‘C’mon, Fiona,’ said Hart. ‘The likes of them don’t have the dosh to invest with the likes of Thomas.’
‘For Chrissakes, Bazza, I’m talking detective work 101. If we’re not out there sniffing, we’ve got nothing but our own theories. Thomas himself could’ve been under threat had he been on bail. Who knows? As far as I’m concerned our job isn’t over yet. Rod himself said as much. Let’s get out there and dig. I want a list of suggestions from each of you by the end of the day about ways we can broaden the inquiry.’
When Tuck left Hart said, ‘I’m going to Blackie’s place, let him know what’s going on. I’ll be fucked if she and the pole polisher are shutting him out of this. Broaden the inquiry, my arse. Waste of bloody time if you ask me. Titman’s guilty, we all know it. What was that shit, Joss? You buy that objectivity line?’
‘If you’re asking me whether we can trust her, I’m not sure. She doesn’t seem all that happy with the super. But nor is she upset that one of her key staff has just been shafted. That pisses me off.’
‘You might not be sure, but I am. Rod’s been fed a line about leave. She’s got the pole polisher to get rid of him. That bitch couldn’t lie straight in an iron lung.’
****
Back in 1980, Jack Dench had merely been Fiona Tuck’s way in: her chance to tap into the power of the man everyone in Christchurch was talking about – Trevor Thomas. It had been a roller coaster affair, until she realised Thomas wouldn’t leave his wife. She spent the next ten years working her way up, shifting around regions until she was a CIB senior sergeant in Greymouth. Then he appeared at Revingtons Hotel.
She’d watched as he captivated clients with war stories and put-downs of the competition. Aroused just listening, she knew the old chemistry was still there.
A promotion to Christchurch had ended a series of alternating fortnightly weekends where one or other of the lovers would make the three-hour journey across Arthur’s Pass. She was sorry about Donaldson’s death. He’d helped to keep their relationship secret, the perfect alibi in case Michelle Thomas came checking.
Chapter 32
Christine Thomas, an unzipped black bag over her shoulder, wore a short red skirt, white top, black vinyl jacket and knee-length boots. ‘So it’s Fiona Tuck, eh?’ She stood at the door of the DI’s cramped office, looking her adversary up and down.
Tuck glanced up, wary. ‘I’m not aware we’ve met.’
‘Christine Thomas. You asked to see me.’
Tuck stood, forced a smile. ‘Ah yes! Thanks for coming in so promptly.’ She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. ‘Please sit down.’
‘I’m not sure how I can help you. My mother and I could be alibi witnesses for my father if you people arrest him for the murder of that horrible man Dench.’
‘Well, there are a couple of things I need to discuss with you about how you can help your father. Being an alibi is one of them. We already know you and your mother went to the premiere of Muriel’s Wedding that night. It didn’t start until nine, and Dench was killed just after ten so you couldn’t have been at home with Trevor at that time, could you?’
A head shake. ‘We planned to go. But in the end, Mum wasn’t well. The tickets were freebies so we stayed in and watched TV with Dad.’
‘Cut the crap, Christine, we both know that’s not true.’ Tuck spoke with confidence. ‘The tickets were uplifted. Not only that, but two women sitting behind you kept telling you to be quiet.’
‘Couldn’t have been us. We rang the theatre, told them we weren’t going to make it and to let the tickets go.’
‘Why would those witnesses tell us that the two women prattled on about a marital separation and the property at Park Terrace?’
‘Christ, there’s lots of houses in Park Terrace.’ Christine was enjoying the argument. ‘You can’t presume we’re the only mother and daughter living there.’
Tuck looked unimpressed. ‘So you’re sticking with the story that you, Michelle and Trevor stayed in all night watching TV?’
‘That’s right.’
Tuck didn’t bother to test Christine on programming and times. ‘Those two women I just told you about, later ran into the back of Trevor’s car not far from your house. Just before Dench was killed. They’ve identified him.’
