The Patsy

by Bruce Cooke

  Greg glared at her. “Are you suggesting that this man was set up? If you were in the military, you would become a prime suspect. I’m sure once we arrest him, the facts will emerge.”

  “If he was a professional, why would he be so careless as to leave the gun behind?”

  Greg ignored her question and looked at the other journalists who wanted to be heard.

  Others put their hands up and asked further questions that Greg parried. Pipa left the meeting and returned to the office.

  Fred raised an eyebrow.

  “Convicted without a trial. This is beginning to stink.”

  “Then write it up with your suspicions, and we sit back and wait.”

  Pipa smiled and went to her desk and wrote her article. It said the police seemed to be inept basing their evidence on fingerprints only. She said the same thing she asked Greg. It would be easy to get someone’s fingerprints on a weapon. It hit the headlines next morning with the headline: Killer or Patsy?

  At ten, Greg rang the office. Pipa smiled when she saw who it was.

  “Yes?”

  “What the hell do you think you are doing? Everyone knows this bloke is a killer.”

  “I don’t think he is. Are you getting pressure from above to clean this case up with a patsy?”

  “Why do you say that? His fingerprints were all over the gun.”

  “And I told you how that could happen,” Pipa argued.

  “Is this revenge?”

  “No, it’s facts. If you are the detective you think you are, you would see through it, too. Take off the blinders and look again.”

  “Look, how about we meet and sort out our problem?”

  “Will you bring your whore with you?”

  “Okay, it was a mistake, but everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “If it was one, maybe, but it’s not, is it? We’re done, and don’t ring me again unless it’s about the case.”

  She slammed down the receiver and tried to ignore him.

  Pipa rang Scott, let it ring three times, hung up, then rang again.

  “Did you see the police report on the TV?”

  “Yeah, thanks for that. I don’t think the ex-looked very happy with the questions.”

  “He wasn’t. He rang me this morning asking what the hell was I doing.”

  Scott laughed. “Pleading for forgiveness, I presume.”

  “Yes, he wanted a meeting to sort it out.”

  “And you said?”

  “If he brings his whore, we might talk. He asked for a second chance.”

  “And?”

  “I told him if it was a once-only, then I would have thought about it, but he’s been banging her for months. I hope he got the message.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “I need to come over. There’s some more information I’ve found out.”

  “Okay. It’s getting very boring here by myself.”

  * * * *

  As soon as she arrived, Scott opened the door, and she quickly entered.

  “Welcome to my abode,” he said grinning. “Coffee?”

  “Yes. We have a lot to talk about.”

  He nodded and made the coffee then sat down opposite her to listen.

  Pipa actually looked forward to seeing him. He was tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, and the greyest eyes she had seen in a long time. Seeing him was no burden.

  “Before you begin, I want to thank you for what you’re doing. I’d be in all sorts of trouble without you.”

  “I know, but what I’m learning is making it all worthwhile.”

  He leaned back in his chair, happy with her words. “Okay, go ahead.”

  She paused and took out her notebook. “Do you a man named Ohma Abas?”

  “Only that he is a butcher in Afghanistan. Why?”

  “My paper did a background check on Creswick while I was interviewing him. It seems he made a couple of trips to Afghanistan in the last twelve months. Guess who he met there?”

  “Shit, Abas?”

  “Yes. Now why would he bother to meet with this person who is an enemy?”

  “I do know that the relationships among some of the Muslims are not always cordial. In fact, some of them hate each other.”

  “Enough to eliminate a rival?”

  “We have our own assholes here, so it is not surprising to consider this.”

  “I asked Creswick if he had ever met you. He lied and said no.”

  “Figures. He wouldn’t want anything to lead back to him.”

  “If they wanted to get rid of the cleric then why didn’t they do it over there?”

  Scott pondered the question. “Maybe it would create more tension between the Taliban. If he was executed in Australia by an Australian, they would howl outrage. It would suit their purpose to get more soldiers who want to take out the infidels. They would blame it all on America. Maybe done by a CIA agent pretending it was the Australians.”

  “This gets deeper and deeper. What would Creswick and his cronies get out of it?”

  “Perhaps a large sum of money. A few million dollars might get their attention.”

  She thought about this. “You could be right. I will try to investigate if large sums of money have been transferred.”

  “Who is Creswick’s boss?” Scott asked.

  “Roger Pallister. Nothing gets past him without his approval.”

  Scott seemed to think about that. “There had to be more than one involved in this. Pallister might need investigating as well.”

  “I had such a thought. What do you think about me talking to Greg? I think he’s honest even though he cheats.”

  “Sounds dangerous for both of us. Is it worth the risk, providing you don’t tell him where I am?”

  “Let me investigate the money first. Then we might think about it some more.”

  He paused. “Can you do me another favour?”

  She looked at him as he frowned. “Not what I think you mean?”

  He grinned. “Not that, but it might be fantastic.”

  “What then?”

