The Robbers

by Paul Anderson

  ‘We’re trying to track him down somewhere in Shanghai,’ Kelso said.

  To the board Rogers stuck a licence photo of Nathaniel Voss. He tapped it with his marker while reading from a sheet of paper. ‘Nathaniel Matthew Voss. Age: twenty-five. Address: 5 Everard Terrace, Boronia.’

  Rogers started writing dot points as he read. ‘Works as a builder. A couple of priors—crim damage, theft, cannabis—all dealt with in the kids’ court. Told Kell’s gig that he and his father were doing stick-ups on restaurants, mainly Chinese and Indian. Says he was taping victims.’

  Rogers drew connecting lines as he spoke.

  The crowd outside Shaw’s office had grown, with Hendricks and Brewer joining Whitney and Sidwell to watch what looked like a briefing in the boss’ office.

  ‘What shit are they cooking up?’ Hendricks asked.

  ‘These two are our Paradox bandits,’ Kelso told Shaw. ‘They were heading to the Lucky Dragon that night to rob the joint.’

  Rogers took his turn. ‘Gives them obvious motive to shoot the boys.’

  Kelso tapped the picture of the elder Voss with a red marker. ‘Schwarzenegger.’

  Rogers tapped Nathan Voss again. ‘And Rambo.’

  ‘How reliable is your gig?’ White asked Kelso, sitting back in desk chair with rubber band wrapped around fingers.

  ‘Rock solid.’

  Brennan joined his gathered Athena mates. Saw what was happening inside Shaw’s office. ‘What’s this all about?

  Sidwell answered. ‘These two cowboys are trying to sink your case.’

  ‘What have they got?’

  Brewer chimed in. ‘I dunno, but whatever it is it looks pretty impressive.’

  Whitney was quietly fuming. ‘They shouldn’t even be here. They should have been arseholed to Timbuktu when the rest of their squad got the boot.’

  Shaw nodded silently. It was compelling. ‘This looks enough for surveillance and LDs,’ he said. ‘If that bears fruit, we’ll get Tis up and running. I want their homes and cars off. Let’s listen in on the lives of Stanley and Nathaniel Voss and see what comes up.’

  Kelso felt like a kid who’d just been told he was off to Disneyland. ‘You got it, boss.’

  ‘Is your gig registered?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will he testify if need be?’

  ‘Nah. This mail was off the record. We won’t need him. Father and son will give us all we need with a little poking and prodding.’

  Shaw flicked his rubber band against the wall. ‘What about Barrett?’

  ‘If this goes the way we think it will, we’ve got Barrett for extortion,’ Rogers offered. ‘And he still owes the Parole Board on top of that.’

  Kelso was working hard to keep his sense of building jubiliation under control. ‘Athena scoops the pool, boss.’

  Shaw swivelled in his chair to face the detectives looking in from the cold. ‘You want to tell them the bad news?’

  Kelso focused. ‘We’ll leave that to you … We’ve got work to do.’

  Rogers had one request. ‘Boss, we were hoping you could keep this under wraps and not inform McFarlane just yet. We’d like to remain a part of this for as long as we can before we get dragged.’

  ‘You got it.’

  The Robbers duo walked from the office; all eyes on them. Shaw followed, pushing the whiteboard into the office proper.

  ‘Okay, fellas, gather round,’ he said to his Homicide detectives. ‘We’ve got another avenue to follow … These two new suspects have to be confirmed or eliminated.’

  CHAPTER 84

  Amplifiers connected to laptop computers lined the wall in the Athena surveillance room. Brewer taped a note to the last amp. ‘Stanley Voss Lounge Room’ it read. The techs had taken opportunities when available and broken into the Voss homes to install hidden listening devices. The other amp notes read: ‘Stanley Voss Bedroom’. ‘Stanley Voss Kitchen’. ‘Nathaniel Voss Lounge Room’. ‘Nathaniel Voss Bedroom’. ‘Nathaniel Voss Kitchen’. The scene was set.

  Rogers and Kelso pulled up outside Rex and Vivian Hunter’s house, a pile of soil in the driveway and another on the front lawn. Vivian had sandwiches and tea waiting inside. It was a forty-minute visit. After the detectives left, Rex took his shovel from the front porch, placed it back in the backyard shed and locked the door. He no longer had to dig.

