down to him from above. Moving quickly yet cautiously he went up the stairs, bypassing the silent first floor and making his way to the second. He could almost make out the voices now.
He crept down the short corridor, honing in on the raised male voice. The door to apartment ten was ajar by about forty centimetres and light spilled out into the hallway from within. The frame of the door had been shattered and broken shards of wood lay on the floor.
A door opened behind Nelson and he swung around instantly, ready to retaliate against the surprise attack. Within a split second of pulling the trigger he realised that it was just an old woman, a nosey neighbour, with incredibly lousy timing or a euthanasia wish. He lowered his weapon, showed her his badge, urged her to silence, frantically waved her back inside her apartment and was relieved to find that his heart was still beating within his chest cavity. Taking a few deep breaths which had no effect, he sidled quietly and smoothly along the wall until he was just outside apartment number ten. He focused his hearing on the enraged voice within.
“Do you think I’m completely stupid Kylie? I know what you been doing. You set me up.” The words were bitterly spat out, the tone was menacing and hard edged.
“C’mon baby it’s not like that. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t tell anyone anything. I helped you, remember?” she replied, her honeyed voice, calm and soothing. “I gave you someone to take the fall for you so you’d be safe. He’s already been arrested for it.”
Manuel Torres looked into her sea green eyes, searching for a hint of a lie and saw nothing. He wondered if he was making a terrible mistake in accusing her and that maybe someone else could have known about the murder and taken the photographs. She had been so good to him, so good for him. He shook his head in an effort to clear it and pressed his hands against the growing pain in his temples. He looked away to block out the sight of her and give his mind time to think. His resolve to exact revenge had been diluted by her convincing words and thoughts rushed through his mind, confusing him. And yet, it had to be her, there was no-one else. He looked back to her and noticed her eyes quickly dart back to him. For the briefest of moments he had seen something in her face before it had been wiped clean to be replaced by a different look. What was it? Fear? Anxiousness? What had she been looking at?
He looked toward where he imagined her eyes had been focussed and his eyes fell upon an eight by ten framed photo on the television set. It was a photo of Kylie draped warmly over another man. The inference of intimacy was unmistakable.
Kylie saw his eyes go to it and quietly cursed. She looked longingly toward the open door but didn’t highly rate her chances of escaping through it, at least not intact.
“That’s just an old photo. Someone from the distant past,” she said, hoping to placate him. It was to no avail. Manuel’s confusion and doubts evaporated.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he shouted. The force of the accusation made her flinch involuntarily. He raised the gun and gestured at her. “You played me bitch.”
“No, no baby I didn’t,” she said, knowing her control over him was gone. Her control over herself was barely in check, as panic clamoured at the edges of her consciousness, searching for a way in.
“Where are the fucking photos?” he snarled. “Give them to me now or so help me I’ll blow your fucking head off.” He pointed the gun straight at her head and Kylie stared at the dull burnished metal of the weapon, transfixed, unable to speak. She thought she had the strength to be calm in any situation, but as she looked down the barrel of his gun, the remainder of her facade receded away like an outgoing tide, leaving her naked and alone.
“Where are they?” he shouted again.
“Ok, ok. Please don’t hurt me,” she begged, as legitimate tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, it wasn’t meant to be like this.” She reached into her bag on the floor and removed a large yellow envelope which she passed to him and then backed away slowly.
Nelson stood outside the door, waiting, listening, fascinated by the conversation within, slotting each sentence neatly into the case as they were spoken. Through the gap in the door he could see Manuel Torres standing, gun in one hand and envelope in the other. Nelson guessed that the contents of the envelope was all that he needed to ensure Craig Thoms escaped a wrongful murder conviction and yet despite witnessing the scene of impending doom play out before him he was uncertain of his next move and remained rooted to the spot as competing priorities and agendas decayed his resolve.
Manuel Torres rifled through the envelope. It contained photos of him shooting Emilio Fogliani and a dvd which he correctly assumed contained more of the same incriminating evidence. His rage hit new heights and his hand began to shake now that his doubts had been replaced by a cast iron certainty that it had been the woman he thought he loved, the woman standing in front of him, who had betrayed him. He realised he had known all along, but a part of him had resisted the truth until now.
By telling her of his plans to murder Emilio Fogliani he had put Bruno Trulli at terrible risk if his part was discovered. His disgust at his own stupidity was more than he could bear. His face was fixed in a hard and cold grimace and a horrified Kylie backed away in abject fear. All her planning had turned to dust in the last five minutes and now she faced death.
“Please baby, don’t hurt me,” she cajoled meekly. “We can go away together. We can get away from this place. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Whatever makes you happy.”
Her words were to no avail. Manuel’s resolve flooded his senses with certainty. It was time to erase a very bad mistake. He raised his gun and fired. In a last ditch moment of clarity Kylie cast aside her fear and faced her fate head on. The gunshot split the air and the bullet travelled the five metres that separated them in an instant, thudding audibly into her body and propelling her backwards to the wall where she slumped to the floor.
Nelson stood transfixed outside the door and tried to control his breathing and stay calm. His heart was pumping, and despite the coolness of the night, sweat trickled uncomfortably down his back and formed wet patches on his shirt. He held his weapon tightly in both hands and quietly shouldered the door open. Manuel heard nothing as he stared blankly at Kylie on the ground, his face a mask of regret and pain as if he too had been shot.
“Police, Police,” Nelson yelled, his Glock pistol steadfastly trained on Manuel’s chest.
Manuel moved his gaze to Nelson. He looked at the weapon in his hand, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. He slowly raised it toward Nelson, but well before it reached perpendicularity Nelson fired three times in quick succession. Manuel Torres’ body was flung violently into the air. He was dead before he hit the floor.
Chapter 48
Nelson entered the apartment cautiously. He searched the other rooms of the small two bedroom apartment quickly, to ensure there were no unseen threats. He then moved to Manuel Torres who had fallen on his back as he died and noted grimly that all three of his shots had struck home. His blood lay in a growing pool around him, bright red, contrasting vividly with the light brown polished timber floorboards. He checked for a pulse and not surprisingly found none.
No-one would survive with three gaping holes in their chest, but he kicked Manuel’s gun away from his body anyway and made a mental note to have it checked ballistically against the Fogliani murder weapon.
Nelson eagerly but gently pried the envelope from Manuel’s dead fingers and checked its contents. A miasma of elation and relief welled up inside him as he confirmed the contents contained photos of Manuel shooting Emilio Fogliani and that the dvd was still intact.
“Now I understand why the Foglianis were after you,” said Nelson conversationally to Manuel. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place and he knew it would be more than enough to bring an end to the case and free the wrongly accused Craig Thoms. As he studied the photographs a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention.
He looked toward the body of Kylie Faulkner and realised that in his eagerness to get his hands on the evidence he had not checked on her, and for a supposed corpse, she was making a good fist of struggling her way into sitting position with her back against the wall. Nelson studied her pale, unlined face and thought how young, small and fragile she looked. An abject feeling of disgust and revulsion for his inaction of the last few minutes crashed across him like a following wave and forced him to look away.
Kylie Faulkner clutched her shoulder with her hand and blood trickled through her fingers and down her white blouse. Her breath came in quick shallow gasps. She watched Nelson closely, through pain-slitted green eyes. He
