The Family Cleaner, page 19
“What of Frankie?”
“I’ve left him with Pete. He’s spent a lot of time with him lately, he’ll be fine.”
“Will miss you. Good dog, that.”
“I know, Pav, but I need to get out of the way for a while. I mean, really disappear and let things slide. And I need to do it before the cops try to pin anything on me.”
“David, thank you for being friend.”
“Ditto, mate. And please make sure we keep in touch. You never know when we might need to help each other. Deal?”
“Da, deal.”
They stood and embraced. “See you, Pav.”
“Da.”
“Hi, it’s me,” David said when Siobhan answered her phone.
“Long time. I thought you’d gone off to greener pastures.”
“How’s the fund?”
“It’s getting a bit low but will be fine for a few weeks.”
“I won’t be around for a while. I’m taking a long break, get away, do some surfing overseas. I’ll drop in some funds to keep you going.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Not certain yet, but I’ll be in touch in case there’s a problem.”
“Well, be safe, David, and thank you for what you’re doing for these kids.”
“All good, Siobhan. To be honest, I’m paying you back. I’ll never forget how you helped me.”
She hesitated. “Is everything all right? You sound different.”
“Nah, all good just cleaned up some stuff that was in the way of moving forward. Now I’m off to see the world.” David said and chuckled.
“That sounds good, the world’s a big place. I’m glad you feel well.”
“Really well, now I just want to get away and chill out. I’ll call, promise.”
After the call he settled back onto the bed in the Airport Hilton, pulled out the new passports Monahan had provided and opened them to ensure he had the one that matched the name he had booked his flight in.
“Fuck. Monahan you fucker.”
He called Monahan, “It’s got the wrong photo.”
“David?” Monahan said. “Of course it’s me. The passports you got me they’ve got some other guy’s photo in it.”
“Shit!” Monahan said. “I didn’t even think to check, my guys never made a mistake. I just assumed ...”
“I’m booked to fly tonight; you need to fix this.”
“I can’t turn it around in that time. What else do you have?”
David grabbed his carry bag, peeled back the false bottom under which he had various sets of papers and pulled out a passport. “I’ve got one in a name you got me a while ago but I don’t want to use it. It’s a name that might be known to the cops.”
“The best I can do is get you replacements with the right photo. But that will be two weeks at least. Then I can send them on. Can you wait that long?”
“No, I can’t, I need to get going.”
David thought for a while. “You get me new ones; I’ll send you a forwarding address.”
He ended the call and called the airline to cancel the ticket and then purchased another for Tim Mathieson.
That evening, David flew to Vanuatu. He wondered when, if ever, he would return. He would miss Frank; he knew that much.
Bendigo Police Station, 25th November 2018
Brownsill leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling wondering why Kleinberg had turned up in Bendigo again.
“DS! In my office, pronto,” Kleinberg yelled out.
Brownsill glared at Johnson and mouthed “my office”.
“Get over it, boss, you’ll get it back when this thing’s done,” Johnson replied.
Brownsill trudged in to see Kleinberg.
“Have you seen this?” Kleinberg said, handing him a piece of paper. “Just came in from Perth.”
Brownsill read through the notes, looking up at Kleinberg a couple of times.
“Aaron, would you come in here?” Brownsill called out.
Aaron skulked in and sat. “Sir?”
“That file that you ‘didn’t’ see in your girlfriend’s office. Apart from what you told us before, do you remember much about his time in the West?” Brownsill said.
“I might go get a coffee,” Kleinberg said.
Johnson shifted in his seat. “Is this going to get me in trouble?”
“No, that’s why he left the room. Do you remember anything about who he met or knew over there?” Brownsill said.
“As far as I recall he liked the young teacher who helped him. He mentioned her often. And some guy, can’t remember his name, but it was short. I think he was from Croatia. Looked after Carter when he first got there and taught him heaps.”
“Pav?”
“Yeah, something like that. Why?”
“Pavel Novak left the station to come back east. The owners were pissed as hell ’cause he left without any notice. They said he disappeared a couple of times for a few days before he left for good. No explanations.”
“I wonder if one of those weeks was when Carter was supposed to be in the West,” Johnson said.
“Wonder indeed,” Brownsill replied. “How to be in two places at once? Have someone pretend to be you. We need another look at those tapes from the airport and fuel stop. I wonder if the people from the station have a picture of this guy?”
