Into the Night Page 11

  ‘There’s a tape, isn’t there?’ Mary-Anne asks. ‘Can you see the attacker drop his weapon on the screen?’

  ‘Nup,’ says Fleet, flinging himself off his perch. ‘We can’t see shit. Honestly, we’ve scored ourselves a bona-fide snuff film and it tells us nothing. Joke’s on us.’ His eyes are back on his personal mobile, fingers moving at an impressive speed, and I wonder who he is contacting.

  ‘We’ll send you a copy of the footage later today, Mary-Anne,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, great. You never know, it may help join some dots. Maybe Wade’s attacker wanted to lose the knife as quickly as possible, knowing that people would step on it and compromise the evidence.’ She nods to herself. ‘Plus, it made it easier for him to disappear into the crowd. Smart.’

  ‘If this was a planned attack then the killer was banking on it being complete chaos both before and after Wade was stabbed.’ I think back to the tsunami of people on the tape.

  ‘And very high profile,’ comments Fleet. ‘If you’re into that kind of thing.’

  I nod, thinking about this. Aside from acts of terrorism, I can’t imagine another crime so public. Maybe we have an obsessive fame-seeker on our hands, someone who wants their fifteen minutes in the spotlight—but if that’s the case then surely they’ll come forward and take the credit.

  ‘Well, I think that’s it in terms of the basics, guys,’ says Mary-Anne, cutting into my thoughts. ‘There are no defence wounds but I assume that’s simply due to the sudden nature of the assault. He looks to be in excellent health aside from the stab wound.’ She stands back, flicking the rims of her gloves against her wrists. ‘From here we’ll run all the standard tests. We won’t get the tox screen for a few days but there’s nothing to suggest that he had anything in his system. It’s just a damn shame, a talented kid like this with everything in front of him.’

  I wait for Lily to leave the room before I say, ‘Mary-Anne, we have reason to believe that Wade may have been in a same-sex relationship.’

  Always the professional, her eyes widen only slightly. ‘Okay,’ she says slowly.

  ‘Clearly that information stays with you,’ Fleet comments from his perch.

  ‘Of course.’ Mary-Anne nods and purses her lips.

  ‘I need to ask,’ I said, ‘is this something you can verify for us pretty quickly? It might lead to motive, so we need to know.’

  Mary-Anne sighs. ‘That depends. For me to be fairly sure, he’d need to have been having penetrative anal intercourse. And unless this happened recently it won’t be absolutely conclusive. But, yes, if it was fairly regular then I should be able to give you an indication. Though, of course,’ she adds, ‘people get up to all kinds of things, so I can’t confirm it’s definitely with another man unless there are traces of semen. There are other tests I can run but again, they won’t be useful unless the sex was recent. And, of course, I won’t be able to confirm if it was consensual, though there are no obvious signs of abuse.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary-Anne,’ I say softly.

  There is a long beat of silence as the three of us stand there with Wade’s butchered body between us.

  ‘My children are devastated by this,’ Mary-Anne says. ‘Whenever I came home early we’d all watch The Street together. Ed Sloan was our favourite character.’ She laughs at her own sentimentality and wipes her eye on her shoulder. ‘I guess I’m a bit upset too.’

  ‘We’re all upset,’ says Fleet, picking fluff off his jacket and heading for the door. ‘But right now, we just need you to tell us whether this guy was banging Arthur or Martha.’

  Thursday, 16 August

  8.12 pm

  I dig a plastic fork into the oily chicken and shovel what looks like a piece of red capsicum into my mouth. My stomach rolls as it receives the food, the only meal I’ve consumed all day. Fleet is silent, chewing on a chicken bone, its juices slick on his lips and chin. Dabbing at my own mouth with a napkin, I look around the case room. Tall piles of paper have appeared on the two long tables at the front. Uniforms stream in and out, depositing new information at our feet like dogs fetching sticks. On the TV screen in the corner, a worried-looking news anchor repeats the short string of facts publicly known about the attack on Wade so far. Her words seem to be aimed directly at us: mystery attack, no clear motive, confusing scene, baffled detectives.

