by Angus McLean
A quick change in the fitting rooms, tidy clothes into the bag, stolen clothes into a skip bin out the back, and he was back on the bike looking like any other cyclist heading off to the gym or to work.
He powered his way up GSR, dodging homicidal drivers as he headed north to Takanini. A police car went racing past at one point, lights flashing and siren wailing, but paid him no heed. He was satisfied that he had changed his appearance enough for now that he wouldn’t warrant a second glance, but it was still unnerving to have them come so close.
Mike had always respected the police, but for now, they were the enemy.
He reached Southgate shopping centre at Takanini in one piece, and locked the bike to a railing. The Warehouse was open and he took ten minutes to select a basic smart phone with two SIM cards. He moved on to a pallet display near the front doors and grabbed three large and one small bottles of water.
The health shop around the corner supplied a box of protein bars and he washed one down with the small bottle of water. Ditching the bottle, Mike wondered how many CCTV cameras he’d been caught on. Probably every store he’d entered plus external cameras at the shopping centre. Nothing he could do about it, so no point worrying.
Besides, the cops would have to have reason to check a specific camera. There had been no mention in the morning paper of the murder, but he guessed it was online by now.
With that in mind, he found a phone repair shop in the centre, one of those dark, dodgy looking little shops run by an Indian guy who was happy to take cash. Mike grabbed a battery for his phone plus a charger pack, both fully juiced, and returned to his bike.
He powered up the phone and went online, opening up the Stuff website. Sure enough, there was a short article about Sarah’s murder. She wasn’t named and there was no mention of anyone being sought. Police were investigating, it said.
So far so good. The last thing he wanted was his face plastered across the news.
He cut out and thought for a minute. He had mates at the Papakura Military Camp he could hit up for help. He was sure someone there would shelter him until this was sorted, or at least until he had a better plan. The PMC was home to the Special Forces team, 1NZSAS Group. Good guys to have on your side. Unfortunately it was also home to a small team of military cops, and they would have no mercy.
He disregarded the thought for now, filing it away in the emergencies-only basket.
There were guys he knew from the gym, more than one who had somewhat shady pasts, but nobody he would entrust his life to.
That left Dan and Molly. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was.
They were his only hope.
He unlocked the phone and began to dial.
Chapter 4
The radio on the windowsill was tuned to The Mix, 98.2.
It was the best of the ’80s and ’90s, with Mel Homer in the morning. Mike preferred rockin’ Hauraki, Molly preferred the easy-listening Coast. The Mix was our office compromise, which was great for me, because clearly the best era for music was the ’80s. Show me someone who disagrees and I’ll show you an idiot.
Journey were on and there was no way I’d stop believing, ever. I was just a city boy, after all. Not even a midnight train to anywhere could drag us out of the black mood that had settled in, though. It was nine a.m. now and the day wasn’t getting any better. I felt helpless. We had no idea where Mike was, we had no in with the investigation, and I couldn’t see what we could actually do without potentially compromising ourselves.
The whole situation sucked.
Through Steve Perry’s soaring vocals I became aware of a buzzing noise coming from Mike’s desk drawer. I cocked an ear. I recognised that ring tone.
Mike didn’t keep much in his desk, probably because he hardly used it. The top drawer had the usual stationery detritus. The second had a hefty torch, a box of protein bars, a dog-eared Andy McNab book, and a dead moth.
The bottom drawer had a stack of muscle-head magazines, a random pair of socks and an old burn phone.
The ringing stopped before I got to it. I didn’t recognise the number showing as a missed call but that meant nothing; it was the phone Mike used a month or so back on a short term undercover job. He’d gone UC at a freight company out at the airport, spent a fortnight driving a forklift and lugging boxes, and ultimately identified a team of staff that were nicking electronic goods flat out. It had cost the firm tens of thousands before we got involved, and cost them a fraction of that to put a stop to it.
