Ash Island Read online

  It’s another hour before a group of figures in blue overalls trudge back to the white tent, and soon afterwards a figure she thinks she recognises makes his way through the barrier. She gets out of her car and waits for him to draw near. ‘Harry?’

  He stops and stares at her. ‘Kelly? Kelly Pool?’

  She steps over to him, wanting to give him a hug, but holding back.

  ‘How are you, Kelly?’

  ‘Good, good. You?’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  ‘And Jenny?’

  They’re observing, assessing each other as they go through the phrases. Kelly hears a raggedness in his breath, and thinks he looks thinner and paler. ‘I had no idea you were up here, Harry. Have they brought you up specially for this case?’

  ‘No, I…’ He pauses, hearing the sound of voices approaching. He moves closer to her and takes her arm. ‘We should have a chat, Kelly.’

  ‘Yes, we must. I need to talk to you.’

  The others draw near and one calls out, ‘Coming back to the station, Harry?’

  ‘Yeah, Ross. Just coming.’ Then to Kelly, ‘Give me your number.’

  She gives him a card and he hurries away. It was almost like a furtive meeting of old lovers, Kelly thinks. Her cheeks feel flushed and her heart is beating faster. Not lust, she tells herself. The atmosphere of danger she associates with Harry. It occurs to her that he might be a little unbalanced, bearing in mind all that has happened to him. But then, he probably wonders the same thing about her.

  18

  A Strike Force Ipswich briefing is called, and they file into the room with cups of coffee and notebooks, settling down to hear the latest. Harry recognises most of them now, and Ross introduces him to a couple of people he hasn’t met before. Fogarty is down the front, conferring with his case manager and a uniformed inspector.

  Fogarty gets to his feet and sets out what they know. It’s all familiar to Harry. Now the immediate tasks. A manned information booth in Marketown shopping centre with enlarged photographs of Cheung’s face and the group picture of the Chinese sailors. Teams taking calls from the public. Father McCallum and his volunteer worker to be re-interviewed. CCTV cameras throughout the city centre and along the highway accessing the Ash Island bridge are to be checked.

  Harry recognises the litany of predictable and labour-intensive box-ticking that has to be done to keep everyone happy. Something may turn up, someone may have seen an Asian man being bundled into a car, or having a drink in a bar. Maybe not. He and Ross are told to attend the post-mortem of the second victim, and they head off to the John Hunter once again.

  When they walk in, Leon Timson’s assistant is painstakingly removing the last of the mud from the body, taking care to preserve the flesh. The corpse is lying on its back, the bones of the rib cage exposed through a mess of indeterminate stuff. Most of the flesh on the skull has gone.

  ‘Hi folks.’ Timson walks in. There’s a murmured conversation with his assistant, then he gets to work. ‘Well, right away we notice that three fingers of the right hand have been severed through the middle phalanx bones, perhaps with shears or a heavy knife…The skull is intact this time, so we have to look for some other cause of death. With the state of decomposition, however, he could have been suffocated or stabbed or electrocuted or died of heart failure and we probably wouldn’t be able to tell.’

  ‘Big help,’ Ross grumbles.

  His initial inspection over, the assistant cuts open the skull, removes the brain and weighs it while Timson pokes around in the corpse’s mouth. ‘Good set of teeth, no fillings.’ He goes on with his examination, removing what remains of the liver, lungs, heart and kidneys. They are weighed and sliced.

  Finally he comes over to the two detectives. ‘I can’t be a hundred per cent certain, but I don’t think he’s Chinese. He’s tall, just over six foot, and there’s this.’ He hands them a jar containing filaments of hair. ‘Naturally curly, I’m pretty sure. The DNA should tell us more.’

  ‘Definitely male?’

  ‘Oh yes. Probably mid- to late thirties.’

  ‘And tortured in the same way. When?’

  ‘It’s hard to say, Harry. My guess would be some time in September, but that salt marsh ground is unusual—the bacteria, the insects, the chemical damage and acidity, they’re all different from what we’re used to. We’ll need to do tests, consult the literature. Oh, and you know there was no clothing this time? No rings, watch, clothing or anything else, just him.’

