Private Oz Page 7

  Chapter 40

  “ALRIGHT GUYS, SO, let’s take it case by case,” I said and surveyed the conference room back at Private. “First, the Ho murder. Darlene has isolated DNA samples but they don’t tally with any records. Ho Meng is convinced the police can’t help and he’s certain the Triads want him to coordinate a smuggling operation.”

  “There’s also the fact,” Mary said, “that Ho Meng is sure the Triads are out for revenge. That’s why they’ve targeted him, killed his son. He believes they murdered his wife soon after the family arrived in Australia a dozen years ago.”

  “So, Mary.” I turned in my chair. “You have to dig further. Ho thinks he knows the gang, we have some DNA, but that’s it. We need names, we need to know where the gang hangs out. For the moment, Ho refuses to work with the cops, but I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  “We can’t force him to,” Johnny commented.

  “No, we can’t.” I scanned the faces around the table. “Okay, Darlene … What’s your latest?”

  She looked down at a short stack of papers. Cleared her throat. “Dead woman: Elspeth Lampard, forty-one. Multiple stab wounds, fatal one to the heart. Tortured, face disfigured. She must have died pretty quick. I’ve found no sign of sexual assault, no prints, no alien DNA other than background stuff. There are, though, some long hairs that don’t match Elspeth’s. I found those on her dress. Doesn’t mean much. She could’ve picked them up walking along the road, or at work. The banknotes are photocopies.”

  “The victim’s husband, Ralph Lampard, is CFO of Buttress Finance Group,” I said. “So, I’m wondering if there’s a link with big-time corporate money.” I looked at Justine and then Johnny before taking in the other two.

  “Obviously, our first touchstone has to be money, doesn’t it?” Johnny replied. “Both husbands work in the financial sector. Banknotes placed ritualistically.”

  “But what about the elephant in the room? The fact that the money is fake.”

  “In both murders,” Mary added.

  “But it seems too much of a coincidence that the husbands are in finance, and the two dead women were both abused the same way,” Johnny insisted.

  “Unless the killer is trying to trick us,” Justine commented.

  “Yeah, okay, all things are possible.” I took a deep breath. “But money is the most obvious link we have at the moment, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Justine said emphatically.

  “No?” We all looked to her.

  “Geography. The two women lived a couple of streets apart in Bellevue Hill. That’s as strong a link as the financial one.”

  “So you really think it’s more to do with the fact that the victims lived in the same suburb?” I asked.

  “You don’t think that’s a tangible connection?”

  It suddenly seemed obvious. “Well, yeah … of course it is.” I shook my head. “We have to think outside the box.” The others were staring at me. “What if,” I went on enthusiastically, “we have some lucky murderer? He’s killing women randomly, except for the fact they live within a few streets of each other … Bellevue Hill must be teeming with banker types, stockbrokers. It’s that sort of area.”

  “I’ve experienced this sort of thing in LA,” Justine interjected and swept her eyes around the table. “The guy could be going for women with the same hair color … Stacy Friel and Elspeth Lampard were both blonde. He could be targeting women of a particular age. Friel was thirty-nine, Lampard forty-one. It could be someone at their gym, the tennis club, the local coffee shop.”

  “Okay. So basically, what you two are saying is that we’ve got nowhere, because the financial link could well be absolutely spurious,” Johnny shot back.

  “Guess we are,” I said, glancing at Justine.

  Chapter 41

  I GOT THE call from the security firm that supervises our block just as I reached my office – and it was the best news I’d had all day. Mary was passing my door just as I put down the receiver.

  “Hey, Mary,” I said, coming round the front of my desk. “Got a break in the Ho case.”

  “What sort of break?”

  “The security company for this building, Matrix? They’ve some images of the guys who killed Chang.”

  “But the killers snatched the hard drive from the guard booth.”

  “They have another camera just outside the exit gate of the garage. Separate system. They’re sending over the images.”

