Fallen Angel

by Angus McLean

  It was one of those things where nobody really remembered where it came from but it became a part of our private vocabulary.

  Mike had picked up on it years later and called me Snapperhead for a while, until I stopped biting back and he lost interest. So the fact that I’d received a text on his burn phone – a number only he and I knew – with just that one word, told me he was trying to covertly reach out.

  Problem was, I couldn’t talk in the office if I believed it was wired. And maybe the cops had found the burn phone and were even live on it as well – who knew? I had to assume the worst, which was that all our phones, vehicles and premises – including home – had been compromised.

  When I thought of it like that, it felt totally Big Brother. They were watching our every move. Paranoid, much? Probably, but it didn’t mean I was wrong. The only option was to get another burner and use it outside, preferably in a crowded area to reduce the risk of being overheard.

  I went to the superette down the road a bit and bought a litre of milk, a box of tea bags and a packet of Tim Tams – double chocolate. Molly tended to frown at chocolate biscuits for the office but this was a crisis, damn it.

  I also bought a cheap Nokia handset, exactly the same as Mike’s burner, and a pre-paid voucher. I swapped the batteries over and loaded up the credit, plugged in my ear buds, and punched in the number I’d memorised. I stuck the phone in my pocket and hit the Call button as I headed back up the footpath.

  I found myself scanning constantly as I walked, looking for faces I knew, anything or anyone out of place. It tends to be people’s body language that gives them away; they’re acting natural, not being natural.

  Mike answered after one ring, but said nothing.

  ‘Hey, snapperhead,’ I said.

  ‘Hey man.’ The tension in his voice was obvious.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Relatively speaking, yeah.’ He let out a breath. ‘All things considered, you know.’

  I sidestepped a lady with a buggy and passed the stairs up to the office. ‘First things first mate, I believe the office is wired, our phones, home, probably even the cars have trackers. I know they’re watching us, okay?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Secondly.’ I reached the ramp up to the motorway overbridge and started up it. ‘I was interviewed and released without charge. They had nothing on me.’

  ‘And they’ve got nothing on me, man.’ He was highly stressed. ‘I didn’t do it, Dan.’

  ‘I know mate, I know. But it looks bad that you legged it.’

  He sighed. ‘I know. It wasn’t something I really planned to do. Plus I knew that they’d lock me up and then I’d have no chance of catching whoever actually did it.’

  I was silent for a moment. I reached the top of the ramp and started across the walk bridge. There was no chance of being followed here without the follower getting burned, and even less chance of being overheard – the constant stream of vehicles below me saw to that.

  I couldn’t argue that point with him. The cops had grabbed us as soon as they turned up, which hadn’t boded well for us.

  Innocent until proven guilty? Not so much.

  ‘So any ideas?’ I said. ‘It wasn’t you and it wasn’t me. Had to be somebody she knew.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sometimes I forget Mike doesn’t have the same experience as I do. I ran him through a shortened version of the conclusions Molly and I had reached. When I finished he said, ‘Uh-huh.’

  I took that as agreement. I leaned my elbows on the railing in the middle of the bridge, watching the cars race by a few metres below.

  A pair of patched gang members blasted past, their hogs abnormally loud. I was confident I could have shot them both before they were out of range, had I been armed. It was one of those fleeting thoughts that people like me tend to have. A moment later they were gone and I focussed back on the conversation. Probably best to keep my homicidal thoughts to myself right now.

  ‘So?’ I prodded.

  Mike sighed down the line. ‘Mate, I can’t think of anyone who would want to do that to Sarah. She was just a nice girl, you know what I mean?’

  ‘Anybody else on the scene?’ I was trying to be diplomatic.

  ‘Whaddaya mean?’

  I cringed. ‘Ahh, you know … were you guys exclusive?’

  Mike paused. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. It was just casual, y’know. We never really discussed anything more than that.’

  I took that as a no. ‘So nobody else you were aware then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anybody want to have a crack at you lately?’ Mike didn’t always tell me everything; I had to ask. It was possible somebody had been lying in wait for him but bashed Sarah instead.

