The Plot – Chapter 10
Absence of Evidence is not Evidence of Absence
It was a lovely bedroom, spotless and well-aired, though it felt a little like a shrine to his daughter – Gina, had he said? – with the Nirvana and Spiderbait posters, the sports trophies, the photos, the soft toys.
‘Sorry. I’ll get some storage boxes in the morning.’
‘Please don’t apologise! And you don’t need to put away your daughter’s things.’
‘Yes, I do.’
There was no answer to that, and anyway, she had been too exhausted to argue.
She’d fallen asleep quickly, and if there had been dreams, then they’d left no trace in her memory.
When she woke, the sunlight was already streaming through the gap in the curtains. She could hear the constant hum of traffic outside. She yawned, stretched, glanced at the bedside clock. It was an old-fashioned round alarm clock with a bell on top.
Twenty-five to ten.
Shit shit shit. Late for work!
Unless … ?
No: her phone confirmed the bad news. The clock was accurate.
After a hasty, apologetic text exchange she investigated the compact ensuite. Again, as clean as a hotel bathroom. Neither a cobweb nor the lightest layer of dust. Clean white towels hung on the rail.
It was odd, as if he’d been expecting someone.
Expecting her?
She checked again that the bedroom door was locked. The ensuite had a privacy snib, so she locked that too.
A few minutes later, showered and dressed, damp hair combed, she stood by the bedroom door for a moment and listened.
Silence.
She unlocked the door and peeped out cautiously.
‘Vince? Mr Russo? Hello?’
Her own voice echoed back at her. There was nobody else in the flat.
She padded into the lounge, bare feet slapping softly on the cool, tiled floor.
On the dining table there was a pair of keys on a keyring with a blue plastic tag. Beneath the keys a note in large, elegant, looping script:
Dear Ms Smith,
I have to go out for a few hours. Milk is in the fridge. I put out some breakfast things for you. Please keep these keys to the flat (Chubb) and the street door: they are yours for as long as you need them.
I hope to see you later.
Kind regards,
Vince Russo
On the worktop in the neat kitchen there was a fresh-looking, crusty loaf on a bread board, a full butter dish, jars of jam, honey and Vegemite, a knife and a plate. A box of tea bags and a mug next to the kettle and toaster. There was a shiny metal coffee pot, which she had no idea how to use. No on-off switch. Did it go on the stove?
She’d been intending to just grab her things and run for the bus. But what the hell – she was already two hours late. She was starving and what difference would another twenty minutes make?
She took the bread knife, sawed off a thick slice of bread, held it under her nose and savoured the aroma.
Vince Russo, you are a puzzle, she thought.
And:
What am I letting myself in for?
Mel Hanrahan took a swig from her mug. Set it on the table. Surveyed the packed incident room.
‘Okay, listen up, please! This is what we’ve got so far …’
She called up the timeline on the interactive whiteboard.
22:30 – DK (Victim) arrives community garden 181–195 Hurst Street (Scene). Exits vehicle. Enters Scene. (PP)
22:55 – Victim found (deceased?) at Scene (Big Tree). (PP)
23:00 – PP meets VR at Scene (Clubhouse). PP returns to victim with VR. (PP, VR, JS)
23:00–23:15 – PP and VR attempt to render assistance to victim. (PP, VR)
23:07 – VR calls emergency services. Call logged 23:07:29–23:12:02.
23:15 – PP and VR return to Clubhouse. Alert JS who is sleeping in Clubhouse. (PP, VR, JS)
23:22 – Vic Police (PC Saad, PC Levi) and Ambulance Vic attend Scene.
23:25 – Ambulance Vic (Jesse Pring RP) confirms victim deceased. Scene secured.
00:12 – DS M Hanrahan attends Scene, CSG attendance requested.
00:49 – CSG attend Scene.
‘So we’re looking at a tight window for the incident occurring. If Pravesh Patel’s times are accurate, just twenty-five minutes between the victim arriving at the incident scene and being discovered, presumed deceased. Questions? DC Broughton?’
‘Evidence of assault, Sarge?’
‘None so far, Josh. Pathology confirms cause of death was blunt force trauma to the rear cranium. Consistent with a stooping victim being struck from above by a large detached branch found at the scene. Patel and Russo say that the branch was resting across the victim who was lying on his front. Unfortunately the incident scene was disturbed by the witnesses and by paramedics in trying to render assistance to the victim. DC Singh?’
‘Has anyone corroborated Patel’s statement, Sarge?’
‘Only after he went to the clubhouse to raise the alarm. Mr Patel wasn’t carrying his mobile phone. His wife was in bed, didn’t notice anything until the sirens. DC Farmer?’
‘So, Sarge, this might not be a crime scene at all?’
‘That’s right, Alice. There’s doubt regarding the angle of the blow, but the weight of the branch – about a hundred and twenty kilos – the structure of the fracture, the presence of bark and lichen from the branch inside the wound, plus matter from the victim on the branch – everything so far suggests accidental death. DC Papadakis?’
‘Thanks, Sarge. Can CSG confirm that the branch fell from the tree at the time the victim was in the vicinity? That it hadn’t already fallen and wasn’t used opportunistically by an assailant to cover their traces?’
She was a sharp one, Detective Constable Gabi Papadakis. Twenty-five, fresh out of uniform and keen to make her mark.
‘Great question, Gabi. Not yet. They’ve got a botanical specialist working on it.’
‘So there’s absence of evidence of an assault, but not evidence of absence?’
‘Ooh’s and ‘aah’s from around the incident room.
‘Nobody likes a smart-arse, Detective Constable,’ said Mel, with deadpan delivery softened by a stage wink.
Next week in The Plot:
Chapter 11: A Matter of Principle
Ray wonders what to do. He’s not the only one.
Disclaimer: The people, organisations and events described in this story are entirely the product of the author’s imagination; they bear no intentional resemblance to real-life people, organisations and events. Some locations are based on real places, however the City of Corymbia and its localities are inventions of the author.