High Beam

by SJ Brown

  Munro gestured to speak. “We know it could not have been earlier. He trained with the squad early evening. Usual routine was to recover at the Metz.” A few smiles. Well known spot.

  From the back of the room. “Any sightings there?”

  Mahoney answered. “Not yet. That’s where you’re straight off to, Constable Herrick. Take two other officers with you. Start there and then ask around the shopping strip. Someone must have seen him. He’s hard to miss. Farrell, go with Sergeant Munro up to Finch’s flat. See what you can find out about him. Senior Constable Marron, I’d like you to meet the parents when they arrive from Ulverstone. The local branch informed them this morning and they’re driving down now. Should arrive early this afternoon. I’ll be back from attending the autopsy with DC Kendall by then to assist you. Sergeant Munro has already sorted the other tasks. Scene of crime material regarding footprints and tire tracks etc. should be available by tomorrow at the latest. McLeod’s team is working overtime to assist us. This is not your average weekend. So let’s get cracking.”

  Mahoney allocated some further roles to particular officers and informed the rest to see the duty sergeant for any ancillary tasks. He was about to conclude the briefing when the Press Liaison Officer raised her hand. She had quietly slipped into the rear of the assembly. “Yes, Sergeant Gill?”

  “Inspector Mahoney, two things if I may. There have been reports on the local radio this morning of the crime and I’ve been fielding calls from the major TV networks. All are in the process of sending down crews later today or tomorrow. There’s the same high level of interest from the print media so we are about to be inundated. The spotlight will be shining on a few of our number.”

  And that will suit your career prospects oh so well, mused Munro. True, she would not be likely to have wished ill upon the poor guy, but if anybody was going to come out of this with a boost to her profile then it would be Sergeant Gill. She could not be blamed for any setbacks or mistakes and, as soon as any progress was made, you could guess who would be front and center proclaiming the good news.

  “I implore you to avoid any doorstop interviews, refuse all external requests for information and to channel information through your commanding officers. The media en masse will be too overpowering to be our servant but it will be a PR disaster if it becomes our master. I do hope that’s clear.”

  There were murmurs of assent that at least indicated a grudging acceptance. Mahoney spoke. “I cannot emphasize strongly enough how much we need to heed Sergeant Gill’s warning. Top level football dominates the local media and even more so in Melbourne. Whether we wish for it or not, there will be greater downward pressure on us precisely because of the heightened external interest. Like it or not, that’s a fact of life we have to accept. Now. Understood?” The volume of comprehension was more marked. “Good. I’m glad we all appreciate that. Sergeant Gill, the second matter was?”

  “Yes, thank you Inspector Mahoney. Have you earmarked a name for this operation?”

  How about ‘catch the prick who did it’, thought Munro biting his tongue. Senior Constable Evans could not help himself. A round shouldered man with sandy hair and twenty-six years in, he volunteered his take. “Dunstan.”

  “Who?” several voices chimed in.

  “Dunstan, after Keith Dunstan. The old journalist from The Sun-Herald who founded the Anti-Football League.” That generated a few laughs but the majority seemed to find it a bit macabre.

  Mahoney resumed control. “Thanks but no thanks, Evans. For the present we’ll go with nothing. I’ll discuss this later with you, Sergeant Gill. For the present we all have work to do so get to it. That’s it. Go.”

  * * *

  As they walked out onto Liverpool Street, Mahoney asked Kate if she had breakfasted. “Yes, thanks. Well, just a coffee actually. I tend not to be particularly hungry early in the day. I know I should get something where I can but I didn’t feel like it this morning.” Too nervous to eat if truth be told but there was no need to divulge that. He probably knew that anyway.

  “Might be for the best. A full stomach isn’t necessarily a good thing for where we are going. I’ve never adjusted to what we’re about to witness. Is this your first?”

  They had crossed the lights with a smattering of weekend shoppers keen to cash in on yet another clearance sale at the CBD department stores. Out to shop whether they needed the appliances or not.