  Jack Lynch was on the phone to his sister in Brisbane—finally catching up on her northern married life and how his three-month-old niece was getting on—when the dreaded knock came. ‘I gotta go, sis, it’s probably them. I’ll call you back.’

  Lynch opened his front door.

  ‘Jack Lynch?’

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Kieran Peters from Internal Affairs. You’re under arrest for assault. I must inform you that anything you say or do can and will be used against you—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, hot shot … I know the drill.’

  The IA bloke pulled a set of bracelets. ‘Turn around, please.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Turn around, please … It’s procedure.’

  Lynch turned and placed his hands behind his back. The Rat Squad obviously wanted to flaunt a victory on a front lawn in Malvern East.

  ‘It’s procedure … There you go, nice and tight.’

  ‘Get fucked, dickhead.’

  Across the suburbs in Mulgrave, an IA duo stepped up to the plate at Gucciardo’s townhouse. They’d heard he was a big bloke. Knocked with cuffs at the ready.

  Inside Courtroom One at Melbourne Magistrate’s Court in the city, Brennan stood in the witness box halfway through his evidence during a 464B application to interview a prisoner. Pat Barrett appeared on a television screen via a video link from prison; the media on the opposite side of the courtroom.

  ‘Your Honour, the Athena Taskforce is requesting to speak with Mr Barrett about new evidence pertaining to the case.’

  ‘What’s the new evidence?’ the chief magistrate asked.

  ‘We have recently recovered a projectile—previously undiscovered—from the scene.’

  The OPP prosecutor stood. ‘Your Honour, I understand the application is unopposed.’

  The magistrate looked across to Barrett’s Legal Aid counsel. ‘Is that right?’

  Defence stood. ‘It is, Your Honour. Mr Barrett is more than happy to speak with the detective. We believe this new evidence works in Mr Barrett’s favour.’

  ‘Someone should have mentioned that to me before. I find it in the interests of justice to grant the police application. Detective Sergeant Brennan has four hours to interview the prisoner.’

  Stan Voss was rolling a ceiling, his transistor radio a box full of animated chatter. Wendy Lewis was on. Voss liked Lewis. The opinionated social commentator made him cackle when she abused and yelled at belligerent callers.

  ‘We now cross to our court reporter, Tanya Watson, with some breaking news about the Gilmore–Hunter murder case. Tanya.’

  ‘That’s right, Wendy. The chief magistrate has just given Athena Taskforce detectives permission to interview Patrick Barrett—apparently for a second time—about the murder of police officers David Gilmore and Mitchell Hunter. Detective Sergeant Aidan Brennan told the court that the taskforce was, quote, “requesting to speak with Mr Barrett about new evidence pertaining to the case”. Unquote. That new evidence was said to be a bullet recently found at the scene.’

  Voss stopped mid-roll. Tuned his full attention to the report.

  ‘In an interesting twist, defence lawyer Carol Timms said Barrett was happy to talk to the detectives, as it appeared the new evidence worked in his favour. The magistrate granted the application.’

  Lewis didn’t miss the chance for a cliché. ‘Hmm, the plot thickens.’

  ‘It certainly does, Wendy. Something’s going on behind the scenes in relation to this very public case.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for that report, Tanya. We’ll have the full story in our four o’clock news b
ulletin.’

  Voss ran a hand through his greying, headmaster hairstyle. Thought through the radio report. What were the jacks up to? They now had a bullet. Voss pulled his mobile and dialled a number. Nathan didn’t answer. Voss rang his son’s home number.

  ‘Pumpkin Pie, it’s Dad.’

  ‘No shit, Stan.’

  ‘Are you guys gunna be home tonight?’

  ‘Nathan will. I’m going over to see me mum.’

  ‘Good. Tell Nathan I’m coming over after work.’

  ‘Bring some KFC for tea. I’ll eat mine cold when I get home.’

  It was five o’clock when Hendricks handed the listening duties to Brewer in the Athena surveillance room. ‘Nothing today, except for Days of Our fucking Lives … Happy listening.’

