‘Well, do something about it if it’s that bad, and I don’t mean about ferrets.’ remarked Georgie. ‘I think you’re finding the job a little different to what you expected, at least over the last year or so.’
‘And what do you have in mind? I’ve already applied for as transfer and had it knocked back, and anyway, that may not solve the problem.’
‘You should draw on your family history. I’ve no doubt some of your ancestors made the police look foolish at times,’ replied Georgie, settling herself more comfortably into the sofa by drawing her legs up underneath herself. Georgie was referring to one of Simon’s great great something or other grandfather, Samuel, who was sentenced to fourteen years transportation for the theft of ten shillings from a lady’s bag at the Leeds market back in the 1830s. The sentence was harsh; his accomplice only received seven years transportation. But then again, Samuel had been known to the police and had appeared before the presiding judge on previous occasions.
‘Ooh, now that would require a career change, wouldn’t it? From constabulary to villainy,’ said Simon with a look of scorn on his face. ‘I know things are desperate, but not that desperate, yet. Anyway, what specifically did you have in mind?’
Georgie pursed her lips while giving the question some thought. ‘Well, I suppose you could rob a bank. It appears quite simple from what I’ve seen on the telly, and from what you’ve told me most bank robbers aren’t overly endowed with brains. At least you’re ahead on that aspect, and I would help you, of course.’
Good God, thought Simon and rolled his eyes to the heavens. Bonnie and Clyde alive and well. Let’s go rob a bank, any bank, just to see if the good guys can catch and lock us up for ten years, all for the sake of highlighting the Chief Inspector’s incompetence. Heaven knows, I love you Georgie, but you do get some wonderfully loopy ideas at times.
CHAPTER 5
The door to Chief Inspector Rose’s office opened and a red face appeared. ‘Webster, get down here, and bring your sergeant with you, now.’ The voice roared down the corridor, easily heard by both Inspector Webster and Sergeant Elliott behind their closed office door. The manner in which the two detectives had been summoned was no different from previous invitations extended by the Chief. In general, they were made without thought given to the recipient’s confidentiality, everyone in the station being privy to the Chief’s boisterous demand for the detective’s presence. The Chief’s door slammed shut adding further credence to the perception that he was not a happy man.
Inspector Simon Webster shrugged and took a deep breath. ‘Why do I get this sinking feeling I have my deckchair firmly placed aboard the Titanic? Come on, Noel, we better go and see what’s up. I expect it’s something earth shattering; can’t find his bus pass or he needs a new typewriter ribbon,’ he said dryly. With that, the two men donned their coats and walked down the corridor to their awaiting fate.
Inspector Webster knocked on the door and, before being able to get the door open, received a brash ‘Come’. As the two men entered the Chief’s office, Sergeant Elliott immediately noticed the seating arrangements. Usually if Chief Inspector Rose was expecting the meeting to be protracted, he would place the required number of chairs in front of his desk. This time however, there was only one chair in front of his desk with two further chairs around the coffee table in the centre of the office.
‘Don’t bother to sit; this won’t take long,’ Chief Inspector Rose snarled from behind his desk. ‘The hierarchy has decreed that we, meaning the CIB here at Day Street, are over our establishment strength. This has been bought about following a review of all CIB manning establishments, so don’t feel that this is a sudden one-off case pertaining specifically to Day Street. The upshot is that I have to reduce our strength by two officers, and guess what?’ the Chief asked, a look of arrogant pomposity etched across his face.
