The Family Cleaner, page 17
“At the beginning of all this, when I was asking around Bendigo, the universal viewpoint seemed to be that Mary Chisholm was a completely unadulterated witch. The whole district felt sorry for Graham. Possibly Jessica, as much as she might not like it, is a chip off the old block?” Brownsill said.
“Other than Carter saying Jessica was the best of a bad lot and was nice to him as a kid, is there anything to suggest a connection?” Kleinberg asked.
“Are you buying into this, Inspector?” Brownsill said, then picked up his phone, read a message, and left the room momentarily.
“It’s a theory and warrants a look. The challenge is, can we establish that these two have been in contact, either face to face or otherwise?” Prosser said.
“We’re missing something,” Kleinberg said, “so here’s what I propose. Prosser, focus on the local issues you think Carter is involved in, something might emerge we could squeeze him on. Brownsill and I will re-examine everything we have in Bendigo. Jefferson, stay on Jessica. Keep digging around to see if you can connect her with Carter. Smyth and Jacobsen, keep trying to find any trace of the other two.”
“What about Freddy, Jacobsen?” Prosser asked.
“We’re excavating a site where there’s been a significant amount of soil disturbed that no one could explain. A bushwalker, some greenie naturalist, complained cause someone’s disturbed a breeding ground for some protected rat thing. The wildlife people checked it out and judging from the tracks left, earthmoving equipment was used, similar to something stolen the same time he disappeared and dumped about ten clicks away. Till now we never put the two together,” Jacobsen said.
“When will you have some details?” Kleinberg asked.
“A couple of days, I’m afraid. We had to hire the gear, and of course, the greenies want to supervise in case we upset the area more than they think we should.”
“I want DS Brownsill to come up to Canberra if it’s okay with you, DS Jacobsen?” Kleinberg said.
“Absolutely, tell me what flight he’s on and I’ll pick him up.”
Brownsill came back into the room, slid back into his seat and stared blankly at the screen trying to hide his annoyance at being ordered around like a flunky.
“Jefferson, before you go, I have a message from the coroner. He’s releasing the bodies tomorrow. Will you advise Jessica?”
Brownsill slid the note to Kleinberg.
“Seriously?” He said.
The other call participants waited silently.
“Forensics have a match on those fingerprints,” Kleinberg said. “A hard nut from Bordertown in South Australia who was released on parole twelve months ago.”
Geelong, 26th October 2018
Pav walked towards the Pakington St coffee shop. The same two men who were standing guard previously were again staring at their phones. David watched through the scope of his rifle as Pav stopped near the two SUVs and Frank lifted his leg on a rear wheel.
“Hey, you, don’t you fuckin’ learn? Get ya dog away.”
One of them opened the café door and yelled inside. “Boss, that Croat’s back with his dog.”
From high atop the Mitre Ten store across the street, David picked out the gold chain as the boss exited the shop ahead of two others.
“Boys, this is shit, you sort it. I’ve got —”
He stopped talking and fell backwards, his head hitting the pavement with a crack, a red stain exploded across his chest, a surprised look on his face.
Pav grabbed Frank and sprinted towards the corner. The two who had been behind the boss squatted, searching for the danger and pulling pistols from their jackets. The two next to the SUVs dropped to the ground.
Three police units with lights and sirens arrived from opposite ends of the street and the officers scrambled out, weapons drawn.
David slid down the ladder, placed his rifle in a bag, and stuffed it behind a pile of rubbish.
He wandered out from the side alley and stood under the shadow of a tree. Two officers rushed to the prone victim. The other four rounded up the group, handcuffing them as they lay face down on the footpath, then lined them up, sitting, backs against one of the SUVs. Two pistols hurriedly thrown under the nearby SUV were found and bagged. They patted them down and found another two pistols. The officers started to take details.
An ambulance arrived and two paramedics rushed towards the victim. They worked furiously for a few minutes, then sat back on their haunches. One of the police officers retrieved a gurney from the ambulance. They lifted the victim onto it and pulled a green sheet over his body and face.
The sirens had drawn a crowd of onlookers and passing vehicles pulled over, drivers hanging out of windows to watch. David mingled with the crowd.
“This is the most action we’ve seen around here in years; do you know what happened?” a young postie asked David.
