She started the engine and watched the side mirror for a gap in the stream of headlights. Acting head of homicide Brad Langley was a numbers man: overtime, cases solved, man hours per case, detectives per shift. The fewer homicides that rolled down the chute, the more time detectives
had to clear up older cases. He had every spare person digging into old files and re-interviewing key witnesses, chasing up evidence, following up whatever wasn’t followed up before. The more cases he could slam the door on, the better his performance rating and the higher on the ladder he could climb. She missed her friend and usual boss, Dennis Orchard, currently acting up in counter-terrorism.
He listened, and he cared.
At RPA, she parked in the police bay and they walked into the Emergency Department. Ella glanced around but couldn’t see Callum.
Murray showed his badge to a young dark-haired nurse. ‘We’re here about a patient from earlier today, Marko Meixner.’
‘Him,’ the nurse said. ‘I triaged him and put him out in the waiting room. He chose not to stay and left
at some point in the next couple of hours. Why? What’s he done?’
‘Didn’t he even see a doctor?’ Murray asked.
‘Look around,’ the nurse said. ‘We’re overflowing with serious medical and trauma cases. A guy who runs his car into a pole and presents uninjured but perhaps depressed doesn’t automatically get a bed and someone to hold his hand.’
‘So he didn’t see a doctor,’ Ella said
flatly. ‘Did anyone else speak to him, other than you?’
‘I guess reception out the front talked to him when they got his details. This way.’ The nurse led them down a corridor. ‘So what’d he do?’
‘He’s dead,’ Ella said. ‘Thanks for your help.’
They left her standing there and pushed through the double doors into the busy waiting area. Children wailed and parents shushed and rocked,
teenagers huddled, one vomiting into a bucket, old people sighed and shifted on the hard plastic seats. Ella followed Murray to the desk, where he put his badge up to the security screen.
‘We need to speak to the staff member who talked to Marko Meixner,’ he said.
The grey-haired woman in her fifties frowned at her computer screen as she scrolled down with the mouse. ‘That was me.’
Behind her, two other women worked at computers and a man talked on the phone. In the waiting room crowd, a baby’s scream reached boiling point.
‘Is there somewhere…?’ Ella said.
The woman gestured for them to head through another door, where she met them in the corridor. Once the door closed most of the noise was shut out.
‘I don’t know how much I can tell you,’ she
said.
Ella got out her notebook. ‘What did you and he talk about?’
‘He said he was scared, that somebody was coming to get him.’
‘Did he tell you that person’s name?’
‘No.’ She twisted the blue lanyard that hung around her neck, making her ID card swing on its end. Ella saw that her name was Barbara Martin, her designation clerk level 3. ‘He was very frightened though.
To the point of distraction. I had to ask him a couple of times to tell me his address and next-of-kin particulars.’
‘Which are what?’
‘I’ll just grab them.’ She went back into the office area, then returned with a slim file. ‘His date of birth’s 12 August, he’s thirty-five years old, he lives at 13 Helen Street in North Sydney, and his next of kin’s his wife, Carla. He said he takes
no medication and has no medical history. He said he’d never been to this hospital before, and when I put him into the system I saw that was right.’
It was the same wrong information that he’d given to the paramedics.
‘He told you that?’ Ella said. ‘You didn’t actually see anything with the information on it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s quite normal, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Would you know if somebody with the same name but a different date of birth had been a patient here?’
She shook her head. ‘But I can go and check now, if you like.’
‘Thanks,’ Ella said. ‘Try 12 September 1977.’
Barbara went back into the office again.
‘Two lots of lies,’ Murray said.
‘He must’ve been terrified,’ Ella said.
‘Or paranoid. Knowing Langley’s
luck, the date will match and we’ll find out he’s got a psych history as long as your arm.’
Barbara came out shaking her head. ‘I even checked the name with the date of birth field empty. He’s never been here.’
‘Have you spoken to Mrs Meixner?’ Murray said.
‘No. I asked him if she knew that he was here, or if he wanted to call her and let her know, but he said it was too dangerous.’
‘What did you do when he said that?’ Ella asked.
‘Well, after I finished I went out the back and said to Trudie, the nurse, that he seemed a bit off. She said she’d get to him.’ Barbara twisted the lanyard up tight. ‘At the time, I said to Mr Meixner that he was safe here, that nothing bad would happen, he just needed to be patient and he’d soon get to see a doctor. I told him to take
a seat and if he had any problems to come and see me again.’
‘Did any police come to talk to him?’
