Reaper, page 13
Thus today Max’s destination was another of the tranquil escapes he sought out in the city. Another of his oases. In a place where so much was vertical, the high-rises carving canyons through the sky, the Auckland Domain was a relief, with its openness, its vast swathes of rolling green grass. There was also something about the way the War Memorial Museum and its cenotaph dominated the skyline, the gravitas of all it represented. Like the Sky Tower, it felt like an anchor that kept him steady, prevented him coming adrift. Places like this helped him to clear his mind and think, and what he really needed to think about was the conundrum that was Shane McFarlane. But could he do that without being side-swiped by the horrors of the past?
A vibration deep in his coat pocket pulled him back into the present as he dropped down into Domain Road. He pulled it out, fumbling and almost dropping it. The caller ID made his heart race. In recent times every time she’d called it meant someone had died.
‘Meredith,’ he said.
‘Max,’ came the reply.
There was a pause. Asking who’s dead now felt a bit assumptive. He settled on ‘What can I do for you?’
Again, there was a hesitancy that he was unaccustomed to from her. The sense of dread began to build.
‘Has there been another death?’ he asked.
‘There has,’ she said, and quickly added, ‘but don’t worry, it wasn’t one of your friends this time.’
The dread subsided a little but not entirely. She had, after all, called him. There must be a good reason for that.
‘A murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘May I ask who?’
‘Does the name Gary Cochrane mean anything to you?’ she asked.
There was something familiar about the name – he was pretty sure he’d heard it before – but it didn’t spark instant recognition in his mind. The mere fact she was asking meant he was likely someone Max would have come across in his former life as a detective on the job. God, that felt so long ago now.
‘Can I have some context?’
‘He may have crossed your path under two different circumstances. The first being in relation to, I suppose you might call it suspicion of inappropriate behaviour at a high school.’
A few teeth on the cogs slipped into place. That would have been twenty years ago, at least, when he was just starting out on the detective ladder.
‘Ah,’ Max said. ‘Now it’s coming back to me. He was one of the people implicated in some kiddy-fiddling at Auckland Grammar, if I remember correctly, but nothing was ever proven. No one made a formal complaint so we didn’t have the mandate to look deeper into it.’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘And you think his murder is related to that?’
‘It’s something we’re considering, taking into account the nature of his injuries.’
That implied there was a personal nature to the way he was killed. He was curious to know more.
‘How do you think I can help? It was a long time ago and my memory of the case is a little hazy.’
‘I don’t know that you can on that issue.’ Again, there was a pause that put Max on edge. ‘It’s more the second way you might have come across his path where you could be helpful.’
‘Again, some context?’
He heard her take a large breath.
‘When we talked the other day, you asked me about the state of play in the drug industry, mentioned that Shane McFarlane had turned up out of the blue and, for want of a better word, commissioned you to do some investigating, trying to track down a drug dealer.’
Max did not like where this was going. ‘Yes…’ he said, drawing out the word.
‘How far did you get with that?’
His mind flashed back to the night of the beating, and every ache, every throb that he’d been trying to ignore reawakened with a sudden vengeance. His left hand twitched, triggering a spasm of stabbing pains.
‘Not very,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, as it turns out, there was another reason Gary Cochrane was on our radar: there was suspicion he was a cook.’
‘A cook? Of meth?’
‘Yes, a dealer and manufacturer.’
‘Well, he was a chemistry teacher – not a particularly good one by all accounts, but a chemistry teacher all the same.’ Even as he was saying the words it dawned on Max exactly why Meredith thought he might be of assistance, and the feelings of dread rallied. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You think there is a connection between me asking questions about drug dealers, and suddenly one turns up dead on his own doorstep.’
‘I never told you it was on his doorstep, Max.’
That stopped him cold.
‘Fuck, Meredith, it’s a turn of phrase. What are you accusing me of?’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything. But, to be fair, the timing is pretty curious. Even you have to admit that.’
‘Well I can tell you it’s nothing but coincidence. I assure you I have absolutely nothing to do with the death of Gary Cochrane.’ By this stage something akin to panic was starting to colour the edges of his vision, and Max had to focus on his breathing, centre himself so he could keep his wits about him and not say anything else that could be misconstrued.
‘Perhaps you had better let me be the judge of that. And the best way you can start is by being completely honest with me. I need to know exactly what you have done and what you have uncovered in your investigation for Shane McFarlane. When you first asked for my help on this, the situation was different. But I can’t un-know that you have been looking for dealers, and given the latest murder, it’s my sworn duty to investigate that.’
He let her words sink in, debated with himself exactly what he should and should not reveal.
But he took too long to reply, and she must have mistaken his silence for refusal.
