The Family Cleaner, page 20
“I was about to knock off but if you okay the overtime I’ll take you up.”
“Whatever, let’s just get on with it.”
“Settle down, mate, he’s entitled to ask for overtime,” Goble said. “Come on, constable, you ride with me.”
“No, you come with me,” Smyth said. “I want to hear what you found out from that witness.”
Jenkins gathered up an empty McDonald’s meal box and two drink containers that were on the front passenger seat and eased himself into the vehicle, balancing the rubbish on his lap.
“Chuck it in the back,” Smyth said and waved his hand in the direction of the back seat.
Jenkins pivoted and tossed the rubbish onto an already messy back seat.
“Well!” Smyth said as he headed out of the car park. “Which way?”
“Out of town. Head for the Dawson Range state forest just past Stewarton.”
“So, what did she say?”
“She’s ninety per cent sure it was the same guy.”
Smyth thumped the horn. “Yes!”
“She said he wore a cap pulled down over his eyes, plus it was dark outside and the nine-millimetre in her face freaked her out.”
“Did she say it was a nine mil?”
“She did.”
“How did she know that?”
“Her whole family are into guns.”
“Too dark for her to ID him, but she can recognise a pistol?”
“She said the pistol was in the light, but the guy kept in the shadow.”
“She was that sure about him, yes? Why hasn’t this come up before?”
“Well, if we’d had that pic before we would have shown it to her. I assumed the mention of the pistol would have raised a flag when the notes got reviewed.”
He’s right. And I should have got hold of that image before now.
They drove in silence until Stewarton, then turned out of town.
“We’re going to need to get into George’s Patrol soon,” Jenkins said.
“Shit, why didn’t you tell me it was that sort of road,” he replied as he slowed to a stop.
“No disrespect, sir, but you just told me to get in with you. You didn’t ask anything about where we were going. I assumed you knew what you were doing.”
Smyth banged his hand on the steering wheel. “What, you don’t have a tongue? Jesus, constable, think!”
Smyth pulled over when Goble’s Nissan stopped behind him. “Let’s go,” he said to Jenkins.
He pulled open the passenger door of the Nissan and gestured to Jenkins, “In the back.”
“What’s up?” Goble asked.
“Constable Jenkins failed to tell me we needed a four-wheel drive to get where we’re going.”
“Did you give him a chance to say anything? Give him a break, Rog, you’re being a bit unreasonable.”
“Okay, okay. I’m having a bad day. How much further is it?”
Chapter 23
Melbourne, 24th January 2019
Monahan sat with his leg resting on a pouffe under his office desk. It ached and he cursed quietly as he massaged where the break had been. All he had ever dreamed of being was a criminal lawyer.
He looked into the mirror on the wall opposite his desk. “Well you over-achieved on that score, you’re a lawyer and a criminal.”
A burner phone buzzed in his drawer and he opened it, shuffling through phones till he found the one he used when talking with David. He hesitated, picked it up hit the end call button, and slammed the drawer shut.
His other phone rang instantly; it was an overseas number. He wasn’t going to stop.
“Monahan!” He answered.
“I seem to be light about 500K in my Greek account, the one you hold power of attorney on,” David said.
“I borrowed it.”
“Borrowed it and intending to repay, or borrowed permanently?”
“Permanently.”
“You don’t think I can do anything about it?”
“David, I was told to get you to contact me or they’d expose me. I had to.
“No, you didn’t. Now fix this or things will get unpleasant.”
“You can’t touch me, wherever you are.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Pretty much.”
“Put the money back into the account in the next twenty-four hours or you’ll find out exactly what I can do, even from here.”
“Where’s here? I can check the country code.”
“Fuck off, just do it,” David said and ended the call.
Monahan dialled the number he had been given the night he took that call. “I just had a call from him. He’s not happy.”
“Where is he?”
“Wouldn’t say, Mexico according to the country code. But that is all I know.”
“What did he say?”
“If I don’t put that money back he said I won’t enjoy the consequences. What you’re making me do is completely unprofessional, you do realise that? Theft of client funds, entrapment.”
“And I suppose snorting handfuls of cocaine to sustain yourself is professional.”
“That’s an addiction, not a crime.”
“Well, no, it is a crime, and I suspect the bar association would love to hear about it.”
“So what now?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to look after me and my family.”
Dawson Range State Forest, Queensland, 24th January 2019
Smyth, Goble and Jenkins bumped along the dusty, heavily rutted track for fifteen minutes till they arrived at a wooded area five kilometres from the main road. A gap in the trees, about as wide as two cars, was taped off with orange and white SES tape. Four local SES officers stood in a circle, smoking, near a break in the trees.
Smyth leapt out and swore quietly as fine dust exploded up from the ground. It hadn’t rained in a while and the dirt was like chalk powder, puffing up with each footfall.
“Bloody hell, it’s dry,” he said, holding his hand up to shield his eyes, cursing himself for forgetting his sunglasses.