He shrugged. “Nah, just got here.”
An unmarked police car arrived. Prosser and James emerged.
Prosser walked to the ambulance, entered then reappeared, shaking his head. He closed the door and watched it leave.
David moved in behind the crowd and watched Prosser gesture to one of the uniformed officers to disperse the crowd.
I need to get into the coffee joint and see what the staff might have heard, David thought.
He drifted further down the street and waited near an alley that ran along the rear of the coffee shop.
Blue-and-white police tape surrounded the shopfront and the SUVs. David moved into the shadow of some trees as two tow trucks arrived, hoisted the SUVs and left.
He walked along the alley, seeing a small group of people standing behind the coffee shop. An older lady, wearing an apron and arms dusty with flour, said that she lived next door to the coffee shop and was excitedly relaying events.
The back door to the coffee shop was open and David peered through. Other than the barista, who was busy with his phone, the shop was empty.
“Any chance of an espresso?”
The young man spun around. “Shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry, the old girl outside tells me you had some excitement.”
“Yeah, bloody hell. It’s all happening,” he said, then as David moved closer. “Weren’t you here the other day?”
“Yeah, there was a bunch of thugs camped in here. I got my coffee and pissed off. Was it one of them that was shot?” David said.
“Yes the one in charge, with all the gold chains. Right out the front.”
“So, what about that coffee?” David said and pulled out a chair to sit.
“I guess so, the cops taped the front but they didn’t say I couldn’t stay open.”
Two others entered through the back door, ordered coffees and sat nearby.
"So what’s the story with those guys?’ David asked the barista.
“They turned up here a couple of weeks ago. They took over the place. Scared all my regulars away.”
“What did they talk about?” David said.
“To be honest I tried not to listen. Whenever I brought their coffees over they would stop talking and just glare at me. But it was something to do with drugs; I heard them say stuff about ‘gear’ and ‘moving product’.”
The front door of the coffee shop opened and two uniformed police entered.
“What are you doing here?” One of the officers said. “This place is a crime scene.”
“You never said I couldn’t stay open. I can’t just close the place,” the barista protested.
“What do you think that tape is for?” The other officer said.
“It’s across the front. He was shot out there, not in here,” the barista replied, his voice now sounding like a whining schoolboy.
The officers looked at each other. “Okay, my bad. The back door should have been taped as well. You’ll all have to leave.”
David did his best to look like he wasn’t there and started to head towards the back door.
“Did you see anything?” one of the officers asked David.
“No, I just came around the corner when I saw you lot arrive.”
The others shook their heads.
“I’ll need to get your details ’cause you have been on the scene.”
David pulled out his licence and handed it over.
The officer noted the details and handed it back.
“So, Mr Mathieson, you’re from Melbourne?”
“Yeah, I’ve been scouting around to see about opening a herbal products shop, but after this, I might look elsewhere.”
David slipped out of the door as the officer was talking with the others.
Brindabella National Park, ACT, 25th October 2018
Jacobsen met Brownsill at the airport.
“Where is this place?” Brownsill asked as they headed out of the carpark.
“From what I know of the area it’s quite a way into the forest, hence the four-wheel drive.”
About an hour later, after a bumpy ride, they arrived at the edge of an area of dense forest. A dozen people dressed as if they had just stepped out of an Anaconda shop sale stood near a break in the trees.
“The conservation group,” Jacobsen said as they walked past them and into the break where a large excavator was carefully removing layers of soil from an area screened from the main track.
A short, balding man in a blue paper coverall folded down to his waist, was standing nearby, sipping coffee.
Yelling over the sound of the excavator, Jacobsen said, “Peter Ibbott, this is DS Jim Brownsill from Bendigo. Peter is from our forensic team here. He said he had some free time so I figured, get on the front foot and have him on hand, in case.”
“You got a good gig, Peter, standing around drinking coffee,” Brownsill said, smiling.
“You better believe it,” Peter said. “But wait till the fun bit happens.”
Brownsill was about to reply when the excavator engine throttled back and stopped.
The driver called out, “I’ve hit something metal about a metre down. I’ll remove the surrounding soil to the same depth, then someone needs to have a closer look in case I damage something.”
