DS Colin Williams sat behind the steering wheel, held there by his seatbelt. His head sagged down towards his chest, but he wasn’t sleeping. The driver’s window glass was starred out around a neat puncture and there was a dark hole in Williams’s head-millimetre perfect at his temple.
Williams was a good deal younger than me, had reached a respectable rank in a difficult profession and was, as far as I knew, an honest policeman. Maybe a husband, maybe a father. After Lily’s death, I didn’t have a lot of space for more sorrow, but there was something about that slumped figure that touched me. A shame, a waste, and someone to blame, possibly the same person who killed Lily. That personalised it and I gave the detective a silent farewell.
Deciding what to do next wasn’t easy. I could have just walked away, but there were various means for the police to find out that I’d had an appointment with Williams. An entry in his notebook seemed unlikely, but I’d rung his mobile three times. I decided to play it straight and report it, but there was a problem-my illegal gun. Williams’s wound was from a small calibre weapon and there was no chance I could be accused of killing him. But with my record the police were bound to hold and search me and carrying an unlicensed pistol is a serious offence.
I couldn’t hide it anywhere near the car because they’d set up a pretty wide perimeter and search it carefully. I moved away from the Camry in case me hanging around there looked suspicious to anyone who happened to be watching. I walked back to the park and deposited the. 45 in a rubbish bin after wrapping it in discarded newspaper and folding it into an empty pizza box. I hoped I could get back to it before the bin was emptied. No guarantee.
I went to the covered seat where I’d waited and phoned the police, giving my name, my location and the bare details. I was instructed to remain where I was. A car with two uniforms arrived and I took them to the Camry, standing back to let them take their own look. One of them checked his notepad.
‘You say this is Detective Sergeant Williams of the Northern Crimes Unit?’
‘Right.’
‘And your name is Hardy and you were supposed to meet him here?’
‘Hardy, yes. Here, no. In the park where you picked me up.’
‘So you found him here and walked back there. Where’d you phone from?’
‘Back there.’
The other officer’s mobile rang and he had a brief conversation, mostly consisting of grunts at his end. He shut off the phone and took a step towards me.
‘You’re the private detective who got the flick, right?’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘No offence, but I’ll wait for the Ds before I say anything else. Didn’t touch the car, did you, mate?’
I didn’t hear exactly what he said, but I thought I caught the word ‘arsehole’.
A few minutes later an ambulance pulled up with another police car and then an unmarked. The man who got out of it spoke to the paramedics and briefly to one of the uniformed men. He took a quick look at the body, and then stood twenty metres off issuing directions for the crime scene procedures. A photographer arrived and someone I took to be the pathologist. I was standing well back with a policeman-the one I’d probably offended-beside me and shooting me glances that suggested he’d be delighted if I cut and run.
The detective in the smart suit made several calls on his mobile. He smoked a cigarette and dropped the butt through a stormwater grid. As the photographer and the medical examiner got busy, with the crime scene tape going up and the uniforms keeping away the spectators who’d emerged from nearby houses and buildings, the detective walked towards me. He had dark hair and an olive complexion. He stood about 190 centimetres and would’ve weighed in at around 100 kilos. He waved the uniform away.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Mikos Kristos, Hardy. Northern Crimes. I can’t say I’m glad to meet you.’
A glib reply was on the tip of my tongue but I fought it. Had to be careful.
‘I’m sorry about your colleague,’ I said.
‘Yeah. Good bloke, Col.’
‘I thought so, too.’
‘Close, were you?’
‘I don’t think I’ll say any more until we’re in a controlled situation and I have a lawyer present.’
He pointed to the plaster on my forehead. ‘What happened there?’
Was he baiting me? Hard to tell. I didn’t answer and watched the paramedics stretcher the body, enclosed in a green bag, to the ambulance. At a guess, the police were telling some of the owners of the cars parked nearby that they’d be free to move them soon. I wondered whether any of the spectators would need counselling. Didn’t look like it. Everything was sanitised, clinical.
A TV crew arrived and began filming. Kristos grabbed my arm and hustled me towards a car. I resisted just a little and he almost applied a headlock. I grinned at him and went willingly.
11
The Northern Crimes Unit HQ was in Longueville and it had been a good move to dump the pistol because you couldn’t get into the building without undergoing a metal detector check. Kristos escorted me to a room with all the character and personality of an empty stubbie. I said I wouldn’t make a statement without having my lawyer present.
Kristos unbuttoned his suit coat and sat in a plastic chair that creaked under his weight. I remained standing.
‘Why?’ he said. ‘You’re not a suspect. Even a dickhead like you has the sense not to execute a policeman.’
‘Execute. That’s an interesting choice of words.’
‘What would you call it?’
I shrugged and sat. There are times to stick and times to give a bit. ‘I’ll meet you halfway,’ I said. ‘No lawyer and I won’t volunteer anything, but I’ll answer your questions until I decide not to.’
‘Jesus, for a disgraced private eye you come on proud.’
‘Family trait.’
He thought about it and eventually shook his head. ‘Christ, I’d like to charge you with something and hold you for a while, but I know you’d kick up a stink and have your lawyer up my crack. Anyway, this’ll go higher.’
‘Gregory,’ I said.
He almost laughed. ‘I said higher. Right, let’s get this over with.’
He switched on the recording equipment and we went through the identification procedure. In response to Kristos’s first obvious question, I said I’d arranged to meet Williams to discuss the investigation into the murder of Lillian Truscott.
‘Why him?’
‘He was the first person I dealt with, after the phone contact from Constable Farrow.’
I watched closely to see whether he reacted to the name. He didn’t.
‘Why that spot?’
‘His choice. He said he was in the area.’
‘Did you tell anyone else you were going there?’
‘No.’
‘Did he mention anyone else?’
‘No.’
Kristos consulted his notebook. ‘You told the uniformed guys you spotted a car you thought might belong to Williams. How did you know that?’
‘He parked it outside my house when I handed over my gun to him a few days ago.’
‘You approached, saw him, went back to the park and phoned it in.’
‘Right.’
‘Why not there and then?’
‘I needed time to think about whether to report it or not.’
‘Why did you?’
‘I’d rung his mobile three times. I thought there’d be a record. I also thought he could have made an entry in his notebook.’