The Summertime Dead Read online

  ‘You’ve got the drapes shut though.’

  ‘It keeps the house from getting too hot.’

  ‘You’re lucky you can get out in the sun sometimes. Look at me, stuck in the station all day long and only getting out to talk to people who generally aren’t much interested in talking to me. When you get home it’s finding something to eat, watching a little television.’

  ‘I take it you’re not married then, Gene?’

  ‘No, I’ve never been hitched. I never thought I wanted to, or it didn’t work out for one reason or another. I thought it would slow me down when I wanted to get on as a detective. I suppose there’s no way of knowing now whether it did or didn’t.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as though you’re ancient now. Lots of people get married in their thirties and forties,’ she said, softening toward him. ‘You never know how things turn out whatever your situation. There are no guarantees about anything.’

  She immediately regretted saying it, realising he might use it as an opportunity to fire a shot across her bows, something smart about Terry, a quip about that not turning out.

  But he didn’t. Instead he said, ‘You’re on the money there,’ as he drained his glass.

  ‘How is your investigation progressing? I saw you on the news last night,’ she said.

  ‘Except for the locals, I give the reporters a few more days before they move on to some other outrage. By the end of tomorrow they won’t be getting enough from this place to sell a single newspaper, or to keep people glued to their television sets. I suppose your husband has told you, we need to knock a few heads together now, or get a lucky break to move things along in the Furnell case.’

  ‘Terry never says anything about work,’ she said.

  ‘That kid Furnell. It’s him, but we just can’t prove it yet.’

  ‘I feel sorry for that family. And of course for the Faradays and Quades. You can’t quite believe that something like that would happen in a town like this.’

  ‘Oh, I could believe it,’ he said. ‘It’s just others that don’t want to admit to what’s right in front of their faces.’ He checked his watch. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to leave you in a pickle, especially when I arrived unannounced, so I’d better get going.’ He stood and put his hat on. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

  He smiled as she rose too. Her tanned arms, the warm look she gave him, her fingers pinching her dress. They all said something to him.

  ‘Thank you, Gene,’ she said, standing so close they almost brushed as he moved past her and through the door.

  ‘If you’re ever near the Casablanca one evening wander by and say hello. I’m number 12, right at the end,’ he said. ‘Good to see you again.’

  He didn’t turn back to look at her as he wandered along the path and into the street, humming a tune as he went.

  ‘Yes …’ she murmured.

  She closed the door gently and walked to the kitchen, leant over the Laminex bench by the sink and pressed her face against its top.

  ‘Oh hell,’ she said, her arms reaching over its cool marbling.

  Chapter 15

  Rosaleen Faraday’s funeral was held on a Thursday morning, on a day that started out hot and only grew hotter with the arrival of a strong northerly wind.

  Cole, Fielder, Quattrochi and Risdale maintained a discreet presence during the funeral mass, seating themselves in the very back row at the church, each calmly taking note of who was in attendance. All the church doors were open to allow for the movement of air.

  Lee Furnell entered the church to their right after the priest began the service. He seemed almost invisible as he slunk through the doorway and by the holy water font, by the rack of booklets spruiking funds for missionaries in places Cole had never heard of.

  Fielder noted Furnell too, the boy doing his best to melt into the dark wood of the church’s panelled back wall.

  ‘Do you think he’s goading us? Wanting to rub our faces in it?’ he whispered to Cole.

  ‘She was his girlfriend,’ Cole whispered back. ‘Whether he did it or not, he must be feeling something.’

  Fielder turned slightly toward him, his voice barely audible. ‘Regret probably, that he can’t get her into the back seat of his car anymore, can’t give her a good feel up. You’re too inclined to think the best of people, Lloyd. In my experience, the more you give people the benefit of the doubt, the more they’ll use it against you. That boy here now. To me it’s a personal attack.’

  As the mass began, Cole recognised the ruddy-faced priest as the kindly fellow he’d met the first time he had gone to speak with the Faradays, before she’d been found, where the priest had taken it upon himself to organise a roster of support for the family.

  But now that the worst possible outcome for the Faradays had eventuated, the service was a grim affair, the priest’s soft voice barely heard over the shuffling and sobbing from the pews. The three readings were perfunctory. A sparrow flew in through the open back door and for a while provided a welcome diversion as it flitted between roofing beams.

  Down the centre aisle Cole could see the coffin on its trolley near the carpeted steps to the altar, heard the priest press on.

  Cole studied his hands. Someone had killed that girl, taken her from her family and so far they weren’t even close to discovering who had done it. Fielder and the other two were after a quick fix, but as he glanced again at Lee Furnell standing timidly against the wall he appeared the last person in the world capable of cold-blooded murder. It took someone with a particular motive to do that, someone who was always going to make sure no one was left behind to speak of what had happened. These weren’t hot-headed murders, but something more calculated. The way her clothes had been left in that neat little pile spoke of it. The girl was the real target and always had been. Max Quade was just a witness who had gotten in the way.

  As Cole’s eyes fixed on the priest in his black robes, the censer swinging back and forth in his hands, he knew a terrible mistake was being made.

