High Beam

by SJ Brown

  Felicity re-crossed her legs and adjusted her robe. “His routine is to drink in the clubrooms with various football cronies while training is on. I presume he did that before he flitted in here about 8pm. He didn’t want any food because he said he was off to Dr. Randall’s for more footy talk. He came home late, about midnight, stayed in and then was up early on the Friday. He was a bit edgy and then he took a call on his mobile that sent him scurrying off into the city. He tried to make it all sound matter of fact but he didn’t look too calm.”

  “Did he disclose to you what the call was about?”

  “Of course not. I was pretty persona non-gratis by that stage. Just said he was off to see Rory. Rory Fotheringham.

  “And he is?”

  “A big hitter. His words, not mine. We know him quite well. He’s one of those behind-the-scenes guys who make things tick round this town. He’s usually so in control of things. But one night he’d had a few more than usual and he fancied his chances with me, I guess. Let me know how much leverage he had over various people; people I thought were pretty damned powerful. Hence the epithet. I suppose he thought the sexual overtones would play well.” She looked at Munro. “They didn’t.”

  Gears clicked into place in the heads of the two detectives. Munro spoke. “And after that, the rest of the weekend?”

  “Full of beans. He even wanted to take me out for a special dinner on the Saturday night. Reckoned it was to celebrate sealing another government contract. I was still too anxious about Brad to think twice but I think now there might have been something else to it. Who’s to know?”

  Kate closed her notebook and slipped it into her carry bag. She stood, as did Munro. “Thank you, Mrs. Sproule, for your candor. I don’t think we’ll need to bother you again.

  Felicity Sproule rose from her chair and smiled. “That’s alright, Detective. If I helped in some way, good. Whoever did whatever they did to Brad will have no sympathy from me. If you need to contact me again, here’s my mobile number.”

  She handed Kate an embossed card. “No use trying the home number. I’m flying to Bali in two hours. They’ll be wearing ugg boots in hell before I’ll stay with my very soon-to-be ex-husband again. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll need to quickly change. I’m all packed and ready.” She reached into the pocket of her gown and then placed a mobile phone on the table. “This is Roger’s. It might help you.”

  And so two rather more optimistic detectives departed.

  CHAPTER 34

  Thursday 18th March 2pm

  “Brilliant. Just brilliant.” Munro’s voice contained no hint of irony. Something had excited him.

  “What is? What’s got you so chipper?”

  “This phone, that’s what. Kate, that Felicity Sproule has done us one huge favor.” He waved the mobile in front of her. “If Dobosz is available we can use this to find out a lot of stuff; stuff Sproule wouldn’t want anyone to know about.”

  “Really, how so?”

  Munro reached for an internal line. “I’ll get him over. He can explain it better than me.” He tapped out the number; put the device on speakerphone and after precisely two rings:

  “Sergeant Dobosz speaking. How can I help?” A nasal tone but not unfriendly voice.

  “Snorkel, it’s Tim. Need your propeller head skills. Can you come to the CIB incident room now? We think we’ve got a break in the murder case.”

  “Sure. Get me away from my computer screen. Be there in ten minutes.”

  “Cheers, cobber.” Munro silenced the call. Extravagantly rubbed his hands together. “Wait till you see this guy. What he can’t do with gadgets and computers you don’t want to know.”

  Kate was bringing her case notes up to date when the focus of Munro’s worship entered the incident room. To say his appearance was unprepossessing only hinted at her first reaction. Below his brown thatch of hair was a quite pleasant face. It was the garb that alarmed her. A thin black tie accompanied a brick red shirt under a thick woolen grey cardigan. The blue polyester trousers had a slight sheen and the zip-up brown vinyl shoes completed the eclectic ensemble. Obviously not a salesman. He had seemingly selected the most disastrous clothing items from the preceding four decades. He must have other strengths. Munro definitely thought so. He did the introduction to Kendall with genuine warmth.

  “Hello, Detective Constable. How do you like the outfit? I noticed you trying not to look too hard.”

  Bugger, thought Kate. “Quite individual, Sergeant. Your own work?”

  “No, my wife helped. Scoured her father’s house. Worth it though. I’ll walk away with the dozen wines. Me first, daylight second.” He was beaming with pride. Kate looked a touch confused.

  Munro chipped in. “Snork has won seven RIFF’s in a row.”

  Kate was none the wiser.

  Dobosz explained. “We wild ones in Forensic Accounting have an annual dress-up competition. Retro Insanity Fashion Friday. Final judging tomorrow. Raises money for charity and the winner collects a few wines as an incentive.”

  Kate nodded her comprehension.

  “Geez, you don’t reckon I normally dress like this, do you?”

  Kate smiled while praying she did not blush.

  “Anyway, let’s get to your little gadget.” They sat. Dobosz brought his attention to the mobile sitting squarely on Munro’s desk. “I presume this is it?”

  “Yes. It was given to Kate and me by the wife of a potential suspect. I thought it could be Aladdin’s Cave and you’re the man with the magic hands.”

  Dobosz did a quick parody of “twinkle twinkle little star” with his fingers, smiled and bent to his task. “Fingerprinted?”

