The Stalk Club (9 page)

Manuel
felt relaxed now and all the fears and anxieties of the previous twelve hours
had slipped from his consciousness.  He playfully traced the curves of Kylie’s
body with his finger.

“You
have scars,” he said. 

“You
have scars too,” she countered absent-mindedly, her green eyes staring into the
distant cloud filled skies.

“Yeah,
but you know where my scars came from.  A man doesn’t spend seven years in
prison without picking up a few scars.  But where do yours come from?  Have you
spent time in prison from computer hacking or something?” 

“No.”
she laughed.

“Well?”
he said poking her gently in the ribs.  She turned towards him, her face
unreadable.  “What about this one?” he asked, feeling the faded white line on
her forehead just below her hairline.

She
stared at him and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw her face momentarily
harden and lose some of its beauty before relaxing and returning to normal.

“It
was from many years ago.  When I was fifteen.”

Detective Nelson quietly entered the room, making small stealthy
steps towards his quarry.  The element of surprise was everything.  He had left
Robards at the crime scene to finish up the search while he dealt with other
matters.

“What have you got for me Arnie?” Nelson said, close to
the pathologist’s ear in a voice that reverberated through the quiet cavernous
room.

Doctor Arnold – don’t call me Arnie - Agett, who had been
bent over the corpse of Emilio Fogliani, nearly jumped out of his skin before realising
a moment later who had sneaked up behind him.  The protective cover suit that
he was wearing was stained with blood and other body matter from the autopsy he
had commenced an hour previously.

“Oh for Christ sake Nelson!  I suppose you think that’s
funny?” He growled through his mask, brandishing a scalpel in Nelson’s
direction.

“Sorry Doc,” replied Nelson stepping back out of reach of
the scalpel.  “Couldn’t help myself.” 

“I will remind you once again that the city mortuary is
not the ideal place for practical jokes.  If it was just your arse on the line
with this case I’d put it on the backburner for a week.”

“It will never happen again, I promise,” replied Nelson
with the barest of smiles.

On the stainless steel table before him Emilio Fogliani’s
body lay in pieces.  The top of his skull had been hinged open and his brain had
been removed and now lay in pieces on a stone cutting board beside several other
of his internal organs.  His chest cavity had been cut down the centre and was butterflied
open.  

“Alright.  I assume you’re not just here to scare the
bejeezus out of me and you would like some preliminary autopsy results, so
let’s get on with it.”

“Yes, ok.”

“Now, Mr. Fogliani here was shot three times at close range. 
I believe the first shot was to the upper left quadrant of his chest.  It tore
through his aorta and then bounced around his rib cage, fragmenting into
several pieces along the way.  The slug pieces are there,” he said pointing to
a small stainless steel bowl which rested on a trolley beside his tools of
trade.

“It was a fatal wound and he would have been dead in seconds. 
The second bullet entered through the upper right quadrant of his chest.  It went
through his right lung and exited fairly cleanly through his back in between
the fifth and sixth ribs.  It probably wouldn’t have been fatal on its own, not
immediately anyway.  The third and final bullet entered through this hole just
above his right eye,” he said indicating a small blackened hole with his
scalpel.  “It would also have been a fatal wound.  As you can see in the brain
here, it has caused considerable damage to the frontal lobe, the temporal lobe
and the cerebellum.  This bullet is still in reasonable condition although it
has a few dents in it.” 

Nelson looked at the grey and gelatinous lump that had
been sliced like a deli ham.  He poked at it curiously with his pen.

“Please don’t touch, Nelson.  And next time you come in
here I want you to be wearing a full cover suit alright?”

“Sure, ok Doc, wouldn’t want the bodies to catch anything
off me.”   

“Your shoes are going to stink for a month if you don’t
wash them off properly before you leave.” 

Nelson checked his shoes and noticed that he was standing
in a small pool of blood.  For the hundredth time he made a mental note to put
on the protective coveralls before entering the morgue examination rooms.

“What else is there?”

“The lividity present in his buttocks and legs indicate
that he was probably sitting down at the time of his death.”  Nelson bent down
to look at the dark purple bruise-like patches that had formed under the
skin as the blood had pooled in the lowest areas of the body post death.  “Is
that consistent with where he was found?”

“Yes, he was found in his car.”

“Makes sense.”

“Anything else Doc?”

“Not really.  There were no other significant injuries to
the body.  The toxicology report indicates that Mr. Fogliani had been drinking
on the night he died but not to any great excess.  It’s also worth noting that Mr.
Fogliani wasn’t in great shape medically.  His lungs show the signs of heavy
smoking for many years and were in such bad shape I’m surprised he didn’t carry
an oxygen bottle around with him.  Also his liver was well on the way to
developing cirrhosis and I found what is more than likely the early stages of
bowel cancer.  In short, he probably had no more than five or ten years left in
him anyway.”

“You gotta die of something I guess.  Thanks for putting
a rush on this Doc.  I appreciate it.”

“No problems.  As soon as I’m done here I’ll send you a
copy of the official report.  Then I’ll get someone to put him back together
and clean him up so the family can make a positive identification.”

Nelson exited the City Mortuary, glad to leave the stark
and sterile environs behind him.  He breathed the outdoor air deeply into his
lungs.  The coolness of it seemed to cleanse and refresh him.  Dawn had arrived
while he was inside the morgue and brought with it clear skies and another day
of cool winds from the south-east.   

Fifteen minutes later Nelson hung up on a phone call from
Robards who provided an update on the ongoing search for evidence.  Nelson felt
upbeat about the case as he bounced up the stairs to the third floor of the
Sydney Police Centre, located on Goulburn Street in the city.  It was where the
Forensic Services group labs and offices were housed. 

