The Mangrove Murder (2/4)

(Part two of four. Read part one here)

The atmosphere in the briefing room was charged. Everyone felt that this was something out of the ordinary. Homicide was generally straightforward—domestics, pub fights, that kind of thing. A mystery was rare, and in this case the victim was a public figure, which meant media attention. Tessa knew that this kind of pressure was a double-edged sword: on the one hand, the buzz would be an extra stimulus to be attentive, on the other hand it could lead to panic and sloppy mistakes. It was up to her to make sure the team stayed on track. She’d been up half the night planning and had had a grand total of three hours’ sleep but felt a kind of calm confidence that meant she was at least up to the challenge.

“Morning everyone,” she smiled. “Thanks for coming an hour early. We have a full day ahead, maybe a full week, so it’s fantastic you could all show up. Most of you will have an idea but we have a couple of newbies—Detective Constables Davies and Patel. So let’s get down to basics.

“As always, remember that we’ll be interacting with real people who are grieving. Be aware, also, that the victim is a public figure and the media will be eager to get whatever they can out of us. Yes, we’re here to solve the crime; part of that is exercising sensitivity and discretion. In a word, be professional. OK?”

Nods. Some gum chewing.

Tessa clicked the remote control to the projector and the white board was suddenly full of a professional photographic portrait—black-and white, very well done. The subject was a man with a receding hairline who was looking at the camera with a wry expression, lip curled slightly, one eyebrow raised sardonically. He looked about 50, not handsome but with an interesting aspect of challenge in his look.

“This is the victim. Kenneth Rapp. He was the books editor at NZ Now. He leaves behind him a daughter, a girlfriend, many good friends, a lot of people who liked his writing. Fifty-five years old, male, Caucasian. The cause of his death was manual strangulation. Time of death was most likely around midnight Friday night/Saturday morning.”

“Let’s get to the scene of discovery. Here you see the Northwestern cycleway that runs parallel to the stretch of the Auckland-Kumeau motorway, which runs across Waitematā harbour from Mt. Albert-Point Chevalier to Rosebank Peninsula.”

She switched the projected image to a map. Using a laser pointer, she indicated the spot.

“Yesterday morning at six o’clock, Joan Harris was jogging on the cycleway in the direction of Rosebank when she found Kenneth’s body. She took this photograph.”

Tessa clicked to a grainy image of a dark slump on a gravelly slope. Only after peering at it closely was it possible to make out a shoe, a hand…

“As you can see, the body is lying in a position that suggests someone threw it from the motorway down onto the cycleway. The coroner’s examination and crime-scene investigation supports this idea and shows that death occurred prior to being thrown down the bank. Note that if the body was thrown from a car, it was definitely stationery at the time. The car would have stopped and one person or more would have got out and thrown the body down the slope.”

She switched back to the map.

“In order to get onto this stretch of motorway, the car would have had to pass a CCTV either at Mt. Albert-Point Chevalier or Rosebank. It seems more probable that the car approached from Mt. Albert, since the body was found on the slope by the northward-bound side. However there is always the possibility the driver came from Rosebank, did a U-Turn, dumped the body and returned to Rosebank. In any case, we need to check the camera records from both sides of the stretch. Make a note of all license plates passing between Saturday 12am to six o’clock. One of those drivers is, at the very least, an accomplice to the crime. And other drivers may have seen something important.”

“Any questions so far? Yes, Roger?”

“Anything of note found at the crime scene?”

“Good question. We did find some objects near the body—cigarette butts, beer bottles and the like. At this stage, it being a well-used public path, it is difficult to say whether any of that is relevant. On the other hand, we found some fibers on the body that are suggestive. In particular dog hairs. Kenneth Rapp did not own a dog, so that could be a valuable clue. I’ll keep you updated as we get results back from the lab.”

“What kind of dog?” It was Roger again. “Are we looking for a chihuahua?”

“It seems to be a big medium-haired dog, consistent with a German Shepherd.” Tessa eyeballed him warningly—a bit of humor could ease tension but she wasn’t in the mood for jokes right now.

He chewed gum loudly and looked around for giggles but the room was edging away from him.

“OK,” Tessa continued, “A quick summary of preliminary talks I had yesterday with some of Kenneth’s circle. First up is Ian Buell, Editor-in-Chief at NZ Now. He had been working with Kenneth for 30 years. He mentioned three things of note. One, Kenneth had been getting death threats by mail and on the Friday morning there was a death threat on a post-it on Rapp’s desk at his office. It upset Kenneth so much that he left work at 9 o’clock in the morning. Kenneth did not want Ian to call the police about it. Two, Ian said that Kenneth was worried about his daughter Isabel because she was associating with a dangerous crowd. Three, Ian said Kenneth had confided in him that he was about to break up with his common-law partner Skye Fainu’u that very evening.

“His daughter Isobel, known as Izzy, shared more information. She said she hadn’t seen her father very much since he kicked her out of the house a year ago. She believes he asked her to leave because his girlfriend, Skye, dislikes Izzy. Interestingly, though, Izzy says she went to see her father early Friday morning at his office. She did not say why. For Friday night and Saturday morning she says she was at a the communal studio, where she seems to sleep. She says she was with her boyfriend Theodore the whole time and they were entertaining two friends from 10pm to 12am.”

“Then we have Skye Fainu’u, Kenneth’s partner. She says that Kenneth came home at 8pm Friday and broke up with her. She says they argued for two hours and he left in an emotional state at 10 o’clock. He drove away in a red Aston Martin, license plate XGRINCHX.”

Someone in the room snorted and Tessa waited, stonefaced.

