by Chris Taylor
He shrugged. “Sure. Under normal circumstances, they usually pull an eight-hour shift. If we’re under pressure to close something down, they’ll work around the clock. But that doesn’t mean they can’t come in outside that time and finish paperwork, follow up leads, whatever. What they do in their own time is their choice.”
“So, it’s possible someone could have come in at a time when they weren’t rostered on and accessed the Unit’s computers?”
“Of course, it happens all the time.”
“So, even if the computer logs don’t match up with Agent Munro’s time sheets, it’s still possible that he was using the computer at the time the logs say he was?”
Gary nodded grimly. “Yes, it’s possible, just as it is for any of the staff working there, but you’re forgetting this is a man who goes above and beyond the call of duty. This is a man who has volunteered to do double shifts so he could make sure a ring of pedophiles operating out of Murrumbilla could be exposed and shut down forever. This is a man who’s received the State’s highest service awards. A man whose father is a former District Court judge. A man who has four brothers who are involved in law enforcement. This man cut his baby teeth doing the right thing. It is quite simply beyond my imagination to even begin to think he could be involved in this.”
Julian’s breath came fast. Chloe looked down at the notepad in front of her and gave him time to gather himself. She didn’t have any hesitation in knowing that he believed every word he said, but that didn’t necessarily mean his unshakable conviction wasn’t misplaced.
That was her job: To sift through the evidence and separate the facts from the emotions. To discover the truth and then act upon it—and right now, despite the emotion involved, there was no getting away from the cold, hard facts.
She did her best to ignore the turmoil in her head and bit down on a sigh. She was a professional. She was good at her job. And that’s all this was. Another job. So what if the offender in question sent butterflies hurtling around her belly? So what if she wanted to believe every word he said?
The facts were the facts. End of story. Her shoulders slumped. Some days even the healthy pay packet wasn’t enough.
CHAPTER 5
Declan jogged along the walking track that skirted Lake Burley Griffin. The mid-afternoon heat of the sun on the back of his neck was comfortably warm. School children in wide-brimmed hats huddled at one end, listening with varying degrees of interest to the teacher in front of them.
It had been more than a week since Senior Investigator Sabattini had interviewed him. He hadn’t heard a thing and the wait was slowly driving him mad.
Without the distraction of work to take his mind off things, he’d been forced into uncharacteristic idleness. He was a man who worked hard and played hard, but there had always been a balance. Now that one of those outlets had been taken away from him, he had no choice but to take the subsequent frustrations out on his body.
Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and soaked into his navy-blue Nike T-shirt. His chest was tight from exertion and the muscles in his calves screamed for rest. But he pushed himself on, knowing that only the sheer pain of excessive physical exercise could even come close to helping him forget, for a little while, the nightmare he was living.
In typical Munro fashion, his family had gathered around him in support. His father and Clayton and Brandon, after expressing their disappointment and anger about a system that could accuse him so unjustly, had made sure the best criminal lawyer in Sydney was standing by and they had done what they could to cheer up Declan. Brandon had even flown down to Canberra for the weekend and they’d hit the bars and clubs and had drunk enough alcohol to wake up more than a little seedy the next day. The distraction had worked, for a little while, and Declan had been grateful for their support.
But nothing changed the fact he was still on leave from the job he loved and no one could tell him when that situation would change. It was driving him crazy. Almost as crazy as not knowing how the investigation was going.
Christ. The investigation. The investigation he was at the center of. He still couldn’t believe it.
Taking the path that led down the road to his apartment, he pushed himself hard through the final mile. His breath came in harsh pants and his shirt was soaked through. Still, the final burst of speed had given him something else to think about and he was grateful for even that momentary distraction.
Rounding the corner, he jogged across the footpath and through the gate of his apartment complex. From behind him came the sound of car doors closing, but he ignored it and continued into the foyer and strode over to the elevator.
Punching the button to his floor, he bent over and dragged more oxygen into his lungs, concentrating on slowing his breathing. A pair of expensive-looking, black leather heels came into view. His gaze traveled upwards, over shapely legs encased in black stockings.
A fitted, charcoal-gray skirt filled his vision. Moving slowly upward, his gaze rested on the merest hint of a generous cleavage cleverly concealed beneath a pale blue blouse. The top two buttons were undone, giving him a glimpse of creamy, gold skin.
His heart leaped and then thumped hard against his chest, but this time it had nothing to do with his recent exertion. Senior Investigator Sabattini stood in the foyer of his apartment building and she wasn’t smiling.
Belatedly, Declan noticed the man beside her wearing a navy suit and an expression that matched hers.
“Agent Munro, we’re placing you under arrest for accessing highly sensitive computer files without proper authorization. We will take you to your local station where you will be charged. You’ll be given the chance to call someone—a lawyer, or a family member—from the station. We also have a search warrant for your apartment.”
Shock slammed into him. His thoughts scattered like confetti in a windstorm. He was innocent. She couldn’t be arresting him. There had to be some mistake.
“What—? How—?” He shook his head and tried to form a coherent sentence. “You’re making a mistake. I didn’t do it.” He glared at her. “I’ve already told you. I didn’t do it.”
