detective said.

Lauren gestured at the computer. ‘Was he on your system there already?’

‘We’ve found a number of people with that name actually.’

‘All from, um, Sydney?’

‘Or elsewhere in the state,’ the detective said.

Lauren thought of Kristi. ‘Are you going to release his name to the media?’

‘We have no plans to.’ Ella studied Lauren for a moment. ‘I know why you’re asking.’

Lauren felt a jolt of adrenaline.

‘I saw last night that this one affected you a bit, so I understand you want to know what’s happening, how quickly we’ll get the guy.’

Lauren nodded and got to her feet. ‘Soon, I hope.’

‘We hope so too,’ Ella said.

In the lift Lauren stood silently beside Joe who jabbed at the button with his thumb. ‘You’d think it’d be faster in a newish building like this.’

She felt weak with fear and guilt.

At home, she was inside before Joe had driven off. She ached with fatigue and tension, and the sound of Felise banging about in the attic made her grit her teeth. In the kitchen she took down their collection of medicines. She didn’t like to take sedatives to help her sleep because of the fog they left in their wake, but today she felt she had little choice. She had another night shift that night; lying in bed awake all day would do her no good at all. She weighed the box of tablets in her hand and wished her brain had a switch she could flick to ‘off’.

‘See what we made you?’ Kristi came into the room and yanked open the fridge door. ‘It’s on the table.’

It was a small mosaic featuring something that looked like a purplish ear against a sky blue background. Next to it was the plumber’s bill for the new water heater. Lauren took a closer look and winced. The landlord wasn’t going to be happy.

‘It’s our new teapot stand.’ Kristi shoved a large bottle of water and three apples into her work knapsack.

‘A mosaic of an ear?’

‘A spleen.’

Lauren popped out a tablet and swallowed it dry. ‘Great.’

Kristi spooned tabouli into a small container. ‘How was your night?’

‘Crap.’

‘Ordinary night shift crap, or more?’

‘More.’ Lauren slumped into a chair. ‘I went to a stabbing. The man died.’

‘Oh my god.’ Kristi dropped the spoon. ‘How did it happen?’

‘Somebody just walked up to him on the street and stabbed him. He was still conscious when we got there, and we got him in the ambulance and I was filling him up with fluids, and then he gave me a message for his wife.’

Kristi sat down next to her and smoothed her calloused palm over Lauren’s forehead. ‘Are you okay?’

The action reminded Lauren of how she’d done exactly the same thing to Kennedy, and she looked away from the touch. ‘He knew he was dying,’ she said. ‘He told me who stabbed him. I had to give a statement to the police about what he said.’

Kristi’s eyes were round. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘Not quite the word I’d use.’

‘No, but listen,’ Kristi said. ‘You saw a man die, you wrote down his last words including the identity of his killer. I know you think you’ve built up this layer around your heart, this tough stringy layer like beef jerky, and that you need this to cope with your work, but really, Lauren, this is something else. Apart from the fact that it comes so soon after the ice addict attack, this was you and this man at the final moments of his life, him standing on the precipice of the great unknown and you the only one holding his hand, looking into his eyes, simultaneously trying to hold him back and to ease his passing if that was how it was to be, to take down his last message for the world, words which will both comfort his family and help the police avenge his death, and Jesus, you know what? What you’ve done allows him to point his hand from the grave, identifying his killer, ensuring that justice with a capital J is done.’

‘I wanted so badly to save him.’

‘I know you did.’

‘You don’t understand. I needed to save him. I had to,’ Lauren said. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘You can’t save everyone,’ Kristi said. ‘The universe has its plan.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ Lauren said. ‘This man should still be alive.’

‘Violence is a terrible thing.’

‘You don’t get it.’

Kristi stroked her hair. ‘Then help me get it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I’ve looked death in the face too, remember,’ Kristi said. ‘When I was in that car accident–’

Lauren squeezed her eyes closed. ‘That’s not the same thing and you know it.’

‘I’m just trying to demonstrate that we have shared experiences, common ground on which to talk. I know where you’re coming from.’