‘That’s what made me realise he’d gone. I had to tell them he’d left.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About twenty past five. He came in a little after four. I know he was there at about quarter to five, when I went out to talk to a woman sitting nearby, but that’s all I can really
say.’
Ella wrote
4.45–5.20, left RPA
. ‘What did you do?’
‘I went back and told Trudie, but she was busy and just shrugged. It’s not uncommon for people to leave, though usually it’s after they’ve come up to the window five times and asked how much longer they have to wait.’
‘Did you notice his behaviour while he was waiting?’ Murray said. ‘Did he talk to anyone? Cause any concern?’
‘I didn’t see him talking with anyone, and he certainly didn’t cause any trouble,’ Barbara said. ‘He sat in the back corner and just huddled into himself.’
‘And he wasn’t assessed any more than what you’ve just said?’
She shook her head. ‘He came in by ambulance, and Trudie checks those patients then decides where they’re to go. Once she sends them out here, I or one of the other
clerks get their details and put them in the system. Unless something drastic happens, like they collapse on the floor or start screaming in pain, they wait their turn.’ She looked at them. ‘Is Mr Meixner okay?’
‘Unfortunately he passed away,’ Ella said. ‘We’re trying to piece together why.’
Barbara covered her mouth. ‘Dear God. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. I tried to help him. I
could have tried harder with Trudie perhaps.’
‘That’s not the angle we’re looking into.’ Murray touched her arm. ‘Thank you for your help.’
She went back into the office area shaking her head, and Ella shut her notebook. There was still no sign of Callum.
‘How did Meixner get from here to Town Hall?’ she said.
Murray nodded. ‘We need to check the buses and taxis.’
They were outside and headed for the taxi stand when the Emergency doors slid open and Callum stepped out. ‘Ella?’
‘I’ll just be a minute,’ she said to Murray, and crossed the asphalt holding back a smile. ‘How are you?’
The collar of his navy blue shirt was buttoned tight, the striped navy and gold tie pushed hard up against it. He smelled of hospital disinfectant. He smiled, but it
didn’t reach his eyes, nor last long on his face. ‘Trudie said there’s some trouble about a patient?’
‘Not trouble as such,’ Ella said.
‘Some patient walked out of here and is now dead?’
‘We’re still putting the picture together, but that’s how it looks.’ She moved a little closer. ‘How’ve you been?’
Callum opened and closed his hands by his sides. ‘You know we can’t stop
people if they decide to walk out.’
‘Nobody’s saying your staff did anything wrong.’ Ella lowered her voice. ‘Are you okay?’
Callum frowned across the ambulance bay and didn’t answer.
Ella hesitated, then touched his hand. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ He put his hands in his pockets.
‘That’s clearly not true,’ she said. ‘Are you pissed off that we didn’t clear our
questions with you first, or is it something else?’
He was silent for a long moment, looking everywhere but into her eyes, then he said, ‘I have to go,’ and went back inside.
Frustration bubbled in Ella’s blood. She felt like an idiot standing there, unable to decide whether to follow him and dig out the truth or give up and walk away. She turned and headed for the car. Murray was
leaning on the bonnet.
‘How’d you go with the taxis?’ she said before he could open his mouth.
‘Spoke to the only driver there, showed him Meixner’s driver’s licence photo, but he didn’t recognise him. We can call the dispatch centres from the office and find out if anyone picked him up, and check the buses on this route then too.’
Ella got behind the wheel and slammed the door.
Murray climbed in the passenger side. ‘Everything okay with the good doctor? Had he seen Meixner?’
‘No.’
‘No to which question?’
‘Meixner,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘It looked it,’ he said.
She started the car with a scowl. She really liked Callum, and his behaviour stung. The night when he’d first invited her for coffee had seemed so full of promise. It
was just before Christmas, almost two months ago, and she’d left her parents and Aunt Adelina watching slides of their New Zealand cruise, saying she had to go back to work. She and Callum had talked for hours, it’d been so comfortable and easy. Only once had she seen a cloud cross his eyes and wondered if he was thinking about his father, behind bars for the murder of Callum’s cousin, the murder
that she herself had solved.
Their second date in early January was good too, and she’d found he was a great kisser. But between then and their third date, a week later, his father’s appeal had been dismissed, and when she’d sat across from him over dinner she’d seen that his eyes held nothing but clouds. They’d had coffee twice since, Callum saying he was too busy for anything more, but
he was never really present, and the kisses were downgraded to pecks on the cheek. She was afraid that his father’s guilt and her role in uncovering it might be obstacles too big for them to overcome. She understood how hard it must be for him; she could imagine that she too would find it difficult to be around someone who’d put one of her parents in prison. Not that she could imagine her parents
ever killing anyone, but no doubt Callum had once felt the same way.