  “Officially, yes. There was an induction session as part of training. That was certainly an eye-opener. Most of the internal organs don’t look as you imagine them to be.”

  “Certainly. The human body is a conundrum in many ways. Full of quirky things. Today should be reasonably straightforward. At least the cadaver, as the TV pathologist says, is fresh. The ones where the remains are already decomposing or bloated from being in the water are never pretty. Here we are.”

  Mahoney gestured to the glass sliding doors that led into the Emergency Department of the hospital. Once inside, Kate followed him along the corridor for a few meters before they descended a set of stairs to the basement. At the bottom of the steps they faced a solid white door. Her superior pressed the intercom button, waited a few moments for a response, then identified themselves and the door was buzzed open. Kate was immediately struck by how brightly lit the area inside was. It made sense. A high level of wattage would be necessary to perform the clinical tasks that were performed here.

  “Welcome to my domain.” The voice was theatrically deep and belonged to a dapper man sporting a striking red bow tie. The rest of his attire attested to bespoke tailoring. The worsted grey wool, double-breasted suit and black oxford brogues could not have been purchased in this town. The tanned face was chiseled and piercing brown eyes fixed on Kate as he approached.

  “Now, DI Mahoney I know but who are you, young lady?”

  “DC Kate Kendall. And you must be Mr. Bede Harcourt.”

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” A brief shake of his smooth but rather large hand. “John, welcome. Your new colleague is a commendable addition. Smart, attractive and savvy enough not to address me as the venerable surgeon.”

  Mahoney smiled. “You well know I could only bring my best officer to witness your skills.” This was delivered so deadpan as to be a pointed remark. Nonetheless there seemed to be a genuine bonhomie.

  “Well, we shall see if I need to draw on them overly this morning. Of course, I’m making no assumptions but I doubt I’ll be late for today’s regatta.”

  Harcourt led them through to the examination room. The white walls and tiled floor exaggerated the luminescence.

  “I took the liberty of proceeding without you. Time and essence etc.”

  “Of course. We appreciate you getting it done.”

  The corpse of Brad Finch lay on the gunmetal stainless steel bench. In death he looked so composed. The lean musculature testified to a body previously capable of power and energy. But now he seemed serene. And pale. Kate was surprised by how waxy his face appeared to them now. Of course she knew it was Finch. That was the person they were to see.

  But even though she had studied the available photographic images in the incident room, she was not totally convinced that he would be immediately recognizable to anybody save those few people who knew him very well. The fabled 21 grams, his soul, had departed the earthly body. However, the changes in the deceased’s appearance were quite telling. With the eyes closed and all vitality drained from the visage, he looked nothing like the publicity shot on the AFL website. No bright smile. No lively eyes.

  Kate remembered the Forensics module of her cadet training. The lecturer had put up a PowerPoint slide of a deceased person’s head and opened it up to the class to guess the person’s identity. The complexion was freckled and the face was not spectacular at all. After a short while he began throwing out clues.

  “Billy Joel.” No, it certainly was not Christie
Brinkley. “Elton John.” No, not Princess Diana either. “Arthur Miller.” Who? “Joe Di Maggio.” Who’s he? “JFK.” Finally, someone called out Marilyn Monroe but immediately said but that’s not her, surely. “Yes, it is. There she is. An icon of the 20th century. The poster girl par excellence. Never assume an assumption about identity. One reason we cross the t’s is to avoid horrendous mistakes. One sure-fire way to send people apocalyptic is to wrongly identify a corpse. Grief and rage are a potent mix.”

  And that had been a memorable insight into how the departure of one’s vital spirit could dramatically transform a human body. Kate turned her attention to Harcourt who was now explaining the summation of his findings.

