The Labyrinth of Drowning

25

Borghini asked Grace and Harrigan if they wanted to watch when his people interviewed Griffin. The interview they attended was one of a series. Grace went as a private individual, not as an official representative; Orion’s protocols excluded her from any questioning they would do. She went not out of curiosity but to try to diminish his ghost in her own mind, to convince herself that he was where he could do them no harm.

In all, a small group of about five people, including an official observer from Orion, were watching when Griffin was brought into the interview room with its one-way glass wall. Borghini was also there, as an observer. He had passed this interview over to a trained interviewer from headquarters and a profiler. Griffin was accompanied by his lawyer, a well-known, highly skilled and expensive practitioner. Harrigan, remembering Griffin’s skill as a barrister, wondered what directions he had given his counsel. He was dressed in prison overalls and sat with his arms folded, seemingly detached from the situation. His business as a criminal banker was still under investigation by Orion and there was only limited information available on that side of his activities. Six bodies had been found at the Turramurra house. Two were at least ten years old. Some were men, some women.

‘My client wishes to advise you that he will be conducting this interview and his defence under the name of Joel Griffin,’ Griffin’s lawyer said.

The statement was made at the start of every interview.

The police interviewer began the process. ‘We do have irrefutable DNA evidence that your client was born Craig Wells, son of Frank and Janice Wells.’

‘Be that as it may, it’s been many years since he adopted the name Joel Griffin. That’s what he calls himself now.’

‘All right, Joel. Just for context, let’s go over the chronology of your life after your mother was killed. You left the country as Joel Griffin almost immediately and went to Asia with Sara McLeod and her parents. During your time in Asia you worked in the McLeods’ import-export business. After several years, you went with Sara McLeod to Britain. You didn’t return to Australia until the mid-1990s. Is that correct?’

‘Joel has already acknowledged he spent that time out of the country,’ the lawyer said.

‘During that time in Britain you attended the University of London where you completed a law degree. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, my client admits to that.’

‘The murders we’re investigating began to occur once you returned to Australia.’

‘My client denies any knowledge of those murders.’

‘Our investigations have found six bodies in the surgery at Turramurra previously owned by a Dr Amelie Santos. We believe her to be your natural grandmother. Is that correct?’

The lawyer glanced at his client.

‘The evidence has established that so I think we can move on,’ he said when there was no acknowledgement from Griffin.

‘With Sara McLeod, you owned that building as trustees of the Shillingworth Trust, under the names of Nadine Patterson and David Tate.’

‘Joel has made no admission on that.’

‘We have a positive identification of Sara McLeod as Nadine Patterson, and we have in our possession passports in those names showing photographs of Sara McLeod and your client.’

‘Joel still wishes to make no admissions on that subject.’

‘We’ve established the identities of the victims. Placing them in order of their deaths so far as we can tell, they are: Jennifer Shillingworth, Stan Wells, Ian Blackmore, Elliot Griffin, father of the actual Joel Griffin, Kylie Sutcliffe and Nadifa Hasan Ibrahim. Can your client confirm that for us?’

‘My client has no information to give on that subject. He’s made that very clear. He denies any part in their murders.’

‘Joel, you’re aware that we’ve searched all properties associated with the Shillingworth Trust and also the McLeods’ residences at Palm Beach and Cottage Point. We’ve located numbers of items belonging to the victims and also photographs and videos of you and Sara that were taken at the time of the murders.’ The police interviewer’s voice was calm. ‘The photographs place you both as present and active in all these murders. There’s also sufficient evidence to identify you and Sara McLeod as the murderers of Jirawan Sanders.’

‘My client still denies all knowledge.’

‘Does Joel want to speak for himself?’

Griffin shook his head. The profiler spoke next.

‘Joel, let’s talk about your grandmother, Dr Amelie Santos. When did you first find out about her?’

Griffin looked at her and spoke for the first time. ‘Amelie Santos was a woman who owed me money.’

‘Why did she owe you money?’

‘The point is, if you owe someone money, you should pay them. If you don’t, then you’re at fault.’

‘She was at fault,’ the profiler repeated. ‘Did you tell her that? Did you go and see her at her house in Blackheath?’

‘She knew she owed me money,’ Griffin said.

‘How did she know she owed you money?’

Griffin looked at his lawyer.

‘I’m doing this under instruction from my client,’ the lawyer said and took an envelope out of his briefcase. It was old and yellowing. From it the lawyer took and placed on the table a copy of the letter from the Salvation Army identifying Frank Martin Wells as the son of Amelie and Rafael Santos.

‘She already had that,’ Griffin said. ‘She’d had it for years. I had to pay for it.’

‘Presumably Amelie Santos had to pay for it as well,’ the police interviewer said. ‘This is the information you bought from Jennifer Shillingworth. Am I correct?’

‘If you check the envelope, you’ll see the stamps are from the late 1960s, early ’70s,’ Griffin’s lawyer said. ‘Dr Santos must have obtained that information illegally and then declined to act on it.’

Watching, Harrigan thought that of all the people involved in this, the one with the most clear-sighted understanding of Dr Amelie Santos had been her son, Frank. She didn’t want me. She didn’t even give me a name. Just this once, all those years ago, she seemed to have made a tentative step towards finding him, but had then, for whatever reason, drawn back.

‘Joel, are you saying that your grandmother knew all along who her son was?’ the profiler asked.

‘She had that letter. She must have done.’

‘But how could she know who you were? You were Joel Griffin by then, not Craig Wells.’

‘She knew she owed me money as soon as she opened the door.’

‘You went and saw her in the house at Blackheath. She recognised you. Did she let you in?’

‘She came outside. She said, I don’t want to see you. She wouldn’t even talk to me.’

‘Did you ever go into the house?’

‘When they took her away.’

‘She later gave it to you,’ the profiler said.

‘She knew she owed it to me.’

This seemed to be as close as Griffin could get to admitting he was her grandson. The depth of resentment in his voice reminded Harrigan of Frank Wells. The bitch! She left me nothing! Resentment decades old. The one point on which father and son were in agreement.

‘Joel,’ the police interviewer said, ‘you started burying people at Dr Santos’s surgery in Turramurra years before you first visited her. That was before she told you she didn’t want to know you. You were using her surgery while she was still alive, still its owner. Why?’

Silence. Griffin looked down at the table. He was almost smiling.

‘There’s no point in that question,’ his lawyer said. ‘Joel has no admissions to make.’

‘As soon as you got back to this country, Joel, your grandmother was already in your mind,’ the profiler said. ‘You started to do things that were associated with her in a very negative way.’