  “Yep, all done. It’s yours to explore.”

  “Good. I’ll think aloud so you know where I’m going. Firstly, an Apple iPhone like this is a gift from Job, pardon the pun. Not only is it a very nifty consumer product but it’s a fantastic tool for us”

  Kate chipped in. “How so? Why more than, say, a Blackberry?”

  “Different purpose for a different market. Blackberry was created for and pitched at the business sector. So there’s a particularly high level of security attached to that device. Hence the current fuss in some countries about the encryption capacity.”

  “In Iran and that?” Munro read the news.

  “Yeah. Some national security organizations don’t like it that individuals and businesses can keep stuff secret from their prying eyes. Good luck to ’em, I say. Anyway, the iPhone is different. It was introduced in 2007 as a consumer product so possibly, probably even, security was neglected. Or not given as strong a priority, shall we say. So a few of its features have inadvertently proved to be of help to the constabulary in different countries.” As he spoke, his fingers tapped the flat screen of the phone in question. “Few consumers know the full capability of some functions so they’re not fussed. I’m guessing your man Sproule isn’t too worried about you having this.”

  “I’m unsure if he even knows we’ve got it,” replied Kate. “Should he be?”

  Dobosz sat up. “Oh yes. I reckon so.” He nudged the phone toward the two officers. “He wouldn’t be too keen for you to have access to all his deleted messages for the past six months since he bought the thing.”

  Kate looked at the man with total admiration. Then looked down again as Munro scrolled through a whole bevy of text messages both sent and received by the businessman.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Not hard really. The iPhone has a keyboard logging cache, ostensibly to correct spelling, that retains everything typed on the keyboard over the past few months. If you know how to access that little mine of information, then the delete button is somewhat redundant. And another thing, I can tell where he’s been lately. So there’s probably a record of numbers dialed as well even if he’s cleared his call register.” Munro was very relieved his man had
come up trumps. “Is there one in particular you’re looking for?”

  “Absolutely,” said Kate. “The last call received on the victim’s mobile shows number withheld. And we’ve been having a hard time trying to weasel the information out of the phone company. Privacy issues for the caller, they told us. We need to know it obviously. The call was received at 9.17pm, not long before the assault. We’ve got an independent witness whose evidence suggests it was the call that set him off on the path to his death. If you can show it’s from this handset then it saves some steps on the ladder, for sure.”

  Dobosz began to tap away again. “OK, should be possible. Let me sort out the text messages first.”

  Kate was on the verge of letting him beaver away at this but knew the real priority. They needed the number to be there for any of the other stuff to be worth combing through.

  “No, that can wait. No offence but please check the numbers dialed first. The date we’re looking for is…”

  “The eleventh of March from about 6pm onwards. No problem.” He winked at her, hopefully an indication of camaraderie not friskiness. “Just leave me to it for a few minutes.”

  Kate left the two men to ferret away for the vital information. She needed to check with the Office of Public Prosecution what the stipulations were for obtaining and using this sort of information. At her desk, she dialed the number for Graham Davis. As part of her training for this new job, she had been carefully briefed by him on the essential guidelines regarding the admissibility of evidence. The bane of prosecuting authorities the world over was the mishandling of material that could jeopardize a trial. Everything, literally every single thing, should be carefully catalogued and filed. There had to be a clearly identifiable path from the locus in quo to the courtroom. Thus far the whole squad could not be faulted, given the meticulous nature of the way the evidence trail was being assembled. All the i’s and t’s were dotted and crossed. The chain was secure for each link. The onus was on them now to ensure the same incorruptibility applied to the phone currently being examined.

  Fortunately, Davis answered almost immediately. “Senior Crime Assistance. Graham Davis speaking.”

  “Graham, it’s DC Kendall from Homicide. We met a fortnight ago. For the Case Management workshop.”

  “Yes, Kate. Hello. I hear you’ve landed on your feet in a murky swamp.”

  “Yes and no. It’s a good team but a bit of a baptism by fire for sure. It’s this case I’m calling you about. We’ve established a breakthrough but need to tread carefully with some evidence.”

  “Very well, shoot.”

  “OK. We have in our possession a mobile phone belonging to a potential suspect. According to an in-house expert, it could tie the suspect to the Finch killing.” Kate was forcing herself to speak deliberately.

  “Righto, a couple of questions. Was it obtained via a search warrant? Does it conclusively link the owner to the victim?”

  “First one, no. The owner’s wife offered it to us while we were interviewing her at their house about an hour ago. Second, we hope so. One of the guys is unpacking its secrets as we speak.” She paused. Were they on shaky ground?

  “Mmm. This is a curly one.” The mannered voice was very evenly measured. “If this is your main connection we must be very clear in the way we handle it. How else is the phone owner implicated?”

  “At the moment all the rest is circumstantial. Brad Finch was having casual sex with Felicity Sproule. She candidly admits that. There is another incident, via a third party, supporting that supposition. But not concrete. Mrs. Sproule cannot claim for certain that her husband knew but she firmly believes he must have. Intuition, gut instinct, whatever. Again, not all that firm. But she is convinced her husband was behind it all.” Saying it aloud revealed how tenuous the theory was in terms of incontrovertible facts.

