Daughters of Eve, page 25
‘Robbo, I’m telling you, this nun could be the link. Sister Patricia, who runs the support group, she was best friends with Patty Prescott in primary school. I saw Phoebe Griffith-Jones at the meeting, and we know Maria Jennings attends that church. Would it be such a stretch to think she’d been to the group at some point?’
He didn’t look convinced, so I kept talking.
‘That’s a solid link between the nun and two victims of our tight-three shooter and a soft link with a third. Taylor was linked to a high-profile domestic death and that just leaves Sanderson. It’s stronger than anything we’ve had so far.’
Robbo took a sip of the coffee I’d bought him and grinned. ‘It’s a bold move, Hart. One might even call it courageous.’
‘I’m just following the evidence.’
‘Into a church, Hart.’
He took another sip. That particularly cocky grin usually meant he was shitting himself.
‘Never took you for a God-botherer, Robbo.’
He flinched. ‘I’m not religious, but I’m not stupid either. There have been churches longer than there have been police.’
‘Separation of church and state, mate.’
‘I’m not saying they’re above the law.’ He was back-pedalling.
‘Two words,’ I said. ‘Royal Commission.’
And there was that grin again. ‘Two more words: be sure. It’s a bloody tinderbox out there. You try dragging the church into this without enough evidence and it could explode.’
I finished my coffee in silence and watched the people walking past the cafe window. Sydney was never a town for meandering, but it was like we’d pressed fast-forward. Eyes down. Shoulders high and tight. Coats wrapped close as if the wool was a kind of armour.
And then I saw him. The soldier on patrol. The man they were all ignoring.
Khaki camo with big black boots laced up his shins. Cropped hair and a sharp angular face. He would have been handsome if he hadn’t been so imposing.
‘Robbo.’
He looked up.
‘That soldier, he’s carrying a semi-automatic weapon.’
Robbo looked to the right without moving his head.
‘It’s phase two, Hart.’
It took a moment for me to register what he’d said.
‘When? Why?’
His eyes came back to me. ‘Someone shot a soldier in a drive-by last night. I got a text from the DCI.’
My eyes drifted back to the soldier in the street and the crowds flowing around him like he was a stone in a stream. ‘There are armed soldiers patrolling our streets, Robbo. This isn’t Beirut. It isn’t Afghanistan. This is Sydney, Australia.’
‘Play it cool, Hart.’ And there it was again, that uncomfortable grin.
I think it was the gun licence that changed Robbo’s mind about interviewing Sister Patricia. Even then, I’m not sure he would have agreed if he’d realised that she lived out near Penrith. It wasn’t ten o’clock yet, but we’d been on the road for forty-five minutes and Robbo had been in a filthy mood for most of it.
‘What business does a nun have owning a rifle?’ He’d been banging on about the gun for the last fifteen minutes.
‘I don’t know. That’s why we’re on our way to talk to her.’ I’d given up on running ideas past him. He had a fixed view on nuns and it didn’t include guns.
‘You wanted to interview her before the licence turned up in your searches.’
He was right. I’d wanted to interview Trish after the meeting, but I was smart enough to know I was off my game.
‘Wait till you meet her,’ I said. ‘I think you’ll understand.’
Robbo turned to face me.
‘Can you keep your eyes on the road, please?’ The memory of the car accident in the tunnel didn’t trouble me on the slower inner-city roads, but out here on the motorway I kept getting flashbacks.
Thankfully we weren’t far from the exit and I pulled out my phone to check Google Maps. No satnav was a definite downside to classic cars in my books.
As the Monaro turned into a long dirt driveway, I tucked my phone into my bag. We pulled up beside a dilapidated fibro farmhouse and I looked back towards the road. The house was well hidden by overgrown hedges and unkempt trees. It felt like one of those properties the police raided far too regularly these days, when random firearms checks turned ugly.
I nudged Robbo and pointed to a person scrambling through the furrowed fields that stretched back from the farmhouse.
