by Angus McLean
Molly nodded to herself again, running it through in her head.
She had had the same discussion with Dan way back when they had first agreed to make contact with Mike. Even though it was a no-brainer in one respect, being that they were long-standing friends and business partners, they also had to make sure it was a carefully considered decision. Dan had outlined the exact same facts that Buck just had, and that was why he was confident that he couldn’t be successfully prosecuted as an accessory for doing what he was doing. Obstruction would be about the best they could manage.
Keeping his license was another matter, but they had agreed that that was a bridge they would cross when they came to it.
‘So what’s the plan, Mrs Crowley?’
Molly snapped back to the present. ‘I can’t ask you to get involved, Buck. It’s not fair to put you in that position.’
‘Come on, Molly, you know me better than that. Dan’s a mate. Besides,’ he laughed, ‘what’s Kennedy gunna do to me? He’s already cornered me into the world’s most boring job anyway. I don’t think I can get in trouble for supporting a friend.’ He paused, and when he spoke again, the sincerity in his voice brought a lump to Molly’s throat. ‘I owe Dan a lot, and he would be there for me. So that’s that.’
Molly felt her eyes prickle.
‘Don’t you dare tell him that, though,’ Buck added with a chuckle.
Molly smiled to herself. ‘First things first, we need to get Dan a lawyer. I know who he’d want, so I’ll give him a ring. We also need to know what evidence they have.’
‘That would be good to know,’ Buck agreed. ‘They don’t need to have much to arrest him, but charging him is a different matter. I can make a phone call.’
‘Don’t compromise yourself, Buck,’ Molly warned. ‘The last thing we need is you getting in trouble too.’
‘Like I said Mol, Dan would do it for me. He’s one of the most annoying guys I know, but he is my friend.’
They rung off and Molly stood for a minute, her mind buzzing. It felt like everything was out of control at a million miles an hour, and for the first time that day, she wondered whether they were doing the right thing.
***
Had I known how badly it would backfire, I’d have rethought my plan. Nothing I could do about that now, though.
My face and sinuses were still burning from the pepper spray, and my clothes reeked of it. I had refused to be interviewed until I had spoken to my lawyer. Vance had told me I would only get one shot at it, and not to waste my time calling a lawyer.
My response had been a short sentence of even shorter words, and I’d been swiftly moved downstairs to the cells. The two detectives who had arrested me, Powell and Gardner, had taken me down. They seemed pretty happy with themselves and the woman, Gardner, was particularly pleased.
I’d never met either of them before, and when I asked them if they were on Vance’s team, Powell had told me it was none of my business. Gardner had just smirked, so I took it as a yes. Great; a couple of Vance clones. Just what I needed.
The holding cell was cold white and pale green concrete, no sharp edges, and floor to ceiling safety glass so the custody unit staff could watch the prisoners. When the door banged closed behind me there were two other roosters already there.
One was sitting slumped on the bench seat against the wall, eyes closed and possibly asleep. He was a solid looking Maori dude in a sleeveless black leather vest that displayed the tats up his arms, black jeans and motorcycle boots.
The other rooster was a scruffy guy, younger than the other, in a Lakers singlet and trackies. He was pacing constantly and I noticed he had dried blood around his nose and mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and he was obviously wired.
I moved to the bench seat and he watched me, pacing in a circle, his jandals scuffing on the floor. I sat at the opposite end to the biker and avoided the gaze of the pacing nutter. I had got through to Evans’ mobile and he told me to say nothing and wait until he got there.
All I had to do was keep my gob shut, head down and wait. My watch, like the rest of my belongings had been taken off me upstairs. No doubt Vance and his crew would be going through it right now. Fortunately I’d left my burner at the office.
I settled in to wait.
Unfortunately, men make plans and the gods laugh.
I’d been there for all of two minutes before the pacer came over, scuffing his feet all the way.
He stopped just short of me. ‘Got a smoke?’
‘No.’
‘Oh eh.’
I looked up at him. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. ‘Yeah.’