Jacobsen pointed towards the conservationists who had shuffled in closer. “Push that lot back another thirty meters, and then erect screens around the break in the trees,” Jacobsen called out to two uniformed officers who had just arrived.
After thirty painstaking minutes of carefully scraping away the soil, the roof of a white vehicle was revealed.
Brownsill asked, “What did Freddy drive?”
“A white Toyota four-wheel drive,” Jacobsen said.
“Well, I’m guessing we’ve found Freddy,” Brownsill said.
The excavator driver attached a narrow bucket and cleared the soil from around the vehicle to allow access to the right-hand side and the rear. “All yours,” he called out.
Peter eased down into the narrow space between the vehicle and the side of the hole, carefully removed the last layer of soil from the driver’s side door, inched the driver’s side door open and looked in.
“And?” Jacobsen asked.
“Come and have a look yourself. A first for me,” Peter said.
Jacobsen donned a mask and gloves and carefully negotiated the slope down to the vehicle, squeezed past Pater and looked inside.
“Phew, that’s gunna be Freddy,” Jacobsen said and quickly withdrew her head from the vehicle. “Same as the others.”
“What do you mean?” Brownsill said.
“Well, assuming he was alive at the end, the last thing Freddy saw was what used to be in his crotch.”
“Sex organ removed and lodged in his mouth,” Peter added.
“Jesus, nothing subtle about that,” Brownsill said.
Jacobsen scrambled up to the top of the hole and re-joined Brownsill on the edge of the dig, removing her gloves and mask.
“The good thing is we have a second site with the same MO, which suggests the same perpetrator,” Brownsill said.
“We need to tell Smyth that he should be looking for a burial site,” Jacobsen said. “And someone who can operate digging equipment.”
“It’s a little weird this scenario, entombing the victims, it feels a bit ceremonial,” Brownsill said.
“I’m guessing Carter would be capable of using digging equipment,” Jacobsen said.
“Yes, but I just don’t see him as the type who would do this ... whatever it is, with the removal of the sex organ. That feels to me like someone else,” Brownsill said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Don’t know, just doesn’t feel right. Given his background, I’d say he’s more of a shooter.”
After issuing instructions to the excavator driver, Peter help up his hand. “Give us a hand up.”
Removing his gloves and cap he said, “I can’t say when he died till I get him back in the lab, but given the state of the body, I’d say he was interred pretty soon after death, and the soil slowed the process. I found this—.” He handed over a wallet. “It contains your missing person’s licence and cards.”
“Any thoughts on what happened here?” Brownsill asked.
“It doesn’t look like the person that did this was in a frenzy. I can’t tell whether the victim was alive when he was mutilated but the ‘surgery’ was precise. I’ll be done here by this afternoon. I’ll get the body back to the lab, and if you can arrange to get the vehicle back to our lab, I’ll have a team go over it.” Peter said.
“We need to ensure everybody who attends this site understands that no details are to be mentioned, no hallway discussions, nothing,” Brownsill said.
“Do you think they have seen anything so far?” Jacobsen said, gesturing to the conservationists.
“No,” Peter said, “They are too far back, but tell your guys to keep them over there and ensure the screens are kept in place.”
“Done. We are heading back now. As soon as you have anything...” Jacobsen said.
Peter shrugged. “Of course.”
“When can we start repairing and replanting the area?” one of the elder conservationists called out as Brownsill and Jacobsen walked past.
Bendigo Cemetery, 27th October 2018
Brownsill and Johnson arrived late at the cemetery and stood off a distance from where three identical white hearses were lined up next to three freshly dug burial sites.
“So that’s Jessica and Samantha eh?” Brownsill said.
“I introduced myself. Samantha seemed okay, but Jessica was like a block of ice,” Johnson said.
“She doesn’t look happy to be here,” Brownsill said.
“The family weren’t on many Christmas card lists by the look of the crowd,” Brownsill said.
“Jessica didn’t even arrange for a service in town,” Johnson said. “I am surprised she didn’t have them just back up to the grave and tip them in.”
“If we’d found the body in Canberra a bit earlier she might have got a deal, four for the price of three,” Brownsill said.
“When are you going to release that info to the press?” Johnson said.
Brownsill shrugged. “Jefferson will have to talk with her majesty over there first, I guess. Who are they?” He pointed to a small gathering of people standing near the gravesites, looking a bit bewildered.