  ‘Nobody springs to mind.’

  We didn’t seem to be getting far, but it was okay. Eliminating possibilities is good because it narrows the list – it helps if you have a list, of course. Most murder victims know their killers, so we had to work through the areas of Sarah’s and Mike’s lives until we found something to build on. I’d move on to her work and social life next. There may be somebody she flew with, or somebody in her family or social circle she had issues with. These days it could be someone she met online who Mike had no idea about.

  ‘Right, what about anybody at the apartments? Anyone there causing you or her any issues?’

  ‘Not me, I just keep myself to myself mate. Work, gym, home; that’s about it.’

  ‘What about Sarah?’

  There was a pause. ‘Na, not really …’ There was a note of uncertainty in Mike’s voice.

  ‘What is it?’ I pressed.

  ‘Oh, na … nothing really. All I can think of is she had some washing go missing, that’s all. It was nothing major though, just some devo.’

  ‘A devo? Someone nicked her undies or something?’ I could feel a tingle in my veins; this was something to work on.

  ‘Yeah, only once though. A few days ago.’ He was silent for a long moment and I could almost hear the cogs turning. ‘Oh, God …’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘I need to know everything.’

  ***

  The park Mike had found himself in was a dodgy residential area of Takanini, just off the main road that ran through to the military camp.

  The dairy on one side of the park had barred windows all around, and the public toilets and playground had been tagged and repainted so many times there was probably more paint than building materials. The numerous driveways across the road led to rabbit warrens of back sections and crappy houses, a smorgasbord of hiding places for the undesirables he’d seen sloping about.

  A dog ranger would have had a field day if they’d dared to enter this ’hood.

  At least one of the houses was doing a solid trade. Cars were pulling up constantly, stopping at the kerb for no more than a minute. A passenger would get out and go to a side window of the house, knock, pass something to the hand that appeared and take something in return. The car would drive off and within a few minutes another would appear.

  Mike had been sitting on a bench in the park for half an hour now and had seen at least eight transactions take place. Tinnies or synnies; it didn’t matter whether it was herbal or grass clippings soaked in fly spray, neither was a good option.

  He had ended the call with Dan and sat to think. He drank some water. There was a lot to think about and his head was buzzing. He was tired but jacked at the same time. Normally he would hit the gym and lift some iron when he felt this way, but there was no chance of that today.

  The conversation with Dan had got him thinking. He felt safer knowing that Dan and Molly were on his side – not that there had ever been any doubt, of course, it just felt good to hear the words.

  The stolen underwear angle opened up what Dan always called an avenue of enquiry. Mike felt himself smile. Dan was a cop through and through, whether he’d admit it or not. Mike knew that his friends would investigate every possible angle to clear his name. He
again regretted running. What the hell was that about? He knew he’d made it worse for himself.

  His mind jumped back to the night before. Coming home, opening the unlocked door, going in. Sarah lying there on the floor, bleeding from the head. No response, no pulse. Straight into CPR anyway. Calling 111 immediately while he was doing compressions – I need an ambulance, now! Calling Dan straight after – mate, something’s happened. I think she’s dead.

  Dan arriving only a couple of minutes later, Mike having to buzz him in through the security gate.

  Trying to carry on with CPR, Dan taking him by the arm. Look at me – Mike, look at me. She’s gone, mate. I’m sorry.

  The cops bowling up to the gate, shaking it hard, calling out. Mike sitting back, stunned. Dan unable to find the gate buzzer so going out to let them in. A commotion, Mike going out to see what was going on. Passing his neighbour, nosey Simon from next door, rubber necking to see what was going on.

  Dan being manhandled by the two cops, all three going to the ground outside the gate, Mike rushing over. What the hell’re you doing? One of the cops detaching himself to grab Mike, presenting a can of pepper spray to make him get on the ground. Dan shouting at the other cop to get off.

  All the while, Sarah lying there, back in the apartment. Alone.