Sergeant Elliott looked at his partner who appeared to be troubled, his brow furrowed in a look of disappointment and regret. ‘Oh gee, Chief, we’ll be sorry to see you leave, and just when we were getting along so well together. But I have no doubt you and the other officer to leave will be moving to greener pastures,’ said Inspector Webster, with cynical glumness.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you boys, because it’s not me that will be doing the leaving.’ The arrogant look on Rose’s face was replaced with a broad smile, a victory to Chief Inspector Rose over this petulant subordinate. ‘Now listen here, Webster,’ the Chief Inspector said patronizingly, ‘I spoke to you before about your application for transfer and that both Superintendent Fisher and I believed you needed further investigative experience. Well, needless to say, we now have the opportunity to approve your transfer so that the experience you obviously lack may be gained in a different environment.’ Inspector Webster had the distinct impression Chief Rose was enjoying himself and probably looked upon his subordinates as having come down in the last shower of rain. Evidently the arrangements Rose had made were going to be far more detrimental to Webster than anything he could expect by remaining at Day Street.
‘So my application for transfer is now a goer?’ enquired Inspector Webster.
‘Yes, it is. After going to great lengths to persuade the Super, I’ve been able to post you to the supernumery list where you will be required to fill in at stations needing temporary staff.’ Webster had the urge to jump across the Chief’s table and throttle the man. Every officer in the Force regarded the supernumery list as the forlorn hope before hell and was the career abyss from which no-one ever returned. The Chief Inspector continued, choosing to ignore the look of hostility on Webster’s face. ‘As for you Elliott, you will be staying here at Day Street but you will be going back into uniformed general duties. It seems the general duty boys are hard pressed with the increase in anti-Vietnam demonstrations here in the city and need all the help they can get.’
‘And what about me?’ enquired Inspector Webster. ‘You haven’t mentioned just exactly where I’ll be supernumeried to.’
‘God damn, I knew I had forgotten something,’ replied the Chief theatrically. ‘Inspector, you will need to get up a tad earlier. Detective Inspector Burroughs of the Metropolitan Region has gone on furlough, or will shortly, resulting in a vacancy within the CIB for the next six months, at least. You will fill in for him while he’s away. That’s assuming he does return from furlough, of course.’
‘That’s all very nice, Chief, but you still haven’t said where Detective Burroughs is going on furlough from,’ reminded Webster who was now getting a little impatient with the proceedings.
‘Ahh, yes, of course. You’ll be working down at Cronulla. God, that’s a long way from Collaroy but that’s the best we can do.’ Yeah I bet, thought Webster, as his deck chair started sliding down the deck. ‘I suggest you both report to Sergeant Mathieson in the near future to get the administrative arrangements under way,’ added Chief Rose as an afterthought measured to press home the rank and influence he wielded over the two detectives.
Sergeant Elliott and Inspector Webster said nothing until they reached their office and had the door shut firmly behind them. ‘I wonder if we’re the last in Day Street to know what’s going on. I knew there were rumours of some changes going around, especially in light of the proposed specialist crime squads being formed, but this seems to be taking vindictiveness to extremes,’ remarked Inspector Webster as he removed his jacket and tie before slouching onto his swivel chair.
‘Well, it comes as a complete surprise to me, I knew nothing,’ replied Sergeant Elliott. I think I got the better of the deal as at least I get to stay here at Day Street. It seems you won’t be seeing much of Georgie in the future with all the travelling you’ll have to do.’ The sergeant sank back in his chair, folded his arms and placed his feet up on his desk. ‘Christ, Cronulla may as well be on the other side of the planet. You’ll get to work quicker if you get the train to Collins Street and walk back.’
‘Might be an idea. I know I’ll have to listen to th
e Melbourne forecast to see what the weather’s like. I think it’s closer to Melbourne than Sydney. I don’t know, Noel, but I think it’s a safe bet Fisher is in on the act. At least you have some idea of where Rosey’s coming from, like, he is up front, most of the time. But Fisher is a different kettle of fish and it’s a bit on the nose. Seems you never know just what he’s thinking or what he’s up to. Ah, what the hell’ declared Webster pushing his chair away from the table and jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s get out of here for a while and go drown our sorrows in a cup of coffee somewhere,’ he said, already out the door, his coat slung over his shoulder.