  “See if you can find the address of Ralph Pettigrew. I might have a word with him.”

  “Why him?”

  “He was working as a guard at the meeting, and he hates my guts. I wouldn’t put it past him if he was the shooter.”

  “You’re not thinking of killing him, are you?”

  He laughed. “You still think I’m a sadistic killer. I just want to talk to him.”

  “Okay, if I can find out, I’ll ring you.”

  Chapter 8

  Pipa called in a favour from one of the paper’s journalists in Afghanistan. Rory Christian had worked there for the last five years and had many contacts. A man of fifty years of age, but a man who could ferret out almost anything. He often faced danger, but he was a person like Pipa. He had ways of finding out any information. He listened patiently as Pipa spoke.

  “Hi, Rory, how are things?”

  “Pipa. If you are ringing me then you’re after some information. Is that right?”

  She laughed. “You know me so well. I have a problem that I can’t let go.”

  “Nothing surprises me. Okay, go ahead.”

  “You heard about the assassination of Mohamed Khasib?”

  “Yeah, it did raise a few eyebrows even over here. The Taliban are furious. What has this got to do with me?”

  “It stinks of a conspiracy to me, and I’m trying to delve a little deeper.”

  “Now why am I not surprised?”

  “The police are looking for a man named Scott Peters because they found the murder weapon with his fingerprints all over it.”

  “Sounds like an open and shut case.”

  “I thought so, too, but I’ve spoken to this Peters. He says one of the Federal Police asked him to protect the cleric. The officer offered him two guns to look at and make a choice. He took one and handed the other back. Guess what? The one he handed back was the murder weapon.”

  She heard a snigg
er. “I can see why you are suspicious.”

  Pipa smiled. This man was exactly like her. He questioned everything.

  “I had an interview with the Federal Policeman named Creswick, and he said he had never met Peters. That showed me he was a liar. Peters and I think there is more to this than just the killing. We think there might be some money involved to set up the killing.”

  “Sounds likely,” Rory said.

  “I had Creswick investigated, and, in the last year, he had two visits to Afghanistan to meet Ohma Abas.”

  “Hell, he’s almost as notorious as Bin Laden. Why is a Federal Policeman talking to him?”

  “My thoughts, too. What I would like to ask you is can you fish around and see if large sums of money have been transferred to Australia? It probably won’t name Creswick, but anything unusual would be a help.”

  “I have a few contacts. Give me a couple of days and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks, Rory. I’ll buy you dinner when you eventually get back.”

  “Only dinner? Oh, I forgot, you have a partner, don’t you?”

  “Not any longer. See you, Rory.”

  She then got onto finding out where Ralph Pettigrew lived. It only took her an hour, so she took the information to Scott. She knocked in a way he would recognise, and he opened the door and admitted her.

  “You’ve learnt something,” he asked anxiously.

  “Maybe. I have a friend in Afghanistan who is going to do some digging for me about large sums of money transferred to Australia.”

  “It won’t show the money going to Creswick. He’s not stupid.”

  “I know. We just have to wait until I hear back. Here’s Pettigrew’s address, providing you won’t kill him.”

  “Have you no faith, Pipa? I’m as gentle as a lamb.”

  “You were a sniper in Afghanistan. You weren’t shooting rabbits.”

  He crossed his heart. “I promise.”

  Reluctantly, she handed him the address, which he folded and put in his pocket.

  “Coffee?”

  “Might as well. If the police find you, it could be the last.”

  “I love a pessimist.” He made the coffee and handed her the cup.

  They sat staring at each other.

  “What?” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable? She could see he was uncomfortable, too.

  “I just can’t understand how someone a beautiful as you can be a hotshot newspaper reporter.”

  “Is this where you try to get me into bed?”

  “No, but maybe after all this is settled, we might go to dinner one night.”

  She took a sip. The suggestion interested her. “As friends?”

  “What else?” He sat grinning at her, and her gaze never left him. “I understand you might have trouble trusting any man after lover boy was discovered.”

  She changed the subject instantly. “Let’s leave my feelings out of this. Do you have a girlfriend in the past?”

  His mood changed. “I had a wife once. We married young, but after only a year, she developed leukaemia and died. Never chased anyone after that, and being in the Army limited my choices.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.” She felt embarrassed as he told her.

  “Shit happens all the time. I was only twenty-one, and she was twenty. I got over it eventually.”

  “And you loved her?” Pipa asked.

  “Deeply. That’s why I stopped Pettigrew from harassing the female soldier friend.”

  “Looks like I’m learning all sorts of things about you. Maybe you’re not a cold-blooded, gutless killer.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to live the life of a monk. Once this is over, I might look around.”

  She smiled. “Which is why the invitation for dinner?”

  He shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying. I won’t step over the line.”

  “Like you, it will take me a while to get over Greg. Trusting is like spilling mercury. Darned hard to pick up.”

  “Okay, thanks for the help. I might go and talk to Pettigrew tonight.”

