Stella Bruno Investigates

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After Monday morning’s autopsy of the victim tentatively identified as Robert Cunningham, Stella suspected she had a problem. There was no sign the body in the morgue had belonged to someone who had suffered from leukaemia in any of its forms. She relayed her suspicion to DI Williams.

‘We’ll need to access his medical records to confirm my information, sir.’

‘Do that. Have you spoken to anyone at the Bureau of Stats?’

‘I have an appointment at two o’clock with a Myles Christopher.’

‘Let me know what transpires. This is starting to look messy, Bruno.’

Stella returned to the squad room. ‘Any luck with motor vehicles, Brian?’

‘They reckon this licence is a fake. A very good one, mind you, but not one of theirs and the image they have on file matches the image Mr Schmidt gave us. Our man resembles Cunningham but I doubt he’s the genuine article.’

‘He hasn’t had leukaemia either. Come on, we need to go to the RAH so we can verify the information we got on Saturday.’

‘We’ll need a warrant for that, won’t we?’

‘Got one.’

‘Have you uploaded the images from Forensics?’

‘I’ve got the cleaned up one.’

They had to wait at the RAH but they left with a copy of the medical record of the Robert Cunningham who had lived at 28 Gladstone Terrace, Prospect, and his vital statistics did not match those of the body in the police morgue as far as Stella could tell.

On their way back to the office, they stopped in at the Australian Bureau of Statistics in Waymouth Street to meet with Myles Christopher.

‘We’re trying to confirm the identity of a man killed on Thursday night.’

‘Is this the man found in the car park at the Old Spot?’

‘Yes. He had this driver’s licence on him, which we now know is counterfeit,’ said Stella.

Myles studied the images on the screen of Brian’s iPhone. ‘Well, I admit he looks a bit like Bob but that’s not the man that worked here.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘I worked with him for ten years, Sergeant. That’s not him.’

‘Have you heard from him since he retired?’

‘The last time I saw him he was in the RAH. To be honest, I’m surprised I haven’t read his funeral notice in the paper but, now that you mention it, I don’t think I have heard from him since then.’

‘That strike you as strange?’

‘A lot of people that work here are what you’d call introverts. You know, the type that keep to themselves. They tend to drop off the radar when they leave work, so I guess it’s not all that unusual.’

‘Would you be prepared to sign a sworn statement about what you’ve just told us?’

‘Certainly, Sergeant. I don’t know who your man is, but he certainly isn’t Bob Cunningham.’

As soon as they returned to the office in Angas Street, Stella double checked the autopsy report against the medical record she had collected from the hospital. The victim didn’t even have the same blood group as the Robert Cunningham who had been admitted to the RAH.

She picked up her desk telephone and called DI Williams.

‘I don’t know who we have in the morgue, sir, but it’s not the Robert Cunningham that worked for the ABS or lived at 28 Gladstone Terrace.’

‘That gives you a few puzzles to solve then, Bruno.’

Stella sat at her desk looking through the documents they had collected from the victim’s apartment and listening to Brian questioning someone in the Office of the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages about Robert Cunningham.

Brian clunked the receiver back into its cradle on his desk. ‘Well, officially, Cunningham is still alive, Sarge. At least, they don’t have a record of his death.’

‘Looks like he hasn’t changed his address with his bank or Com Super either. Everything’s been going to Post Office Box 125, Prospect.’

‘But, if they’re in that pile, that means our man was collecting his mail.’

‘Might explain why he came to the city every Thursday. Have a look through the personal effects Forensics bagged at the crime scene and see if he had a key to a post office box.’

Brian retrieved the plastic bag of personal effects from the evidence locker and looked through the keys on the victim’s keyring. ‘This looks like one.’

‘Well, let’s go and see if it works.’

It took them fifteen minutes to negotiate traffic and park outside the Post Office on Prospect Road. Brian inserted the key into box 125 and opened the door. The box was empty. They went inside.

Stella showed her ID to the woman at the counter. ‘Detective Sergeant Bruno. I’d like some information on the holder of one of your post office boxes. The one that goes with this key.’

‘What number is it?’

‘One hundred and twenty-five.’

The woman consulted a list on her computer. ‘That’s assigned to a Mr Robert Cunningham.’

‘What residential address do you have for him?’

‘Looks like his residential address is a unit in a retirement village in Gawler South.’

‘Do you know when he accessed his box to pick up his mail?’

‘Just a minute.’