“Skye texted Kenneth several times throughout the night. She did not receive a reply until 4am, by which time Kenneth was certainly dead. It’s highly probable that the murderer typed that reply. If we can track that phone it would obviously be a huge help.”

Tessa looked around the room and tried to gauge the mood. Everyone was intent, in various ways. Some taking notes, some looking at the board, others with thoughtful looks.

“So we have an idea of Ken’s Friday. It looks something like this,” she switched the screen:

FRIDAY

7am leaves for work

8am arrives at work, meets in Buell’s office for an hour

9am finds threat on desk, leaves work

8pm arrives home, breaks up with partner

10pm leaves home

SATURDAY

12am [probable time of death]

4am Skye receives text message from Kenneth’s phone

“Anything strike you about that?” she asked. The new girl, Sergeant Davies, raised a hand.

“There’s an eleven hour gap we don’t know about,” she said.

“Yes, exactly,” said Tessa. “But to be honest, for us the more important gap is between 10pm and 12am. We’re going to need to check with his bank to see if we can trace any transactions in that period.

“Meanwhile, I’ve drawn up a task sheet. We’ll be working in pairs; each pair is assigned tasks that should be done today—they’re listed in order of priority. Any general questions you can talk to Raewyn. Anything more urgent contact me. OK?”

The room nodded.

“Right. Constable Patel, you’re with me,” she nodded at the young man who failed to suppress a sense of panic at being stuck with the boss on his first day.

“You mind driving? I have a killer headache.” she didn’t wait for an answer before throwing him the keys. He caught them clumsily and got in the driver’s seat.

“Um, where are we going ma’am?” he asked.

“Ravel Gallery, Gladstone Road.”

He nodded and entered the destination on the nav sat. He stalled the engine a couple of times before it started properly. Tessa pretended not to notice.

“Sorry ma’am. It’s my first day today, you see. I am a little nervous.”

“No problem, Derek,” said Tessa, massaging her temples. “Where were you before?”

“Front counter for a couple of years, while I was doing my CIB modules. Investigation work is my dream.”

“Good for you. Well, you picked an interesting one to start with. It won't be an easy one.”

“No, I don’t imagine so, ma’am,” he said politely, still on his best behaviour. “It seems odd.”

“It is. Call me Tessa. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Right. Tessa,” he nodded and frowned at the congested traffic.

The gallery was a dinky little building, Art Deco, with a fanciful paint job in tones of feijoa and plum. The two investigators passed through heavy wooden doors and found themselves in a dark reception area. As their eyes adjusted, they saw the key note was dark polished wood. A magnificent rug dominated the room and a few paintings hung on the walls, frivolous afterthoughts.

Tessa realized that the two shapes on the countertop of the reception desk were the soles of expensive Italian shoes. She cleared her throat, and the feet disappeared like frogs hopping into a pond. There was the sound of something falling to the ground and a shuffling. Where the shoes had been a young man’s face appeared, framed by long lanky hair. He was attractive in a bohemian way—long face, a wide, expressive mouth and long dark eyelashes. He wore a tailored suit and a silk cravat. He pushed the hair away from his face and smiled in the way of a practiced flirt.

“Hello. What can I do for you?”

“Good morning. We are looking for Theodore Fuller.”

“Yes. That’s me.”

Tessa stuck out her hand.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Tessa Dale of the Criminal Investigation Bureau and this is my colleague Detective Constable Derek Patel.”

“Uh…hi.”

“Do you have a moment to talk?” she suppressed a smile—he hardly seemed rushed off of his feet.

“Sure.”

“We’re investigating the death of Kenneth Rapp and need to ask some routine questions. We understand that you are in a relationship with Isabel, Kenneth’s daughter?”

“Yes. But I didn’t actually knowKenneth. I mean, I’d never even met him.” He shrugged.

“Don’t worry, Theodore. At this stage we’re just trying to get an idea of Kenneth’s family circle, we’re talking to a lot of people.”

“Right.”

“Would you mind telling me where you were on Friday night?”

“Me?” he was clearly getting agitated.

“Again, it’s just a routine question,” Tessa smiled.

“OK. Well, I was working here until seven. My boss Mr. Yeats was holding a function and I had to assist with that. Then I went to Izzy’s, Isobel’s place. Her studio.”

“What time was that?” Tessa looked over to see if Derek was taking notes. He was.

“I walked over. It usually takes about half an hour but I stopped for a smoke on the way, so probably…7.45.”

“And then what did you do?”

“Izzy and I and a couple of friends chatted, had some drinks.”

“Who were your friends?”

“Fern Vanier and Rick Slade.”

“What time did everyone leave?”

“Fern and Chris left at midnight. Izzy and I stayed in the studio.”

“All night?”

Theodore nodded.

“She lives there.”

“And you? Where do you live?”

“I have a flat in Grey Lynn. We usually sleep there but Izzy’s working on a big project right now and she likes to get up early to work on it. She’s showing an exhibition in a month.”

“I see. Did Izzy ever talk to you about her relationship with her father?”

“They didn’t get along. Actually they were estranged.”

“For how long?”

“About a year. She’d been living at his house and he told her to get out. He wasn’t a great father. Izzy’s very sensitive and he wasn’t there for her.”

“How so?”

“He threw her out of the house. Mainly because his teenaged girlfriend didn’t want her there.”

“I see. Is there anything that Izzy said to you that would suggest her father was in trouble or had an enemy?”

“No. She really didn’t talk about him much at all.”

“Do you have a phone number where we can reach your friends?”

“Yes. Just a moment—I need to find my phone. I’ll be right back.”

When he slipped through a door, Tessa nodded to Derek to signal he should follow him. After a minute or two, Derek returned and whispered, “He’s making a couple of quick calls.”

Tessa nodded.

“Thought so,” she grinned.