Bendigo Police Station, 27th November 2018
Two days later a photo arrived. It was of Pav with the station staff at a Christmas lunch from the previous year.
Kleinberg walked triumphantly into the outer office and pinned two video stills and a note with a physical description of Pav onto the case data board.
He poked his finger at the board and turned triumphantly.
“The people in Melbourne are ninety-nine per cent sure that the guy in the still from the petrol stop and our friend in the Christmas pic are the same person.”
“Got you, you bastard!” Brownsill said. “So now we get Mr Pav and find out what he has to say.”
“That’s going to be tricky. He left for Croatia a couple of weeks ago,” Kleinberg said. “I just had a call from the border guys.”
“Fuck!” Johnson said. “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be, that’s my thought exactly.”
“Can we get the Croatian police to interview him? Surely we have some cooperation agreement.”
“I’ll pass the request up the line and see what we can get. But in the meantime, we now have the possibility that David Carter, obviously not travelling as himself, could have been in Queensland at the same time as these murders were committed. I can’t think of another reason why he would have this guy—” he tapped Pav’s image on the data board “—impersonate him.”
“I think we need to have another session with Mr Carter, don’t you?” Brownsill said. “Should I go down to Geelong or get Prosser to deal with it?”
Kleinberg’s phone rang and he answered it. “Speak of the devil, Prosser, we were just talking about— ...When? I’ll send Brownsill and Johnson down, meanwhile, do whatever you can to find him.”
Kleinberg looked at the other officers and mouthed, “He’s gone.”
Kleinberg ended the call.
“Prosser says he’s gone to ground. You two get down there and find him. Find him,” he repeated loudly.
Five hours later, Brownsill called Kleinberg.
“He’s gone, seriously gone. Left his dog with his gardening colleague weeks ago. No one’s seen him since and Prosser tells me word is the local drug supply’s in turmoil. It’s dried up completely which, if he was the supplier, and Prosser believes he was, confirms he’s gone for good,” Brownsill said.
“Wow, this guy is something special,” Kleinberg said. “You might as well come back then. Call border security. See if he’s left the country. Though I suspect if he’s as connected as I think he is, he’s probably not travelling under his name.”
Chapter 22
Police Video Conference, 16th January 2019
“Well, everyone, happy anniversary. It’s one year today since the Chisholm family were first reported missing,” Kleinberg said.
The silence told him his attempt at humour had misfired.
“Under the heading of breaking news, the South Australian police have interviewed the owner of those prints. He swears he hasn’t been to the Chisholm property and was fishing somewhere near Adelaide at the time of the murders. So how did his fingerprints get in that cellar? Is he just out and out lying? The locals are confirming his whereabouts, but for the time being, let’s keep focused on what we have.”
The comment was greeted with murmuring and a couple of wry smiles.
“So let me share what might, under the circumstances, be good news. We know that David Carter flew into Perth; we have clear footage of him. We know he flew back to Melbourne a week later. We know he had his mate Pav impersonate him in the Margaret River area. So, what did he get up to that week?” Kleinberg said.
“Took a side trip to Brisbane or Rocky?” Prosser said.
“Exactly my view, so I had a data-matching exercise done covering all passengers who flew from Perth to Brisbane in that same period. One name stood out, Tim Mathieson. He flew up the day Carter arrived in Perth and back a few days later. Why?”
“That name’s familiar,” Prosser said.
“We’ve also determined that David Carter has not flown out of Australia recently, but we know someone who has,” Kleinberg paused, waiting for effect.
“Who?” Brownsill asked.
“Tim Mathieson flew to Vanuatu four weeks ago, one way. Airport security footage confirms it was Carter.”
“So, Carter is Mathieson?” Jefferson said.
“Appears to be, yes,” Kleinberg said. “It might be worth a call to his lawyer.”
“Monahan is as bent as he is, he won’t say anything,” Brownsill said.
“I agree, but maybe we can encourage something out of him,” Kleinberg said.
“Hang on a minute, let me check something,” Prosser said, disappearing from the call.
“Smart bastard. So, Carter flies to Perth and then to Brisbane, does his worst and then back?” Jefferson said.
