Private Sydney Read online

  ‘Good pick-up,’ I said and meant it.

  Darlene had managed to enhance a partial print on the aglet from the hoodie and had a striking image of the palm print from the back fence. She was still working on one of the prints from Louise’s neck.

  ‘Rex called a few minutes ago,’ she said. ‘Gross examination’s done but the histopathology will be a while longer.’

  I braced for what I suspected was coming.

  ‘His first impressions were right. She died of acute blood loss. The stab wound was deep and severed an artery on the way through. It entered above the pubic bone and perforated the uterus, passing above the bladder.’

  I said what Darlene didn’t. ‘Chances are, whoever did this knew what they were aiming for.’

  This was no random killing. Louise’s murder was deliberate and extremely personal.

  Chapter 40

  AFTER GOING OVER the files again hoping to find something we’d missed, I managed an hour of fitful sleep on the couch in my office.

  Darlene woke me at six am. She was heading home for a shower. As she let herself out, Brett Thorogood slipped in. The deputy commissioner was in dress uniform, cap in his hand, ready for a press conference.

  ‘Rough night for everyone,’ he said, knocking my socked feet off the couch and sitting in their place.

  I sat up slowly. ‘Please tell me you’ve got good news.’

  His face was stony. ‘Radio and TV stations are putting out hourly bulletins. Crimestoppers has been flooded with calls overnight after people saw the couple’s composite pictures.’

  I knew that wasn’t all positive news. There would be hundreds, possibly thousands of false leads to keep the police busy for months. Valuable time would be lost chasing crank calls.

  ‘This couple,’ he asked. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

  I’d racked my brain all night for any more details about the pair.

  ‘Craig, give me something to work with.’

  I stood up and faced him. ‘You know I want to find this child more than anyone else. My team worked through the night.’

  Brett calmly rotated the cap in his hands. ‘Darlene’s contribution was invaluable. I’m trying to protect Private, but you know you aren’t the commissioner’s favourite. There’s going to be a backlash once the shock jocks call for mandatory homicide sentencing and senior heads on platters.’

  He didn’t have to remind me. A breakthrough could not only save baby Zoe, but also our reputation.

  ‘Her face had minimal trauma,’ I explained. ‘Gut tells me someone wanted information from her. If they wanted to torture her, they were pretty amateur. Stabbing of the uterus was very specific.’

  Brett remained focused on his cap. ‘The surrogacy motive is the best we have?’

  ‘Right now it’s all we have.’

  ‘Then I’ll get the taskforce to hone in on the surrogacy organisations. See if anyone admits to knowing this pair or meeting with them at some stage.’

  He stood and I thanked him. Before he left I had one question.

  ‘What do you know about Eric and Eliza Moss?’

  Chapter 41

  BRETT COCKED HIS head. ‘Why would you ask?’

  ‘Eric Moss walked out of Contigo four days ago and no one’s heard from him since. The daughter suspects foul play.’

  ‘And you’re investigating him?’ Brett dropped his cap on the desk. ‘The Simpson murder is nothing compared to the Pandora’s box you’ll rip open with this one.’

  The comment was not what I expected. What did the deputy commissioner of police know about Moss going missing? ‘How about I make you a decaf while you explain?’

  We headed to the kitchenette. Brett had suffered heart palpitations and his doctor had recommended cutting back on caffeine. Greta, his wife, enforced it religiously in addition to a low-cholesterol, low-salt and organic diet.

  ‘Make it a latte and we’re on. I’ve got forty minutes before a briefing.’

  I made the coffees while he stood against the bench, talking freely.

  ‘From memory, Eliza spent some time in the US, about three years ago. She and Jack Morgan had a thing for a while, I think, but it fizzled out.’

  Brett knew Eric Moss and considered him a decent guy who connected well with people. ‘He could have talked the Middle East into peace.’ Committed to his business, he’d turned down jobs running a number of organisations for much better pay.

