Expectant, page 2
‘We will have more details after the postmortem, but the paediatric and gynaecological specialists at the hospital say the child could still be alive, and until this is proved otherwise, we are going to assume that they are. So, this case is now a murder and a kidnapping.’
CHAPTER 3
The air in the CIB room was sombre to say the least. We had all walked back to the office lost in our thoughts. Mine were turbulent, chopping from anger to disgust to disbelief to horror. My hyperactive imagination could almost feel the slice of steel below my belly, and I couldn’t help but wince as my hands, yet again, cupped the precious cargo. I felt a reassuring wriggle within.
‘Well, that’s about the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’ Otto had been around for a long time and had spent considerable time serving overseas, so coming from him that was saying something.
His words broke the ice, and a torrent of comments and exclamations washed around the room. The overwhelming theme was utter disbelief that something so awful could happen in good ole New Zealand, let alone boring Dunners. Dunedin was pretty much Grand Conservative Central. The most exciting things that happened here usually involved drunk students or the ever-present illicit drug scene. This was the kind of abomination that happened in violent, lawless countries, not here. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Not that I wanted to. I was tired and emotional, and afraid my voice might betray me. The banter stopped as suddenly as it started with the arrival of DI Johns – he who must be obeyed.
‘Right, everyone. As you can imagine we are going to be under immense pressure to find whoever did this, and fast. The people of Dunedin are going to be nervous and scared until we get this monster behind bars.’ He didn’t need to point out the obvious, but never missed an opportunity to make a dramatic speech. ‘And it’s not just pressure locally. We’re already fielding calls from international media outlets. The scrutiny will be intense.’
He paused, as if waiting for comment, or acknowledgement. None came.
‘Do you understand?’ he asked, real slow. I resisted the urge to eye-roll.
A murmur of obligatory ‘yes, sir’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ circulated the room.
‘As I said in the station briefing, Detective Smith will be in charge of the operation, and in a moment he will allocate the lead roles.’ Now that he was in a small room with the less-impressionable detectives, rather than leading the briefing to the full cast, The Boss spoke with a little less theatre. A little.
‘The majority of you will be involved in this case, but Detective Shephard, you will be dealing with current cases that are not so urgent.’
What the…? I had already interviewed a potential witness and set the ball rolling for them for support and follow-up statements. Why the hell was I being excluded now? Dick Head Johns had a history of keeping me away from the coal face in investigations and giving me the shit jobs, but I’d thought we’d all grown up a bit and started moving on from there.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand. I’ve already been active in the case from the first callout, why am I not able to continue?’
‘Well, given that you are only going to be here for another few weeks and are on light duties, your time is best used elsewhere, finishing up cases rather than starting on a new one.’ It was semi-reasonable logic, if your idea of logic involved taking a passing glance at a situation and that glance happened to be myopic. I wasn’t about to get shelved that easily. And anyway, I was pretty sure he’d be expecting some pushback. I didn’t want to disappoint.
‘But given the pressure we are under to get this murder solved, as you stated clearly in the briefing, and we’re going to be very much in the spotlight, isn’t it better to have as many detectives working on the case as possible?’
The rest of the room went conspicuously silent, and I could sense everyone holding their breath to see the reaction to someone questioning The Boss’s decisions. It didn’t happen often, and when it did, the results weren’t always favourable. I don’t know whether it was the pregnancy thing, or the lack of sleep thing, or that I’d simply run out of fucks to give when it came to The Boss, but I was in a ‘don’t just accept it’ kind of mood.
The Boss drew in a large breath that made his nostrils flare.
‘Detective Shephard, given your imminent departure for maternity leave, there is no point whatsoever you starting on a new case.’ His tone was careful but tinged with something else. Condescension? Always. But this time with a pinch of … what was that? Concern? Before I could figure out the angle, he dropped the clanger. ‘I also don’t believe, because of your own advanced state of pregnancy, that you would be able to remain objective and emotionally detached from this case.’
The vacuum created by everyone behind me sucking in air almost pulled me backward. I felt a wave of heat rush up my face as my brain absorbed the statement, replaying the words in my head. I couldn’t remain objective? What the actual fuck? My eyes flicked over to Paul and took in the startled look on his face. He gave me a slight shake of the head, his eyes widening with warning. When my eyes found their way back to The Boss, Smithy, standing behind Dick Head Johns, was mirroring Paul’s micro-message. For once they were in agreement. The Boss bore the expression of someone who fully believed they were right, and were being reasonable.
I inhaled deeply and started to count to ten before I had a crack at showing him just how reasonable I thought he was being. By the time I reached five I’d taken in Smithy’s waist-level, hidden hand gestures: You, me, talk. I wanted so badly to ask Johns if that meant he was going to stand Paul down from the case too, because he wouldn’t be able to be objective, being the father of the offending bump and all. I wanted even more badly to ask if that meant every time a bloke was killed, none of the male detectives would be allowed on the case because they couldn’t be objective, because, you know, they all had penises, just like the victim. But at ten I let out the breath I’d been holding, bit my tongue and sucked it up. I was here to win the war, not the battle.