  CHAPTER 85

  Voss pulled two stubbies from Nathan’s fridge. Both men were still in their work gear; Nathan sucked greasy fried skin from a drumstick. A gale bent the backyard gums, their leaves whispering and hissing as loudly as a devious Roman senate. Voss put a stubby on the kitchen bench in front of his partner in crime.

  ‘I heard something on the radio today about the police murders.’

  ‘What about it?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘The jacks questioned that Barrett bloke again. They say they found a new bullet at the scene.’

  ‘So?’

  Voss bounced his bottle top off the laminate bench at Nathan’s head. ‘Where’s your gun?’

  Nathan washed down the fried chicken with his beer. Tossed the bone back into the box. Picked another piece. ‘I got rid of it like you said. Bought another one off Robbo. A Norinco.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t give a fuck if you bought a bazooka off Robbo, just as long as you’ve ditched the .38 you used that night.’

  In the Athena surveillance room, Brewer double-checked the bugged conversation was being recorded. He scribbled key notes and times as the chat continued.

  Nathan was concerned. ‘What do you reckon it means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How they talked to that bunny Barrett again …’

  ‘I dunno. Signing off on the case, or some shit. Don’t worry—he’s gunna go down for it.’

  ‘Dumb fuck.’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘Suck shit cunt …’

  ‘You weren’t so big and tough on the night, boy. You shat ya dacks when we turned that corner … Johnny Rambo pooed his pants!’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Nah … Nah. The Terminator knows, mate. The Terminator knows everything.’ Voss stood and walked like a stilted robot, announcing in a try-hard Austrian monotone that he had to ‘go and do peeee peeee’.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he added ominously.

  Brewer sat ecstatic. Fists raised. ‘Roy and Kell were right!’

  CHAPTER 86

  On a morning where the entire Armed Robbery Squad would have been pulling in the one direction—regardless of whose name appeared as the informant on the case file—the Athena Taskforce was a melting pot of excitement, vindication, envy and resentment. Shaw addressed his men on what was a watershed day. Justice was coming, thanks to Rogers and Kelso.

  ‘By now I am sure you have apprised yourselves of last night’s surveillance material. In light of what we got, we’re implementing Tis so we can monitor home and mobile phones, for both Stanley and Nathaniel Voss. To provoke more chat we’re going to do a bit of prodding.’

  Whitney sat with arms crossed, a look of disdain. Sidwell an identical twin. Brewer was wide-eyed, looking keen for more. Hendricks appeared to be on board. Brennan listened intently.

  ‘Rogers and Kelso are going to pay the elder Voss a visit this Saturday,’ Shaw continued, ‘and tell him they’re tying up loose ends after finding his painting equipment at the restaurant. We’ll see how he reacts … Doug, any thoughts from what you heard last night?’

  Brewer spoke from the corner of his desk. ‘Stanley Voss appears to be very much the domineering type. Nathan sounds full of bravado and, as you heard, he’s currently in possession of a shooter. He said it was a Norinco.’

  CHAPTER 87

  Wearing a lopsided magenta beret, Voss sat at an easel on his front lawn painting tree apples in the morning sunshine. He worked with a heavy brushstroke, worms writhing in the heart of each piece of fruit. Rogers and Kelso, in suits and Robbers ties, pulled up at the kerb. Voss stood with brush in hand, slightly puzzled—but wary.

  Kelso started. ‘G’day. Stanley Voss?’

  ‘Yeah … that’s me.’

  Kelso flipped his Freddy. ‘Nice day for some painting. My name’s Detective Senior Constable Shane Kelso. This is Detective Sergeant Max Rogers.’

  ‘I like your hat …’

  Voss was cautious. ‘Yeah?’

  Kelso continued. ‘We’re from the Athena Taskforce investigating the murder of two police officers in Chirnside Park back on 4 July.’

  Voss leaned and swirled his brush in a jar of water. Dried it with a rag.

  ‘Sorry to turn up unannounced, but we have to tie up a few loose ends … We’re not here accusing you.’

  ‘We’ve already charged a man,’ said Rogers.

  Voss flicked the rag. ‘Yeah, I know. I listen to the news and read the papers.’

  Kelso was all business. ‘Like I said—we’re just tying up some loose ends.’

