all get the same one? To study, I mean.’
‘No, there’s a selection.’
‘Why’d you pick this one?’
‘They hand them out randomly. I got another case. But some of us were comparing and I recognised a name on this one and was interested. The person who got it originally was happy to swap.’ The person who got it originally was Howard, and he was willing to do anything to increase his chances of getting into her knickers.
‘What, Des’s name?’
‘No. One of the detectives.’
‘It was a Homicide demon that twigged. About the pantry, I mean. Had us pull the whole bloody thing apart. Weren’t real happy – till we saw the loot. I mean took a whole bloody day. But he was so bloody certain. Secret panel an’ all. Sharp boy. Young fella. Then, I mean. Not so young now I guess. Tall, fair hair. Can’t remember the name. Had a theory about the phone too, if I recall.’
She was still young enough to think she was brighter than Day-Glo at times, and old enough to know she wasn’t. But she couldn’t help it; she had to strut her stuff. There were only a limited number of positions available for interstate coppers on courses at the prestigious Victoria Police Detective Training School. Her super had recommended her for one of them. She knew she was chosen on merit, she didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. But she had to show off.
‘She knew.’ Swiftly, before he could expound.
‘What?’ He shot her a look.
‘His mother knew what Des was doing. That’s why she didn’t use the phone. She knew something had gone wrong. Rather die than make things worse for him. No greater love.’
He glanced at her suspiciously. ‘You sure you didn’t read the file?’
‘A bit of speculation like that wouldn’t be in it anyway,’ she pointed out. He conceded. He huffed an appreciative sound.
‘Huh! You’re good. I mean, no wonder your boss picked you. That’s exactly what the Homicide cop reckoned. The blond bloke.’
‘I’ve no doubt he did,’ she said with a small private smile.
He cast her another suspicious glance. ‘Smarter than a pop-up toaster, that one.’
And by extension, me too, she thought smugly.
‘There’s Wally’s place,’ he said suddenly. Something like an embossed impression of a house slipped by through the silvery slick trees. ‘And on a clear day you can see the house over there across the valley. Can’t even make out the valley today. But, I mean, there’s nothing there to see anymore, really.’
‘No worries,’ she said. ‘I’ll just soak up the ambience.’
‘Well, I mean, okay,’ he grinned. ‘If that’s what turns you on.’
7
He’d waited as long as he reasonably could, as long as politeness would allow. He always tried to squeeze as much time and as many words as possible between utterance of the two names. Then, hopefully, the inevitable reference would be overlooked.
‘Oh, and did I introduce Detective Sergeant Beverley Nunn?’ Detective Senior Sergeant Ian Buckley inquired artlessly.
He glanced at the aforesaid sergeant and could discern the pressure of her tongue in her downy cheek. The man in the chair showed no inkling that he had made the connection. Either didn’t get it, had a sophisticated sense of humour or didn’t give a damn.
Buckley cradled the notion that Beverley Nunn and he had not been tethered in partnership by accident. It was someone’s idea of a joke. It annoyed the hell out of him. He had a sense of humour, but this was irresponsible. It undermined their authority as soon as they identified themselves. Bev shrugged and said it was his problem. Call them Nunn and Buckley, she said. But that just appeared as if he was self-consciously avoiding the obvious and made it worse – in his opinion.
The man in the chair nodded and smiled at Beverley Nunn. They all smiled at Beverley Nunn – at first. She made Cate Blanchett look like the Wicked Witch of the West. In the nice cop nasty cop ploy, however, Bev was the nasty cop; but they kept that up their sleeves. It compensated some for the Buckley and Nunn handicap.
‘Thank you for coming in,’ said Buckley. They were in one of the less intimidating interview rooms in the Victoria Police Complex in St Kilda Road, but it was still severe in design and austere in furnishing. ‘We were willing to come to you.’
‘No trouble,’ their interviewee said amiably.
Most people didn’t like cops to be seen calling, but if they were in plain clothes, given a choice most would opt for a home ground advantage. But this one, maybe this was his home ground.
‘As I said on the phone,’ Buckley began. ‘Sergeant Nunn and I are from Ethical Standards. More or less the equivalent of IID in your day.’
‘I read the papers,’ he smiled.
‘We have been assigned to review police practice and procedure in the matter of the siege, and subsequent shooting, of Ben Bovell,’ Buckley continued. ‘This is routine in these circumstances, it isn’t a criminal investigation and you’re here as a friendly witness. Now I realise you know all this and may have participated in similar inquiries when you were a member of the police force.’ Buckley knew he had. A very big Internal Investigations Department investigation – shortly before he resigned. ‘But, as you know, I need to cover the formalities. It is your right to have legal advice if you wish, but this is an internal investigation of the behaviour of the police not of any civilians incidentally involved.’
There was no sign of anything other than calm patience in the blue eyes.
‘Our main concern is to learn as much as we can from the situation so we can improve procedures in the future,’ Buckley pressed on. ‘You will do no one any harm by being completely honest and candid.’
Completely honest – that was the thing. When Buckley went looking for background from someone who’d known this man back when, they’d shepherded him to Neville Marks in Homicide. Marks was supposed to know him better than most. They had been through the Academy together and were said still to have an association. He’ll tell you the truth and nothing but the truth – but if you want the whole truth you’ll have to ask all the right questions: that’s what Marks had said. Well here we go, thought Buckley.
‘Do you have any objection to our recording this interview? It will be used to ensure accuracy in our report.’
A small shake of the head. He flicked the switch and made the usual motherhood statement.
‘Would you state your name, please, and present address?’
He did so.
Buckley identified himself and Nunn for the benefit of the recording. ‘Mr Edge, David – may I call you David? Good – David, on July fourteenth you were contacted by an officer of the Special Operations Group who informed you of the situation at the day-care centre at one hundred and nine Curtin Street, Hawthorn, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘The circumstances were clearly and fully explained to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘In particular, that Ben Bovell was in a hostage siege situation, threatening to take his life and that of his daughter and would not speak to anyone but you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you agreed to attend the scene and speak to Ben?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you feel that you were coerced or placed under undue moral pressure at any