I had used the phone to keep in touch with Mike as his handler, and had installed the ring tone; All the Single Ladies. Beyoncé. It drove him mental, which just made it funnier to me.
There was no voice mail message, but a text popped up before I got back to my own desk. One word.
Snapperhead.
I felt a kick inside and stared at the phone.
‘What is it?’ Molly had turned and was staring at me.
I looked up. I doubted the cops would have got a camera installed yet, but I didn’t want to take any chances. ‘Nothing,’ I said.
I tucked the burn phone into my pocket and held a finger to my lips. Molly gave a nod. I opened her bottom drawer and removed the cash tin. We always had a small float for milk and biscuits. Good girl that she was, Molly kept it constant at fifty bucks.
I shoved it in my pocket and closed the tin. Molly raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
‘I’ll go get some bits and pieces,’ I said. ‘You want anything for lunch?’
‘Sushi, please. The usual.’
I gave her a kiss on the cheek and left the office.
As I skipped down the stairs to street level, I saw Buck heading up the footpath towards me. Part of me groaned inside and another part ached to talk to him. Sidney Buckmaster, the Ellerslie community cop, was a good man and, despite my constant ragging on him, a good friend. I’d mentored him when he was a trainee detective in Otahuhu, and unfortunately he was part of the collateral damage from my ignominious departure from the blue machine.
We both ended up with new careers from that; me as a PI, him back in uniform, transferred to Auckland City District and a job that involved lots of community meetings and neighbourhood disputes.
One of the many reasons I would happily hit Hugh Kennedy with a Kenworth if I could get away with it.
Buck caught my eye and made a beeline for me when I hit the ground. He was perennially youthful looking and broad shouldered. He looked concerned and didn’t bother with preamble.
‘What’s the story?’
‘Are you allowed to talk to me?’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘Kennedy’s running this shambles; don’t give him any excuse to stick it to you.’
Buck absorbed that and carried on regardless. ‘I heard you both got arrested and Mike did a runner.’
‘That much is true.’ I nodded. ‘Although, to be fair, I don’t know if he was actually told he was under arrest, so he probably didn’t actually escape custody.’
Buck rolled his eyes. ‘Semantics, mate. There’s a man hunt on for him, you know that, eh?’
‘Yep.’
Buck was looking hard at me. ‘I also heard you’re going to sue the department.’
I said nothing and he scowled.
‘Seriously, Dan? Is that where your head’s at now?’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, man…’
‘It’s the last thing on my mind, mate. Right now there’s a murder enquiry going on and one of my best mates is at the centre of it.’ I looked around, making sure we weren’t being overheard. ‘He didn’t do it, Bucko.’
‘Were you there?’ His tone was challenging. ‘How can you know that?’
‘If I’d been there it wouldn’t have happened at all, mate. And I know it because I know him.’ I made sure we had eye to eye, because I needed him to listen. ‘Just like if it was you, man. I know you wouldn’t do it, either.’ I could see the understanding in his eyes. ‘I know you’re not his biggest fan,
Bucko, and I get that, but he’s a good man. You know as well as I do that the most obvious answer is not always the right one.’
Buck took a breath and slowly nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Is there any way I can help?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to compromise you at all, mate. You’ve taken enough hits over the years for my shenanigans.’
‘Shenanigans? Does anyone shenanigise anymore?’
I grinned. That was the Buck I knew and loved. ‘I don’t know if shenanigise is even a word.’
‘It’s probably post the ’80s, so you won’t know it.’ He smiled and I could see him visually relax, at least a bit. ‘Let me know, anyway.’
I nodded my thanks and turned to go. He stopped me with a hand on my arm.
‘Karl Vance.’
I turned back to him. ‘I met him.’
‘I heard.’ It was Buck’s turn to glance around for eavesdroppers. ‘Watch your back. He’s a dangerous man.’