“Why fly to Brisbane, head up to Rocky, deal with Jake Chisholm, then back to Brisbane to deal with the army guy? Does that make sense?” Smyth said.
“If his prime objective was Jake Chisholm, it wouldn’t. What if something went awry in Brisbane, he might not be able to deal with Chisholm.” Kleinberg said. “It seems a back-to-front way to do it.”
“I guess I need to nail his movements at this end then,” Smyth said. “If I could get those flight details I’ll see if I can track his movements from the airport. It’s been a while, but I guess he’ll have used a hire car or stayed somewhere.”
“Did you get anywhere with Jake Chisholm, Smyth?” Kleinberg said.
“We found nothing in the initial search, so we broadened it twice,” Smyth replied. “I just don’t have the resources to do much more. We still have about a quarter of the new search area to go; we should be done by the middle of the week.”
“Hey, I’m back,” Prosser said. “I just checked the notes from the coffee shop shooting. Someone called Tim Mathieson was at the coffee shop after it happened. He offered a licence in that name when asked to ID.”
“They always make a mistake eventually,” Kleinberg said. “Great pick-up, DS. That confirms that Mathieson is one of his aliases. Let’s see where that gets us. Anyway, I’ve raised a query concerning Pavel Novak with the Croatian police through Interpol, and DFAT has made a direct request to the people in Vanuatu about Mathieson. Please make sure all your files and reports are up to date. This thing is going to move fast now. Smyth, I’m particularly interested in your progress. Call the moment you have anything or, indeed, nothing.”
Brownsill and Johnson retired to their local after the call. Brownsill was sipping a beer and again bemoaning Kleinberg’s involvement.
“It shits me the way he carries on. What about the ‘big reveal’ today? Fucking show pony. Did he want a fucking drum roll as well?”
“You didn’t have to give him the opening by asking. If you’d left him hanging he would have looked like a bigger dick than he is,” Johnson said.
“Yeah, I know. I could have chewed my tongue off after I said it.”
“The way I see it, we sort this out then he’ll bugger off back to Melbourne and we’ll get some credit. It’s pointless trying to avoid or go around him. Let’s face it, he has some seriously good connections. He can get stuff done much quicker than we could.”
“I know, but it still pisses me off.”
Johnson put his hand on Brownsill’s arm. “It’s your shout.”
Monahan answered his phone on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Mr Monahan? You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you.”
“Well, that does make me feel special,” Monahan replied.
“Don’t be cute. The people I represent want to know where David Carter is. Are you able to assist?”
Monahan hesitated before replying. “No, not right now.”
“Do you have a way to contact him?”
“No, all I know is he’s left. Don’t know where.”
“Is there some way you could get in touch with him or get his attention? It would be in your interest.”
“How so?”
“Information exists about aspects of your lifestyle that, if exposed, might render your law degree useless.”
“That sounds like blackmail.”
“It doesn’t sound like it, Monahan, it is. Ensure he contacts you, and quickly. Then let us know where he is. Is that understood?”
“This is a new low in police tactics.”
“Who said I represent the police? Now you need to decide if you help or if the Bar Association will hear all about your trouble with drugs. Write this number down, if you hear from him call me.”
Monahan cradled his phone and sat back in his chair. He hated where his weakness had delivered him. Pushed around by everyone and owing favours everywhere.
Rockhampton Police Station, 18th January 2019
Smyth leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out under the desk. He surveyed the office. His wife was right, though he hated to admit it, Rockhampton was the arse end of the world, and this office reinforced it. But did she have to remind him of it daily? He shook away the thought and pressed on, re-reading the ever-growing file in front of him. He needed to kill time while he waited for news about the security footage from the week that David Carter, aka Tim Mathieson, was supposedly in Queensland.
He flipped through the file, stopping here and there to re-read notes. The on-site Blackwater section had a dark coffee stain over some of the pages and two pages were stuck together. He tried to prise them apart. He checked the local officer’s name and called him.
“Jenkins, it’s DS Smyth. I am reviewing your notes but there are two pages I can’t read. Can you check your end for me? He waited and listened as Jenkins shuffled papers.
“Which bits can’t you read?”
“The section after you started your interview with the barmaid. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do remember. She was ... memorable,” the constable replied.
“How so?”
“She was hot.”
“Okay, constable, let’s try to keep this professional. What did she say?”
