Fatal Mistake

by Karen M. Davis

  ‘Certainly,’ Brad said. ‘Detective Senior Constable Wallace. Thanks, Fulton. Good job, mate.’

  The young constable beamed at Brad as he jotted down their names. ‘Thanks, Sarge, go on through.’

  ‘This place is like a war zone,’ Dani stated, walking in Brad’s shadow as he cut a path through charred debris.

  Brad agreed, thinking it looked vastly different to how he remembered it. Yesterday this was a normal suburban street. A building had stood where there was now a charcoaled skeleton of hanging beams and collapsed rafters. The grass, pavement and road had been singed black. It was a desolate wasteland of broken glass and wreckage. Forensic officers were going about their work in a calm, concentrated manner, yet there was still an air of urgency to their movements. A group in blue overalls was conducting a line search on hands and knees. The scene had been divided into zones, and then grids within zones. Officers wearing hard hats were inside the dank remains of the clubhouse. Another officer was examining pieces of burnt wood, searching for fragments of possible evidence. Brad could almost feel the weight of accountability the forensic team had on their shoulders. An involuntary twitch jerked at the corner of his mouth. He took a deep breath, then pushed the emotion away.

  ‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be here and witness the explosion,’ Dani said, touching his arm for the briefest moment.

  Brad tried but failed to block the memory of the violent burst of flames. The hissing and crackling as the fire destroyed everything in its path, from insignificant objects to irreplaceable human beings. Once again he could smell the suffocating smoke, the stench of fear and death, hear the cries of the injured and dying. His heart jumped in his chest. His throat tightened. He wanted to run, escape, get as far away from here as possible.

  Get a bloody grip.

  Conscious of Dani watching him closely, Brad blocked the images. Instead of giving in to that feeling of sheer panic, he concentrated on what had to be done to distract from how he felt. Carefully sidestepping a pile of bunched tarpaulins, on standby in case of bad weather, he noticed one of the crime scene guys, a chubby little man whose overalls stretched too tightly across his wide girth, walking towards them, a grin on his face.

  Sergeant Portland extended his hand. ‘I hear you’re one lucky son of a bitch, Sommers.’

  Brad shook it and shrugged his large shoulders. They had met at many a crime scene over the years. ‘Yep, seems so.’ He paused. ‘This is my partner. Dani Wallace, meet Sergeant Portland, better known as Porky, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Like you can talk,’ Porky shot back at him. He turned to Dani. ‘So you’re stuck with the big fella now, hey?’ He turned back to Brad. ‘Sexy Lexie give you the flick, did she? What I want to know is how an ugly mug like you gets to work with all the good sorts?’

  Brad shook his head. ‘Don’t ever let Lexie hear you call her that. She’ll clip you over the ear. And I can’t help it if the good sorts want to work with me.’

  Porky laughed. ‘I shouldn’t be too hard on you,’ he said, patting Brad on the back. ‘You are lucky to be here.’ Porky said this tongue in cheek, but his words left a sour taste in Brad’s mouth.

  ‘How’s it all going?’ Brad asked.

  ‘We’ve collected pieces of metal piping and fragments of debris, all consistent with explosive cartridges. We’ll do tests at the lab to see if we can turn up any identifiable markings and also do a residue analysis to find out what chemicals have been used. Although I can detect diesel fuel just with my own little nose.’

  ‘Nothing little about your nose, mate.’

  Porky looked at Dani. ‘He’s not very nice, is he?’

  Dani smiled. Cops loved to take the piss out of each other. It’s just what they did.

  ‘Follow me,’ Porky said, leading them to the front of the clubhouse. ‘Don’t go in, it’s too dangerous.’

  Peering between charred rafters and beams, Brad could see the floor was gone.

  Porky pointed to indentations on the ground. ‘They are trough marks, which lead us experts—’ he emphasised ‘expert’ ‘—to believe the blast epicentre was here. The remains of a backpack lends to my theory that the bomb was inside it. Someone dropped it off where the front door was, then simply walked out and either detonated it from a safe distance away, or by timer. We’re not sure about that yet and, unfortunately – and predictably – the fire destroyed all security cameras. I’m not sure if that was good luck or good management on the offender’s part, but it does make our job that much harder.’

