Carter Thompson Mysteries

Chapter 3

Carter ‘Cash’ Thompson parked his Hyundai I30 in an undercover parking lot on Ward Ave known for its drug dealers. The Hyundai was a reward from his boss in the Prosecutors Office for his years of service. He laughed whenever he thought about it. Piece of s**t it was. But it wasn’t a car that you looked at and said, cop. That’s why he was given it. It was efficient, reliable, and had more grunt than he expected. Maybe it was growing on him. He worked on his own. That was the deal. If he needed anyone, he had a guy.

Thompson had light brown skin, was handsome, an indigenous bloke. He was tall at a touch under 195 cm with long, strong, sinewy arms. He worked out, ran, bodysurfed, swam in the pool at the Diggers Club too so he wasn’t bulky more tough, wiry, and strong. He had the sweetest straight right hand when it was needed too. From when he trained at Hector’s Gym in Redfern. Had a few fights too. Knock you on your back it would. He always wore black Levi’s or black suit pants, a black T-shirt, or a long-sleeved black shirt in winter with a brown leather jacket, like a suit jacket in style. Strong heavy black shoes summer or winter. That way he didn’t have to think about things.

He walked along Ward Ave smoking a cigarette, it had been raining, making it even steamier than the day and night before. The temperature in the mid-thirties. He cut right up Roslyn Street past the Piccolo Bar, Round Midnight. Walked across a near-empty Darlinghurst Road into the Carrington Motel. Went up to the third floor to room 308, the last one on the floor, furthest from Darlinghurst Road. Dropped his cigarette, crushed it under his heel before he reached the yellow and black tape. The crime scene guys were there. It was one pm. He signaled to Kholi to ask if it was OK to come in.

‘Yes, we’re just about done.’

Kholi was Indian. A short stocky man with thick wavy Bollywood hair. A handsome guy.

The fat man lay on an orange stretcher waiting for the body bag to be zipped up.

Thompson said, ‘Is that stretcher reinforced because he is one fat motherfucker?’

Laughter from a few of the crime scene boys. Kholi offered a wry smile, and said, ‘You know who he is?’

‘I got told, yeah. Norton. Mr. Big at New Light Church.’

‘You know how he died?’

‘Steele said he f****d himself.’

‘Yep, died on the job.’

‘What else did you find?’

‘Man-bag with no cash in the wallet, mobile phone, his license, health insurance card, nothing else. No credit cards. Small piece of paper with a number on it. His PIN I think.’

‘Dumb s**t,’ Thompson said. ‘I’ll have to see how much she drew out, whoever she is right? Unless it was a boy? You’re gonna tell me now, right?’

‘A girl, we know that from his c**k. Some light brown hair on his face too. No prints anywhere. She scratched the area around his hips, both sides, perhaps trying to get out from under him. I doubt it was passion unless he paid extra for it. Might be some skin under her fingernails, which might also have been washed down the drain under the shower she took. I’m hoping for a DNA match.’

‘Me too, Mr. Kholi. What time did he die?’

‘Estimate only, about three or four am.’

‘Found?’

‘Ten this morning by the housemaid.’

‘Anything on his mobile?’

‘Haven’t cracked the password yet but that’s not my area. Steele said his wife doesn’t know it. He said he’ll get the tech guys onto it.’

‘Appreciate it, Mr. Kholi.’

‘You want one last look at him, Thompson?’

Thompson shrugged, bent down, looked at the man. Bloated fat son of a b***h. Supposed to be the 2IC at New Light Church. Christian Evangelists. Thompson didn’t care for religion. He was a cop. He had seen the evil of it. But fuckwits were drawn to New Light. Some heavyweight fuckwits too. Well-known actors, businessmen, and women, all grades of ‘celebrity’. Before the most recent election, Bob Ellis, the Conservative Party Prime Minister had started off his campaign at the New Light Church on a Sunday afternoon in Bondi Junction. Hallelujah Brother. Bring the votes in.

‘I’m done Mr. Kholi, this is your area. Anything more you can tell me?’

‘Not really. Died on the job as I said. We’ll have to test him for drugs and alcohol. No drugs in the room. The girl or woman took a shower, went through his belongings, stole the credit cards, wiped down everything else, and left.’

Thompson looked around the room. Saw the jacket on the floor.

‘What’s going on there?’

‘Ah, yes, sorry, Cash. Important too. Somebody cut a hole in the inside pocket of the jacket. And I mean a hack job, with a pocketknife or similar.’

‘Right, bit odd.’

‘Bloody odd. Must have seen or felt something was in there.’

‘Steele say anything about it.’

‘None of my business apparently.’

‘Oh.’

‘But it was our girl?’

‘Who else?’

‘As I understand it the night clerk checked him in,’ Thompson said, ‘but he went home at seven am.’

‘Yes. The room is yours,’ Kholi said. ‘I have work to do.’

Two ambulance guys came. Hefted the overweight Norton out on the stretcher and along the balcony.

Thompson stood in the middle of the room and said, ‘Why did you come here? Why this girl?’