Fallen Angel Page 5

  Kennedy nodded, getting some confidence back. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Carry on. I’ve got a press conference just before midday, so I’ll catch up with you later on.’

  ‘No problem.’ Vance grinned. His teeth were yellowed from cigarettes and coffee.

  ‘Ring me if you need anything,’ Kennedy said, turning away.

  ‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Vance muttered to his back. He flicked his cigarette butt aside. It bounced off a paving stone and landed in the pool.

  Kennedy ignored that comment as well, and headed for the road. He went past the two wooden tops out the front, both of them ignoring him this time, and headed towards his car. Another wooden top was coming up the footpath towards him, a clipboard under his arm. He looked smart and was moving with purpose.

  As they got closer, Kennedy recognised Buckmaster.

  ‘Constable Buckmaster,’ he said, stopping in his tracks. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  Buck lifted the clipboard as if that explained everything. ‘Area canvas,’ he said.

  Door knocking for witnesses in the area made sense. Buckmaster doing it didn’t.

  ‘Who told you to do that?’ Kennedy demanded. He put both hands on his hips and assumed the same expression he used with his kids.

  ‘I was dispatched to help first thing,’ Buck said patiently.

  ‘Did he put you up to this? Crowley?’

  ‘No,’ Buck said slowly, ‘I believe the instruction came from Detective Sergeant Vance.’

  Kennedy snorted. He could see Buck’s jaw set obstinately. He could also see it wasn’t an argument worth having, but couldn’t help himself.

  ‘So I guess you’ll be trying to glean information from the investigation, will you?’ he sneered. ‘Pass it on to your little buddy?’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  Kennedy jabbed a finger at him. ‘If I get the slightest whiff that you’re up to something, Buckmaster, I’ll come after you like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘Down on you.’

  Kennedy scowled. ‘What?’

  ‘You mean “down on you.” Down on you like a ton of bricks.’ Buck had the hint of a grin and Kennedy felt himself flushing again. A trickle of sweat was working its way down his back.

  ‘You watch your mouth,’ he blurted, before brushing past and going for his car. He’d had enough of these idiots. It was time to get back to the office.

  ***

  My cup of tea remained untouched while Molly filled me in on her visit from Vance.

  She was concise and factual. I was angry. Angry that he’d invaded my work place, but far more importantly, angry at the way he’d spoken to my wife.

  He had no right to speak to her like that. Nobody put Baby in a corner. Vance needed a lesson in manners.

  I decided there was no point taking it any further right now, but there was something else I could do. I made a quick phone call, and while we waited, I drank my tea. It was lukewarm. Molly’s tea smelled like a garden centre.

  Patrick arrived within twenty minutes and bowled in lugging a pair of aluminium equipment cases. I signalled for him to be quiet and waved him back out the door. He left the cases by Molly’s desk and we went out to the landing. There was a gap between our outer wall and the next office, an alcove with a railing and a lovely view of the motorway. Smokers used it and the Nescafe can on the ground was half full of butts and used Styrofoam cups.

  ‘What’s the go?’ Patrick was a tubby guy in his forties, with receding hair and thick glasses. The cargo pants he wore rode above his ankles and his Pink Floyd T-shirt had a ketchup stain above his right nipple.

  ‘I believe we’ve been wired up,’ I told him. I filled him in quickly. Patrick listened silently. His glasses were so thick they were like goggles.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he said when I was finished. ‘It’s all possible.’

  In a former life Patrick had been an operative on the Technical Support Unit. The TSU was a covert police team that installed electronic devices for investigations. It was a hairy job – one of their guys had been murdered in Mangere not so many years back, when he was disturbed trying to install a tracker on a target vehicle.

  Patrick was now a licensed PI and security specialist, doing much the same for private companies as he’d done in the cops, but for way more money and way less risk. I’d used him a few times to do camera work.

  I detected a note of hesitation in his voice. ‘You not keen?’ I said. ‘You worried ’cause it’s your old team?’

  Patrick avoided the question. ‘Who’s running the investigation?’ he asked.