I took that in and nodded. He didn’t say anything else. He clapped me on the arm and turned, heading back towards his tiny office down the street. There was probably an old lady waiting to see him about a parking complaint.
As I watched him go, my mind was churning. He didn’t say anything else because he didn’t need to. Cops don’t refer to each other as dangerous. Loose, yep. Rugged, for sure. These were the guys who pushed the boundaries, maybe were a bit too handy.
But dangerous? No cop ever wanted to be referred to by their colleagues as a dangerous man. I’d known a few over the years that I’d throw in that basket, and I distanced myself from them. They were bad news.
Sometimes evidence gets planted, or a false confession is obtained. Let’s not pretend it doesn’t happen. And at the heart of every such instance, as rare as they are, I guarantee you’ll find a dangerous cop.
It wasn’t going to help Mike that Karl Vance was one of them.
***
Molly saved the report she was working on and picked up the phone.
‘Good morning, Chase Investigations, you’re speaking with Molly.’
‘Is this Molly Crowley?’ The man sounded middle aged, strong but uncertain. She didn’t recognise his voice.
‘Yes it is, how can I help?’
‘This is Liam Flynn.’ The man paused as if he expected a reaction. When one wasn’t forthcoming, he pressed on. ‘I’m … was … Sarah’s father.’
She caught the sharp intake of a sob being stifled at the other end of the line. ‘Oh, right … look, I’m really sorry to hear what happened …’ She hesitated, unsure what to say. He’d obviously been told by the cops that Mike had killed his daughter and was ringing to vent, or worse. Molly braced herself, ready to hang up.
‘I understand Mike works for you.’ It wasn’t a question. He knew what he was talking about.
‘Yes he does. Look, Mr Flynn …’
‘Liam.’
‘Okay, Liam … I’m not sure what you’ve been told, but I can assure you …’
‘The cops tell me that he killed my daughter.’ His voice was hard now. No more sobs were likely to come just now, as he worked himself up to an attack. ‘Murdered her in cold blood then ran away.’
‘I thought they might have told you that, but really …’
‘Look, Molly, I’m no fool.’ Flynn had control of himself now. ‘I hear what the cops are telling me, and I heard what my daughter told me about him.’
The door opened and Molly looked up as a man stepped inside. It was Vance, the detective they’d spoken to earlier. He looked down at her silently, saw she was on the phone and gave a smirk. He pointed towards the sofa in the corner with a questioning look. Molly nodded and watched him wander over, taking his time to look around the office as he did so.
She turned her attention back to the caller on the other end. ‘… had nothing but good things to say about him. Said he was a man of integrity.’ She heard him swallow hard and felt her heart going out to him. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. ‘I’d like to come and meet with you and your husband.’
‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now,’ Molly said, watching Vance make himself at home on the red fabric sofa. The coffee table in front of him had an array of magazines on it, and he picked one up.
‘I know you can do it online, but I’d rather meet you in person.’ He paused again and she could hear him breathing. ‘I want to hire you.’
Molly snapped her attention back to him. ‘I’m sorry, what now?’
‘I said I want to hire you. I want you to find out who murdered my daughter.’
Molly was silent a long moment. She could feel Vance’s eyes on her. Something told her not to disclose to him who the caller was.
‘I suggest we meet for a free consultation on that,’ she said, hoping she was being oblique enough not to arouse Vance’s suspicions. ‘How about you give me your number and I’ll get Dan to call you as soon as possible?’
‘Fine. I don’t care about the cost, I just want it started immediately.’
She scribbled down the number he gave her and they rang off. She turned in her chair, looking across to Vance. He had an ankle crossed over his other knee, perfectly relaxed on the sofa. His watchful eyes met hers. He had a half smirk on his face. She could smell cigarette smoke on him even across the room.
‘Busy?’ he said.
‘Well, I am,’ she replied.
The smirk got bigger. ‘Of course. I’d expect nothing less from one of the more, ahh, notable private investigation agencies in the city.’