CHAPTER 4
‘Don’t even start. You don’t need to say it.’ Smithy got in first before I could unleash the tirade of anger and frustration he knew was coming. He had wandered along to the kitchenette and was in the process of mixing his standard coffee with three sugars. I was a bit of a coffee snob and only drank the barista variety. His particular brew of instant crap was referred to as ‘tragic coffee’, but only behind his back, of course.
I was just about to say it anyway when Paul appeared around the corner, sliding with Krameresque style and the look of someone about to make a proclamation.
‘And don’t you start either,’ Smithy said, waving his teaspoon.
Paul took pause, noted the waving spoon and turned his attention to me. ‘That was a total load of bollocks. Of course you can be objective. In fact, I’d have thought given that’ – he pointed to my ample girth – ‘you’d be both objective and probably the most motivated person in the room, or at least second-most motivated.’
The vote of confidence made me feel a bit better, but also spurred me on.
‘You know he’d never say something like that to one of you guys, and especially not in front of everyone. He just can’t help shitting on me, arrogant bastard.’
Smithy eyed the open door, tapped his ear then pointed out to the hallway. He was right. It wasn’t exactly private. I lowered my voice, leaning forward to make sure I was heard.
‘He’s a misogynistic—’
‘Yeah, yeah, enough of that. Not denying it.’ Smithy still had his teaspoon in hand and was waving it around like a conductor. ‘And we all know he can’t help himself, but don’t make it worse than it is. You know how he gets when he’s under pressure.’
Did we what.
‘But he was wrong. I should be a part of this investigation. I already have been.’ I thought back to the blood-covered young man I’d counselled earlier. God, I hoped his parents had taken what I said on board. Poor kid. The thought also reminded me how flaming tired I was. I failed to stifle the yawn. Some non-tragic coffee might be in order.
The yawn had been noted though. ‘You really should head home and get some rest. You’ve been up half the night.’
Paul may have been well meaning, but after The Boss’s declaration earlier I’d had quite enough of men making assumptions on my welfare. He looked a little confused at the withering look I gave him.
‘Look, Sam, don’t you worry about The Boss,’ Smithy said. ‘He’s put me in charge of the case, and we need everyone on board. Frankly, we don’t have the staff and the luxury of being selective, and I’m damned if I’ll leave you on the sideline for this. You’ll have a role, just give me a bit of time to figure it out. It may have to be on the periphery though.’
‘To keep off his radar?’ I asked.
‘That’s one thing,’ he said. ‘But also, he is absolutely adamant you won’t be able to be in contact with the victim’s family.’
I chucked him a baffled look.
‘With you finishing up soon, he doesn’t want them getting used to having you working with them and building up that rapport, and then next thing you’re gone. And he does have a point there.’
Somehow I didn’t think The Boss’s motives were that noble.
‘That’s one stance I won’t be able to fudge for you. But if you stop and think about it, it would be a bit tough on them to deal with someone about to have a baby of their own, considering who they’ve just lost, and that their baby is still missing.’
The mere thought of their loss gave me a sick and sinking feeling in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about that. He did have point. For a big-unit bloke with a perpetually grumpy demeanour, Smithy could be thoughtful at times. It made up for some of my other misgivings about him. At least the case was in good hands.
CHAPTER 5
‘Sam, wake up. Sam…’
I startled awake with a big gasp of breath, and a twitch that near threw me off the bed. ‘Shit, what?’
‘You were moaning and yelling out in your sleep.’
‘Ugh, I was?’ I moved my arm out from under me and winced as the pins and needles from sleeping on it weird hit with a vengeance. I checked the time on my watch – 3.35pm – and then deposited the back of the hand on my forehead.
‘Well, you were sort of yelling. You were doing that muffled shouty thing that sounds like you have a pair of socks stuffed in your mouth.’
I smacked my tongue onto the roof of my mouth. It tasted like the said socks had spent a couple of days wrapped around wet feet stuffed in tramping boots. It wasn’t ideal. A remnant wave of the dream Maggie had just rescued me from washed through my mind, and the dread and repulsion it evoked made my eyes well with tears. I squeezed them shut.
‘Hey, you okay?’ I felt her hand rubbing my shoulder. I was but I wasn’t. Maggie was my flatmate, and my rock. Calling her my best friend didn’t even come close to summing up what she meant to me. It wasn’t often in the world you found people who just got you. She got me.
‘Ugh, tough case at work, no sleep, rampant hormones, impending popping, you about to bugger off and leave me, and the worst case of parrot mouth known to mankind, but other than that, I’m fine.’
‘So same old, same old, then?’
‘Yup.’ I managed a smile. I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, but courtesy of my rather changed centre of gravity I had to do a few rocks to get some momentum going. Finally got there. ‘I think tea is in order.’
‘No argument from me.’