The woman disappeared into the room behind the counter, from where Stella could hear her talking with someone but not what they were saying. A couple of minutes later she came back out to the counter.

‘According to Phil, who sorts the mail, Mr Cunningham didn’t get much mail, but it seemed to disappear on a Thursday afternoon when he did.’

‘You might want to hold any mail that comes for him from now on. The man that had this key is dead, and if anyone turns up claiming to be Robert Cunningham, please call me on this number.’ Stella handed her one of her cards.

They stood outside and surveyed the cars in the car park. It was still hot but at least the air temperature was down to what Stella considered a more bearable thirty-two.

‘Not looking good for Cunningham, Sarge, if this other bloke was collecting his mail.’

‘I was thinking the same thing, Brian. Let’s go see if anyone is home at 28 Gladstone Terrace.’

It took them less than five minutes to drive around to 28 Gladstone Terrace. The door was opened by a young woman holding a small boy on her hip.

‘Can I help you?’

Stella held up her ID. ‘Hi. I’m Detective Sergeant Bruno and this is Detective Constable Rhodes. Do you mind telling us how long you’ve lived here?’

‘Bit over five years. Why?’

‘In that case, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you found in the house when you moved in.’

The young woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Do you want to come in?’

She led them through the house to the family room at the rear.

‘Is this bit new?’ said Stella.

‘Yes, we had this built just before Jamie was born.’

‘What was here before you added this room?’

The woman pointed to the kitchen bench. ‘That’s where the back wall used to be. This part was like a lean-to laundry. We have a new laundry through there.’ She pointed to a door in the opposite wall.

‘I like what you’ve done,’ said Stella.

‘My sister’s an architect. She designed it for us.’ She smiled. ‘What is it you want to know about the house?’ She placed her son on the floor among his toys.

‘Did you meet the man you purchased the house from?’ said Stella.

‘Mr Cunningham? No, we only dealt with the agent.’

‘Was there anything about the house that looked new or out of place when you moved in?’ said Stella.

‘Like what?’

‘New flooring, built-in robes, things like that. Maybe a new feature in the garden.’

‘There was nothing new or updated in the house which is probably why we got it for such a good price, but there was a new concrete floor in the garden shed.’

‘Where’s that?’ said Stella.

The young woman opened the curtains and pointed into the backyard. ‘Over there.’

Stella looked at the shed in the far corner of the backyard. It had seen better days, in her opinion, but with a glory vine growing on a trellis attached to the side facing the house it had that characteristic old-world garden shed appearance she’d seen in House & Garden.

‘Can you show us inside the shed?’

‘Why?’

‘Just want to see how large the floor space is,’ said Stella.

‘Three metres by two. We thought if we added a window it might make a nice cubby house for Jamie when he’s older.’

Stella looked at Brian.

‘Be big enough.’

‘What’s going on?’ said the young householder.

‘We might have to dig up the floor of that shed,’ said Stella.

‘What?’

‘We’re trying to find Mr Cunningham.’

The woman’s hand went to her mouth. ‘And you think he could be buried under the shed?’

‘I don’t know for sure but someone’s been impersonating him for the last five years.’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘I wish I could,’ said Stella, ‘but I can’t. He’s in the morgue.’

The young woman looked from Stella to Brian. ‘So what happens now?’

‘We’ll get a search warrant and you’ll get a new floor in your shed. Perhaps a new shed.’

It was late Tuesday afternoon when Forensics arrived at 28 Gladstone Terrace in an unmarked van and backed up the driveway. The team entered the backyard through the carport and dismantled the garden shed before erecting one of their blue tents over the corner of the yard where the shed had stood.

Stella sat in the family room chatting with John and Anne Summers about everything happening in the world, except what was going on in their backyard.

By nightfall, the concrete slab had been cut up and removed, piece by piece, to reveal a depression in the soil beneath. The team ran a cord from a socket in the carport to power their lights and the tent took on a spooky glow. Two hours later, Brian came into the house and called Stella out to the tent.

When she entered the tent the team was standing around what looked like a freshly dug grave, drinking coffee from styrofoam cups. The sergeant in charge shone a torch into the hole and asked Stella to take a look at what they had unearthed.

The torch illuminated a skull embedded in the soil at the bottom of the trench.

Stella called DI Williams to let him know what they had found.

‘Let me know when you have a positive ID, Bruno. And, Sergeant. Good work.’

Stella nearly dropped her phone. ‘Thank you, sir.’

