Red Mist

by Angus McLean

  ‘Just working on some bully for an agg rob,’ he said briefly.

  Dan nodded. “Bully” was slang for information and an “agg rob” referred to an aggravated robbery-a robbery involving serious violence, weapons or multiple offenders. Such jobs were bread and butter for their squad. Otahuhu was the area headquarters for Counties-Manukau West, the highest crime area in the district.

  They were inundated with robberies, bashings, sex crimes and gangs. There was no off season; the business barometer just went from very busy to flat out. It was all high-end stuff, the sort of thing they joined the CIB for.

  To learn the trade of a detective in South Auckland gave incomparable experience. Dan knew that he and his peers learned more in a year there than cops in any other part of the country were exposed to in twice that time or longer.

  They wore it as a badge of honour, and those that survived the firestorm came out the other end as fantastic detectives.

  Dan logged in to the computer and waited for his emails to fire up. As the two senior D’s he and Ace each got a desktop to themselves, while the others had to share between two. He scanned the morning occurrences report as he ate his breakfast. They had worked a “duty week,” a seven day stint which ended on a Sunday and gave them two days off, so he had a few days to catch up on. He subtly glanced across at Ace while he read about the latest tragedies to strike the district.

  He was an athletic guy, an even six foot and strong, probably not quite thirty yet. Jet black hair worn longer than normal, hazel eyes, and like Dan and the rest of the team he was a participant in Movember. For Dan that meant a mo, but Ace had gone bush and grew a full beard.

  Instead of the standard dark trousers and business shirt, Ace wore chinos and more casual shirts. It was as if he struggled to bring himself to dress business-like. In fact, everything about Ace was a bit different to everyone else. Dan wondered if it was a consequence of his time UC, or if that was just his nature. He didn’t know; Ace didn’t give much away.

  Dan knew he drove a fire engine red ’69 Chevy, because he’d seen it, and played the guitar, because he’d heard it, but little else. He returned to the occurrences list, noting a service station robbery the previous day in their patch. Major Crime would take that, being a commercial premises, but he read the details anyway. It paid to know what was going on in his patch.

  The door banged as one of the trainees entered, this one younger again, bright eyed and fresh faced aside from the terrible attempt at a beard. Sidney Buckmaster was known to all as Buck, and was one of the better trainees Dan had ever had. Not that he ever told the kid that. One of Dan’s most indulgent pleasures was jibing Buck, and like a faithful Labrador, he kept coming back for more.

  He started off easy this morning, being the first day back.

  ‘Why the late start, Bucko?’

  Buck looked up from his desk, where he was digging a tie out of his drawer.

  ‘It’s not seven yet,’ he replied. ‘You’re just early.’

  ‘You didn’t get the message then?’

  Buck looked blank.

  ‘Nooo...’ he said cautiously.

  Dan looked at Ace and shook his head. Ace suppressed a smile.

  ‘Seriously? I left it on your desk on Sunday.’

  Buck scanned his desk and came up empty. He looked to Dan, who looked pointedly at his watch and sighed.

  ‘You sure you left it on my desk?’ Buck asked.

  Dan scowled at him.

  ‘Really? I’m a detective, sunshine. Of course I left it on the right desk.’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘It’ll be up to you to explain to the boss why you didn’t turn up, I guess.’

  Buck sat down abruptly.

  ‘What was the message?’ he asked.

  ‘TCU are out doing warrants for those ram raiders mate,’ Dan told him severely. ‘You’re supposed to be helping them. Oh-six-hundred start mate, but you let them down.’

  Ace cocked an eyebrow at Dan and turned to the young trainee. He shook his head gravely.

  ‘If I were you Bucko I’d be getting down to the cake shop and putting on morning tea for when they get back. They were pretty grumpy, man.’

  Buck looked from one to the other, unsure if they were kidding or not.

  ‘I never saw the note,’ he said, still cautious. He held up a placating hand as Dan reared up to retort. ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t there, but I...oh, you guys!’

  He started to laugh, even slapped his knee for emphasis, then saw two stony faces staring back at him and stopped abruptly.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you’re not joking.’

