by Jennie Jones
The text was from Jimmy.
Some guy just rang the station. Gave these coordinates and said to please tell you. Corner of Poppy Lane and Mt Girra Road just before the highway. And I need to speak to you about something.
Luke didn’t have time to hear Jimmy’s complaints about work overload or filing. The caller had asked to please tell Luke? Was this Morrison? The man with a shady ID and a polite turn of phrase?
His phone rang. He checked the caller ID then answered quickly. ‘Donna—where are you?’
‘I pulled over what I thought was a DUI but he’s collapsed on me—drugs, I reckon. He’s got a bowie knife stashed down the side of the driver’s seat along with about a kilo of amphetamines. I need the arrest van.’
‘I’ll come out. What’s your location?’
She was about a kilometre from her house. He checked the coordinates Jimmy had given him. They matched. Luke turned the van and headed back to the main road.
‘Give me the registration,’ he told Donna, then punched the licence plate into the in-car computer—the vehicle had been stolen from Melbourne four weeks ago.
‘I was late for the meeting,’ Donna said. ‘I had to wait on someone coming over to look after Claire. Once I got that covered, I left the house—and this idiot swerves across my path. Managed to get him to stop but now he’s passed out. I can’t lift him, he’s a big guy. Looks like he’s had one hell of a party. He’s trashed.’
‘I’m on my way, mate.’ He turned the arrest van out of the track and headed east. ‘Any idea who he is?’
‘He hasn’t got a driver’s licence or any ID but there was an old bail order in a pile of documents and other shit on the back seat. Looks like he’s been living in his car. Hang on.’ There was a pause and Luke heard papers shuffling. ‘Here it is. Peter Fletcher.’
Luke hit the siren, adrenaline shooting through his system. ‘Lock him in the car, Donna.’
‘What’s up?’
‘He’s dangerous, mate. Take the bowie knife, the keys, and lock him in the car. I’m ten minutes away.’
* * *
Seven minutes later Luke pulled up beside Donna’s personal vehicle and got out.
She didn’t speak but she indicated the car Fletcher was driving, and Luke followed. He took his focus off the purple bruise she was sporting high on her cheekbone.
Fletcher was slumped in the driver seat, head rolled forwards, chin to his chest. Ugly bastard. His clothes were in disarray. He was bloated in the face and the belly. Ugliest bastard Luke had ever seen.
‘Shit,’ he said. That was it then. Revenge wasn’t going to happen as sweetly as he’d wanted it to.
‘What?’ Donna asked.
‘I was so looking forward to a big shootout.’
‘With this guy?’ Donna asked with a quizzical frown ‘You’re joking.’
‘He’s Rachel Meade’s ex-husband.’
‘Now you are joking.’
‘It’s not what you think.’ Luke brought her up to speed on previous and current happenings. Donna listened intently, asked a couple of questions, then nodded. ‘Sorry I was late,’ she said. ‘But maybe it’s just as well.’
Luke opened the driver’s door and leaned back from the smell that wafted out of the car.
‘Not pleasant, is it?’ Donna said.
Luke cuffed Fletcher’s hands. He didn’t stir. Luke lifted his eyelids and checked his pupils, then felt his pulse. ‘He’s well out of it. But it looks like he’ll live. Unfortunately.’ He stood and looked at Donna. ‘Are you going to try to tell me he did that?’ he said, nodding at her bruised cheekbone.
‘Are we taking him to lockup?’ Donna asked, ignoring his question. ‘He’ll need a paramedic to check him out.’
‘Lockup,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll shift him into the arrest van. Call in Will and Louie to come pick him up. I’ll swap arrest vans with them when they get here.’ He didn’t want to be driving around with Fletcher; he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure he wouldn’t drive down an old mine track and beat the crap out of him. He wasn’t even twenty per cent sure. ‘And tell Jimmy to get a medic to the station.’
Fletcher didn’t wake when Luke hauled him out of the car and dragged him to the pod of the arrest van. Luke didn’t take a lot of care with his manhandling either.
He closed the door of the pod and caught hold of Donna’s arm when she turned to go back to her vehicle. ‘What happened?’ he asked again. ‘That bruise is a few hours old.’