‘Choodoo?’
‘Say what?’
He tossed his chin at me. ‘Choodoo?’
‘Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I gave him a bored expression, hoping he’d slope off and return to his exciting circle pacing.
‘Whatchoodoo.’ He bent down in my face. I might have reeked of pepper spray, but it beat his BO and dope smell hands down. ‘What’chu do, g?’
‘Oh.’ I nodded, trying not to breathe in his fumes. ‘What did I do?’
‘Oh eh, I’s sayed it.’ He was looking to the biker for encouragement now, wanting an audience as he made fun of the stupid newcomer. The biker stirred and cracked an eyelid, taking a lazy interest.
‘You mean you said it?’ I eyeballed him. ‘Is that right?’
‘Oh eh, g.’
I stood. I was a few inches taller than him. ‘None of your business, g. How about you go back to your corner, yeah?’
He tossed that up for a few seconds, glancing over to the biker again, and started bouncing on his toes, jiggling from side to side. ‘Eh g, check it out bro.’ He giggled to himself.
I kept the biker in my peripheral vision, but for now this rooster was my focus. My face was burning, my left wrist was throbbing and still strapped, and it hadn’t been a great day so far. But you can’t afford to back down to guys like this. I had no option of backing away, and he was showing no interest in doing so either.
‘Whaddaclown, bro.’ The guy giggled again, still hopping and bopping, and the biker started to slowly sit up.
‘Just go sit down, mate,’ I said as coolly as I could manage. Where was Mike when I needed him; he was better at this than me. ‘Leave me to my own business.’
‘Whaddaclown.’ The guy threw a right jab at my face, which bounced off my ear as it flew past.
I grabbed him and shoved him backwards, getting some space. ‘Settle down, knucklehead.’
He came back in again, fists up and still bopping around. ‘Gunna smash you, bro. Gunna cut you up.’
‘With what? Your jandal?’
He looked down at his feet, giggled, and threw another right. I blocked it with my left forearm, landed a good right hook to his ribs and followed it with another. He let out an oofff, staggered and started flailing like a madman. I backed up until I hit the wall, blocking his punches with my forearms, and had nowhere else to go. My injured wrist was throbbing like mad.
He got a decent shot to my head, kicked me in the leg and tried to knee me in the crotch. Enough was enough.
I blocked his arms out, opening him up, and gave him a good left-right combo to the gut. My left wrist screamed at me and went numb but he oofff’d again, bent at the waist, and I gave him a good hard uppercut under the jaw. His head snapped back and I grabbed him by the front of his singlet as he fell back.
I was lowering him to the ground when the biker exploded off the bench, his big boot sailing at me. I took one in the ribs and staggered sideways, dropping the other rooster and stumbling over him as the biker bore down on me.
I twisted and moved but he still crashed into me, body slamming me against the wall. My head slammed into the concrete and black stars burst in my eyes. I grabbed onto him, holding on for dear life. He was a big unit, taller than me and a good 15 kilo’s heavier. I got an arm around his neck but that exposed my ribs, and he went to town on them with
both fists.
I was gasping for air and hanging on, wondering where the hell the cops were. He pushed me away, brought his fists up and lined me up again. He was grinning, clearly enjoying himself. Some of these bikie gang members are pretty decent fighters, and he was obviously one of them.
I could barely breathe and it felt like my wrist had been re-damaged. He came in, jabbing at my face and landing a solid left to my cheek, then came in with a big right. Even from against the ropes I knew that one would finish me.
I dropped and turned, and the big fist sailed past my head to impact against the concrete wall.
There was a yowl of pain and he stepped back, clutching his injured hand. I levered myself against the wall, still bent over, and kicked out at him. I got him across the side of the knee and his leg buckled inwards, dropping him awkwardly to the other knee. He tried to grab at me but I was out of reach.
The cell door buzzed open and I saw uniforms rushing in. About time. I slumped against the wall, cradling my damaged wrist in my right hand, struggling to breathe.