  “There are two head wounds discernible. One, to the right side of the head, lacerated his ear and was caused by a blow with a flattish metal object. As there are soil particles attached to the hair, my guess is some sort of shovel. The second, probably fatal, blow was to the left temple, and was dealt by a hard edge. From the angles of the wounds, my calculation is that the victim was hit from behind. This momentarily stunned him, causing him to fall sideways and land with his head hitting some concrete curbing.”

  Mahoney nodded. He and Kate mimed the incident as outlined by the surgeon. “That seems feasible, doesn’t it Kate?”

  “Yes, given a pretty forceful blow.”

  Harcourt drew their attention to the right side of the head. “Certainly forceful. Had he lived, the ear would have been barely recognizable. A complete mash. There is plenty of damage but not terminal. The cranium is intact although there is some injury to the jaw. It was the fall and subsequent blow to the temple that caused the fatal brain hemorrhage.”

  Mahoney nodded his understanding. “Anything else of note?”

  “Yes. There is ambiguous bruising and the loss of some skin on the principal knuckles of his left hand. Completely consistent with a fist hitting another’s face.”

  Kate ventured an opinion. “Two assailants, perhaps. Finch hits the one facing him but there’s another one behind him who strikes him down.”

  Mahoney nodded. “Most likely. Let’s hope we can locate the spot where this took place. With luck, some decent forensic evidence could be there.” He turned to Harcourt. “Thank you, Bede. Senior Constable Marron is coordinating the meeting with the parents. He’ll be accompanying them to a viewing of the body and consolidating all information with regard to identification. The dental records will be with you very shortly but I’d say there’s little doubt this is Brad Finch.”

  * * *

  As Mahoney and Kendall were walking back to HQ, an ambulance pulled up at the Emergency parking bay. There was nothing particularly unusual about that, apart from the presence of a uniformed officer in the front passenger seat. The constable had the sort of deeply colored red hair that was way beyond strawberry blonde and coupled with azure eyes indicated a complexion not entirely suited to spending endless hours in the sand and surf. A fully fledged Bluey if ever there was one. Having escorted the two ambulance personnel and a patient prostrate upon a collapsible bed into the foyer, the young policeman returned to the street just as the detectives approached the sliding doors. Mahoney’s curiosity had been caught.

  He walked up and introduced Kate. “So, Constable Gibson, what’s going on here?”

  A smile broke through. “Hard to describe, really. A mix of theft, absconding, espionage and plain stupidity.” He ticked them off on his long fingers. “We’ve just brought a fella back from K&D Hardware. Got a call about forty minutes ago about a suspicious looking bloke wandering the tool aisle. Trying out spanners.”

  “What was suspicious?”

  “Just that his neck was encased in a titanium cradle. You know, one of those metallic doughnuts that neck victims have bolted to their heads.” His slender hands made the shape around his own collar. “Meant to stop undue movement so the head doesn’t fall off.”

  “What on earth is he doing up in Murray Street instead of in bed?”

  “A get rich quick scheme.” Gibson’s voice betrayed his mirth. “Our patient is no rocket scientist. He comes round from the operation and straight away a nurse is there to reassure him and explain why this thing is attached to him. Goes through the spiel about saving his spinal cord and the need to be calm and still. Best equipment going, she tells him. All he hears is the bit where it’s worth five grand because it’s made of titanium. So, soon as the staff leave him alone, he’s up out of bed and up to the nearest DIY shop looking for a spanner that fits.”

  “And then what?”

  “Like I said, no brain surgeon. I dunno. Cash converters? Who knows?”

  “Hard to believe he’d risk his head almost literally falling off for some quick cash.”

  Kate was bug-eyed at the stupidity of the man and was inclined to disbelieve the story but Gibson sounded convincing and Mahoney had no problem accepting the veracity of it all. As he wiped a tear from his eye and composed himself, he clapped a hand on the uniformed man’s shoulder. “Thank you, David. You usually tell a good story but that one is right up there. Who’d have thought, eh? Hope our lot are as easy to find. By the way, I’ve asked for you to be with us for a bit, if that suits.”

