Hermit Page 12

  Lucy carefully folded the map. As they reached the door, Dana turned. ‘Luce? Thanks for listening, and keeping all this to yourself.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Discreet is my middle name. I keep it totally separate from my other names.’ She laughed as they came out into the corridor. ‘Now, you must have seen what I did there.’

  Dana smiled and threw the comment back over her shoulder. ‘I surely did, I surely did.’

  Chapter 13

  Bill was not one for case conferences. He preferred to control the investigation with a series of one-to-ones. It left him at the centre of the web: he could always be sure what was said to whom and what they were required to do. But occasionally he relented. Whenever Dana asked him to relent.

  Already the incident room was amassing heavy air, partly organised detritus and a sense of expectation. In a semi-rural area like this, homicides were few and far between and often easy to detect. Usually domestic, or occasionally neighbours feuding, it was seldom they needed to go deeply into the background of complete strangers. The sense of a tragic waste of a life sat uncomfortably with the tingle of professional anticipation.

  Dana pretended to be studying her notes ahead of time; in reality, she was fending off her own mind. This was still her Day: still the morning of it, in fact. Her brain snapped like a dog at the end of a chain. She underlined some notes for no other reason than to physically move – she felt calcified, unsteady. Her vision floated for a second then she swallowed hard. Best to get on with it and pray she could cope.

  Along one wall was a series of whiteboards. One was headed ‘Cassavette’: a potted history and scanned photos of Lou and Megan from their kayaking triumph. In black: known facts. In blue: likely data that hadn’t been verified. In red: supposition and questions. The same system for the next whiteboard, headed ‘Nathan Whittler’. The third board held underpinning investigation data: who was responsible for what, contact details, information on duty rosters and support such as Forensics and Tech.

  Dana loved preparing for these but hated doing them. She always felt she was treading a poor line between giving everyone their say and providing firm direction and leadership. She believed Bill and – especially – Mike did them better. But the lead detective couldn’t avoid leading the detecting.

  ‘What we know so far,’ she declared, quelling the low-level murmurs. ‘Lou Cassavette – thirty-five, owner of Jensen’s Store, on the Old Derby Road. Bought the place around a year ago. Thought staff were stealing stock then decided instead it was a burglar. Camped out last night in the stockroom. Someone entered the store, possibly via a window; Lou was stabbed at 0530 this morning. One entry wound, no hesitation.’ She pointed at a forensics photo. ‘The knife is still unfound – we’re doing a close search. I believe it’s still in the vicinity. Arrested one Nathan Whittler, who was kneeling by the body. He has the victim’s blood on his hands, and there is significant evidence that he was the burglar. No known connection between the two men.’

  She paused, wondering if the silence was rapt attention or merely politeness. Dana took the bull by the horns.

  ‘You might be asking yourselves why we’re bothering to investigate at all. Why this isn’t a slam-dunk.’

  The mutters and shuffled movement told her she was dead-on.

  ‘Lou Cassavette died this morning, at someone’s hand. He is the one we owe a duty of care: he deserves the truth to be known. It’s easy here to get drawn into just one story, just one narrative. That isn’t serving Lou Cassavette’s interests. A comprehensive and careful investigation, however, will do so. Let’s all keep that in mind.

  ‘The store was illegally entered via the window, but there’s no physical proof of who did so. Whittler is favourite. He could claim that he’s the burglar but not the killer. While Whittler was found in the store, there is no evidence that proves he stabbed Cassavette. If his fingerprints eventually turn out to be on the knife, he could conceivably have been trying to remove it. He has Cassavette’s blood on his hands – through gloves, mind – and nowhere else. That can be argued as an attempt at first aid – we have no splatter or spray. There are no other forensics – so far – relating him to the body prior to the stabbing. There are no fingerprints of his – yet – anywhere else in the store; nor are there fibres. Forensically speaking, he floated into the store, hovered above the dead body, maybe attempted first aid. And that’s it.

  ‘Equally, we have no motive whatsoever for the killing. Not for anyone, including Whittler. We can’t connect Whittler yet to the Cassavettes, or to the store. As far as we can prove, he hasn’t even shopped there. Instead, we have a total vacuum about his life for well over a decade. So, ladies and gentlemen, this is far from a done deal. And while it remains that way, we look at every angle and every conceivable alternative. Mikey, anything coming up on background?’