  ‘Hugh Kennedy,’ I said, and he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Lightweight,’ he said.

  ‘And Karl Vance.’

  That was the game changer right there. Patrick’s face brightened. ‘Vance?’ he said. ‘I hate that guy.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m no fan either,’ I said. ‘He was rude to Molly.’

  Patrick pulled a face. Everybody loved Molly. ‘What a jerk.’

  ‘So you’re on, then?’

  ‘No problemo.’ He grinned and his jowls wobbled. He needed to lay off the Dunkin’ Donuts for a bit. ‘Lead the way, hombre.’

  Chapter 7

  There was a Columbus Coffee down the main drag that we often used for meeting clients.

  It was less formal than the office and had better coffee. Flynn was there before us and didn’t protest too hard when I offered to buy the coffees. He smelt like money so that was a good start.

  I paid for the drinks and kept the receipt – just because it was a free consultation didn’t mean I wasn’t going to claim expenses. Mama Crowley don’t raise no fool.

  Liam Flynn was short, slim, and blonde just like his daughter had been. He was dressed in a sharp silver suit and a crisp white shirt. I didn’t know the brands but was pretty sure I could never afford them. His gold cufflinks would probably set me back a month as it was.

  I slid in beside Molly, both of us with our backs to the wall and Flynn opposite us.

  ‘Thanks for meeting me,’ he said. He dumped a fake sugar into his cup and gave it a stir, destroying the fern leaf design in the froth. ‘I’ve never dealt with private detectives before. I didn’t think the first time would be like this.’

  ‘We’re so sorry about Sarah,’ Molly said. She gave him a sympathetic look and he nodded his thanks. ‘To be honest, we never really had a lot to do with her, but Mike always spoke highly of her.’

  That was stretching the truth just a wee bit, but I said nothing. Mike had, in fact, said very little about her.

  Molly hesitated, as if she was unsure whether she was entering dangerous ground by bringing Mike into the conversation. I jumped in to fill the void.

  ‘Before we go any further, Mr Flynn,’ I said, ‘I just want to clarify a couple of things. My understanding is that you don’t think Mike killed Sarah.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you want to hire us to find out who did?’

  ‘Yes.’ He took a sip of his moccachino.

  ‘You want to elaborate on that for us?’ I said. He gave me a quizzical look. ‘Considering the cops are hunting Mike for murder, you seem pretty confident it wasn’t him.’

  He took another sip and put his cup down. Molly sipped her trim decaf flat white. She was going all out today.

  ‘Well, as you said, he always spoke highly of Sarah, and the feeling was certainly mutual. She first mentioned him some time ago, and as far as I was aware they had a fairly steady thing going on. Whatever it was, it seemed to work for her.’ He mulled that for a moment. ‘It made her happy in some tough times. The impression I always had was that he was a good man. Served his country, partners in a business that’s doing well.’ He gave a nod of approval. ‘Those are good things, in my book.’

  We were both silent. My cappuccino was good, and I was careful to avoid getting froth in my ’tash. Nobody likes a frothy ’tash.

  ‘So, I guess what I’m saying is … my gut instinct tells me that he wouldn’t have done th
is.’ He took a hit before continuing. ‘I’m a successful entrepreneur. I’ve owned a lot of businesses, dealt with a lot of people over the years. I have a pretty good feel for how people operate, see? I tend to trust my gut.’

  ‘That’s not a bad thing,’ I said. Right now my gut was telling me it was empty. I ignored it for now; there were more important things needing attention, like murder.

  ‘And as for the other question, well …’ Flynn spread his hands, giving us open and honest. ‘I don’t trust the cops to get it right. I don’t want some scumbag walking away on a technicality because they screwed up.’

  I nodded slowly and took a drink. There seemed little point in arguing that the cops actually very rarely got it wrong like that. People tend to have very firm views either way. Besides, if he wanted to pay us to do what we were going to do anyway, who was I to argue? We still had a mortgage to pay.