  She paused. “Be careful. The cops are still looking everywhere for you.”

  “And if I am caught, I have never seen you or spoken to you. Deal?”

  “That might be hard to hide. I told people I have spoken to you over the phone but can’t work out where you are hiding.”

  “We’ll work something out later.”

  She nodded and took the cup to the sink, washed it out, and left.

  * * * *

  Pettigrew was sitting watching TV when he heard the knock on the door. Casually, he walked to it and opened it to see a gun pointed in his face. “Peters?” He gasped in shock.

  “Hello, Ralph. We need to have a talk.”

  “What do you want?” he managed to gasp.

  Scott pushed him back into the house. “A few facts of what happened to the cleric.”

  Pettigrew drew in a deep breath. “All I know is that you shot him.”

  “I haven’t got time for bullshit. I think it was you who shot him. Did Creswick give you the gun?”

  “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I promised someone I wouldn’t kill you but didn’t promise not to shoot you in the knee, the arm, or the leg. Which knee should we start with?” Scott lowered the gun and aimed at Pettigrew’s knee.

  “Wait, it was Creswick. If I didn’t do as he said, he would kill me.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “They were supposed to start the disruption. Honest, that’s all I know.”

  “Has he paid you the thousand?”

  Pettigrew nodded. “Yesterday.”

  “Then if I were you, I’d take an extended holiday to some place far away like Perth or Darwin.”

  “Why?”

  “If he wants me dead then he will also want anyone else involved dead. You or your friends will be next. Better start packing.”

  Pettigrew’s mouth dropped open. “Shit, he wouldn’t.”

  “I’d also write some sort of letter saying you will tell it all if you are harmed. Tell him you will leave it with a friend. That might get you some time.”

  Pettigrew stared turning the statement over in his mind. “Hell, you could be right. I’ll talk to Creswick.”

  “Not a good decision. Just leave without him knowing about it. Send him a note saying your intentions. Have to go. Have a nice night.” Scott walked backwards to the door and disappeared into the night.

  * * * *

  Scott rang Pipa as soon as he was home. “I spoke to him. At first, he denied everything until I told him I would shoot him in the knee. Then he confessed the whole thing. The other two were ordered to start the demonstration while Pettigrew did the shooting. I suggested he leave Canberra immediately before Creswick kills him. I think he is taking the advice.”

  “Okay, I hope to get some feedback from Afghanistan soon. I’ll ring you when I do.”

  * * * *

  It was five hours later when Rory rang back.

  “Found some interesting things about money transfer.”

  “Go ahead,” Pipa said anxiously.

  “It seems five million dollars was transferred to three companies as soon as the assassination was done. The companies were Cartwright Consolidated, Financial Safety, and Future Funds. I’ll bet they are fake companies set up for the money. You can search to see who runs them.”

  “Thanks, Rory. I owe you.”

  “Make it lobster with the works. I can taste it now.”

  She laughed. “It’s a deal.” She hung up and began a search for the companies.

  It seemed Rory was right. They appeared to be fake companies recently set up. The name that came up as director was Pallister. It seemed he was in it up to his ears, too. Pipa decided to go back and talk to Scott the next day.

  Chapter 9

  Pipa arrived at ten in the morning to find Scott waiting. She had phoned ahead, so he knew she was coming. He let her in and
looked up and down the street to check it out.

  “Now, what did you find out?” His question was direct.

  She was about to answer when a news bulletin came on the TV. Both raised an eyebrow as Greg came to the camera. Shouting was heard until he quietened them down.

  “We have just discovered the bodies of three men who were hired to protect the cleric during the assassination. It appears Scott Peters got to them before they could give us information. The men, Ralph Pettigrew, Harry Fraser, John Murphy, were found shot to death this morning in Pettigrew’s apartment. We believe Peters lured them to the apartment to get his story straight then killed them before they could talk. The investigation is in its early development, but we believe the suspect is Peters.

  Both sat with their mouths open, not believing the news.

  “Shit,” said Scott.

  “Exactly. I’ll ring Greg and see what I can learn.”

  “You don’t really think I killed them, do you?”

  She reached over and touched his arm. “I think they are trying to set you up even more.”

  She pulled out her phone and dialled Greg.

  “I wondered how long it would take you,” he said by way of greeting.

  “You don’t really believe Peters did it, do you?”

  His voice was bland. “Who else? He’s getting deeper and deeper. It stops their version of the truth getting out.”

  “When did this happen?” she asked, frowning.

  “About an hour ago. A neighbour heard shots and rang us. We were there straight away.”

  “Then you don’t know if Peters actually did it?”

  “Nobody saw him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So you are jumping to conclusions again,” Pipa said.

  “Look, you stick to reporting, and I’ll stick to detective work.”

  Cynically, she answered, “Then I think you will have to improve.”

  Anger was in his voice. “Is this hostility revenge? If so, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, it’s about getting to the truth. It’s a pity you don’t seem to want to find it.”