The Family Cleaner, page 26
“So she takes possession of a random set of prints, anticipating that she might need them for this? That just seems to me to be a stretch,” Jacobsen said.
“I agree,” Prosser chipped in, “but if you think about what these two have conducted, it’s no overnight brain fade thing. They must have been planning this for some time. Think about his aliases. Think about the charades with the flights, knowing there would be excavation equipment around when needed. The list of elements crucial to carrying out this plan is endless.”
“You almost sound in awe of them, John,” Brownsill said.
“Okay, let me sum up where we are,” Kleinberg said. “The warrant for Carter has been out ten days now, nothing forthcoming. Smyth has the statement from the passenger who identified him on the Perth to Rockhampton flight. Jessica and Samantha are overseas in parts unknown. The barmaid in Blackwater is ninety per cent sure it was Carter who bailed up Jake Chisholm. There was zero forensics from any site, save for the extraneous fingerprint in Bendigo. Forensics advised potentially two different perps involved based on the evidence that all but Jake’s wounds were committed by a right-handed person, they are suggesting Jake was murdered by a left-handed person.”
“Jessica is ambidextrous,” Jefferson said.
“Of course she is,” Prosser said. “Just to make things that little bit more complicated.”
“How on earth would you know that?” Brownsill said.
“She served me coffee and added the milk with the other hand as she poured,” Jefferson said.
“It still could be Carter. I wouldn’t place too much credence on that evidence, all the forensic reports suggested, due to the nature of the wounds, it was difficult to assess,” Brownsill said.
“So, all Carter has to do, if we find him, is provide a plausible reason for disguising himself on the flight and you have essentially nothing,” Kleinberg said.
“But what could he say?” Smyth said.
“He’ll have something up his sleeve,” Prosser said.
“I’d just like the chance to ask him the question,” Brownsill said.
“What about the right-hand, left-hand combination? Doesn’t that narrow the field to the two women?” Jefferson said.
“I don’t think so, there must be lots of people that could fit that scenario,” Kleinberg said. “No, I think the warrant for Carter will hold, but the other two? I doubt it. DS Jefferson, can you please send the details of who you escalated this to? I’d like to talk with him.”
“Her,” Jefferson snapped back.
“Okay, her. Well, must push on. I’ll leave you all to think about the next steps,” Kleinberg said and left the call.
“Can I say, what an absolute prick,” Jefferson said.
“Ditto to that,” Jacobsen said. “I thought my boss was a pain but your guy, seriously.”
“He’s just shitty with you ’cause you escalated it, that’s all,” Brownsill said.
Brisbane Ranges National Park, 23rd April 2019
David heard a quad bike and glanced at his watch. Twenty-third, too early for Pav and he wouldn’t be arriving on a quad. Then he realised he could hear two engines.
Two of the telltales triggered.
He quickly gathered his pack and stuffed what was close at hand into it. As he left to move to a better position he remembered his cash bag and sprinted back to retrieve it. Two quads came around the bend and stopped.
“I’m getting sick of checking this place all the time, nothing changes. I don’t know what the big deal is,” the first rider said. He walked towards the clearing and noticed the tent and containers. “Hang on, what’s this?”
“There’s a quad over there under the bushes,” the second rider said.
“Anybody here? Come out. We’re from VicForests. Please show yourself.”
David squinted through the leaves of the bush he was hiding behind and saw the uniformed officers, picking through his campsite.
He knew he could deal with them, they appeared to be unarmed, but that might bring down a swarm of others. I don’t have a beef with these guys.
“Looks like whoever was running the plantation is back to set it up again. Is anybody here? Show yourself.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Let’s just leave and report it. If the cops want to do something they can get involved. Who knows, it could be bikies. I’m not getting the shit kicked out of me over some pot plantation!”
“What about the quad?”
“Leave it. I’ll take some pics to send to that Geelong cop and then we can get out of here. We have to check that other site before we go back.”
The two officers took some photos and left the camp. David listened as their engines faded, then left to reset the telltales and waited.
“Sloppy, David, sloppy,” Pav said as he walked in from another trail.
David stood to hug his friend. “Shit Pav, you scared the living hell out of me! I was focused on some visitors. Yes, sloppy.”
“Saw them coming out. You good?”
Pav sat on one of the containers as David opened a couple of beers.
“Good, mate, but I’m on the run. The cops have a warrant for me, and it looks like they’ve blown the two IDs I used.”
“David, you did the family, yes?”
“Absolutely not. May have helped it to happen, but I didn’t do them. I’m not into knives, you need to get too close for that.”
Pav sat in silence for a while, sipping his beer. “Da, okay. I go see shitty Monahan today. Remind him to be good.” He reached into his jacket. “Package looks okay. I opened in case not but papers look okay. I had checked by friend before bringing.”
“Thanks, mate, I need to get out of Aus quickly.”
“Why come back? Thought waves good in Mexico.”
“I had to do some cleaning up for someone.”
