He closed the file but kept his finger inside, marking his place. 'Some witnesses aren't so good at processing visual information, but around a third are brilliant. You can get some people to change the camera angle to get almost any perspective, like a bird's-eye view, looking down from the ceiling, or shoe-view, the camera looking up at the action from the floor.'
'Wow. And that works?'
'Yeah. Like I said, not with everyone, but the least you'd do would be to say, 'Stop the picture now. In your mind's eye, stop him right there in front of you. Okay, now tell me what he looks like from the top of his head all the way down.''
'That's good,' said Jill. 'I mean, I do try to get the most vivid descriptions possible, but I'll have to try some of those questions.'
'This,' Gabriel waved the file, 'is shit. He hasn't even asked the witness if he has any thoughts about the perps' motivations. You can get a lot of incidentals when you ask them to just let go and guess why the offenders might have behaved the way they did.'
'You want to know why the witness thinks the offender committed the crime?'
'Sure. You know that witnesses are always worried about saying something wrong, or making a mistake. They censor themselves. In a case like this, we can worry about errors in accuracy later; what we want from the witness in an interview is every little thing they can remember, even when they're not completely certain. They're our only eyes in there. They're the detective on the scene.'
'Interesting way of putting it. Do you ever say that to them?'
'All the time. You tell them you want them to guess the thoughts and emotions of the offenders. It widens their viewpoint. Opens them up. You can ask, 'Why do you think he did that?', or 'Do you think they planned it to go that way?' or even something like 'Do you think any of them were angry with, or closer to, any of the others?''
'Mmm.'
Jill drove silently for a while, her thoughts turning back to the anonymous phone call.
'Why'd you say the anonymous caller was feeling guilty?' she asked again.
'Well, she obviously wants us to investigate someone. You're right, it could be a bullshit call, but I thought her sentence structure was interesting when I listened to the tape this morning. She was really eager to put this guy in. And I don't think she just made up a name. If she did, it wouldn't take us long to find out he doesn't exist. Pretty pointless if it's a joke.' He pulled his finger from the file and placed the folder into the door pocket, turning towards her. 'Besides,' he said, 'I think this Henry Nguyen is real, and the feeling I got is that this caller can't live with herself without saying something to someone. She wants us to find him. But she definitely knows more about him than she's told us.'
'It could just be someone she's pissed off with,' returned Jill. 'Revenge – she might just want us to give some guy a hard time.'
Jill had listened to the call too, and she had to admit that she'd also thought there was something about it that demanded close attention. The caller's voice had been muffled; she really didn't want them to know who she was. At the moment though, Jill was more interested in the way her new partner thought than in discussing her own impressions.
'Could be,' he said. 'We'll have to wait and see. The details she gave don't sound right for that though – not just his address, but his Medicare number, where he's done time? And what she didn't say is just as important. Like, this is how I know what I know; this is why you need to get this guy; and more importantly, my name is…'
'Come on, we get heaps of anonymous tips. People don't want to get involved.'
'Yeah, but descriptive information like that is coming from someone who's just a little bit more than a helpful citizen. I think that call's for real and we're looking for a guilty woman. Guilt by association with something. And if she's got anything to do with this case, I'll know her when I talk to her.'
For some reason Jill believed him. That speech should've sounded arrogant, but instead Gabriel just sounded open, matter-of-fact.
She finished the last of her water as the traffic on the motorway slowed to a stop. There was obviously some holdup ahead. At that precise moment, she realised she was desperate for the toilet. Great. She sighed and tried to distract herself. She just wasn't used to these mammoth drives – maybe it was a conditioned response. It seemed like every time she got on this bloody road she had to go. Could be because there were no service stations: when she knew she couldn't go, she suddenly had to. Thank God, they were nearly at Moore Park.
At the end of the freeway, Jill swung the Commodore into the first service station and bolted to the bathroom. When she got back, Gabriel was standing at the bonnet, food and drink spread out on the hot car like it was a picnic rug.
'So how're we going to handle the interview?' he said, indicating that a plastic-looking salad sandwich was for her.
'What do you have in mind?'
'I want to use audiovisuals to record everything. What do you think?'
'I think,' she answered, 'that you'll completely freak out the victims. They're not going to understand why they would be taped. We haven't even caught a suspect, so it's not like a tape could be used in court.'
'These people are the only experts we have on this gang,' he said, struggling to open his sandwich wrapper. 'They know much more than they think they know. We need as many verbal and non-verbal cues as possible for a full behavioural analysis.'
'It seems like a lot of trouble for a witness interview, but I guess we've got to do everything we can think of at this point,' she said. 'You got the equipment, or are we gonna get them to come in again later?'
'Got everything we need.' He nodded at the duffle bag on the back seat, his still-wrapped sandwich in his mouth, fingers and teeth tearing at the plastic. Jill thought about offering to help, but finally, the plastic gave way. 'We can get it all done today.'
As Gabriel pulled his bag from the back of the car, Jill silently repeated the victims' names – Isobel Rymill, Joss Preston-Jones. 'What were they like when you set up the interview this morning?'
'Ah, they said no.' He walked across the street. She stared after him.
'What?' She hurried to catch up. 'Said no to what?'
'The interview.'
They were already at the front door of the freestanding two-storey terrace. Jill glared at Gabriel as he knocked. She heard sounds behind the door, and a deadbolt sliding back. She couldn't see through the crack, as Gabriel's back filled the space.
'Mr Preston-Jones? We spoke this morning,' Gabriel sounded assertive, turned slightly to make space for Jill next to him. 'I'm Gabriel Delahunt and this is my partner, Sergeant Jillian Jackson.'
The man who opened the door looked as though he'd ordinarily be of a more cheerful disposition. An open face, light grey eyes, sandy hair that was buzz-cut close to his scalp. He stood in his doorway in a faded red tee- shirt, tight across his upper chest, loose navy pants, no shoes. He stood a smidge taller than Gabe. He didn't smile. A black-green bruise marred the lightly freckled skin under his left eye.
'I thought we agreed we'd have to do this another time?' He folded tanned arms across his chest.
Gabriel held out his hand. Big smile. Seeing it, Jill couldn't help but smile as well.
Joss Preston-Jones sighed, shook Gabriel's hand, and reached for Jill's. Then he stepped aside and motioned for them to come in.
The hallway was narrow. 'Sorry about this,' she felt she had to say over her shoulder. The man smiled tightly.
Jill followed Gabriel to a bright kitchen washed in the midday sun streaming in from the small backyard. Gabriel took a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar. She waited for him to explain what they were doing there, but he seemed content to look around the room, still smiling.
'Ah, Mr Preston-Jones,' she started. Someone had to say something.
'Call me Joss.'
'Great, thanks. Please, call me Jill.' Let Delahunt fend for himself.
'I understand that you would have preferred to do this some other time.'