He listened to more paper shuffling.
“Um, she said, ‘Someone was asking about Jake. Same guy held a pistol on them outside after closing. He had a cap on. Thinks she would recognise him again. He was young and big.’ At least that’s what my notes say.”
Smyth tried to keep calm as his heart pounded and his throat dried. “Interesting. Do me a favour, will you? I’m sending you a pic of someone; see if she recognises him. That’ll give you a chance to renew your acquaintance with her at least. And do it now. And if she’s not at work, find her, now, constable.”
Smyth sent the image to Jenkin’s phone, leaned back into his seat and rubbed his temples to push away the headache he had from too many hours reading the interview notes, not helped by the too many beers from the night before after arguing with his wife. He doodled with his pen. He knew he was a much better cop than his situation suggested and wanted a transfer to Brisbane.
“If I can crack this thing,” he said aloud.
His phone rang.
“DS Smyth.” He always answered his phone like that; the repetition of his rank made him feel less like a failure.
He listened, then launched himself out of the seat and grabbed his jacket and keys. He was out of the police station when the call ended. He exited the car park, lights and siren on, as he asked Siri to call George Goble, the local pathologist.
Can’t get actual forensics in this bloody backwater.
“George, they found something. I’ll be at your office in ten minutes. Follow me with your gear ... Blackwater. I want to get there before it gets dark ... Yes, of course I made sure it’s secure, but it’s only a three-cop station so the sooner we get there the better.”
Blackwater Police Station
Smyth checked his rear-view mirror as he swung into the car park of Blackwater Station. Goble had done a decent job of keeping up in his Nissan Patrol. He checked the time. Four, okay, plenty of time.
His phone rang.
“DS Smyth,” he answered.
“Sir, it’s Jenkins. I showed the photo to the witness and ...”
“Save it, I’m just pulling into the station,” Smyth said and ended the call.
He pulled into the ‘no parking’ spot near the front door of the station as Jenkins emerged. He jumped out of his vehicle and waited for Goble to park.
Goble ambled towards Smyth and introduced himself to Jenkins.
“Take us to the site now,” Smyth said.
Jenkins looked at his watch.
“That’s if it’s convenient,” Smyth snapped.
“I’ve left him with Pete. He’s spent a lot of time with him lately, he’ll be fine.”
“Will miss you. Good dog, that.”
“I know, Pav, but I need to get out of the way for a while. I mean, really disappear and let things slide. And I need to do it before the cops try to pin anything on me.”
“David, thank you for being friend.”
“Ditto, mate. And please make sure we keep in touch. You never know when we might need to help each other. Deal?”
“Da, deal.”
They stood and embraced. “See you, Pav.”
“Da.”
“Hi, it’s me,” David said when Siobhan answered her phone.
“Long time. I thought you’d gone off to greener pastures.”
“How’s the fund?”
“It’s getting a bit low but will be fine for a few weeks.”
“I won’t be around for a while. I’m taking a long break, get away, do some surfing overseas. I’ll drop in some funds to keep you going.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Not certain yet, but I’ll be in touch in case there’s a problem.”
“Well, be safe, David, and thank you for what you’re doing for these kids.”
“All good, Siobhan. To be honest, I’m paying you back. I’ll never forget how you helped me.”
She hesitated. “Is everything all right? You sound different.”
“Nah, all good just cleaned up some stuff that was in the way of moving forward. Now I’m off to see the world.” David said and chuckled.
“That sounds good, the world’s a big place. I’m glad you feel well.”
“Really well, now I just want to get away and chill out. I’ll call, promise.”
After the call he settled back onto the bed in the Airport Hilton, pulled out the new passports Monahan had provided and opened them to ensure he had the one that matched the name he had booked his flight in.
“Fuck. Monahan you fucker.”
He called Monahan, “It’s got the wrong photo.”
“David?” Monahan said. “Of course it’s me. The passports you got me they’ve got some other guy’s photo in it.”
“Shit!” Monahan said. “I didn’t even think to check, my guys never made a mistake. I just assumed ...”
“I’m booked to fly tonight; you need to fix this.”
“I can’t turn it around in that time. What else do you have?”
David grabbed his carry bag, peeled back the false bottom under which he had various sets of papers and pulled out a passport. “I’ve got one in a name you got me a while ago but I don’t want to use it. It’s a name that might be known to the cops.”
