by Cenarth Fox
The officer looked at the result. ‘Clear,’ he said and Jo exhaled. Then she slumped back against her vehicle.
‘I’m sorry,’ said McIntyre, ‘I can’t let you drive.’ Jo looked at him adding confusion to her distress. ‘You’re not in a fit state and we need to examine your vehicle.’
‘My car? But why?’ pleaded Jo.
‘Why are you unfit to drive or why is your vehicle to be examined?’
It was worse than a bad dream; it was real. Just the news of Pierre’s accident caused her serious grief. Now the latest incident compounded her suffering.
Why is my car damaged? How did it happen? When? And how am I going to get home?
Then she nearly died. Her boss gave her a specific order. “Stay home and I’ll call you as soon as we have any news. Understood?”
If DI Rose finds out where I am, and my car’s been impounded, she will go nuts. I could be suspended or worse.
She knew one person she could trust to say nothing and who would help in an instant. She rang Michael Chan. Unknown to Jo, Michael had dragged himself into the modern era by purchasing a phone with caller ID. His claim about liking surprises when people rang proved silly as his life dealing with criminals took off, thanks to Jo Best.
It was after 4 am when Michael’s phone rang. Alan refused to move from his master’s legs and the human needed to twist to see his phone. He recognised Jo’s number. She would never ring unless something important was on the go, and seeing it was pre-dawn, that only made her call all the more interesting.
But he froze. He hadn’t forgotten their last meeting. He misread the signals—again. He thought she came to cry about her broken romance and see if good old Michael was willing to apply for the boyfriend vacancy position. To cry, yes; to seek a new boyfriend, no.
Jo never thought about Michael as her lover. He goofed then and could have kicked himself. But his self-pity, with a touch of bitterness kicked in, and Michael Chan allowed his phone to go to Voicemail.
In the crisp morning East Melbourne air, the desperate Jo Best could not believe her friend was not available. When invited to leave a message, she hesitated then ended the call. She knew Michael would know she’d called at a crazy time. Far worse, she knew her boss would learn about what happened at the crime scene. She walked away from her car and cried, and without thinking, began walking home.
Chapter 29
‘FUCK!’ The word was shouted with ferocity and rage. Today, this so-called magic word is spoken with gay abandon, even regularly on the telly. When the suffix ing or rather in’ is added, the word has won Most Used Word of the Year every year since the birth of rock ‘n roll. Cops live with the word on a daily, hourly basis. In fact if a cop got a dollar every time they heard fuck or a variation thereof, they’d be rich.
The speaker on this occasion was the Homicide boss, DI Elly Rose. She swore infrequently but always when the situation demanded it. She flushed with anger and grabbed the squad’s attention. What happened? It could not have been DI Richelieu’s death. That surely would have caused a groan or a cry of anguish. No, this was pure rage.
‘The stupid, fucking bitch,’ said Rose. The entire squad was hooked. Billy Hughes spoke for the others.
‘Ma’am? What’s up?’
‘I gave Jo Best a direct order, stay home, and do not get involved. So what’s she done? Only rocked up at the crime scene acting like she’s drunk, with her car damaged, and can’t explain the car or herself.’
The atmosphere turned electric. DI Blunt felt excitement akin to sexual pleasure. Billy Hughes groaned internally. Charlie Baldwin could not believe his colleague would ever do anything that stupid.
Officers spoke at once. They wanted details. Rose explained how an officer from Traffic spotted Jo at the crime scene, thought she was intoxicated, breathalysed her and noted her car was damaged in the place where the hit run vehicle was suspected of being damaged.
The more Rose explained, the louder the silence from squad members. But the inference was insane; no way could it be true. Oh sure, homicide detectives have a history of hissy fits, arguments, metaphorical backstabbing, and even the odd spot of fisticuffs but never had one cop killed or tried to kill another. Well, maybe once. Incredible was appropriate in the original meaning of the word.
‘I’ll kill her,’ snorted Rose. No-one doubted she meant it. It wasn’t about Jo Best being responsible for the crime but how she defied a direct order. Mind you the senior constable often followed her own rules although this incident seemed way beyond the pale.