‘Max, I have gone out on a limb for you before, and lived to regret it. I can’t afford to do that again, so I’m going to ask you, once again: what have you done in the pursuit of Tim McFarlane’s dealer?’
His feet had taken him on automatic pilot to the statues of the three witches. He sat down on the bench opposite them, elbows on his knees, and stared out across the reflection pond.
‘I haven’t murdered Gary Cochrane if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ll state that clearly right now,’ he said.
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ she said.
Her tone was cold – did Max detect scepticism? What did she think he was capable of? His mind jumped back to another time, when he had, under desperate circumstances, proven exactly what he was capable of, and she’d been there to witness it. Fuck. Hiding anything would be doing himself a huge disservice. She was far too smart for that.
‘Look, I did get in touch with one dealer. I’d asked around my street people. No one talked at first, but then someone gave me a name. So I followed it up.’
‘Who gave up their dealer?’
‘You know I’m never going to name a source, Meredith. You wouldn’t betray one, so don’t ask me to.’ And already he was holding back. He banged his palm against his forehead, instantly regretted it as pain ripped through his broken hand.
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘And what did you do once you got this name?’
‘I messaged him and set up a meeting. Said I was new and I needed a hit.’
‘And?’
‘We met – in Myers Park.’
‘Myers Park? That’s an odd choice.’
‘I thought that too, but that was the deal.’
‘And when was that?’
‘Thursday night. At 0715 hours.’
‘And what happened at the meet-up?’
He knew her well enough to know she would dig out any surveillance footage she could get from the park CCTV, that she would see the beating, and that he would be due a major bollocking for being so reckless. But something in him couldn’t bring himself to say he’d made a massive error of judgement and paid the price – was still paying the price. That he’d been lucky to get off as lightly as he did.
‘Let’s just say it didn’t go well. There was no exchange, and I didn’t come away with any product, or any information. And I was warned not to get in touch with him again.’ A very brutal warning.
‘And a name? What was the dealer’s name?’
This he would give up. There was no way he was protecting that bastard.
‘I don’t know his given name, but he went under Nero. His dealer name was Nero.’
He heard the sharp intake of breath. ‘You are certain of that?’
He now fervently wished he wasn’t. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘Max, you need to be completely upfront here. And you need to give me reason not to suspect you have anything to do with his death. Gary Cochrane was Nero.’
‘Fuck,’ was all he could say.
‘Fuck indeed. Do you see the position you are in here?’
He stood up, paced back and forward in front of the pond, trying to think, find a way out of this fucking mess.
‘Yes, of course I see the damn position I’m in. I’m not a fool.’ Although he was starting to feel like one. A fool who had been played. ‘Look, Meredith, like I said, I had nothing to do with Cochrane’s death. There was only one other person who knew I was meeting up with Cochrane. One other person who could have had a hand in this.’
‘Shane McFarlane?’ she asked.
‘Shane McFarlane.’
As he turned the possibilities over in his mind, the clarity that he’d been looking for, the very reason he’d come walking this way in the first place, emerged.
‘Look, hear me out. I have felt very uncomfortable with him turning up out of the blue like he did, and not just because of what he represents and all of the trauma he’s dragged up with it. The timing has been nagging at me. Shane McFarlane rides into town, and suddenly people start dying. Is it just coincidence, or is there more to it? Something more sinister?’
‘Are you trying to tell me you think Shane McFarlane is the Reaper?’ This time the scepticism in her voice was very real.
‘I honestly don’t know. It was a thought that had been rattling around in my brain that on its own didn’t bear much weight, and there was zero evidence other than an uncomfortable feeling about the timing. But now you’ve told me about Gary Cochrane’s murder, I can’t help but wonder if he has had something to do with it all. He’s the only one who knew about that meeting in the park. Did he follow me? See who Nero was? The man has had an uncanny way of finding me when he’s wanted to. He told me it was just luck, but now I’m not so sure.’
Max thought back to that night in the park, trying to do a head count of the people he could recall: the teenagers, the dog walkers. He definitely hadn’t clocked Cochrane, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t there, a shadow in the background.
‘Keep talking.’
‘When we had spoken, when he’d found me in the library those times, he was well aware of the deaths of the people on the street, even asked me if they were suspicious.’
There was a pause again and Max could almost hear the thought processes going on in Meredith’s head.
‘Just to be clear, you told him of the exact date and time you were to meet Nero in the park?’ she asked.
‘Hell no, I told him of the day, but not the time. I didn’t want him to turn up like some avenging angel and fuck up any chance I had of gaining Nero’s trust.’
‘But still, by giving him the day you gave him opportunity,’ she said.