‘You haven’t the slightest idea,’ Lauren said.

Kristi stared at her for a moment. ‘I’m not encouraging you to talk for my benefit, you know.’

‘I know,’ Lauren said. ‘You’re doing it for my spleen.’ She turned away from the hurt in her sister’s eyes, sorry she’d ever mentioned the stabbing. ‘Look, I just want to go to bed.’

‘Then go.’ Kristi got up, slammed the lid on the tabouli container and shoved it into her knapsack, then yelled up the stairs, ‘Are you ready?’

‘I want to stay home!’ Felise shouted back.

‘We’ve been over this already,’ Kristi said, ‘and if you’re not down here with your things, ready to go, by the time I count to three, you won’t be allowed to play with Max for the rest of the week.’

There was an exasperated sigh and a blonde ropey-haired naked plastic doll flew down the stairs.

‘You remember what happens to toys that get thrown?’ Kristi grabbed it and flung it into the bin.

‘I didn’t like her anyway!’ Felise stamped down the stairs, the old bowls bag full of pencils, paper, dolls and books that she took to Kristi’s jobs thumping down each step behind her. She stopped on the last one to shout, ‘And I hate you, Mummy!’

‘Like I haven’t heard that before.’ Kristi turned her back. ‘Say goodbye to Aunty Lolly.’

Felise came over and pecked Lauren on the cheek, her pinched little face red with anger. Lauren got in a brief hug before Felise stormed away and down the stairs to the ground floor. Kristi followed without a backward glance, and Lauren stayed at the table, listening for the turning of the lock and the starting of Kristi’s car, before pushing herself to her feet and heading tiredly for the shower.

Her skin red and tingling, her heart sore, Lauren fell into bed with the tablet kicking in. She pulled the covers up in a daze, praying she would be able to disappear into sleep, away from her thoughts.

At 10am Kuiper asked if they wanted to go home but both Ella and Murray said no. With fresh coats of deodorant they headed for James Kennedy’s workplace.

The Quiksmart courier depot was in a busy street just off Parramatta Road in Leichhardt. Inside the front office, a woman in her fifties sat behind a high counter. Her eyes were red and she typed with her head bent over the computer keyboard. Through a glass-panelled door behind her Ella could see five people with phone headsets at computers. They were all talking and typing.

Murray showed the woman his badge. ‘We’re here to see Daniel Peres.’

She dabbed at her eyes with a damp-looking tissue. ‘I’ll call him.’ She lifted the phone and spoke into it in a low voice. A couple of people in the closed room behind her looked their way. Ella stared back at them. She had no doubt they knew who she and Murray were. Two suits turn up at your workplace the morning after one of your colleagues is killed, it doesn’t take much brain power to figure it out. Both the watchers turned back to their screens but one also angled his chair a little as if to hide his face. Ella narrowed her eyes.

The woman stood up and opened a door at the side of the office. Stairs led upwards. ‘Mr Peres is waiting for you.’

Daniel Peres’s office was walled with glass and overlooked the activity in the huge warehouse area below. His desk stood near the opposite wall. As they entered the room he lumbered from behind it, his hand out in front like it was leading him. ‘How do you do,’ he said. ‘Daniel Peres.’

Murray did the name thing for them both.

Peres indicated chairs. They sat, and Ella crossed her legs and placed her palm on the arm of the chair, hoping the fabric would absorb Peres’s sweat from her skin.

‘Have you caught the offender yet?’ Peres said.

‘These things can take considerable time,’ Murray said.

Peres nodded. ‘So how can I help?’

‘How long had James Kennedy worked here?’ Ella said.

Peres touched the computer mouse. ‘I was just looking it up. Seven years he’d been here, three of that working under my predecessor.’ He smiled nervously. ‘He was a good employee. Hardly took a sick day the whole time I’d known him.’

‘How did he get on with the other staff?’ Murray asked.

‘Fine, fine, no problems at all.’

‘Kennedy was a driver, correct?’ Ella said.