  “If, always the big if, she testifies, can we be sure it will assist the prosecution and will her testimony be of any real value?”

  Kate thought hard before replying. The phone cord was twisted in knots. “I think so. There’s no love lost between her and Mr. Sproule. But you’re right. She would only be testifying to feelings that she had about his behavior. And that’s just her interpretation, isn’t it? Not exactly cold hard evidence.”

  “Correct. She has the right to decline from even testifying at all, should she choose. If she does, can she verify anything else?”

  “Yes, yes she can. Sproule’s movements during the day in question. Well, at least on the night of the death and the next morning.”

  “Good. That’s helpful. Better if it can be corroborated by independent witnesses.” Kate jotted down a note to check for that as Davis continued. “Was Sproule directly involved in the crime or are you suggesting he used this phone to make arrangements?”

  She felt more positive now. “The latter. That’s why the phone is so important.”

  Munro called across the office. “Too right it is. We’ve got it.”

  Kate spoke into the phone. “Hang on a sec, Graham. This is relevant to us.”

  To Munro. “What? The number?”

  Her colleague walked across holding the iPhone triumphantly. Held it up to her. “Yes. There it is. Finch’s number. Sproule called him alright. At that time. Snork’ll do the messages now. Good, eh?”

  Kate caught his buoyancy. “Graham, did you catch that?”

  “Crystal clear. So you’ve got Sproule making the last call Finch received. But how does that prove it led Finch to his death? Sorry to be pedantic but he could simply have been touching base.”

  This was what she imagined being in the witness stand was like. With the devil’s advocate. Think it through, she told herself. “Granted.” Another note on the pad. “So we need a witness who heard the content of the call. Another female can vouch it was the call that caused Finch to leave the Metz, but beyond that, not much. We have to find someone who witnessed the call being made at the other end.”

  “That would help. Well, more than help. The observation of Finch leaving is logical but still circumstantial. Is the phone good for anything else?”

  “I hope we’re not clutching at straws but apparently this model of phone stores messages sent even if the user thinks they’ve been deleted from the records. A quirk in the design. Our guy is accessing them now.”

  “That’s better. You need to check that this Sproule chap is the registered owner and that he was also the user when the incriminating texts were sent. Can you get corroborating records from whoever received the messages?”

  Another note. “Yes, we’ll do that. And the call, too.” Almost there. One more thing. “Graham, about how we obtained the phone. Is that legit?”

  “According to the Evidence Act, you’re fine. I’ve got it here in front of me. Section 135 clears you. Assuming you did not induce her to hand it over, it’s perfectly acceptable to procure that phone. She gave it willingly?”

  “Yep. We didn’t ask at all. She’d answered our questions and as were leaving she gave it to us. All above board?”

  “Then you’re fine. Any half-decent defense counsel will seek to have it excluded from the trial but given what’s in the statutes, it will simply be an ambit claim. No problem on that score. I hope it helps nail whoever did it. Anything else while I’m here?”

  “No. Well, not just now. Thank you, Graham. You’re a gem.”

  “Thank you, Constable Kendall. Just the job. Good luck with it.” He rang off.

  Kate turned to her colleagues. Holding tight on her elation, she said, “All clear. It’s admissible and perfectly legit. Let’s tell the boss. Where is he?”

  “Right here.” Nobody had seen him enter the room. “Tell me what, exactly?”

  Their excitement was palpable. Munro spoke up. “Bona fide evidence. A cast iron link in the chain.”

  Mahoney sat down at a spare desk. “All right. Calm dow
n. Tell me slow and steady.”

  So they did. Twenty minutes later, the DI was up to speed but still not smiling. All he said was, “Good work, very good work.” But his face was actually set in anger. “For the love of God, have these people no shame? Talk about a moral compass that’s out of whack.” He stood. “OK. Write it up. Watertight. Kate, sit with Richard and catalogue everything in minute detail. Tim, go to training.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. You are playing Saturday, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No buts. Just make sure you’re back here showered and presentable at 9pm. We have a visit to make tonight. An unheralded one.”

  * * *

  If asked, Mahoney would have said he was not best pleased. Not at all. The driver, seconded for this trip, was not going to ask anything much at all. He may be relatively new to the ranks but he knew when to keep his trap shut. Concentrated on the road ahead as his superior fumed. Constable Gibson had been minding his business in the cafeteria when a tap on the shoulder and a crooked finger from the DI beckoned him from his half-finished coffee. The conversation in the basement car park was perfunctory.

  “Where to, Sir?”

  “Down the Bay. I need you as a witness.”

  “Righto, Sir.” Any further chat in the car was truncated by a series of phone conversations between the passenger and what seemed to be Forensics and then someone else entirely. Hard to tell in the busy traffic.

  Just past the yacht clubs, he was directed to turn into Queechy Lane and pull up outside what was a handsome Federation house. In the front garden weeding a bed of daffodils was a portly middle-aged man who stood upon their approach. His large owl-eyed spectacles glimmered in the late afternoon sun. The smile was somewhat forced. “Good afternoon, this looks official.” Some forced jocularity.