****
The detectives walked up Bathurst Street and found a coffee shop on a windswept George Street. With spring only days away, the cool southerly did nothing to warm the enthusiasm of either Inspector Webster or Sergeant Elliott. They found a vacant table against a window, settled themselves and ordered a flat black and a cappuccino from a young waitress.
‘What now, Simon?’ asked Sergeant Elliott, his chin resting on the palm of his hand, his elbow on the table. Sergeant Elliott was keen to drop the rank structure and place the conversation back on the mutual friendship arrangement he knew Inspector Simon Webster preferred once out of the office.
Simon sighed and scratched the back of his head. ‘Nothing much we can do. It seems like we were the bunnies right from the beginning. I have no doubt any other chief inspector would have handled the situation differently by at least discussing the matter with us first before coming to a decision. No, this was a fait accompli, and all attributed to Rosey with a touch of Fisher’s influence, whatever that may have been.’
‘Is there nothing we can do?’ asked Noel.
‘Well, Georgie suggested we have a crack at making Rosey look bad. That in itself would be pretty easy to do, in theory, but in reality could prove difficult, if not impossible, considering his buddy buddy relationship with Fisher.
‘Was Georgie a little more specific?’
‘Yep. She suggested we rob a bloody bank,’ replied Simon, a look of defeatism on his face.
‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ replied Noel after a minute of silence broken only by the waitress delivering the two coffees. ‘Our careers seem to have been torpedoed by the hierarchy for one reason or another, so stuff ’em, let’s go and join the bad guys. After all, you’ve already suggested it yourself.’
‘Come on, Noel. This is serious so stop joking. Our very future with the Force depends on how we handle this situation and running off to join the baddies isn’t the solution.’
‘Why not?’ responded Noel belligerently. ‘I’ll get my arse kicked from pillar to post by the boys in uniform. They’ll know, and rightly too, that I’ve gone backwards. No-one goes from CIB back to general duties. It’s always the other way around. And you. You know there’s no life after being posted to the supernumery so our careers are already shot to pieces.’
‘Christ, you’re serious,’ said Simon with surprise.
‘And why not? I think we could work out a fairly decent job if we pooled our resources. Bank jobs are usually committed by young blokes who race in, wave a gun around, and race out again with a bag of cash. Half the time they’re caught within the first fifteen minutes of doing the job. I think we could do a lot better than that,’ responded Noel, a touch of excitement and enthusiasm in his voice.
‘Now hang on a second. You sound like you want to do a bank job for the money, not necessarily to show Rosey up for what he is, which, to my mind, would be the whole object of the exercise,’ said Simon, still not entirely convinced of the idea.
‘Ah ha. So you haven’t totally dismissed the thought?’ replied Noel, a wry smile on his face.
‘I haven’t decided anything. Look, we’re not rostered next Tuesday, so come over and we’ll have a beer or two. Bring Sue along, although I know she’ll think it’s a great idea and side with Georgie,’ said Simon as he drained the last of his coffee.
CHAPTER 6
The Thursday night traffic was unusually heavy as the EJ Holden slowly made its way through Spit Junction and headed for the bottleneck generally experienced at the Spit Bridge. ‘For the life of me, I just don’t understand those so called urban planners. Here we have a bridge only, what, seven years since opening and it’s already passed its use by date. We may as well have kept the old punt that was here before they built this bloody thing,’ exclaimed an exasperated Noel Elliott as he squeezed the Holden in front of a double decker bus. ‘Apart from the traffic situation, what the bloody hell is going on at work? I know Chief Rose has it in for us, but surely he isn’t vindictive enough to end our careers.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ replied Simon with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I can’t get rid of the idea my report on illegal gambling in the Darlinghurst area may have been a little too close for someone’s comfort. Look, I’m not suggesting the Chief is involved, or even could be involved, but I didn’t get a chance to look up the associates or links to those I had already identified before the report was binned. After that little exercise in futility the Chief directed me to organise lollipop ladies for the Fort Street Girls’ School.’
‘You’re kidding?’ said Noel, shocked at the thought.