“Next time ask Pav. I clean, okay?”
“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.”
“What about visitors?”
“They’re going to send some pics to the cops and check another site, which I’m guessing is our other old site. Someone must have tumbled onto them and realised there was something not right. I figure we need to get out of here soon.”
“Pav stay till you safe.”
“Only if you’re not at risk, please. Anyway, tell me about Croatia, your sister, everything.”
They had another beer and Pav haltingly told David about his life in Croatia. “Good life, David, good life. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, mate. You earned it.”
As David checked over the passports and credit cards, he heard a faint grumbling sound.
“Did you hear that?” David said.
Pav nodded slowly.
Chapter 31
Geelong Police Station, 25th April 2019
Prosser flicked through the unsolved biker deaths file. Nothing jumped out and the pressure from above was mounting. The dealers he’d leaned on confirmed the supplier was a ghost; no one had ever seen him face to face. The only wrinkle was the recent arrival of someone with an accent, who had seemed to take over. Prosser was convinced that was Pav The ghost was David Carter. Everything fitted together.
He turned to Aaron Johnson, whom Brownsill had sent to help him.
“Aaron. I look at these files and feel in my bones that it’s Carter and his mate. But we don’t know where they are and don’t have a lot to connect them.”
“What about that dealer you banged up who said he’d had a visit from his supplier when he missed a payment? He was pretty sure it was Carter. And he confirmed the whole supply-side stopped when Carter and Novak went AWOL.”
“True, but unless we can find him it’s just conjecture.”
“What about his lawyer, according to the inspector to all intents and purposes, he confirmed it was Carter.”
“Yes but if we can’t find him, we can’t charge him.”
“But if we got an arrest warrant. With the Queensland one in place, surely two is better than one. At least we can say to the brass that we have progress.”
“You’re right, it would take the pressure off.”
“I say do it; put the facts in front of a prosecutor and kick the problem to them.”
Prosser’s phone rang. “When was this?” he yelled into the phone. “And you’re just calling me now? Didn’t we say to call immediately if you see anything? Okay, send me the details and the pics.” He jabbed his phone to end the call. “Fuckwits. Honestly, we’re surrounded by fuckwits.”
“Which ones in particular are you talking about?” Johnson asked.
“The VicForests guys who were keeping an eye on the plantation site. They’ve found a quad and new camping gear. They saw it two days ago and now they call me. Fuckwits, fuckwits.” He banged his fist on the desk, sending his coffee cup off the edge. “Just what I needed.”
“Yeah, I get that. So let’s hustle!” Johnson said as he soaked up the coffee with a handful of paper towels.
“We can’t just drive up there, it’s thick bush. We’ll need transport and backup.”
“Okay, so what then?”
He dialled Brownsill.
“Jim, it’s John. We’ve had a sighting up where we think Carter used to grow his stuff. Two VicForest idiots claim someone’s at the camp and knowing Carter he’ll have clocked them. I need feet on the ground. You need to mobilise Kleinberg to get the special ops guys on board.”
“You really think it’s Carter?”
“He’s back in Australia so it must be, and besides, what other leads have we got?”
“Let me call Kleinberg, I’ll get straight back to you.”
Brownsill called back twenty minutes later.
“We’re on. Kleinberg’s mobilised a team of SOGs out of Melbourne. Should be with you in about two hours. Can you get forestry to transport us in?”
By four that afternoon, a team of twenty officers from Melbourne and Geelong arrived at the bush track that lead into the campsite that had been under surveillance. The forestry team had four quad bikes waiting.
“So, what’s the deal?” Prosser asked the VicForest officer in charge.
“Some time ago we found this campsite and there was evidence of cultivation nearby. The Geelong drug squad people asked us to keep an eye out. These two saw a tent and supplies the day before yesterday and called it in when they got back to base. And before you go and get excited about why they didn’t call it in immediately, at no time were we told this was urgent. It’s about a click in, it’s very thick bush and some of it is very steep. So who are we transporting?”
“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Prosser said and returned to where the four-wheel drives were parked.
Eight armed SOGs doubled up on quads and then headed towards the site, while the rest set off for the slow walk into the forest.
Prosser’s communication unit crackled. “John, there’s a four-wheel drive hidden under some brush about two hundred meters in,” Johnson, who was walking in with the team, said.
“I’ll get forensics onto it,” Prosser replied.
David and Pav saw the first telltale go off just after they heard the rumble of quad bikes echoing up from the bottom of the valley.
“Time to move, David.”
“It’ll take them a while to get up here. I’ve checked out three of our old exit trails and they’re still okay. Stay together or separate?”
“Separate. Two trails splits them,” Pav replied.
“Okay. I’ll go on foot, you take the quad and go out that way,” David said, pointing. “If they hear you, they might follow you and draw them away from me. I’m guessing they found my four-wheel drive. How did you get here?”
“SUV parked at trail.”