We got out and I leaned against the car. The engine’s heat soaked through my jeans and warmed my legs, combating the chilly wind that was rippling through the trees.
‘She doesn’t look like a nun.’ Robbo raised his hand to block out the winter sun.
I didn’t know much about nuns. I was raised an atheist against my grandmother’s better judgement. Grandma had dragged me to mass whenever I stayed at her place. I’d sit wedged between her and Grandpa, his leg pressed against mine. Occasionally his hand would brush my knee while we prayed or my bottom while we stood to sing. Maybe that’s why I don’t believe in God. Right there in his own house and he didn’t do a damned thing.
‘Can I help you?’ Trish called as she approached, brushing her hands on her jeans and tugging on the bottom of her flannelette shirt; both were caked in dried mud. She swept a broad-brimmed hat from her head before wiping the sweat from her forehead with the cuff of her sleeve. I saw the moment she recognised me before she shifted her attention to Robbo.
‘I’m sorry but we don’t allow men on the property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
Robbo pulled out his warrant card and Trish paled slightly before turning on me.
‘Are you … ?’
I pulled out my warrant card and she bristled, visibly.
‘I didn’t mean to mislead you last—’
Trish cut me off, her eyes sparking with indignation. ‘But you did, didn’t you? You attended the meeting under false pretences and you’ve breached the privacy of the women who attended.’
Her words landed hard and I saw the muscles tighten in Robbo’s jaw. I wanted to apologise but there was no point, given that we were here to push deeper into the secret that haunted her.
‘We have a few questions we need to ask.’
Trish’s hands formed fists and flexed as she struggled to contain her anger.
‘This is a sanctuary, a refuge for hurt and homeless women. I need you both to leave.’
‘If we leave, we’ll be back with a warrant.’ Robbo’s voice was firmer than I’d expected given his concerns about blowback from the church. ‘This is a multiple-murder investigation. People are dying and you may have important information.’
Trish deflated. ‘You’re talking about the Daughters of Eve?’
Robbo nodded.
‘I can’t invite you in, but I’ll answer your questions if you don’t mind standing out here.’
Robbo pulled out his notebook. I let him take the lead, since he seemed to have built a better rapport with the nun.
‘Sister Patricia Wood—that is your full name, isn’t it?’
Trish nodded.
‘Our records show that you own a gun.’
‘A gun. Yes. We have a gun.’
Robbo looked down at his notebook.
‘We?’
Trish frowned. ‘The collective.’ She gestured around her. ‘We have livestock. The gun is to protect them from predators like foxes.’
Robbo kept his gaze fixed on his notebook. ‘We’ll need to take that gun in for ballistics testing.’
Trish’s face fell. ‘You can’t think anyone here …’
‘And we’ll need the names of everyone who has access to that gun.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring her in,’ I said as Robbo pulled the rifle, sealed in its evidence bag, out of the boot of his car.
‘Yeah, right. Arrest a nun on suspicion.’
I picked up the evidence bag of ammunition and followed him to the Bunker’s lift.
‘You don’t usually take kindly to people withholding information.’
Robbo punched the lift button a little harder than usual.
‘She handed over the gun without a warrant.’
‘So, you think Trish will be this cooperative if it turns out the gun is linked to the shootings?’
‘Trish?’ Robbo shot me a questioning look.
‘Sister Patricia. She went by Trish at the meeting.’
Robbo smirked. ‘I’m guessing she’d prefer Sister Patricia now she knows you’re a cop.’ Robbo looked down at the ammunition. ‘She gave us the ammo too, and it’s the same brand and calibre as our shooter.’
He held the bag out and I looked. ‘It’s a popular brand. Good quality, not too pricey. They’ve got about eighty per cent of the rifle market.’
Robbo stared for a moment then smiled. ‘Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’re into shooting.’
An empty lift arrived and we got in.
‘For the record, I’m not into shooting. I did some research online.’