  This afternoon I spoke to Sterling’s agent Wendy Ferla while Fleet paid a visit to the Beaufords. Wendy’s husky voice breathed down the phone line in between wailing sobs. The Beaufords were more reserved, asking Fleet several considered questions about what had happened on the film set. Amy confirmed that Sterling had come to live with them almost ten years ago when he landed a role on the kid’s show Team Go. He’d stayed with them for almost six years, though did return home to Karadine for long stretches during that period. Amy mentioned that she and her husband Steve struggled to have more children after they had Jack and that they were keen to have a sibling figure for him. Now twenty, Jack has moved overseas to pursue a career in talent management. Prior to this he was involved in the casting of Death Is Alive. Amy and Steve confirmed that they all saw Sterling toward the end of May when he and Lizzie came for dinner.

  ‘He seemed very happy,’ Amy told Fleet wistfully. ‘It was shaping up to be quite the year for him.’

  I informed Wendy that our techs would be at her offices within the hour to review all correspondence she had received on behalf of Sterling and that we would pay her a visit tomorrow. Fleet told the Beaufords that we might need to speak with them again soon, including their son Jack in LA.

  ‘Anything we can do to help,’ a teary Amy said to Fleet. She also asked after Matthew and April Wade.

  ‘There’s certainly a lot of people who were very invested in Wade’s life,’ says Fleet after giving me a run-down on the conversation with the Beaufords. ‘I still think the attack might not have been intended to kill him,’ he says thoughtfully as he skewers a pea. ‘Maybe it was supposed to be a warning? He could have survived.’

  ‘You’re thinking that Cartwright was pissed at Wade for confronting him about abusing Ava?’

  ‘Maybe,’ says Fleet, picking chicken from his teeth. ‘Cartwright might not have liked being told off like that.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t but do you really think that he would derail his own movie? And who would he have hired to do it? It’s pretty risky.’

  ‘No idea,’ says Fleet. ‘But I’m guessing that people like Cartwright have connections and are pretty influential. Maybe he just paid one of the cast or crew members? Or someone in security?’

  I think about this. It would certainly have been easiest for one of the cast or crew members to be responsible for the attack. Or someone with an ID pass who knew their way around behind the scenes.

  ‘If that’s what happened,’ I say, ‘there’s probably a paper trail. Phone conversations or emails.’

  Fleet gulps water from a bottle with a faded football club logo on it. ‘Unless they spoke about it on set.’

  ‘We need to get all those interviews done,’ I say. ‘Maybe someone noticed Cartwright had become close with a cast member recently.’ I spot Amir on the other side of the case room. ‘Pavlich, how’s the cast and crew interview session shaping up?’

  ‘Good,’ he replies. ‘We’re just confirming the last of the cast and crew now. It’s going to be huge. I’ve got thirty-six officers rostered on but I’m pushing for more.’

  ‘Great, thank you.’ I give up on my rice, the starch sticking unpleasantly to my teeth. Turning back to Fleet, I say, ‘If Ava’s telling the truth and Wade did confront Cartwright on Sunday, he reacted pretty quickly to organise a stabbing.’

  Fleet seems unfazed. ‘No time like the present. Maybe Cartwright was worried that Wade would report him to us—or worse, the Twitter police. That might have been pretty motivating.’

  I nod. ‘I agree, but he couldn’t have known that Ava wouldn’t spill the beans herself. I guess we’ll see what he has to s
ay for himself tomorrow.’

  Fleet stretches his arms high above his head and tips his body from side to side. ‘Ms James doesn’t have an alibi either, you know.’

  ‘She was in her trailer,’ I say, puzzled.

  ‘Sure, about thirty metres from where Wade was stabbed,’ he says. ‘It wouldn’t have been hard for her to slip on a costume and disappear into the crowd. She knew what was going on and how to get close to Wade.’

  ‘But why would she attack him?’

  Fleet chews his lip thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure but it’s weird that Wade was apparently so righteous on Ava’s behalf. How willing he apparently was to rush to her aid. Maybe that’s a fantasy she dreamed up. Or maybe they really did have something going on.’

  ‘Or maybe Wade was just a decent guy who stuck up for a friend who was being assaulted,’ I retort.