“They are the immediate neighbours. I think they only came ’cause they felt guilty. Graham Chisholm was an arsehole according to the old bloke at the back.”
“Nice to have that as your epitaph,” Brownsill said.
Jessica stood hand in hand with Samantha, watching the celebrant drone on about the tragedy that had befallen the three and how much they would be missed.
Jessica whispered to Samantha something which made her smirk. Jessica held a tissue in her hand and dabbed her eyes occasionally. Samantha looked at her each time and patted her arm.
“Do you reckon that’s for show?” Brownsill said.
Chapter 20
Geelong, 26th October 2018
David watched from across the street as three heavily tattooed bikers surrounded one of his buyers and pushed and prodded him around in a circle like a pinball. One of the bikers then grabbed the buyer by his jacket lapels and shoved him up against the window of the hardware store. They left him slumped in a heap on the footpath, fired up their bikes and took off with a deafening roar.
His phone buzzed with a message.
Just rumbled by 3 goons. Want your contact or else. What do I do?
He replied.
I will sort. Whats their number
David dialled, after three rings a gruff voice answered, “What?”
“You wanted to talk.”
“Are you the supplier?”
“Might be.”
“We’re taking over this patch.”
David sent through the pictures he had taken in the cabin.
“What the fu ... Where did you get these?”
“That’s what happened to the last guys who tried who take something that was mine,” David said.
“They were my guys, fucker.”
“I take it you didn’t know they were an item,” David said.
There was a hesitation and David could hear an angry conversation in the background.
“If you want to stay healthy, fucker, don’t you fuckin’ spread them around, you hear me?”
“Worried about their reputation?” he replied and chuckled.
“You know what happens to smartarses?”
“I am busy. You wanted me to call. I’ve called, now what?” David said.
“So how do we do this?”
“What, give you my business?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t we meet? See if we can hash out a deal.”
“We don’t do deals; we decide what we want and we take it.”
“You saw how that worked before. Unless you want to talk a deal, there is no point talking anymore.”
“Hang on. Let me think.”
After a couple of minutes of mumbled conversation at the other end of the call, David heard: “Here’s the deal; we’ll keep leaning on your dealers till you have no distribution left. How about that deal, fucker.”
“Other than Carter saying Jessica was the best of a bad lot and was nice to him as a kid, is there anything to suggest a connection?” Kleinberg asked.
“Are you buying into this, Inspector?” Brownsill said, then picked up his phone, read a message, and left the room momentarily.
“It’s a theory and warrants a look. The challenge is, can we establish that these two have been in contact, either face to face or otherwise?” Prosser said.
“We’re missing something,” Kleinberg said, “so here’s what I propose. Prosser, focus on the local issues you think Carter is involved in, something might emerge we could squeeze him on. Brownsill and I will re-examine everything we have in Bendigo. Jefferson, stay on Jessica. Keep digging around to see if you can connect her with Carter. Smyth and Jacobsen, keep trying to find any trace of the other two.”
“What about Freddy, Jacobsen?” Prosser asked.
“We’re excavating a site where there’s been a significant amount of soil disturbed that no one could explain. A bushwalker, some greenie naturalist, complained cause someone’s disturbed a breeding ground for some protected rat thing. The wildlife people checked it out and judging from the tracks left, earthmoving equipment was used, similar to something stolen the same time he disappeared and dumped about ten clicks away. Till now we never put the two together,” Jacobsen said.
“When will you have some details?” Kleinberg asked.
“A couple of days, I’m afraid. We had to hire the gear, and of course, the greenies want to supervise in case we upset the area more than they think we should.”
“I want DS Brownsill to come up to Canberra if it’s okay with you, DS Jacobsen?” Kleinberg said.
“Absolutely, tell me what flight he’s on and I’ll pick him up.”
Brownsill came back into the room, slid back into his seat and stared blankly at the screen trying to hide his annoyance at being ordered around like a flunky.
“Jefferson, before you go, I have a message from the coroner. He’s releasing the bodies tomorrow. Will you advise Jessica?”
Brownsill slid the note to Kleinberg.
“Seriously?” He said.
The other call participants waited silently.