  Just as I finished the sentence, my email sounded. I walked to my chair, Mary followed me and leaned in. I tapped open the message, double-clicked the attachment.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Mary exclaimed, and I felt my heart sink. The picture showed little more than a pair of blob heads behind the car windshield.

  Chapter 42

  DARLENE RECOGNIZED THE voice immediately. It came through the speaker in her lab connected to the intercom at the main entrance. Colette had gone out and she was on her own. She stepped out of her lab, strode three paces along the hall, and there he was, one of the world’s most recognizable faces – Micky Stevens. Beside him, his legendary bodyguard, Hemi.

  “I’ve come to see Johnny,” Micky smiled.

  “Ah … right … Hi … I’m, I’m Darlene, Darlene Cooper. Johnny, ah, Johnny isn’t here. I’m on my own. He’ll be back soon, though.”

  “That’s cool. So, Darlene Cooper …” Micky indicated he would like to come in.

  “Sorry!” she giggled, and a wisp of blonde hair fell across her face as she held the door open.

  “So what do you do here then?” Micky asked as they entered reception.

  “Forensics.” She was calming down now.

  “Wow! Really? That’s cool. I love CSI. Do you watch that show?”

  “Not really,” Darlene replied. “I see enough bits and pieces of dead people during the day.”

  Micky stared at her, then shook his head slowly and grinned. “That is just the most insane job, Darlene!”

  “Really? Well, being a rock star’s pretty awesome!”

  “If you say so.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Hemi stood next to Micky like a lump of rock. He only moved when it was absolutely necessary and his blank expression never changed.

  “Er, coffee?” Darlene offered.

  “No thanks. Tell you what though. I’d love to see your lab. You do have a lab, right?”

  Darlene looked surprised. “Yeah, sure. Along here.”

  “Oh man! This is really something!” Micky exclaimed as he entered the room behind her. Hemi had stayed back at reception. “You know, my parents always wanted me to become a doctor or a scientist, something like that,” he went on. “I got stung by the rock ’n’ roll bug, but I always regret not going to college or anything. I love science … don’t know much … but.” He laughed.

  Darlene was barely able to conceal her surprise. She couldn’t take in what a normal guy Micky Stevens was. No, he wasn’t just a normal guy, he was humble, in awe of her work of all things!

  “It’s never too late.” She felt stupid as soon as she said it.

  “You reckon?” Micky chuckled. “Yeah I can see it now.” He put a hand up indicating newspaper headlines. “ROCK STAR BECOMES FORENSICS EXPERT.” So, Darlene, what do all these things do, then?”

  “God, that would take a while to explain.”

  “What you working on?”

  “Now? Oh, I’m investigating a kidnap and murder.”

  “Wow!”

  “We have some security camera images of the suspects, but they’re really not good. I can’t make anything out.”

  “So what can you do about it?”

  Darlene led him over to a flat screen. “I’m trying to enhance them with some new software I have.”

  Micky gazed around the room. “Looks pretty top-end stuff.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she replied proudly. “State-of-the-art. But these stills are just too degraded.”

  “I can help,” Micky said.
<
br />   Darlene lowered herself into a chair in front of the monitor. “You can?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.

  “Yeah, well not me personally, but I know a really great computer guy. A genius in fact.”

  Before Darlene could reply, Micky cut across her. “No, listen. The guy’s amazing. This stuff –” he swept a hand around the room – “is cool, don’t get me wrong, but in the recording studio I use some really hi-tech gear too, and my buddy … well, he works for me actually … is the biz.”

  Darlene took a deep breath and put up her hands. “Well great, Micky. I’d appreciate any help I can get. What’s your colleague’s name?”

  “Software Sam. I’ll send him over.”

  There was a sound from the doorway. Hemi was filling almost the entire space. Darlene and Micky could just see Johnny trying to get a view of the room over the Maori’s shoulder.

  Micky came out of the lab and shook hands with Johnny. “Good to see you again, dude. So what’s new?”