  “Yes, Sir. For sure. See you soon then. Goodbye, Constable Kendall.”

  As they turned the corner of Argyle Street, a man in a red baseball cap called from a park bench. “Hey, Mahoney. Gallows humor already?”

  The Inspector stopped abruptly and told Kate to wait on the pavement. He then strode over to the lanky figure lounged on the wooden seat. “I beg your pardon, Lester. I didn’t quite catch that witticism. What with it being randomly barked out and everything.”

  The man in the cap smirked. Tapped what was presumably a mobile phone in the breast pocket of a lumberjack shirt. “Got a couple of good shots. You and the Missus laughing your head off with the Ranga. Bet the press boys would love to blow one of ’em up. Show how seriously you’re taking it.” The smirk had morphed into a sickly sneer. Lester McCann was not over-brimming with the milk of kindness.

  Mahoney experienced one of those moments as in the latest Sherlock Holmes films where the sleuth almost instantaneously assessed the risk and potential outcomes before deciding on a strategy. He bent forward and in almost a murmur said, “Feel free, Toad my boy. I’ll just tell them that we were laughing about how much a certain low-life would be looking forward to seeing Dwayne Lambert. Now he’s out of Risdon prison, you see.”

  Toad saw alright. Saw his past flash right past his dial. Even a slimy creature like himself had sussed that paying a recreational visit after hours to Trish Lambert was not the wisest career move. For the vast majority of the three years her husband had been away for aggravated burglary and GBH, Toad had resisted temptation. But only last weekend the sweet allure of Sugarloaf Road had proved irresistible. McCann did not even bother asking how the copper knew. Small town. End of story.

  And it would be the end of him if he hung around too much longer. Sliding his skinny rear back into the bench he sat upright. Taking out his mobile he pressed a few buttons and in Mahoney’s view deleted the recently taken images. Looking very contrite.

  “And you’re sure that’s all?”

  “Yes, Inspector. Definitely. In fact I don’t think I even need the damned thing anymore.”

  With that he took out the SIM card and dropped it in the adjacent bin. “Best to be out of contact for a while I reckon. Might take a hike.”

  “I know you’re not a great lover of hard yakka but I doubt Dwayne’s reach extends as far as the mines in West Australia. Could be an option. They’re rather desperate for workers.”

  “And I’m pretty desperate too.”

  “Exactly. You’re probably on the endangered species list now so a change of scene looks best I’d say.”

  Lester stood up. “Reckon I’ll be off then. Don’t s’pose you know anyone who wants a
load of skunk going spare? Doubt I’ll have time to offload it.”

  Mahoney could well believe the cheek of the slimeball. “Don’t push it, Lester. You wouldn’t want me involving your mates in the Drug Squad. They’d be straight onto Lambert. Whisper from a little birdie etc. Get out while the going’s good.” With that he turned and walked off to re-join DC Kendall without a backward glance. Truly good riddance to bad rubbish.

  After they crossed Liverpool Street, Kate dared to ask what that had been about. Mahoney said, absently, “Oh that idiot. Well known supplier of strong dope on the Eastern Shore. Our lot never seem to be able to pin him down. He’s cunning as a shithouse rat but he’s gone and shot himself in the foot. Dalliance with the wrong man’s wife so he’s out of town by sunset. Nice bit of impromptu community policing, really. Some other scumbag will stick his head up and take the network over but at least he’s out of the way.”

  By this time they had climbed the stairs and were back in the incident room. Kate went to her desk to write up their observations from the autopsy while Mahoney entered his office and closed the door behind him. He needed a moment. The altercation had been defused nicely. But it was a warning of something potentially much darker. When talking to Gibson he had temporarily forgotten that the Force was always on show. In uniform or not a police officer was constantly subject to public scrutiny. Innocent as the exchange with this colleague had been, it could easily be misconstrued as undue levity.