LITMIR.BIZ

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Ballard flashed a disarming smile. “I’m Detective Inspector Michael Ballard, this is Detective Senior Sergeant John Henderson. I’m sure you know why we’re here and yes I’m aware the police have already taken a statement from you.” Both men showed Tony their identification.

      Ballard continued. “Unfortunately Tony, witnesses often don’t remember all the important details first up. That’s not a criticism… more a fact of life. As a consequence we need to ask you a few more questions.” He looked squarely at Tony, knowing what the response to his next question would be. “How are you placed for time?”

      Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, hesitating.

      John flipped open his day book. “Good. Let’s get started then shall we?” Ballard smiled, knowing his polite request was considered by John as pandering. With his pen hovering over a blank page and without looking at Tony, John prompted. “What time do you leave the factory each evening?”

      Tony blinked rapidly, looking away before stammering, “Er, that’s hard to say, I… er… it varies.” He jigged on the spot. “Sometimes it’s quite late.” Ballard and John glanced at each other, knowing intuitively Tony’s discomfort was worth pursuing.

      John pointed to at least five plastic bags containing groceries on the floor near the far wall. “A lot of shopping there Tony. Buy them this morning?”

      “Yeah. There’s a supermarket around the corner.”

      “Strange that you would buy so much in the morning. Any frozen items?”

      A hunted look flashed across Tony’s face. “I’ve a fridge out the back. I put the frozen stuff in there earlier… then I got distracted, watching you guys going into the other factories, but I’m taking everything home tonight.”

      “Married?”

      Tony began to blink rapidly again. “Divorced.”

      John’s questions became more pointed.

      “Live alone?”

      Tony’s agitation increased significantly. “Yeah. Well no. I live with my Mum.”

      “Your house?”

      Further hesitation. “No. It’s my Dad’s... was his. He died six years ago.”

      John didn’t bother to offer condolences. Rubbing his chin he said, “Strange that you’d buy frozen stuff in the morning when it would mean less chance of loss if you bought it just before you went home. I mean supermarkets are open ‘til late.”

      Noting Tony’s distress, John persisted. “Would I be correct in saying this area is zoned business only?”

      Tony’s eyes widened and his face took on the look of a rabbit startled by car lights.

      “Er, yes. That’s right...” his voice trailed away, but his large head kept bobbing.

      John decided to cut to the chase. “Ever stay overnight when you’re backlogged with work? Customers pushing you for their kitchens to be completed?”

      Tony shook his head then changed his mind. Looking uncomfortable he admitted, “Yes, sometimes I have to. You’ve no idea how cut-throat this business can be when you fall behind on orders.”

      John pretended to look sympathetic. “Mm, must be tough.”

      Ballard hid a grin, enjoying playing the good cop. “Tony, mate, we’ve no intention of letting the council know you sleep here overnight. That’s of no interest to us. What is of concern is whether you were here Monday night, Tuesday morning.”

      The look on Tony’s face answered the question even before he opened his mouth.

      “I… yes, I… was.”

      “Thank you Tony. I understand this is difficult for you. Did you state this fact to the police when you gave your statement earlier?”

      “No. I was going to tell them, but I shit myself. I can’t afford to be fined. Once the council start sniffing around here there’ll be all sorts of problems for me. I can’t run the risk of losing my business…”

      Ballard raised his hand. “Your secret’s safe with us Tony. But you’ll have to make another statement. Did you hear or see anything during the night that may assist us?”

      Tony looked down at his feet. John stepped closer, menacing. “A man was shot Tuesday morning Tony. Fifty feet from where you’re standing. Think very carefully before you answer the question. This is a murder investigation.” John’s sheer bulk and proximity was meant to intimidate; Ballard noted it was working.

      The distressed expression on Tony’s face increased dramatically. Bobbing his head again he said, “Yeah. I was in bed in the side room and around 1.30 in the morning I heard a loud pop, sort of like a backfire, but muffled.”

      John scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Did the sound wake you up?”

      “No. I was already awake.”

      “How did you know it was 1.30?”

      Tony hung his head even lower, almost to the point where eye contact was lost. “I was awake and looked at the bedside clock.”

      “Why were you awake at that time of the morning?”

      “I uh … I had my girlfriend over.”

      Ballard clapped Tony on the shoulder. “Tony, it’s ok mate. All we want is for you to tell it as it happened, you’re not going to get into trouble. You may well have information that helps us solve this crime.”

      Instead of reassuring him, Ballard’s statement appeared to exacerbate Tony’s discomfort. In a high pitched voice he said, “I didn’t get up or anything, it just sounded like a backfire. I didn’t think anything of it until I heard the news next morning, that there’d been a shooting. I nearly did shit myself. Christ, next door! Mario’s a good bloke. I see him all the time.

      “Then the cops … er police officers came in and started asking questions. I told them I’d gone home so I wouldn’t be involved. Most nights I do go home, but for the last week or so I’ve been snowed under.” He took a deep breath, striking his forehead with closed knuckles, looking despairingly at both detectives. “Sorry… I’m sorry. Am I in trouble? What happens now? I don’t want my name on TV or in the papers. I don’t want the bastard who did this coming after me.” A look of raw panic flashed across his face.

      Ballard grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “Jesus… Tony! Take a breath! Your identity isn’t going to be made public. This is a murder investigation. Believe it or not the press and media know what they can and can’t report. But you have to understand, you may well be the one person who can clarify when Mario was killed.”

      Wanting his comments to reassure Tony, Ballard looked at him closely. “Having said that, we’ll need to interview your girlfriend. Give me her contact details so my detectives can arrange a time to meet with her.”

      Tony hesitated, but after seeing John’s expression, jotted down two telephone numbers in the folder handed to him. John took back the folder. “Tony we’ll arrange for the Crime Scene officers to take some photographs of the room where you were sleeping. In the meantime I want to take some of my own.” Grinning he said, “Don’t worry if you haven’t made the bed. We’ve seen it all before.”

      All resistance evaporated from Tony. Almost in a trance, his head still bobbing, he led them into the work area. Walking past the Bosch edge-bander, the Altendorf table-saw, the Hettich hinge inserter then the spray booth, John meticulously noted the brand name and type of each item in his day book.

      Younger detectives often viewed this degree of detail as over-the-top. Ballard knew that John’s reasoning would be that if the medical examiner discovered an injury on Mario able to be attributed to a specific piece of

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