Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (14 page)

Parking the
car in the closest place he could find to the entrance, Bridger
gathered everything he would need for the interview, if that were
what this was going to be, and walked towards the front door.

He
looked up at the blueness of the sky and took in a deep breath of
the fresh air. He knew once he was inside the walls the feeling
would change, the air would be stale and the sky, if he could
glimpse it at all, would be a faded shade of the blue he could see
now.

Prison was a
horrible place, made worse by the desperation of those it
contained. He had been here before and even though Milton Prison
was relatively new, he knew the walls had still been saturated and
infected with the hopelessness of wasted lives.

He hoped he
would only be inside a couple of hours then he could get on with
some real work and leave the desperate to the people paid to look
after them.

Martin
woke with a start, sitting up he could see a bright light shining
at the end of a very black hole, tunnel like. The glare made him
squint, he felt stiff and damp, and the light offered warmth and
comfort.

Images of
death flashed through his mind.

"Where the
fuck am I," he said aloud. His voice echoed slightly, an empty
hollow sound.

He could feel
a cold hard surface under his hands, the chill was sitting about an
inch off the ground, floating. The occasional wet drop fell from
the blackness above him and hit the equally invisible stone
floor.

Slowly it all
came back to him. The image of Tama lying face down in the dirt,
his head spread all over the tree, the feeling of revulsion, hatred
and despair that had invaded his body.

Tama was his
best friend and now he was dead.

He had run, as
far as he could, but it had not helped dissipate the hollow
numbness that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Tama's death
was down to him, it had been the inevitable outcome of their
actions. He knew he should have done something back at the store;
he could have saved Tama before it all got out of control. Now he
had two deaths hanging over his head, one, which was out of his
control, and the other that was as a direct consequence.

He stood
up in the darkness, the walls of the tunnel close on either side.
It had been a place to sleep, a place to contain his angry thoughts
as they fought for control of his mind, a place to hide.

It was now
another place of childhood play forever tarnished with the memory
of death.

Tunnel Beach
is located about 8km from the city centre, a small beach only
protected from the rest of the coast by a small headland and large
un-scalable  cliffs, it's really only usable at low tide. The
shoreline is accessed by a short tunnel cut into the rocks as a
path descends down to the beach, it was built by another Cargill,
this time John Cargill in the 1870's, to give his family easy
access. It was rumoured that it was to enable John's daughter to
use the beach without having to expose herself to the public at
nearby St Clair.

It was the
first place Martin had thought of last night, no one would look for
him there.

He walked
upwards towards the entrance of the tunnel and emerged back into
the light, a perfect vista of the Pacific Ocean edged by sandstone
cliffs, one sporting a large naturally formed arch, opened up
behind him. The green grass of the paddocks spread out to the front
of him was rippling in the slight breeze as he looked at the track
that would lead him back to the top.

The sun was
shining, it was warm now he had left the chill of the tunnel,
everything was normal. Image's of a much younger Tama playing on
the track, flashed through Martin's thoughts.

He saw him
smiling as he went as close to the edge of the cliff as possible, a
game they had played as children.

Suddenly
Tama's expression went from happy to anguish, a puzzled and
betrayed look on his face. He heard Tama say, 'Why?' before he
watched him step backwards and disappear over the edge.

The vision
shocked him and he stumbled, and then fell against the side of the
hill landing heavily on his backside.

He reached out
his hand towards the cliffs edge, a hopeless gesture directed at
the empty space the image of Tama had occupied.

Tama was
gone... It was too late.

Martin began
to cry.

"He's not
pretty I'm afraid", the pathologist said as he snapped his rubber
gloves onto his fingers. Dr James Mortimer had been a doctor for
twenty years after graduating with first class honours at the Otago
University, a local boy who never left. He had been a pathologist
for the past five years and was well acquainted with what the
police required from him.

"There is not
much left of the cranial region, but I understand identification is
not an issue".

Grant Wylie
hated post-mortem procedures as much as children hated vegetables,
and in his experience, that was a lot. This would be his second
viewing in less than 24 hours.

"We know who
he is Doctor." Grant said. "We are really just going through the
motions here. I'm not sure how much evidential value there will be
having you confirm that he died after having his head blown
off".

"That may be
Detective, but as you and I both know evidence can come from the
most unlikely places. We won't know what we might find until we
have a closer look". Dr Mortimer did not wait for a reply before
walking into the cutting room.

Grant looked
at Becky and shrugged his shoulders feeling slightly
admonished.

"I'm just glad
we are behind this window and not in there with him." Becky said.
"That stink can be horrendous".

They
both looked though the window and watched as Dr Mortimer arranged
the tools of his trade in order of appearance.

Grant thought
he could see a slight sadistic smile on his lips as he picked up
the scalpel that sat neatly next to the large set of bolt cutters.
A chill ran through him as he looked at the pile of human waste
laid out on the gurney before them.

There is no
dignity in death, he thought, it comes to everyone; he just hoped
he would be spared the Doctor's attention when his time came.

A knock on the door behind them
interrupted the surreal scene making them both
jump.

"Excuse me
Detectives but the Doctor asked me to give you this". The nurse was
petite and looked foreign; she had a brown A4 size envelope in her
hand. "It's the results of the procedure for Mr Chen".

She looked
like she wanted to hand over the documents and leave as quickly as
possible, glancing distastefully at the activities through the
window.

Becky
took the envelope and the nurse retreated through the
door.

"Thanks’" she called to the back of her head as the nurse
disappeared down the hall. Turning back to Grant "You would think
they would have a stronger stomach with their job".

