‘I’d like to warn you, Mr Breightling, that it won’t be hard for us to get access to your financial records,’ Stevie said.
Christopher Breightling dropped his head into his hands.
Monday morning
EXCERPT FROM CHAT ROOM TRANSCRIPT 141106
HARUM SCARUM: things beta with u now?
BETTYBO: no. scary
HARUM SCARUM did u c him again?
BETTYBO: mum did. he hit her. I wan 2 meet u F2F
HARUM SCARUM: sme and tell me about it
BETTYBO: ok
Wayne picked up Stevie on his way to the Breightling house. She’d already taken Izzy to see Monty in hospital, and told him how much better Monty looked—well enough even to complain about the food and speculate that there might really be such a place as the Rosa Klebb School of Nursing.
Wayne told her about his second interview with Sammy Nguyen. The kid had confirmed his suspicions that Aidan Stoppard was the man who’d introduced them to Zhang Li’s killer—identified him from his recent mugshot. And identified Christopher Breightling as the murdering doctor from a photograph Wayne found on a cosmetic surgery site.
‘I think he knew the doc’s name all along. Looks like Sammy was thinking of going into the blackmail business—get the doctor to pay for his silence. He’s been casing out Breightling’s joint and Miranda’s business.’
Stevie grunted. ‘Just as well he didn’t get any further. One manipulative kid on the loose is enough.’
‘Interesting thing, one night he was about to jump the wall at the Breightlings’ house when he saw a girl fishing around in the garden pond and chickened out. The girl had to be Emma. What do you reckon she was doing?’
‘Somehow I doubt she was catching tadpoles,’ Stevie murmured.
She was still pondering what Emma might have been up to in the pond when Angus rang. She listened to his report while Wayne continued to weave his way through the traffic to the Breightling’s home.
‘We’ve got him,’ she said to Wayne when she punched the off button. ‘We now have a convincing motive for Li’s murder and it backs up everything Sammy’s told you.’
‘Financial pressure from Stoppard?’
‘Financial thumbscrews more like. According to Angus, Stoppard and Breightling have been involved in a series of small developments since they first met, all instigated by Stoppard and all yielding modest returns. Then a few years ago the investment opportunity of a lifetime pops up. They invest in a large property in Wanneroo with plans of developing it into some kind of golfing estate. Stoppard provides the security for the loan with both parties responsible for repayments. But once the development starts, Stoppard calls on Breightling to repay the lot, which of course he doesn’t have, having just poured thousands into his wife’s business—which suddenly happens to be failing—upon the advice of his accountant.’
‘Who happens to be Stoppard—and, let me guess, Tall Poppies is far from failing?’ Wayne asked.
‘Right. Angus thinks Stoppard’s been cooking the books, getting together a tasty nest egg for himself, with or without Miranda, we’re not yet sure. Anyway, Breightling can’t get the money in the required time frame, so Stoppard puts the partnership into receivership and they are forced to sell the property for a song.’
‘Don’t tell me, to another company owned by Stoppard...’
‘Yes, which Breightling had no idea about. So in the end, Breightling is teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, when his old pal Stoppard says, hey, I know a guy who might be able to help you with a loan.’
‘And the rest is history. Jeez, with friends like Stoppard...’
‘You don’t just get screwed for your money, you lose your wife and daughter too.’
‘I wonder which was the most important to Stoppard?’ Wayne mused. ‘Do you think he hoped Li would knock Breightling off?’
‘Maybe, but not necessarily. I think Stoppard just wanted to see Breightling suffer.’
‘That’s something I just don’t get. How long has Breightling known about him and his wife? I can’t understand why the hell he’s been putting up with it.’
‘Yeah well, relationships—who knows? But as far as Stoppard was concerned, Miranda and Breightling staying together would be worth much more financially to him. I doubt he was ready to let Breightling go until he’d sucked him totally dry.’
‘The guy’s a mongrel.’
‘And at the moment he’s exercising his right to remain silent. But we’ll get him. Clarissa’s pulling apart his laptop as we speak; it’s just a matter of time. She’s already accessed the Dream Team chat room, it’s full of creeps setting up deals, swapping and sharing their material.’ She worried her thumbnail for a moment. ‘There’s a link where you can order video footage of any kind of abuse you want to see, rape on demand, even snuff movies.’
