Traffic Authority and had managed to get an address on Kylie Faulkner’s licence.
“It may not be her current address though as the licence expired two years ago and hasn’t been renewed.”
“I see. Nothing else then?”
Robards sensed Nelson’s disappointment.
“No, it was all I could come up with at such short notice. It seems like she just dropped off the face of the earth about three years ago. Maybe she’s dead?”
“Maybe, check with Births, Deaths and Marriages or whatever they’re called now while you’re at it,” replied Nelson.
“I will. Do you want me to come out there with you and check it out?”
“No. I can handle this. It’ll probably just lead to another dead end and anyway, I need you to keep VanMerle and Crighton off my back for a while.”
“That’s not going to be easy.”
“I know and thanks in advance. I appreciate it.” Nelson hung up. He wasn’t overly hopeful that a two year old address would yield anything useful but was still excited at the possibility of tracking down Kylie Faulkner. He wasn’t sure where she fitted into the scheme of things, or if she fitted at all, but he felt compelled to find out one way or another, especially seeing that the drug angle appeared to come to nothing. Nelson had thought it an unlikely connection anyway. He reasoned that if Harvey Petersham or his connections were unhappy with Craig Thoms wanting to pull out of supplying them with their hospital drugs then they were more likely to have found a more simplistic way to exact retribution, like beating the crap out him or something. However, sending Robards out to follow the drugs lead at Manly had afforded Nelson the time and space to chase down the lead in Batemans Bay.
Nelson plugged the Woollahra address that Robards had given him into his GPS unit and followed the verbal directions through the early afternoon traffic. He parked his Cobra in the street, just south of where the arrow on the screen was indicating and noticed that his car’s patched paintwork looked out of place amongst the Beemers and Hondas that seemed par for the course there. He double checked the street number against what he’d written on the scrap of paper. The address belonged to an impressive looking group of eighteen units that had been squeezed onto what was once three residential blocks. Nelson briefly admired their sharp architecturally designed lines and neatly manicured minimalist gardens and guessed correctly that some reasonably serious money would be required to buy there, especially seeing that the third floor units were high enough to afford their occupants a view of the harbour and beyond.
He took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the door of apartment number seventeen. Almost immediately he heard quick footsteps move across the floor inside the apartment. He held his breath and felt for the Glock twenty-two in its holster on his belt, just in case. The door was quickly flung back and he was faced with a slim young woman with dark shoulder length hair, blue eyes and pale skin. He wondered if the search for Kylie Faulkner was over.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice melodic and low.
“I hope so. I’m Detective Sergeant Nelson from the Homicide Squad.” He showed her his New South Wales Police Force badge. “I’m looking for a Kylie Faulkner, is that you?” He watched her face closely and noticed it blanch to an even whiter shade of pale.
“I…I don’t know anyone by that name Detective. What’s wrong? I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“Are you Kylie Faulkner?” Nelson asked again, a little more firmly. He judged the age of the woman in front of him as being about thirty, which was the same age as Kylie Faulkner would be now. “I’ve been given this address.”
“I just told you that I’ve never heard of that name before,” she said becoming increasingly defensive. A woman moved into view behind the girl. Nelson craned his head to the side to get a look at her but his view was shielded by a large potted rubber plant just inside the door.
“Is everything alright Jen?”
“It’s ok Simone, I can handle it. Look Detective, I already gave my statement yesterday. I had nothing to do with this Emilio Fogliani thing.”
Nelson turned his head and furrowed his brow as a seed of doubt began to grow in the pit of his stomach. Something about her answers didn’t sound right. He got the sinking feeling that he was missing something but he didn’t know what it was. “What do you mean, you’ve already given your statement?”
“I gave my statement to a Detective Robards at Parramatta station yesterday. My name is Jennifer Nolan.”
It took Nelson’s brain several moments to play catch-up. He hoped he didn’t look too stupid, standing in the doorway, speechless, but he took his time anyway. He soon joined the dots and realised who he was talking to, another member of the so-called Stalk Club, Jennifer Nolan, the girl that Robards had browbeaten into tears the day before.
“Can I come in please Miss Nolan?” Nelson said, trying to buy himself more time to think and work out his next move.
“Look, no offence Detective but I think I’ve answered enough questions for the time being and I want to speak to a solicitor before I answer anymore, ok?”
Nelson quickly searched for a reply that would stall her but nothing came immediately to mind as the door was closed in his face. Nelson stood there for a further thirty seconds before making his way back to his car.
***********
On the drive back to Headquarters, Nelson’s earlier smugness evaporated. He now regretted telling Robards to push Jennifer Nolan so hard in her interview, which had only resulted in putting her offside and in no mood to talk to him. He was also annoyed at himself for being startled at finding Jennifer Nolan when he had expected to find Kylie Faulkner and for having failed to sufficiently regain his composure before she shut the door in his face. As he gunned his car through a set of orange lights he smiled tightly and resolved to start looking very hard at Jennifer Nolan upon his return to HQ.
Chapter 36
It was the end of Kylie Faulkner’s final year of school. She had been planning on leaving Cooma and all its not so fond memories for a long time, but after finding the letter addressed to her aunt from her dead parents’ solicitor, her escape plans rapidly accelerated into reality. Before she did however, she knew she couldn’t leave without saying a special goodbye to someone she had come to know intimately. It had to be done.
While the other kids at her school prepared for their graduation ceremony and made shallow plans for their summer break and their lives beyond, Kylie bought a suitcase and quietly packed the very few belongings she felt were worthy of taking with her into her next life. She had declined the invitations she’d received to attend the graduation ceremony and the after-party, saying that she had an unavoidable family commitment. This had disappointed a number of her male classmates who had begun to realise that she had developed nicely into adult womanhood. On that mild, early December night she went to bed smiling and excited, knowing that the end was near and the next day, if all went according to plan, she would be on her way to a better place.
Of all the friends and enemies she’d made in her time at Cooma it was Lester who had come to hold a special place in her heart and she wanted to give him something to remember her by. As regular as drunk clockwork, Lester noisily traipsed home at around one a.m.. She had timed her departure with her aunt’s monthly road trip and for the first time ever was pleased she would have Lester to herself.
He entered her room, as was his way, but to his great surprise he found the light was on and that Kylie was sitting on the end of the bed wearing only a pair of panties and bra, as if she was waiting for him. He went and stood before her, coming to the obvious conclusion that she had finally succumbed to his natural charms.
“Makes a nice change. About time too.”
“Come here Lester, I’ve got something for you,” she said coolly.
He approached her and let her loosen his pants and drop them to the floor. He looked down at her. Normally her eyes were pinched so tightly closed that crows feet were visible at their corners, but on this occasion he was surprised to see them open, green, and staring flatly up at him. If his mind wasn’t dulled with enough alcohol to