  ‘You understand that private investigators don’t really investigate murders?’ I said instead. ‘It’s not like on TV.’

  ‘I don’t have time for TV, Mr Crowley.’

  ‘Let’s go with Dan and Molly. One very good reason that PIs don’t do that is that they don’t have all the resources that the police do. We won’t have all the forensic capability, access to the witnesses, etcetera, etcetera, which is what they build their case on.’ I smiled, sensing his annoyance. ‘Not that we won’t do it, of course, I just want you to know that they can easily move heaven and earth. It’s a bit more problematic when you’re not part of the system.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘I hear what you’re saying. I guess I want a second opinion is all, an opinion I can trust.’

  Molly stepped in smoothly. ‘No problem, Mr Flynn. You can rely on us to do right by Sarah and you.’

  He smiled, looking a little sheepish. ‘Thank you. And it’s Liam. Mr Flynn makes me sound so old.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt Sarah, Liam?’ I asked. ‘Anyone she got offside with at all, anyone maybe have a grudge against her?’

  ‘Nobody I can think of,’ he said. ‘She was pretty popular at work, had no issues there that I know of.’

  ‘Ex-boyfriends?’ Molly asked. ‘Has she fallen out with any friends?’

  ‘Look, the only thing that nags at me a bit is some neighbour she had,’ he said. ‘Some guy that lived in another apartment. She said he used to watch her when she was in the pool, like she’d go for a swim and suddenly he’d appear. Got to the point she only used the pool when she knew he was at work.’

  ‘Who is that?’ I said.

  ‘I never got his name. Or if she told me, I forgot it.’

  ‘Did she say anything else about him?’

  ‘Not really. Oh, apparently he turned up at her door one night, wanting to come in. She told him to shove off, perhaps not so politely as that.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘She was very strong-willed, my girl.’

  ‘You mentioned that Sarah had some tough times,’ I said. ‘What did you mean by that?’

  Flynn sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘Sarah’s mother died last year. It wasn’t expected, and it was very hard on her.’ He rubbed his face with one hand and took a deep breath. ‘Somehow she got through it and carried on.’ He took a moment to get himself together. ‘She’s tougher than me, that’s for sure.’

  We sat in a respectful silence, letting him do what he needed to do. After a few moments he sat forward again.

  ‘Look, here’s my card.’ He slid a business card across the table. It was good quality with his name, email and cell number impressed in gold. ‘Let me know what other information you need and I’ll get it for you.’

  Molly took the card and slipped a contract onto the table in its place. It was our standard terms and conditions and rates, and he signed without even reading it. This might be a murder and my best mate might be in the frame, but he still needed to pay for our services. Chase Investigations was no charity. Flynn tucked his Montblanc away and listened while Molly ran him through the agreement and organised him to pay a deposit.

  I didn’t have a Montblanc, but I did have a Gerber tactical pen that was good for breaking windows. I hadn’t actually broken any windows with it yet, but it wrote a mean Post It.

  I drained my cup and we stood. We walked out together and shook hands on the footpath. Flynn went round the corner and we headed back towards the office. Molly slipped her hand into mine.

  We were met on the stairs by Patrick. He had both cases in his hands and a look of triumph on his face.

  He backtracked to the office with us.

  ‘Are we free to speak?’ I said.

  ‘Hundred percent.’ Patrick grinned. ‘You had three devices in here.’ He pointed as he spoke. ‘Smoke alarm, power socket by the desk, kitchen light. All live.’ He tapped a sealed envelope on Molly’s desk. ‘I’ve left them here for you.’

  ‘Any cameras?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sure?’

  He gave me the look that smart people save for dumb people. I’ve had it before.

  ‘Sorry. Any indication of their origin?’

  ‘Oh, they’re definitely Police-issue. TSU is one area the department is happy to spend money.’ He grinned again. ‘Of course, none of it’s as high spec as the gear I use.’

  ‘What about the car?’