  ‘I had some dealings with him over police training with the retrieval squads. He was spot-on and had innovative ideas about improving our efficiency. From what I could tell, he was a golden boy for ministers, police and defence brass. Sending equipment overseas to help with disasters was great PR; kudos for the state and federal governments to get mileage from, especially at election time.’

  He opened a white box and picked up a pastry left over from yesterday. Half went straight into his mouth.

  I handed him the coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ he managed, savouring his treat and picking up a chocolate croissant. ‘Greta –’

  ‘What happens in Private …’

  ‘You always could keep a secret,’ he said and took another large bite.

  I asked if there was any hint of corruption at Contigo.

  He stopped chewing. ‘Is that what you suspect?’

  I explained how Moss resigned with no warning after the finance officer questioned a small discrepancy. And how Gillies didn’t seem keen to have anyone sniffing around the company. He certainly didn’t care that Moss had left without any explanation.

  ‘Lang’s a classic corporate parasite. He often travels with his wife, only they stay in separate hotel rooms. He orders porn movies and when it comes to checking out, acts outraged at the false charges on his credit card, threatens to tell the media about the hotel scam …’

  ‘And gets the charges wiped.’

  ‘Every time.’ He drained his mug and placed it in the sink. ‘You say Gillies wasn’t fazed by Moss leaving?’

  ‘Made out he didn’t care to know why. As if Moss was easily replaced.’

  Brett frowned. ‘Doesn’t add up he’d be happy to see his meal ticket walk away. Unless, of course, Moss had something that could bury Gillies.’

  That’s what bothered me. No one had seen or heard from Moss, and no one but Lang had seen the resignation email.

  Brett continued as I walked him out. ‘Lawyers, police, defence forces and governments have a lot invested in Contigo Valley. If Moss uncovered corruption, you don’t want to be around when that powder keg blows.’

  Chapter 42

  A COURIER ARRIVED at seven-thirty am with a box on a trolley and instructions to deliver it straight to Darlene Cooper. His shirt had a logo on the pocket: Gene-IE Path Systems. They imported the latest in scientific machines.

  Darlene returned with wet hair, and beamed when she saw the delivery.

  ‘I’ll explain once we get it in the lab.’ She led the way to where she wanted it. The delivery man obliged.

  In the conference room, Johnny looked remarkably rested for someone who had managed a few hours’ sleep at the most. Mary was sucking on a protein shake she’d brought from home. True to her word, Collette had arrived early, already having collected coffees along with eight egg and bacon rolls from a café down the street.

  The smell of the bacon made me realise how long it had been since I’d eaten. We took our seats and I told them first about Brett Thorogood’s visit. I didn’t need to remind them how much we needed to get a break today.

  Johnny was the first with an idea. He wanted to go back to the street address the Finches had provided.

  ‘It’s a vacant block,’ Mary reminded him.

  He wasn’t swayed. ‘That isn’t a coincidence. I really believe they’re familiar with the area. I can take copies of the images we made and canvass the streets in daylight.’

  It was a good idea. ‘You might just get lucky. If you go now, you can catch the neighbours before they h
ead to work.’

  Johnny grinned, grabbed copies of the images and squeezed past Darlene on his way.

  Darlene pulled on her lab coat, her hair now tightly looped into a bun. ‘I’m hoping that machine will help.’ She picked up a roll. ‘It’s a Swift Gene-IE machine that can process DNA in ninety minutes.’

  It normally took days to get a DNA analysis with our equipment, which was more advanced and faster than the police labs.

  ‘I didn’t think they were available yet,’ said Mary.

  ‘Well, not widely,’ Darlene declared. ‘It’s one of only two in the country. And we have it on permanent loan.’

  ‘What’s the catch? Does speed leave a wider margin for systematic error?’

  ‘No,’ Darlene said. ‘But you’re right about limitations. It can’t extract individual DNA from mixed fluids so isn’t any good for rape kits, and it can’t detect gender or race at this stage.’

