Wayne put his hand on the young man’s arm. ‘Relax mate, we’re not the drug squad. Sit down. We want to ask you some questions about one of your customers.’
The waiter licked his lips and nodded. His expression, no longer one of fear, was now a mixture of relief and curiosity.
Barry produced the photo of Michelle. ‘Seen her before?’
‘Um ... yes, don’t know her name, but,’ the waiter said.
‘The bloke at the counter said she was here yesterday morning, that you served her.’
‘That’s right. She comes in most mornings after gym and has the soy latte.’
Wayne raised his eyebrows and glanced at Barry.
‘It’s a healthy kind of coffee,’ Barry told him.
Wayne snorted, took a sip of his Vienna and reached for a napkin to wipe the tickling cream from his upper lip. ‘Was she alone?’ he asked.
‘No. There was a bloke with her.’
Barry put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. ‘Tell us about this bloke.’
‘What did he look like?’ Wayne added.
‘He was kind of creepy looking. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.’
He must have noticed the disappointed sag of the detective’s shoulders. His voice sped up. ‘But he took them off after a while.’
Wayne gave him an encouraging nod to go on.
‘Like I said, he was creepy looking. Quite tall and very pale in the face, as pale as a Goth only his hair was practically white. It was thin and kind of feathery, almost like duck down. You could hardly tell where his skin ended and his hair began.’
Wayne kicked Barry under the table. Barry nodded; there couldn’t be too many albinos about.
The boy was revving up now, revealing an eye for detail that was rare in most witnesses. ‘They seemed to be having some kind of an argument. At one stage Whitey slammed his fist onto the table like this.’ He demonstrated with his own fist, making the cups and saucers on the table rattle.
‘How did she take this angry outburst? Did she seem scared?’ Barry asked.
‘It didn’t seem to faze her. She put her hand over his, like this.’ The waiter reached out for Wayne’s hand, covering it with his own. Wayne snatched his hand away as if it had been burned.
Barry smirked.
‘After that, they settled down and just seemed to be having a normal conversation,’ the boy said.
Wayne said, ‘Did they leave together?’
‘No, Whitey left first.’
‘Did he still seem angry?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He smiled when he left. She stayed for another coffee then paid the bill.’
Barry said, ‘Thanks, you’ve been a big help. We may need to contact you again.’
When the boy stood to go, Wayne held up a finger. ‘Wait on. Was there any one else in the cafe at the time?’
The waiter searched his mind for a moment. ‘Two or three others maybe; we’re never busy that early.’
‘Can you remember anything about them?’ Wayne asked.
He scratched his head. ‘Not really. I think there was a couple on one table, a single man on the other.’
‘Where was the single man sitting?’
‘All three groups were at nearby tables. It’s easier for us wait staff to have them all grouped together.’
‘Can you remember anything about this single man?’
The waiter rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling through narrowed eyes. Wayne hoped he wasn’t dreaming up embellishment to try to impress them. Hell, they were already impressed.
‘Look, the only reason I remember the gym woman and Whitey was because of his weird colour and the fight. Can I go now? We’re flat out and Mario’s getting his knickers in a knot.’
The cafe was filling up, there were customers waiting to be served, and the man at the counter was shooting them dark looks and pulling at his moustache as he bustled.
Wayne said, ‘Would you have any record of the time this man paid his bill?’
‘There might be a copy of the receipt.’
Barry said, ‘Good. See if you can find the woman’s too.’
‘Well?’ Barry raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his cappuccino as the waiter scurried toward the kitchen.
‘Seems like a reliable witness, the best yet. Did you get that description?’
Barry nodded at his notebook, then reached into his pocket for the list of gym members they’d got from the receptionist. Wayne switched chairs to sit next to him so they could peruse the list together.
After a while, Wayne grunted and said. ‘Jeez, there’s a lot of familiar names on this list, looks like half the cops from Central are on a health kick.’
His gaze continued to slide down the list until he came to an abrupt halt. ‘Shit.’ He tapped his finger against Monty’s name, whistling air through his teeth.
Barry was quick to react with a shake of his head. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Yesterday it didn’t mean anything, but with the crap Monty’s in today, it could mean deep shit.’
Wayne sighed and drew his lips into a bloodless line as he continued to scan the list. It was Barry who nearly choked on the next name.
‘Linda Royce!’ he said, almost losing the mouthful of éclair he was swallowing. ‘Jesus, Wayne.’ He looked up from the list, ‘Linda, Michelle and Monty were all members of the same gym.’ His usual cocky tone had sunk into a worried whisper, ‘What are we going to do?’
Wayne said nothing for a moment, trying to sort out his own jumbled thoughts. ‘Give me your notebook.’
Barry handed it over and Wayne checked the list of the ten members who were at the gym at the same time as Michelle on Thursday morning.
Wayne read aloud, ‘Caroline Spencer, Frank Dixon, Colin Pierce, Guy Flannigan, Abbey Winchester, etcetera.’ He wiped his brow with the napkin. ‘No Monty McGuire.’
The detectives let out a collective sigh.
‘We’ve been pretty quick to assume that the single man at the cafe must have followed her from the gym,’ Barry said. ‘Alternatively he may have known she would come here and been waiting for her. Her morning routine was very predictable.’
Wayne nodded. ‘True.’
Barry swallowed and said, ‘So it could have been Monty, he just didn’t go to the gym that morning.’
‘It could have been anyone. A single man at a table in a cafe does not a stalker or a murderer make. Monty or no Monty, my money’s on the creepy white bloke who, we both agree, sounds very like the cleaner from Central.’
The waiter reappeared with the receipts. He pointed out the table numbers and the times marked by the cash register when each client paid. The single man had paid two minutes after Michelle.
After glancing at his partner, Wayne said, ‘This single man—was he tall with reddish hair, looked like he could’ve played fullback for the Wallabies?’ Sorry Mont, he said to himself.
‘I barely noticed him, mate.’
Barry reached into his pocket for the sketch the police artist had drawn from Thompson’s description of the man in the hobby shop.
‘What about this guy?’
The waiter shrugged. ‘That could be anyone.’
When the waiter had gone, Barry said, ‘Well that wasn’t much help. The single man left two minutes after her—that’s quick enough to have followed her.’
Wayne agreed, but his money was still on the albino. Even though he left earlier he could have waited for her. ‘And after that, Michelle wasn’t seen again. Ten hours later her parents rang the police when they were notified about her absence from work. Work said she missed some important deadlines she would never normally have missed. She was not seen again until the shop floor manager of Hartley-Mac’s found her body at seven this morning.’