But it felt so wrong to lose that promise, those thrilling stomach butterflies, the easy conversation, and the shared dedication to work. That was an element of her personality her previous boyfriends had not been comfortable with, and she’d felt like this time things might be different.
‘We going?’ Murray said. ‘Or
are you going to stare all lovesick out the windscreen for the rest of the night?’
Unfortunately, after their second date she’d let slip to Murray where she’d been. She looked at him and noticed again his fresh haircut and the light in his eyes.
‘What’s her name?’ she asked.
‘Whose name?’ Murray said.
‘Is she in the job? Someone I know?’
He smiled. ‘I have no idea
what you’re talking about.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said, and drove out of the bay.
FOUR
B
rad Langley stepped out of his office as Ella and Murray came out of the lift. ‘Psych, right?’
‘The doctor never saw him,’ Ella said. ‘There’s no diagnosis.’
‘There are other inconsistencies too,’ Murray said.
Langley put his hands on his hips. He was tall, shaven-headed, with blue eyes a fraction too close together. He was known for favouring
grey suits and white shirts, and had a rotating cast of ties in various shades of blue. He stared at them, then gestured briskly down the corridor. ‘Get on with it then.’
He went back into his office and they walked to their desks. The office was empty, the other detectives gone for the night.
‘I love bosses with that gentle touch,’ Ella said.
Murray laughed. ‘Coffee?’
‘Of course.’
Ella sat at her computer and typed in Marko Meixner’s name, then read her way through multiple screens with a shiver.
‘Meixner’s got no record, but he was a witness in a murder case seventeen years ago,’ she called out. ‘Short version is that he saw one Paul Mitchell Canning, aged twenty, kill one Karl Victor Grady, aged thirty-four, by hitting him with a star picket.’
‘Jesus.’ Murray put a brimming cup by her elbow.
‘Canning and Grady were acquaintances who’d been drinking together when an argument began, which turned into a fight,’ she said. ‘Meixner was a taxi driver; he turned into the street where this was taking place at 1 am and saw it in his headlights. He called for police via his radio, then leapt from the car. It says here he shouted at
Canning to stop, and when he didn’t he threw himself over Grady’s body to protect him. Canning threatened him and hit him once across the back, then fled.’ She scrolled down further. ‘Grady lived for a day, and was awake enough at one point to tell police what happened. Canning was located three days later, camping in the bush. He said, yes, he and Grady had been drinking and yes they’d argued, but
then they’d gone their separate ways on the street. Canning’s lawyer claimed that Grady was so badly injured, his memory had confused the drinking session with his grief-stricken friend with the assault. Meixner, meanwhile, had given a description that produced an excellent identikit picture, and he identified Canning from both a photo array and then in person in court. The jury believed him and
Canning got twenty years with a non-parole of sixteen.’
‘Seventeen years back,’ Murray said.
Ella typed in Canning’s details and her heart kicked up a gear. ‘Released seven weeks ago.’
‘Revenge would be sweet after a seventeen-year wait,’ Murray said.
‘Though kind of obvious,’ Ella said. ‘He’d know we’d look at him first. And what’s he going to gain? Look at the risk. If
he’s caught, he goes back inside for another twenty, probably more.’
‘Perhaps he felt it was worth it,’ Murray said.
She saw there was a note attached to the file, and clicked to open it. ‘Three weeks ago Marko went to Ryde station and told a Constable Luke Phillips that he was being harassed by Canning.’ Her heart sped up even further. ‘He said Canning had been lurking outside his
apartment building, and once followed him for five minutes in the city. The officer wrote that he was agitated and panicky, and that he asked that Canning not find out he was talking about him.’
‘Phillips look into it?’
‘Yep.’ She scrolled down. ‘Spoke to Canning at his work, a boatyard in Neutral Bay. He said he didn’t know what they were talking about. Had alibis for the times that
Marko gave, from his employer and a couple of clients.’
‘And during the conversation he probably found out who’d made the complaint.’
‘No doubt,’ Ella said. ‘Phillips documented that he phoned Marko to say there was nothing to suggest Canning was doing anything, and certainly no evidence, and Marko asked him to look further into it anyway. Phillips told him there was nothing to look
into unless something else happened, and for Marko to call back if anything else did happen. Marko hung up.’
‘I can already hear what Langley’s going to say,’ Murray said with a sigh. ‘Is there a mug shot of Canning?’