  ‘When will you get a result?’ I appreciated that Darlene needed time to learn how to use it.

  ‘The tech’s calibrating the machine now. After the printout, the machine compares the DNA to all the others in the database.’ She dumped two sugars into her coffee. ‘Should have something by ten this morning.’

  ‘How did you manage to pull this off?’ I was amazed.

  ‘Quid pro quo. If we like it, we can recommend it to each of the other Private offices for a bulk discount.’ She grabbed a serviette and excused herself to get on with the analysis.

  For the first time, we had widened our edge on the police resources and we had our tech marvel to thank for it.

  Chapter 43

  JOHNNY PULLED UP outside the vacant block. The address may have been bogus but the street existed. Two blocks back from the nearest main road and quiet, even for this time of day. Down the road, the shell of a service station had been fenced off. Within a hundred metres, the yards of three dilapidated houses displayed For Sale signs.

  He tried the side with an overgrown jacaranda first. In the drive sat a white ute. Top Job Pipes and Plumbing. A 1800 number was printed on the back and side.

  A man in a blue workman’s shirt answered the door. He had a piece of toast in one hand and took the chance to slip past a crying toddler. As the door closed, the child began to scream from inside. The man unlocked the vehicle and placed the toast on the dashboard before turning to Johnny.

  ‘Hi. My name’s Johnny Ishmah. I’m investigating Zoe Ruffalo’s kidnapping.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw that on the news. Makes you think no one’s safe anymore.’

  ‘The police are keen to interview this couple. I was wondering if you could take a close look and see if you recognise one or both of them.’

  The man wiped both hands on his shirt before taking the first digifit. ‘So you think they live around here?’ He looked carefully at the face then shook his head.

  ‘How about the woman?’ Johnny swapped the pictures.

  ‘Sorry, mate, haven’t seen either of them. We only moved in three months ago. If she is from around here, the codger across the road’ll be your best bet. He’s about ninety in the shade and sits out there every day.’ He pointed towards a red brick house with a half-verandah diagonally opposite. ‘Reckon Frank knows all the neighbourhood’s little secrets.’ He climbed into the ute and wound down the window. ‘Hope you find the bastards that did it.’

  Johnny was relieved that the public appeals had at least made an impact. Overnight, as a long shot, he had scanned the images into facial recognition ID software. It hadn’t paid off. The sketches may have looked accurate but lacked the exact dimensions of mouth to nose, ear contours and forehead size.

  He crossed the road and walked into the elderly man’s yard. A cat took off from the front verandah leaving white hairs in the cushioned cane chair it had been curled on. Beside that was a wooden chair with tattered tapestry cushions. Against one of the chair’s arms, a full metal ashtray stood on a spiral wooden stem base. It had to be from the 1950s. Johnny’s grand parents had one similar. The smell reminded him of that house, where smoke had darkened the walls and embedded in all the furnishings.

  Above, an abundance of spider webs hung from the guttering. Johnny knocked loudly on the closed screen door. There was no answer. He tried again.

  This time he walked around the house, hoping the gentleman was in his backyard. Through the rear window, he saw a still figure.

  Slumped across the breakfast table.

  Chapter 44

  JOHNNY TRIED THE back door. It was locked. He raced around the front of the house and entered through the screen door.

  The man was facedown on the table, a radio playing by his side.

  Johnny tried to feel a neck pulse when suddenly the man took a gasp and snorted. He was asleep.

  ‘Sir! Frank!’ Johnny shouted.

  He sat up and Johnny stepped back.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded. There was no sign of fear or concern about a stranger in his home.

  ‘Johnny Ishmah. I thought you were … You didn’t seem to be breathing.’

  ‘I was trying to hear the race results. Must have nodded off.’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin and licked his lips. ‘Are you my new carer?’

  ‘No, I was knocking. You didn’t answer.’

  ‘Funny thing about screen doors is you can hear through ’em.’

