The Stalk Club (35 page)

“Upon my arrival I found the door ajar and the lock
broken.  I entered the apartment, twice identifying myself as a police officer
and encountered an armed man.  He raised his weapon toward me in a threatening
manner, at which point I fired three times.  I searched the premises for other
threats, checked the vitals of the offender who was deceased and phoned it in.”

It was close enough to the truth to be believable and
Nelson thought it should fit reasonably well with the nosey next door neighbour’s
account of things.  Nelson mentioned nothing of Natalie Bassett and all that
remained of her presence was a few drops of her blood on the floor and wall. 

There were still obvious and unanswered questions as far
as the investigators from the PSC were concerned.  They wanted to know where
the photographic and video evidence had come from, why Manuel Torres had come
to McKinlay’s apartment and where Bryce and his girlfriend Natalie were. 
Nelson played dumb on the answers to these questions and claimed to have no
idea as to the whereabouts of Natalie Bassett, which wasn’t a lie.  She could
be anywhere as far as he knew.

“Maybe Torres somehow found out about the stalking club and
took it upon himself to eliminate those who he thought may have witnessed his
crime,” said Nelson, by way of a possible explanation. 

Nelson knew the internal investigation would drag on
until they were satisfied nothing overly untoward had occurred.  He’d been
through several of them before.  In Nelson’s favour was that there were no
other direct witnesses to counter his version of events and he now had
incontrovertible proof that Manuel Torres had indeed murdered Emilio Fogliani. 
Shooting dead a murderer in apparent self defence wasn’t something that would generate
too many repercussions.  And, after all, he had just saved the state of New
South Wales about one hundred thousand dollars per annum for the next twenty
years in upkeep of yet another maximum security prisoner.  He knew he would
have to wear yet another black smudge on his permanent record from the
investigation even if he was completely exonerated, but didn’t concern himself with
that for the time being. 

Bryce McKinlay arrived home at ten p.m. to find his apartment
awash with police.  He had worked late and gone out for a couple of drinks with
his work colleagues.  When Nelson told him what had happened, his concern for the
missing Natalie was almost painful to watch.

“I haven’t been able to contact her all day.” 

Bryce checked his bedroom and discovered that the small
amount of clothing she kept at his place for the occasions that she stayed over
was gone.  Bryce sat on his lounge and broke down in great wracking sobs from
the strain.  Nelson felt a pang of sympathy for him but doubted that he would
ever see his Natalie again.

In the early hours of the morning an exhausted Nelson
headed home for a few hours of precious sleep before returning to Police HQ to
face more of the music.  Superintendent Crighton had already been fully briefed
on developments by the time Nelson turned up to work at nine a.m. and VanMerle corralled
him and directed him to Crighton’s office before he had even had a chance to
turn on his computer and grab a mug of coffee.  Pasha let them sail through
unmolested on this occasion, which Nelson took as a sure sign that he was
expected and in trouble.  Crighton was, as usual, seated at the table in his
office and Nelson knew that he was displeased with him because Crighton told
him so in no uncertain terms.

“What the hell are you up to Nelson?” he yelled, his blue
eyes flaming and the ligaments in his neck pulled tight.  “I’ve got a press
release that makes me look like an idiot, Thoms’ solicitor was on all the
breakfast television news shows this morning spouting to the media how we arrested
the wrong man and I’ve got dead bodies turning up all over the place.  And do
you know what the common denominator is?  It’s you Detective.”

Pasha, heard the raised voice and closed the door to the
office without looking in at the occupants.  Nelson wasn’t sure what to say.  Crighton
had seemingly answered his own question leaving him with nothing more to add.

“It’s over now.  We’ve got the killer on ice,” he said
hopefully.

Crighton ignored him and continued to rant while Nelson
sat quietly, pretending to look chastened and waited for it to come to an end. 
As Crighton’s veins in his neck bulged dangerously, Nelson wondered if he was
about to suffer from apoplexy and there would be yet another dead body which he
would be connected with.  He did his best to explain that in the end it had
been a good result, the right result, but it did little to placate Crighton who
continued to vent for another ten minutes.

“I suppose it’s up to me to again clean up this mess. 
I’ll have to re-issue the press release and try and smooth things over with the
Exec.  God knows what they’ll make of all this.  However before I do, go and
tell Detective Robards that I want to see him.  He’s a part of this debacle
too, so he can share the repercussions,” said Crighton, his tone ominous.  As
Nelson got up to leave, Crighton stopped him in his tracks.  “One more thing Detective,
there’s the small matter of one of the Gangs Squad’s informants being assaulted. 
Apparently he was admitted to hospital yesterday with cracked ribs and a broken
cheekbone, but I assume you know nothing about that?”

“Nothing at all Boss.  I’m guessing there weren’t any
witnesses?  Otherwise we could make an arrest,” said Nelson with a dead-pan
expression that would have done justice to a B-Grade actor.  He felt no
sympathy for Dendy.  He chose his side.

“Don’t get smart Nelson, it doesn’t suit you.  Detective
Superintendent Chisholm is livid.  No, there weren’t any witnesses, but I’m
sure the PSC will want to speak to you yet again if they get wind of it. 
They’ve probably got your number on speed dial.”

“I’ll be sure and make myself available.  Is that all Boss?”

“Get out of my sight Nelson.”

**********

Nelson’s next appointment was a follow up interview with
the PSC where he spent the next two hours going over his statement regarding
the death of Manuel Torres.  They questioned him about the other blood on the
floor of the apartment which did not belong to Manuel Torres and the bullet in
the wall which did not come from Nelson’s weapon.  Nelson continued to plead
ignorance and stuck to his story to the obvious frustration of the two PSC
detectives.  Fortunately for Nelson, the old woman in the adjoining apartment who
he had almost shot, suffered from mild dementia and was unable to provide any
worthwhile counterpoints to Nelson’s version of events. 