Powell and Gardner appeared and stood over me. ‘Are you quite done?’ Gardner asked. Deep down she probably cared, but she was hiding it well.
I scowled and said nothing.
‘Your lawyer’s here,’ Powell said. ‘Get up.’
I shuffled painfully behind them, up in the lift to an interview room. Neither of them spoke the whole way, but I could tell from the way Powell looked at me and at his partner, that he was concerned.
Gardner managed to remain staunch, eye-balling me every time I looked her way. She was a wiry sawn-off with long mousey brown hair that was equally wiry. Like Powell she was somewhere in her thirties. No sign of a wedding ring. No surprise there; any normal-thinking man would have run for the hills.
Powell was a bit soft round the gut and his dark hair was receding. He wore a wedding band and struck me as a family man. I picked him as the weak link in the chain.
Pete Evans was waiting in the interview room. He might have shared a name with the celebrity chef, but the similarity with Paleo Pete ended there. Evans was fat, florid, balding and obnoxious. He was on the wrong side of sixty and looked like he’d drop dead any second. He was also a damn smart lawyer and I was pleased he was there.
Vance appeared and stood with the other two as they showed me into the room.
He took one look at me and turned to the three detectives with a ferocious glare. ‘Been up to your old tricks have you, Mr Vance?’
‘I never laid a hand on him. It seems he had a run in with a couple of other prisoners.’ Vance was composed, I’ll give him that.
‘Get a doctor, immediately.’
‘We haven’t finished …’
‘I said immediately, Vance. It wasn’t a request.’ Evans glowered and it was a sight to behold. ‘I have your District Commander’s cell phone number, if you’d like me to give her a call?’
‘I doubt …’ Vance began cockily, but Evans cut him off.
‘Oh she’ll take my call alright. We go back a long way.’ He took a step forward and squared his shoulders, pushing his big guts out further. ‘It’s up to you. I’ll be consulting my client in private now. Shut the door on the way out.’
He was exactly the sort of lawyer I had hated as a cop, and I loved it. They backed off and closed the door.
Evans turned to me and grinned. He indicated one of the chairs. ‘Alright son, take a seat. Tell Uncle Pete all about it.’
Chapter 13
The secret to avoiding predators in the wild was to use nature against them. Burrowed deep into a dense thicket in Totara Park, Mike was snug in a well-camouflaged bivvy.
Years back his recon patrol leader had been a grizzled sergeant named Blue, who had served a decade in Special Forces before easing back for his last few years in the service.
His version of easing back was still harder core than most other soldiers’ interpretation, but he had taught Mike and the other lads under his command a catalogue of skills they wouldn’t learn anywhere else.
Mike thought about Blue now as he lay in his bivvy bag and spooned mouthfuls of cold satay chicken from a foil packet into his mouth. The food was designed to be heated but could also be eaten cold, which was how they’d usually had it in the field.
Blue had died a few years ago while kayaking rapids down the Tongariro. The funeral had been huge and Mike had been honoured to be a pall bearer. His hangover had lasted a week afterwards, and he had felt the loss as keenly as if they were blood.
It had been to catch up with the boys again. Kevvy was doing private security in the Middle East, Boris was still in the green machine and had followed Blue down the SF route. Big Willy had become a fireman and had about a million kids. Tonto was in prison; thinking had never been his strong point. He’d tried to rob a bank but made the mistake of telling his girlfriend first. Problem was, the girlfriend knew about his other girlfriend, and she’d dropped a dime on him.
And then there was Mike Manning – Dolph, to Blue, after the huge Swedish actor Dolph Lundgren. A private eye, businessman, former truck driver. Divorced, no kids as far as he knew. Paid his taxes. Fine upstanding citizen. Wanted for murder.
Mike swallowed the last mouthful of satay down and crumpled the packet into a ball, tossing it into the rubbish bag by his side. He unscrewed the cap of the Thermos and took a sniff. It was still hot. Good old Molly. He poured a cup and recapped the canister. The soup was good and warming and he cherished it.