It was several more hours before the skeleton had been extracted and packed for its journey to the forensic pathology laboratory.

By the time Stella arrived in the office on Wednesday, Forensics had used Robert Cunningham’s dental records to verify that they had, in fact, found his skeleton.

There was also a line in their report informing her they had recovered a 9mm bullet from inside the skull which suggested to Stella that Cunningham had not died from leukaemia or any other natural cause.

As she was preparing to leave for the day, Stella heard the ping of an email notification. She opened the email and read the attached report from Forensics’ ballistics analyst, in which he advised that the bullet found inside Cunningham’s skull had been fired from the Luger she and Brian had retrieved from the apartment the Old Spot’s victim had occupied at the Vineyard Retirement Village.

She called DI Williams and passed on the information.

‘Still doesn’t solve your original problem, Bruno. Who’s that fellow in the morgue, and why is he there?’

‘This Cunningham guy must have been a real loner if no-one noticed he was missing,’ said Brian, as they waited in line to buy coffee.

‘What do you mean?’ said Stella.

‘Think about it. He’s been at the bottom of the garden for five years. Surely someone would have missed him?’

‘Maybe he really doesn’t have any next of kin.’

‘No friends either, by the look of it.’

‘That could be you, Brian, if May drags you off to Mt Gambier.’

They sat at a table with a view of the street.

‘She’s changed her mind about Mt Gambier. Too bloody cold in the winter, apparently. I could have told her that but she’s not listening to me.’ He shook his head. ‘Now she wants to look at places down at Victor.’

‘That’s closer to the city, at least.’

‘Yeah, and they’ve got some nice golf courses down there.’

“I didn’t know you played golf, Brian.’

‘Well, I haven’t for years but I played a lot when I was younger.’ He gave Stella a sheepish grin. ‘And fitter.’

‘I worry about you, Brian. You’ve been putting on a bit lately.’

Brian shifted in his seat and looked out past Stella to the traffic in the street. ‘Doctor says I have to cut down on the sugar and get off my arse more, or I could end up with type two diabetes.’

‘s**t, Brian! That sounds serious. What are you doing about it?’

‘She’s put me on a diet. No booze, and I have to eat like a rabbit and stay away from all my favourite foods.’

Stella sipped her latte. ‘What about exercise? Isn’t that supposed to help?’

‘I’m going back to golf. I’ve renewed my membership at North Adelaide. Do you remember Jack Wynn?’

Stella nodded her head. She had fond memories of Jack Wynn. Jack had been Rick’s sergeant at the time of the accident that had taken him from her. He’d taken Stella under his wing and helped her re-establish her career when she’d returned to work after Rick’s death.

‘He plays every morning. I’m going out with him two mornings a week.’

‘Good for you. What’s May think about that?’

‘She’s been at me about my weight for years. Now she’s making me salad for lunch and begging me to get fit.’

‘Guess she doesn’t want to retire to Victor on her own, Brian.’

‘Me neither.’

‘What, retire to Victor or on your own?’

‘On my own.’

Stella finished her latte and waited for Brian to finish his long black. ‘What do you think we should do about our mystery man?’

‘I was thinking we could ask Sheila McGregor if she had any photographs of him. We need something better than what we have. Might be a bit of an ask for anyone to recognise him from any of those crime scene images.’

‘Probably be a good idea to interview her again. She might see him a little differently now. You got her details on your phone?’

Brian nodded.

‘Give her a call and see if she’s available.’

Sheila McGregor opened the door as soon as they got out of the car and ushered them into her living room.

‘Will I still need to identify the body?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary now, Mrs McGregor. I think we have established that he was the man you knew as Bob Cunningham. Our challenge now is to find out who he was before he started pretending to be Bob,’ said Stella.

‘How do you think I can help you with that? I’ve told you all I know about him. I still can’t understand how such a nice man could be a liar like that, though. I really liked Bob.’

‘I guess it’s all been a bit of a shock for you, Mrs McGregor. First finding out he’d been murdered and now finding out he wasn’t who he said he was.’

‘It’s worse than one of those shows on TV. At least you know they’re only make believe. This is just ridiculous. I feel like such a fool to have been taken in by him.’

‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Mrs McGregor. You weren’t to know, and you certainly aren’t alone. He fooled village management and the conveyancer he used to sell the real Mr Cunningham’s house in Prospect. So he must have been a pretty good actor.’

‘And good at counterfeiting documents,’ said Brian. ‘Remember that driver’s licence we showed you? Looked real to me but it’s a fake.’

