by T. R. Cupak
“Is Senior Constable Jordan here?” I ask.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Good. Get him to phone Gareth’s parents. Don’t release him until they come for him.”
“What if they don’t come?”
“I’ll deal with that later, if it happens. You and I are going for a drive out to Mr. Graham’s place then Mr. Kemp’s. I think everything is related.”
“How?” asks Constable Wickie.
“All will be revealed,” I say with a cocky smirk.
It’s late afternoon by the time we get out to Mr. Graham’s. As I get out of my car, I look up and the skies look dark.
“You think it’s going to rain?” asks Constable Wickie.
“Christ, I hope so. Anything to break this heat.”
Mr. Graham must have a hundred roses in his front yard. No wonder he’s obsessed with the garden show. Where most of the town’s gardens and lawns look dead, his are thriving and lush.
Mr. Graham meets us outside, smiling maniacally. “It’s gonna rain! I can feel it in my bones!”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Graham,” I reply as I shake his hand.
“Hello, Sergeant,” he responds cheerfully.
“We’re here to look at your hose.”
“This way!” The man's mood is excitable with the promise of rain.
Mr. Graham leads us to the back of his house.
“Here it is. It was a fifty-meter hose,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.
I pick the hose up and the nozzle has been cut off and is laying on the ground.
“Jesus H Christ!” yells Mr. Graham. “They’ve been at it again!”
“Constable Wickie, could you go and get an evidence bag from the boot of my car, please?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Mr. Graham goes to pick up the nozzle.
“No! Don’t touch it. It’s evidence, Mr. Graham.”
“You’re not seriously going to take it are you?”
“All I want to do is fingerprint it, then you can have it back.” Mr. Graham frowns at me. “You want me to solve this, don’t you? And catch the people responsible for sabotaging your hard work?”
Mr. Graham nods vigorously. “I sure do.”
Constable Wickie comes back with a blue glove on and puts the nozzle into an evidence bag.
“You got any new neighbours?” I ask.
“The only new ones are at the far end of the street in the old Jacob house, the big homestead that used to include all this,” Mr. Graham replies as he sweeps an arm over the area.
“Right, that’s the big white one with the big fence, yeah?” I ask.
Mr. Graham nods.
“You think they’ve been stealing my hose?”
“Not sure but it won’t hurt to talk to them.”
Lightning cracks across the sky and we all look up. I’m hit on the side of my face by a droplet of rain. When I look at the other two, I see they are smiling and I realise I am too.
“Hot damn!” yells Mr. Graham. The old guy looks like his face will split in two with excitement.
“You got that right!” agrees Constable Wickie.
And with that, what started as a few drops of rain turns into a torrent. We all go running for the safety of Mr. Graham's front verandah. I shake his hand.
“We’ll be getting back to you, Mr. Graham.”
“Thanks, Sargeant. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
The Constable and I run for the car, getting drenched in the process.
“So, are we going to pay a visit to the new neighbours?” Wickie asks.
“Not yet. Mr. Kemp first.”
We drive past the old homestead and four men are standing out on the front verandah. Wickie sharply inhales a breath of air.
“What?”
“That’s Robbo out front, the one with the shoulder length dark hair.”
I didn’t see him specifically. The thing I did notice was that the windows across the front of the house were all blacked out.
“You’re not going to turn around and question him?” asks Wickie.
“Not yet. I want to have a conversation with Mr. Kemp.”
From her silence, I infer that Constable Grace Wickie doesn’t agree with my decision, but all I can think is, I’m glad she’s quiet. Her constant chatter drives me to distraction. The rain continues it’s heavy downpour and visibility is down to a minimum. It takes us an hour to get to Mr. Kemp’s. We make a run for his house, rain soaking us both again.
I reach his front door first and knock. A woman opens the door, looking at us apprehensively.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kemp. Is Mr. Kemp home?”
“Oh, thank the heavens! When I saw you pull up, Sargeant, I thought maybe something had happened to him.”
“No, ma’am. He came to see me earlier today about water being stolen from his tanks,” I state.
“Yes. Not the house tanks though, the ones attached to the barn in the east end paddock.”
“Right. Mrs. Kemp are you familiar with your husband's workers?”
The woman avoids eye contact as she answers, “Yes.”
“I’m not here about anything off the books; I’m not the tax man. I just thought that maybe it’s one of your new employees who’s stealing from you?” I pause and she straightens her spine and nods. “We’re looking into a man; his first name is Robbo.”
“Robbo? You mean Robert Elwin? He started working for us about three months ago. Do you think it’s him?”
“How soon after he started working for you did you notice that your tanks were going empty?”
“Within a couple of weeks. Fucking bastard! He knows how hard we work. He’s been in the fields and helped us with the cows,” proclaims Mrs. Kemp.
A loud thunderclap has Grace and Mrs. Kemp jumping.
“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll go have a chat with him. You take care now.”
We begin jogging back toward the car and just as Grace gets there, she slips over.
“You all right?” I yell over the storm.
Grace scrambles to her feet, covered in mud. “Yeah,” she replies, shaking mud off her hands.