  When the service ended the four policemen got into Cole’s car and followed the procession to the cemetery just outside of town.

  As they idled along with Fielder in the seat beside him, his long fingers drawing another cigarette from his packet, Cole knew a question was coming.

  ‘Max Quade’s funeral is tomorrow,’ he said, anticipating it.

  ‘I bet we won’t see Lee Furnell at that one,’ Fielder said. ‘He’d be too frightened to front up to Quade’s family from what I’ve seen of them so far. They’re baying for blood.’

  ‘Yes, and it wouldn’t matter whose,’ Cole said, hot air blowing through the car’s windows.

  ‘They know who’s responsible. It’s only a matter of time before he fesses up.’

  ‘I don’t think he will.’

  Fielder looked at him inquiringly.

  ‘He knows he didn’t do it,’ Cole continued. ‘He’s a frightened kid, but he’s not going to admit to something he didn’t do. I’ve heard his father speak about him. He loved that girl. And after what happened to her he’s not going to give in whatever we do to him. He’d see it as dishonouring her somehow, if he couldn’t be stronger.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were capable of such penetrating insights, Lloyd,’ Fielder said. ‘You’re quite the shrink.’

  The two detectives in the back seat chuckled.

  ‘I’m not plucking this out of nowhere,’ Cole said. ‘Look at that kid. I know him, and I know his family. They’re just decent, hard-working people. They might not be the smartest people in the world, or the richest, but they scratch around making a living like everyone else. Lee Furnell is no different to his old man. He’ll eventually take over the garage and be a reasonable mechanic like Ray. But he’s no rapist, and he’s not a murderer. We’re going the wrong way with this thing.’

  ‘In your very humble opinion.’ Fielder
said, exhaling smoke that blew back around them as he wound up his window. ‘But time will tell, Lloyd, and the clock is ticking for your friend Mr Furnell.’

  When they got out of the car Cole realised Phillip Jarvis had left his cricket bag from Saturday’s game on the floor of the back seat. All week and he hadn’t noticed. He’d have to drop it off to him. The cricket season had ended on a good note with a narrow win, but last Saturday already seemed a long time ago.

  Between all the recent events the police station was run off its feet. Two newspaper reporters were hovering outside again and the temperature inside the building was soaring. The ceiling fan was doing little more than shunt hot air around.

  As Cole and Holloway retreated to an office, Fielder went to the front counter in search of his mail only to find Audrey Holloway on the other side of the counter casting her eyes about for her husband.

  ‘Oh, it’s you again!’ he joked.

  ‘Yes, it’s me again,’ she laughed.

  ‘And what can I do for you, Audrey?’ he smiled.

  ‘Terry’s lunch,’ she answered, holding up a brown paper bag. ‘He forgot it in the rush to get here this morning. So here it is.’

  ‘That’s a shame then,’ Fielder said, his voice low. ‘I thought you might have come here to see me.’

  ‘I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Gene.’

  ‘Then, to have your undivided attention, all I need to do is to slow down a trifle, is that it?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Well, that’s how I took it.’

  ‘Mistakenly, I’d say.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘Constable Whittaker! Would you mind passing this to Terry when you see him?’ she called, handing the bag to the young constable. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Terry’s in a meeting, but you’re welcome, Mrs Holloway,’ he answered before returning to his desk.

  ‘And you’re very welcome, too,’ Fielder whispered to her. ‘That invitation to come to the motel. It’s still open, you know.’ He winked. ‘And try to stay cool today, Audrey.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind,’ she said, doing her best to conceal the grin on her face as she turned to go. ‘Goodbye, Gene.’

  Chapter 16

  The next morning Cole was idly chatting with Holloway when the station door clattered open. Fielder strolled in with a copy of The Sun folded under his arm. Quattrochi and Risdale followed, marching Lee Furnell in between them.

  ‘You can join us, Lloyd. I want you to see what a real cross-examination looks like,’ Fielder said.

  Cole reluctantly trailed after him to the interview room, where the door was slammed shut behind them.

  He knew Ray Furnell would be on his case again before long, and that there’d be nothing he could reassure him about.

  Fielder and Risdale, a disarmingly mild-looking man, sat side by side opposite Lee Furnell, Cole in a chair behind them. The gruffer Quattrochi slouched against the wall near their quarry.

  The room was stifling and Fielder loosened his tie, Quattrochi and Risdale removing theirs.

  ‘It gets pretty hot in the garage on a day like this I bet,’ Fielder said to Furnell. ‘A hundred degrees or more under that tin roof I’d imagine?’

  Furnell nodded.

  ‘Your old man allow you some latitude on a day like this?’

  Furnell looked up inquiringly.

  ‘Give you some time off?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘But not often, hey?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When you could be running around after pretty girls, go down the lake or somewhere quiet, maybe with a cool one. If it were me, that’s where I’d prefer to be. Not in a stinking hot garage.’ He spoke slowly, deliberately. ‘You got any other girls on the scene?’

  ‘No.’