  ‘It does,’ Brad said, while Porky drew a breath. ‘Although we’re on our way to speak to one of the neighbours, who has CCTV. I’ll let you know if we get anything.’

  Porky nodded. ‘Okay, good luck with that, mate. We need all the help we can get. Solving this one is going to be a doozy.’

  • • •

  Brad and Dani got lucky. Nick Rizzo, who lived in a mansion down the street from the Assassins’ clubhouse, was a spritely elderly businessman who knew his way around his security cameras and was more than happy to assist police by providing the last few days’ footage from the front of his house.

  Back in the office, Brad watched their analyst Marty Wells, a whiz with electronics – which Brad was definitely not – plug cables into the television. When the screen finally flickered to life the picture was grainy, but legible. The footage covered the front steps and alcove of the house, the footpath and part of the road. People walked by, oblivious to what was about to happen.

  Brad became mesmerised by the numbers clicking over at the top of the screen. At 4.01pm, a man wearing a blue backpack crossed the camera lens. He was slim, taller than average, and wore blue jeans, a black T-shirt with the label DEUS spread across the back, and white runners. He had messy black hair. That was all Brad could make out. He felt a few detectives gather behind him to watch but kept his focus riveted on the television. At 4.07pm, the same man walked past, this time going the other way and without the backpack.

  Brad would go back to that piece of footage later and study it at length.

  At exactly 4.15pm it happened. Even though Brad had been waiting for it, he still flinched as the picture shook with the force of the vibrations from the blast. For a moment, black smoke clouded the screen, then debris could be seen flying through the air.

  Detectives around Brad sucked in their breaths.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Dani whispered to no-one in particular.

  Someone put a hand on Brad’s back, but he didn’t turn. He couldn’t move.

  The smoke cleared a bit, so they could see more wreckage flying by. It was weird watching it without sound; it accentuated the hammering of his heart pounding in his ears. It was almost unfathomable to think this had happened, that he had been there and survived. Watching it happen all over again was as surreal as a bad dream.

  ‘Where were you positioned, Brad? When it happened, I mean?’ Marty asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘I’d parked the car a block away and we were headed back to it to get a drink from the esky I’d packed. I heard the bang – sounded like a thunder clap behind me – and the impact pushed me forward. I turned, saw the flames and used the car as a shield. If we’d remained where we’d been a few minutes earlier, right opposite the clubhouse . . .’ He didn’t want to think about it. An image of his wife and son flashed before his eyes.

  ‘Well, you weren’t, so don’t think about it, mate,’ a detective he didn’t know said from behind him.

  ‘Someone was looking after you and that’s a good thing,’ Marty said.

  ‘What’s the story with your partner?’ Another detective asked. ‘Was she injured – is that why she went off sick?’

  Marty murmured under his breath, a word that sounded remarkably like softcock.

  Brad nudged him and selected his words cautiously. ‘No, she wasn’t injured.’

  Marty pulled a face, went to make another comment, then thought better of it.

  Cook came o
ut of his office. ‘How did you go at the crime scene?’

  Brad filled him in on all that Porky had told them.

  Cook nodded. ‘While you were out, some new information came in.’ A few detectives who’d gathered around went to walk away. Cook stopped them. ‘I’ve just received information from a Judy Backhouse who lives in Buxton, a rural suburb southwest of Sydney, about her neighbour, Harriet Milton, who is a good friend. Milton has her brother staying with her. They had drinks with Backhouse the night before the bombing and the brother had had a few too many, was telling anyone who’d listen how much he hated the Assassins. His name is Wally Milton and he’s an ex-member of the Assassins.’

  Brad felt his waning energy kickstart. ‘I’ve heard of him.’

  ‘Do we know why he’s an ex-member? Was there an issue?’ Dani asked.

  ‘There was an issue all right,’ Cook confirmed. ‘Three years ago, an Assassins member – Snake Mulligan – accidentally shot Wally Milton while mucking around on a shooting trip. Wally got it in his head it was intentional and arranged a hit on Snake. Problem was the hitman was a friend of Snake’s and told him of Wally’s plans. He was kicked out of the club and run out of Sydney, warned not to come back.’ Cook glanced at Marty. ‘Can you do a current profile on him ASAP?’

