I wait until I hear the front door to the station close before I walk out of my office. Constable Wickie is staring after Mr. Kemp as he gets into his car.
“Thoughts?” I ask her.
“He’s really doing it tough.”
“Not about him personally, but about his predicament.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m going to go for a ride out to Mr. Graham’s and later to Mr. Kemp’s. You can come with me.”
Grace nods her head vigorously, reminding me of one of the bobblehead dolls you stick on the dashboard in your car.
I frown at her and walk back to my office. She’s so bloody eager. Don’t they teach them anything at the academy these days? Grace grew up around here, where nothing much happens—we have the occasional murder, domestic violence, and the normal petty theft that happens in all towns—yet she’s always looking for the happy ever after and, let’s face it, sometimes it doesn’t exist.
I flop down into my chair and go over the messages on my desk. Opening my top drawer, I take out my hay fever meds and pop two into my mouth and swallow. The local publican wants to talk to me face-to-face, the high school has a career day they’d like me to participate in, and the fire station has been graffitied again and the chief want to talk to me about it.
“Grace!” I yell.
Her quick footsteps pound on the floorboards before she appears in my doorway.
“Yes, boss?”
“Who rang from the fire station?”
“Tommy.”
“Have they cleaned it up yet?” I ask.
“Tommy said they were leaving it for you so you could take your—and I quote—‘bloody photos.’ But he didn’t sound that pissed off.”
“Well, at least they’ve left it alone this time. Makes it harder for us to build a file if they paint over it before we get the pictures. If we manage to catch the little fuckers in the act, I want to nail them for every one they’ve done.”
“I know, boss.”
“Right. I’m off to see them. Tell me Harry isn’t on today.”
Harry is the station officer on call most days. He’s a hard arse and he doesn’t like me, as I dated his daughter for all of five minutes a year ago. Melinda was looking for the ring, but as much as I liked her, she wasn’t the one for me.
“No, boss. He’s out of town teaching at a rural community.”
I grin at her. “There is a God.”
Grace smiles. “I think it’s Rodney who’s station officer while he’s away.”
I stand. “Good. I have my phone and you can get me on the radio if anything happens. I’m thinking it’ll go one of two ways over the next few days: the towns folk will all be so hot that nothing happens, or the heat will drive them mad. When Senior Constable Jordan starts his shift, we’ll head out to Mr. Graham’s and see what we can see.”
Grace nods as I move past her. “You take something for your hay fever?”
I give her a thumbs up and continue outside. Everything looks dusty and the wind feels like it’s picked up. Great. I look up at the sky and see dark clouds on the horizon. Looks like rain but doesn’t feel like rain.
The fire station is only a few blocks down, but I still drive. When I get there, I pop the boot of my car and get out the camera. I’m taking pictures of what I think is a woman giving a blowjob to a fire truck. It’s done in a multitude of colours and the artist isn’t the best in the world, but I’ve seen worse.
“Hey, Adam!”
I turn around and find Tommy lumbering toward me. I give him a wave and take a couple more pictures then head toward him.
“Thanks for not painting over it,” I say.
“You’re lucky Harry is away. He’d be pissed I left it up as long as I did.”
“Yeah, well if Harry keeps painting over them before I’ve seen them, how am I supposed to arrest someone for it?”
“I know, I know,” replies Tommy holding up his hands.
“Feel free to paint over it now.”
“Any idea who’s doing it?”
“No, but we’ll catch whoever it is. I have my ways.”
Tommy grins. “Harry will want to tar and feather them if he catches them. You know that, right?”
“Harry will have to stand down on that one. Anyway, I’m off.”
Tommy shakes my hand and I go back to my car.
The local hardware store is at the far end of town on the main street. I drive to it, waving at the locals along the way, and go inside. There are no customers in the store, only the casual sales assistant sitting on his arse watching TV. As I get closer to him, he glances my way then straightens up and turns off the TV.
“Sergeant,” he offers by way of a greeting.
“G’day. I was wondering who was working yesterday?”
“I was.”
Putting on my best police face and voice, I ask, “And you are?”
“John Carpenter.”
“You worked here long, John?” I ask, even though I know the answer. He’s the owner's nephew.
“Three years, on and off.”
I nod and purse my lips. “You sell any spray paint yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” John repeats, his voice going up an octave.
“Who’d you sell the paint to, John?”
John looks at the floor and shakes his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. You’ll have to come with me then.”
“What?” John squeaks.
“You heard me. It’s called aiding and abetting, and it’s a crime.” For effect, I place one hand on my gun and the other on my handcuffs. John’s eyes bulge out of his head.
“I sold some paint to some high school kids. I don’t know their names. One of them had a homemade tattoo of a cross on his hand,” replies John in a rush.
“That’s more like it. No more selling them paint, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I nod but don’t smile, then walk out of the hardware store and back to my car, where I get on the radio to Grace.
“This is Sergeant Shaw.”
“Copy that, Sergeant,” says Grace
“I’m on my way to the high school.”
“Copy.”