  Fleet flutters his eyelashes, controlling himself before a full-blown eye roll takes place. ‘It’s possible,’ he allows.

  ‘And even if they were sleeping together or involved in some way, surely that gives her even less reason to attack him,’ I say, confused.

  Fleet shrugs. ‘Dunno. Maybe she found out about Wade and Kent, or got sick of him having a girlfriend. I sensed a bit of madness in those beautiful eyes.’

  ‘You think all women are crazy,’ I say dismissively.

  He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Haven’t been proven wrong yet,’ he quips.

  ‘Look, I agree Ava had access to the scene but I can’t see why she’d want him dead. It makes no sense.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t,’ he says. ‘Like I said before, it could have been a warning that went too far.’

  I close my eyes, and then open them to look at the case board. Wade’s perfect face stares out at me and I play back the moment when the knife plunged deep into his chest. I shudder. It doesn’t feel like a warning to me.

  ‘Ava’s pretty tall,’ I say. ‘Ideally the tech guys will identify the killer on the video and we’ll be able to get some basic physical stats. Start to build a profile.’

  ‘Yep,’ says Fleet, pushing his fingers through his hair. ‘Hopefully we’ll be able to put out an alert for a short middle-aged zombie with a stoop.’

  ‘I’m going,’ I announce, tired of his negativity. ‘I need to get some sleep.’

  ‘Cool,’ says Fleet. Then, ‘Remind me what exciting agenda you have planned for us tomorrow?’

  ‘Lizzie in the morning. Then Sterling’s agent, Wendy Ferla. Isaacs wants us to check in with the Wades again too; hopefully Sterling’s siblings will be here by then. We need to speak to Cartwright as well. I forgot to follow up with the sex assault squad about his response to the formal charge. We can call them from the car after we’ve seen Lizzie.’ I dump all the takeaway containers in the bin and wipe the table with a serviette, feeling overwhelmed with the amount of work we have to do.

  ‘Big day,’ comments Fleet. ‘I can’t wait.’

  I walk out past Walter Miller’s case room. Two uniforms are still there, quietly sorting through paperwork. I look at the case board, noticing how sparse it is compared to ours. A wave of hopelessness washes over me but in the end I keep walking, knowing that there is not much I can do for Walter now.

  Outside the chilled air hits my lungs, a shock after the cloying artificial heat of the office. One of the street lamps has blown and I walk briskly through the darkness to get to the pool of white up ahead. A young guy jogs past from behind, startling me as he steps on a stick lying in wait on the ground. In the apartments above, a door slides open and the excited screams of teenagers explode into the night. Just as quickly the door shuts and their screams disappear.

  The stars are dull tonight, the upward glow of the city keeping them muted.

  I pull out my phone and see a series of missed calls. Dad, Candy, Scott. Annoyed at myself, I vow to call Ben in the morning. Sighing, I skim a text from Josh checking to see if I’m okay; I flick him a quick apology for being so busy. Then I call Candy.

  ‘Gemma! How dare you not call me until now. I am literally dying up here.’

  ‘Literally dying, huh?’ I smile. ‘Well, we can’t have that.’

  ‘Can you believe this?’ she ploughs on.

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘I mean it’s the most insane story. Just crazy. No one is talking about anything else. I’m also trying to separate my personal feelings here but I’m completely devastated. It’s so bloody tragic. Wade was absolutely gorgeous.’

  ‘Yes, and—’

  ‘I had a huge crush on him, you know? I told you that, right?’

  I smile. ‘I think you mentioned it once or twice.’

  ‘So, what can you tell me?’

  ‘Candy, you know I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘Oh come on. There must be something!’

  ‘All I will say is that it’s a total nightmare. Especially with all the journalists getting in the way.’

  She ignores my jibe. ‘But it was some random psycho, right? Someone in the movie that just flipped?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ I say truthfully.

  ‘What’s the point of having a fancy detective friend if you won’t feed me classified information?’ She moans theatrically.

  I laugh again. ‘Sorry, Candy. But, hey, maybe you can help me. We’re seeing Wade’s parents again tomorrow so I’m hoping you can tell me more about the money troubles you mentioned.’