“Forensics have a match on those fingerprints,” Kleinberg said. “A hard nut from Bordertown in South Australia who was released on parole twelve months ago.”
Geelong, 26th October 2018
Pav walked towards the Pakington St coffee shop. The same two men who were standing guard previously were again staring at their phones. David watched through the scope of his rifle as Pav stopped near the two SUVs and Frank lifted his leg on a rear wheel.
“Hey, you, don’t you fuckin’ learn? Get ya dog away.”
One of them opened the café door and yelled inside. “Boss, that Croat’s back with his dog.”
From high atop the Mitre Ten store across the street, David picked out the gold chain as the boss exited the shop ahead of two others.
“Boys, this is shit, you sort it. I’ve got —”
He stopped talking and fell backwards, his head hitting the pavement with a crack, a red stain exploded across his chest, a surprised look on his face.
Pav grabbed Frank and sprinted towards the corner. The two who had been behind the boss squatted, searching for the danger and pulling pistols from their jackets. The two next to the SUVs dropped to the ground.
Three police units with lights and sirens arrived from opposite ends of the street and the officers scrambled out, weapons drawn.
David slid down the ladder, placed his rifle in a bag, and stuffed it behind a pile of rubbish.
He wandered out from the side alley and stood under the shadow of a tree. Two officers rushed to the prone victim. The other four rounded up the group, handcuffing them as they lay face down on the footpath, then lined them up, sitting, backs against one of the SUVs. Two pistols hurriedly thrown under the nearby SUV were found and bagged. They patted them down and found another two pistols. The officers started to take details.
An ambulance arrived and two paramedics rushed towards the victim. They worked furiously for a few minutes, then sat back on their haunches. One of the police officers retrieved a gurney from the ambulance. They lifted the victim onto it and pulled a green sheet over his body and face.
The sirens had drawn a crowd of onlookers and passing vehicles pulled over, drivers hanging out of windows to watch. David mingled with the crowd.
“This is the most action we’ve seen around here in years; do you know what happened?” a young postie asked David.
He shrugged. “Nah, just got here.”
An unmarked police car arrived. Prosser and James emerged.
Prosser walked to the ambulance, entered then reappeared, shaking his head. He closed the door and watched it leave.
David moved in behind the crowd and watched Prosser gesture to one of the uniformed officers to disperse the crowd.
I need to get into the coffee joint and see what the staff might have heard, David thought.
He drifted further down the street and waited near an alley that ran along the rear of the coffee shop.
Blue-and-white police tape surrounded the shopfront and the SUVs. David moved into the shadow of some trees as two tow trucks arrived, hoisted the SUVs and left.
He walked along the alley, seeing a small group of people standing behind the coffee shop. An older lady, wearing an apron and arms dusty with flour, said that she lived next door to the coffee shop and was excitedly relaying events.
The back door to the coffee shop was open and David peered through. Other than the barista, who was busy with his phone, the shop was empty.
“Any chance of an espresso?”
The young man spun around. “Shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry, the old girl outside tells me you had some excitement.”
“Yeah, bloody hell. It’s all happening,” he said, then as David moved closer. “Weren’t you here the other day?”
“Yeah, there was a bunch of thugs camped in here. I got my coffee and pissed off. Was it one of them that was shot?” David said.
“Yes the one in charge, with all the gold chains. Right out the front.”
“So, what about that coffee?” David said and pulled out a chair to sit.
“I guess so, the cops taped the front but they didn’t say I couldn’t stay open.”
Two others entered through the back door, ordered coffees and sat nearby.
"So what’s the story with those guys?’ David asked the barista.
“They turned up here a couple of weeks ago. They took over the place. Scared all my regulars away.”
“What did they talk about?” David said.
“To be honest I tried not to listen. Whenever I brought their coffees over they would stop talking and just glare at me. But it was something to do with drugs; I heard them say stuff about ‘gear’ and ‘moving product’.”
The front door of the coffee shop opened and two uniformed police entered.
“What are you doing here?” One of the officers said. “This place is a crime scene.”
“You never said I couldn’t stay open. I can’t just close the place,” the barista protested.
“What do you think that tape is for?” The other officer said.
“It’s across the front. He was shot out there, not in here,” the barista replied, his voice now sounding like a whining schoolboy.