  ‘Can you think why we’re here, Mr Voss?’ Rogers asked.

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is. I painted the place near where the shooting happened … The Lucky Dragon restaurant.’

  ‘So you remember that being the restaurant?’

  ‘Yeah. Like I said—I listen to the news. Read the papers … It hit me straight away when I heard about those coppers getting shot.’

  ‘We found some of your old painting gear there. That’s how you got tied up in all this.’

  Voss sensed these coppers were acting way too nice: hiding dark tendencies behind polite faces. In that respect, he figured, they weren’t all that dissimilar to him. ‘Jesus. I don’t want my name anywhere near this.’

  ‘All we need from you is a statement telling us what you did the night the two detectives were killed. Once we get that we can rub your name off the list.’

  Kelso was reassuring. ‘Nothing to worry about. Just procedure.’

  ‘Jesus wept,’ Voss said, faux grin. ‘I can’t remember what I did last week … When was the bloody shooting?’

  ‘Early morning of 4 July.’

  ‘What night of the week was it?’

  ‘It was a Friday night. Early Saturday morning.’

  ‘Well there you go—Friday night’s usually fish-and-chip night. I would have been here at home with the missus and the sprog eating a potato cake on a Friday night. Was probably in bed asleep before midnight.’

  ‘Righto. I realise it’s a bit of an ask. We’ll just cross you off our list.’

  ‘Good on ya, bludger.’

  Bludger. If there was ever any more circumstantial evidence Kelso needed, then Voss had just provided it.

  ‘How’s the case going by the way?’

  Rogers replied. ‘Watertight. The bloke we’ve charged—we’ve got him on toast.’

  ‘He’s cactus,’ Kelso said.

  ‘Is that right? Good on youse.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s one we obviously wanted to solve.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Two cops go down and there’s hell to pay, I bet.’

  ‘Damn straight.’

  ‘Hey, you blokes want a beer for the road?’

  Kelso wanted to rip the cunt’s grin right off his face. ‘No thanks. Still on duty.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. No worries … Well best of luck.’

  Rogers drew a line in his daybook. Asked Voss what he was painting.

  ‘Apples on a tree,’ he answered.

  ‘Interesti
ng,’ Rogers continued. ‘They say Impressionism’s all about capturing the change in light. It’s all about hiding your subject matter.’

  ‘Really? I’m actually painting abstract.’

  Voss shaped his right hand like a gun and flicked his thumb like the trigger. Bang! He gave the detectives a wink. Kelso casually flicked his jacket and rested his hand on his .38, fingers tapping the real thing strapped in his holster. ‘Catch you ’round, Rembrandt.’

  He turned to walk with Rogers, then stopped and turned back. ‘One more thing, Mr Voss. You mentioned you were probably having a pizza with your family the night of the shootings.’

  ‘No, I said fish and chips.’

  ‘Oh yeah, so you did … Well, just on the subject of pizza, how do you feel about anchovies?’

  Voss screwed his face, his mind cranking over for a reason the jack would ask that question. ‘Hey?’

  ‘Anchovies. You like ’em?’

  Voss’ face cleared. ‘Anchovies?’ he grinned. ‘I love ’em.’

  Inside their sedan, Rogers and Kelso maintained their facade.

  ‘He’s our man,’ Rogers confirmed.

  ‘One million per cent.’

  ‘You know that snowball … it’s now an avalanche.’

  Kelso lifted his hand and gestured farewell as Rogers drove away. Voss stood waving, smiling razor blades.

  After the squad car disappeared, Voss was inside and on the phone. Grabbed his car keys. Doris was doing some vacuuming. ‘Where are you goin’ in such a hurry?’ she yelled.

  ‘I’m goin’ over to Nathan’s joint for a sec.’

  Nathan was on his couch, still in dressing gown and watching cartoons, when Voss barrelled through the front door. ‘Jesus, Dad, what’s up?’

  ‘The bloody jacks just rolled up to my joint askin’ questions about the cop murders.’

  Nathan sat up, spilling a bowl of cereal into his lap.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘I shit you not. They found some of me old painting gear out the back of the restaurant and said they had to ask me what I was doin’ on the night.’