We checked in the evidence and headed to the squad room but before we got to our desks Willoughby’s voice rang out from his office.
‘Roberts! Hart!’
I followed Robbo in. We waited while the DCI finished reading the page in his hand and signed the bottom with an elaborate squiggle. Finally he looked up.
‘Have a seat.’
I glanced at the chairs but Robbo and I stayed standing, he had his hands clasped behind his back.
‘Where have you two been all morning?’ Willoughby leaned back in his executive leather chair and steepled his hands like some sort of spiritual sage.
‘We went out to question a possible suspect.’ Robbo’s voice was calm and confident.
‘A suspect?’ Willoughby’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve had a call from the Commissioner who says you questioned a nun. Tell me she’s not your suspect.’
‘I said possible suspect, sir.’
The little vein at Willoughby’s temple pulsed purple. ‘How did a nun become a suspect?’
‘She runs a domestic violence support group, sir. It appears she’s linked to a number of the early victims.’
‘I thought you liked the hooker and the perv for those shootings, Roberts.’
‘We’re still looking into Ryan and Prescott’s daughter, sir.’
‘So why are you harassing a nun?’
I couldn’t leave Robbo to take the heat alone, so I waded in.
‘We aren’t harassing her, sir, she’s cooperating. She surrendered a firearm so we could exclude it from our inquiries.’
It wasn’t just the vein now; Willoughby’s whole face was turning purple.
‘I don’t know if you two idiots follow current affairs, but we’re facing a significant security challenge. We don’t have time for you to go ducking down every rabbit hole you stumble upon. You will back off the nun. Do you understand?’
I took a breath and tried to stay calm. ‘We can draw a direct link from Sister Patricia to two, possibly three victims, sir. She works with domestic violence survivors which is another link to the Daughters of Eve. It would be remiss of us not to test the gun.’
Robbo picked up where I left off, not giving the DCI a chance to speak. ‘If it were to come out—say, in an inquiry down the track—that we had the murder weapon in our possession but returned it without a ballistics check …’ He stopped, leaving the threat unspoken.
Willoughby fixed us with an aggressive stare. ‘I’m not telling you how to conduct your investigation. I’m saying I don’t want you wasting precious department resources on ridiculous lines of inquiry. Test the gun since you have it, but when it comes back clean, I expect you to put your time to better use. Do you understand?’
Willoughby put a rush on the ballistics report and it was back before lunchtime. I’d never seen that kind of turnaround from Forensics. Robbo sent me the email as soon as it came through and we steeled ourselves as we walked into the DCI’s office.
‘So, no match?’ Willoughby’s voice was like nails down a chalkboard.
‘No, sir.’ I got in ahead of Robbo. It wasn’t fair to let him take the heat when I’d pushed him so hard.
‘So, let me get this straight, Hart. You’ve accused a nun of mass murder and the smoking gun you were hoping for has turned out to be … ?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Right. Thank you. That’s going to do wonders for the Commissioner’s standing within the church, as well as mine.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said.
Willoughby’s phone rang and he waved us out. We were almost to the door when he slammed it down.
‘Wait. Both of you, back here.’
I rolled my eyes at Robbo and braced as we turned.
‘The nun is downstairs with a lawyer. You made this mess—go fix it.’
I went straight to the foyer, while Robbo and the rest of the squad prepared the conference room, turning the white boards and closing the blinds to hide what was taped to the glass.
Security had the paperwork ready when I got to the foyer. All I had to do was sign on the dotted line and escort Trish and her lawyer, Lisa Lindhurst, up to the conference room.
Peterson stood by the DCI’s door and watched with a smirk as I exited the lift and led the way to the conference room. At least with the blinds closed, Robbo and I had some privacy as we prepared to tuck into a double-size serve of humble pie.
Robbo closed the door behind us and we sat in pairs with the table between us. Trish’s lawyer clicked her briefcase open.