‘Couldn’t have been him driving, eh? Not when he was with us.’
Hands clasped, Tuck glared as she leant across the desk. ‘Bullshit. Listen, Christine. I’ll level with you. I’m probably the one person in CIB who doesn’t think Trevor has killed anyone. But we have his palm print on Dench’s door and plenty else that implicates him. Whoever killed Dench has killed the others and, for whatever reason, has put Trevor in the frame.’
Christine sensed a trap. ‘So Detective Inspector, why are you telling me this?’
‘Because he needs your bloody help.’ Tuck sat back in her chair and twirled her hair. ‘Providing a false alibi for the Crown prosecutor to destroy in court will help crucify him. You help by confirming the chemicals we seized were yours. Then you say you were experimenting. Making food additives and cosmetics as potential business projects.’ She waved her hands like a magician. ‘If you like, you can say that Trevor was your business sponsor. Maybe we could get a few invoices together, develop a business plan – stuff like that.’
‘An interesting idea, I’ll admit,’ said Christine calmly. ‘But it’s not true, is it?’
‘Come on, Christine.’ Tuck sounded exasperated. ‘You were prepared to lie and give him an alibi that would have set him up for a fall. Explaining the circumstantial evidence is much more beneficial and powerful in his defence.’
‘I guess you could draft something up and I’ll look at it.’
‘Look at it? Jesus Christ, you could cut me some slack here, Christine. I’m trying to help. I know bugger all about what those bloody chemicals do.’ Tuck picked up a file and read. ‘Parabens, for example. Methylparaben 218 and propylparaben 216. What the hell is that lot?’
‘If I remember, they’re both in succinylcholine.’
Tuck took a deep breath. ‘That’s precisely the point. Your father’s accused of disabling the victims before killing them by hanging or strangulation. I need you to help explain other uses they might be put to.’
Christine pretended to think. ‘Well, 218 is found in blueberries.’ She paused, silently counting off the seconds, toying with Tuck. When the detective was about to speak again, she raised her hand. ‘But chemically, it’s an anti-fungal substance often used in hair gels. It’s also a preservative in local anaesthetics. One of the reasons it’s popular is it’s absorbed through the skin and excreted without accumulating in the body.’
‘What about the 216? How’s that different?’
‘Quite similar – both are preservatives. The 216 is used in water-based stuff such as bath products.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What about succinic acid?’
A head shake. ‘Look you can get this information from a pharmacist. I haven’t come in here for a bloody chemistry test.’ She glared at Tuck, who returned the expression, hands thrust into the pockets of her trousers.
Christine relented. ‘A lot of medications would be very bitter if they weren’t coated in a succinic acid substance. It helps control the acidity levels of the active ingredients. Aspirin tablets would be an example.’
‘Thank you. If I draft up a statement along the lines I mentioned we’ll have some of the circumstances explained. Another thing. Trevor said he had the only key.’
‘That’s true.’
‘You need to say he’s mistaken. That you had your own copy, which would make sense if you had these chemicals for business projects.’
‘But anyone could have broken in.’ Christine was clearly perplexed. ‘Surely it’s not just about him having the only key?’
‘When police arrived, the lock was secure. Michelle had no idea where the key was.’
Christine shrugged.
Tuc
k said, ‘Do you know a guy called Ronald Point? Runs the Christchurch Prison where your father’s in custody.’
‘Never heard of him. Why?
‘Point lost a lot of money investing with your father. We, at least I, think he’s hell-bent on revenge. He’s very happy to have Trevor in prison and he’s assigned a dodgy prison officer to look after him, someone who watches him shower.’
Christine laughed out loud.
‘What’s so amusing?’ asked Tuck.
‘My father hates gays, lesbians, and anyone not strictly Anglo-Saxon. You name it, they’re on his odium list, as he calls it.’
‘Nevertheless, you need to say you received telephone threats several days before the eighth of March from an unidentified male caller. Identify days and times when you can prove you were home. But the man told you and your mother that you’d be having your house to yourselves soon. That Trev was going to be moving to another big house with free board and rooming with lots of other untrustworthy men.’