  ‘Getting there, yeah.’ Mike stood and picked up a sheaf of papers, which he used like a laser pointer towards the whiteboards. ‘Lou had a substantial debt. Most of it to buy the place outright, but he’d borrowed again to turn part of it into a café. Last month he loaded up a business overdraft to cover day-to-day losses. He was going backwards, basically.’

  ‘So any kind of stock loss would be getting on his nerves, yeah?’ Bill chirped from a half-shadow in the corner, his arms folded.

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Dana. ‘According to his wife, Megan, he also thought it was a point of principle. So maybe that made him more belligerent when the burglar turned up.’

  Lucy raised a hand. ‘Hi, devil’s advocate here. So that supports a view that the fight in the store was accidental. So that Whittler – sorry, the assailant we haven’t confirmed yet – didn’t go with any violent intent. Hence the packet-of-knives routine. Cassavette comes over all outraged, there’s a scuffle that won’t stop, the assailant grabs something handy, and boom.’

  ‘That’s a plausible scenario,’ agreed Dana. ‘I think that might be Whittler’s story.’

  ‘We haven’t asked him yet. We’ve spoken to him twice, yeah?’ Stuart Risdale, a twenty-year veteran and leader of the search teams as required. A man with a padded and ageing Labrador, and becoming more like his pet every day. His tone was polite enough. She noted the collegiate ‘we’ when he meant ‘you, Dana’ – Bill encouraged team vocabulary – but the question was valid.

  ‘Three times, actually. I get it, Stu. Other than the victim, he’s the only person we can currently place anywhere near the scene at that hour. When we initially broached it in Custody, he physically recoiled. It’s a fine line, and we’ll probably only get one realistic shot at it. So this one needs a slow build-up. Plus, at the moment, we’re getting Whittler with no external edit. We’re on the twenty-four-hour limit with that – the court will step in tomorrow morning. Once he lawyers up, we lose all the information in Whittler’s head. His lawyer will make it very clear he’s to say nothing until a trial. And believe me, this guy knows how to stop talking.’

  She turned from Risdale to the room in general. ‘We need to approach it gradually, and we need to acquire information that helps us challenge or confirm anything he says. That’s our advantage right now: he’s speaking without a legal filter. That’s a limited-time offer: we can’t afford to waste it.’

  Bill nodded sagely from the touchline and Dana felt boosted by the support.

  She turned back to Mike. ‘What else on the Cassavettes?’

  Mike nodded at the use of the plural. ‘So, neither show up on any local intelligence. Nathan Whittler’s brother does: twice. For assault, and for threatening behaviour.’

  Dana leaned in. ‘Hmm. Circumstances?’

  Mike flipped through some more notes. ‘Ah, here we go. Jeb – for that is his name – was twice cited for incidents outside locked construction areas. Looks like both times were arguments with union reps who were trying to stop non-union labour such as Jeb walking through. Scuffles, big talk, lots of that bristling thing, and presumably some shoving. No blood, no fractures, no c
harges, no convictions.’

  ‘But a propensity for violence. We need to speak to the brother anyway, as he’s the last living relative for Nathan. But dig some more on that, please, Mikey: it might be ammo.’

  ‘Shall do. So, as I say, neither Lou nor Megan show up locally. But Lou is on the state system, according to my source at Central.’

  Lucy nudged Mike’s leg. ‘All your sources at Central, Mikey. Are they one person who’s very busy, or lots of different people?’

  ‘I can neither confirm nor deny either of those options, or any other. So Lou shows up as having links to some regional players in money laundering. Old buddies, neighbours from way back – nothing official. Central thought he might be using his previous store to wash cash; but the investigation never got far. I’ve asked my source to dig deeper. I’ll get back to you on it.’

  Dana nodded. ‘Okay. Background on the couple so far?’

  ‘They married three years ago. I found one of those newspaper articles they only publish after the happy couple get back from honeymoon – so they don’t get burgled while they’re away.’

  ‘Or in case they die doing the parascending thing,’ chirped Lucy.