  As they leave, Harry says, ‘Well, if he was a resident, we’ll just have to hope for a DNA match.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ross nods. ‘The thing is, how many more of them are out there in that godforsaken place, Harry? We’ve never had anything like this before.’

  When he gets home Harry finds Jenny and the dog in a restless mood. They’ve been cooped up all day indoors because of the rain. It’s slackened now to a light drizzle and they decide to go out for a walk. Outside they find the young couple next door having trouble trying to start their car, and Jenny and Felecia wait on their veranda while Harry pulls his Corolla alongside theirs and gets out the jump leads. When they resume their walk Harry tells Jenny about Ash Island, and she says, ‘I know, I could smell it on you, the smell of sour mud. And something…Have you been to the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, for the post-mortem.’

  ‘I thought so, the antiseptic smell.’ She smiles, pleased with herself, then tells him about McGilvray’s hidden mobile. ‘I’ve got a record of his calls over the past two months, and the numbers all seem to be untraceable. But there’s a pattern to them. He calls the same number several times for a week, then each Monday he starts a new week making a similar number of calls but to a new number. The previous numbers are never called again.’

  ‘He’s calling the same person,’ Harry says, ‘and they’re changing their phone every week.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘He’s a crook, this other guy, a careful crook. And McGilvray’s bent too, but not so careful.’

  19

  At dawn the next day Harry wakes to the sound of rain pounding on the metal roof. A storm cell has settled over the Hunter and the radio is forecasting continuous heavy falls for at least twenty-four hours. At the morning briefing Fogarty announces the search for further bodies on Ash Island is suspended until the weather clears.

  When it’s over he calls Harry and Ross to his office.

  ‘McGilvray,’ he growls. ‘Complaints Management has decided his claims against you, Belltree, have no merit. We’re to apply to have his bail revoked and proceed with charges against him. He can test his claims in court if he thinks it’ll do him any good.’

  Ross claps Harry on the shoulder. Fogarty doesn’t seem particularly pleased.

  ‘I don’t want you involved in re-interviewing him, Belltree. You can do that, Ross, since he seems to have taken a fancy to you.’ He gives a little smirk. ‘Have you spoken to Kevin Colquhoun about these possible connections to the tattoo business, Belltree?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘You might like to do that before Ross speaks to McGilvray.’

  They go to see Colquhoun, who is interested but sceptical. McGilvray hasn’t shown up on their database and has no known connections to organised crime figures.

  Later that morning Harry observes McGilvray’s interview from another room. Ross has adopted a patient, even compassionate manner, which Harry doesn’t find altogether convincing. He outlines the charges to be laid against McGilvray, including assault on his wife and possession of prohibited drugs. He adds, sounding almost regretful, that they are still in discussion with the DPP about a further very serious charge of intent to do grievous bodily harm to Ross himself, with a thirty-centimetre kitchen knife. These charges might result in a lengthy prison term, the loss of his job and the end of his marriage. In the light of all this, Ross invites him to consider whether he might be in a position to improve his situation by assisting the police in other matters
. For example, might McGilvray be able to make a case that he acted rashly because he was under pressure from others to sell drugs? Or to extort services from, for the sake of argument, a tattoo salon?

  McGilvray listens to this with head bowed, a sulky expression on his face, and says nothing.

  Ross persists. Surely there must be some information that McGilvray could give Ross to take to his superiors to persuade them to go more easily on him?

  Finally McGilvray raises his head and speaks. ‘Yes, there is something,’ he says, and Ross smiles encouragingly and picks up his pen.

  McGilvray clears his throat. ‘You can tell your mate Belltree that he’s in much deeper shit than he knows.’ And he leers at Ross.

  He refuses to say another word, and Ross finally terminates the interview.

  Later, when he meets up with Harry in the office, he says, ‘What is it with that bloke? It’s like he’s obsessed with you.’