The officers looked at each other. “Okay, my bad. The back door should have been taped as well. You’ll all have to leave.”
David did his best to look like he wasn’t there and started to head towards the back door.
“Did you see anything?” one of the officers asked David.
“No, I just came around the corner when I saw you lot arrive.”
The others shook their heads.
“I’ll need to get your details ’cause you have been on the scene.”
David pulled out his licence and handed it over.
The officer noted the details and handed it back.
“So, Mr Mathieson, you’re from Melbourne?”
“Yeah, I’ve been scouting around to see about opening a herbal products shop, but after this, I might look elsewhere.”
David slipped out of the door as the officer was talking with the others.
Brindabella National Park, ACT, 25th October 2018
Jacobsen met Brownsill at the airport.
“Where is this place?” Brownsill asked as they headed out of the carpark.
“From what I know of the area it’s quite a way into the forest, hence the four-wheel drive.”
About an hour later, after a bumpy ride, they arrived at the edge of an area of dense forest. A dozen people dressed as if they had just stepped out of an Anaconda shop sale stood near a break in the trees.
“The conservation group,” Jacobsen said as they walked past them and into the break where a large excavator was carefully removing layers of soil from an area screened from the main track.
A short, balding man in a blue paper coverall folded down to his waist, was standing nearby, sipping coffee.
Yelling over the sound of the excavator, Jacobsen said, “Peter Ibbott, this is DS Jim Brownsill from Bendigo. Peter is from our forensic team here. He said he had some free time so I figured, get on the front foot and have him on hand, in case.”
“You got a good gig, Peter, standing around drinking coffee,” Brownsill said, smiling.
“You better believe it,” Peter said. “But wait till the fun bit happens.”
Brownsill was about to reply when the excavator engine throttled back and stopped.
The driver called out, “I’ve hit something metal about a metre down. I’ll remove the surrounding soil to the same depth, then someone needs to have a closer look in case I damage something.”
Jacobsen pointed towards the conservationists who had shuffled in closer. “Push that lot back another thirty meters, and then erect screens around the break in the trees,” Jacobsen called out to two uniformed officers who had just arrived.
After thirty painstaking minutes of carefully scraping away the soil, the roof of a white vehicle was revealed.
Brownsill asked, “What did Freddy drive?”
“A white Toyota four-wheel drive,” Jacobsen said.
“Well, I’m guessing we’ve found Freddy,” Brownsill said.
The excavator driver attached a narrow bucket and cleared the soil from around the vehicle to allow access to the right-hand side and the rear. “All yours,” he called out.
Peter eased down into the narrow space between the vehicle and the side of the hole, carefully removed the last layer of soil from the driver’s side door, inched the driver’s side door open and looked in.
“And?” Jacobsen asked.
“Come and have a look yourself. A first for me,” Peter said.
Jacobsen donned a mask and gloves and carefully negotiated the slope down to the vehicle, squeezed past Pater and looked inside.
“Phew, that’s gunna be Freddy,” Jacobsen said and quickly withdrew her head from the vehicle. “Same as the others.”
“What do you mean?” Brownsill said.
“Well, assuming he was alive at the end, the last thing Freddy saw was what used to be in his crotch.”
“Sex organ removed and lodged in his mouth,” Peter added.
“Jesus, nothing subtle about that,” Brownsill said.
Jacobsen scrambled up to the top of the hole and re-joined Brownsill on the edge of the dig, removing her gloves and mask.
“The good thing is we have a second site with the same MO, which suggests the same perpetrator,” Brownsill said.
“We need to tell Smyth that he should be looking for a burial site,” Jacobsen said. “And someone who can operate digging equipment.”
“It’s a little weird this scenario, entombing the victims, it feels a bit ceremonial,” Brownsill said.
“I’m guessing Carter would be capable of using digging equipment,” Jacobsen said.
“Yes, but I just don’t see him as the type who would do this ... whatever it is, with the removal of the sex organ. That feels to me like someone else,” Brownsill said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Don’t know, just doesn’t feel right. Given his background, I’d say he’s more of a shooter.”
After issuing instructions to the excavator driver, Peter help up his hand. “Give us a hand up.”