Ignoring his plea, the man beside her pulled out a set of handcuffs. Tugging Declan’s arms none too gently behind him, her partner fixed the cuffs to Declan’s wrists. Moments later, he was guided back out through the entryway and placed into the back seat of an unmarked police car. The stench of his fear-tinged sweat filled the air.
They hadn’t even given him time to change.
* * *
The next few hours passed in a blur that felt like a nightmare Declan struggled to wake up from. Within minutes of depositing him in the charge room of the local police station, Chloe and her partner had disappeared. He was placed in the dock, formally charged, fingerprinted, photographed and then left to sit in a daze of confusion and disbelief in the lockup that reeked of stale body odor, desperation and fear. The only thing he was grateful for was that it was empty.
As soon as they’d finished processing him, Declan had phoned Clayton. Praying his brother would get there soon, he rubbed at the marks left by the handcuffs.
Handcuffs, for Christ’s sake! Who did they think he was? A common criminal? He now knew how it felt to be locked up for something he didn’t do and he was helpless to do anything about it.
A sound in the corridor drew Declan’s attention. He looked up from where he sat on the cold, steel bench and watched one of the arresting officers approach his cell.
“You’ve got a visitor,” he said, his voice as cool and indifferent as his movements as he unlocked the padlock that secured the thick Perspex-and-steel door.
Declan peered over the man’s shoulder and slumped with relief when Clayton’s face materialized behind him. His brother strode through the cell doorway. Declan stumbled to his feet and almost collapsed against his brother as the door clanged shut behind him.
Clayton pulled him into a hard hug, anger and disbelief clouding his eyes.
“Christ, I can�
��t believe they’d do this to you! What the fuck are they thinking? I’ve called Gary four times. I’ve left a pile of messages. He’s not returning my calls. When I finally get my hands on him, I tell you what—”
“It’s not his fault,” Declan muttered, releasing his brother and stepping away.
Clayton ran a hand through his hair, further dislodging the disheveled mass.
“I’ve phoned the lawyer, like you asked me to. He’s catching the first available flight. He should be here in a couple of hours. I’ll meet him at the airport and bring him straight over. As soon as he gets here, they’ll take you before the magistrate for a bail hearing. Once bail’s set, we can get you out of here.”
Declan threw himself back down on the bench and hung his head in his hands—beyond words, beyond…anything. Clayton lowered himself beside him and drew in a big breath.
“It’s going to be okay, mate. We’re going to find out who’s behind this and make this whole nightmare disappear. I’m going to talk to that girl from IA and find out what the hell they’re doing. She’d better have a mountain of watertight evidence against you or we’ll sue everyone in her department. It’s not right what they’re doing to you. It’s not fucking right!” Clayton made a sound of anguish in his throat. As if propelled by his anger, he turned and began to pace the tight confines of the holding cell.
Declan watched him move, as if in slow motion, listening with abstract concentration to the squeak of the soles of his brother’s expensive leather shoes on the stained, cracked concrete. He wished he could offer words of comfort and reassurance, but they were simply beyond him. He couldn’t even assure himself that things would be okay.
He’d been arrested, handcuffed, charged and locked up, for Christ’s sake. Things he’d never imagined happening to him. And yet they had.
He was at the mercy of an investigator he knew nothing about, other than that she had amazing physical appeal. She held his life in her hands and he didn’t even know her first name.
He punched his fist hard against his hand and growled his frustration. Clayton paused mid-stride and turned to look at him.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, mate. I shouldn’t be going on like this. You’re the one with the right to vent.”
“It’s all right, Clay. Vent all you like. I appreciate you coming.”
“Of course I came! Christ, I’m just as shocked as you. I know you didn’t do this and I swear to God, Dec, I’ll find out who did.”
Declan tried to smile, but his lips refused to move. “Thanks, Clay. That means a lot to me.”
One of the other officers ambled into view and produced a set of keys, looking genuinely contrite. “Righto boys; time’s up. I’m sorry, Clayton, but you’re gonna have to go.”
Clayton moved closer and squeezed Declan’s shoulder. “We’re going to get you out of here, bro. Keep your chin up. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Declan swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Clayton stood and made his way out through the opened doorway. Declan couldn’t bring himself to watch. The clang of the metal as it slammed closed reverberated through his head.
* * *
The courtroom reflected the Government’s well-meaning attempts to turn a room where the fate of the desperate and despairing were determined on a daily basis, into a pleasing, peaceful sanctuary. But not even the bright colors and modern décor could remove the air of fear and finality that permeated right through to the fabric of the furniture, and Declan felt the weight of his predicament like a barrel of concrete in his gut.
His last meal had been breakfast—a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast with vegemite. He hadn’t bothered eating before his run, preferring to punish himself on an empty stomach.
He’d been offered a sandwich in the cells, but his stomach had churned at the thought and it had been all he could manage to hold everything together while he’d waited for his lawyer to arrive.
