Stella Bruno Investigates

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When they arrived back at the office, DI Williams, who was overseeing the investigation as part of his caseload, was waiting to speak to Stella, who had operational responsibility for solving the crime.

The inspector was sitting at his desk looking at his computer screen when Stella walked into his office. He looked up from the screen but didn’t invite her to sit. ‘What have we got, Bruno?’

Stella felt her bristles rising. She hated the way he talked to her as if she was still a junior constable and not an experienced detective sergeant and suspected it was because she was the only woman on his team.

Frank Williams had been an arsehole when she’d first met him as a detective sergeant, not long after she had become a detective constable. That experience had taught her to be wary of the man and his habit of claiming credit and allocating blame. The promotion to detective inspector hadn’t improved his character in Stella’s estimation, even if he had shown himself to be an astute investigator, so she was always on her guard in his presence.

‘A retired public servant with a bullet through his head, no witnesses, no apparent motive, and a lot of questions.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve spoken to the people at the retirement village where he lived. They don’t know s**t about him.’ She shook her head. ‘Sounds like he spun them some yarn about what he’d done for a living. Anyway, as far they’re concerned, he was mister nice guy. We picked up a pile of documents from his apartment that should help with background checks, and he had a loaded pistol in his bedroom.’

‘A pistol?’

‘A 9mm Luger, to be precise.’

‘That could be interesting. Does he have a gun licence?’

‘That’s something we’re looking into.’

‘Any next of kin?’

‘Nothing on record at the retirement village.’

‘Anything else?’

‘We watched the CCTV from the hotel. Someone called the victim on his mobile just before he left the gaming room.’

‘Gaming room?’

‘According to the manager, he dropped in every Thursday night for a meal and spent a couple of hours playing the pokies.’

‘Anyone who can identify the body?’

‘I’ve got a Sheila McGregor, one of his neighbours from the retirement village but I’d like to find someone who knew him before he moved to the village five years ago. I’ve got a previous address in Prospect. Hopefully, we can find out where he worked from Commonwealth Superannuation.’

‘Okay. Let me know if anything turns up in the background checks.’

When DI Williams turned back to his computer screen, Stella knew she’d been dismissed.

She returned to the squad room and drew up a list of the things she’d have to do the following day and then headed home.

It was deemed too hot for school sport on the Friday evening news, despite the impending overnight thunderstorm, so Stella enjoyed an extra Saturday morning hour in bed seeing she didn’t have to make sure her son was ready to leave by seven am.

She wondered how people slept without air conditioning and then remembered what it had been like growing up in the house next door before her parents had installed air conditioning. She chuckled to herself as she remembered her father complaining about the cost, and the pleas of her mother for relief from the heat in ‘dis bloody country you bringa me to!’

Stella's long-suffering mother had come from the alpine region of the Veneto in Italy where it got freezing cold but nowhere near as hot as it did in Adelaide during the summer. Stella was still amazed that her mother had stayed. It must have been a challenge coming half way around the world to live in a country where she didn’t know anyone, apart from her new husband, and didn’t speak the language. Stella was glad she did.

She got dressed and made her way into the kitchen for a quick breakfast before heading in to the office. Police work didn’t stop because it was Saturday, especially work on a new investigation. DI Williams might be having the weekend off but she and Brian had work to do. She popped an English muffin into the toaster and the coffee percolator onto the stove.

‘What are you doing today, Josh?’ Stella asked, as her son appeared at the breakfast table in boxer shorts and a T-shirt.

‘Homework.’

‘Surely that won’t take all day.’

‘Nonna’s taking us to the pictures after lunch.’

‘Oh, what are you going to see?’

‘The Boss Baby.’

‘That looks like fun.’

‘Yeah, she reckons it will help us understand Nonno.’ Josh laughed. ‘She’s always stirring him up.’

‘She’s been like that for a long time, mate.’

‘Don’t know how Nonno puts up with it.’

‘Guess that’s why they call it love.’

Josh filled his bowl with Weet-Bix. ‘Were you like that with Dad?’

Stella stopped eating and looked across the room at Rick’s photo on the wall of the family room. ‘No, your father was nothing like your grandfather. He had a sense of humour to start with.’

‘I wish he was still here.’

‘Me, too.’

Josh poured cold milk over his cereal. ‘What are you doing today?’

‘I’ve got a new case, a murder.’

‘Is that the one at the Old Spot Hotel?’

‘Yeah. Bit of a mystery though.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘No motive. The victim was a retired public servant. Everybody is saying he was a nice guy.’

‘Maybe they shot the wrong guy.’

‘Think you’ve been watching too much TV with Nonno. Criminals do some stupid things, mate, but they usually shoot the right person.’

Stella looked at her watch. ‘I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight and you can tell me all about Boss Baby.’ She kissed him on the cheek and tousled his hair ‘Love you.’

‘Love you, Mum.’

Brian was at his desk in the squad room when Stella arrived.

‘Couldn’t you sleep, Brian?’

‘Too many loose ends. Couldn’t stop thinking about our man, Bob. Besides, May wanted me out of the house. We got people coming over for dinner tonight and she reckons I mess things up as soon as she’s cleaned.’

Stella made herself a coffee and pulled her chair up next to Brian’s desk. She thought Brian and May were as bad as her parents when it came to being together in the same place. ‘What’s bothering you about the victim?’

‘Cunningham doesn’t have a licence for that Luger. I checked before I went home last night. Wish I’d waited until this morning.’

‘Yeah, I’ve been wondering about our man as well. Why would anyone want to shoot a retired public servant that’s such a nice guy? Is he on any of our databases?’