‘Forget it.’
A sense of injustice and anger flared inside him. ‘Where is he?’ If he’d known her husband was taking things this far he’d have stepped in immediately.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Where? To the pub? Kalgirri? Perth?’
‘He packed his gear and left. I don’t care where he’s gone—until I need to send him divorce papers.’
‘Just the divorce papers?’ he asked. ‘You know better than that.’
She met his eye. ‘I just want him gone.’ Determined and strong as ever, she wasn’t able to hide the anguish in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Donna.’ He hugged her. She resisted but he didn’t let her go and a few seconds later, she relaxed. ‘Are you going to be all right?’ he asked.
‘Not sure.’
‘You’re going to be all right,’ he confirmed.
‘I was going to go for sergeant then get my name in the sergeant pool—how can I do that if it’s only me looking after Claire?’
‘You’ve got us. We’ll work it out. You’re going to be all right.’ He released her from the hug but held onto her arms. How many women was he going to come across with a black eye or a broken collarbone? ‘I thought Rob was an okay guy,’ he admitted. ‘But I guess a lot of good things don’t always make a whole person.’
‘That’s pretty much how he fooled me too.’
‘I’ve got one request of you, Murray. Don’t ever keep anything like this to yourself again.’
‘It’s tough, Luke. I’ve seen it happen, I’ve dealt with the men who do it and the women who receive it—and I never knew, I never understood what they’d gone through. Not really.’
‘It’s a control issue,’ Luke said. ‘Not with all, but with Rob it was about controlling you because he thought you were better than him—which you are.’
‘I was waiting on sergeant rank before I took Claire and left him. I thought I’d have a better chance of a good placement if I was sergeant, back in the city where my mum is. I’ll struggle now, out here on a single income.’
He squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll work it out, okay? You and Claire are going to be fine. Your team won’t have it any other way.’
Twenty-One
Luke shifted gear in the arrest van he’d swapped with Will’s. Will had advised him he hadn’t been able to take Wiseman in because the man had gone down with gastro, and it was such a bad case the paramedic had taken him to the hospital. At least it meant Wiseman wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry except to the lavatory.
He pulled the station mobile from his vest pocket and noticed that while he’d been dealing with Fletcher and talking to Will he’d missed three texts from Jimmy asking him to call. He punched in the number for the cop shop. Will and Louie would be transferring Fletcher from the van to lockup in about five minutes. He wanted Rachel out of the room while that happened. Jimmy would keep her occupied in the front office.
‘The offender is her ex-husband, Jimmy,’ he said after he’d explained the situation. ‘I don’t want her seeing him.’
‘Oh, right—well, as it happens, she won’t see him.’
‘How come?’
‘She skipped out over half an hour ago. Nicked your car.’
‘She what?’ Luke put his foot on the brake and near-skidded to a halt on the verge.
‘She’s gone to find Mary,’ Jimmy yelled back. ‘None of the Agatha Girls are answering their phones. She did it behind my back. I didn’t know she was—’
‘Why didn’t you
tell me earlier?’
‘I’m telling you now. I’ve been calling you for the last twenty minutes.’
‘Jimmy, I’m going to kill you—’
‘Let me bring you up to date first.’
‘Do you know which direction Rachel took?’ Luke asked when Jimmy had finished.
‘North out of town but I don’t know where she was heading.’
‘Sit tight. Anything else, you radio me immediately.’
Luke cut him off and rang Rachel.
‘Luke!’
He closed his eyes as his heart, high in his chest, settled to a more normal position.
‘Where are you?’ he asked in what he felt was a fairly reasonable tone of voice, given the fright his heart had just taken.
‘Oh, God, Luke—I got a text message from Rosita’s mobile.’
‘Calm down,’ he said, checking for traffic and pulling out onto the road. ‘Tell me slowly. Where are you?’
‘The message says Drive on. I’d slowed down, looking for Mrs Frith’s car.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Around Poppy Lane.’
And Mt Girra Road—Christ, Fletcher’s location. ‘I’ve dealt with that one. Someone rang the same coordinates in to Jimmy.’ And likely from the same phone number: Rosita’s. ‘Where are you now?’