  ‘It had a tracker under the right rear. I’ve left it there for now.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ We didn’t want to poke the bear too much. The cops would know soon enough that their bugs had been found. Removing their tracker might cause some flashback we didn’t want. We were walking a thin line as it was.

  ‘I’ll come round and do your house and the other car tonight.’ He picked up his cases. ‘Got a job to get to over in Devonport. Some rich guy’s nanny has been having some private entertainment while mummy and daddy are out.’

  With that he was gone, and Molly and I looked at each other.

  ‘So what’re we going to do, studly?’ she said.

  ‘We, little lady, are going to move heaven and earth,’ I said. ‘That’s what we’re going to do.’

  Chapter 8

  Woman Murdered, Man on Run. The online breaking news headline wasn’t subtle, but maybe that was the point.

  Mike scanned through the article in a daze, and within seconds he found his name and photo. The headshot was taken from his firearms license, which he’d renewed only six months ago. It wasn’t a great shot, but it was current.

  Michael Manning, believed to be a private investigator, is sought by Police in relation to the death. He is actively avoiding Police, who advise caution to anyone who comes across him. “He’s a former soldier and we believe he is dangerous and should not be approached,” Detective Inspector Hugh Kennedy said. “Anyone who has information on his whereabouts should call Police immediately. If anyone assists him in avoiding capture they themselves could face prosecution.”

  There was more background about Sarah’s occupation and quotes from a neighbour and a colleague about what a lovely person she was. Facebook comments were flowing as usual. Mike reread the article. It wasn’t any better the second time around.

  He locked the phone and sat back, his mind racing. It felt like it was ranging between flat out and warp speed at the moment.

  He was in another park, having moved north from Takanini to Manurewa. There were no CCTV cameras here and no sign of spaced-out robbers, at least not yet. But with this being the Manurewa Badlands, he figured there was less risk of any eagle-eyed locals calling the cops on him.

  He needed to focus, needed to grip this thing properly so he could get his head around it. There was no point just running around randomly, trying to avoid capture. Nobody could run forever. Sooner or later he’d either get caught or be forced to surrender, he knew that. Best he helped Dan and Molly make some headway before that happened, otherwise he’d be staring down the barrel of a murder charge.

  He checked his watch: nearly one p.m. He was fed and watered, or as best he could mana
ge right now. He’d cycled a few k’s so far today but felt no need to rest. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind drift. It usually helped thoughts to bubble to the surface, rather than chasing them.

  But no matter how much he tried to switch off and let his mind go where it wanted, he kept coming back to one image.

  Sarah. On the floor. Not moving, not breathing. Dead. Sarah. Poor Sarah. No need, so unnecessary. Poor Sarah. I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry.

  Mike squeezed his eyes harder, but it didn’t help. He felt warm tears running down his cheeks, tasted their saltiness as they hit his lips. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands to his face. A sob forced its way up from deep inside, tight and hard and desperate to escape, a knot of misery and regret that he had no control over.

  Poor Sarah. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  ***

  As private eyes we do a lot of work for law firms and are on good terms with a clutch of decent – if there is such a thing – solicitors and barristers. Don’t get me wrong, we don’t do defence work, but there is plenty of work in the civil arena.

  The point is, we know a lot of lawyers, so it was probably not surprising that between us Molly and I took half a dozen phone calls pretty soon after Kennedy did his media conference. Mike’s face and name were out there for all to see, and he was Public Enemy Number One. It felt like John Dillinger got a better rap from the FBI.

  We also took calls from Mike’s brother and his parents, trying to find out what was going on. They were harder to deal with, and it was tough hearing his mum crying down the phone. I’d known them a long time and I could feel their pain.

  One of the lawyers had offered to intervene on our behalf, pro bono, to try and get the media release retracted. I had held fire for now, wanting to see how things played out at least initially. I didn’t think anyone would really take it too seriously just yet.

  The consistent theme from the silks was that Mike needed to hand himself in and sharpish. The sensible part of me agreed, but it probably wasn’t going to happen in a hurry. Mike was as malleable as quick-set concrete, and the rebellious side of me went with him this time.