Wayne shook his head.
‘There are members in the US, the UK and Germany—it’s going to be of interest to police on several continents. We might even be setting up a worldwide sting.’
‘How would you do that?’
‘By highjacking Stoppard’s online identity. But we have to act quickly, while we still have a media blackout—we don’t want word getting out that Lolita’s been arrested.’
‘I can see you’ll be having your hands full for a while.’
‘Yeah, plus identifying the kids in Stoppard’s films, and their parents or so-called carers.’
Traffic was lighter now. They whizzed down Guildford Road in silence for a while before Wayne spoke again.
‘Okay, so we’ve worked out the Zhang Li angle, but what about Kusak? They were both killed by the gun that belonged to Emma’s father.’
Stevie shrugged. ‘Maybe Emma and her father did it together? All along I’ve had the feeling she’s trying to protect someone.’
‘But do you really think he’d use his own daughter as bait to catch a paedophile?’
She shook her head. ‘No, for all his faults, Breightling loves his daughter. He would never put her in harm’s way like that.’
‘But so far that’s what the evidence is telling us.’ Wayne pulled the car to a stop outside the Breightlings’ house. ‘Here we are.’
Christopher Breightling opened the black lacquer door and squinted at them through the bright sunlight. He was in need of a shave and his pale T-shirt was stained with what appeared to be red wine.
‘What do you want? Can’t you just leave us alone for a while?’ he said.
Stevie was getting used to the effect she’d been having on people lately. She edged her foot into the crack in the door to prevent him from slamming it in their faces. ‘We need another word, sir.’
He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘When is this ghastly business going to end?’
‘I’m afraid it’s only just warming up,’ Wayne said as they pushed past him into the house. The curtains were still drawn, the kitchen strewn with evidence of a long night and the air sour with old wine. Music thundered down from Emma’s room on the mezzanine, a particularly loud heavy metal riff that made Christopher clamp his hands over his ears and groan.
Wayne flicked his head in the direction of the music and Stevie climbed the twisted staircase to Emma’s room. The girl was still in her pyjamas, lying on her bed propped up on her elbows and engrossed in sketching something. She wasn’t aware of Stevie’s presence until the stereo was switched off.
‘Oh, hi,’ Emma said, looking up from her drawing.
‘I didn’t know you were into heavy metal,’ Stevie said.
The girl shrugged. ‘Sometimes, in some moods.’
‘Then it sounds like you must be very angry.’
Emma returned to her sketching. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, keeping her eyes on her work.
Stevie sank onto the edge of the bed. ‘I’m afraid we’ve come to arrest your father.’
At last she seemed to have the girl’s attention. The pale face flushed, the pencil snapped on the paper. ‘Why?’ she demanded.
‘We think he’s responsible for two fatal shootings.’ Somehow, a shooting sounded so much softer than murder.
Emma spun herself into a sitting position. Light from the window glinted on her glasses, making them look like windows with the shutters down.
Stevie looked at the drawings; images of gargoyles and pointy-tongued dragons. When Emma saw she was looking at them, she scraped them up, screwed them into a ball and threw them at her.
‘You’re wrong, you’re wrong!’ Emma shouted. Then she sprang to her feet, grabbed a photo from the desk and held it out to Stevie with both hands. It was the much younger Breightling with the African children. ‘Look at this, my father’s a doctor, he doesn’t kill people, he helps people!’ Then she burst into tears.
Stevie took the photo and put it back on the desk and attempted to comfort the girl. She clasped her thin shoulders and searched the small anguished face. ‘Emma, take some deep breaths. You are going to have to tell someone what you know about the death of Miro Kusak. It’s the only thing that might help your father now.’
Wayne peered around the door. ‘You ready?’ He was clearly bursting with something he wanted to tell her.
‘No, not yet,’ she said. She went out into the passageway with him.
‘He’s broken down,’ Wayne whispered. ‘Said he killed Zhang Li in self defence. He’s coming with me to Central to make a full confession. He’s just getting changed.’
Stevie cocked a surprised eyebrow. ‘That didn’t take long.’
‘Well, he’s no Aidan Stoppard, is he?’