Christine looked bewildered. ‘This is bizarre. You want me to substitute several different lies for an alibi, and then lie about threats from a prison manager as well. Is that it?’
‘Yes! Because the man who murdered three men is a sadistic killer, Christine. He paralysed his victims before hanging them. He rammed a broom handle up Dench’s backside so he would suffer the maximum possible pain before he lost consciousness. That’s not the man... Let me put it this way. Do you believe that the man who did those things is your father?’
Christine thought her father was capable of anything if he wanted revenge for some slight. And she knew of her mother’s long-standing suspicions about his infidelity, remembered the gossip about a promiscuous policewoman. And here she was, sitting right in front of her, begging her to help the lying, cheating, disinheriting mongrel who pretended to be a father. She felt her heart collide with her chest wall and her fists close tight, but managed to force a smile. ‘No, I’m sure you’re right. Draft the statement and I’ll sign it.’
Back out on Hereford Street, she reached into her handbag, pulled out the tape recorder, rewound for three seconds, and then smiled as she pushed stop. She would enjoy the whole recording later over several large gins and tonic. Thank you, Toby Latham!
Chapter 33
The transition, like most transitions, wasn’t easy. There were recriminations, accusations, tears. Sasha and Mac needed constant reassurance they hadn’t abandoned Nat, that she would be well cared for.
For Mac, finding the right unit was filled with irony. He remembered how he and Nat attended many open days at primary schools, searching for the right place for Sasha.
None of the possible facilities scored ten out of ten. Despite their undoubted cleanliness and high standards, there was always the subtle but pervasive whiff of urine and boiled cabbage in the air. Sasha, naturally, counted the time it took for a caregiver to attend to a resident when it was obvious attention was needed. But even that didn’t help with the final choice. Their decision came down to the unit with the best garden. Hearts before heads, just as she said to her university students in advocacy tutorials.
As she and Mac drove back into the city from Garden View Villas, Sasha caught sight of Fiona Tuck walking down Hereford Street. ‘Methinks she’s an unhappy copper.’
‘Why so?’
‘She’s alienated in that place. And she’s got rid of her direct report on the Thomas prosecution, which members of the inquiry team have been complaining to me about. I get the sense that she thinks Thomas’s prosecution is premature.’
‘Well, you’d know,’ replied Mac. ‘Is it?’
‘Certainly not in Dench’s case. But I’ve warned them that we might be defeated on the others without further evidence.’
****
Almost time to go, get out of Christchurch for good. But Tuck was concerned that the rest of the circumstantial evidence against Trev was strong, particularly for Dench’s killing. Christine’s statement by itself probably wouldn’t be enough.
Discovering Dench’s computer and her own were the same model, she photocopied the job sheet for the exhibits seizure, and changed the reference numbers to match those on her personal computer. She then re-photocopied the sheet to cover the fact alterations had been made. She ‘cleaned’ her own computer by formatting the drive and deleting every file, then copied all Dench’s files, minus the incriminating evidence, back onto her hard drive. The switched computer now contained all the other files anyone expected to see minus those that would prove a motive against Thomas.
She phoned Quentin (Popeye) Baker, the IT technician, and asked him to come to her office. His woolly ginger beard held the remnants of his lunchtime sandwiches and he peered at her through strong, magnifying lenses.
‘Are you sure it was this computer, Popeye?’
‘Pretty sure,’ he replied as he opened up the relevant file and job sheet. ‘But this isn’t right. This is a copy of what I completed. I can’t see the original.’
‘You’re not supposed to lodge photocopies on file.’ Tuck paused then added, with a smile, ‘But if you can get the files I need, we’ll keep that little matter between ourselves.’
Baker noted that the model and serial data were the same as on the job sheet.
He frowned. ‘I had them grouped together on the desktop page for ease of finding. I’m sure I left them there.’ In Windows Explorer he opened up a couple of unprotected files. ‘I recognise some of these other unprotected files, though.’
