The Sunbaker, page 26
‘Oh! Is he okay?’
‘He’s drowsy. I think he needs to sleep it off. Why were you phoning me?’
‘I was trawling through all the transcripts you gave me of Michael Brown’s court cases. There’s something odd in one of them, an old one. It was a case in the Children’s Court and Michael normally stayed away from those. The names were redacted, but the judge asked something odd. He wanted to know if Michael was conflicted and should recuse himself from the case seeing as the defendant was a relative …’
‘And?’
‘As far as we know, there was only one relative who would have been under eighteen years of age at that time.’
‘Grantley.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What was the case?’
‘The child, presumably Grantley, was found not guilty. Michael was defence council for Grantley and it seems he got him off mostly due to a technicality around the police interview procedures. There doesn’t seem too much doubt, reading between the lines, that Grantley did it though.’
‘What was the charge?’
‘Manslaughter. He king hit someone.’
‘So he has a violent history?’
‘Maybe it was his DNA after all. Perhaps he’s much smarter than you give him credit for.’
Chapter Fifty
Tuesday, 10th March
Jack was startled awake by a foghorn so loud it felt as though the whole building was vibrating. He sat up and it took a few seconds to remember he was in Nicola’s apartment. He threw back the sheet, climbed off the lounge and walked to the wall of glass. An enormous cargo ship towered over the apartment, guided along an impossibly narrow channel by three tiny tugboats. The ship was so close Jack felt as though he could reach out and touch it. The deafening foghorn sounded again, but seemed to have no effect on a kayaker calmly paddling across the harbour ahead of the ship’s path.
In the kitchen he found a scribbled note:
I’ve left for work. Thanks for last night, the sex was amazing.
Jack laughed. There had been no sex.
Help yourself to whatever you like. Except The Avalanches.
He showered, then dressed in the only clothes he had. As he was leaving the apartment, his phone rang. Nicola.
‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did I wake you?’
‘No, I was just leaving.’
‘Bernard is missing. He signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice at 3 a.m. He’s not answering his home phone or his mobile. I’m about to head to his house, can you meet me there? I’m really worried.’
‘Of course.’
‘He lives a bit out of town. I’ll text you the address.’ She ended the call.
Thirty minutes later, a taxi dropped him at Bernard’s. Built on an acreage, the low-set house was dark brick and tile with bronze aluminium windows. Everything was neglected. The grass was long, the scattered trees over-mature and a veggie garden was only producing weeds. A double garage sat off to one side of the house, its paint peeling in large flakes.
As he reached the top of the driveway, he heard a car and turned to see Nicola speeding towards him, a billowing dust cloud in her wake. She parked the car, threw the door open and walked quickly to join him.
‘Thanks, Jack, sorry to drag you all the way out here. He’s still not answering his phone.’
They walked to the front door and Nicola knocked hard. There was no answer. She knocked and called again, but all was quiet inside.
Jack asked, ‘Do you have a key?’
She shook her head. ‘Should we call the police to do a welfare check? Something might have happened to him.’
‘It will be a lot quicker if we take a look ourselves.’
The lock on the front door was old and cheap. Jack picked it with ease.
Nicola looked shocked. ‘Well, there’s a whole bunch of questions I’d like to ask you about that, but they’ll have to wait.’ She hurried inside, shouting Bernard’s name as she went.
Jack followed her. The front door opened directly into the lounge room. It was a scene of devastation. It looked as though a tropical cyclone had gone through the place, scattering all the contents of the shelves and drawers across the floor. Stuffing was spewing out of long slashes in the lounge and its cushions. The same post-apocalyptic scene greeted them in the tiny kitchen.
‘Oh my God,’ said Nicola, then ran off to check the remainder of the house, shouting Bernard’s name even more urgently. She was soon back, slightly breathless. ‘He’s not here. And he’s been burgled. The back door is smashed open.’
But Jack knew it wasn’t burglars – they just nick the valuables, they don’t tear the place apart. Whoever did this was looking for something in particular.
Nicola bent down and picked up a framed photograph, its glass shattered. ‘The fuckers.’ The photo was of Bernard with his arm around a young man. ‘It’s such a violation to come into someone’s house and do this.’
‘Is that Bernard’s son, the one you said died?’
‘Yes. He was a great kid.’ She bent over and picked up another photo and showed it to Jack – Bernard with his wife, just married, standing at the entrance of a church. ‘Like often happens, Bernard’s marriage didn’t survive after Oliver died.’
Bernard’s wife looked vaguely familiar to Jack, but the more he concentrated, the more he thought perhaps it was because she had relatively indistinct features.
Nicola placed the photos side by side on a shelf. ‘We need to find him.’
‘He can’t have been here, or he would have called the cops when he saw all this. Is there somewhere else he would go when he discharged himself?’
Nicola shook her head.
‘Try phoning him again. I’m going to look around. Don’t disturb anything else.’