‘What about Kusak?’
‘Said he’s never heard of him.’
‘Where’s the mother?’
‘Not here.’
Stevie felt her anger flare. ‘For God’s sake, that woman is too much. Is she just oblivious to everything that’s going on around her? I’m looking forward to a word with her ... wilful neglect, what do you reckon? Can we charge her with that?’
Wayne raised an eyebrow. ‘Save it Stevie, ranting at her isn’t going to do any good. Breightling took her to the hospital first thing this morning; apparently she OD’d on sedatives last night. She’s done it before, he says, when he brought up the D word with her. Seems she knows just the right amount of pills to take to avoid the nasty side effects.’
Maybe this was part of the reason Breightling stayed around, Stevie thought, the old leave-me-and-I’ll-kill-myself-trick.
She put her head back through the bedroom door and told Emma to get dressed as Wayne headed off to hurry up Breightling. Wayne was right, Stevie thought as she slumped against the wall of the mezzanine landing. Maybe it was just as well Miranda wasn’t here right now. Dishing it up to Miranda might make her feel better, but in the long term it would only make communication with the woman more difficult than it was already. And wilful neglect on top of the possession charges might make the authorities question Miranda’s suitability to keep her child. While the woman was no paradigm of motherhood, she was probably better than no mother at all.
She went back into Emma’s room. ‘Wash your face Emma, you’re coming with me to Central.’ It was time for some answers.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked as they headed to the front counter at Central.
Emma shrugged. ‘When are they letting Mum out of hospital?’
‘Later this afternoon, hopefully.’
‘Can I stay at your place tonight, just in case she can’t come home?’
Good God no, Stevie thought, and fill Izzy’s head with those weird stories? She shook her head and squeezed the girl’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, hon, it wouldn’t be appropriate. You have an aunt in Westminster, don’t you? I can give her a ring, just in case. Do you have her number?
Emma heaved a heavy sigh. ‘No, we hardly ever see her.’
Stevie was leaning across to ask the desk sergeant for the phone book when she overheard a well-dressed middle-aged woman ask for Sammy Nguyen’s paperwork which had been left there for her to collect. Stevie gathered from the conversation that this woman with the kind, grandmotherly face was Mrs Jenkins, Sammy’s case officer from child welfare.
Seizing the opportunity to get the interview with Emma started as quickly as possible, Stevie introduced herself to Mrs Jenkins. The social worker said she would be pleased to sit in on Emma’s interview.
‘I seem to be getting quite good at this,’ she said, smiling at Emma as she pulled up a chair at the interview room table. She placed the manila file on the table in front of her and removed some unused pages, writing Emma’s name at the head of the top sheet. Emma slumped next to the woman, her chin in her hands, her dark hair spilling like a veil over her face.
‘Come on now dear, get your hair from your eyes and sit up straight,’ Mrs Jenkins said.
Emma did as instructed. Stevie decided she liked this woman. She switched the tape on, stated the time and the names of those present.
‘Emma,’ she said. ‘Last night you told me you’d done a bad thing, but you wouldn’t tell me anything else about it. Was it something to do with Miro Kusak, the man who killed your friend Bianca? You see, your father has admitted to killing a man with his gun and it turns out that it was the same gun that was used to kill Mr Kusak. Did you tell your father about him, Emma? Did you tell him what Miro Kusak had done to your friend? Did you and your father go to the lookout and kill him together?’
Emma took her glasses off and shook her head wildly, her hair once more falling over her face. But when she spoke it was in an even and unemotional tone. ‘My dad had nothing to do with Miro Kusak’s murder. I took my dad’s gun from the safe and I gave it to someone else. You’re right, I planned it, but not with my father.’
Stevie glanced at the social worker. The woman had her eyes fixed on Sammy Nguyen’s file in front of her. Perhaps she was beginning to regret volunteering for the job. It wasn’t every day one became involved with a child accused of murder.
‘Emma, who did you give the gun to?’ she asked.
Emma bit at her bottom lip.
‘Who did you give it to?’
‘Bianca’s dad, Mr Bennett. Nick Bennett.’
But Stella said she hadn’t seen Bianca’s father since the conception! Stevie’s mind filled with questions, but she forced herself to let the girl continue without interruption.