  Marty jotted down the name.

  Cook continued: ‘He’s been in gaol in Victoria for two years for a vicious assault and got out two months ago. There’s already a warrant for his arrest regarding a stabbing. I want surveillance to watch Wally’s sister’s house, although we’re not just going to rush in when we don’t know what we’re dealing with.’ Cook issued tasks to the other detectives still standing there. ‘As for you, Brad, I want you to finish up and go home and get a good night’s sleep. There’s nothing more you can do today, and tomorrow will bring new challenges. I want you firing on all cylinders. Do you understand me?’

  Brad nodded. He didn’t have the energy to argue. After a sixteen-hour day yesterday and then having to back up and be in the office early to help prepare for the briefing this morning, home sounded extremely good. Besides, spending time with Michelle and Mitchell was just what he needed. Brad didn’t have the time, or the tolerance, for these ridiculous episodes he’d been experiencing. Time with family and a good night’s sleep would fix everything. It had to.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lexie was jostled and bumped against a sea of writhing bodies as she followed Batman through the path he formed in the crowd at Club Hellfire. Alcohol- and drug-induced vitality ignited the misty air as laser lights flashed streaks of colour off the walls in perfect time to the pulsing music. The dancefloor, a large square in the centre of the room, was crammed with scantily clad girls and shirtless, ripped guys, pumping and gyrating against each other. Even those not dancing swayed or bopped on the spot, seemingly unable to stand still. Classic signs that artificial enhancers were prevalent, Lexie thought. Her own heart raced with a combination of anticipation and adrenaline more potent than any drug she could imagine taking.

  Batman paused in front of her. He grabbed Lexie’s hand, yelled something about not losing her, then continued through the crowd, dragging her behind him. They found Rex seated in a booth at the back of the club with a group of people she recognised from surveillance photos. Rex stood, shook Batman’s hand, then kissed Lexie on the cheek. Gesturing to the group, Rex pointed to a doorway nearby. They all nodded, stood and followed him into a windowless room as large as her small flat. Rex closed the door on the club noise. This was the VIP room Rex had told her about. Lexie took in the simple furnishings: mirrored walls, dark leather lounges in one corner, a large table and chairs in the other. Rows of curtain lighting hung from the ceiling. Twinkling like tiny stars, it cast a gentle glow around the room and created a laid-back atmosphere that was in total contrast to the rest of the club.

  ‘We were waiting for you to arrive,’ Rex told Lexie and Batman. ‘It’s too loud out there to hear yourself think. At least we can have a conversation in here.’ Rex draped his arms over their shoulders and introduced them to the group. ‘This is my niece Lara and her boyfriend, Dylan.’

  Lucky shook Batman’s hand and gave Lexie a reluctant nod. His wife, Erika, a short, ratty-looking woman with a streaked blonde bob, assessed Lexie critically before forcing a smile that held no conviction. Johnny, a smaller, almost identical version of his older brother Lucky and who exuded a similar air of self-importance, cordially shook their hands then turned away. And then there was Tiffany, the self-proclaimed hostess of the club.

  Taller than Lexie and boyishly slim, Tiffany was strikingly pretty. Her makeup was dramatic, as was her puffed-out white hair. She wore a long, elegant black evening dress that was split to the thigh on one side. On her feet were silver heels. The nails on her hands and feet were painted a deep red to match her lips.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Tiffany said enthusiastically, beaming a wide smile as she stretched one long hand towards Lexie. She held a recently lit cigarette in the other. ‘Rocco hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you.’

  Smiling back at her, Lexie took Tiffany’s hand. At the moment of contact a tingling sensation shot up her arm. It was a feeling she was unable to identify, couldn’t put her finger on, but it spoke of something not quite right. She put it down to confusion; she’d expected hostility from Tiffany, and her overly friendly manner was unsettling.

  Tiffany released Lexie’s hand and took Batman’s. ‘And nice to meet you too, handsome. Welcome to our club.’ Her attention turned back to Lexie. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your aunt. He was telling us how sick she is.’