Sheila smiled and invited them to sit down.

‘Do you by any chance have any photographs of Bob?’ said Stella. ‘We need something other than the ones we took after he'd been shot.’

‘Might have some of him on f*******:. Henry was always taking photos when we went places. Probably only group shots. I’m not sure I have any of Bob on his own. He wasn’t keen on having his photograph taken. Guess we know why now.’

‘Can you show us, please?’ said Stella.

‘Let me turn the computer on. I can’t see anything on my phone these days. Come into the study.’

They waited while she fired up her laptop and logged on to f*******:.

‘Here’s one of him. I’d forgotten about this one.’ She turned the laptop so they could see the screen.

‘When was that taken?’

‘About three months ago. We went on a bus trip up the river. It was organised by the village.’

‘Do you think you could locate the original image,’ said Brian.

‘It would be on my phone.’

‘Do you mind if I take a look?’ said Brian.

‘Let me get my phone.’

Sheila retrieved her mobile phone from the table in her living room. ‘That’s where the photos are, in there,’ she said, handing her phone to Brian and pointing to the Photos icon.

Brian tapped on the icon and scrolled through the images until he spotted the one she had uploaded to f*******:. ‘Looks like you took a few of Bob that day.’

‘He was in a good mood. We’d stopped at a winery for lunch. He’d had a few before we got back on the bus.’

‘Is it okay if I email these to myself?’

‘If you think it will help.’

‘Do you know if Bob was on f*******:?’ said Stella.

‘He didn’t like f*******: but I’m pretty sure he was on that Twitter thing. He spent a lot of time on the internet. I think he had some sort of online business but he never went into the details with me. I remember him explaining it to Henry one time. Affiliate marketing or something like that I think it was called.’ She looked at Stella and smiled. ‘I don’t even know what that is.’

‘Me neither,’ said Stella, ‘but I’m sure Constable Rhodes knows what it is. He has a son that’s into all that sort of thing.’

‘Makes more money than I do,’ said Brian. ‘Perhaps I’ll do some of that stuff when I retire, if my wife will let me.’

After speaking to Sheila McGregor, they walked over to unit 46 and rang the doorbell.

A white-haired man dressed in a shirt and tie opened the door. ‘I suppose you want to talk about Bob. Sheila told me you were coming. Come in. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘That would be nice, thank you,’ said Stella. ‘By the way, I’m Detective Sergeant Bruno and this is Detective Constable Rhodes.’

‘James Murphy. Come in.’

They sat in another tiny living room designed for one while James made the tea.

‘The ladies seem to think Bob was wonderful, Mr Murphy. What was your impression of him?’

‘Oh, he was a charmer alright.’

‘What did he tell you he’d done before he retired?’

‘Same story he told everybody else. I thought he must have been a spook. Either that or he liked to pull people’s leg. He was always telling jokes.’

‘Did he ever talk about his past?’

James poured the tea. Stella noticed he’d used a pot instead of offering individual tea bags. ‘Funny you should ask that. Most people living here spend a great deal of time reminiscing about the past. I get to hear a fair bit of it being a retired minister. People seem to think I’m some sort of counsellor, and I suppose I am, but Bob only ever talked about the present day as if yesterday didn’t exist.’

‘You’re aware that he wasn’t actually Bob Cunningham?’

‘Yes, Sheila did mention that. Came as a bit of a surprise, I can tell you. He might have been a bit of a wag but he was nice chap. Be interesting to find out who he really was.’

‘Yes, it will be,' said Stella. ‘Do you know if he had any visitors?’

‘I suppose you know he went down to the city every Thursday?’

‘Yes, we know that.’

James sipped his tea and then placed his cup back into its saucer. ‘I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a couple of Thursdays ago I noticed the District Nurse ringing his doorbell. I hadn’t seen her before, and I’m pretty sure Bob hadn’t been called on by the District Nurse before either. I asked her if she was looking for Bob and she said she was, so I told her he wasn’t home and wouldn’t be back until after dark.’

‘Do you think you could describe her?’

‘Not really. As you would imagine at this time of year, she was wearing sunglasses, but I’d say she was middle aged, I’d suppose. Maybe early forties. Hard to tell these days. About my height, a little overweight, and I think she had blonde hair.’

‘Did she ever come back?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘Did you mention her visit to Bob?’

‘Yes, the next day, but he said there must have been some mistake as he hadn’t asked for a District Nurse to visit.’