Hughes tried to calm Rose. ‘Will I contact her, ma’am?’
Rose worked on her deep breathing. ‘Arrest her more like.’
‘We don’t know the facts, ma’am. It’s understandable she’d want to help. She’s clearly upset having just saved DI Richelieu’s career, possibly his life, on the other side of the world.’
Silence. DI Blunt couldn’t help himself. ‘The unexplained damage to her car, ma’am, needs to be checked.’
Rose snapped at him. ‘Inspector, the vehicle’s been impounded.’
Blunt didn’t reply but rejoiced in silence. The mood in the room went from gloomy to disbelief.
Billy persisted. ‘We have a duty of care to a fellow officer, ma’am.’ Rose looked at the DS and knew she spoke the truth.
‘Call her,’ she said. Billy walked from the room. ‘The rest of you …’ She didn’t know what to say or do.
‘Could the attack on DI Richelieu be revenge from someone the DI put away, ma’am?’ asked DS Fletcher.
Rose was glad to hear something relevant. ‘Could be. Charlie, you’re on hospital watch. Get back to St V’s and let me know the moment there’s any development.’
‘Ma’am,’ said Baldwin and left.
‘The rest of you, go over DI Richelieu’s cases looking for anyone who threatened him. What else is on the books?’
‘Nothing,’ said DI Blunt, ‘if we reckon the North Melbourne and two Melbourne Airport deaths are sorted.’
Rose nodded. ‘Right, get to it.’ She stormed off to her office passing Billy Hughes in the corridor. Rose stopped and looked at Hughes who put her hand over her phone.
‘Nothing,’ she whispered and Rose walked away.
‘Well where are you?’ asked Billy.
‘I’m walking home, Sarge.’
‘Walking?’
‘They wouldn’t let me drive and they’ve impounded my car.’
‘Well call a cab, call Uber. Are the trams and trains running yet?’
‘I’m fine, Sarge.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m heading north on Smith Street racing a rubbish truck.’
‘What’s your next intersection?’
‘I’m good, Sarge. I know the DI will kill me but …’
Hughes snapped. ‘What’s your next intersection?’
‘I’ve just crossed Johnston.’
‘Stay there.’
‘What?’
‘For once in your life obey an order from a superior officer. I’ll be there in five.’ Her voice carried a threat. ‘Stay there.’
Jo wandered back and forth. The rubbish truck overtook her. The odd car drove by at this pre-dawn hour. A black SUV with tinted windows drove past, slowed then reversed. It stopped beside her.
Great, thought Jo. My perfect night. I’m now on the game in fashionable Collingwood.
The front passenger window dropped and a hoon made his opening pitch. ‘Can we give you a lift, babe? No charge.’
Jo went for the polite approach.
‘No thanks, my lift is coming.’
‘Go on,’ oozed Mr Sleaze. ‘We’ll give you the ride of your life.’
Jo lost her politeness. ‘Piss off.’
Now that was a red rag to the bullshit bull. He was out and heading towards Jo. If she wouldn’t come willingly, there were other ways.
‘I’m a cop,’ said Jo causing the hoon to smirk.
‘Yeah and I’m fuckin’ Santa
Claus. Now come here,’ he yelled and went to grab her hair.
His behaviour could best be described as unwise. He was, he thought, doing the right thing. There she stood, a woman alone on the street, pre-dawn, and obviously available. Everything was perfect except the woman’s response.
The would-be rapist coped a jab to the eye—that smarts and is scary—followed by a knee to the genitals—and that more than smarts. It happened so quickly. He swore and staggered, struggling to remain on his feet. The driver, together with another “gentleman” in the back seat, leapt from the car making for the bitch. She was definitely not playing according to Hoyle.
As two aggressive hoons approached Jo, a car screeched to a halt, and a woman exited the vehicle pointing a handgun. Billy Hughes and her megaphone voice took control.
‘Police. Freeze. Move and I shoot.’
The hoons were in oops territory. Oops, we shouldn’t be here, and oops, we’re in the shit.
Jo moved clear of the trio, one of whom continued to groan.
‘Call it in,’ snapped Billy to Jo who was delighted to see her colleague but worried about what the Detective Sergeant would say once the cops were alone.