  20

  Kelly sits at the window of her hotel room, staring gloomily out at the rain as it turns the streets into streams and the ocean into a dull grey blur. Harry still hasn’t contacted her.

  She sent in her piece on the Ash Island murders to the paper yesterday evening and Catherine Meiklejohn asked her if she felt it was worth staying on. Wouldn’t she be better returning to Sydney and relying on the agency reports? Was there any special angle she was pursuing that would give the paper a scoop on the case? And Kelly replied yes, she had the inside track with one of the homicide detectives she’d known in Sydney and hoped this would lead to an exclusive. In reality she doubted this. What she really wants is to re-establish contact with Harry so she can tell him about Donna Fenning and her transformation into Karen Schaefer. Despite all her searches, she’s been unable to find any trace of the woman in this region, apart from that one sighting.

  But Harry hasn’t called. Lunchtime has passed, the rain hasn’t let up, and she is feeling despondent. Then the phone on the table in front of her begins to trill.

  ‘Kelly Pool.’

  ‘Hi Kelly.’

  It’s him, thank God. ‘Harry!’

  ‘Where are you?’

  She gives him the name of the hotel and he says, ‘Okay. Walk down to the end of Hunter Street. There’s a café there. I’ll see you in ten.’ He hangs up and she flies across the room, gathering up her coat and umbrella and notebook.

  She runs down the hill and in three minutes she’s in the café giving her order for a croissant and a large latte. Then she sits as the waitress brings her order and the minutes tick by. She should be used to this, she thinks. This is a reporter’s life, waiting for contacts who don’t show up.

  But then he’s pulling up a seat. ‘You’re looking good, Kelly.’

  ‘And you, Harry.’

  There is a pause as they smile and absorb each other’s features, searching for signs of damage, then they simultaneously disengage and Harry says, businesslike, ‘There isn’t much I can tell you about the case. So far we don’t know much more than what’s been released.’

  She tries to focus. ‘Is it a serial killer?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think there’s more bodies out there?’

  He shrugs. ‘The rain’s interrupted the search, but we’ll go on looking once it eases up. Look, if you want an angle, there might be a human interest story you could follow up. The first body we found was a Chinese sailor, you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, you could talk to someone who can tell you about the kind of life those guys lead. He’s a priest, based at the seamen’s mission in Carrington, and it was their bus that picked up the sailor and his mates from their ship that day and took them sightseeing. His name’s Father McCallum, a nice guy. Don’t mention my name.’

  ‘Okay.’ Kelly jots down the details. ‘Thanks, I’ll pay him a visit. Can I get you a coffee, Harry?’

  He checks his watch. ‘Better not. Time’s a bit short.’

  ‘I’ve found Donna Fenning—that’s what I really wanted to see you about.’

  ‘Donna Fenning?’ He frowns, trying to place the name.

  ‘She was the woman in Mortimer Street who looked after the kids they brought over to Crucifixion Creek from Indonesia, and who drugged me and delivered me to Joost Potgeiter.’

  Harry stiffens. She wonders how much he remembers, how much they’ve told him of the aftermath.

  ‘I never met her.’

  ‘No, I was the only one who did. Well, me and the neighbour, Phoebe Bulwer-Knight. Her memory’s pretty shot now.’

  ‘Didn’t the cops try to find her, afterwards?’

  ‘Supposedly. She vanished. Her name didn’t appear on electoral rolls or tax files or anywhere, and after a while they gave up. But I couldn’t forget her, Harry. Not after Potgeiter…’

  She’s aware of a wobble in her voice and tells herself this is not the time to go soft. Harry must have noticed too. He puts his hand on hers.

  ‘Of course you couldn’t. But now you’ve found her?’

  ‘Yes.’ She tells him about discovering the identity of the woman’s husband, Craig Schaefer, and following the trail back to her father, David Suskind. ‘Who is here, Harry, in Newcastle. And so is Donna—I mean Karen Schaefer.’

  She tells him about trying to follow the Nissan. ‘She works somewhere up the valley.’

  ‘Have you reported this?’

  ‘No, not yet. I want to find out what I can first and be absolutely sure. So they can’t just brush me off.’

