Holy Orders Page 2

  He answered after several rings and it sounded like he was driving. I introduced myself and told him what I was calling about. I pulled into a side street so I could concentrate on the call without dodging Remuera tractors.

  ‘Yeah?’ He didn’t sound impressed. ‘And why are you calling me? On behalf of the insurance company?’

  ‘No, the insurance company are not involved.’

  The insurers had immediately referred the matter to their legal team, given the unique nature of the insured item. So far they were more concerned with the legalities than any investigation, hence Dearlove engaging us privately.

  ‘So you’re after a reward then, or what?’

  In my experience SOCOs tended to either see themselves as crime scene experts, in which case they were passionate about what they did, or they were broken badges who washed up there looking for a cushy number. So far Doug seemed to have a foot in each camp.

  ‘Nope, no reward. All I’m after is an expert opinion.’ When in doubt, try flattery. Everyone loves an ego stroke.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Doug didn’t sound impressed, but he hadn’t hung up either. Yet.

  ‘I’ve just examined the scene myself and I can’t find any obvious point of entry. Is there something I’m missing?’

  Doug was silent a long moment. I could almost hear the cogs turning. It was always a dicey time for a cop, deciding how much to share with a private eye. Nobody wanted to be the one to give something away that later bit them in the backside.

  ‘Look mate,’ he said finally, ‘you looked at the same stuff I did. I didn’t find any sign of forced entry either.’

  ‘No prints?’

  ‘I got lifts,’ he said, ‘but it’ll take a while to get them run through without a suspect.’

  I knew that any fingerprint lifts would be run through the AFIS system, hoping for a match against a crook. If there was a suspect who had prints in the system already then a direct comparison could be made, which took minutes rather than hours or days or weeks.

  ‘Did Dearlove give eliminations?’ I asked. I watched a bleach-blonde woman in her early thirties doing her best to manoeuvre a sleek black Dodge SUV into a parallel car park on the opposite side. Her best wasn’t very good. Perhaps it would have been easier if she wasn’t using the phone at the same time.

  ‘Is that when a victim gives their own fingerprints to compare against lifts we get from a crime scene?’ Doug’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Gee, I didn’t think of that mate. Well done you.’

  I rolled my eyes and gave myself a mental uppercut. Any cred I had built with him had just been blown. The lady in the Dodge had come out and was trying for a better angle.

  ‘My bad,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Last question then; did you get any CCTV from the neighbours?’

  ‘No, didn’t seem to be any.’

  I pondered that answer for a second, and it registered with me. It was standard practice for the attending SOCO to canvas the area for possible sources of CCTV or witnesses, then pass it on to the TCU – Tactical Crime Unit sounded sexy, but it was really just a burglary squad.

  Doug’s vague response indicated to me that he hadn’t invested much time in that avenue of enquiry, meaning he was firmly in the second category of SOCO.

  I thanked him for his time and he made sure he disconnected before me, just to make a point. The woman in the Dodge was almost in the space she was trying for, if only the pesky Nissan in front of her could lose a metre or so off its tail.

  I tried not to grin as I eased out of my spot and started to cruise past her. I didn’t try hard enough; she flicked me the bird and mouthed a word that would make a sailor blush.

  I tried not to let it ruin my day and headed back the way I had come.

  Three

  The Ellerslie Community Constable’s office was large enough to suit its purpose, as long as the purpose didn’t involve swinging cats. Mind you, a case of swinging cats would have brightened Sidney Buckmaster’s day.

  With his back to the wall and his visitor across the narrow desk from him, Buck felt trapped both physically and mentally. Emotional entrapment would be the next abyss, and he wasn’t far off falling into it.

  Given his halitosis and generally odious nature, any conversation with Detective Inspector Hugh Kennedy was unpleasant at the best of times. And today was far from the best of times.

  ‘So you will no longer come under the umbrella of Youth and Communities,’ Kennedy was saying, his beady eyes fixed pointedly on Buck’s chin, ‘instead, you will report directly to me. Do you understand?’

