Nelson leant back in his chair and stared out the window. His thoughts drifted back to the Fogliani case and to Craig Thoms in Silverwater mixing with some of the state’s worst criminals.
Detective Sergeant Tony Robinson sauntered over to Nelson’s desk, holding two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Nelson. Nelson took the steaming brew appreciatively and felt the aroma seep into his lungs and begin the revival process.
“You’re a lifesaver Tone,” said Nelson, grateful for the distraction and the much needed pickup. Robinson was also a Sergeant in VanMerle’s team and had worked with Nelson in the past.
“I know, and by my calculations you owe me five coffees now.”
“Is that all? I thought it was closer to ten. I’ll be sure to remember you in my will.”
“Hey, I’ve got some information that might be of interest to you.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that? You finally lost your virginity? That’s not that interesting Tone,” said Nelson with a deadpan expression to the thirty-nine year old Robinson.
“Nope, it’s not that, but I’m still hopeful,” returned Robinson with a smile. “I took a call from the South Sydney LAC a while ago. Word is a couple of bodies have turned up.”
“So what’s strange about that? Bodies are always turning up around here. You could even find some in the Homicide squad if you looked hard enough,” said Nelson smiling at his own joke and nodding his head toward the ancient, grey haired colleague at a neighbouring desk.
“True enough, but it’s where they turned up which will interest you,” Tony said conspiratorially.
“Well are you going to tell me or will I have to beat it out of you?” returned Nelson, his interest beginning to pique. “Because I will if I have to. You know I can take you.”
“The story is that there’s been a warehouse fire in Strathfield. It took the Firies quite a while to bring it under control but when they did, they found two bodies inside. The early forensic reports are indicating that they met with foul play. Now the interesting point for you is that the warehouse appears to be owned by the Fogliani family.”
“What?” said Nelson instantly casting aside his veil of tiredness. “When did this happen? Who died in the fire?” he said, snapping out the questions. Robinson smiled genially at Nelson’s instant change in demeanour.
“The fire started around ten p.m. last night. They haven’t been able to identify the bodies because they were pretty much crispy bacon by the time they got to them. We’ll have to wait on the dental records. One thing’s for sure, the Firies reckon it was deliberately lit. Someone torched a car inside the warehouse.”
Nelson thought hard for a moment, quickly sifting through the information and discovering new angles and possible links to the Fogliani case.
“Do VanMerle or Crighton know about this?”
“Yeah, they both do. When I told VanMerle who owned the warehouse he choked on his tea and immediately phoned Crighton. From what I could tell, I don’t think Crighton was particularly happy about it. VanMerle told me and Davis to stay tuned. I think they’re still trying to work out what they should do about it.”
“Yeah and I know why,” replied Nelson with a grim smirk. “They shut the Fogliani case down before we had a chance to sort out what really happened. If other people look into this case and find out that we’ve got the wrong guy in custody, then it’s not going to look too good for them, or me for that matter.”
Nelson barely noticed Robinson leave as he turned his full concentration to the meaning of the new information. His gut instinct was telling him these two new deaths were somehow linked to his case and he was mindful that this could be his best and perhaps last chance to set things right in the Fogliani case.
He made the decision to back his instincts and take the rest of the morning to run the new developments to ground regardless of any possible consequences.
Robards and Bovis were still at the Kings Cross Police Station helping with interviews on the Crenshaw case so Nelson would be on his own. He considered giving Robards a call and telling him what was going on or even asking for help, but decided against it. If his investigations came to nothing he would steal back into the office and pretend to have been working the Crenshaw case and hopefully no-one would be the wiser.
He decided to call in some favours and dialed the number for Raph Sanchez of the Gangs Squad.
“Sanchez speaking.”
“Hi Raph. It’s Nelson. Look, I need a favour.”
Raph Sanchez noted the business-like tone in Nelson’s voice.
“What sort of favour?”
“I need you to tell me where I can get some information on what the Fogliani family might be up to. Apparently, two bodies have turned up in a burnt out warehouse in Strathfield that the Foglianis own.”
“Shit. I wonder what the hell is going on there?”
“I don’t know but I’m going to find out.” If Sanchez knew that Nelson had been told to wrap up the case on the Fogliani murder he said nothing.
“Look Nelson, I know you’ve been working the Fogliani case from the start, but I’m not sure you should be chasing this one. Three murders in a week related to the Fogliani family sounds like our territory and as soon as our Super hears about it I think he’ll be wanting us to take a closer look. Maybe Crighton was right after all and there is some sort of war starting.”
Nelson chose his words carefully. He knew he was treading a fine line.
“Don’t worry Raph, I’m not going to stomp on your toes. If the Gangs Squad want to take the case then that’s no problem, I’ll give you all the case files. But until then, I just want to take a quick look at things to see if they relate to my current case, that’s all. Now I know you guys have plenty of contacts on the street who you pay an arm and a leg to for information, so I’d be grateful if you could help me out this time and tell me who I can talk to.”
Raph Sanchez thought for a moment. He had an uneasy feeling about Nelson’s request and wasn’t sure if his motives were as pure as he had tried to make them sound. And yet their friendship was still strong so he begrudgingly cast his concerns aside.
“Alright Nelson, you win. There’s a guy who we’ve used in the past. If anyone has an idea of what’s going on it’s him. He’s got links to all the underworld groups, new and old, because he’s done business with all of them at some stage. He’s about as well connected as they come. The bad news is that he hasn’t been too forthcoming lately.”
“You gotta name?” asked Nelson, trying to control his eagerness.
“Mark Dendy.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Probably not, but you never know your luck, so be careful.”
“Thanks Raph. I owe you one.”
“Oh you owe me more than one and I’ll be looking forward to collecting one day.”
Chapter 44
Nelson grabbed his coat and strolled lazily out of the building as if he was going down the street for a coffee. Once outside, he made his way to his own car, hoping that he hadn’t been noticed. He drove it out of the car park and headed for the club in the city centre where Sanchez had said Mark Dendy was a part owner and could be found most days. Thirty minutes later Nelson lucked a park on Pitt Street almost directly in front of the club and passed through the glass doors, glad that despite the early hour it was open for business. The club was small and had a country and western decor to it which seemed mildly ridiculous to Nelson. He made his way to the bar and asked the barman – a tall pimply faced redheaded kid - for Mark Dendy. The barman nodded wordlessly toward his left as he grumpily continued to tidy up the mess that the night shift should have cleaned up but didn’t. Nelson made his way to the small betting lounge and found only one occupant who was attentively watching Race 1 from Wagga Wagga racetrack.
“Mark Dendy?” Nelson asked casually.
“Who wants to know?” replied the man, without taking his eyes off the race in progress, his ire growing as the horse he’d backed for five hundred slid inexorably towards the rear of the field. Nelson briefly studied the man before him. He had lank dark greasy hair fastened behind his neck in a ponytail. His blue eyes were tired and creased and he wore a faded and stained Hawaiian shirt. Nelson judged him to be about fifty years of age but in reality he was only forty-two.
