“What for?” It was a genuine question. Craig wondered which of his discretions with the law had caught up with him.
“The murder of Emilio Fogliani.”
Robard’s accusation came as a shock to Craig and yet in some ways it was just confirmation and fulfillment of a growing unease that had been plaguing him since the night before. It had kept him awake at night and had nagged at his consciousness throughout the day. It was a vague but persistent feeling that something was wrong, something didn’t make sense, that his luck had fled from him.
“So what happens now?”
“We’re gonna to search your place for evidence. Constable Bovis here will read you your rights and then you’ll be transported to the Parramatta Police Station where you’ll be charged with murder and held until your bail appearance.”
Craig’s Westmead apartment fell in the jurisdiction of the Parramatta Local Area Command and the Parramatta Police Station was only five minutes walk up Macquarie Street from Headquarters.
“Once we’ve finished up here my partner and I will come and formally interview you. Understand?”
“Yes. Do I need a solicitor or something?”
“That’s up to you champ. The Custody Sergeant who charges you will fill you in on your options when you get there.”
Robards gave a few quiet instructions to Bovis and watched with a grin as Craig Thoms was taken away.
Ten minutes later, Nelson picked his way through the debris of the smashed front door and pulled down his large golf umbrella. His noted with mild annoyance that his pants had still managed to get soaked as he had made his way through the downpour.
“Sorry I’m late. I tried to get here as fast as I could. Family emergency. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Did I miss anything exciting?”
Robards eyed him curiously. Nelson had phoned him just an hour before the prescribed time for the raid and briefly told him that he would be unavoidably delayed. He instructed Robards to go ahead with the raid and had hung up before Robards had a chance to protest.
“Not really. We got him. Bovis and Trimboli just left to take him to the Parramatta station.
“No injuries?”
“Na, the TRG locked it down tight. It was just him in the apartment.”
“Good.” Nelson looked around the small living room, noticing the faded and torn blue couch, old wooden coffee table and small CRT television. “Nice place hey?”
“Yeah. By the looks of him and his crappy apartment he’s probably your run of the mill deadbeat loser.”
“Alright. Let’s get on with the search,” said Nelson. “How far have you got?”
“Not very.”
Robards showed Nelson through the one bedroom apartment. It had outdated seventies decor, the type of which hadn’t yet, and probably never would, come back into style. It was cramped and generally untidy. Two SOCOs had been waiting in the wings for the apartment to be secured and were now literally picking their way through Craig Thoms’ dirty laundry.
Nelson’s phone started vibrating in his pocket.
“It’s Superintendent Crighton. How did the raid go Detective?”
Nelson checked his watch and noted that it was one-twenty a.m..
“Don’t you ever sleep?” asked Nelson.
“Last time I checked it was my job to know what is happening in the Homicide Squad Detective. Now, how did you go?”
Nelson had wanted to keep the news about the arrest of the suspect quiet until he had a chance to interview him and hear what he had to say, just in case it somehow turned out to be nothing more than a very embarrassing mistake. It had happened before. Three years previously Nelson had been involved in a case where the body of a young woman had been unearthed by a bulldozer that was clearing a proposed construction site. Nelson had worked the case with his then mentor, Detective Senior Sergeant Mick Neale, or Mad Mick Neale as he was referred to by some officers in the Squad. They had worked the case night and day and were absolutely certain that all the evidence pointed to a well known local deviant who had harassed the young woman on a previous occasion. When he was finally located, they brought him in for questioning, full of certainty in their case, only to have it spectacularly fall apart when it was discovered that when the crime was committed, the suspect was serving a three month sentence in another state. They had ignored all other leads on the case because they were so certain they had their man, but by the time they realised their error, the case had gone cold and no arrest was ever made on the case. The thought of it still stung now. Nelson sighed and resigned himself to briefing Crighton.
“It went well. The suspect has been taken into custody and we’ve just begun to search his apartment.”
“That’s good news Detective. Well done.”
“Let’s not get too excited yet boss. It’s early days.”
“Of course. But I’d like to be kept updated on this.”
“Will do boss.”
For the next two hours, Nelson, Robards and the pair of SOCOs methodically searched the small apartment. It was five a.m. when they finished, by which time Nelson felt exhausted. He had managed a few hours sleep earlier in the night, but his body clock knew it had been badly shortchanged. Even the usually bullet-proof Robards was beginning to look worn around the edges. Dark circles had formed under his eyes and his whole body slumped from exhaustion. Nelson decided to go home and freshen up with a cat nap, a shower and some fresh clothes and he told Robards to do the same. They would let Craig Thoms stew in lockup until they were ready to put their questions to him.
Chapter 21
The rain continued to sheet down as two bodies erupted together in an apex of pleasure. Kylie Faulkner let out a banshee-like scream that startled awake several of Manuel Torres’ more immediate neighbours and he interrupted his own afterglow to laugh out loud and marvel at his obvious expertise.
They collapsed on the bed beside each other, bathed in sweat and temporarily unaware of the cold air inside the apartment. Manuel, breathing heavily, smiled at her wholeheartedly and completely. She smiled back, knowing that he had fallen hard for her and would do whatever she asked of him, he had proven that already.
It had been easier than she expected. When she first came into contact with Manuel Torres, a twist of fear had knotted inside her stomach. His face seemed so hard and implacable. It was rare for her to feel fear and it gave her a small thrill while it lasted.
However it hadn’t taken long for her to realise that his face was just a mask, similar to the many different masks she had worn over the years when she wanted or needed to be someone else. His was a mask worn for protection, developed during his seven years in prison where he learned to show little or no emotion, more specifically no weakness, so that the gaze of the lions that hunted in packs within those walls passed over him and turned their attention elsewhere.
It was a mask that she was soon able to remove from him once they were alone together. Beneath the tough exterior she found that he was gentle, inexperienced and an emotionally stunted young man. At that point her task became much easier. Using her mind and body, she sensed his needs and his desires and appeased them willingly and completely. He was soon overcome. It wasn’t the first time she had used men to get what she wanted, a promotion, a favour or just money. She understood men and considered them all to be simplistic creatures who never deviated far from a sameness that was easily exploited. Their attention was caught by a stare and a smile and their minds were like clay, to be moulded into the required shape after she had enticed them with her body. Sex was the tool of choice against all of them, something to even the ledger against their size and power.
Manuel Torres’ previous seven years had been filled with pain and emptiness which she now replaced with an intoxicating mixture of joy and pleasure, the likes of which he had never experienced before. It had taken just a few weeks to insinuate herself into his life and his mind.
He told her of his time in prison during their third week together. The stories saddened one part of her mind