  Buck understood alright, but he couldn’t force a response through the cotton wool that seemed to be filling his mouth. He blinked and tried to swallow.

  ‘Do you understand?’ Kennedy insisted.

  ‘Uh,’ Buck managed. He took a long draft of water from the bottle on his desk. He wiped his mouth and set the bottle down. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So all your correspondence will come through me,’ Kennedy continued. ‘Expect to get it back for corrections if it’s not up to my standards, which I doubt it is. And your timesheets will come through me too, so make sure they accurately reflect your hours.’ He gave his best shot at a hard stare. ‘Don’t try and pad it out is what I’m saying here, Constable Buckmaster. I’m well aware of what the likes of you have been allowed to get away with in the past. Don’t expect for that leniency to continue.’

  Buck managed to weather the storm of the hard stare without breaking into hives. He gave a small nod, wondering just how far he could push this.

  ‘So all Community Constables are coming under you then, sir?’ he said as politely as he could. ‘At least all the ones in our area?’

  Kennedy’s teeth bared in a rodent-like grin. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Just me then?’

  ‘At this stage,’ Kennedy replied.

  Buck felt his teeth clench. He wanted nothing more than to reach across the desk and grab Kennedy by his scrawny neck. The DI sensed the reaction and involuntarily leaned back. He ran a bony hand through the strands of hair that struggled to conceal his bald dome, readjusting the comb over and shaking free more flecks of dry scalp to join their friends on the shoulders of his dark suit jacket.

  ‘Consider it a trial,’ Kennedy said, with the sincerity of an Auschwitz guard. ‘It may or may not expand from there.’

  Buck swallowed hard and forced himself to take a breath. ‘And when does this start?’ he asked.

  ‘Effective immediately.’ Kennedy rose from his chair and picked up the attaché case he had taken to carrying.

  Buck wondered if the case contained more than the day’s Herald and a luncheon sandwich. Maybe plans to hijack a nuclear missile and take over the world.

  Kennedy paused at the door out to the foyer, where a volunteer of about ninety manned the desk. He turned and gave Buck’s shoulder another patented hard stare.

  ‘I think we both know why this is happening, don’t we?’ he said. With that he turned and headed for the door.

  ‘Yeah, because you’re a dick,’ Buck muttered to himself.

  He waited until the exit door had closed before letting out an exasperated groan. He rubbed his hands over his face and stared at the ceiling.

  Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

  In a way, he blamed Dan. If Dan hadn’t fallen out so badly with Kennedy all those years ago. If Dan hadn’t decked Kennedy. If Dan hadn’t taken every chance to needle Kennedy. If Buck wasn’t good mates with Dan. If, if, if. Too many ifs, but only one real reason.

  Hugh Kennedy was a horrible, vindictive little man who had it in for him and would make his life a misery.

  Buck sighed heavily. There had to be a way out.

  ***

  A surprising number of Dearlove’s neighbours had security cameras, but unfortunately most of them were either internal or only covered their own driveway.

  The Volvo had to have been either driven out, put on a trailer or hidden in a truck. The first two options were very risky, gi
ven the chance that someone may remember seeing the car being taken, which left me with the third.

  The chances of a medium sized truck standing out on a road were zero, however it was possible somebody had seen it enter the address. None of the neighbours I had spoken to so far recalled seeing this happen but there were several houses left that I would have to come back to. Interestingly, none of them had been visited by the intrepid SOCO, Doug. This only served to harden my resolve to solve this case, as I was clearly the only one taking a real interest in it.

  That, and $150 an hour plus expenses.

  I joined the midday traffic into Newmarket, stopping at a favourite sushi shop to pick up lunch for both Molly and I, before making my way through Remuera and down into Ellerslie. It was late October. The weather was picking up after a wet spell and the gardens I drove past were in full spring bloom. People were starting to get out and do their DIY and wash their houses and clean their gutters. With the festive season just around the corner, some shops already had Christmas decorations up.