Removing his gloves and cap he said, “I can’t say when he died till I get him back in the lab, but given the state of the body, I’d say he was interred pretty soon after death, and the soil slowed the process. I found this—.” He handed over a wallet. “It contains your missing person’s licence and cards.”
“Any thoughts on what happened here?” Brownsill asked.
“It doesn’t look like the person that did this was in a frenzy. I can’t tell whether the victim was alive when he was mutilated but the ‘surgery’ was precise. I’ll be done here by this afternoon. I’ll get the body back to the lab, and if you can arrange to get the vehicle back to our lab, I’ll have a team go over it.” Peter said.
“We need to ensure everybody who attends this site understands that no details are to be mentioned, no hallway discussions, nothing,” Brownsill said.
“Do you think they have seen anything so far?” Jacobsen said, gesturing to the conservationists.
“No,” Peter said, “They are too far back, but tell your guys to keep them over there and ensure the screens are kept in place.”
“Done. We are heading back now. As soon as you have anything...” Jacobsen said.
Peter shrugged. “Of course.”
“When can we start repairing and replanting the area?” one of the elder conservationists called out as Brownsill and Jacobsen walked past.
Bendigo Cemetery, 27th October 2018
Brownsill and Johnson arrived late at the cemetery and stood off a distance from where three identical white hearses were lined up next to three freshly dug burial sites.
“So that’s Jessica and Samantha eh?” Brownsill said.
“I introduced myself. Samantha seemed okay, but Jessica was like a block of ice,” Johnson said.
“She doesn’t look happy to be here,” Brownsill said.
“The family weren’t on many Christmas card lists by the look of the crowd,” Brownsill said.
“Jessica didn’t even arrange for a service in town,” Johnson said. “I am surprised she didn’t have them just back up to the grave and tip them in.”
“If we’d found the body in Canberra a bit earlier she might have got a deal, four for the price of three,” Brownsill said.
“When are you going to release that info to the press?” Johnson said.
Brownsill shrugged. “Jefferson will have to talk with her majesty over there first, I guess. Who are they?” He pointed to a small gathering of people standing near the gravesites, looking a bit bewildered.
“They are the immediate neighbours. I think they only came ’cause they felt guilty. Graham Chisholm was an arsehole according to the old bloke at the back.”
“Nice to have that as your epitaph,” Brownsill said.
Jessica stood hand in hand with Samantha, watching the celebrant drone on about the tragedy that had befallen the three and how much they would be missed.
Jessica whispered to Samantha something which made her smirk. Jessica held a tissue in her hand and dabbed her eyes occasionally. Samantha looked at her each time and patted her arm.
“Do you reckon that’s for show?” Brownsill said.
Chapter 20
Geelong, 26th October 2018
David watched from across the street as three heavily tattooed bikers surrounded one of his buyers and pushed and prodded him around in a circle like a pinball. One of the bikers then grabbed the buyer by his jacket lapels and shoved him up against the window of the hardware store. They left him slumped in a heap on the footpath, fired up their bikes and took off with a deafening roar.
His phone buzzed with a message.
Just rumbled by 3 goons. Want your contact or else. What do I do?
He replied.
I will sort. Whats their number
David dialled, after three rings a gruff voice answered, “What?”
“You wanted to talk.”
“Are you the supplier?”
“Might be.”
“We’re taking over this patch.”
David sent through the pictures he had taken in the cabin.
“What the fu ... Where did you get these?”
“That’s what happened to the last guys who tried who take something that was mine,” David said.
“They were my guys, fucker.”
“I take it you didn’t know they were an item,” David said.
There was a hesitation and David could hear an angry conversation in the background.
“If you want to stay healthy, fucker, don’t you fuckin’ spread them around, you hear me?”
“Worried about their reputation?” he replied and chuckled.
“You know what happens to smartarses?”
“I am busy. You wanted me to call. I’ve called, now what?” David said.
“So how do we do this?”
“What, give you my business?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t we meet? See if we can hash out a deal.”
“We don’t do deals; we decide what we want and we take it.”
“You saw how that worked before. Unless you want to talk a deal, there is no point talking anymore.”
“Hang on. Let me think.”
After a couple of minutes of mumbled conversation at the other end of the call, David heard: “Here’s the deal; we’ll keep leaning on your dealers till you have no distribution left. How about that deal, fucker.”