I can’t help but burst out laughing. When she enters the car, I place a hand over my mouth to stifle myself.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, sir.”
I manage to stop laughing, but I can’t hide my grin. “You’re going to have to clean the seats tomorrow.”
“Fine,” answers Grace with a huff.
I pick up the radio and say, “Senior Constable Jordan, you there?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Has Gareth been picked up yet?”
“No. I haven’t been able to get a hold of his parents.”
“I need you to call in Constable Dwyer to babysit him. When Dwyer arrives, I want you to meet us at 105 Old Bunker Road, the old Jacob house.”
“Danny, I mean, Constable Dwyer is here. He dropped in for a cuppa. I can be there in no time.”
“Affirmative. But do not, I repeat, do not enter the premises. Wait outside for us. We are looking for a man by the name of Robert Elwin.”
“Copy that. Wait outside for you.”
“Affirmative.”
I place the radio back in its cradle and start the car.
“We’re going to apprehend Elwin?” asks Grace.
“Yes, we are.”
If it’s at all possible, the rain comes down harder and it takes us a little longer to get back to the old Jacob house than it did to leave it. The skies are black, as night comes early. The only light is when lightning cracks across the sky. When we pull up outside, Senior Constable Jordan’s car is parked with its front driver's door open, lights flashing and no sign of him.
“Shit,” I hiss. “You ready for this, Constable?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Remember your training. Keep low. Don’t take risks and know where I am at all times. I do not want to be shot today.”
Picking up the radio, I say, “All
available police officers to 105 Old Bunker Road.” I pause then say, “Danny, that means get your arse here now.”
“Copy that, Sarge. On my way.”
I open my door, give Grace another look and go out into the downpour. As part of our uniforms, we already have vests on. The only thing we need to worry about is the dark and who might be hiding in it.
“Ready?” I mouth at her.
Grace nods and together we enter the yard, then head up the stairs to the house. There are no lights on and Jordan’s car casts an eerie red and blue glow over everything.
Water trickles down my face and my gun feels slippery in my hands. With Grace off to one side and me on the other of the closed door, I test the door handle and it opens. It falls back noiselessly until it makes a slight thud as it hits the wall, opening wide. I glance in and it’s pitch black.
“Police! This is Sergeant Adam Shaw. Please make yourselves known!” I yell loudly.
We both stand there listening for a voice but the only sound is the storm as it powers on. Holding up my hand, I signal for Grace to wait for a count of three, then I step inside. A moment later she follows me in.
There’s a door to my right and a door to my left. I indicate that Grace is to take the left, while I clear the right. Opening the door, I enter the room and find it’s completely empty. A thud behind me has my gun up and heading for Grace. I find her on the floor, flat on her back.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Yes, I slipped over.”
As I help her to her feet, a flash of lightning lights up the sky outside and gives a moment of visibility as she stands. Grace’s arms appear to be covered in blood.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, Sarge, it’s not mine.”
Risking being seen, I turn on my torch. In its narrow beam of light, I find Senior Constable Jordan’s body, slumped under the window, blood pooling around him. I place two fingers to his neck and find a steady pulse. The relief I feel is overwhelming. I nod furiously at Grace to let her know he’s alive, but that’s when I notice his gun is missing.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I turn off my torch. “Stay here. Find the injury and apply pressure to it, then radio Danny what’s happened. I’m going to clear the house.”
“Let me help.”
“Do as you’re told, Wickie,” I hiss.
I glance out the doorway and into the darkness. Another crack of lightning lights up the sky and I can see the hallway is empty. I step out into it and slowly make my way down, keeping as close to the wall as I can. Every little noise is amplified: my breathing, my footsteps, the creaking of the floorboards as I try to be quiet. The storm rages outside and I know the adrenaline is causing me to feel this way. I pause at the next door, take a deep breath to calm myself then open it, pushing it wide. The room is filled with marijuana plants on tables. I step in and drop down to my knee to look under the tables. I spy a pair of legs in the far corner.
“It’s best if you come out,” I say.
A shotgun explodes and pellets hit the wall behind me. If I’d been standing, I’d be dead or severely injured. I fire, taking out his kneecap. The man screams, and I wait for a beat to see if anyone else makes themselves known, then approach the man. I grab the shotgun and cuff him as he screams.
“Who else is here?” I demand.
“Fuck you!”
I flip him over. “How many?”
He tries to sit up and yells, “Fuck you!”
With the butt of my gun, I hit him hard and he passes out. Breathing hard, I think back to earlier with the four men sitting outside, probably three more to go. Getting back up, I make my way to the doorway. Once again, I stick my head out and back in quickly, but I’m unable to see anyone.
I creep out into the hallway. The rain on my body has turned cold as it trickles down my back. I get to the end of the hall where it opens into a larger room. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, so I can identify shapes in the darkness, but am unable to see a human form. Straining to hear the slightest noise, I realise someone is coming up behind me. It can’t be either of my constables, so someone must have come in through the front door. Having no choice, I slip into the room and silently slide down the wall so that I’m crouching.
