Priors. Stuart Jackson E.
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think Christie knew her for long. That shouldn’t be difficult. Christie also has a sister and I think they were pretty close.”
“Avoid that if you can.”
“I will.” He took a drink and appreciated the feel of the hot liquid as it went down his throat. He decided he’d go and have a big breakfast when he left here. “And because there’s a link - albeit distant now - with Doyle, I’ll go and see Doyle’s wife again.”
“Doyle? That could be tricky.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll work it out.”
“Does she still not accept that he committed suicide?”
“I don’t know. I know I should have gone and seen her, but I haven’t, for a long while. Maybe she’s had some time to think it over. After all ...”
“I know. Go carefully, that’s all,” Lefroy offered.
“I will.” Another drink. “My guess is that Christie and the woman had some falling out. I don’t think its complex.”
“And the sexual thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well you said he mutilated the Deacon woman. Blasted her groin away. That’s not normal.”
“I know Christie - obviously - but I don’t know him that well. Maybe the woman was playing around and it was Christie’s way of making a point. You know as well as I do that all sorts of things can throw people over the edge. Can make ordinary people into barbarians. And this wouldn’t be the first woman to drive a man to murder. Even her own.”
“True.”
“And while this is going on, hopefully the MO can make some progress with Christie.”
“That could be a deciding factor.”
“In what way?”
“It’s hard to know which way the Internal could jump. They may think there’s not enough of a case if Christie still can’t remember at the time we go to court. They may want his confession to make it a watertight case.”
“That may not be possible.”
“I know. That’s why the other evidence has to be perfect. The priors, Dave, the priors. Important in every case, but if this amnesia thing lingers on, they’ll be even more invaluable.”
“Okay.” Barron downed the last of the coffee. “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Lefroy walked over to his desk and Barron knew that their meeting was over. He headed for the door.
“Oh, Dave.”
“Yes?”
“Get some sleep. You look terrible.”
Barron nodded and left. He went into the toilets and filled one of the sinks with cold water and then he pushed his face into it and held it there. He dried himself with a bunch of paper towels and raked his hands through his short hair. He looked at his watch. Almost eleven.
He reminded himself that he was hungry and he took the lift to the ground floor and left the building.
The rain had stopped, and the pavements and streets were drying, small pools of water here and there. There was still the hiss of tyres as the cars drove past. The people on the street were prepared for more rain and the skies promised more was to come. A light breeze shifted around him as he walked.
He’d ring Fay at work, apologise for missing their date last night and see if he could set up another. Not tonight. Maybe the night after.
How was this investigation going to pan out? How long was it going to take him? He turned off the pavement and into the shop.
“G’day, Mr Barron. Nice day.”
“Morning, Nick.”
Nick’s shop was empty save for Nick and the young girl he had behind the counter. She looked up and smiled at him and then went back to stacking the packs of cigarettes in the display cases. She knew that Nick would look after Barron, that Barron was one of Nick’s special clients, someone he liked to keep in good favour, provide the personal touch.
“What’ll it be, Mr Barron?”
“How about a big plate of bacon and eggs?”
“No worries. And some sausages?”
“Sounds good.”
“You sit down and I’ll get it for you. A coffee?”
Barron nodded.
“Maria, get Mr Barron a coffee, hey?”
There was a copy of the morning paper on the table and Barron looked at the front page. More economic woes, increasing balance of payments debt and falling retail sales. And increasing unemployment. No one was safe these days, he thought. Even public servants - once thought to have jobs for life - were being laid off. Down sizing was the current terminology, along with redundancy. But it still amounted to the same thing - the sack, dismissal. No job. And not much chance of picking up another.
And Lefroy had hinted at problems in the Australian Federal Police. Decreasing budgets. That meant less money allocated to them and with less money you couldn’t afford to keep employing and paying the same number of people. There was a story going around the office that they’d hired a private consulting firm to look at the AFP’s human resource budgeting. Another set of nice words to see how the people were being used. If the duties were relevant, if there were better ways of getting things done, if they could do the same jobs with less people.
Reggie had left a couple of months ago because he thought he could make it on his own. Gone to an easier job and only earning a little less than with the AFP. And they hadn’t replaced him. Let natural attrition solve their budget problems.
“Coffee, Mr Barron,” Maria said and laid the cup in front of him.
“Thanks.”
She’d been working for Nick for the last two years, an attractive girl with the large and dark Greek eyes, the olive skin and the flashing white smile. And breasts that filled out her uniform to perfection. If Barron remembered well, Nick’s last assistant had been similarly built. He smiled and watched her walk back behind the counter.
Increasing unemployment. It made it even more important that he make arrangements for his future. Maybe he could persuade Fay to move out of Melbourne with him. To the Gold Coast. It was warm there. No, maybe not Fay. He would sever all links with this place. Just leave and never come back. There’d be women in Queensland. He felt himself smiling and wondered what his problem was with Fay. Why would he think about severing the ties with her? Too serious?
“There you go, Mr Barron,” Nick said and laid the plate in front of him, placing a knife and fork next to it, wrapped in a paper serviette. “Enjoy.”
It looked good.
A lot of the boys talked about getting out. But to many it was just that - talk. Dreams they might never realise. He didn’t want to end up like that. He’d make it to the Gold Coast. He would.
He jabbed the fork into the egg and watched the thick yellow fluid flow out. He started to eat.
Day 3 - Melbourne
A full forty-eight hours had passed since they’d found Christie and the dead woman. In that time Barron had slept for ten hours; his usual was six. He generally went to bed late. He’d sometimes just sit in the lounge room by himself, no sound save for the traffic that ran outside, and read. Biographies mainly. Stories about people, real people, and the lives they had led. Written by themselves or by others. And he never ceased to marvel how different people could be, how their backgrounds or their parents impacted on their