have any enemies?”
“No Detective, not that I know of. He was loved and respected by those who knew him. In our line of business we have many competitors, but that is all they are, competitors, not enemies.”
Nelson watched him and noticed that the lie came easily. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that someone who had spent the last forty years of their life screwing people over would have a list of enemies as long as his dead arm. He shook his head and smiled.
“Is there something amusing Detective?” asked the solicitor, noticing Nelson’s gesture.
Nelson looked at him but then provided his response directly to Fogliani.
“Yes, there is something funny. What’s funny is that you think we have enough spare time to sit here and listen to all of your bullshit answers. We’re trying to find your uncle’s killer for god sake, but you’re not going to lift a finger to help us are you?”
Michael Fogliani and his solicitor sat dumbstruck by Nelson’s comments.
“I think I understand though. You might be well educated and sit up here in your nice office, but under your clothes and under your skin you’re still your father’s son and your uncle’s nephew and you’re not going to give us anything because that’s not the way the Fogliani family operates is it? At the end of the day we’re still the enemy to you aren’t we, even if we’re trying to help you?”
Michael Fogliani’s face turned bright red
“You’ve no right to talk to my client in this manner,” said Marini, already tossing around some potential legal options in his mind.
Nelson ignored the comment. “Now I’m going to ask you one more time Michael. Do you know who your uncle was going to meet at the St Peters industrial area last night?” Nelson sounded out his words slowly, as if speaking to a child.
“No Detective, I do not know,” replied Fogliani through clenched teeth, holding Nelson’s gaze.
“Do you know anyone who might want to kill your uncle? Actually, let me rephrase that. Among the people that your uncle has robbed, cheated or hurt during his lifetime, do you have any idea which of them might have been responsible for killing him?”
Michael Fogliani seemed to involuntarily gasp which he quickly converted into a clearing of his throat.
“No Detective. As I said, I honestly have no idea who might be responsible for the death of my uncle. I can’t force you to believe me, but over the last ten years my uncle has left his past ways behind him. He is, was, an old man for god sake.”
Satisfied that Fogliani either didn’t know who his uncle was meeting or wouldn’t share the information if he did know, Nelson stood up to leave.
“Michael, one last thing. You might think the best way of dealing with your uncle’s death is to give us nothing and then tear up the city seeking vengeance on anyone who was remotely linked to his death, but guess what, the people of this city don’t want gang warfare on the street, so if you’re thinking of starting something, then don’t. It’s my job to find the killer and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, ok? So don’t go getting in my way.”
Chapter 19
Nelson and Robards cleared the city centre heading west on the M4 on making their way back to Headquarters. At one p.m. on a Saturday afternoon the traffic was about as good as it got and they sat on one hundred kilometres per hour for the most part.
“Well I think that went well,” said Nelson, with a straight face that a B grade actor would have been proud of.
“You’re kidding aren’t you?” replied Robards looking at him in disbelief. “Why’d you have to go so hard at him like that?”
“Because he was stonewalling us and wasting our time. Better to set him straight and know that we’re not going to take his crap.”
“Do you think he’ll make a complaint to Crighton?”
Nelson considered the thought for the first time.
“Maybe. Doubt it though. I reckon his family doesn’t talk to cops unless they absolutely have to. It’s who they are.”
They lapsed into silence until Robards’ mobile started ringing to the tune of the pop song that was currently sitting at number one on the download charts. Nelson frowned at the noise as it scrambled his thoughts. He tried to follow the audible side of the conversation and became increasingly intrigued. After Robards hung up it took all of Nelson’s control not to immediately start interrogating him like a serial murder suspect. Sensing this, Robards focused his attention out the car window as the world sped by in a series of grey flashes. Nelson not-so-patiently waited him out and after a long minute Robards put him out of his misery.
“That was Sabine from the lab. She’s got some good news for us.”
“Why’d she call you and not me?”
“Maybe she finds me irresistible. She’s only human. Or maybe your phone has gone flat again. She said she tried to call you but it went to voicemail. Don’t you ever charge it?”
Nelson checked his phone and realised it was indeed flat.
“Shit. I only charged this thing a couple of days ago. It’s a piece of crap. I need to get a new one but that cow Sharon in supplies, treats every new requisition as if the money was coming out of her own pocket.”
“Are you finished?”
“Sorry. You were saying something about good news?”
“Yep. The blood on the gloves we found at the crime scene is a match to Emilio Fogliani. And it gets better.” Again Robards paused overly long for effect like a reality TV show host about to announce who had been voted out of the show, and in the process, turned another fifty of Nelson’s hairs grey. “She found a couple of fingerprints on the inside of the glove and CISB were able to get us a match. The guy’s got some priors too.”
The Criminal Identification Specialist Branch or CISB for short, was part of the Forensic Services Group and specialised in all aspects of identification of suspects and offenders, particularly in the area of fingerprint examination.
Nelson pumped his fist in pure delight. It was as animated as Robards had ever seen him. Nelson slammed the steering wheel of the car a couple of times for good measure.
“That’s great news. It’s the break I was hoping for. Sounds like we’ve got enough for a warrant on this guy. When we get back I want you to put a profile of him together so we know who we’re dealing with and track down a current address for him so we can pay him a visit.”
“Consider it done,” said an equally jubilant Robards, savouring the natural high that came with a breakthrough on an important case. “We’re going to nail this bastard to the wall.”
“After that you’d better go talk to Crighton and let him know what’s going on. But don’t go talking to that fat seal Brede. He’s got a big mouth. If Crighton wants to fill him in then so be it.”
Robards smiled broadly. Giving Crighton some good news was his kind of job.
“Will do boss.” It was one of the good things about working with Nelson in that wherever possible he hived off any jobs that even remotely resembled public relations, preferring to stay behind the scenes and concentrate on doing the ground work. It gave Robards the opportunity to increase his profile.
“When you get an address for the suspect, get someone to sit on him until we get the warrant ready. Get Bovis if he’s available, he won’t do anything stupid.”
Constable Bovis was a mature aged recruit to the N.S.W. Police Force and despite being thirty-one, was the most junior member of Inspector VanMerle’s Detective team. Nelson liked him because he had more common sense than some of the young hotshots that came to the Homicide squad eager to make a name for themselves.
“In the meantime,” continued Nelson, “I’ll keep the paperwork going and check up on the final autopsy results and with forensics. I’ll also find out if anything has come up on the video tape yet. Hopefully, touch wood,” said Nelson tapping himself on the head, “things will start to fall into place now.”
When they reached headquarters, Nelson and Robards divided and went about their allotted tasks. Nelson sat at his desk and fired up his computer. While he waited for it he thought about how the gloves fitted into the case. It was a good breakthrough and had the effect of re-energising his wearying body as if he’d skulled ten cups