  The scene had run through Mike’s head a thousand times in the last hours, each time searing into his brain that little bit more. He knew he would never shake it. And should he even want to? Was that doing right by Sarah, forgetting her?

  He was so absorbed in his own world that he didn’t notice the guy at first. Not until the guy spat at his feet.

  Mike’s head snapped up.

  The guy was only a metre away, practically standing over him. He wore scruffy track pants and a Lakers singlet that was at least three seasons out of date. He had scraggly bum fluff, a love bite on his neck, and a Warriors bucket hat struggling to contain his mop. He smelled of weed and BO, and his jandals were too small for him. He was Maori, maybe 20, stocky, home-made tats on his forearms and hands.

  ‘Got a smoke?’ The guy’s eyes were red rimmed.

  Mike eyed him. ‘No.’

  The guy shuffled his feet. He looked at the phone in Mike’s hand, then at the bike leaning against the end of the bench.

  ‘Borrow your phone, bro?’

  Mike narrowed his eyes. ‘No.’ He didn’t have time for this idiot; he needed to get moving.

  ‘Oh eh, gimme your phone.’ The guy’s tone changed now, and he shuffled a bit more.

  Mike looked down at the phone as if seeing it for the first time. ‘This one?’ he said. ‘You mean this phone?’

  The guy chucked his chin and put his mitt out. ‘Gizzit.’

  Mike looked down at the phone, then back at the guy again. ‘Um, I think I’ll stick with no.’ He pointed away towards the road. ‘Take a hike, chucklehead. I’m not in the mood.’

  The guy waggled his fingers. ‘Gizzit, or I’ll cut you up.’

  Mike looked at him hard. The guy was obviously flying on something. No straight-thinking person would ever pick Mike Manning as an easy target to roll.

  The guy produced a box cutter from his pants pocket and held it towards Mike. Mike glanced at it, then back at the guy.

  ‘The blade’s not even out,’ he said.

  The guy looked, and Mike hit him in the gut. It was a straight left jab just above the beltline, not his best, but enough to double the guy over. As Mike stood he brought a haymaker with him, a big right fist screaming up from a sitting position, squashing the guy’s nose across his face as it blew through and snapped his head back.

  The guy hit the deck, the knife went flying, and one jandal fell off as his legs went up in the air. Mike stood over him, the phone in his pocket now, ready to rock and roll. The guy was out of the game, bleeding profusely from the nose, groaning and swearing to himself, trying to roll on his side.

  Mike let him, and leaned down, face to face when the guy got to his knees. ‘You had your chance to walk away,’ he growled. ‘Look at me.’ The guy looked up, bloody spit dangling off his chin. ‘Remember my face, sunshine. You just got owned.’

  The guy started trying to get up and Mike pushed him over easily, letting him roll on the grass.

  ‘Learn your lesson,’ he said as he grabbed his bike. It was definitely time to make tracks now.

  The guy was still on his hands and knees when Mike pedalled away.

  Chapter 6

  Hugh Kennedy eased the unmarked Commodore to the kerb and got out.

  The street was lined now with a couple of patrol cars, two other CIB cars, wagons from Photography, Fingerprints and ESR, and now a black Cadillac undertaker’s wagon as well. He walked up the footpath to where a pair of uniformed cops stood talking near the gate to the car park, supposedly maintaining an outer cordon.

  They glanced at him and one did a double-take, before nodding. ‘Sir.’

  Kennedy ignored them and walked past. He didn’t waste his time talking to wooden tops. One of them muttered something behind his back but Kennedy pretended he hadn’t heard.

  Most of the residents had gone for the day, which worked well for the cops. The scene examination was underway in the ground floor apartment where Manning lived.

  Manning and Crowley – God, he despised them, Crowley especially. He would never forget the day that Crowley had decked him at the Otahuhu station. He’d never been so humiliated. At least it had been the beginning of the end for Crowley and he was gone soon after, now just another ex-cop plying his trade as a private eye.