  The Ellerslie village centre was busy with the lunch crowd and I tried hard to be patient as I waited for various idiots, imbeciles and plain bad drivers to get out of my way.

  Our allocated space in the car park at the rear of the business centre had been taken by a red BMW 3-series that I didn’t recognise. It wasn’t uncommon for people to steal your car park despite the clear signage, but it certainly was annoying. I blocked it in, tucked a business card under the wiper blade and went upstairs to the office.

  Molly looked up as I entered the office and pushed back from her desk with a sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank the Lord you’re here,’ she said, taking a tray of sushi from me.

  ‘You’re the only one who ever says that,’ I said, ‘but it’s nice to feel valued.’

  I sat on the client sofa and she took the armchair. We opened our food on the coffee table between us.

  ‘I’ve been writing up invoices and reports all morning,’ Molly said. She expertly added a hint of wasabi to a piece of tuna sushi and snared it with her chopsticks. ‘Mike’s been going flat out putting files through.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Cha-ching.’ I emptied the tiny ampoule of soy sauce over my food, fumbled with my chopsticks until I had a piece of chicken teriyaki that couldn’t escape, and rammed it into my mouth before I dropped it.

  Molly watched me, frowning. ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘it amazes me that you still manage to impress clients. If they could see you eating I think we’d be out of business.’

  I munched happily and grinned at her. I love chicken teriyaki sushi. On my next piece I’d probably try and add some ginger, but that increased the risk of a spillage exponentially. Sometimes it’s best to play safe.

  ‘They don’t get to see this side of me,’ I said through a mouthful. ‘I save my best bits for you, hot stuff.’

  Molly rolled her eyes and took a delicate bite off the same piece she’d already bitten. I was onto my second and she was still starting. Mind you, I had already dropped rice on my pants.

  ‘Anyway, I was saying Mike’s been pumping through the work.’

  ‘Yeah, and I said “cha-ching”.’ I looked across at her. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘He’s been doing this for months.’ She frowned. Even her frown was pretty. When I frown I look like a badger trying to squeeze out a fart. ‘I’m worried he’ll burn out.’

  I shrugged non-committedly. ‘He’s alright. Besides, we’ve had a couple of bumper months, haven’t we?’

  ‘We have,’ she acknowledged. ‘But he’s doing some huge hours and he looks tired.’

  It was true. Since being cleared of murdering his girlfriend only a few months ago, Mike had thrown himself into his work. He’d sold his apartment and was renting another nearby– living in the place Sarah had been killed was not a great idea – and literally every minute of the day was spent either at work or in the gym, with the odd hour of sleep thrown in.

  The kickback had been that he was bulking up and getting fitter and faster than he’d ever been, and the company’s turnover had shot up. The media attention we’d received for the murder had been excellent in that regard, with new clients regularly knocking on the door.

  We were all benefitting from it, but Molly was right; it wasn’t sustainable long term.

  ‘He’s alright,’ I said again. I took a pause from the feeding trough. ‘This is what he does. He did exactly the same when he and Penny broke up, remember?’

  ‘True.’ Molly finally finished that first piece of sushi. It was like watching paint dry. ‘Have you talked to him about it?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘As much as Mike talks about his feelings; you know what he’s like. And yeah, I’m concerned about him too, but I’m keeping an eye on him. He needs to occupy his mind so he doesn’t dwell on the bad stuff. He lifts heavy things and he runs for miles and he works all the hours under the sun, and that’s how he processes things.’

  I reached over and patted her hand. ‘He’s had a hell of a time, but he’ll come through it.’

  She gave a small smile and I could see her welling up. I felt a tug on my heart.

  ‘Sometimes I feel like a pre-school teacher, running round after you two and worrying you’re going to fall off the playground.’ She reconsidered that. ‘Well, that you’ll fall off the playground. Mike would probably build a new one.’

  ‘Or chat up the other lady teachers.’ I grinned and she gave a laugh, wiping at her eyes.