‘I guess I did.’ He couldn’t deny it. ‘Call it a calculated risk. I needed to give him some indication I was actively looking into his case.’ How did he try to explain the fucked-up sense of obligation he felt towards the man. ‘I knew there was nothing stopping him from following me, or staking out the park, but I’d hoped he’d trust me and leave the matter in my hands.’ A part of Max felt like he was chucking him under the bus, but he really was beginning to wonder if the enigma that was Shane McFarlane and the spectre that was the Reaper were one and the same. But could he convince Meredith?
‘I’d like to think that Shane McFarlane had nothing to do with Nero’s death,’ he said at last. ‘But, like I said, there are just too many coincidences to ignore.’
39: Meredith
The man sitting opposite her in the interview room had shown not a flicker of recognition. But, after all, the last time they had seen each other it was in a courtroom at an inquest, at probably one of the worst moments of the man’s life.
Shane McFarlane looked uncomfortable, and she was pleased. If someone was in a police interview room looking unbothered and relaxed, there was something seriously wrong. Most people, and especially people who were innocent, were so worried about putting their foot in it and being accused of something they didn’t do – or even did do – that they squirmed or sat all hunched, trying to make themselves as small as possible. There were only a few people she had encountered in her career who looked relaxed and self-assured in this setting, confident that they would walk out of the room scot-free. They were ‘Teflon men’ – and they had all been men. Narcissists and psychopaths who believed they were untouchable, above the law. Men who she had desperately wanted to see brought down.
This man she didn’t quite know how to gauge. She trusted her gut when it came to her first impressions of people, but she wondered if their previous encounter, even if from a distance, had coloured her judgement.
‘Thank you for coming in today,’ she said. ‘Please be aware we are recording this interview.’
‘I understand,’ he said.
‘This is Detective McCarten.’ McCarten knew when to keep his mouth shut and let her do her job. It hadn’t always been that way and she’d had to remind him on a number of occasions that the fact that he had a dick and a set of balls didn’t override her seniority and ten-plus years’ extra experience. He’d taken a while to convince though.
It had not been difficult to find McFarlane’s phone number. A quick internet search had brought up his current position working for a property development company. Their website was kind enough to have an ‘our people’ section that not only provided a photograph, even if he did look like he’d rather be anywhere else but in front of the camera, but also a cellphone number. The website also showed he was doing a bit more than working for the company – he was a director and shareholder, so had skin in the game. When she had rung to request an interview, he had accepted with no hesitation or difficult questions. Maybe his past experience with the police meant he realised refusal was not really an option, and although not bound to accept as he was not under arrest, any resistance would be noted and potential reasons analysed.
‘As I explained when I rang you this morning, we are investigating the death of Gary Cochrane, and are talking with a number of people to see if they can shed any light on the circumstances of his death,’ Meredith said.
‘Yes, you explained that, but I am still uncertain as to why I am here, because I don’t know anyone by the name of Gary Cochrane. So I don’t really see how I can be of any assistance to you.’
‘So you have never heard of the man?’
‘No.’ He raised his hands from the table and shrugged.
‘Well, thank you for coming in, regardless,’ she said.
‘I didn’t see that I had a choice.’
At least he was being honest there.
‘You may have heard of him by another name – a street name.’
McFarlane frowned. ‘What street name?’
‘He also went under the name Nero.’
There was no hiding the wide-eyed surprise that crossed his face, before he restored the look of vague discomfort he was wearing earlier.
‘You’ve heard that name before?’
He replied with a qualified ‘Yes.’
‘Where have you heard it – can you give me the background?’
He sat up a little straighter. ‘I heard the name Nero when I was talking with a man – a man called Max Grimes.’ He crossed his arms across his chest. ‘Is he the one who gave you my name?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t divulge, at this stage, who suggested you might be able to help us in our enquiries.’
‘It must have been him. I can’t think of anyone else who would do that.’
The faintest hint of something in his tone made Meredith think that Max would have to watch his back after this interview was over. Questions would be asked.
‘Well perhaps you could tell us why you believe that? Have you seen Mr Grimes recently?’
‘Yes, yes I have.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘It would have been on Wednesday, two days ago.’ Which aligned with when Max had said they’d talked.
‘What is your relationship with Max Grimes?’
‘I’d rather not say. It’s complicated.’
Complicated was an understatement, but Meredith needed him to clarify their relationship for the record. A small part of her felt sorry for having to push the issue, but everyone needed transparency here – how McFarlane and Max knew each other would inform the viewpoints of a lot of people investigating the case.
‘It would be helpful if you could give us some context now, as it will make it less likely that we have to call you back for further interviews as the investigation progresses.’
Meredith could see the struggle playing out on McFarlane’s face, and again experienced a pang of remorse. She pushed the feeling away and chided herself for it. The man sitting before her could be the killer of Gary Cochrane, and if Max’s suspicions were to be taken seriously, a number of homeless people. She couldn’t afford to let her empathy impair her judgement.