  ‘Well, like I said in my message, I hunted down this guy I went to school with who knows the family—he’s actually quite cute now, which was a bonus—but anyway, he mentioned to me how he’d heard the Wades are in serious financial strife.’

  ‘But surely if things are that bad then Sterling would have been able to help them out. Loan them money, at least?’

  ‘You’d think so, but maybe they asked and he said no, or maybe they didn’t want anyone to know, not even their kids. Of course, I did some more digging. It’s definitely bad. They’ve had a terrible few years with the farm and owe a shitload of money. Their property is huge and it’s bleeding cash. It doesn’t look like they’ll be able to keep it.’

  We chat for a bit longer—until Candy starts interrogating me about my love life, and I make excuses to ring off.

  I pause at the corner of Collins Street. I suddenly don’t want to go to my cold, empty apartment. I look for Macy but she’s not in her normal spot, and I hope she’s with Lara and safe somewhere.

  I know where I’m going before I even let myself admit it. My skin burning, I pass dozens of faces. Hundreds. Melbourne is so full of people compared to Smithson, and is so much more diverse. People here go home to all kinds of different lives, their rituals an alchemic mix of many places. I feel energised by the spectrum of characters who gravitate to the city. It’s so much more acceptable to be who you want to be here. There’s no set mould to adhere to, no specific life rules laid out to follow.

  As I approach the hotel I can almost feel the curve of the wineglass in my hand. The softness of the velvet lounge chair underneath me. I can imagine running my hands all over a stranger in one of the rooms upstairs. I narrow my eyes at the bellboy as I bear down on the entrance, tossing my hair to one side, pulling off my coat as I step into the warm noisy lobby, the tinkle of glasses joyfully colliding as if announcing my arrival.

  Friday, 17 August

  7.12 am

  I watch the city wake up, my phone pressed against my ear.

  ‘Hey,’ I say when Scott answers, my voice still full of last night.

  ‘Hi,’ he replies sarcastically. ‘This is a nice surprise. I’m sure you saw that we tried to call you last night. Ben wanted to tell you that he lost a tooth.’

  ‘Did you remember to leave him some money?’ I ask, without thinking.

  There’s a long beat of silence down the phone line before Scott replies with exaggerated patience: ‘Yes, Gemma. I remembered the tooth fairy money.’

  My head throbbing, I close my eyes and picture Scott in the kitc
hen of my childhood home ready to go to work and take our son to school. ‘Can I speak to Ben, please?’

  Scott sighs, already exhausted from dealing with me. ‘Yes, hang on, I’ll get him.’ He pauses. ‘I assume you were working on the Sterling Wade case last night? We saw you on the news yesterday morning.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, I should have let you know not to call yesterday. It’s been a bit crazy.’

  Scott laughs meanly. ‘Gemma, it’s always a bit crazy with you. I realise a dead movie star is especially out of the ordinary but don’t blame him for you not being available. That’s fairly normal.’

  ‘Scott, I don’t want to do this now,’ I snap. ‘Please just let me speak with Ben. I have to leave soon.’

  Scott’s frustration swirls into my small lounge room. ‘Sure thing, Gemma.’ Then, ‘You know, you’ve probably never thought about it, but mornings are actually pretty crazy for us these days as well, so just make it quick, okay? We have to leave soon too.’

  A strange side benefit of being a detective is the voyeuristic glimpses you get into the highs, lows and all the tiny details in between that make a life. Over the years I have seen it all: suburban drug dens, palatial mansions, glossy teenage bedrooms, small dingy homes reeking of human struggle. I’ve seen garden sheds that double as bedrooms and modest units that sleep several families. I’ve found shoeboxes filled with sex tapes, read private love notes and scrolled through mind-boggling internet histories. It’s an odd thing to be thrust into the intimate life of another human. And because most people don’t know they’re about to die, when we arrive it’s as if someone hit pause on a computer game. Lipstick marks are still on wineglasses, fresh hair clogs the shower drain. The dog is whining for a walk.

  It’s true what they say, that we are more alike than we are different: the same vices, habits and secrets turning up over and over again. But every now and then something stands out as odd. Something jars. Loose threads that seem to lead nowhere but keep you coming back all the same.