‘Best check to see if I’ve accidentally deleted them,’ Tuck said. Baker clicked on the trash bin icon and found it empty. ‘I see the setting clears the bin once you shut down. Have you shut it down since you first tried to access it?’
‘No, I’m keen to get on with the bloody job.’
‘Sure.’ Baker look confused. ‘I’ll have to take it back to the lab, see what I can find.’
‘Quick as you can, eh?’ She watched him leave, shoulders slumped, weighed down with bewilderment that wasn’t of his making.
****
Baker spent the next two hours trying to find files that were never there. Most of the deleted files he found were porn files but none linking Dench and Thomas. Could he have been mistaken about the computer on which he’d uncovered the password protected files? He checked over his time records. He’d worked on four computers in four different inquiries that week. Then there was the puzzling photocopied job sheet.
‘Bazza!’
‘Popeye, old son. Looking for a drinking buddy again, you sad prick.’
‘Mate, I think I’ve stuffed up.’
‘Not DIC again?’
‘No, no. Nothing like that. Job related. You know the Thomas inquiry?’
‘You’ve got the computers.’
‘I found some password protected files on that guy Dench’s computer. But two things have happened. My job sheet has somehow become a photocopy when I’m sure I filed the original. And I can’t for the life of me find those files I unlocked. And they haven’t been deleted. It’s like they were never on the bloody hard drive.’
‘Do you remember anything about them?’
‘Nah, it was the fifth one this week.’ A pause while he started at a blank screen. ‘Hang on. Could there be some sort of business advertisement on it from Australia about investments gone bad?’
‘Yep. One of the team turned up an ad like that earlier in the inquiry. I’ll get you what we’ve seen. You might be able to identify it. What about something else? Do you remember seeing a note from Dench to Donaldson thanking him for a payment for porn and asking to keep Titman out of the loop?’
‘Come to think of it, that sounds familiar, but it wasn’t on the computer just now.’
‘Well, I can get you to identify that too,’ said Bazza. ‘Who’s had the computer signed out?’
‘The Flying Fuck.’
‘She know about the job sheet?’
‘Yeah, she sort of made l
ight of it. Felt a bit sorry for me.’
‘That ruthless bitch? Look out the window, mate. There’s some pigs flyin’ in your direction. Leave it to me. I’ll come back to you.’
At Hart’s desk, Baker identified the documents. Hart called the team together and was in the middle of explaining what was going on when Tuck walked in.
‘What’s going on? I wasn’t aware we were meeting.’
‘We’re not,’ said Lance Elliot. ‘I was just asking the team which of them wanted to come with me and talk to Ron Point.’
‘Well, I could do that,’ replied Tuck.
‘Oh, I said I would,’ lied Joss. ‘If you don’t want me to go, then...’
‘No, no. Don’t want to tread on toes. Just keep me informed.’ Tuck turned to leave, but came back. ‘By the way, if The People ever had any documents to back up anything they’ve been saying, they don’t now. They admit they got them from an undisclosed source and have shredded them. They told me they couldn’t give me what’s in their heads.’ The team shook their heads in silence. Tuck smiled and left.
‘Cheers, mate, quick thinking. You too, Joss,’ said Hart.
‘Isn’t it a bit strange that Dench had the advert on his hard drive if it came from that Aussie outfit?’ asked Joss. ‘Why would he bother?’
‘Digging for dirt under disguise. Maybe just to see what he could turn up?’ suggested Woods.
‘Yeah, but why bother password protecting those and not the porn or things that might be commercially sensitive? Who’s he hiding them from? His staff?’ asked Elliot.
‘Shit. It’ll be Thomas and Donaldson of course,’ said Hart. ‘Remember Vickers from their office? He said they still maintained social contact with the guys in Dench’s office. Dench would know that. If he had something on his PC he didn’t want his own staff to pass on, that’s why he’d protect the file.’