  Dan said nothing, just waited.

  ‘Damn,’ Buck muttered to himself, and flicked on his computer.

  Dan and Ace gave each other a grin. Morning tea was sorted.

  People started drifting in and Joe Malone was the next of Dan’s gang to arrive.

  He was Dan’s height but leaner, with sandy blonde hair. He had shunned the full beard for a classic moustache, and had managed a decent slug. Joe thought it made him look retro hip. Dan reckoned it made him look like David Soul in season four of Starksy and Hutch, the season when Hutch wore a mo. In return, Joe had pointed out that Dan’s effort resembled the hairy beast sported by Kurt Russell when he played Wyatt Earp. Dan was okay with that. He’d been called a cowboy often enough for it to seem fair.

  Joe put a pot of freshly brewed coffee on the communal table in the middle of the office, with a small ceramic jug of milk beside it.

  ‘It’s alright Bucko,’ he said, ‘I got the coffee. Don’t worry about it mate.’

  Buck rolled his eyes and grinned.

  ‘You’re only a year ahead of me, Joe,’ he replied. ‘Don’t make out you’re doing me a big favour or anything.’

  Dan and Ace looked at each other, then at Joe.

  ‘Wouldn’t have let that happen in my day, Ace,’ Dan said.

  Ace was about to reply when two newcomers entered the office. They stopped near the door and held a whispered conference, looking towards the assembled detectives as they did so.

  One was the Area Commander, Inspector Biddy Newlands, a youthful blue flamer who ran marathons and constantly read self-improvement books, titbits of which she liked to share with the troops. The second person was the guy Dan had seen in the locker room. He was nodding sagely as he listened to the inspector. His gaze fell to Dan and lingered there. Dan stared back, wondering who the hell he was and what he was doing in their patch.

  Dan looked away and turned back to his work, sliding an investigation file from his tray and opening it up. It related to an unprovoked attack on a kid walking to the train station a few weeks ago. A group of teenage thugs had jumped him, taken his phone and school bag, and left him bloodied and battered on the footpath. A Good Samaritan had interrupted the assault by stopping his car and yelling at them, but had driven off before Police arrived and he remained unidentified.

  Dan had a particular hatred for thugs and bullies, and was determined to ID and lock up the offenders so had given the file plenty of attention lately.

  He looked up as someone appeared beside his desk. It was Joe, standing with his back to the inspector and the stranger. Looking past him, Dan could see they were still huddled and whispering.

  ‘You know who that is?’ Joe asked in a low voice.

  Dan gave a slight shake of his head.

  ‘That’s Hugh Kennedy from Central,’ Joe told him.

  ‘Who the hell is he?’

  ‘He’s a D Senior. You know him, he was involved in CP’s case last year, remember?’

  The realisation dawned on Dan and he sat back, his mind turning over.

  CP was Callum Pemberton, who until a year or so ago had been a well-respected Detective Senior Sergeant in their district. He had come under investigation for alleged mishandling of an informant. The investigation had been done by a team from Auckland City District-or Central, as it was commonly known to Manukau cops.

  CP had been accuse
d of taking bribes and stealing drug exhibits to pay his informant, and had spent more than a year under the microscope. He had ultimately been cleared but by then it was too late. His name and reputation had been irreparably tarnished, and he left the Police completely disillusioned.

  He now operated as a private investigator, and Dan had caught up with him a couple of times since. He had been one of CP’s staunchest supporters and remained convinced the investigation had been a witch hunt orchestrated by a boss who CP had previously crossed. The whole affair had left a sour taste in his mouth and for a time he even considered leaving himself, but the desire to continue catching bad guys, plus the pressing need to pay a mortgage, had kept him there.

  He stared at Kennedy across the floor, feeling his blood pressure rising. As far as he was concerned, anybody who would turn on a cop like that was an oxygen thief. Again, he wondered what the hell the guy was doing there.

  The question was answered in the next breath.

  ‘Morning team,’ Newlands said, walking into the office proper with her hands clasped in front of her as if she was praying.

  She looked sharp as always in her immaculate uniform, her long dark hair pinned up in a bun.