She brought it up. Canning had short brown hair combed to the right, brown eyes, and stared into the camera with a completely blank face. Ella had seen mug shots to make
your hair stand up, criminals whose hate and fury burned from their eyes, but Canning looked like he was renewing his driver’s licence, just one boring chore in a list of them he had to get done that day.
‘Could he be more average?’ Murray said. ‘He might be one of a hundred guys on that platform today. Average build and height even. Bloody hell.’
Ella thought back to the CCTV. It
was impossible to say whether Canning was the man in the cap. He’d hidden his face too well. They needed to look into more CCTV to see if there was a better shot of him.
‘Meixner got a car?’ Murray said.
She looked up Meixner’s name in the RTA database. ‘Nope.’
‘It’s probably in his wife’s name,’ Murray said. ‘Cheaper insurance.’
Ella typed in the name Carla Meixner. No
result. ‘Either she doesn’t have one or he lied about her name too.’ She tried again with just the surname and the address. ‘Here she is. Name’s actually Chloe. Twenty-nine years old. Car’s a white Honda.’ She jotted down the rego, then entered it into the police system but it didn’t appear. ‘It’s not showing as involved in an accident.’
‘It has to,’ Murray said. ‘They took him to hospital
so it would’ve been towed.’
‘Unless he was driving a different car.’ Ella searched for the entry about the afternoon’s accident. ‘It was a silver Mitsubishi, registered to a Daniel Truscott of Rydalmere. Listed as reported stolen at five-forty this afternoon.’ She checked Truscott’s record. ‘Guy’s clean too.’
Langley walked in. ‘Who’s clean?’
‘The owner of the car that Marko
crashed,’ Ella said, turning to face him. ‘Meixner was a witness in a murder case seventeen years back. Paul Mitchell Canning got out of jail seven weeks ago, and three weeks ago Meixner reported to his local station that the same man was following him, but the man had alibis and the officers could find no evidence.’
‘More paranoia about being pursued,’ Langley said.
‘No reason it
couldn’t be legitimate,’ Ella said.
‘Except that no evidence was found, as you just said yourself. Did you check the mug shot? Does it match anyone on the platform?’
‘It’s impossible to be sure,’ Murray said.
‘You mean no.’
Langley loomed over them. Ella felt like a small child in trouble at school. She wished she’d stood up when he’d come into the room but then that might
have seemed like she was jumping to attention. She felt his eyes on her and squeezed the arms of her chair. Murray was silent beside her.
‘That’s all you’ve got?’ Langley said.
‘For now,’ she said.
‘Get on with the notification then, find out what you can there. Look for psych medication in particular.’ He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet room. ‘Chop chop.’
Ella stared at his back as he strode out, then swung in her chair to face Murray, her cheeks burning.
‘Chloe, you said?’ he asked after a moment.
Ella nodded.
Never mind Langley, think of the family
. She remembered the smile on the woman’s face in the picture in Marko’s wallet.
‘No time like the present,’ Murray said, but his voice was all false bravado.
*
Amy
Street in Ryde was a series of unit blocks, the kerbs full of parked cars. Ella squeezed into a no-standing zone, and they got out to the faint sound of dance music and the squeak of bats in the trees. It was a little after ten, and Ella looked up at the night sky between the eucalypts and thought of the unsuspecting woman going about her life somewhere in this brown-brick building. They walked
up the cement path of Number 18, carriage lights on ornamental posts lighting their way. Ella smelled the cool earth in the gardens and heard television laughter. The plastic evidence bag containing Meixner’s wallet crackled in Murray’s suit coat pocket and he put a hand on it.
The path split in two and a small sign on a post told them units 10 to 20 were to the right. They followed the
path to a locked entry door. The space beside the button for Number 16 was blank, though most of the others had names printed on them. Murray pressed the button and they waited. Ella’s heart felt squeezed.
‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Meixner?’
‘Who’s asking?’ The woman’s voice was firm, not frightened.
‘Police detectives,’ Murray said. ‘May we come up, please?’
‘Is this…’ Now
she sounded confused, worried. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘May we come up?’
A pause, then the buzzer sounded and the door clicked.
‘Thank you,’ Ella said in the direction of the speaker, and they went in and started up the stairs.
Chloe Meixner was waiting in her open doorway when they reached the second landing. Ella recognised her from the photo in Marko’s wallet. She
was short and slim, her dark hair back in a clip, her small hands cupping her tracksuited pregnant belly. Behind her stood another woman, taller but with the same features and the same anxious expression.
‘Is this about where I’ve parked?’ Chloe said, then her eyes searched Ella’s and the colour left her face. ‘What’s happened?’
‘May we come in?’ Ella said.
Chloe moved back,
her eyes huge.