Notable, she noticed. Not prominent, or reputable, or even better. Notable. Her dislike for the man jumped up a notch.
‘Is there something you wanted?’ Molly asked.
He cast a lazy glance towards the kitchenette off the main office. ‘Is that a coffee machine I see in there?’
‘Yep.’ She waited.
He chuckled. ‘You’re a very cool customer, Mrs Crowley. Very cool.’
Molly waited some more. She was tempted to drum her fingers on the desk, but that would be rude. Molly would never be so blatant.
‘So no coffee then.’ He flicked his eyebrows at her and rubbed his jaw. ‘How about a chat instead?’
‘I don’t think I have anything to say to you.’
He gave a shrug. ‘That’s okay. I’m a good talker. How about you listen instead?’
‘Like I said, I’m busy. I can make an appointment if you’d like. We offer a free consultation.’
He smirked again. ‘Cute.’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Cute isn’t gunna get you very far, Molly. We both know your friend Mike’s backed into a corner here and has some big questions to answer. Your husband isn’t helping himself either.’
Molly gave him sceptical. ‘How so?’
‘We know he’s running around trying to help his mate. Problem is, his mate’s a person of interest in a homicide.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I understand the licensing people are currently looking at whether your company, and you as individuals, are fit to hold PI licenses.’ His eyes gave nothing away, but Molly felt her stomach drop.
The Private Security Personnel Licensing Authority oversaw the industry, and could easily suspend or cancel an investigator’s license. Operating without one was illegal, so any enforcement action would stop their livelihood dead in the water.
‘I guess what I’m saying, Molly,’ Vance continued, ‘is that Mike has gone and put you all in a very difficult situation.’ He spread his hands. ‘If it’s at all possible, I might be able to help. You haven’t done anything wrong yourself, and I’d hate to see you get punished for something beyond your control. Know what I mean?’
She knew very well what he meant, and it made her sick to her stomach. ‘You can call the dogs off if we help you catch Mike,’ she said.
Vance flicked his eyebrows again and looked at her expectantly.
‘We don’t know where he is,’ Molly told him. Her heart was r
acing and she desperately wanted to swallow. She fought the urge; it was a nervous reaction and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Come on, Molly…’
‘I think you need to go,’ Molly said.
He made no effort to get up, just stared at her. It was an intense stare.
‘Now.’ Molly’s tone was firm.
‘Or what?’ The smirk was back, and Molly felt her skin crawl.
‘I won’t ask again.’
He chuckled and slowly stood. ‘That’s a shame, Molly.’
Molly said nothing as he came towards her. The smirk hadn’t shifted. His eyes were green and cold. He stopped at her desk and leaned slightly forward. He was in her personal space and knew it. Molly wanted so badly to back away, but again she fought the urge. She set her jaw and glared at him.
‘You don’t scare me,’ she said, cursing the waver in her voice.
Vance picked up on the waver too, and chuckled again. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he smirked. ‘You’re tougher than your husband, from what I hear.’
Molly gave a derisive snort. ‘You obviously don’t know him, then.’
‘Well I heard he wasn’t much of a cop.’ His cigarette breath was overbearing. ‘And now he’s a two-bit private eye, working with a murderer.’ He sneered. ‘For now.’
Molly pushed back from the desk and stood. She locked eyes with him. ‘I said for you to go.’
Vance licked his lips. They looked as grey and lifeless as his skin. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back. Tell your husband I said hi.’
He opened the door and paused to look back at her. He ran his eyes slowly up and down before smirking again. He said nothing and closed the door behind him.
Molly gave an involuntary shiver. She felt like she needed a shower.
Chapter 5
Snapperhead had been a term we used when I was a recruit at police college.
Our section adopted it to the point we had it printed on our section T-shirts. Everybody had their nickname across the back – DC in my case, keeping it simple – then an emblem on the breast of a snapper’s head with the wing number above it and the section number below it.