  Lexie nodded. ‘Thank you. It’s very sad.’

  She glanced around at the smoke haze invading the room, noticing nearly everyone in Rocco’s crowd had lit up. No doubt smoking was prohibited inside the building, but rules didn’t appear to apply to these people. Erika was the only one without a cigarette and she didn’t look happy about being forced to endure passive smoking. Or perhaps that was just the usual look on her face.

  The door opened and a rush of cold air and blaring music invaded the room. A waiter, balancing a tray of assorted drinks in one hand and one of canapés in the other, moved towards them. The group dived on him like a bunch of animals, grabbing at the drinks as though they were parched and gobbling the food as though they were starving. Around the frenzied motion, a shadowy mass loomed.

  Lexie’s breath caught in her throat and her body stiffened. Her pulse became a rapid river pumping through her veins as trepidation threatened to steal her composure. What the hell was it? No doubt some sort of sinister presence perhaps reflecting the malevolent personalities it encased, even threatened to consume. She had never seen anything like it.

  Swallowing hard, Lexie blinked quickly. When her vision cleared, the murky form was gone. She glanced around the room. Thankfully the moment, perhaps only a heartbeat, had passed without notice. No one was staring at her thinking she was crazy or acting weird.

  The mob around the waiter had cleared, so Lexie took a glass of wine. Batman and Rex, who had also exhibited manners and waited, plucked beers from the tray.

  ‘These are on Rocco,’ Lucky announced, starting to cough. He spun away and spat into a tissue. He threw the tissue into a nearby trash can. When he turned back, he raised his glass, a cocktail of some description, in the air. ‘He’s just greeting guests and will join us a bit later. Cheers.’

  Everyone echoed Lucky, holding their drinks in the air.

  Lexie stared at the bin for a moment, wondering how she could retrieve Lucky’s tissue for DNA testing without drawing attention. Her eyes strayed to Tiffany, who was watching Batman. It seemed he too noticed the other woman’s interest because he chose that moment to drape an arm around Lexie’s shoulder and pull her against him. For a second she tensed, before reminding herself to relax. You’re a couple. Act like it.

  Leaning into Batman, Lexie looked up at him, wrapping her arm around his slim hips. He gave her a wink an
d kissed the top of her head like he’d done it a thousand times before.

  As they stood around drinking, Rex brought up the Assassins bombing.

  ‘My husband is so lucky.’ Erika laughed at her pun. ‘That’s why they call him Lucky – he has a way of dodging disaster.’ Erika shook her head, rubbing Lucky’s arm while directing her gaze at Rex. ‘I can’t tell you how many times—’

  ‘You could have been rid of me,’ Lucky said, shrugging off her hand and turning away from her. Erika fell into a sullen silence. But not before Lexie caught a barely disguised glare of hostility pass between them.

  If their relationship was not a happy one, it would explain why he was sleeping with other women. Actually, meeting Erika, it was easy to understand why Lucky would go elsewhere for sex. But then again, he was no oil painting either.

  Rex announced the men had to talk business. Guiding Batman to the lounges in one corner, along with Lucky and Johnny, he left Lexie with Tiffany and Erika. She searched her mind for something to say. A compliment was always a good start.

  ‘I love your outfit,’ Lexie said to Erika, who was wearing black Lycra pants and a shimmery gold top that did nothing to hide her wide hips. She didn’t respond. ‘And your dress is lovely,’ she said to Tiffany, who smiled gratefully.

  ‘Thanks,’ Tiffany replied. ‘I just love dressing up. Being hostess, it’s expected of me. It’s the only time I get to glam up, you know. It’s like I’m a different person when I’m here.’

  ‘Well, you are a different person when you’re here, aren’t you? Literally,’ Erika scoffed. She flashed a fake smile before excusing herself to go to the ladies’.

  Tiffany glared at Erika’s back as she left the room. Clearly, there was no love lost between these two either. Lexie was beginning to think there were more undertones of discord in this group than in a good murder mystery.

  Tiffany ushered Lexie to one of the tables, where they sat opposite each other and made small talk.