‘I got a second text a minute after the first. It said Go back to the station. Tell Weston.’
‘You shouldn’t be out of the damned station!’
‘Did Jimmy tell you what I found out?’
‘Yes. Rachel—where the hell are you?’ Someone was warning her? Why would the someone who had Rosita’s mobile—and presumably therefore, Rosita—warn Rachel to get out of the way? Was it Morrison?
‘Looking for the ladies,’ she said. ‘I’m about twenty minutes north of town.’
‘Get away from there right now,’ Luke told her. ‘Get away from the museum site.’ The woman was going to give him cardiac failure. He checked traffic again, swung the van in a U-turn, and headed for the museum.
‘I see them,’ she said in an excited voice. ‘They’re here.’
‘Who?’ he asked, as he envisioned her coming across the builders.
‘It’s Mrs Frith’s car,’ she said. ‘It’s about two or three minutes south of the museum entrance. It’s parked on the verge but I can see them inside.’
‘Get them to stay put. Make them stay where they are. I’m about five minutes behind you.’
‘Will do,’ she said and cut him off before he had the chance to tell her he was going to kill her for skipping out of the cop shop.
* * *
‘Oh, don’t you look lovely?’ Mary said. ‘Pink suits you, dear. You should wear it more often. Did Luke lend you his car?’
‘Mary, ladies—what are you doing out here? And what’s that for?’ Rachel asked, pointing at the car-jack handle in Mrs Arnold’s hand.
‘Insurance,’ Mrs Arnold said.
‘But we haven’t used it yet,’ Mrs Frith advised. ‘Not even on Wiseman. He’s gone down with gastro. A particularly bad bout.’
‘Wiseman? You’ve been to see him? I’ve spoken to Angela,’ Rachel added. ‘I know what happened to her.’
‘The same with young Rosita,’ Mary said, shaking her head.
‘You have to go home, ladies.’
‘I wanted answers about these builders,’ Mrs Arnold stated. ‘And Wiseman gave them to us.’
‘He didn’t have much choice,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘Amelia threatened to flush his anti-dehydration powder down the toilet.’
‘You can’t stay out on the streets, ladies.’
‘That’s what Mr Morrison said.’
Rachel stared at Mrs Frith. ‘You’ve seen him?’ She could hardly comprehend the force of her concern or the possible danger they’d put themselves in.
‘A very nice man.’
‘Helpful,’ Mrs Arnold agreed. ‘He told us to go home.’
‘Ladies! Peter Morrison is one of the bad guys.’
‘He’s very handsome.’
‘Knows his manners.’
‘He’s got big feet,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘And you know what they say about a man with big feet and big hands—’
‘Mrs Frith, have you been drinking?’ Rachel asked, hoping Luke would hurry up and get here.
‘Hardly anything.’
‘But hardly anything for Freda would put a strong man down,’ Mary said. ‘That’s why Amelia insisted on driving.’
‘Big feet, big hands—’
‘Big heart,’ Mary finished.
‘That’s not how it goes,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘Big feet, big hands—’
‘Ladies, please—’
‘Large penis.’
‘Freda!’
‘It’s true, Amelia.’
Rachel closed her eyes and let her head fall back for a moment. ‘Ladies, this is not some play, this is real life. You shouldn’t be out here.’
‘You’re out here,’ Mary said.
‘That’s different.’ It wasn’t different and Luke would probably kill Jimmy and then kill Rachel.
A police siren sounded in the distance and got louder quickly.
‘Oh dear,’ Mary said. ‘Someone’s in trouble.’
‘Yes,’ Rachel agreed. ‘I think someone is.’
* * *
Luke cut the siren but kept the lights flashing, then got out of the van.
‘Luke!’ Rachel said, running to him. ‘You’re not going to believe what they’ve—’
He took her hand. ‘You worried the hell out of me.’ He squeezed her hand and shook it to get her full attention. ‘If I tell you to do something else today, it’s the cop talking, not the man. Do you understand?’
‘Copy,’ she said with a smile so full of tenderness, it made him want to smile back.