  Johnny suppressed a smile. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Just a minute …’ He adjusted something on his hearing aid. ‘No point wasting batteries when I’m on my own. Now what are you here for again?’

  Before Johnny could answer, the elderly gentleman picked up a walking stick and slowly lifted himself from the chair. He was stooped, and he shuffled to the front door.

  ‘Well?’

  Johnny explained that the plumber across the road thought he might be able to help.

  The man stepped onto the verandah. ‘Did he now? If you ask me, that kid rules the roost. Carries on a treat every time he goes out.’

  Johnny followed and clarified the reason for his visit.

  The old man eased himself into his chair and pulled reading glasses from the pocket of his shirt. He gestured for his visitor to sit – on the cat’s chair.

  Instead, Johnny squatted at his feet and handed over the woman’s picture first. The old man breathed loudly as he moved his chin up then down a little.

  ‘I’ve seen a lot of people in my time but not that one.’

  Johnny passed him the man’s image.

  Frank repeated the chin dropping. This time he grunted on the exhale. A gnarled finger tapped on the page.

  ‘This one. Reminds me of someone.’

  Johnny pulled out his notebook. ‘Who?’

  ‘This one has more hair. Same beady eyes though.’ He lifted his finger and pointed. ‘Used to live on that old vacant block. Before the place got knocked down. Fella’s been dead years though.’

  Johnny sighed. He could try the other houses but suspected they weren’t going to give him answers. He thanked Frank and made a move towards the footpath.

  ‘You young people. Always in a hurry. You miss all the good by rushing past it.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but I have to keep door knocking.’

  ‘I haven’t finished. The bloke I mentioned. Well, he had two sons. Twins if I remember, born just after my wife died. 1970.’

  That would make them in their forties. Johnny stepped back up, this time sitting on the edge of the cat’s chair.

  ‘Do you remember their names?’

  Frank smacked his lips. ‘Gough and Whit. Have you ever heard such nonsense? Bloody communists. If you ask me –’

  It was pretty clear they were fans of the former Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. If nothing else, they could have been registered members of the local Labor Party branch.

  ‘And their surname?’

  ‘Oh. Let me think.’

  The cat appeared and began to meow at Johnny’s feet.

  ‘Or where they ended up?’ John
ny tried.

  ‘Gough made a fortune out of paper cups of all things. The other one was pretty witless, from memory.’ He chuckled and coughed at the irony. ‘Became a gardener, I think, up Newcastle way.’

  ‘Do you remember anyone called Gus from the street? He’d be around the same age as the twins.’

  Frank rubbed his stubbled chin again. ‘Now that rings a bell. They had a cousin who hung around them like a bad smell in summer. My grandkids used to play with them. Don’t know what it is with those people but this kid was named Alexandrus. Can you believe it? Alexandrus Wallace. No wonder everyone called him Gus.’

  Chapter 45

  I ANSWERED JOHNNY’S call before the second ring.

  It didn’t take long for him to fill me in about the twins’ house and Alexandrus Wallace. It was the breakthrough I was hoping for. I searched online. Alexandrus went by ‘Alex’ now. His company, trading as Al Wallace, restored fine antiques. A further search on antique fairs and I hit paydirt. It was a group shot but, second from the left, Gus Finch’s bland face stared back at me. A few shots later, Jennifer’s visage appeared.

  And we had them.

  I rang the business number. A recorded female voice said the office was closed for family reasons and would reopen on the second of next month. The business was located in Dural, forty minutes north of the CBD. A street search quickly showed it was a house on an acreage.

  I couldn’t make any of this right, but finding the baby was the best start.

  Mary was working on Moss’s background when I interrupted to tell her about the address for the man posing as Finch. I could use her help if things went sour. She didn’t hesitate and suggested we could take her Jeep. I stopped to let Collette know where we’d be in case anything went wrong and we didn’t check in within the hour. We’d call the police on the way to Dural. Collette crossed her fingers and wished us luck.