The arrested trio sat on the footpath, until a paddy wagon arrived, and all were given a free ride to the nearest cop shop. Parking the SUV was a thrill for one of the uniformed officers who made sure the vehicle was left in a position where a parking officer couldn’t miss said vehicle.
Jo climbed into Billy’s car and dreaded what was to come.
Hughes went easy on the drive to Clifton Hill, the next suburb. She didn’t ask to come inside Jo’s flat, she just did. They stood in the kitchen while Jo, without offering or being asked, switched on the kettle. Hughes showed her experience, understood and admired by Jo, by saying nothing, forcing the “suspect” to make the running.
‘Should I resign?’ asked Jo.
‘As opposed to what?’ replied Hughes; ‘suicide, pleading guilty, or joining a nunnery?’
Jo struggled. ‘I know I shouldn’t have gone to East Melbourne but Pierre is not just a colleague. We’ve been through a few scary experiences together.’
‘Are we talking about your sex life?’
Jo didn’t respond. She’d told DI Rose and Billy the truth about her intimate relationship with Pierre—well parts of it. If they wouldn’t accept her word, then so be it. If they believed she was lying, then repeating her claim was a waste of time.
‘I can’t bear having to face DI Rose. I know I defied her which, apart from being dumb, was a slap in her face. She’ll never trust me again.’
‘She may not have to.’
Jo started to pour the now boiled water. ‘Surely I won’t be sacked for ignoring such a relatively minor order.’
‘Attempt murder is slightly more serious.’
In shock, Jo’s pouring went astray. Boiling water bounced off the sink and scalded her. She yelped in pain and sucked her hand. Hughes stepped to the sink, turned on the cold tap and hustled Jo to the water. It brought some relief. Jo found skin cream which helped even more.
Hughes sent her to the sofa and brought two mugs of tea.
‘You okay?’ asked Hughes thinking more about Jo’s mental health, quietly worried she might do something silly. Jo’s world seemed to be trending downwards and fast.
Jo nodded. ‘Fine.’ They sipped in silence. Jo reminisced. ‘You were the first Homicide officer who spoke to me when I joined the squad.’
‘I’ll bet it was a pearl of wisdom.’
‘I hope you won’t be the last officer I speak to.’
‘What did I say?’
Jo imitated her DS. ‘Are you the new detective?’
‘Wow, penetrating question and brilliant piece of deduction.’
‘And as I chased you down the corridor, you gave your first order, or was it a warning?’
‘Waste of time if it was an order.’
Jo imitated Billy again. ‘And don’t ever call me, ma’am. It’s Sarge or Billy.’
Finally, they half smiled; nothing spacious or warming but a nice contrast to the grim expressions on show for the last two hours.
‘So tell me about the damage to your car,’ said Billy.
‘Why?’ said Jo. ‘When I told you I wasn’t sleeping with the DI, you didn’t believe me. Why would you believe me now?’
Good question. Hughes tried another tack.
‘Fair enough, so when did you notice the damage?’
‘An hour ago, when the cop from Traffic asked me about it.’
‘Leaving several possibilities.’ Jo looked at Hughes who listed the facts. ‘Someone drove into you when you weren’t in the car, accidentally or deliberately. Someone deliberately damaged your car. Someone used your car to attack DI Richelieu.’
Jo jumped in. ‘Or I used my car to attack DI Richelieu.’
Both women hesitated. Hughes broke the silence. ‘Well if it’s the latter, you’re pretty good at hiding your stupidity.’
‘But Sarge,’ begged Jo, ‘why would I murder him? I loved him.’
She sounded loud. Hughes wanted to say, “So it was a crime of passion” but remained silent. Their conversation died.
As daylight arrived, DI Richelieu’s condition remained critical. He came out of surgery to be placed in Intensive Care. At the hospital, Charlie Baldwin kept DI Rose up to date until she told him not to call unless there was any change. If so, contact her immediately.
The Homicide detectives split into teams studying cases handled by their injured DI, trying to find someone with the motive to do him harm. This was no easy task. Richelieu joined Homicide years ago and most of his current colleagues only arrived in recent times. DI Rose left Homicide before Richelieu joined but had now re-joined the squad.