  Johnny nodded to Darlene who smiled back as if to say, “We’re done here.”

  But Micky hadn’t finished. He turned back and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for showing me this,” he said and waved at the room. “Fantastic! I’ll get in touch with Sam …”

  And he was gone, Darlene just staring after him.

  Chapter 43

  “SO HOW CAN I help?” Micky began.

  They were in Johnny’s small office at the end of the corridor. Johnny had called him the night before. This was the earliest the singer could make it.

  “Micky, you claim Graham Parker wants you killed because you’re apparently worth more dead than alive.”

  “Correct.”

  “But that would imply that he is either very greedy or has money troubles.”

  “Well, course he’s greedy, Johnny. He’s a businessman. Only thinks about dollars and cents.”

  “Yeah, but why didn’t you tell us he filed for bankruptcy in the States?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t really see why it was important.”

  Johnny gazed into his eyes and counted to three before responding. “Well of course it is.” He glanced over to Hemi who had sunk into a sofa at the back of the room, same fixed expression as always.

  “God, this is all so fucked up!” Micky exclaimed and put his head down for a moment. “You got a drink, man?”

  Johnny pulled up from behind his desk, left the room for a few seconds and returned with a bottle and a glass. He handed them to Micky, who stared at the label.

  “Do you know anything about his finances, Micky?” Johnny asked. “He must know all about yours. Does it only go one way?”

  Micky took a swig from the bottle, held it at arm’s length. “Good shit.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Johnny said. “I don’t drink.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Johnny raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I mean it. Wish I didn’t have to …”

  “Parker’s finances?”

  “I’m not an accountant, man! I don’t know much about my own money let alone my manager’s!”

  Johnny rolled his eyes. Maybe he had overestimated this guy, he thought. Maybe Craig was right, he was drug addled. Perhaps he was just plain dumb … or both. “But he must have made a fortune,” Johnny tried again. “How could he have ended up bankrupt?”

  Micky said nothing, just took another swig.

  “Look, Micky!” Johnny snapped. “How do you expect Private to help you if you don’t tell us everything you know about the man?”

  The rock star looked up and held Johnny’s stare. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You’re right.”

  Course I’m bloody right, Johnny thought, and waited for the singer to go on.

  “Graham had a major problem. Blew fifteen mill … apparently.”

  “How?”

  “Compulsive gambler. But look, dude, we all have our demons. I’ve not seen Graham even dabble since I’ve known him. Got him drunk a few times and he’s told me straight that gambling is a mug’s game and he stopped when he came here. Went into therapy, the lot. Gave up his old vices, doesn’t even smoke weed now.”

  “And you believe that?”

  Micky considered the bottle again. “Well put it this way, Johnny.” He lifted his eyes. “It’s up to you to prove it if my manager has been lying, isn’t it? And if he has been … Bingo! Motive time!”

  Chapter 44

  MARY HAD TO smile. She saw the car in the lot about twenty yards away. It fit exactly the description the owner gave on the phone the night before. He’d sounded nervous but also full of bravado about his red saloon with the jacked-up rear wheels and the flame spray job along the sides that he would be waiting in on the edge of Prince Alfred Park in Parramatta.

  He claimed he had info about the murder of ‘that Chinese kid’, but refused to come into Private’s HQ. He gave a time and place where he would meet someone from the agency, and so here she was.

  It was hot as Mary crossed the gravel. She saw the guy in the driver’s seat, bleached blond mullet, baseball cap, shades, cigarette. He hadn’t mentioned he’d have a very big Rottweiler in the back.

  The guy leaned over, pushed open the door. The dog growled.

  “Shut up Thor!”

  Mary kept her eyes fixed on the dog and slipped into the seat.

  “He’s cool,” the guy said. “Knows who’s boss. Don’t you, Thor?”

  Mary moved to the edge of her seat.

  “Buckle up, we ain’t staying here,” the man said and fired up the engine. It produced a throaty noise, bit like the dog’s growl.

