Craig Thoms had told him about
**********
Nelson initially checked the panel beater shop in Balmain where Manuel Torres’ probation officer said he was employed, but was told by a tattooed grease monkey with body odour issues that Torres hadn’t shown for work in the last two days. Nelson accepted the information as a neat fit to his emerging theory that the Foglianis were pursuing Torres for the murder of Emilio Fogliani. He reasoned that Torres would be unlikely to return to his home address but decided to check it out anyway and see if his luck continued to hold. He drove to Redfern and leisurely drove by Manuel Torres’ apartment block on Elizabeth Street before parking on the side of the road sixty metres up from it in a position that afforded him a clear view of the front of the building.
The building was four stories high and was built in the early sixties for housing commission tenancy. It was reasonably neat and tidy but couldn’t hide its undercurrent of underpriviledge. Nelson considered his options and decided to make a quick reconnoiter of the old apartment block before settling in to wait for his quarry. Entering the building he took the stairs to the fourth floor and quietly made his way along the hallway to Unit thirty-three. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen from the exterior of the apartment. The front door, while stained and marked by the passage of time, was intact. Nelson contemplated busting the door in and searching it for evidence. He knew there would be questions asked later if he did, but without witnesses he could deny responsibility. He had done it often enough before. On this occasion however he decided to try the patient approach and return to his car and wait. He was still smarting at his error in judgement in approaching Jennifer Nolan without any evidence to back him up and didn’t want to repeat his mistake.
On his way out of the building he checked for other entry points where Torres might be able to sneak into the building out of sight of his vantage point, but was satisfied there were none, unless he possessed spiderman-like climbing abilities. Nelson returned to his car and settled in to wait. He hated stakeouts with a passion and struggled to sit still in a car for hours while still maintaining high concentration levels. He began to wish Robards was with him, as he possessed a keen set of eyes and also a seemingly never-ending supply of crude and amusing stories that he was only too willing to share.
Nelson surveyed the street and those who were on it. Redfern was a suburb that no police officer enjoyed visiting. Its reputation for lawlessness and for pushing back against those who sought to tame it was second to none in Sydney. The road and foot traffic on Elizabeth Road was regular but not heavy. Most of the people in the street were a mix of either first generation middle Eastern and African migrants or ten-thousandth generation Aboriginals. Although the location was in the better part of Redfern, if there was such a place, Nelson kept his car locked and his keys in the ignition just in case.
**********
Three hours later Nelson was regretting the Grande sized cappuccino that he had brought with him to help him stay alert and keep the tiredness at bay. He looked through the car for a bottle to urinate into and was surprised and disappointed at his own cleanliness when he could find nothing. Darkness had come early thanks to the proximity to the winter solstice, so he alighted from his car, ducked behind a tree in a nearby garden bed and noisily urinated.
As he was finishing up, a battered old VH Commodore rattled past and double parked in the street. Nelson’s presence was hidden by the shadows of the trees, where the street lights didn’t penetrate, and from his vantage point he watched a man leap out of the car and run into the apartment block. It happened so fast that Nelson wasn’t able to get a good look at him. With his curiosity alerted and his nerves tingling, he crossed the street and concealed himself beside a large four wheel drive. As he waited to get a closer look his phone vibrated in his pocket. He considered ignoring it, but his hand flipped it open.
“Hey, it’s Pete. Where are you?”
“I’m just on my way home.”
Nelson didn’t think Robards believed him and didn’t care. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got some news. Remember Jennifer Nolan from the Fogliani case?”
“Yeah, sure, how could I forget.”
“Well she’s just been found dead in her Woollahra apartment. Apparently she took a bit of a beating before she died. Bovis and I are still at Kings Cross station and heard about it from the LAC Detectives here who have gone off to check it out.”
“Shit,” said Nelson taking the information in. “Anyone see anything?”
“Yeah, a neighbour saw a guy running from the apartment block.”
“Got a description?”
”Yeah, he had brown skin, shaved head and was of solid build.”
“Torres,” Nelson said under his breath.
“What did you say? I didn’t catch that?”
“Ahh, nothing. It’s nothing.”
As Nelson continued to quiz Robards for further information the man from the double parked car came out of the building. He scanned the street as he walked towards his car carrying a small suitcase. As he passed underneath a street lamp, Nelson’s heart skipped a beat as he recognised the face. It was Manuel Torres.
“Look Pete, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you soon. Give me a call if anything new comes in about Nolan.” He snapped his phone shut. He considered asking Robards to provide backup for him but decided against it for the time being. He felt bad about leaving Robards out of the picture but wanted to follow the lead through to the end without having to explain or justify his actions to anyone else. It was something he would have to do alone.
Manuel Torres jumped in his car and drove off, accelerating hard. Nelson sprinted back to his car, pulled out from the curb with his headlights off and followed at a discrete distance.
Chapter 47
Nelson followed the battered looking Commodore as it made its way northward through the city, crossed the Harbour bridge and wound its way along the Pacific Highway. Nelson found it difficult to conceal his presence because Manuel Torres had pulled over three times during the journey. As Nelson drove past the stationery vehicle on the first time Manuel had stopped, he looked into its lit cabin and had seen that Manuel appeared to be looking at something on his lap. After the third stop, Nelson realised that he was probably checking his progress on a street directory on his lap.
It piqued Nelson’s curiosity even more and during the course of the journey he thought hard about where Manuel might be going and how it fitted with the case. A small seed of an idea began to germinate in his mind and grew with confidence after every passing kilometre. When Manuel turned off the Pacific Highway Nelson knew where he was going and was reasonably certain he knew why.
After almost thirty minutes of driving, Manuel parked his car outside a Roseville apartment block and made his way inside.
Nelson switched off his engine and glided to the curb fifty metres behind Manuel’s Commodore. He again considered calling for backup, this time from the nearest Local Area Command, but decided against it for the time being as he didn’t want the outcome to be hijacked by the wailing sirens of a couple of squad cars filled with energetic and nervous young Constables. He checked his weapon, got out of his car and headed into the apartment block.
Nelson entered the lobby with gun drawn. He tried to quieten his beating heart which pounded heavily in his ears and throat. He looked up through the dim central staircase and thought he could hear faint voices filtering