Cherished it. Like he had cherished Sarah?
He took another swallow and considered that thought. No, not like he had cherished Sarah. She had been special, no doubt about that, but she wasn’t The One.
Penny? Did marrying someone mean, by definition, that you cherished them? He didn’t know. Penny had been as close to The One as he’d ever known, he knew that without question. He had loved her so bad it burned, and the split had burned worse than he could ever have imagined.
Maybe she had been The One. Again, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter now if she was or not. She was gone and that chapter was closed.
He thought about Dan and Molly. Now there was a couple that cherished each other. Perfect, no. They argued like anyone else did, but underlying it all was a mutual respect that got them through the tough times. And there had been plenty enough of them.
He wondered how they were getting on with the investigation. Since leaving Dan, Mike had gapped it back to his bike and cycled out of the area. He’d passed a CIB unit a block away from the park and they hadn’t even given him a second glance. Obviously they’d been on Dan’s tail somehow.
Mike had put distance between himself and the RV point, killed a couple of hours and returned to the park closer to dusk. The lying up point had been simple to find – go where nobody else will want to go. Thick undergrowth and thorns were a great deterrent.
Mike finished the soup and tidied up his gear, getting everything bagged and secured before hunkering down for the night. As he lay back with his head on his day pack, fully clothed in the bivvy bag and with a torch on one side and an unfolded multi tool on the other, he thought again of Dan and Molly.
Hopefully they were making headway on the investigation. Right now, his fortunes could really do with a turn for the better.
***
An hour into talking with Evans, the door to the interview room opened and Powell poked his head in.
‘Doctor’s here.’
He let the doctor in, a small Asian lady who was very efficient and direct. After examining me with my shirt off and poking enough tender spots to make me jump, she made some notes and gave me the good news.
‘No broken bones,’ she said. ‘Very tender on the ribs, both sides. Contusion to the rear of the skull but no fracture. It doesn’t need suturing. Swelling to the right cheekbone. Left wrist badly sprained.’
‘Again,’ I added, giving Powell a look. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish.
‘I will prescribe pain medic
ation and anti-inflammatories for you. You will take some now. You will also need to ice all the injuries and rest them. Do you understand?’ She looked at me flatly.
‘Yep.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve done this before.’
She gave me that flat look again. ‘I am not surprised.’
Great. Even the doctor’s having a crack.
She scribbled out a prescription form and gave me the first dose of meds. Powell fetched a cup of tepid water to wash the pills down.
The doctor removed the strapping from my wrist and re-strapped it. ‘Don’t forget to ice,’ she said, as she stood up.
I thanked her and watched her go. Powell hovered at the door as if he was unsure what to do next. Vance saved him, bowling in confidently.
‘So what’s the story, gents?’ He stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Are we doing a statement or are we off downstairs?’
‘My client is happy to make a statement at this stage,’ Evans replied, ‘but it won’t be to you, I’m afraid.’
Vance locked eyes with him. ‘Well I’m afraid, counsellor, that you don’t make the rules around here. I do.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘Yeah pal, that’s a fact. And I’ll be doing the interview.’
They held a bit more of a stare down.
‘If that’s the way you want to play it then,’ Evans said coolly, ‘there won’t be a statement.’
‘There are questions your client needs to answer,’ Vance said. ‘For his own good, if nobody else’s.’
‘Lay it out then,’ Evans told him. ‘Stop hedging and give us some facts to work with, and let’s see if we can get this thing sorted. Because if you’re not prepared to be upfront, I’m afraid it just looks more and more like a stitch-up.’ Evans gave a bleak smile. ‘How unusual.’
Vance gave a snort. ‘Nice try but no. Let’s jump on DVD and we can discuss what we have.’
‘Spell it out, Mr Vance. What’ve you got; forensics? A witness? What?’
I watched Vance closely while Evans harangued him, and at the mention of a witness, I saw his tell. It was just the tiniest flicker in his face, but it was enough. Enough to tell me they had something from a witness. What it could be, I had no idea.