Nelson moved down the quiet corridor peering through the
glass windows into each of the labs until he found one occupied by Mike
Martinez and a young female Constable who Nelson had seen before but never
met.  Both of them wore long white lab coats and were bent over a work table
illuminated by a bright desk light.   

“Morning again Mike.”  Nelson said upon entry, his eyes
immediately drawn to the bloodstained clothes from the deceased which were
spread out on the tables.  “How’s it coming along?”

Martinez
smiled.  “I knew you’d be
in a rush so I’ve processed the car and the clothes myself.  Sabine here has
been assisting me.”

“Hi Sabine,” said Nelson shaking her extended hand and nodding
his head.  “That’s music to my ears Mike.  I’m briefing the Super at nine a.m. and
he’s not big on slow moving cases.  Tell me what you’ve got.”  Nelson pulled
out his notebook.

“Sure thing.  Based on the level and spread of gunpowder residue
and burn marks we found on Fogliani’s shirt, I’ve estimated that the shooter
was standing approximately one metre away from Fogliani when he shot him.” 

Martinez
stepped over to a full
sized dummy that was seated in a chair.  The dummy had three long fluorescent
green rods inserted into it, replicating the trajectory and entry of the wounds
suffered by Emilio Fogliani.

“Allow me to introduce Howard,” Mike said indicating to
the dummy.  “He’s agreed to help us out today.”

“Morning Howard,” said Nelson.

“If my estimation that the shooter was standing one metre
away is correct I can then deduce that the shooter is approximately five feet
six inches to five feet ten inches tall.”  Martinez, who stood five feet eight
inches tall on a good day, took his position near the dummy and extended his
arm towards it in line with the fluorescent rods to illustrate his point.  Nelson
studied the positioning of Martinez arm in relation to the dummy and scribbled
a few notes in his pad.  “There were no reflexive defensive wounds on the hands
so I assume Fogliani didn’t see it coming.” 

“You’re probably right.  Anything of interest on the body? 
Any weapons?”

Martinez
referred to a clipboard
where he had made his notes.

“No, no weapons.  However there was fifteen hundred dollars
in cash and plenty of credit cards intact in his wallet.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars?  That’s a lot of cash to be
dragging around.”

“For you and I maybe, but maybe not for someone driving
around in a brand new hundred grand car.  I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Where is the car?”

“It’s down in the basement for now.  There was nothing of
particular interest in it.  In fact, it was impressively clean, probably
because it was so new.  The rear and passenger side doors of the car were
locked and there was nothing to indicate that anyone else had been inside the
vehicle.” 

Nelson grunted as he jotted. 

“Now as for the cartridges we found at the scene, they
were regulation nine millimetre.  We did manage to pull a nice clean intact
slug out of the seat lining of the driver’s seat.  Sabine has been analysing it. 
Tell him what you found Sabi.”

Nelson turned his attention to the young Constable.

“Unfortunately there isn’t much to say Detective.  As
Mike said, it’s a regulation nine millimeter round.  Cheap Chinese crap
probably.  I’ve run the striation pattern against our database and didn’t get
any hits, so the gun hasn’t been used previously in any other crimes we know of. 
Have you been able to locate the murder weapon?”

“No, we haven’t found it yet,” responded Nelson, slightly
disheartened, knowing that the murder weapon was the cornerstone of any
homicide investigation. 

“Well if it turns up we should have a good chance at
getting a match.”

Nelson checked his watch and realised he would have to
get moving if he was to get across town to Headquarters in time to brief Crighton.

“Alright, thanks guys.  I’d better head back to HQ.”

“Did you find anything in your search of the surrounds?”
asked Martinez as Nelson headed for the door.

“Yeah, I think we’ve found something that might interest
you.  McAuley will bring it in when they’re finished.”

“Oh?” replied Martinez, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

“Patience my friend,” said Nelson smiling.  “Let the
evidence speak for itself.  Isn’t that what you lab rats are always telling me?”

Nelson noted that Sabine laughed generously at his
attempt at humour.  He also noted that she wasn’t bad looking and briefly
wondered if she might be interested in becoming his future ex-girlfriend. 
There was always room for one more.

“I think you’ve been watching too much television
Nelson,” replied Martinez.  “But I’ll put a rush job on whatever comes in.”

It was just past eight a.m. when Nelson made it back to Police
Headquarters in Parramatta.  The dark tower, as it was sometimes derogatorily referred
to by the lower ranks is located on Charles street, just to the east of the
town centre and is a massive sprawling creation of black and green tinted
glass, some fifteen stories high.  Nelson parked across the road in the eleven
dollars per day dirt car park as only the Commissioned officers – Inspector and
above - were rewarded with a car parking space under the
building.

Feeling guilty about having barely exercised in the
previous week, Nelson took the stairs to the seventh floor which was where the fifty
odd members of the Investigative Response team or IRT were housed.  The other
two teams in the Homicide squad, the Coronial Investigation Team and the
Unsolved or Cold Case team were located upstairs on the eighth floor of the
building.  The floor space on the seventh floor was mostly made up of public
service style workstations, separated by bland grey partitions.  There were
also opaque glass walled offices for the commissioned officers, meeting rooms
and four large siege rooms which were used to workshop the larger cases. 
Nelson disliked using the siege rooms because half the squad had keys to them,
potentially allowing them access to the sensitive case information within.

Nelson exited the stairwell breathing heavily but not
exhaustedly and made his way to his desk near the southeast corner of the
building.  He treasured his window seat which had views of the city in the
distance and when he needed a break he would stare out the window and let his
mind wander.