‘My client has prepared a statement to submit to your investigation.’
I’d met Lisa Lindhurst when I was a beat cop. She worked legal aid by choice as she had for decades.
‘That won’t be necessary, Ms Lindhurst,’ Robbo started, in his Sunday-best voice, but I already had my hands on the statement and I wasn’t giving it back. I absolutely intended to apologise, but who gives up intel without a glance? ‘We have received a report from our Forensic Services Group who confirmed that your weapon was not used in the Daughters of Eve killings.’
I looked up to see Trish and Lisa exchange a glance as Trish’s shoulders relaxed.
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ Trish began, but I didn’t believe her for a moment. She’d definitely been worried.
Lisa put a hand on Trish’s arm and spoke over her.
‘Can I assume that my client will not be questioned again in reference to this matter? And that we can expect to receive a formal letter of apology from the Commissioner of Police?’
Lisa reached for the statement but I kept it out of reach.
‘Of course.’ Robbo’s tone was too deferential for my liking. Had he missed Trish’s relief?
‘Just one question.’ I placed the statement on the table. ‘Sister Patricia, what can you tell me about the woman you mention in your statement—the one who would often stay back to comfort people after support group meetings?’
Trish looked to Lisa.
‘I think we have established that my client has no involvement with your Daughters of Eve investigation.’
Robbo kicked me under the table.
‘No. We’ve established that your client is not a suspect at this time but the support group remains a focus of the investigation.’
I looked down at the typed statement, letting my words sink in before continuing. ‘I believe this woman may be a material witness in a homicide case. I am, therefore, empowered under the Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act of 2002, to question your client in an attempt to identify the woman in question.’
Robbo kicked me again. Hard.
This time I returned fire. Pain shot through my ankle as it connected with his shin.
‘You don’t have to answer these questions, Patricia.’ Lisa glared at me.
It would be fair to say that the apology went downhill from there.
When we finally rose and opened the door it was Robbo who led the way. I trailed behind, clutching the folded statement in my hand.
As we passed my desk Trish startled. Her eyes went wide and she turned to me, confusion etched into her face. Lisa must have clocked it in her peripheral vision because she grabbed Trish’s arm and yanked her forward.
I looked down at my desk. My computer screen was blank. All my files were face down. She couldn’t have seen anything to do with the case. There was just my handbag on the chair and some personals on the desk.
I hurried after Trish. She was in the lift when I caught up.
‘I’ll see them out.’ Robbo shot daggers at me through the closing doors, but I jammed my hand in to push them open again.
‘What did you see—’ I started, but Robbo unpicked my fingers and punched the close button until the doors slid shut. The last thing I saw was Sister Patricia’s face, her eyes creased with concern.
I went back to my desk and took inventory. A small plastic cuckoo clock the girls had bought me when we went to see The Sound of Music. A snow globe from a winter trip to Crackenback. A photograph of me and the girls, smiling on the deck of the Manly ferry.
A sinister feeling crept up my spine and settled in my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I pushed open the back door and walked into a silent house. It was just after one on a school day, too early for anyone to be home. Peterson had thrown me a filthy look as I’d left, so I would probably get another bollocking from Willoughby in the morning.
Standing in the hall, I listened. No sound. I pushed each door open to confirm I was completely alone.
Then I began.
I started in Grace’s room. She’d been triggered recently, dredging up her nightmare past, and she was most likely to succumb to her emotions.
I began with her bureau, took each drawer to the bed and emptied it methodically, shaking each item out, then refolding it carefully and placing it on the bed so I could return everything in the right order.
When I’d finished, I checked her cupboard. Then the desk and finally, her bed. I stripped the sheets, pulled the mattress onto the ground and felt along the seams to be sure there wasn’t a secret slot or a hiding place. I lifted the rug, one end at a time so the placement matched the dust pattern. I tapped along each floorboard. Then I eased the cases out from under the bed and emptied and refilled each one.