  ‘You’re not absolutely sure, then? That it’s her?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I am sure. But I think the police…well, I think they lost interest. There were a lot of much bigger players to deal with.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says; she senses a flicker of doubt.

  ‘I took a photo of her, at the nursing home, look…’ She shows him on her phone. He frowns, and she realises how small the image is, and blurry. ‘She’s changed her hair and lost some weight, but it’s her all right.’

  ‘Send it to me on this number, Kelly…Tell me the names again.’ He takes out a notebook and writes down the details. ‘Are you staying in Newcastle for a while?’

  ‘I don’t know. If all else fails I’ll come back on Sunday in case she visits her father again.’

  ‘You should be careful, Kelly. Just leave it with me.’ He gets to his feet.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on Ash Island, Harry. I looked everywhere for you after they released you from hospital, and I couldn’t find you. I had no idea where you were. Then I follow Donna Fenning up here, and here you are. It’s kind of spooky, don’t you think?’

  ‘We’ve had this conversation before, Kelly. Coincidences happen all the time in the real world.’

  ‘But I was right the last time, wasn’t I? There was a conspiracy.’

  He concedes the point with a smile and waves her goodbye.

  21

  The rain stops on Tuesday morning and the search on Ash Island resumes. Towards mid-morning another strike force briefing is called and when Harry enters the room he’s surprised to see a familiar figure standing talking to Fogarty and Superintendent Gibb. Deb Velasco, his offsider in his last month at Sydney Homicide. Still with the flamenco dancer looks, and drumming her fingers against her clipboard. Clearly dying for a smoke.

  Gibb starts the meeting, introducing Deb as Detective Inspector Velasco. She scans the room, unsmiling. Doesn’t make eye contact with Harry.

  Apart from her considerable experience and expertise in homicide investigations, Gibb explains, she has been assigned to liaise with Strike Force Ipswich because the second body on Ash Island has now been identified by dental evidence as belonging to a Sydney resident, thereby expanding the possible scope of their inquiries.

  He hands over to Fogarty, who gets to his feet and presses the button on a remote to project an image onto the screen behind him. Harry stares. Another familiar face. He glances at Deb and she is looking at him
.

  ‘Marco Ganis,’ Fogarty intones, ‘owner of Chieftain Smash Repairs of Mascot, Sydney; residential address nearby. Aged forty-two, divorced, no children, no criminal record. Workers on the adjoining property were alerted on September third to the sound of a dog howling at Chieftain Smash Repairs. They were unable to find Ganis and called the RSPCA, who entered the premises and found a distressed Alsatian dog severely malnourished and without water. Seems likely that Ganis had left some time within the previous week; he hasn’t been seen since. According to neighbours he was known to make regular visits to Newcastle to buy and sell vehicle parts.

  ‘While all possibilities remain on the table, the fact that Ganis has such a very different background to Cheung makes it more likely that the victims were not connected and were chosen at random. In other words, victims of a serial killer or killers. We will shortly be able to call upon the services of a psychological profiler with expertise in this area. In the meantime, there are a number of new avenues we have to explore. We need to find who Marco Ganis was doing business with up here…’

  As Fogarty works his way down a long list of tasks, he is interrupted by a uniformed woman who comes into the room in a hurry. ‘Sorry, sir. I think you’ll want this.’

  Fogarty takes the sheet of paper she offers him and scowls at it. ‘A third body has been found on Ash Island.’

  When the briefing breaks up, Ross and Harry move to the door, intending to go out to the island, but they are stopped by the case manager, who tells Ross to go on alone. ‘You’re wanted here, Harry, room 336.’ He goes up to the third floor. The door marked 336 opens into a small meeting room, empty. He walks in and stands at the window. Looks out on the beach, a few people now re-emerging after the rain to walk along the waterfront. He hears someone come in and turns to see Deb, alone. She closes the door behind her and comes over to shake his hand.

  ‘Harry, great to see you again. How are you?’ She says it in that meaningful way, as if he’s still in recovery.