  ‘Optimist. Anyway, their heart-warming backstory is that they were teenage sweethearts. Lost touch after school, met years later in a supermarket car park. Be still my bleeding heart . . .’

  ‘Wait,’ interjected Dana. ‘She’s the same age as him? Truly?’

  Mike checked his notes. ‘He’s thirty-five, she’s . . . yeah, thirty-four. Both thirty-one on their wedding day. Yeah. She’s aged better than him, huh?’

  ‘Definitely. I’d have put her mid-twenties. Anything else?’

  ‘The phone records and computers from Lou turn up nothing unusual. Except porn-site visits.’

  ‘That’s unusual?’ Stuart glanced around the room. ‘Asking for a friend . . .’

  Mike chuckled. ‘What’s unusual is an uptick from a fairly steady routine. I wondered if it might suggest tension within the marriage. Sure enough: Megan’s laptop says she’s had three meetings with a lawyer in the last month: Spencer Lynch. This guy specialises in divorce. Last meeting was yesterday – a one-hour conference at his office.’

  There was a slight frisson in the room. This station was used to domestic-led homicides in all their forms: this new option fitted their comfort zone.

  Bill’s voice drifted in from an angle. ‘Lynch? Met him. Bottom-feeder. Only does divorces and challenging pre-nups. No slicing up your ex – no fee. He’s exactly like you’d think he’d be.’

  Dana nodded and turned back to Mike. ‘Does anything confirm Megan’s alibi for the time of death?’

  ‘Nope. Waiting on Megan’s mobile records. Uniform will be canvassing neighbours after this meeting, in case they saw anything for that time. According to Lou’s phone, she sent a text to Lou at 2330 – he replied 2331. There’s nothing on her home phone after 7 p.m. until 0628, which was a call to her mother.’

  Dana nodded. ‘Yes, she rang her mother while I was there doing The Knock: I can verify that. Are we sure we have all their phones covered?’

  ‘I’ve checked all the networks for Lou, for home and work addresses. Still waiting on Megan, so not closed yet. It’s possible someone has a pay-as-you-go hidden away, but otherwise, we’re good.’

  ‘So Megan has no alibi. Any signs of a lover, or is she only disgruntled?’

  Mike swapped one sheaf for another, this one stapled. ‘Okay, so her laptop was more useful than Lou’s. She’s booked a trip to Paris for next month. One ticket, return. She’s been chatting on social media with a number of people, most of whom look to be old friends from the city. Nothing there to suggest anything other than being fed up of living here, wishing she hadn’t come. I never see my husband, the spark’s gone, etcetera. If I was guessing – and I am – I’d say pissed off, but maybe hadn’t decided to leave yet.’

  ‘That fits my impression when I spoke to her. So no one’s cheating?’

  ‘Not yet, no . . . as far as we know. Lou has nothing suspicious or flirtatious going on. She has a few possibly overly friendly colleagues, judging by the emails. But without knowing her or the kind of work atmosphere, that might be a reach. She’s very attractive, judging by the photos, so the flirting might be one-way.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dana looked around the room in case there were any further questions or clarifications. ‘So, actions around Cassavette. One, I want to know for sure if he had a weapon on him, or any trace of one. If we’re calling murder as the charge, it matters. Stuart, please take that: the forensics on Cassavette’s body should be nearly finished by now.

  ‘Two, I want to know about the lawyer – that bothers me for some reason, and I want it cleared up: why the visits, how far down the line was Megan, and so on. Mikey – either you or I need to speak to that lawyer today, please.

  ‘Three, uniform will be doing house-to-house. As we know to our cost from last year, failing to do it right causes a lot of heartache. It’s a new estate in Earlville they live on; someone will be stuck there all day with nothing to do but twitch the curtains – you can count on that. Whoever finds that person gets themselves a goldmine.

  ‘Four, we need to get through all the current and recent employees at Jensen’s Store. Mikey will kick that off, supplemented by uniforms as they come off the house-to-house. Lou thought his team were ripping him off – the only two cameras were on the cash register and the stockroom. If someone working there had a grudge, we need to be able to pin down their alibi. I don’t want Whittler’s lawyer – when he gets one – having an alternate explanation based on bitter ex-employees. Luce, can you co-ordinate those, please?’