They sat on a pale yellow lounge, Ella at one end, the woman on the other, and Chloe in between. Murray stood with his weight on both feet, clasping his wrist before him like a little boy.
‘I’m Detective Murray Shakespeare, and this is Detective Ella Marconi.’
The TV behind him was paused on an episode of
Grey’s Anatomy
. Lamps were on in the corners of the room,
the curtains were closed, and the air smelled of satay chicken. The walls were covered in framed photos of Marko and Chloe: grinning in Times Square, outside the White House, in a gondola, pointing at the Eiffel Tower, on a green bridge Ella thought she recognised from a painting by Monet, on camels by the pyramids.
‘Just to confirm, you are Chloe Meixner?’ Murray said.
Chloe cradled
her belly wordlessly.
‘She’s Chloe, and I’m her sister, Audra,’ the other woman said. ‘Just tell us what’s happened, please.’
‘I’m so sorry but we have bad news,’ Murray said. ‘Your husband, Marko, was killed tonight.’
‘No,’ Chloe said.
‘We’re very sorry,’ Murray said.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Ella squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’re so sorry.’
‘It’s not true,’
Chloe said. ‘He’s playing tennis.’
‘How do you know it’s him?’ Audra said to Murray.
‘It’s not him,’ Chloe said. ‘It can’t be. We’re having a baby in four months.’
Murray took the bagged wallet from his pocket. ‘This was in his pocket.’
‘Someone stole it then,’ Chloe said. ‘Stole it then died.’
‘The licence photo matches,’ Ella said. Grief was tough to be around,
but this was almost worse. ‘And some paramedics who’d met him earlier in the day recognised him too.’
Audra tried to pull Chloe into a hug, but she stood and walked out of reach.
‘I still don’t believe you.’
‘What happened?’ Audra asked Murray, shaky-voiced.
‘He was fatally injured when he fell in front of a train.’
‘It’s not true. He’s at tennis and will be home
any moment.’ Chloe’s face was pale, her eyes enormous and dark. She dug in the black handbag hanging on a chair and took out a mobile. ‘I’ll show you.’ She dialled and listened. ‘Hi honey, it’s me. Call me back when you get this, okay? Love you.’
Audra started to cry.
‘He’s in the car with Henry,’ Chloe said. ‘They talk a lot and he wouldn’t hear it ring, that’s all.’ She looked at
the phone. ‘I don’t think I have Henry’s number.’
‘Chloe.’ Audra got up and tried to hug her again.
Chloe pushed her away. ‘Wait and see. Ten minutes and he’ll be here. I guarantee it.’
Ella and Murray exchanged a glance. They had questions to ask anyway. Then they’d broach the problem again.
‘Where does he play?’ Ella said.
‘Somewhere in the city, near the office,’
Chloe said. ‘Then his friend Henry drops him off. Henry lives at Epping so he’s going straight past.’
‘What’s Henry’s last name?’
‘Marsden.’
‘Does Marko have other close friends?’
She nodded. ‘Tim Raye, who lives in Northmead now and works in real estate somewhere around there, and Lucas Ellison, who works in a bank and lives at Strathfield.’
‘And where does Marko
work?’ Murray asked.
‘Payton and Jones, in the city. He’s a financial advisor.’
‘When did you last speak to him?’
‘Seven forty this morning, when we left for work. We go at the same time. He gets the bus into the city, I drive to Chatswood.’
She smiled. Audra put her head in her hands.
‘What do you do?’ Murray said.
‘Payroll manager at Simpson Plumbing.’
Ella wrote all this down. ‘How was he when you parted?’
‘Fine. Great.’ Chloe smiled again. ‘He’s been busy at work lately so has been a bit distracted, but otherwise everything’s wonderful. I dropped him at the bus stop and we kissed and said have a good day.’
Ella said, ‘Does he have any health problems? Take any medication?’
‘He’s on something for mild anxiety and depression.
I can’t remember what it’s called. I’ll get it for you.’ She left the room.
Audra said, ‘I can’t stand this.’
‘Sometimes it takes a while to sink in,’ Ella said.
‘And you’re certain? It’s really him?’
Ella nodded.
Chloe came back and handed Ella the packet. Citalopram. She wrote down the prescribing doctor’s name too.
‘How long’s he been taking it?’ Murray asked.
‘Three or four years.’
‘Did something happen then, triggering his problem?’
‘We had a miscarriage, and it hit us both really hard, but even before then he had some issues. When he was nineteen, he saw a murder and had to go to court and testify. I didn’t meet him until five years after that, but he still talked about it sometimes, and still had nightmares about it too.’