“The best I can do is get you replacements with the right photo. But that will be two weeks at least. Then I can send them on. Can you wait that long?”
“No, I can’t, I need to get going.”
David thought for a while. “You get me new ones; I’ll send you a forwarding address.”
He ended the call and called the airline to cancel the ticket and then purchased another for Tim Mathieson.
That evening, David flew to Vanuatu. He wondered when, if ever, he would return. He would miss Frank; he knew that much.
Bendigo Police Station, 25th November 2018
Brownsill leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling wondering why Kleinberg had turned up in Bendigo again.
“DS! In my office, pronto,” Kleinberg yelled out.
Brownsill glared at Johnson and mouthed “my office”.
“Get over it, boss, you’ll get it back when this thing’s done,” Johnson replied.
Brownsill trudged in to see Kleinberg.
“Have you seen this?” Kleinberg said, handing him a piece of paper. “Just came in from Perth.”
Brownsill read through the notes, looking up at Kleinberg a couple of times.
“Aaron, would you come in here?” Brownsill called out.
Aaron skulked in and sat. “Sir?”
“That file that you ‘didn’t’ see in your girlfriend’s office. Apart from what you told us before, do you remember much about his time in the West?” Brownsill said.
“I might go get a coffee,” Kleinberg said.
Johnson shifted in his seat. “Is this going to get me in trouble?”
“No, that’s why he left the room. Do you remember anything about who he met or knew over there?” Brownsill said.
“As far as I recall he liked the young teacher who helped him. He mentioned her often. And some guy, can’t remember his name, but it was short. I think he was from Croatia. Looked after Carter when he first got there and taught him heaps.”
“Pav?”
“Yeah, something like that. Why?”
“Pavel Novak left the station to come back east. The owners were pissed as hell ’cause he left without any notice. They said he disappeared a couple of times for a few days before he left for good. No explanations.”
“I wonder if one of those weeks was when Carter was supposed to be in the West,” Johnson said.
“Wonder indeed,” Brownsill replied. “How to be in two places at once? Have someone pretend to be you. We need another look at those tapes from the airport and fuel stop. I wonder if the people from the station have a picture of this guy?”
Bendigo Police Station, 27th November 2018
Two days later a photo arrived. It was of Pav with the station staff at a Christmas lunch from the previous year.
Kleinberg walked triumphantly into the outer office and pinned two video stills and a note with a physical description of Pav onto the case data board.
He poked his finger at the board and turned triumphantly.
“The people in Melbourne are ninety-nine per cent sure that the guy in the still from the petrol stop and our friend in the Christmas pic are the same person.”
“Got you, you bastard!” Brownsill said. “So now we get Mr Pav and find out what he has to say.”
“That’s going to be tricky. He left for Croatia a couple of weeks ago,” Kleinberg said. “I just had a call from the border guys.”
“Fuck!” Johnson said. “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be, that’s my thought exactly.”
“Can we get the Croatian police to interview him? Surely we have some cooperation agreement.”
“I’ll pass the request up the line and see what we can get. But in the meantime, we now have the possibility that David Carter, obviously not travelling as himself, could have been in Queensland at the same time as these murders were committed. I can’t think of another reason why he would have this guy—” he tapped Pav’s image on the data board “—impersonate him.”
“I think we need to have another session with Mr Carter, don’t you?” Brownsill said. “Should I go down to Geelong or get Prosser to deal with it?”
Kleinberg’s phone rang and he answered it. “Speak of the devil, Prosser, we were just talking about— ...When? I’ll send Brownsill and Johnson down, meanwhile, do whatever you can to find him.”
Kleinberg looked at the other officers and mouthed, “He’s gone.”
Kleinberg ended the call.
“Prosser says he’s gone to ground. You two get down there and find him. Find him,” he repeated loudly.
Five hours later, Brownsill called Kleinberg.
“He’s gone, seriously gone. Left his dog with his gardening colleague weeks ago. No one’s seen him since and Prosser tells me word is the local drug supply’s in turmoil. It’s dried up completely which, if he was the supplier, and Prosser believes he was, confirms he’s gone for good,” Brownsill said.
“Wow, this guy is something special,” Kleinberg said. “You might as well come back then. Call border security. See if he’s left the country. Though I suspect if he’s as connected as I think he is, he’s probably not travelling under his name.”