  ‘Guys, this is Detective Senior Sergeant Kennedy,’ she continued, gesturing towards the spindly man behind her. ‘He’s going to be based here for the next month or so, while Gary’s away.’

  Detective Senior Sergeant Gary Jones was the boss of the investigations group at Otahuhu. He was currently on a course at the police college with leave scheduled after that. He was a good man, and Dan liked working for him.

  ‘So Dan, since you’re in the chair,’ Newlands said, giving him the full wattage smile she had perfected, ‘I’ll get you to brief Hugh on how things run here and what you’ve got going on at the moment, okay?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Yep.’

  Newlands smiled again, sharing the dazzle with the rest of the office now.

  ‘It’s always nice having some new blood coming in,’ she told them warmly, ‘it’s an opportunity for us all to share some experiences and learn from each other.’

  She nodded enthusiastically. Her teeth were very white. Dan wondered if she had them done.

  ‘I love it,’ she finished, and turned to Kennedy. ‘I’ll leave you with these guys, Hugh. Pop down later and we’ll catch up again, yeah?’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Kennedy either smiled or had gas; Dan wasn’t sure. Either way, he didn’t look comfortable.

  The inspector moved off to brighten someone else’s day and Kennedy looked to Dan.

  ‘So you’re Dan Crowley,’ he said.

  Dan wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he detected a sneer in the man’s voice.

  ‘That’s me.’

  He stood and put out his hand. Kennedy’s grip was warm, wet and limp. Dan grimaced and stuck his hand straight in his pocket after releasing the shake. He wiped it on the inside of his pocket but it still felt soiled.

  ‘On me,’ Kennedy said, jerking his head for Dan to follow him as he headed towards the furthest away desk, previously occupied by Gary Jones.

  Dan was pretty sure Kennedy wasn’t actually offering him a piggy-back, so he followed along. He pulled up a chair while Kennedy took his seat behind the desk. Kennedy cast a despairing eye over the desk which Jones had, typically, left unkempt.

  ‘Clearly not very organised,’ Kennedy remarked, bracing his elbows on the desk and making a steeple of his fingers. ‘Kind of explains why I’m here.’ He looked up. ‘The CIB hasn’t fully adopted “lean,” I take it?’

  Dan bit his tongue. The “lean” policy had been adopted from Ferrari, where everything done by every employee was designed “to make the car go faster.” It meant clear desks, no photos or personal adornments on the walls, and a streamlined work environment. It was the latest fad, and Kennedy was right-the CIB hadn’t fully adopted it. As far as adoption went, it would be fair to say they hadn’t even been to the first meeting.

  ‘Right,’ Kennedy continued, ‘I understand you’ve been looking after things here for a while, and you probably think you’ve got a good grip on how things are done.’

  He paused as if waiting for a response. Dan said nothing.

  ‘But I’m here now,’ Kennedy said, ‘and I like things done a certain way. You’ll find that I’m very meticulous and I demand absolute attention to detail. I know that you south Auckland guys like to cultivate a bit of a cowboy image, but that’s not how I do things.’

  Dan felt an eyebrow start to slide up his forehead, and wrestled it back down.

  ‘I demand professionalism in every aspect of our work. Anything less is unacceptable. If you’re the sort of team that are into Friday beers in the office then I hope you’ve enjoyed it, because that won’t be happening-the rule is no alcohol in the station, and it’s been that way for some time so there’s no excuse.’ Kennedy paused to lick his thin lips. ‘Alcohol affects brain functionality, which impairs thinking and affects performance. I need everybody on their game, no more slacking around.’

  Dan couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

  ‘No more?’ he inquired. ‘As in, there has been slacking round, is that what you mean?’

  Kennedy eyed him coldly.

  ‘Please don’t interrupt when I’m speaking,’ he said. ‘Now...’

  ‘Sorry Senior, but I got the impression you thought we had been slacking around, and I just want to clarify that.’

  Kennedy eyed him again. Dan guessed the look was supposed to freeze him in his tracks. He didn’t feel frozen, so he continued.

