Page 42 of Wild Horses

A late spring evening settled softly over the city as Tyler’s apartment windows framed a dusky purple sky. Inside, the air was filled with the earthy scent of simmering wild mushroom consommé. Tyler stood at his kitchen counter, completely absorbed in his latest culinary experiment.

Bunya nuts lay cracked open in a bowl. Next to them sat dark purple Davidson plums, their tartness promising a unique kick to the dish. The citrusy fragrance of fresh lemon myrtle leaves cut through the heavier scents, ready to be infused into the beurre blanc.

Tyler moved with precision, his hands a blur of practised skill as he combined the flavours – always tasting and adjusting. Each ingredient brought a different note to the dish. He focused intently as he worked to perfect the balance.

Suddenly a harsh buzz shattered his concentration. Tyler jumped, startled by the unexpected interruption. He set down his knife, wiping his hands on a towel, and went to the video intercom mounted on the wall. He pressed the button and the small screen flickered to life.

Detective Sergeant Hunter’s stern face appeared. ‘Mr Ward, it’s urgent that I speak with you.’

Tyler felt a knot form in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was another conversation with the detective, especially tonight when he was on such a creative roll. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the button. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the request.

With a resigned sigh Tyler buzzed up his visitor. He had maybe a minute to gather himself. Hunter had said it was urgent. Something must have changed. Soon the detective was standing in the living room with a briefcase, gazing out at the panoramic view of the river and Brisbane’s shining skyline.

For a while nobody spoke. Hunter wandered over the polished marble floors, admiring the artwork. He stopped before a painting of two people on a seesaw – one an old woman and the other a small child. ‘This is a Fintan Magee,’ he said, squinting at the signature. ‘The mural guy, right?’

Tyler gave a curt nod, surprised that Hunter recognised the artist. But why wouldn’t he? It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.

‘Detective Sergeant, if you’d please get to the point?’ He gestured to the couch and they both sat down.

‘Very well. I asked if you knew of anyone who had a reason to damage your restaurant, remember?’

Tyler licked his lips.

‘Well, you weren’t straight with me, Mr Ward. And before you deny it, we now have a reliable witness who confirms that illegal activities took place in a private area of the Club Kitchen on a regular basis: money laundering, drug dealing, gambling without a licence.’

‘I knew nothing about any of that,’ said Tyler, shaking his head. ‘Who is this witness?’

Hunter cleared his throat and asked for a glass of water. ‘Don’t think of me as your enemy, Tyler. Can I call you Tyler? Think of me as the man seeking justice for your wife.’

Tyler’s face remained blank, but the appeal touched him.

Hunter took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a tissue.

‘Let me fill you in. We believe that a man named Ricky Callan torched your restaurant. It seems there was a turf war raging over your little eatery, Tyler. Callan wanted to muscle in on Enzo’s illegal operation, which was apparently thriving right under your nose. ’

Hunter’s words sent a stab of pain through him, confirming his worst fears.

‘We’re not trying to implicate you. I don’t believe you were involved in arson. But I do need your help.’ He took a folder from his briefcase and opened it, revealing photographs that looked like mugshots. ‘Do you recognise any of these people?’

He handed the folder to Tyler, who began flipping through it nervously.

Suddenly he froze. The face of a bearded man with a handle-bar moustache glared out at him from the page.

He wore a boiler suit, and the photo looked like a still taken from CCTV.

Yet despite the slightly grainy image, the man’s features were clear.

Tyler would have known the face anywhere – each detail of that night was seared into his memory.

It was a picture of the tradesman who’d stayed behind with Tyler to diagnose the gas leak.

The image was accompanied by a mugshot. ‘Who is that?’ he asked, his voice shaky.

Hunter couldn’t hide the hint of triumph in his eyes upon seeing Tyler’s visceral reaction. ‘That’s Ricky Callan. He was caught by the camera of a neighbouring business at eleven p.m. The footage was somehow missed in the original investigation.’

Tyler let the information sink in, while Hunter patiently waited. ‘What do you want from me?’ he asked at last.

‘We want you to give evidence at Callan’s upcoming trial,’ said Hunter. ‘Right now he’s out on bail for some relatively minor offences. We can’t prove that he was in the Club Kitchen that night.’ Hunter looked deeply into Tyler’s eyes in a genuine plea for help. ‘But we’re hoping that you can.’

Tyler stared with rising hatred at Callan’s face.

It was an easy decision. He pointed to the photo.

‘That’s the man who said he was a gasfitter on the night of the fire.

I had a meeting with him in the Club to discuss repairs.

He had plenty of access to the kitchen and utility areas.

I was surprised that he wanted the whole place cleared, because we’d had minor leaks before and had been able to isolate the burners.

But he diagnosed a breach of the main supply line and switched the whole thing off.

He said he’d be back in the morning to fix it. ’

‘Go on.’

‘I asked him if it was safe for the cleaners to start work. They were due any minute. He said yes – so long as they didn’t touch the gas. Thank God they were behind schedule, or they might have died too.’

Hunter looked thoughtful. ‘When did you notice the leak?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Tyler, feeling like a complete fool – crushed by the certain knowledge that his naivety had caused his wife to die.

But no – it was much more than naivety. It was his selfish refusal to admit to himself that something dodgy had been going on in Enzo’s private rooms. ‘That guy just turned up. He said that a customer had complained about a gas smell to the local food safety authority and he’d been sent to check it out.

I thought it was odd the customer hadn’t come to me first, but otherwise I didn’t question it. ’

Tyler felt sick as he recalled the man’s parting words: ‘This could’ve been a disaster if it hadn’t been caught in time.’

‘Callan is also a suspect in the death of Enzo Fontana.’

‘Enzo?’ asked Tyler. ‘But he died of a heart attack.’ He’d been shattered, having to attend Enzo’s funeral so shortly after Grace’s.

‘A tip-off led us to exhume his body. We found traces of poison and we want to charge Callan with both murders. Your evidence will be absolutely crucial with regard to your wife’s case.’

Tyler shook his head, in a daze. ‘Could this Callan character be a present threat to me and my son?’ He told Hunter about the heavy breather on the phone.

Hunter frowned. ‘I wish you’d levelled with me sooner. But yes, Callan could pose a danger. He won’t want you to testify against him, that’s for sure. I can organise protection if you like.’

Tyler’s blood ran cold. ‘What about Callan’s associates. Could they also be a threat?’

‘No, the remnants of his old gang are either dead, in jail, or going straight,’ said Hunter. ‘Callan’s acting as a lone wolf.’

Tyler thought furiously about Hunter’s offer of protection and decided against it. Leo was safely tucked away in the country, and as for himself, he wouldn’t be able to prepare for the Top Chef competition with police looking over his shoulder. He needed space and privacy to create.

‘It’s hard to take all this in.’

‘I imagine it is.’ Hunter returned the photo to his briefcase. ‘So ... can I count on your cooperation in this matter?’

‘You most certainly can.’ Until now Tyler had been hoping – praying even – that this new investigation would rule Grace’s death to be a genuine accident.

He’d been hoping it would absolve him of the creeping guilt he’d felt all these years at having ignored his suspicions about Enzo.

Knowing the truth changed everything. ‘I can’t wait for you to nail the bastard. ’

He showed the detective out, his mind ticking over a mile a minute.

Hunter hadn’t suggested that by testifying he might somehow implicate himself in Enzo’s crimes, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had.

Leo wasn’t a little kid any more, and if Tyler had to go to jail, so be it.

That would be worth it if it meant bringing the vile scum who’d killed Grace to justice.