Jack worked his way through every room, methodically checking the mess. He removed his T-shirt and used it as a makeshift glove as he turned things over and opened cupboards and drawers. The knife block had one knife missing, but he found it in the kitchen sink – none were covered in blood. Apart from the carnage caused by the intruders, Jack found nothing helpful.
The bedroom was as chaotic as everywhere else, and the mattress had suffered the same indignity as the lounge, repeatedly sliced open and its stuffing pulled out.
A high-pitched yell from Nicola interrupted his search. ‘Jack!’
When he ran into the living room, Nicola was standing with one of her hands covering her mouth, the other pointing at a bloodied handprint on the wall beside the front door. They hadn’t noticed it when they’d barged in, urgently looking for Bernard. Jack moved closer, and noticed a few drops of blood had fallen onto the carpet. A knot tightened in his stomach. Bernard must have come home and stumbled across the intruders, or they were waiting in ambush.
‘Oh, Jack.’
‘The intruders were looking for something in particular. Maybe they tried to force Bernard into telling them where it was.’
‘But this is Bernard. He’s just a normal person, not some drug dealer. What would he be hiding?’
Jack had been wondering the same thing.
Nicola said, ‘We should call the police.’
‘Let’s just check if he’s outside first.’
They started in the garage, where they found his car, a white Volkswagen Golf.
‘His car’s still here,’ said Jack.
‘That’s because he’s banned from driving following his seizures. He’s been using taxis.’ She headed to the door. ‘I’ll check in the garden.’
Jack examined the car. It, too, had been searched, and the contents of the boot and glove compartment emptied out onto the greasy concrete floor. He checked underneath the car and in all the usual hiding places, but found nothing.
A bench along the side wall was covered in a chaotic array of tools rapidly turning to rust. He kneeled down and peered beneath the bench. A wave of excitement spread through him when he saw a large brown envelope duct-taped underneath. This was what the intruders had been searching for and Jack wondered how they’d missed it.
He peeled off the tape, then placed the envelope on the bench. It was thick, and difficult to open with the T-shirt over his fingers. When he managed to pour out the contents, three bundles of mint-green banknotes tumbled onto the bench.
Nicola reappeared. ‘He’s not out there.’ She saw the envelope and the money. ‘Oh, my god,’ said Nicola, staring at Jack with eyes wide in disbelief. ‘I’ve never seen so much cash. What’s Bernard doing with all this?’
Two of the bundles were untouched, but the wrapper on the third was loose, some of the notes having been removed.
Jack reached into the packet and slid out a folded A4 page. He spread it open on the bench, revealing a typed note.
The final task. Make sure some of Grantley Brown’s DNA is found on Moreau. Then you can keep the cash. And we won’t put you on the sun lounge like the others.
‘Jesus,’ said Jack.
‘What?’
Nicola reached for the note, but Jack stopped her.
‘Don’t touch it.’
She read the note, the colour draining from her face.
Jack took out his phone and called Ricky. The call went straight to voicemail.
‘Fuck off, I’m very busy,’ said Ricky’s voice on the recording.
Jack sent a text.
CALL ME NOW!!!
Nicola said, ‘Bernard would never do such a thing.’
‘Maybe he’s trying to cash up for his retirement. Then again, whoever sent this sounds pretty intimidating, maybe he didn’t have a choice.’
Jack’s phone rang. It was Ricky.
‘Jacko, what’s happening?’
‘I’ve just broken into someone’s house.’
‘No, Jacko, no. You can’t do that without me. I came all the way to Byron so we could do the fun stuff together.’
‘Mate, if you weren’t sitting on your arse six hours away you would have been on top of my invitation list.’
‘What’s so urge-um-undo?’
‘I think I might have found your godfather’s missing cash.’
‘The thirty grand that was AWOL from Michael Brown’s safe?’
‘Yep. Would he have the serial numbers?’
‘Shit no,’ said Ricky. ‘Way too incriminating to write those babies down.’
‘Would Michael Brown have recorded them in the payment ledger we took from his safe?’
Nicola stared wide-eyed at Jack, her mouth open in surprise.
Jack covered the phone and whispered to her, ‘You never heard that.’
Her mouth remained open.
Ricky said. ‘I’ll check. Trouble will be pretty happy to get his money back. You might even be made an honorary godson. Then we’d be godbrothers.’
‘I don’t think he’ll be getting the money. It’s in the house of the pathologist who did the autopsy on Michael Brown. It’s a long story, but the pathologist has gone missing. We have to call the cops.’
‘Jesus, can you take the money first?’
‘No.’
‘What about half?’
‘I’m here with a witness.’
‘Oh. Is it that hot pathologist you fancy?’
‘Ricky, that’s not a conversation I can have right now. She’s standing next to me.’
‘Put her on, lover boy.’
‘No, fucking way.’ Jack ended the call.
Nicola was leaning with both hands resting on the bench, her head bowed. ‘I can’t believe Bernard would do this.’