  ‘Probably,’ she nodded.

  I squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye. ‘He’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Promise. We’ll look after him.’

  My wife nodded her acceptance and prepared a circle of sushi with a drop of soy and a wafer of ginger. She took the same care with her lunch as she would touching up a masterpiece. I snagged a piece of roll between my chopsticks and got it my mouth without losing a single bit.

  We all march to our own beat.

  Four

  The Albert Club was located on Princes St opposite Albert Park. The tall, narrow stone heritage building was wedged in beside the university, its ivy-covered walls and conservative nature an inspiration to many of the young academics next door and probably anathema to many others.

  Membership was strictly controlled and pricey, and if you didn’t move in certain social circles then you need not apply. I’d been past the place a million times without ever crossing the threshold.

  Today was different. Today Dearlove dropped his Spitfire in the private members’ car park alongside the Mercedes’, BMWs, Range Rovers and Bentleys of his compatriots and led me to the door. We were greeted by a liveried young doorman who welcomed us both by name and ticked me off the guest list as we headed inside.

  I was in my best threads, a charcoal suit and navy blue shirt I had tailored in Bangkok with black shoes so highly polished I could see my mug in them. I’d even shaved with no nicks.

  The décor was very much classic England, with wood panelling, plush dark curtains, oil paintings of battle scenes and stern looking men, and rich, deep carpet so thick it was walking on sponge. Small clusters of men in suits stood around in the first room we entered, chatting over drinks from the immaculate bar on the far wall.

  Dearlove was greeted with waves and nods from most, and I recognised among their number a city councillor, a Member of Parliament, and a high-profile barrister.

  We moved on from the main bar area – it probably had a much grander name than “bar” but my world was much simpler than that of the Albert Club members – and Dearlove gave me a quick tour. On the first floor there was a boardroom, a dining room and the bar. The next floor held a library, a quiet reading room, another boardroom and a couple of smaller meeting rooms. I wondered how much of the city’s future was plotted in these rooms.

  The top level was the entertainment area. A billiards room, a cards room, an indoor bowling green and another bar with a deck overlooking the park. I could practically smell the old mon
ey in the air.

  ‘Very impressive,’ I said to Dearlove as we entered the cards room. ‘Are there many lady members?’

  He looked at me as if I’d just suggested we do a nudie run through the university campus. ‘No, no, Daniel. This is a gentlemen’s club.’ He shook his head gravely. ‘There’s no need for that.’

  I raised my eyebrows and bit my tongue. Multi-tasking. One of many things I learned from my lovely wife. I wondered if thinking about her was allowed in these hallowed grounds.

  There were two other men waiting at the table, each with a tumbler of something strong close at hand. They greeted Dearlove and shook my hand and introductions were made. Duckworth and Kinnear, “Ducky” being close to seventy and rail thin with the countenance of an undertaker and Kinnear being a podgy fifty year old with a loud voice and slicked-down dark hair. He grasped my hand and squeezed hard, exerting his manly authority over the newcomer and looking me in the eye. I guess he figured that was what alpha dogs do.

  If he wanted me to wilt under his superiority, he was sorely mistaken. I gripped his hand hard, squeezing until I felt the fingers squishing together.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said.

  He nodded, visibly flinched and tried to pull away. I held on for a couple more seconds before letting him go. He stepped back and flexed his fingers surreptitiously, giving me a surly look. Dearlove tried to hide a smile.

  ‘Daniel is considering taking up a membership,’ Dearlove explained. ‘I thought I’d bring him along to see what he’s getting himself in for.’

  ‘To see you lose another hand, you mean?’ Ducky said. His voice reminded me of a talk back radio host. Not that I listen to talk back, and of course I’ve never called in for a rant. Not recently.

  Dearlove gave a grunt and helped himself from a crystal decanter on the sideboard. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Please.’ I accepted a tumbler from him and took a sip. It was peaty and deep and lit me up on the way down. Spirits aren’t my thing, but needs must when you’re undercover.