Grant just
nodded his eyes on the A4 envelope in Becky's hand.

"Grant can you
keep an eye on Dr Jekyll in there while I have a quick glance at
this"

Grant
was about to protest but then thought better of it, he knew Becky
hated death as much as he did. Doing her a favour might work out
well for him in the future, besides he had already seen the worst
of it, once the pathologist sliced open the body the shock factor
was less. He took the organs out one by one, examining and weighing
them before placing them in a bag, which ended up stitched back
into the body at the end. The face would be peeled back to enable
the skull to be opened up to reveal the brain's secrets. It did not
look human after a while and that made the experience a little more
bearable.

"If I have
to", he said, smiling a false smile before turning back to the
gruesome show being played out for his viewing pleasure.

Dr Mortimer
had already opened the chest cavity and was using the large bolt
droppers to cut the cartilage away from the middle of the rib cage
to enable access to its contents. Inside was the heart, lungs and
various other things that Grant had no idea about, and a lot of
blood.

"It seems that
Dr Mortimer was right, you don't know what you will find unless you
look", Becky said, a trace of excitement in her voice "It says here
that he found a small amount of blood and saliva 'Other than the
victim's' on the victim's palm".

Grant looked
incredulous, "How could he tell that it was different? There was so
much blood from the victim it would have just mixed in with his
own". He was thinking ahead to a Court hearing, any good defence
lawyer would argue this discovery as very unlikely. They may even
go so far as to say it was 'planted' unless a credible explanation
for its discovery was offered.

"Doctor
Mortimer is one step ahead of you again Grant, he has placed a side
note on the file indicating how the sample was discovered...., "
She looked up at Grant, then through the window at the Doctor,
"He's not new at this you know Grant, he is the police's
pathologist of choice". There was a very protective nuance in her
voice, as if there was more than just professional admiration for
the good Doctor.

Becky looked
like she was going to keep the information to herself, but then
thought better of it. "It looks like a long winded explanation",
she said handing a document to Grant, "Have a read".

Grant looked
at the sheet of paper and struggled to make sense of the Doctor's
handwriting.

'The sample
was found encased in the deceased's palm which was subject to
rigor-mortis and had curled upon itself, thus enabling the mixed
saliva blood sample to remain viscous. The sample presented
differently than other secretions found on the body. In my opinion,
someone other than the victim put it there by spitting on the palm
area. This other person would have had an injury to the mouth or
head/facial area to cause the saliva blood mix'.

"Well, he
seems to have covered that off pretty efficiently, I guess we need
to have it submitted for DNA testing ASAP". Grant said
begrudgingly.

"The person
who was hit by Mr Chen with the bat would be injured," Becky said
"My guess is that the sample would belong to him. From what I saw
on the CCTV footage he was the one who entered the shop with the
gun then handed it to our shooter when he tried to rape the young
girl".

"Has the blood
type been tested..., that's pretty simple isn't it?" Grant looked
at the sheet he was holding, "Okay it has been.... O positive...
Maybe we can match it to our friend lying on the table in there;
it’s easier and faster to match DNA if you already have a suspect
sample".

A knock on the
window behind them interrupted their train of thought. Dr Mortimer
was holding a small test card up to the window, it had drops of
blood on it, he was shaking his head and indicating the sheet Grant
was holding, they both looked closer at the card he was holding,
indicating blood type A.

"It looks like
Dr Mortimer is one step ahead of you again," Becky said smiling and
then mouthing the words thank-you through the window.

"Well that
would mean it is only a choice between our friend in there and one
other for the shooter. The guy with the injury did not shoot Mr
Chen, CCTV shows that." Grant said.

"My bet is
that the DNA will match Joseph Kingi Junior, I still think he is a
good fit for what I saw on the tapes." Becky replied."And that
means the other person is likely to be one of his goons".

"Only one way
to find out", Grant said waving the file in front of Becky, "Let's
get the testing underway".

John
Mouller did not know anyone that enjoyed this part of the job,
aptly labelled the 'Death Knock’, heralding one of the only
visitor’s you wouldn’t want at your door; he could not stand it
when people broke down in front of him. He thought he had left that
part of the job behind when he became a Detective. He was not a
counsellor, he did not even know anyone who had died, apart from
his grandparents and he was too young at the time to remember that.
They were already to drive up to Tama’s house when a twist of fate
saved the first part of the job. The uniform staff had brought
Tama's mother into the station by the after she was found in a doss
house close by. Dressed in a short tatty skirt, a tight t-shirt
covered with a plain black leather vest and a pair of very high
heels she looked as if she had just come in from a night working
the streets.

John had taken
in her sullen pale features, unkempt hair and the telltale
pockmarks of a heavy drug user and decided she would not have made
a lot of money if she had.

He had
watched, as Jo had taken no notice of her appearance, treating her
with the dignity the occasion accorded her. She had taken her
through to an office with soft furniture and made her comfortable,
and gave a hot cup of tea.

Jo had taken
her time and chosen her words carefully. John had been impressed
with her compassion.

Mrs
Tania Wilson on the other hand had appeared not to care at all that
someone had shot her only son to death. She just sat there sipping
her tea and sucking air through the gap of her missing tooth,
nodding her head as if she agreed with what Jo was telling her, her
vacant eyes watching but not seeing.

He had watched
as Jo tried to make her see the seriousness of the situation but it
just did not seem to get through. In the end John had decided
enough was enough and had put a stop to it, if Mrs Wilson did not
care she might as well leave so they could get on with the rest of
their task. Jo had voiced her concern but had deferred to John's
experience as a Detective.