  Kennedy ignored the twinge of jealousy he always felt when he thought about Crowley. The man was making more money as a PI than he was as a DI, and instead of a mousy wife always nagging him about the kids or something breaking or him having to work late, Crowley went home to an absolute stunner. A total 10 as far as Kennedy was concerned, and Crowley knew it too. Oh, how he’d love to wipe that cocky grin off Crowley’s face once and for all. And that stupid moustache.

  And Kennedy knew that the murder of Sarah Flynn was a heaven-sent opportunity to do exactly that.

  He reached the inner cordon where a uniform stood behind a length of tape with an M4 at hand. Vance stood inside the cordon, talking in low tones with the detective in charge of the scene exam. Vance glanced over then looked back to his colleague, continuing the conversation.

  Kennedy made to lift the tape and the wooden top stopped him.

  ‘Sorry mate, this is a crime scene.’ The big cop had his hand out, stopping Kennedy’s advance. ‘Back behind the tape thanks.’

  Kennedy felt his cheeks flush. He looked at the guy and looked away again, wondering why the hell Vance wasn’t bailing him out.

  ‘I’m, I’m ... Detective Inspector Kennedy,’ he managed, fumbling over his words. ‘I, ahh …’

  ‘You’ll need to sign in then, sir.’ The cop was still blocking him. ‘If you want to come in, that is, sir,’ he added.

  ‘Of course I want to come in,’ Kennedy blustered, his cheeks hot now. ‘I am in charge here, you know.’

  The big cop wasn’t flustered. He had a crewcut under his forage cap and his biceps strained at the sleeves of his shirt. He grabbed a clipboard and passed it to Kennedy.

  Kennedy had just finished scribbling his details on the scene log when Vance broke away and came over, lifting the tape and coming out.

  ‘No point coming in, Hugh,’ he said easily. ‘They’re about to bring the body out anyway.’

  Kennedy silently fumed, knowing Vance had let him fill out the log needlessly. He felt his blood pressure rise but said nothing. Karl Vance wasn’t a man you wanted to cross, even if you were a DI. Kennedy had never worked with him before, but knew his reputation. He’d only recently come back to mainstream policing after years in covert ops, and his methods, although successful, were somewhat looser than Kennedy would have liked. In Kennedy’s opinion he was more suited to South Auckland than the city, more of a cowboy like Dan Crowley.

>   Vance walked Kennedy out towards the pool so they were out of earshot. ‘The scene’s well underway,’ he said, ‘nothing remarkable. They’ll cut her open this afternoon probably, just waiting to hear.’

  Kennedy winced inwardly at the choice of words. Vance fired up a smoke and exhaled through his nostrils.

  ‘Anything new on the suspect?’ Kennedy asked, trying not to breathe in the fumes.

  ‘No sightings yet.’ Vance cocked his head and blew a grey cloud to the side. The light breeze picked it up and brought it straight back. Kennedy held his breath. ‘We’re live on their phones and have got the devices in their office. Haven’t done the home yet, we need to control their movements and make sure we’ve got a clear window to do it in. Might need to pull them both in for an interview so we know where they are.’

  Kennedy couldn’t hold his breath any longer and stepped back, sucking in air. Vance was unperturbed and dragged down another lungful, the tip of his cigarette glowing red.

  ‘I’ve also got trackers on both their cars, and we’ve impounded Manning’s own car.’

  Kennedy nodded. He was surprised at how quickly all that had played out, but Vance knew what he was doing; this was all standard fare in the covert world.

  ‘So a Surveillance Device Warrant is underway?’ he asked.

  Vance eyed him coolly, a smirk playing at his lips. He exhaled like a dragon before responding. ‘Just leave all that to me, Hugh.’

  Kennedy hesitated. He knew that the warrantless emergency powers they were using needed to be replaced by an actual warrant signed by a High Court judge as soon as possible, otherwise they risked anything they obtained being ruled inadmissible. He knew that Vance knew that, too.

  Vance was watching him, taking a last drag on his durry. Discretion was the better part of valour, Kennedy decided. If it all turned to custard he’d feign ignorance and dump it all on Vance anyway – it had worked for him before.