“Let’s head to that. Whoever gets there first waits two hours for the other before leaving. If we don’t connect there, meet at the usual in Geelong, okay?”
“Da. Be careful, David.”
With a head start, David and Pav left taking two different trails, ones they had used often before.
David crested the ridge at the head of the valley and looked back down. He could tell from the noise of their quads echoing up that the plantation was awash with police. Judging from the direction of the noise they’d taken the bait and were heading in Pav’s direction.
He relaxed his gait to a steady pace as he made his way down the other side of the steep rise between the valley where the plantation stood and the next. He’d done this run a few times over the years and wasn’t concerned. The terrain was difficult even for a quad rider, with sudden drops and crevices hidden by undergrowth. The bushes grabbed at his clothing and branches nicked his hands as he pushed through.
He felt inside his jacket for the new IDs.
“Fuck,” he said and stopped, rechecking his pockets and rucksack. “I know I picked them up.”
He closed his eyes to picture what he’d done as he packed, then opened them with a start as he remembered the package falling behind a storage container as he re-tied his shoe.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated quietly. “I’m stuffed ...”
He slowed his breathing to consider what he might do, then turned and made his way back to the plantation, reclimbing the steep incline.
He checked the time.
It was getting dark.
Did they leave anyone at the plantation for the night? If so, how many? Have they found my package?
He picked his way through the thick bush, stored his backpack behind a tree, and fixed the silencer to his Beretta. Once the sun crested the mountain top, night arrived with a bang. David sat quietly, getting his bearings, watching his breath create little white puffs in the weak moonlight. The anticipation made him shiver, despite being hot from the climb. He approached the plantation site, crouching, and stopped every few steps to survey the surroundings and check. A small light at the back of the camp danced around in the wind highlighting a small two-man tent and two quad bikes. He saw two people sitting on a fallen tree, sipping something warm, steam drifting up from the cup. From where David was seated, judging from their clothes, they appeared to be Special Operation officers.
Okay, so they left a couple of guys.
He waited, willing them to retire.
An hour dragged on till he watched them douse their small fire and enter the tent. Everything seemed quiet.
He fossicked on the ground for a stone and pitched it at the light. It hit something with a ting but nothing moved. He waited and counted to sixty. He could smell rain in the air and decided that might soon be his friend.
He squatted five metres away with his back against a tree and focused on the camp.
I could do with some night vision glasses.
“What are you doing?” Someone said from inside the tent.
“I need a piss.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you to go before bed?”
“Very funny.”
“Zip up the flap, it’s starting to rain.”
The midnight piddler made his way towards David, who sat rigid in the blackness, breathing into his sleeve so his steamy breath didn’t show He seemed to be staring straight at David. He stopped at a tree two metres away and relieved himself. David slowed his breathing to short, shallow breaths.
He considered his options. If he took these two out, others would know he was around. Getting away with his package without them knowing was the better choice, so he waited. Within fifteen minutes he heard the sonorous tone of slumber.
That’s going to drown out any noise I make.
David spent ten minutes slowly picking his way towards the containers. He felt around the back and found the package partly wedged underneath. He eased it out and stuffed it inside his jacket.
“Forget something?” one of the officers “I have a weapon aimed at you. Don’t move.”
David spun around and looked straight into the beam of a torch. He rolled over fired blindly and sprinted into the bush.
Bang! Something fizzed over his shoulder. “Stop!” the officer yelled.
He sprinted, crouched over, towards the escape route. Turning to fire once more, he retrieved his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and kept running. He heard a flurry of noise behind him, and two quad engines fired into life. Reasoning that he couldn’t outrun his pursuers on their quads, he left the trail. Branches ripped at his face and hands as he rushed headlong into the night.
He stopped and checked where he was, then crested a small elevation and darted off down an alternative trail that went back around the plantation, too tight for the bikes. It was a longer trip, but safer. He ran for ten minutes before stopping and hunched over, sucking in air. The hard-revving quads approached quickly as they reached the elevation. As the noise from the quads faded, David realised they had followed the trail away from his position. He relaxed into a jog, keeping his heart rate down and recovering from the effort needed to escape.
Thunder clapped overhead and sheeting rain smashed into branches and leaves; normally, he would have cursed it, but tonight it was gold.
David stood at a junction where his trail and the original one reconnected before diverting again, contemplating which to take. He visualised the alternative trail’s dangerous features. It was bad enough in the daylight, let alone at night with heavy rain. He shielded the sat phone inside his jacket and called Pav but there was no answer. The heavy clouds blocked out the moonlight and David peered into the inky, wet blackness.
A quad approached at high speed. The sound bounced around the valley, disguising its direction of approach. It careened around a corner; David heard the quad engine throttle back and realised he’d been seen; his outline painted against the black backdrop. The rider tugged on the steering wheel to avoid a collision. Too late, it smashed into his side and he hit the ground. The lights flashed off the tree tops as it tumbled end over end down the ravine, then stopped.