  Dana paused; her mind began to stumble. Like grabbing something underwater, her perception was a little off, the target drifted away from her grasp. She pretended to cough so she could draw breath and refocus.

  ‘Forensics have already done a sweep of the area around the store. No witnesses; no apparent signs to follow up. We’re – sorry, Lucy’s – chasing down any CCTV from around there, but it’s a mainly rural area with a few choice properties. All the wealthy homes might have their cameras pointed at themselves, not the end of the driveway. We’ll keep on that, but it’s yielding nothing yet.’

  Dana turned to the second whiteboard as Lucy wrote up the policy book – the official record of how the investigation was conducted.

  ‘Sooo . . . Nathan Whittler. I suppose I should introduce you all to Mr Whittler. He’s uh, quite something.’

  She glanced at Bill, who grinned.

  ‘Whittler was born in Earlville in 1980. Son of Martin and Pamela, who are no longer with us; one brother, Jeb, as Mikey outlined. We’re hoping to speak to the brother soon; he’s arriving from overseas. Everything in Whittler’s life appears to stack up until 2004. He was living with his family up to that point. Luce, what was he doing for work until then?’

  Lucy flicked back a page in a file, although Dana knew she had the entire thing memorised. It was a Lucy gesture to sometimes play down her capability to a group; Dana still couldn’t quite fathom why she did it.

  ‘Living with his parents, as you say. He was . . . an apprentice cabinet maker, at Pringles Furniture. It’s an antiques place in Earlville. Apprentice since he was eighteen, so six years. Either cabinets are more complicated than I thought, or he’s a slow learner.’

  Letting the chuckling ride, Dana added, ‘Based on talking to him, I’d say he’s a perfectionist. Probably learned quickly enough – he is bright – but couldn’t bear to finish anything until it was perfect.’

  ‘Okay. But that was pretty much all he did, that we have records on. Other than learning to drive, and in 2004 buying a second-hand Corolla and breaking an arm. So, you know; dream life.’

  Dana took a deep breath. ‘In 2004 he pretty much falls off every radar we have. Just goes. Nothing. Everything we have on him after that time is based purely on what he’s told us, which may be a pack of lies. He has no credit card, n
o phone, no Medicare use, no employment or social security details from Centrelink, and no movements in his bank account; he’s totally off-grid for all records that we have. Luce, interstate?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘The ones we border: zero. Same as us – never heard of him before, have no records.’

  ‘Thought so. And nothing abroad . . . ?’ – she glanced at Bill for a confirmatory nod – ‘that we’ve caught up to, either. We don’t know what kicked off him walking out on the family. He won’t say, and the parents are both now dead: a tragic but routine car wreck in 2007, apparently. So Whittler went off in 2004 and didn’t look back; we have no idea where, why or how.’

  She moved closer to the second whiteboard and pointed to the red writing – the supposition, the assumptions.

  ‘What little he’s told us so far is that he went into the woods in or near the national park, constructed some sort of camp and stayed there for fifteen years. He existed by stealing, I believe, though he’s reluctant to discuss it. I don’t think he built a farm or turned into a master fisherman, and we have no evidence of him generating an income. So it looks like he lived wild, stealing food and other things he needed.’

  A hand went up. Rainer Holt, a very keen uniform.

  ‘Yes, Rainer?’

  ‘To steal all you need for fifteen years – wouldn’t we have come across that? We don’t get so many burglaries. Unless he was driving into the city to do them.’

  Dana jolted. She hadn’t really considered Whittler lying about the car, keeping it somewhere and riding at night into the city to burgle there. She’d made a crass assumption about his honesty and that this was all local. She could feel her face tingle.

  Rainer continued. ‘To steal all that you need – not only food, but everything – you’d have to be pretty prolific. We’ve caught all our regulars at some point in the past fifteen years, no?’ He glanced around the room at some of the older uniforms.

  Risdale nodded, and so did Mike. Dana could see that the room was fifty–fifty on whether Nathan was spinning an outrageous lie, or had done what he claimed. Maybe the suggestion of living wild locally was all talk – throwing her off the scent of a burglar with wheels. An image flashed through Dana’s mind of Nathan’s hands – white, well kept, neat . . . indoorsy.