Chapter 22
Police Video Conference, 16th January 2019
“Well, everyone, happy anniversary. It’s one year today since the Chisholm family were first reported missing,” Kleinberg said.
The silence told him his attempt at humour had misfired.
“Under the heading of breaking news, the South Australian police have interviewed the owner of those prints. He swears he hasn’t been to the Chisholm property and was fishing somewhere near Adelaide at the time of the murders. So how did his fingerprints get in that cellar? Is he just out and out lying? The locals are confirming his whereabouts, but for the time being, let’s keep focused on what we have.”
The comment was greeted with murmuring and a couple of wry smiles.
“So let me share what might, under the circumstances, be good news. We know that David Carter flew into Perth; we have clear footage of him. We know he flew back to Melbourne a week later. We know he had his mate Pav impersonate him in the Margaret River area. So, what did he get up to that week?” Kleinberg said.
“Took a side trip to Brisbane or Rocky?” Prosser said.
“Exactly my view, so I had a data-matching exercise done covering all passengers who flew from Perth to Brisbane in that same period. One name stood out, Tim Mathieson. He flew up the day Carter arrived in Perth and back a few days later. Why?”
“That name’s familiar,” Prosser said.
“We’ve also determined that David Carter has not flown out of Australia recently, but we know someone who has,” Kleinberg paused, waiting for effect.
“Who?” Brownsill asked.
“Tim Mathieson flew to Vanuatu four weeks ago, one way. Airport security footage confirms it was Carter.”
“So, Carter is Mathieson?” Jefferson said.
“Appears to be, yes,” Kleinberg said. “It might be worth a call to his lawyer.”
“Monahan is as bent as he is, he won’t say anything,” Brownsill said.
“I agree, but maybe we can encourage something out of him,” Kleinberg said.
“Hang on a minute, let me check something,” Prosser said, disappearing from the call.
“Smart bastard. So, Carter flies to Perth and then to Brisbane, does his worst and then back?” Jefferson said.
“Why fly to Brisbane, head up to Rocky, deal with Jake Chisholm, then back to Brisbane to deal with the army guy? Does that make sense?” Smyth said.
“If his prime objective was Jake Chisholm, it wouldn’t. What if something went awry in Brisbane, he might not be able to deal with Chisholm.” Kleinberg said. “It seems a back-to-front way to do it.”
“I guess I need to nail his movements at this end then,” Smyth said. “If I could get those flight details I’ll see if I can track his movements from the airport. It’s been a while, but I guess he’ll have used a hire car or stayed somewhere.”
“Did you get anywhere with Jake Chisholm, Smyth?” Kleinberg said.
“We found nothing in the initial search, so we broadened it twice,” Smyth replied. “I just don’t have the resources to do much more. We still have about a quarter of the new search area to go; we should be done by the middle of the week.”
“Hey, I’m back,” Prosser said. “I just checked the notes from the coffee shop shooting. Someone called Tim Mathieson was at the coffee shop after it happened. He offered a licence in that name when asked to ID.”
“They always make a mistake eventually,” Kleinberg said. “Great pick-up, DS. That confirms that Mathieson is one of his aliases. Let’s see where that gets us. Anyway, I’ve raised a query concerning Pavel Novak with the Croatian police through Interpol, and DFAT has made a direct request to the people in Vanuatu about Mathieson. Please make sure all your files and reports are up to date. This thing is going to move fast now. Smyth, I’m particularly interested in your progress. Call the moment you have anything or, indeed, nothing.”
Brownsill and Johnson retired to their local after the call. Brownsill was sipping a beer and again bemoaning Kleinberg’s involvement.
“It shits me the way he carries on. What about the ‘big reveal’ today? Fucking show pony. Did he want a fucking drum roll as well?”
“You didn’t have to give him the opening by asking. If you’d left him hanging he would have looked like a bigger dick than he is,” Johnson said.
“Yeah, I know. I could have chewed my tongue off after I said it.”
“The way I see it, we sort this out then he’ll bugger off back to Melbourne and we’ll get some credit. It’s pointless trying to avoid or go around him. Let’s face it, he has some seriously good connections. He can get stuff done much quicker than we could.”
“I know, but it still pisses me off.”
