Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
There were two attachments to the email. The first was an audio clip. The cursor clicked on the attachment, and Judith heard her own voice coming from the speakers. Her voice, talking to Mike Russo.
‘Mike. How’re things?’
‘Things are good. Better if you have something for me.’
‘I’ve got something for you. Robert Walker.’
‘Name means nothing to me, babe.’
‘Husband of Vanessa Walker.’
‘Ooh. Okay. I’m listening.’
‘He’s a psychologist. Works at the university. He’s about to be charged with sexually assaulting a student who came to him for counselling.’
‘Fuuuuuck. Are you sure?’
There was a pause on the recording, and Judith’s stomach sank as she heard herself say, ‘Do you need me to be?’
How? How was this possible? She’d made that call standing outside Merrill Hall. There’d been no one close by, no one close enough to record her. Also . . . the recording had both sides of the conversation. Russo must have recorded her, or her phone had to have been tapped, or bugged, or something.
Judith’s stomach sank further as she remembered that email from Alexis Turner. She’d tried to open the attachment three times. The attachment that had looked like a corrupted video. It must have been malware instead. And she’d opened it, like an idiot.
There was no more time to think. The cursor on the screen recording was clicking on a second attachment.
A video started to play. The video was a recording taken in Walker’s home office.
It was in high definition and full colour, and showed Robert Walker’s dead body, collapsed back in his desk, blood all over the wall behind him.
Judith watched as her past self entered the room and took in the scene.
She watched as past-Judith picked up the notepad, ripped off the top few pages, hurriedly stuffed them in her pocket and replaced the notepad on the desk, just before Rocky entered the room.
The video stopped. Deborah Sawhill turned off the screen.
Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Judith.
Eddie Fraser looked delighted, like he’d been given the best birthday present ever.
Had Ruth known he was her enemy? Had she been that well-informed?
Or had she just sent her little bomb to the most senior officer in Crime Command, and got lucky?
‘What was on that notepad, Detective Lee?’ asked Sawhill.
Judith said nothing.
‘Detective Lee, this is your opportunity to defend yourself, and to provide an explanation for what we’ve just seen, which very much appears to be evidence that you briefed a journalist on confidential details of your case, and that you removed evidence from a murder scene. Do you have anything to say?’
Judith thought about lying. She thought about denying.
She could claim it was all fabricated, a deep-fake.
At the very least, the denial would buy her some time.
She opened her mouth, and then she thought of Rocky, who would throw himself into this battle for her, a battle they would ultimately lose.
Her phone would be examined, the fact that she’d called Russo would be confirmed.
There might be other evidence she couldn’t explain away.
And there would be Eddie Fraser, at the top of the tree, kicking her down.
Judith closed her mouth. She said nothing.
The meeting ended quickly after that.
They didn’t give her a chance to talk to Rocky.
Her security pass, her ID and her gun were taken from her, and she was escorted to her bike, which she was asked to roll out onto the street before starting the engine.
Officially she was on suspension pending a full investigation, but Jude knew her career with Victoria Police was now over.
She felt flat. Numb. Too much had happened for her to process.
Or maybe the feelings were just too big to be let in.
She thought of phoning Katy and decided against it.
She wasn’t capable of explaining things to anyone.
Instead she gave herself practical things to do.
She stopped and picked up food. Fish and chips, for comfort, and a six pack of beer.
She thought she might need a drink if she was going to get any sleep.
Her legs felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to her flat.
She unlocked the door, locked it again behind her, and went straight to the kitchen.
She took off her jacket. She opened a beer and put the rest in the fridge.
She plated up her food, grabbed a knife and fork, and turned to the kitchen table.
On the table there was a parcel. It was about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in black embossed paper, and tied with a red velvet ribbon.
Judith put down her beer and her food. She had no gun.
It was locked in the armaments room in the station.
She took a knife from the kitchen drawer.
She searched the flat, room by room, then again, every space, under the bed, the shower, her wardrobes.
The apartment was empty. She went back to the kitchen, put down the knife, and picked up the beer.
She drank half of it in one go. Then she went to the table and opened the box.