Although the detectives from the PSC made it clear that
they were far from satisfied, they eventually tired of asking him the same
questions to which he provided the same answers and ended the interview.  Nelson
breathed a sigh of relief as he left the room, thanking his lucky stars that
they hadn’t questioned him about the Mark Dendy incident.

Ignoring his waiting phone messages and emails, Nelson
grabbed his coat and drove out to Silverwater Prison to arrange for Craig
Thoms’ release.  He waited patiently, read the paper and tried to work out his
footy tips for the weekend while the Department of Corrective Services officers
took over an hour to process the paperwork.  Craig changed out of his orange prison
overalls and into the unwashed clothes he was wearing when he had arrived.  He
collected his few belongings from storage and as Nelson accompanied him out of
the centre he smiled, saluted and waved not so fond farewells to the guards he
passed on the way out.  Nelson said nothing and kept his face tight.

They walked through the front gates of the centre
together.  Nelson looked around but saw no eager journalists ready to snap the
picture of a free man.  There was nothing newsworthy in that.

Craig took in the day, which promised to be fine and
clear, breathing in the sweet free air and stretching his arms up to touch the
sky.  Nelson indicated for him to follow and they walked together to Nelson’s
car. 

“Don’t talk yet,” said Nelson.  “You can never be too
careful.” 

After ten minutes of driving in silence and making sure
that no-one was following them, Nelson pulled into the carpark of Finegan’s
hotel at Parramatta.  He parked at the rear of the building and they entered
through the back door.  He checked that there was no-one who knew him in the
hotel, ordered two beers and carried them to a quiet corner table at the rear
of the bar, which afforded them a good view of the door and the other patrons
but also privacy in the dim light.  It was a pub Nelson frequented when he
needed to take a break from being a cop.  In the two years that he had been
going to it he had never seen another officer in the place.

Craig Thoms tasted his first beer in a week.  He normally
drank most nights and as a result of his enforced sobriety it tasted like nectar
from the gods.  Nelson began to explain the events that had taken place in the previous
few days in good detail.  Craig sat and listened in stunned silence, finding it
nearly impossible to believe the person he knew as Natalie Bassett had been
involved in the car accident all those years ago and had slowly and
methodically plotted her revenge against him by setting him up for murder.

“How the hell did she pull all of this off?  How did she
fake the gloves?” Craig asked incredulously. 

“I think the gloves were real, taken from the hospital.”

Craig stared blankly at Nelson, reaching into his
memories.  “She came to the hospital just over a week ago, when Bryce was sick
with gastro.  That was good timing.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  There are plenty of ways to give
people food poisoning.  It would have given her a good reason for being there.”

“Crazy bitch.”

“Maybe, but if she is then it’s probably my fault,” said
Nelson quietly.

Craig studied Nelson’s face, thinking on his words.  He
looked away and drained his second beer. 

“Adam, I want to thank you for getting me off.  You went
above and beyond the call for me and I appreciate it.  I don’t know how long I
would have lasted in there.”

“I’m just sorry you had to spend any time at all in
there, but it was impossible to swing bail for you with the evidence as it
was.”

“What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger right?  Isn’t
that what they say?”

“I’ve never believed that.  I don’t feel so strong right
now.  And anyway, it’s not quite over.  There may be some charges over taking
the drugs from the hospital.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that in the first
place.  I didn’t think it had anything to do with this so I didn’t mention it. 
I should never have got involved in that shit.  It was stupid.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have, but if you get your solicitor to
trade off any charges against the wrongful arrest you should be ok.  The Exec
don’t like handing out compensation money, so they should be prepared to deal.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s ok.  We’re tied together you and me.  You looked
after me in the past and I’ll look after you now.  Anyway, enough about that, now
that you’re a free man, what’re you going to do with the rest of your life?”

“I’m going to go straight, or at least reasonably
straight, and start up that internet business.  Wanna be an investor?” Craig
asked with a straight face.  Nelson looked at him for a moment and then laughed
as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard in ages.

After three or four beers with Craig Thoms, remembering
old times, some good, some not so good, Nelson had to forcibly drag himself
back to Headquarters.  Now that the case had come to an end, the events and
lack of sleep from the preceding week seemed to catch up with him all of a
sudden and his energy deserted him.  He toyed with the idea of calling in sick
for the remainder of the afternoon and returning to the pub where he had left Craig
with one hundred dollars to celebrate his freedom and pay for a taxi home, but
decided to make the effort and put in an appearance for at least an hour or so. 

As he reached his desk, Robards approached him from
behind.  Nelson spun around slowly on his chair to face him.

“Can I talk to you?” Robards asked quietly.  His face was
downcast and Nelson guessed correctly that he had been raked over the coals
long and hard by Crighton for this part in the case.  Nelson nodded, feeling a
moment of guilt and followed Robards as he weaved his way between desks and
into a small meeting room down the corridor.  Robards closed the door behind them
and they sat facing each other from opposite sides of the small table.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve requested a
transfer to a different Homicide team,” started Robards evenly.  “It’s nothing
personal but I think it would be for the best.”

Nelson thought for a moment.  It didn’t come as any great
surprise.  He had butted heads with Robards on several cases before, but this
case had been different.  On this case they had openly and divisively argued.  Robards
had railed against Nelson’s seniority and right to control the case and as a
result Nelson had shut him out of the investigation at crucial moments.  Nelson
knew it wasn’t good form from either of them.