  “Five nights ago – Friday. I saw a kid that fit the description of that Ho boy in the paper. I found out you guys are investigating. Didn’t wanna go to the pigs … hate ’em, but I felt I ought to say something. Hate the Chink gangs even more … It’s them, right?”

  Mary kept silent.

  “I saw a car pull up about eleven at night. I was with a chick.” He gave Mary a wolfish grin and turned back to the road as they took a corner, passed some ravaged tenement blocks.

  She gave him a hard look. “You saw this from your window?”

  “Yeah, the Chinks were staying in an apartment a few floors beneath mine. I’m on the ninth.”

  “Can you describe the car?”

  He looked affronted. “Course I can, I’m a bloody mechanic, aren’t I? ’96 Toyota Corolla. Piece a shit. Blue. Faded rear bumper, had an I LOVE MACCAS sticker on it. They dragged the kid from the back. His hands were tied behind him. They were pretty vicious. He was gagged, but protesting, so they kicked him in the balls. I heard him squeal, poor little bastard.”

  “What did the two Chinese men look like?”

  “That’s the thing. I only caught a glimpse.” He spun the wheel hard left. “It was dark, right? The council haven’t fixed the street lights. Besides, those dudes all look the same, don’t they? Usual shit … short, skinny, long black hair. One was wearing a leather jacket. I thought that was odd as it was about seventy-five degrees outside even that late.”

  Mary pursed her lips, looked away at the sidewalk flashing by.

  “You got the number plate?”

  “Oh yeah. I left it for a bit, then I went downstairs.”

  “You did?”

  “Told you. Hate ’em. That’s why I’m ’ere.”

  “Okay.”

  “It was GHT … ah … 23R.”

  “Sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, thanks,” Mary responded. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure they were in apartment 16, third floor.”

  “Were?”

  “They left a couple of nights ago,” he said quickly and then pulled the car to the curb, turned in the road and headed back to the park.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Saw ’em, didn’t I?” he glanced over to Mary. She caught a glimpse of the dog, dribble dangling from its chops. The guy acc
elerated down the street, screeched left and the park lay directly ahead. “I checked with the block manager, Harry Griffin, I know ’im.”

  “You certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain … Christ!”

  “What’s the full address?”

  He paused for a beat, reluctant. Pulled back into the lot. “Newbury House, 17, Canal Street. And that’s all I got.”

  Chapter 45

  MARY CALLED DARLENE and arranged to meet her an hour later at the address the guy with the dog gave her. Then she rang Parramatta Council. Within two minutes she’d learned that Newbury House was serviced by a private cleaning company called R and M Cleaners.

  Their address was only half a mile from where she’d parked and the traffic was light. The office was open, and as she approached the door to the left of a closed shop, a small group of Asian women in overalls came down a flight of stairs. A van was parked at the curb. It had R and M Cleaners written on the side.

  Mary paused on the sidewalk to let the women pass and glimpsed the plastic ID each of them wore attached to the straps of their overalls. That’s all she needed. Twenty minutes later and a trip to a passport photo booth and a stationery store in the town center and she had a duplicated ID that would pass a cursory inspection. Then she drove on to Newbury House.

  The block manager’s office stank of cigarette smoke. The manager, Harry Griffin, sat behind a small desk strewn with papers, an overflowing ashtray close to where he had rested his left elbow. He had the racing paper open on top of the mess.

  “R and M Cleaners,” Mary said confidently. He looked up from the paper, scrutinized her.

  “Council sent me. Special clean for apartment 16.”

  Griffin looked puzzled for a moment. “You got ID?”

  Mary pulled the fake from her pocket and held it out.

  “Where’re your overalls?”

  She lifted a small holdall and tapped it.

  Griffin shrugged and stood up, plucked the keys for the apartment from a rack on the wall behind him and passed them to her between orange-stained fingers. “When you’re done drop ’em in the box outside.”