Jack placed a hand over one of hers. He’d been right – Grantley Brown hadn’t killed Christian Moreau. And Moreau probably hadn’t killed Michael Brown. The threatening note implied this wasn’t the first time the professor had been paid to corrupt evidence, including DNA evidence. All of which raised the question: who was behind the note? And the murders?
They were back to square one. The killers of Brown and Moreau were unknown. Which had to put the Harriers right back in the frame. They’d be desperate to keep their very own Lawyer Y story out of the courts, both the legal one and the court of public opinion. If it came to light they were using a defence lawyer as an illegal informant, heads would roll in the Harriers, and the whole organisation might be disbanded. So they had the motive, and the capability – including manpower, vehicles and an inside knowledge of crime-scene analysis. They could have taken the thirty grand used to bribe Bernard from Michael’s safe while they were abducting him. Leaving some behind rather than swiping the whole lot made their protestations they knew nothing about the money more believable.
The Grim Reapers also had a motive to kill Michael, but the staging of the murders seemed way too elaborate for an outlaw motorcycle gang when a bullet is so much simpler and sends a much clearer message. Besides, Ricky’s godfather, Trouble, had said they only discovered Michael Brown was an informant after he was already dead. Then again, he would probably say that when talking to the police – he’d hardly confess that the Reapers had killed the lawyer. So, Jack left them on his suspect list. It was a pathetically short list – Harriers at the top, Grim Reapers at the bottom. Surely, he could do better than two!
Jack’s phone pinged with an incoming message from Ricky – a photograph of the page in the ledger that listed the serial numbers.
Nicola was now pacing, shaking her head.
‘Nicola, without touching anything, can you read out a serial number from any of the banknotes?’
She stopped pacing and read out the letters and digits.
‘Bingo,’ said Jack.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a long story, but I know where this money came from. We need to call the cops.’
If Bernard had been abducted, which seemed likely, he was presumably going to be the next victim.
Jack used his phone to photograph the threatening note.
Nicola said, ‘Will they kill him?’
‘I don’t know. But we need the police to start looking for him as soon as they can.’ He took out his phone and called Begley.
Chapter Fifty-one
Begley answered Jack’s call on the first ring. ‘What?’
‘How are you?’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?’
‘Are you sitting down?’
‘I run a police station, of course I’m fucking sitting down. Spit it out.’
‘Bernard Henderson, the pathologist who did the autopsies on Brown and Moreau, has gone missing. It looks like he was abducted.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘His house was searched by whoever abducted him, looking for a threatening note they’d written. They didn’t find it, but I did. They were paying Henderson to contaminate the DNA evidence on Moreau and probably on Brown. Which means Grantley didn’t kill Moreau. And Moreau probably didn’t kill Michael Brown.’
‘Now you’re really taking the piss.’
‘I’ll send you a photo of the note.’ Jack sent the image.
There was silence on the other end as Begley read.
‘Jesus. And there was cash?’
‘Close on thirty grand.’
‘Christ on a bike. Thirty grand! That seems well above the going rate for bribery.’
‘You mean you’d take less?’
‘Very bloody funny.’
‘They could afford it. It wasn’t their money. They nicked it.’
‘Who from?’
Jack immediately realised his mistake. ‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Because you’d incriminate yourself, or someone else?’
Jack didn’t answer.
‘Or both?’
‘No comment.’
‘Am I right in thinking I didn’t hear you mention anything about cash?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are you telling me that although they’d already paid the pathologist thirty grand, and he’d done what they asked, they came back to tidy up the loose ends?’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. He was a risk to them, and so he’s likely the next victim. We found a blood-stained handprint on one of the walls in his house.’
‘Jesus, this just keeps getting worse.’
‘And given their prior MO, there’s a chance they’re going to lay him out on a sun lounge at Nicola’s.’
There was a long silence from Begley at the other end. ‘I don’t get the whole leaving bodies at Dr Fox’s thing, with a book and a cocktail.’
‘Me either.’
‘Have you called the local police?’
‘Not yet.’
There was a long silence at the other end, during which Jack could hear a chair squeaking backwards and forwards. ‘You need to do that. The local boys need to know as they’ll have to go through the house for evidence, and to start looking for the professor. The Harriers are still claiming the murder investigation for themselves, but if it was the Harriers that killed the two men and took Henderson, we need to keep everything quiet – sure as hell they’ll be looking for the missing person’s report and then try to step in to take over.’
‘Can we proceed and plead ignorance that Henderson’s disappearance is related to the murders?’
‘Maybe. Where’s the nearest police station?’
Jack turned and asked Nicola, who was restlessly pacing again, before answering Begley.
‘Toronto.’
‘Good. I know the bloke in charge. You phone the station and report a missing person, but don’t say anything about the link to the deaths of Moreau and Brown. I’ll follow up with a call and tell him to keep it quiet for as long as he can. And I’ll also station some uniforms at Nicola’s holiday house, in case they turn up with Professor Henderson.’
‘Make sure they can’t be seen. We don’t want to scare them off. They’ll probably arrive in a white van.’
