get fucked, I don’t know,” he added, throwing his hands in the air in an unusually exasperated fashion. The point hit Nelson hard and spidery doubts crept into his conscience, undermining his lofty perch on the high moral ground. He wondered how his mentor Sgt Mick Neale would have handled Robards and guessed that he probably would have done a better job.
“But maybe if you’d trusted me from the start instead of shutting me out things might have ended differently,” Robards continued. “But you don’t trust anyone do you?” Robards got up to leave and opened the door before turning back and again facing Nelson. “You know I found something out when I was profiling Craig Thoms. Did you know that he went to the same high school as you, in the same year?” Nelson’s face betrayed nothing but Robards’ small hooded blue eyes bored into him and saw the truth as if it was written on his forehead. “It seems strange that you don’t remember him? Anyway, it’s not important now, and it’s none of my business. I’ll see you around,” he said with no hint of malice or victory.
Chapter 51
It had been a week since the Fogliani case had been finalised. Nelson had requested a months leave from Inspector VanMerle which was approved on the proviso that he wait until the Crenshaw murder case was wrapped up. Fortunately, the original gut feel of the LAC Detectives had paid off soon enough. After a week spent gathering evidence and conducting hour after hour of interviews with family members and business associates, the wife of the youngest son had cracked from exhaustion and repeated badgering at the hands of Robards and admitted to being involved, but placed the blame squarely on her husband. Nelson had felt enormous relief and elation when the case broke and as he sat at his desk he finalised the paperwork relating to his involvement in the case in record time.
It was Saturday so there were only a handful of Detectives coming in and out of the office. Nelson acknowledged their greetings briefly but kept to himself as he didn’t want to end up mindlessly chewing the fat for an hour when he had things to do and places to be.
Paperwork finished, he tidied his desk and packed away his files. He was already in holiday mode and had worn just a pair of board shorts and a t-shirt into the office. His old battered Subaru Liberty wagon waited outside for him, already burdened with clothes, boogie board, fishing rod and camping equipment. His plan was simply to head north toward warmer climes and see as much of his own country as he could squeeze into his month off. It was something he’d always wanted to do but had previously never really had the time, the money or the determination to do.
He sat at his clean desk with all tasks ticked off on his list and pondered the last two weeks. They had affected him more than he wanted to admit. Old memories, long buried, had found their way to the surface again. Finding Kylie Faulkner, seeing what she had become, had reminded him of past mistakes and he knew his actions had stained and disfigured her life in a way that could never be undone. Letting her go free didn’t even rate as a drop in the bucket towards paying her back for what he had done to her.
He had wanted to believe that he’d become a better man over the last fifteen years by making a positive difference in people’s lives through his work, but realised he probably hadn’t changed at all. His momentary indecision or inaction, standing outside the apartment while she faced down Manuel Torres had proven that he was still that same nineteen year old kid standing by the roadside deciding what to do, with his self-interest, like the grey fog that came off the river that morning, clouding his vision between wrong and right. He now felt disgusted in himself that at the time, he had wondered if it would have been better for everyone, especially him, if Manuel Torres had killed Kylie Faulkner in that apartment and sealed him off from his past once and for all. Mistakes and more mistakes.
He sighed aloud and broke himself out of his morose reverie and before anyone could find a reason why he shouldn’t go, he took the stairs to the ground floor, passed through the front doors of HQ and didn’t look back. He thought of the month ahead as he walked away, his mood lightening slightly at the prospect.
In a car parked eighty metres further down the street a pair of green eyes watched him closely in a rear view mirror. They watched him come down the steps and get into his car and drive away.
The End.
