“Look Natalie, I can’t bring your parents back, but maybe, maybe if I let you walk away now it will go some small part of the way toward balancing the ledger between me and you. Maybe if you agree to disappear and never come back to New South Wales, I can leave Kylie Faulkner out of my reports and pretend I didn’t find you here. You could put all this shit behind you and start your life over again. It’s the best offer I can make you with the way things are.”
Natalie thought hard on his words and didn’t know what to do. She found it hard to accept that her three year crusade had come to such a pointless ending and that her parents’ killer would again walk free, unpunished, and yet she could fathom no other way out of her predicament other than a full scale retreat. She felt desperate, tired and drained of life and her shoulder throbbed incessantly, reverberating through her head.
“What about my shoulder?”
“I don’t know. You’re a resourceful girl, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Go and find a doctor to bat your eyelids at or something. It’s just a flesh wound so as long as it’s cleaned and stitched and you take a few antibiotics you should be alright.” Nelson cocked his head as he heard the sound of wailing sirens approaching. He surmised that the neighbour who he had almost shot earlier had placed a call to the police and told her story. “Now we don’t have much time so I’m going to turn my back for a few seconds and if you’re still here when I turn around then there’s nothing I can do for you and you’ll have to take your chances against me, the police and the Foglianis.” Nelson turned his back on her and pretended to gaze out the window to the night beyond. He wondered if she would make a move for Manuel Torres’ gun that lay on the floor only ten feet away from her and placed his hand within easy reach of his holstered weapon just in case. He watched her carefully in the reflection of the window as she got slowly to her feet. He saw her gaze shift and momentarily rest on the gun on the floor before she turned, grabbed a bag of belongings that she had been in the process of filling when Manuel Torres had arrived and disappeared out the door.
Nelson quickly made a call to the Chatswood Police station and then to Inspector VanMerle. He took a seat in a comfy leather recliner while he waited in the apartment for the cavalry to arrive.
It had been six days since Emilio Fogliani was killed.
Chapter 49
Nelson spent most of the rest of the night at Bryce McKinlay’s apartment as a seemingly never-ending stream of people traipsed in and out of the apartment to perform their allotted duties. A forensics team of two combed the apartment for evidence and the staff from the State Coroner’s office removed the dead body of Manuel Torres. Detectives from the North Shore Local Area Command and investigators from the Professional Services Command - previously known as Internal Affairs - questioned Nelson time and time again about the events that led up to the death of Manuel Torres. Nelson kept his story straight and simple and told each of them that he had gone to the apartment on the pretext of asking further questions to Bryce McKinlay about the Fogliani case.
“Upon my arrival I found the door ajar and the lock broken. I entered the apartment, twice identifying myself as a police officer and encountered an armed man. He raised his weapon toward me in a threatening manner, at which point I fired three times. I searched the premises for other threats, checked the vitals of the offender who was deceased and phoned it in.”
It was close enough to the truth to be believable and Nelson thought it should fit reasonably well with the nosey next door neighbour’s account of things. Nelson mentioned nothing of Natalie Bassett and all that remained of her presence was a few drops of her blood on the floor and wall.
There were still obvious and unanswered questions as far as the investigators from the PSC were concerned. They wanted to know where the photographic and video evidence had come from, why Manuel Torres had come to McKinlay’s apartment and where Bryce and his girlfriend Natalie were. Nelson played dumb on the answers to these questions and claimed to have no idea as to the whereabouts of Natalie Bassett, which wasn’t a lie. She could be anywhere as far as he knew.
“Maybe Torres somehow found out about the stalking club and took it upon himself to eliminate those who he thought may have witnessed his crime,” said Nelson, by way of a possible explanation.
Nelson knew the internal investigation would drag on until they were satisfied nothing overly untoward had occurred. He’d been through several of them before. In Nelson’s favour was that there were no other direct witnesses to counter his version of events and he now had incontrovertible proof that Manuel Torres had indeed murdered Emilio Fogliani. Shooting dead a murderer in apparent self defence wasn’t something that would generate too many repercussions. And, after all, he had just saved the state of New South Wales about one hundred thousand dollars per annum for the next twenty years in upkeep of yet another maximum security prisoner. He knew he would have to wear yet another black smudge on his permanent record from the investigation even if he was completely exonerated, but didn’t concern himself with that for the time being.
Bryce McKinlay arrived home at ten p.m. to find his apartment awash with police. He had worked late and gone out for a couple of drinks with his work colleagues. When Nelson told him what had happened, his concern for the missing Natalie was almost painful to watch.
“I haven’t been able to contact her all day.”
Bryce checked his bedroom and discovered that the small amount of clothing she kept at his place for the occasions that she stayed over was gone. Bryce sat on his lounge and broke down in great wracking sobs from the strain. Nelson felt a pang of sympathy for him but doubted that he would ever see his Natalie again.
In the early hours of the morning an exhausted Nelson headed home for a few hours of precious sleep before returning to Police HQ to face more of the music. Superintendent Crighton had already been fully briefed on developments by the time Nelson turned up to work at nine a.m. and VanMerle corralled him and directed him to Crighton’s office before he had even had a chance to turn on his computer and grab a mug of coffee. Pasha let them sail through unmolested on this occasion, which Nelson took as a sure sign that he was expected and in trouble. Crighton was, as usual, seated at the table in his office and Nelson knew that he was displeased with him because Crighton told him so in no uncertain terms.
“What the hell are you up to Nelson?” he yelled, his blue eyes flaming and the ligaments in his neck pulled tight. “I’ve got a press release that makes me look like an idiot, Thoms’ solicitor was on all the breakfast television news shows this morning spouting to the media how we arrested the wrong man and I’ve got dead bodies turning up all over the place. And do you know what the common denominator is? It’s you Detective.”
Pasha, heard the raised voice and closed the door to the office without looking in at the occupants. Nelson wasn’t sure what to say. Crighton had seemingly answered his own question leaving him with nothing more to add.
“It’s over now. We’ve got the killer on ice,” he said hopefully.
Crighton ignored him and continued to rant while Nelson sat quietly, pretending to look chastened and waited for it to come to an end. As Crighton’s veins in his neck bulged dangerously, Nelson wondered if he was about to suffer from apoplexy and there would be yet another dead body which he would be connected with. He did his best to explain that in the end it had been a good result, the right result, but it did little to placate Crighton who continued to vent for another ten minutes.
“I suppose it’s up to me to again clean up this mess. I’ll have to re-issue the press release and try and smooth things over with the Exec. God knows what they’ll make of all this. However before I do, go and tell Detective Robards that I want to see him. He’s a part of this debacle too, so he can share the repercussions,” said Crighton, his tone ominous. As Nelson got up to leave, Crighton stopped him in his tracks. “One more thing Detective, there’s the small matter of one of the Gangs Squad’s informants being assaulted. Apparently he was admitted to hospital yesterday with cracked ribs and a broken cheekbone, but I assume you know nothing about that?”
“Nothing at all Boss. I’m guessing there weren’t any witnesses? Otherwise we could make an arrest,” said Nelson with a dead-pan expression that would have done justice to a B-Grade actor. He felt no sympathy for Dendy. He chose his side.
“Don’t get smart Nelson, it doesn’t suit you. Detective Superintendent Chisholm is livid. No, there weren’t any witnesses, but I’m sure the PSC will want to speak to you yet again if they get wind of it. They’ve probably got your number on speed dial.”
“I’ll be sure and make myself available. Is that all Boss?”
“Get out of my sight Nelson.”