Johnson put his hand on Brownsill’s arm. “It’s your shout.”
Monahan answered his phone on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Mr Monahan? You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you.”
“Well, that does make me feel special,” Monahan replied.
“Don’t be cute. The people I represent want to know where David Carter is. Are you able to assist?”
Monahan hesitated before replying. “No, not right now.”
“Do you have a way to contact him?”
“No, all I know is he’s left. Don’t know where.”
“Is there some way you could get in touch with him or get his attention? It would be in your interest.”
“How so?”
“Information exists about aspects of your lifestyle that, if exposed, might render your law degree useless.”
“That sounds like blackmail.”
“It doesn’t sound like it, Monahan, it is. Ensure he contacts you, and quickly. Then let us know where he is. Is that understood?”
“This is a new low in police tactics.”
“Who said I represent the police? Now you need to decide if you help or if the Bar Association will hear all about your trouble with drugs. Write this number down, if you hear from him call me.”
Monahan cradled his phone and sat back in his chair. He hated where his weakness had delivered him. Pushed around by everyone and owing favours everywhere.
Rockhampton Police Station, 18th January 2019
Smyth leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out under the desk. He surveyed the office. His wife was right, though he hated to admit it, Rockhampton was the arse end of the world, and this office reinforced it. But did she have to remind him of it daily? He shook away the thought and pressed on, re-reading the ever-growing file in front of him. He needed to kill time while he waited for news about the security footage from the week that David Carter, aka Tim Mathieson, was supposedly in Queensland.
He flipped through the file, stopping here and there to re-read notes. The on-site Blackwater section had a dark coffee stain over some of the pages and two pages were stuck together. He tried to prise them apart. He checked the local officer’s name and called him.
“Jenkins, it’s DS Smyth. I am reviewing your notes but there are two pages I can’t read. Can you check your end for me? He waited and listened as Jenkins shuffled papers.
“Which bits can’t you read?”
“The section after you started your interview with the barmaid. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do remember. She was ... memorable,” the constable replied.
“How so?”
“She was hot.”
“Okay, constable, let’s try to keep this professional. What did she say?”
He listened to more paper shuffling.
“Um, she said, ‘Someone was asking about Jake. Same guy held a pistol on them outside after closing. He had a cap on. Thinks she would recognise him again. He was young and big.’ At least that’s what my notes say.”
Smyth tried to keep calm as his heart pounded and his throat dried. “Interesting. Do me a favour, will you? I’m sending you a pic of someone; see if she recognises him. That’ll give you a chance to renew your acquaintance with her at least. And do it now. And if she’s not at work, find her, now, constable.”
Smyth sent the image to Jenkin’s phone, leaned back into his seat and rubbed his temples to push away the headache he had from too many hours reading the interview notes, not helped by the too many beers from the night before after arguing with his wife. He doodled with his pen. He knew he was a much better cop than his situation suggested and wanted a transfer to Brisbane.
“If I can crack this thing,” he said aloud.
His phone rang.
“DS Smyth.” He always answered his phone like that; the repetition of his rank made him feel less like a failure.
He listened, then launched himself out of the seat and grabbed his jacket and keys. He was out of the police station when the call ended. He exited the car park, lights and siren on, as he asked Siri to call George Goble, the local pathologist.
Can’t get actual forensics in this bloody backwater.
“George, they found something. I’ll be at your office in ten minutes. Follow me with your gear ... Blackwater. I want to get there before it gets dark ... Yes, of course I made sure it’s secure, but it’s only a three-cop station so the sooner we get there the better.”
Blackwater Police Station
Smyth checked his rear-view mirror as he swung into the car park of Blackwater Station. Goble had done a decent job of keeping up in his Nissan Patrol. He checked the time. Four, okay, plenty of time.
His phone rang.
“DS Smyth,” he answered.
“Sir, it’s Jenkins. I showed the photo to the witness and ...”
“Save it, I’m just pulling into the station,” Smyth said and ended the call.
He pulled into the ‘no parking’ spot near the front door of the station as Jenkins emerged. He jumped out of his vehicle and waited for Goble to park.
Goble ambled towards Smyth and introduced himself to Jenkins.
“Take us to the site now,” Smyth said.
Jenkins looked at his watch.
“That’s if it’s convenient,” Smyth snapped.