Then he remembered who he had in lockup. ‘I need to tell you something. Before we get to the ladies.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, worry visible on her face now.
‘We’ve got Fletcher.’
Everything that had happened to her flew across her features in sheets of alarm. Luke could almost see each memory flash in her eyes.
He squeezed her hand again. ‘You’re safe. He’s at the station. He’s locked up.’
‘How did you find him?’
He told her quickly. ‘He’s wrecked, Rachel. He can’t hurt anyone now and I doubt he’s hurt anyone in the last few days. Someone from Kalgirri will come out to pick him up. But I’m taking you back to the station and I don’t want you to be panicked when you see him on the CCTV monitors.’
She swallowed, clasped his hand and nodded. ‘I need to look at him. I need to do that.’
‘It’ll be the last time for a while. You’ll probably have to testify—’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get him locked away for a long time.’
‘I’ll be with you.’
‘He’s really in that bad a condition?’
‘Totally out of it, more’s the pity. I was looking forward to shooting him.’ He said it derisively because there was no way he’d have simply shot the man, as much as he wanted to.
She relaxed her grip on his hand and pulled herself together. ‘He’s locked up and he’s off the street. That’s the main thing. Now you need to hear what the Agatha Girls have been up to. Don’t be too hard on them, Luke.’
‘Depends on how much interfering they’ve been doing.’ Not to mention how much danger they’d put themselves in. ‘You too, Meade.’ He squashed her hand in his once more, then walked up to Mrs Frith’s car. Rachel went to stand beside the ladies, who were all facing him with resolute expressions. Which gave him an immediate indication that they had indeed been up to some serious mischief.
He put his hands on his belt, his weight on one leg, and gave them his OIC stare. ‘So what have you been up to?’
‘Mr Wiseman’s gone down with gastro,’ Mary said.
‘I�
��m aware of that. How did you know?’
‘Allow me to do the explaining,’ Mrs Arnold said. ‘Mr Wiseman told us the builders were criminals and that he’d been forced into contracting them by some hideous man who runs a building firm in Perth called Nirvana Interiors. The hideous man is a suspicious creature called Eric. Mr Wiseman wouldn’t give us this man’s surname.’
‘Eric, the suspicious creature?’ Luke kept his features set otherwise he might have smiled.
‘Mr Wiseman said he’d been told to keep an eye on Rachel because her ex-husband was after her—’ Mrs Arnold paused and looked at Rachel. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel, but we are aware of your history. Abuse,’ she announced, with a dip of her chin, ‘whether physical or emotional is more than a distressing scenario of punches and verbal hurts. It lives with one for the rest of one’s life.’
‘She should know,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘Her father was like that.’
‘But I can advise you, Rachel,’ Mrs Arnold continued. ‘That memories will fade and good things will happen again. However, our new friendship in adversity is something we will need to discuss at a later date as there are more immediate emergencies to be dealt with.’ She looked at Luke. ‘I believe the builders at the museum have been charged with further criminal dealings by Eric from Nirvana Interiors—’
‘The hideous one,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sure I’ll recognise him as soon as I see him.’
‘Yes, and I further believe that they are here, waiting for this Peter Fletcher to arrive and hurt Rachel, so that they can hurt him for whatever underhand dealings he’s been involved in.’
Luke figured Wiseman wasn’t exactly in on the shady dealings but he certainly had more knowledge about them than he’d let on, like knowing about Rachel’s association with Fletcher and the abuse she’d taken—which made Wiseman culpable. Which in turn filled Luke with satisfaction because it meant his sorry arse was scorched.
‘You have to come with me, ladies. It’s not safe out here.’ He could hardly believe Amelia Arnold had got Wiseman to open up, but she had, and he didn’t want her interfering in anything else.
‘We’re not finished. There’s more. There’s an issue going on with the Tourist Strategy budget. Mr Wiseman refused to say anything about the plastic plants or the financials for such when I questioned him about that, and about thievery going on at the town hall. I was about to insist he answer,’ Mrs Arnold added, gripping the car-jack handle in her hand more firmly. ‘When he passed out.’