The figure walks past me. Suddenly, there’s movement to my right, then an explosion of light as a man fires another shotgun, the pellets hit Constable Grace Wickie centre mass and throw her across the room. I fire at the gunman and he goes down. Another two men stand, but before they can fire, I shoot both of them. I sit there, crouching in the darkness, listening for someone or something.
Nothing stirs, so I push myself up the wall and grope in the darkness for a light switch. The scene that greets me is something out of a horror movie. Blood covers all the plants in the room. The three men aren’t moving and, as I cast a glance toward Grace, I realise she isn’t either. She looks lifeless. Rushing to her side, I find no blood but she’s out cold. Her vest has taken the the impact. I feel her skull and she murmurs, twisting away from me. There’s blood on my hands as I lay her back down. She must have hit her head after she got shot.
“Dammit, Grace, you scared me,” I whisper.
I press my comms button and say, “Officers down. I repeat, officers down. Ambulances required. The scene is secure.”
I move further into the house and the rest of the place has marijuana plants on every surface. Clearly, this is what they needed all the water for. The hose was for the homemade bongs I find in the kitchen. I check all of the rest of bodies, looking for life but all are dead. Robert Elwin took my bullet right between his eyes; his skull and brain are plastered all over the wall behind him.
A police siren sounds in the distance. Walking toward the front of the house, I check on Senior Constable Jordan. He’s still out cold.
Holstering my gun, I walk out the front of the house and sit on the steps in the rain, hoping it will wash me clean. Constable Danny Dwyer arrives and as he gets out of his car, two ambulances pull up.
“Sarge, are you okay?” yells Danny.
I nod. “Inside, Jordan and Wickie need help. There’s one cuffed in the second room on the right. The rest…the rest are dead. The house is clear.”
For a brief moment, Danny places an arm on my shoulder, then he goes inside with the paramedics following close behind him.
“Adam, are you okay?” asks a paramedic as she crouches in front of me.
I nod.
“Need you to say something to me, Adam. You know me, I’m—”
“Julie. Yes, I’m fine. Just…” I shrug, not knowing what to say.
Julie’s face softens. “It’s okay. It’s shock. Let’s get you out of the rain, okay?”
I let her guide me to my car, then she dashes off into the house.
Chapter Three
It’s been a week since we went into that house. I’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing, but they’ve put me on leave with pay for a month. And the rain hasn’t stopped. It’s been a steady flow, soaking into the ground as though the human sacrifice has appeased some god, and as a reward, he’s turning everything green and renewing the town.
I have an appointment this morning with a shrink. She’s come from Brisbane all the way out to the sticks to make sure I’m okay. The brass is still out here, holding press conferences. It’s good PR to see them carting out the marijuana plants destined for destruction. They also discovered Robert “Robbo” Elwin was running more than that. He had a whole shed full of equipment and had been manufacturing ICE. The brass even thinks I’ll end up with a promotion and my pick of stations if I play my cards right.
I just want things to go back to normal. If I do get a promotion, that’ll mean I’ll need to move. Maybe I should. It feels like I have too many ghosts following me in this town now. Grace Wickie’s parents thanked me for looking after their child.
They thanked me. Grace was green and I should have known she wouldn’t follow orders. I should have known she’d stumble into the middle of
things.
As for Senior Constable Jordan, he’s also being hailed a hero, even though the stupid bastard should never have gone into that house alone. Playing the hero can get you killed—that’s why we train so hard for this job. You follow your training and hopefully, you don’t get dead. Both of them were lucky. Constable Wickie came out it with concussion and a couple of stitches in her head. Senior Constable Jordan looks like something out of a horror movie with a black eye that’s starting to go purple and stitches around his neck that give him a Frankenstein appearance, thankfully, the brass makes him cover it up with a bandage whenever he’s around the media. Wickie is on leave and rethinking her life as a police officer, while Senior Constable Jordan is itching to get back to work.
Dressed in my uniform, I go into town to seek out the shrink. She’s staying at the only B&B this town has to offer. It takes no time to get there, even with the rain. I mount the stairs two at a time and before I can knock, the owner of the B&B opens the door. Empathy for me is written over her face.
“Come in, Adam. I’ve told Doctor White to meet you in the lounge room. It’s private and I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.”
“Thank you,” I say as I follow her through the house.
She walks into a very nicely decorated room in heritage colours and motions for me to sit. “Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger?”
“Coffee, black no sugar, would be good.”
She offers me a sad smile and hurries from the room. I glance around. There are two lounges and a pair of chairs near the fireplace. I decide the chairs near the fireplace with the little coffee table between them will probably be the most comfortable in the room and sit down.
A very well dressed woman walks into the room. She’s in her late twenties, with great curves and long brown hair.
I stand and extend my hand. “Sergeant Adam Shaw.”
With a firm handshake, she replies, “Doctor Peta White.” There’s no empathy in her eyes, only professionalism. “Please sit, Sergeant, or would you prefer Adam?”
“Adam is fine.”
“Wonderful. Call me Peta.”
Peta sits and pulls her skirt down over her knees, pad and pen at the ready.