The high school consists of three 2-storey buildings and two demountables. The administration building is at the front of the school, red bricks with white trim. I walk up the path and into it. I’ve been here numerous times as part of community awareness. The receptionist, Mary, greets me as I enter. She’s been here for as long as anyone can remember. Mary’s in her late seventies but looks like she’s in her forties. She’s always very well groomed and I’m sure the school would fall apart without her.
“Mary, you’re looking as lovely as ever,” I say genuinely.
“Oh, Adam, you smooth talker, you,” replies Mary as she fusses with her hair. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’m looking for a student, male, with a cross tattooed on his hand.”
“Oh, that’s one of the O’Brien boys—Gareth, I think. Hang on, let me check.” Mary begins tapping on her computer keyboard, her brow creasing as she frowns. “Yes, that’s him. He’s in the Hawke building, room fifteen. The teacher is Gretel Dark.”
“Thanks, Mary. I owe you.”
Mary grins and blushes. “Nonsense! The O’Briens are bad stock. That father of theirs…” Mary shakes her head.
I wave to her then walk toward the Hawke building.
I open the door to the classroom and every pair of eyes comes to me.
“Miss Dark?”
“Yes?”
“May I speak to you for a moment?”
Gretel Dark is in her late thirties wears thick glasses and, from the frown her face, she’s not happy that I’m interrupting her class.
“Class, continue on with chapter five and no talking,” she says firmly.
I take a few steps away from the room and Miss Dark joins me.
“Yes?” she asks impatiently.
“I’m looking for Gareth O’Brien. Could you please ask him to come out here?”
“Why?”
“Police business,” I state.
Gretel Dark frowns and gives me a look of distaste but walks back inside her classroom.
“Gareth, please come here.”
A young man of about fourteen comes out. One side of his head is shaved and his dislike of me is emanating off him like a forcefield. Miss Dark closes the door and leaves us alone in the corridor.
“What?” asks Gareth.
“Gareth, I’m Sergeant Adam Shaw. I’m here to talk to you about the graffiti at the fire station.”
Gareth puts his hands behind his back and shrugs. It’s an obvious giveaway that he’s hiding something.
“Want to show me your hands?”
Gareth shrugs.
“Show me your hands,” I repeat forcefully.
Gareth slowly brings them to the front and they are covered in overspray.
“Something you want to tell me, Gareth?”
“No.”
I grab him by the upper arm and walk him back to the office. Mary looks up from her desk and frowns at him, shaking her head.
“What have you done now?” asks Mary.
“Nothin’,” replies Gareth.
Mary looks at me. “Are you taking him, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Mary. Can you please give me his parents’ details?”
“No point. They never answer their phones.”
“I still need it,” I reply.
Mary hands me a slip of paper, having already found the information for me. It’s obvious she dislikes the O’Briens and has little regard for them.
“Thanks, Mary.” I smile at her and escort Gareth to my car.
Opening the back door, I gesture for him to get in.
“Don’t you want to cuff me?”
“I think I can risk it,” I reply with a smirk.
Gareth says nothing on the trip back to the station. When we pull up out front, Constable Wickie is waiting outside.
As I get out of the car, she opens the back door. “What do we have here?” she asks in a stern voice.
“I believe young Gareth O’Brien here is our graffiti artist.”
“To the cells with him then?” Wickie asks sternly.
“To the interrogation room,” I reply.
Wickie smiles knowingly at me. “A much better idea, Sergeant.”
Gareth looks so nervous that I think he’s about to vomit. I roughly grab him by the arm and escort him inside. Once we get into the room, I shove him toward a chair and he sits down.
“Did I tell you, you could sit down?” I yell.
Gareth immediately stands.
“Did I tell you to stand?” I yell louder and Gareth jumps, knocking over the chair.
“Empty your pockets!”
Gareth fumbles but eventually empties all of his pockets. As he does, a joint falls out onto the table. His face goes white as he looks at it, his eyes wide, he locks gazes with me.
“Where did you get that from?” I ask.
Gareth shrugs and looks at the floor.
In a softer tone, I say, “Gareth, cooperate with me and I can make sure the magistrate goes easy on you.”
Gareth glances up at me. “Don’t you have to call my parents?”
“I can. I will. But let's get this deal done before I do. Did you graffiti the fire station?” Because he’s a minor, it’s procedure to call either his parents or welfare, but it’s a small town and sometimes I bend the rules.
“Can I sit down, please?”
“Yes, son, take a seat.”
Gareth rights the chair and sits down. I raise my eyebrows at him and he looks at the table top in front of him.
“Yeah, it was me that did the fire station.”
“And the marijuana?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t be coy, son. Where’d you get it?”
When Gareth doesn’t respond I pound on the table and he jumps.
“Where!” I shout.
“There’s a new fella in town, sir. We buy off him at the back of the Royal Hotel. He’s there most Wednesdays. Calls himself Robbo.”
I stand and walk out of the room.
Constable Wickie has been watching our little exchange in the next room.
“I know who he’s talking about. I’ve seen him at the pub; thinks of himself as a bit of a looker. Cracks onto anything in a skirt,” Wickie says.
“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.