‘Yes, I’m kidding, but I may as well have been for all the good I’m doing now,’ replied Simon dejectedly. ‘Look, I know there has always been some scuttlebutt regarding corruption, payoffs, bribery and such stuff within the Force, you’d have to be naive to think there isn’t something going on somewhere. I have this gut feeling Rosey isn’t kosher and Fisher is right up there with him. Just say, for argument sake, the Chief didn’t expect us to uncover as much as we did on the illegal gambling, and if we had gone any further we may have trodden on someone’s toes.’
‘And you think those toes might belong to Fisher?’ ventured Noel.
‘Well, what do you think? Rose said he discussed the report with Fisher and the report was subsequently binned together with our careers.’
‘At this stage I daren’t hazard an opinion, but I can see where you’re coming from,’ replied Noel as he eased the car into the curb.
****
Simon Webster walked slowly up West Bank Lane from Pittwater Road, his mind mulling over the events of the day and the ramifications they would have on both his personal and professional life, if he now had a professional life left at all. It wasn’t until he had nearly reached number 24 that he suddenly became aware of the flashing blue light of a police car parked directly outside number 26 West Bank Lane, dear old Dorothy’s house. He decided against being snoopy and to find out what was going on from the attending police officers as he was sure all would be revealed as soon as he entered his front door.
‘What’s going on?’ he enquired even before putting down his briefcase.
‘Don’t know exactly,’ said Georgie as she continued to peer discretely at “the old bitch’s,” house through the small gap in the curtains. ‘She came home from shopping around four-thirty, I heard her car. Around five-thirty the ambulance arrived and then the police. She might have had an accident or something, although the police have been here for some time now. Must be serious.’
Georgie gave up on her clandestine observation of the house next door, closed the curtains and proceeded to the kitchen to pour the obligatory glasses of wine. ‘You know, I think I’ve worked out how my victim is done away with. My Chief Inspector and his forensic boffins will never be able to prove murder even if they catch the suspect, which they won’t because my baddie is too clever; one for Moriarty and the bad guys.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Simon, taking his glass and leaning back in his lounge chair. Detective Inspector Simon Webster had other things on his mind, not the least being how to tell Georgie he would be leaving for work an hour earlier and getting home an hour later, at best, and that his career, to all intents and purposes, was on the rocks. Perhaps I'll wait for Tuesday and tell the sad story with Noel here - he'll need to talk about his career options too,
Simon reflected. For some unknown reason the thought of Moriarty getting the better of Holmes crossed his mind; one for the bad guys. Maybe.
****
Next morning Detective Inspector Simon Webster was reading the Daily Telegraph while having his morning cup of coffee. This was a daily ritual, off the bus at York Street, down the York Street escalators to Wynyard Station, train to Town Hall, and a cup of coffee at the coffee shop on the corner of Bathurst and George. He had read the sporting pages; Saint George heading for another Grand Final, probably against Balmain, the way the Tigers had put Manly away in the semi final. Inspector Webster sighed and turned the paper over and started on the mundane, boring front page.
The inspector brushed over the first three pages before deciding to see if the crossword was doable. No, that article wasn't of interest, maybe it was, he thought. He shuffled the pages back to page three. “Woman Dies of Heart Attack in Backyard. An elderly lady was found dead in the back yard of her northern beach home ...” Inspector Webster continued to read the article. Oh hell, no, can’t be. No, your imagination is running away with you. Forget it and go to work. While trying to rationalise his thoughts, Detective Inspector Webster had that uncomfortable feeling most brilliant detectives relied on, and that was “the gut feeling.”
Sergeant Elliott had already been in the office for some twenty minutes by the time Inspector Webster finally entered. ‘Hi boss, I'll clear out my stuff today and get myself organized downstairs if that’s okay? Sergeant Mathieson says I’m to be on the beat by next Wednesday. I asked him about my rostered day off on Tuesday. There are no problems there so if it’s okay with you, Sue and I will drop over for that ale?’
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