He’d had it on the good authority of his father and brothers that Roger White was the best barrister money could buy. With his impressive height, shock of long snowy hair, commanding voice and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude, Declan could see some of why the man had earned his reputation. He was accompanied by a younger female attorney and together, they’d attended upon him at the police station.
“All stand.” The Clerk of the Court announced the entrance of the magistrate and the thick fear that had been doing its best to erode Declan’s composure since his arrest stirred in his gut. He stood in the dock, his wrists once again immobilized in handcuffs. ‘Standard procedure,’ he’d been told by a less-than-jovial corrections officer when he’d protested against what he considered an unnecessary show of force.
He looked around. Immediately to his right, he spotted Clayton sitting in the front row of the public gallery. His brother gave him a reassuring thumbs-up and Declan returned his silent greeting, thankful for the show of support.
His gaze narrowed on the lawyer representing the Commonwealth Director of Public Prosecutions office, or DPP, already seated at the bar table. The man’s gray-speckled hair was in need of a haircut and there was a hard glint in his unfriendly eyes. There was no sign of Senior Investigator Sabattini.
Not that he’d expected to see her. This was only a bail hearing. A mere formality. A minor cog in the wheel of justice that had now overtaken his life.
The magistrate took his seat at the bench and brought his court to order. Declan sat and prayed for it to be over. A blur of brief arguments for and against his bail conditions were made by the men at the bar table. Declan tried hard to concentrate on what they were saying, but all he heard was the final slap of the gavel as the magistrate confirmed the terms and then rose and left the room, his black cloak swinging ominously behind him.
Roger White approached the dock, his face wreathed in a satisfied smile. “Unconditional bail, Declan. You’re free to go.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, son. We have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. The court’s given the DPP one month to serve the Brief of Evidence. Until then, you’re to keep your head down and your nose clean. From what I’ve seen of the Statement of Facts tendered to the court just then, you’re in a bit of trouble.”
Declan glared up at him. “I didn’t do it.”
White held his gaze, his eyes assessing. After awhile, he nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “Your father speaks highly of you. So does your boss. But from what I’ve read, the evidence they have against you is strong.” His eyes narrowed. “Who could be doing this and why?”
Declan shook his head in despair. “I have no idea. I’ve wracked my brain for more than a week. I still come up blank.”
“You have to tell me everything. Unless we can come up with a reasonable alternative to how your username and password came to be used, I can offer you little hope.”
Desperation clawed at Declan’s gut. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I fucking didn’t do it.”
White eyeballed him again. “Then you’d fucking better come up with an explanation. And it’s not me you have to convince.”
* * *
Declan stared out of the tinted window of Clayton’s secondhand BMW, lost in thought. His brother had offered to drive him home and he was inordinately grateful for the thoughtful gesture. Apart from the fact he was without a mode of transport, he wasn’t in the frame of mind to cope with the noisy peak-hour traffic that crowded around them as everyday people left their everyday jobs and made their way home.
The events of the day continued to roll through his head like a terrible movie and his gut clenched tighter every time they replayed. He was almost numb with the shock and disbelief and he couldn’t shake the thought that there was a very real chance he could be convicted. He didn’t realize they’d arrived at their destination until Clayton turned to him and spoke.
“We’re here.”
Declan roused himself from his panicked thoughts and offered a grateful
smile. It wobbled on his lips.
“Are you going to be all right, Dec? Do you want me to stay for a while?”
Declan shook his head. “No, but thanks, mate. You’ve done enough already. I appreciate it. Go home to Ellie and the kids. They need you, too.”
Clayton’s brow furrowed in concern. “Right now, it’s you I’m worried about.”
“I know and I’m grateful for it; but I’m fine. I’ll go inside and have a beer or two and try and forget this day ever happened. Tomorrow, I’ll start all over again and try yet again to work out who the hell is behind it all.”
A knock on Declan’s window startled them both. Declan turned and activated the button. The window slid down in silent sophistication, revealing Charlie. His expression was almost frantic.
Declan forced a smile. “Hey, Charlie. What are you doing here?”
“Christ, Dec! Where have you been? What the fuck is going on? Someone at work said you’d being arrested? I’ve been calling you for hours.”
“I had my phone switched off,” Declan said, turning away.
“Talk to me, mate. What’s going on?”
Declan heaved a sigh and opened the car door. With a nod of thanks to his brother, he closed the door behind him and stepped up onto the sidewalk.
Leading Charlie into his apartment, Declan threw himself down on his leather couch and closed his eyes. “It’s been a shit of a day, mate.”
Charlie came closer, his eyes full of concern. “What happened? Is it true? Were you arrested?”
Declan drew in a deep breath and eased it out between tight lips. “Yep, it’s true. Those assholes from IA ambushed me on my way in from the circuit. I was worn out and reeking with perspiration and they jumped me. Took me away in handcuffs.” He spread his hands to indicate the crumpled and sweat-stained jogging clothes he still wore. “They wouldn’t even let me change.”
Charlie shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Christ, I don’t believe it. I told that woman you hadn’t done it. I told her I knew you as well as anyone. I told her you’d never even looked like being a kiddie fiddler.”