  ‘The guys actually work bloody hard,’ he said, ‘this is the busiest area in the busiest, most violent district in the country. We’re understaffed and running from crisis to catastrophe. We consistently work overtime for free and guys come in on their days off to get stuff done. Yes, we sometimes have a drink after work, but we do it responsibly and look after each other. And you’re more likely to find the guys heading to the gym or going home than hitting the bars anymore.’

  He leaned forward now with his elbows on his knees, and looked Kennedy straight in the eye.

  ‘I don’t know what information you’ve been given, Senior, but it appears to be wrong. What you’ve got here is a group of very dedicated, hard-working, professional detectives. Anybody who says any different has clearly spent no time with us.’

  He paused a long moment before sitting back and taking a slow breath through his nose. He felt his heart hammering in his chest and his cheeks were warm. Kennedy licked his lips again, nervously now, and stared at a spot on Dan’s head, avoiding his eyes.

  The air felt heavy and Dan wondered if he’d gone too far. Such interactions didn’t do promotion aspirations any good.

  No, he thought to himself. Screw that. This guy needed to be told.

  Kennedy finally cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘Your loyalty is admirable, Daniel,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure it makes you popular with the team. I think it’s probably best if we leave things there for now and we’ll catch up again later.’

  He looked inquiringly at Dan.

  ‘Unless you have something else you’d like to say?’

  Dan shook his head mutely.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to say?’ Kennedy pressed.

  ‘No,’ Dan said warily.

  ‘I guess what I’m doing here is giving you a chance to clear the air of any appearance of disrespect for a senior officer,’ Kennedy said, as if speaking to a slow child.

  Dan considered that for a long moment. He wasn’t disruptive by nature, nor was he generally disrespectful. Respect did, however, have to be earned. Right now his natural impulse was to reach across the desk and choke out the weedy, no-chest, sanctimonious, jumped-up pillock facing him. He forced himself to take a slow breath and calm his racing heart.

  ‘I’m sorry if you felt I was being disrespectful, Senior,’ he said, measuring his words carefully, ‘I though
t we were having an open discussion. I believed you had been given incorrect information and thought you would appreciate that being clarified.’

  He stopped talking, set his jaw firmly, and sat back. He eyed the man across the desk. The ball was clearly crossing the net and he awaited developments.

  Kennedy regarded him for a minute in silence.

  ‘I think we both know where we stand,’ he finally said.

  He sat forward, leaning his skinny forearms on the desk as he adopted his best glare.

  ‘But don’t make the mistake of crossing me, Daniel,’ he warned. ‘It will be the last thing you do...’ he paused, struggling for a sensible conclusion before ending lamely, ‘if you do.’

  Dan felt his lip curling with disdain. Never had he felt such revulsion for another officer.

  ‘I don’t plan on crossing anyone,’ he said softly. ‘And I don’t take kindly to threats.’

  He stood, looking down at Kennedy. He felt the tension in his shoulders and neck cranking tighter by the second.

  ‘I just want to catch bad guys.’

  With that he turned and walked away, every step a testament to his rapidly-dwindling self-control.

  Chapter Two

  Buck glanced sideways at his passenger as he guided the plain D car through the streets of Otahuhu towards the neighbouring suburb of Mangere.

  They had been out of the station for only two minutes and already Dan had shouted at a brain-dead pedestrian who shuffled across the road in front of them and blasted the air horn at a driver who had taken too long to move off from the lights. Aside from the earful he’d given the pedestrian he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘So,’ Buck said finally, turning right onto Massey Road and heading east. ‘Where’re we going?’

  Dan made a growling noise and continued to glare out the window at something only he could see.

  Buck gave him some more time and continued to drive. Finally Dan sat up in his seat and looked at him. His eyes were shielded behind a black pair of Oakleys.

  Buck thought they were kind of old fashioned, but that was Dan all over. It was why the car radio was tuned to a classic rock station, it was why Dan could name every member of the All Black squad that toured Wales and Ireland in 1989 but didn’t know the current Super players, it was why he insisted on wearing a three-quarter length wool coat in winter when everyone else was going for shorter jackets.