Jenkins gave Smyth a look that seemed to say, “fucking whinger”.
“So, Constable Jenkins, what can you tell us?” Goble asked.
“These guys,” Jenkins gestured towards the SES officers, “have been doing a grid search for days and this was one of the last sectors. They were almost ready to turn it in when bang, there it was. I asked them to stay around to ensure no one interfered.”
“Good work, Constable, and did any of them enter the site after they found it?” Goble asked.
“I was quite clear that they should just tape it off and stay out, sir. They’re veterans, they know what to do.”
“Okay, let’s go see what we have,” Smyth said, happy for Goble to take the lead from here on.
“Gentlemen, George Goble, what have you got for us?” he said to the SES team.
“Hi, George,” the gnarled old SES leader said and held out his hand. “Name’s Chas. “It looks to me like someone used a backhoe to dig out this area. This break in the trees is just wide enough to get one in and those tyre tracks suggest a backhoe.” He pointed to a set of ruts in the dusty soil.
“Lucky we found it now, the way things grow around here in the wet season, this would have been covered in a couple of months,” Chas said.
“Great work guys,” Goble said. “PPE gear on for anyone coming onto the site. Let’s see what we have.”
Goble walked along the twenty metres of cleared forest to find a larger area of recently disturbed soil. The soil had dried out without the cover of scrub and bush. “Does anyone have a star stake or something similar?” He called out.
“Here, mate,” Chas said, struggling to put on a forensic suit.
Goble plunged the metal stake into the ground, the recently disturbed soil allowing him to push it down easily.
Clunk. He withdrew it and plunged again about a metre away. Clunk. “Right, who’s in the mood for some digging?”
The SES officers shuffled off to get shovels.
Chas said, “It’s gunna be black as pitch in about thirty minutes, we should set up lights first.”
“Hold on,” Smyth said, “we need this—”
Goble held his hand out to him and said, “Leave them to it, Roger, these guys know what they’re doing.”
An hour later the roof of a Toyota Hilux was exposed half a metre below the surface. Goble climbed into the hole. The left-hand side rear window was open just wide enough to squeeze a hand in. He leaned down and sniffed.
“Oh, yes, we have a body. I think we need to knock off for now, I can’t do too much tonight.” He looked at Smyth. “And before you object, it’s my call. We risk compromising the scene if we do something wrong because we worked in the dark.”
“I need to know if it’s the missing guy.”
“Chas, would you dig down till we can see the rego?” He turned back to Smyth, “If we give you the rego and I can tell you there’s a body in there, will that keep you happy?”
Smyth nodded.
Chas agreed to remain with one of his team to protect the site, while the others returned to Blackwater.
Smyth drove back to Rockhampton to await the results of the following day’s dig.
Police Video Conference, 25th January 2019
“Smyth, I believe you have the missing piece for us,” Kleinberg said as he waited for the others to join.
“Yes, sir, in a forest in the Blackwater district. Looks like the same MO. I haven’t got anything specific about the body yet, but on the surface, it looks the same. I’m having the locals check around to see if there’s been any earthmoving equipment gone missing or hired out or whatever.”
“You’re only just doing that?” Kleinberg said.
The other participants shuffled papers during the silence that followed.
Eventually, Smyth said, “Well, no sir, I hadn’t done that. We don’t quite have the resources that you do.”
“Well, go on then. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
“Forensics confirmed there was a body, and that it was Jake’s vehicle. I left them last night at about nine and drove back to Rocky. They’re digging out the rest of the site now, and then we’ll be able to determine if it is Jake.”
“This fascination with burying the bodies in the vehicles seems ... theatrical,” Prosser said.
“All the victims so far have been buried one way or another,” Brownsill said.
Smyth’s phone rang.
“Take it,” Kleinberg said.
Everyone waited while Smyth listened.
“And it wasn’t like the others?” Smyth said into the phone. “Okay, call me when you’re through.”
He ended the call. “That was the forensic guy, George Goble. It’s Jake, alright. He was not killed the same way as the others. His body parts are where they are supposed to be. His throat was cut.”
“Same as the mother,” Prosser said.
“George suggests he bled out slowly and, get this, there was a photo of the Bendigo crime scene taped to the steering wheel. George assumes the last thing he saw was that photo. I’m going to be fascinated listening to the forensic psych people explain this.”
Prosser spoke first. “I have a theory.”
“Another one, DS? Please speak,” Kleinberg said.
“The father and the two brothers sexually abused the perp. Jake did nothing about it. The mother didn’t either, so she was made to watch her husband and son being paid back.”
“The question is who did they abuse?” Kleinberg said. “I agree with your theory, by the way.”
“The sort of rage that drove this is not about a one-time thing. This is about sustained, long-term payback,” Brownsill said.
Prosser continued, “The real question is, was it David Carter they abused or someone else? And there’s only one other person who comes to mind. Jessica.”