We wandered out to the kitchen, and Maggie set about filling the kettle and finding the requisite packet of Toffee Pops biscuits. I stared out the window, trying to replace the tumultuous images in my head with something more calming. The backyard of our house was dense with trees, which as well as providing a sense of peace and solitude, attracted a multitude of native birds. The energetic flitting of a couple of wax-eyes feeding off the bright-yellow flowers of the kōwhai tree provided a welcome antidote to the deep-seated unease from my dreams. Torie the cat sat on the window ledge doing that odd jaw-clacking thing cats do when potential fodder is in their sights. Fortunately for the birds she was on this side of the glass.
‘I’ve caught a few snippets on the news about the woman found down the alley off Moray Place. I’m guessing that’s the case you’re referring to. It sounds pretty horrific.’
Maggie slid me over a mug, and I wrapped my hands around its warmth.
‘It’s the stuff of nightmares.’
She smiled while raiding the biscuit packet. ‘Well that much is obvious. Who the hell could commit an atrocity like that – and why?’
Why indeed? So far my brain had imagined everything from a desperate need to be a parent, to black-market baby snatchers to alien abductions. The last idea only went to prove how tired and distraught I was by the whole thing. I looked down at the rather large bump sitting on my lap. This case was shit timing.
Maggie noticed the direction of my gaze. ‘Do you think you’re up to being part of the investigation?’
If anyone else had asked that question of me I would have shouted them down with the indignance of someone who had an axe to grind and a mind of where to bury it. But because it came from Maggie, I had pause to honestly consider the question. Was I up to it? Could I be objective? There had been plenty of occasions in my professional career when I had needed to set aside my personal views and demons in order to get on with the job. Sometimes that had been successful, on others, spectacularly not. But even in those instances where I had followed my heart rather than my head, my instincts – or some would say my impulsiveness, inability to follow the prescribed rules and general pig-headedness – had provided the breakthrough that was needed, even if it came at a personal cost.
I knew there was no way in hell I would be able to keep emotion out of this investigation, but this wasn’t a case where being emotionally compromised would prevent me from fulfilling my duties. I wasn’t captaining the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, for heaven’s sake. I was trying to find justice for a family in mourning, and, more importantly, justice for a murdered woman, her and her children’s futures stolen. In a way, my unique perspective was a strength. I too was expectant, waiting to bring life into the world. I felt vulnerable, repulsed … and something else. What was it? As I cradled my hands around my belly I realised what I felt was anger. Deep-seated anger. Rage that someone could have committed such an atrocity against someone else – someone so vulnerable. It was that anger that would sustain me through this. It was that anger that would focus my mind, channel my critical thinking. I would find justice for Aleisha Newman. This felt personal.
CHAPTER 6
The morning briefing had been a case of lots on the go but no breakthroughs. Not that anyone in their right mind had expected a miracle overnight – other than the media of course; miracles were good click bait and made it easier to sell papers. The entire front page of the Otago Daily Times had been dedicated to the case, along with the tabloidesque headline ‘Mother Killer Still At Large.’ It wasn’t helpful. The quarter-page photograph beneath the headline showed a windswept family on the esplanade at St Clair Beach on a clear, sunny day. They were in front of the shark bell. My mind was trying to find some strange significance in that. Justin Newman stood, arm around his wife’s shoulders, wisps of Aleisha Newman’s long, dark hair swept across the face of the cherubic girl she was holding in her arms – the cherubic girl holding on to her floral bucket sunhat, trying to keep it on her head. They all wore the grins of people who were having a stellar day. According to the caption beneath the picture, the girl’s name was Charlotte. My heart went out to that wee girl, to the mother she would grow up not knowing, to the family that had been shattered.
The team had sprung into action, canvassing as far and wide as they could with their basic preliminary investigations. Businesses in the immediate vicinity of the alleyway had been called on. Most were retail stores so weren’t open at the time the crime took place, but they were checked to see if they had security-camera footage that had captured anything that could be of assistance. Trouble was, Dunedinites were a trusting lot, so most security footage was of blind spots in the shop and the till area, to spot staff ripping off their bosses. Okay, so maybe they were not that trusting. Coverage of the store entrance was also popular. Unfortunately, most didn’t offer a wider view that included the street. Likewise, the security surveillance of the boutique bars down the alleyway was minimal, generally consisting of the inside of the premises and one external camera trained onto the door. Also not very helpful.
The Rialto movie theatre complex was just across the road, and that would be visited later this morning, as soon as it opened. The last movie had finished at 10.45pm on Monday night, so we were putting the call out to anyone at that screening, in case they noticed anything odd, or saw people acting strangely as they returned to their cars – anything that stood out around the alleyway entrance.
Dunners wasn’t awash with outdoor security cameras like many other cities around the world. Other than down at the university and in studentville, it was only really the nearby Octagon in the city centre that had surveillance, mostly because it was Grand Bar Central at night and the police needed to keep an eye on the drunks.
The overwhelming undercurrent at the meeting had been the sense – and burden – of a ticking clock. Somewhere out there was a newborn, stolen from its mother’s womb. Everyone was still getting to grips with the sheer horror of that thought, and even the most seasoned among us were struggling with it. The usual frisson of excitement over a new investigation was noticeably absent.