Brian leant back in his chair. ‘The only database he’s on is motor vehicles. I checked his driver’s licence and the registration of the Lancer. Everything looks in order. He doesn’t even have a speeding ticket. Too clean for me.’

Stella wondered whether their victim had reinvented himself when he moved into the retirement village or if he’d always been a nice guy. ‘I think we should door knock his neighbours in Prospect. Someone might remember him. It’s only five years since he sold the house and moved into the retirement village.’

‘That might be a good idea, Sarge.’

‘Get a request into Telstra for his mobile phone records. Be interesting to find out who called him on Thursday night.’

‘What about asking Com Super if they can shed any light on his employment? They should be able to tell us what agency he worked for.’

‘We’ll have to leave that until Monday. They’re closed on weekends.’ Stella moved over to her own desk and logged on. ‘Let me see if anything’s come through from Forensics or Uniform.’

When her PC booted up, Stella read an email from Sergeant Murray, which listed the details of the hotel employees working on Thursday night, and advised her that none of them had seen anything.

Next, she read the interim report from Forensics, which confirmed what she already knew: Robert Cunningham had been shot in the head at close range with a 9mm pistol. The only new bit of information was a note from the ballistics analyst informing her that the same weapon had been used in an unsolved gangland killing two years ago in Victoria.

‘What do you make of this, Brian?’ She showed him the note from the ballistics analyst.

‘Suggests he was assassinated by someone in the underworld. I wonder what our man got himself mixed up in after retiring from the public service?’

‘Or before,’ said Stella.

‘Do you think they might have bumped off the wrong man? Wouldn’t be the first case of mistaken identity.’

‘That’s what Josh said.’

‘How is he?’

‘Pretty good for a fourteen-year-old being spoilt rotten by his grandparents.’

‘You’re lucky to have them.’

‘Tell me about it. I wouldn’t be here doing this if it weren’t for them. Come on, let’s go and speak to the people in Gladstone Terrace.’

Although the overnight thunderstorm had dumped five millimetres of rain on the city, at ten in the morning, when Stella rang the doorbell of number 26 Gladstone Terrace, the air temperature was already above thirty degrees with a humidity reading close to one hundred percent. Stella could feel her dress sticking to her body as she admired the neat front lawn edged with rose bushes.

Brian had sensibly left his suit coat in the car but perspiration was dripping from his face.

The front door edged open behind a locked security door that blocked Stella’s view of whoever had opened the door.

‘We don’t do Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ said a male voice.

‘Police,’ said Stella, holding up her ID.

‘What the f**k do you want?’

‘I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind opening the door so I can see you? I don’t like talking to shadows.’

‘I don’t like talking to the police.’

‘It’s not about you. I want to know about the man that lived in number 28 until five years ago. Can you help me?’

There was click, and the door opened. A middle-aged man with a well-developed beer gut, a silver goatee, and tattoos on his arms stepped out onto the porch. He towered over Stella in his shorts and navy blue singlet but was matched in height and weight by Brian.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Bruno. This is Detective Constable Rhodes. Do you mind telling us your name?’

‘John Schmidt.’

‘Have you lived here long, Mr Schmidt?’

‘Around twenty years.’

Mr Schmidt, we’re investigating the murder of Robert Cunningham, who I understand lived next door. Did you know him?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Have much to do with him?’

‘A bit. He wasn’t that social. Kept to himself a lot.’

‘Do you think you’d recognise him?’

‘Probably.’

Brian showed him the image of the victim’s driver’s licence.

‘Looks a bit like him, but I couldn’t say for sure. Do you have anything clearer?'

‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

‘Hang on a minute. I think I have a photo of him on my phone. We had lunch at the Bombay Bicycle Club when he retired. My phone was new then. Took pictures everywhere we went.’

John went inside and came back with an iPhone in his hand. He scrolled through his images. ‘Here it is.’ He held it out for Stella to look at.

‘You sure that’s him?’ said Stella.

‘That’s my wife sitting next to him.’

‘Can you send me a copy of that?’

‘Sure. What’s your email address?’

Stella handed him her card. ‘It’s on there.’ She waited while John keyed in her email address and sent her the image.

‘Were you surprised he sold up and moved into a retirement village?’

‘Not really. He was pretty sick there for a while after he retired. Came home from hospital one week and sold up the next. Didn’t even come over and say goodbye.’

‘That strike you as strange?’

‘Well, as I said, he wasn’t all that social.’

‘Do you know where he worked?’

‘For the ABS, you know, the Bureau of Stats. He was some kind of mathematician. Maybe that’s why he was so weird. My wife liked him though.’

‘Is she home?’

John looked past Stella to the rose bushes. ‘She’s no longer with us. I scattered her ashes around the rose bushes. She loved those bloody roses.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s okay. She’s not suffering now.’

Stella thanked Mr Schmidt for his help and they walked up the street to number 30.

The couple in number 30 had only moved in a few months ago but the woman in number 27 across the street had lived in the house all her life.

‘He was a weird one, love. I reckon he was one of those homosexuals. Only ever saw other men visiting him. Never a woman.’

‘Is this him?’

Brian showed her the image from the victim’s licence.

‘Looks like him but he’s put on some weight if that’s him. He was frightfully skinny when he came out of the hospital.’

‘Which hospital, do you know?’

‘He was in the RAH. The Royal Adelaide. We all thought he was going to die, and then he sold up and disappeared.’

‘Do you know why he had been in the hospital?’

‘Poor man had chronic leukaemia. He’d had it for years.’