Billy Hughes was around when the Frenchman joined but she was currently on a mix of baby-sitting and suicide watch. When Jo went to the loo, Hughes stepped outside and rang DI Rose.
‘She’s under major stress, ma’am.’
‘Has she confessed? Did she attack him?’
‘No confession and I’ve no idea what she did or didn’t do.’
‘There’s no change with Pierre. Can you get back in here? Your knowledge of his previous cases will help.’
‘I could but I’m still not certain how safe it is to leave her.’
Billy shocked Rose. ‘Not safe? You mean she’s suicidal?’
‘More like super depressed. They were more than colleagues.’
‘I knew it. She swore otherwise. She lied to me and defied me.’
Hughes tried to calm her boss. ‘Not so fast, ma’am.’
Rose was in a rage and on a roll. ‘That alone will finish her and if she’s involved in Pierre’s attack, God help her.’
Hughes was in a spin. ‘So what do you want me to do, ma’am?’
Rose couldn’t bring herself to cut Jo loose. Her voice dropped. ‘Keep an eye on her. Ring me in an hour.’
Hughes heard Jo moving inside and joined her.
‘Tell the DI what she wanted to hear?’ asked Jo flopping on her sofa.
Hughes didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Latest news is DI Richelieu is out of surgery but in Intensive Care.’
The look on Jo’s face told Hughes all she wanted to know. Both of them thought this could end badly.
Chapter 30
THERE WAS NO NEED FOR JO to tell her family and friends about DI Richelieu’s accident. The media did it for her. True, a hit and run would always be newsworthy but when the victim’s a police officer abandoned in a critical condition, the item hit the headlines. And because Jo helped (read rescued) the injured man in France, her friends and family knew she’d be devastated. It really was big news.
When a journalist with a nose for a story got wind of a cop being breathalysed near the crime scene, the hunt was on.
The scoop came from a freelancer desperate for news. She sniffed around the crime scene, spoke to residents, pestered Traffic police, and scoured the Net for any
tweets, and Instagram and FB posts. Her imagination exploded. Her blog released the hounds.
Police impound officer’s vehicle found at hit and run crime scene.
It raised questions. Did it ever? But how did she know? Is it true? Who owned the vehicle? How could it be a hit and run if the vehicle involved didn’t run? One sensational claim opened Pandora’s box.
Hughes remained on duty in Jo’s flat, in part wanting to know if Jo was involved, but mainly to ensure she didn’t do herself a mischief. Jo’s phone rang. She saw the caller ID.
‘Good morning, Dr Chan. I gather you’ve heard the news?’
‘I’m so sorry, Jo. Forgive me for not taking your call earlier.’
It took Jo a few moments to understand his apology. So much happened last night. Then she twigged. ‘No problem, Michael.’
‘How are you and how is DI Richelieu?’
‘He’s in IC at St V’s and the prognosis is not good.’
‘God I’m so sorry. And you?’
She was touched by his genuine concern. ‘I’m fine, Michael. DS Hughes is with me here in my flat hoping I might drop my guard and confess to the attack on Pierre.’
‘What?’ Michael was aghast and Hughes angry. She glared at Jo who remained calm, surprising herself. Michael was intrigued. ‘What do you mean, confess to attacking Pierre? I heard it was a hit and run.’
‘It was and my car’s been damaged and impounded for forensic examination. How’s that for a tabloid exclusive?’
Michael was gobsmacked. ‘Your car?’
Hughes was unhappy. ‘That’s enough.’
Michael sounded desperate. ‘My God, Jo, how can I help?’
She softened, dropped the sarcasm as tears took their marks. ‘Just like you’ve done so many time before, Michael. Solve the case and get me out of this bloody mess.’ She wept, silently. Hughes observed.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said and ended the call. Jo dumped her phone.
‘What did he say?’ asked Hughes.
She mimicked him. ‘I’m on my way.’ She looked at her senior officer. ‘At least he’s one person who knows I was not involved in the attack on Pierre, even if, unbeliveably, my colleagues think otherwise.’