“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.”
Chapter 14
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.
As it was a Saturday morning, the floor was relatively quiet although he still spied a dozen or so heads at the other desks. Nelson noticed that his immediate supervisor and team leader, Inspector James VanMerle – or Merlot when his back was turned because of his affection for wine - was in his office. Nelson hoped that he stayed there, at least for the time being, as he tried to avoid Merlot’s company wherever possible because the man depressed the hell out of him. Despite his reasonable promotional prosperity, VanMerle’s twenty-five years in the service and/or fifty-four years of living, had left him with a permanent half glass empty outlook on life. If there was a dark lining in a silver cloud VanMerle would find it and share it with whoever would take the time to listen to him.
Nelson knew VanMerle should be briefed on the progress he’d made on the Fogliani case but decided he would wait a little longer as his day had started off badly enough already. After booting up his computer he skirted VanMerle’s office and went to the kitchen and made himself a coffee, helping himself to somebody else’s milk from the fridge. He returned to his desk by the same route, eager to make a start on the paperwork while the events of the previous night were still fresh in his memory.
Over the next half hour Nelson worked on his notes and developed a detailed account of case to date. Apart from the perfunctory greetings to other members of the squad as they walked near his desk he kept to himself and was left alone. He wanted to avoid any idle chats because a) he didn’t have time and b) he knew there would be questions asked and probably jealousies felt when word got out that he had been given the Fogliani case even though he wasn’t the duty officer for the night.
At five to nine, he printed out his case notes and headed up to the ninth floor where Detective Superintendent Crighton occupied a large and relatively plush office that housed his desk and a medium sized meeting table where he received – or some would say interrogated - his visitors.
Nelson noted that Crighton’s diminutive, fifty year old dark-haired executive assistant Pasha, who sat outside his office, had her back momentarily turned to him as she retrieved something from her desk drawer. She was nicknamed the Alsatian because of her excellent guarding ability and she was an integral part of enforcing Crighton’s closed door management style. Pasha’s nickname was well earned as Nelson, and most of the other Homicide squad staff could attest that her bite was an equal match for her bark and most of them had at some stage had strips torn off them by her for some perceived indiscretion. Sensing a rare opportunity, Nelson silenced his footsteps and sailed past her unseen into Crighton’s office.
Nelson noted that Marie Pastello from the Media Unit had already arrived and was sitting silently across from Crighton at his meeting table. She was pretty, neat and tidy and efficient - everything you would expect from someone intent on forging a career in public relations.
Crighton’s personal advisor and chief head kicker, Senior Sergeant Nathan Brede was also there. As with Pasha, Crighton had brought him along from his previous posting when he had been promoted to the position. Unlike Crighton, Brede had had a decent operational career before switching to his administrative role. Nelson smiled and nodded at Marie and gave Brede a curt nod before taking his seat. Along with Pasha, Brede was also on the long list of people that Nelson disliked. Nelson’s dislike of him stemmed from a previous investigation where sensitive information had been leaked to the media and Brede was his prime suspect.
“Have a seat Detective Sergeant,” said Crighton without looking up from the papers he was reviewing. Nelson wondered if Crighton had slept since their early morning meeting at the crime scene. He looked tired and drawn but as usual, alert.
“Alright Detective,” said Crighton pushing aside his papers. “Tell me what you and Detective Robards have been up to.”
Nelson referred to his case summary and provided a brief update on how the investigation had proceeded. He chose to leave out any specifics about the evidence that had been discovered because he reasoned that the fewer people who knew the details the better. He had been burned on several occasions when crucial information in the case he was investigating had somehow found its way into the media, potentially jeapordising his case.
Brede looked at him half smiling, half smirking. “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got? I mean, did you collect any hard evidence from the crime scene Detective?”
“Yes we did,” replied Nelson flatly, knowing where the conversation was headed and gently maneuvering Brede into position.
“And, what is it then. What did you find?” Brede said, his exasperation and his anger evident in the rising tone of his voice.
“I’d rather keep that to myself right now if you don’t mind,” he replied calmly, looking squarely at Brede for the first time. “It’s not relevant to the press release and I want to keep the details of the case restricted to as tight a circle as possible.”
Brede’s face turned beetroot red and Nelson had to concentrate in order not to smile. He was half wondering if Brede was going to have a coronary and he recalled that his first aid certificate had expired so he would be unable