“Phew!” Jefferson exclaimed. “You’re talking about a senior forensic expert in the New South Wales police force being a serial killer.”
“What was it you said about how she reacted to the news about her family, disinterested?” Prosser said.
“I said neutral. It’s a big leap from that to serial killer.”
“Everybody can kill if the conditions are right and they have sufficient incentive,” Kleinberg said. “We need to manage the next phase very carefully.”
“Has Jessica been anywhere near the forensics of this? Is there any chance we might have an issue with a legal challenge?” Brownsill said.
“No way. She hasn’t been involved at all,” Jefferson said.
“There’s another aspect I don’t get about Jessica Chisholm. From what Lauren has relayed to us, I’m surprised she hasn’t been nibbling around asking questions. Wouldn’t you think she’d be just the slightest bit interested in how we’re progressing? I mean, you can hate your family uphill and down dale, but wouldn’t you just be a bit curious? Wouldn’t you think, given her clout, she might have sought out some information?” Prosser said.
“Brownsill, the information Johnson accessed, ask him if he recalls anything about sexual abuse. It would have come out in the discussions you’d think,” Kleinberg said.
“He didn’t mention it, but I’ll ask.”
“Mind sharing?” Smyth said.
“Better you don’t know,” Brownsill said.
“Brownsill, you know the psych, don’t you?” Kleinberg said. “Any chance you could prise anything out on that topic?”
Brownsill nodded.
“I’m looking forward to hearing what Lauren has to report after she tells Jessica about this one,” Prosser said.
“Let’s wait till it's confirmed, but yes that would be worth recording,” Brownsill said.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, good hunting. And Smyth, when you get the full details lodge it on the system. I want a comparison of each of the path reports looking for common threads.”
Rockhampton Police Station
Smyth grabbed his phone, headed for the coffee machine and called George Goble.
“George, it’s Roger. Anything more to report?”
“No, but I should have him all bundled up and back to Rocky soon. SES reckon they can get the vehicle back to me tomorrow.”
“How did the perp dig that hole?” Smyth asked.
“Chas said a local earthmoving contractor thought a piece of his equipment had been tampered with a while ago. They just leave their gear locked up where they’re working over weekends. He let it ride because it wasn’t damaged.”
“Okay, well that solves one mystery at least. When you’re done, make sure you log your report into the document system using that link I emailed you.”
Goble sighed. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Roger. Don’t tell me how to suck eggs, okay?”
Smyth ended the call and threw his pen at his office wall. It broke and fell to the floor in several pieces.
Every fucker seems to want to give me the shits today.
Chapter 24
Melbourne, 29th January 2019
Monahan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the roller door to his office basement carpark to open. It had to be the slowest in the world.
He hated aspects of where life had landed him, threatened by the criminals he was supposed to defend and seemingly incapable of shaking off his cocaine addiction. He’d woken this morning early, determined to get back in charge of his life. He knew that started by dealing with his habit. That was going to be tough.
He parked in his usual spot near the entrance and reached into the back seat to retrieve his briefcase. Through the rear window he saw something move, or was he just jumpy?
The carpark lights normally flicked on automatically. He quietly opened the door hesitated, waiting, listening, and then slid out of the seat; his briefcase banged against the door pillar.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He felt his way along the wall towards the power box then fumbled with his phone to light it up. He flicked the switch. Nothing.
“Mr Monahan,” a heavily accented voice echoed through the park. “Someone asked me to pay you a visit. A little matter of 500K that seems to have disappeared.”
Monahan froze. “Who’s that?” He said, peering into the blackness.
“No one you need to know, but if our friend doesn’t see that money back in his account, then being reported to the Bar Association will, I promise you, be the least of your issues.”
“Are you a friend of Pavs?”
“I’m everybody’s friend, depending on who’s asking and who’s paying. In this case, my friend wants his money in twenty-four hours. And if you mention anything to the cops, losing your lawyer certificate will be the least of your problems. Is that clear?”
“Whatever he’s paying, I’ll double it.”
A hand grabbed the back of his neck, and he was forced down onto his knees. “Not the way it works, Monahan. If I did that, who would trust me next time?”
Bang!
“Faaaark!” Monahan screamed and clutched the side of his head.
“Now do as you’re told, or I’ll blow out your other eardrum.”
He rolled over onto his back clutching his head, whimpering. His ear thumped, he started to gasp for breath.
He didn’t know how long it was but he gradually eased himself up into a sitting position.
“Are you s-still there?”
Silence.
Later that day, his ear still throbbing, he transferred the money back. He authorised the bank to change the signature details to Tim Mathieson and cancelled his power of attorney.
The following morning his phone rang.
“Monahan.”
“Have you heard from him again?” A voice asked.
“I transferred the money back and cancelled the POA, so there’s nothing you can make me do now.”
“That was very silly of you. Dealing with the proceeds of crime, snorting a bucketful of coke ... I’m sure the association will love to hear all this.”