  Fielder took a cigarette from his packet, tapped the filter end on the table several times and then put it between his lips. Without taking his eyes off Furnell he drew a box of matches from his pocket and lit the cigarette.

  ‘You’d be sure of that?’

  But the boy was frightened, confused about what he was being asked.

  ‘Maybe … yes.’

  ‘Only maybe?’

  Fielder drew laconically on his cigarette, leant back in his chair.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re not sure then?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About another girl on the scene. But you don’t sound very sure about that at all, Lee. You know Tracey Piper?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to ask her out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? I heard you’ve been talking to a lot of girls in town.’

  Furnell shook his head in denial.

  ‘Ruby Bunn at the London Milk Bar. I heard you’ve been talking with her.’ Fielder tapped the ash from his cigarette into the glass ashtray. ‘You see Lee, we know a lot of things about you. Where you go. Who you talk to. What you do when you go on one of those little walks of yours up the street.’ He leant back further. ‘I don’t think you could beat yourself off without us knowing about it.’ Quattrochi laughed. ‘So don’t think for a minute that we’re just going to go away, Lee, because we’re not. We’re going to be watching you every minute, every hour, every day until you come clean with me. And not just me either, but Senior Sergeant Cole here, and Detective Quattrochi behind you there. And trust me, you don’t want to see the look on his face right now. But I’ll tell you something for free, Lee,’ he said, pulling his chair closer to the table now and leaning an elbow on the table. ‘The criminals Detective Quattrochi is used to dealing with in Melbourne make you look like Snow White. These criminals around the docks, in Port Melbourne and South Melbourne, they don’t think twice about cutting off a man’s fingers or toes with bolt cutters. Or his dick if they’re especially annoyed with him. And that’s the sort of people we have to deal with on a daily basis, Lee. And to fight them we have to be like them, fight fire with fire. There’s no quarter given, pal. And now here we are sitting around a table at the Mitchell police station like old chums, right out here in the middle of nowhere having a chat, and with you wasting our time, when we could and should be dealing with serious criminals. Can you see how frustrating this might be for us, Lee?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, but quietly, as if he knew what was coming.

  ‘Well that’s a good thing, that Lee here can see our point of view, wouldn’t you say, detectives?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Quattrochi agreed, fidgety on his feet. ‘And if I was you, shithead,’ he told the boy. ‘I’d be seeing it quick smart too, because if I didn’t I’d know I was going to be in some serious fucking trouble.’

  Fielder went on, ‘Because we want you to understand how serious this is for us, and how valuable our time is. We all want to draw this case to a close right now don’t we? And I’m afraid that you’re the only person who can do that for us, Lee.’

  ‘If I knew I’d tell,’ Furnell said.

  ‘But you don’t, Lee. And that’s the whole thing. You don’t tell us anything.’ Fielding let silence hang over them for several minutes before he continued. ‘I suppose you’ve been reading all the newspapers? Taking a keen interest in the story?’ He pushed his copy of The Sun into the space between them on the table, then picked it up and leafed through its pages until he was a little way in. ‘See here now. One tiny paragraph on page six. Among other things, it says, Investigations into the double-murder at Mitchell are continuing. Police have confirmed that a number of suspects have still not been ruled out.’ Fielder slapped the paper down so hard Furnell jumped with fright. ‘Seems like a number of things haven’t been ruled out yet. Including you. Doesn’t that make you just a bit uneasy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well it should. It really should, Lee. Because tw
o people have been killed and everyone wants to know what I’m going to do about it.’ He laced the fingers of his hands together and pressed them against his chin. ‘Do you know that Detective Quattrochi behind you there considers himself something of an intellectual? He reads all the newspapers, even understands the words sometimes. Isn’t that right, detective?’

  ‘Too right, Mr Fielder.’

  ‘And Lee, see how Detective Quattrochi addresses me as Mr, not Detective. That’s because people my rank are like the top medical people. The top doctors are called Mr Brown or Mr White, or Mr Fielder. No one calls them Doctor. Respect, Lee. It’s a mark of respect, but right now I don’t think that you’re showing me much respect.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you are. I really don’t think you are, Lee. Detective Quattrochi. Take this newspaper, if you will, and read the part in it about respect to Mr Furnell please.’

  ‘You got it.’

  Furnell heard but couldn’t see the detective rolling up the newspaper tightly into a baton, and neither he or Cole was ready for the rain of blows that suddenly fell on him as Fielder and Risdale watched on. Cole flinched as Furnell slipped to the floor with Quattrochi belting into him with all the force he could muster. The detective struck wherever Furnell’s hands couldn’t defend himself and it went on and on through a rain of invective until Furnell’s nose bled profusely and his lip split open.

  Cole jumped up. ‘That’s enough!’

  Fielder ignored him, calmly continuing, ‘And they say newspapers don’t make any impression on people these days, that it’s all television.’

  ‘Enough!’

  Fielder raised his hand to stop the assault. ‘Get back up on the chair and look at me, Lee,’ he told Furnell.

  The boy was crying, looking about fourteen through his tears as Risdale threw him a handkerchief for his bleeding nose.

  Fielder had both hands on the table now, observing his quarry coolly.