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I left Vicki and called Paul’s mobile. It rang for a moment, then I hung up, realising I didn’t know exactly what to say. I wasn’t prepared to swoop in and confront him, and had no plan, and by not calling him, I kept the upper hand.
I called Constable Hunter’s mobile and it went through to her voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me as soon as she could, then drove to the Sussex police station and did a drive by, but didn’t see a squad car in the driveway, nor any other signs of life.
My phone rang, and when I answered, a woman’s voice came on that I didn’t recognise straight away.
She asked if she could meet me at the Shoalhaven Entertainment Centre, no questions asked. She asked if I could be there in an hour, and I finally put a name to the voice—Amanda Hotchkiss. I had trouble changing my focus from the matter at hand, and when I told her I’d be tied up, she said she had to tell me something important about Rob, and rang off.
I texted Constable Hunter and said I’d be around the police station after four, and drove back into Nowra as large cumulous clouds gathered and covered the western sky. By the time I pulled into the car park of the Entertainment Centre, most of the light was gone and a light rain sprayed the windscreen.
At the far end of the car park, the thin frame of Amanda Hotchkiss appeared, wearing a jacket and business skirt, hugging herself against the gusty southerly. She appeared to be one of those women who always felt the cold.
I parked close to her.
She leaned into the rain, trotted over, and climbed into the passenger side. She rubbed her hands together, which were shaking violently, and didn’t look at me when she spoke. ‘I’m still pissed off at you, but I didn’t know who else to talk to. I think I’m next.’
‘What?’
‘I heard about George. I have to tell you something. They were both responsible and so was I.’
‘Are you talking about Rory Green?’
She nodded, then suddenly took in a gulp of air and started crying. Her shoulders shook and her mouth opened in anguish. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.
I let her get it out for a moment.
She sat back up, sniffed, and rubbed her eyes with her hands. ‘Rory waved at us. He waved at us!’ She started crying again.
I opened the glove box to take out some tissues, and handed them to her.
She wiped her face. ‘Rob threw him on the ground. I told him to stop, that I wanted to go home, but he didn’t listen. He had this look in his eyes. I’d never seen anything like it. He wanted to hurt Rory. I don’t know if I could have stopped him.’
I remained silent. The incident on the beach had obviously played on her mind the past year.
‘I think Paul Green is going to kill me,’ she said. ‘I think he’s getting revenge for what we did to his son.’
‘Did you do anything? Did you hurt Rory?’
She shook her head. ‘But that makes it worse. I just stood there and watched. I didn’t do a bloody thing.’
‘You were in a very bad situation, Amanda. I’m guessing the beach was empty apart from Rory, am I right?’
She nodded.
‘Amanda, Rob was a coward. A bully. He wouldn’t have risked touching Rory if there were witnesses.’
She took another two tissues and blew her nose. ‘I’m the fucking coward. A pathetic shithead of a coward.’
‘Were you the person who drive Rory to hospital?’
She nodded. ‘It was the least I could do. As much as Paul Green is an arsehole, I owed it to Rory. I told his mum we were responsible. This was before he died. I couldn’t live with it. She needed to know what happened. I could have done something—screamed, or yelled, or pulled Rob away... I don’t know.’
I swallowed hard. ‘What did they do?’
‘Rob got his dog all worked up. It was something he did at home all the time. The dog wasn’t neutered. Rob yelled and jumped and played with the dog. He told George to sit on Rory’s back, so George pinned Rory’s arms down with his knees, like a wrestler, you know? Then Rob pulled Rory’s pants down, and George pulled his cheeks apart. I didn’t want to watch after that. I can still hear Rory in my head. I can hear him screaming, ‘No! No!’’
She started crying again. ‘They just left him there. He was so scared, and crying for his mum. What was I supposed to do? I told Rob off and took Rory to the hospital, but I couldn’t go in. Not because I was scared, I just couldn’t go in with him. He just sat there and cried for his mum. I think he was in shock, because he didn’t look at me. I pulled him out of the car and walked him to the emergency room doors, and then I took off. I think Rory told Paul I took him to the hospital. I think that’s why I think he’s coming for me.’
For all her failings and obvious vices, Amanda had a conscience.
‘I think I can help you,’ I said. ‘I’ll need some time. Let me call some people. Go home. It’s all you can do. Take some time off work.’
I asked for her mobile number, and stored it in my phone.
She composed herself and finally climbed out, shut the door, and walked away.
For some unknown reason, a wave of paranoia swept over me. What if Vicki had told Paul about our talk in her office? It would blow everything apart. The wind howled and the rain pattered against the windows.
I had no option but to meet with Michael Le Mat.
I killed an hour at a pub called The Hawthorne, then found my way to Mothman’s Gym. Situated on a corner block west of the Pacific highway, the dark brown building featured the usual thing you see of urban gyms, including large display windows to parade the toned flesh of its patrons. I parked the ute in a small car park on its southern side, grabbed my gym gear, and went in.
I got changed, then strolled over to the equipment. Only three women occupied the whole gym, a number I expected to grow as 6:00 drew near and office workers rushed the row of orbital trainers.
Michael entered just before 6:00, wearing a singlet and shorts, tattoos adorning his arms. He went straight to the bench press and loaded up the barbell with an amount of weight I felt sure he’d never be able to lift. He got under it and managed twelve smooth repetitions with no signs of the shakes.
It surprised me. I worked on a selection of machines and, as I moved on, I met his eyes and made the approach. ‘Michael Le Mat?’
He nodded slightly.
‘I’m Kowalski. Your father arranged for us to meet.’
He slipped out from under the barbell and straightened up. ‘You the bloke hassling my woman?’
‘I wouldn’t say hassling, exactly. I was just asking her some questions.’
‘Leave her the fuck alone.’
‘Look, I’m here to help. I know the police are after you. Tell me where you were on the night Rob Demich was killed.’
He hesitated. ‘I’ll talk to you, but not here.’
He got up and signaled for me to follow.
My hackles went up. Personally, I preferred the brightly lit gym—plenty of witnesses—but I reluctantly followed him.
We slipped out the sliding glass doors to the car park. The sky had darkened and the rain had eased.
I felt a jab at my side and turned my head.
Philip Le Mat held a black Glock 19 against my abdomen. ‘Come on, Kowalski, I think we need to make a move, eh?’ He pushed me towards a Statesman parked nearby.
Michael opened the back door and Philip manhandled me into the back seat. Once in, the door slammed, and Philip walked around and got in the back seat beside me. He aimed the gun at my gut.
Michael got behind the wheel, and just like that, we started to drive back towards Nowra.
Despite what you’ve seen in the movies, you don’t crack jokes when a gun is pointed at you. It is petrifying, and all you are anticipating is the red-hot feel of a bullet ripping through your body—fired intentionally or not.
I smelled bourbon on Philip’s breath as we continued west. They hadn’t told me otherwise, and just to stir the air, I decided to break the silence. ‘Michael, we need to talk about the night of Rob’s murder.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Michael said over his shoulder. ‘I wasn’t even there.’
‘Did you and Rob get into a scrap over distribution territory?’
Philip elbowed me in the side. ‘Just shut up, dickhead. You don’t get it. Michael’s being stitched up.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
Philip’s jaw flexed but he remained silent.
I felt happy to have hit a nerve.
We drove through a steady stream of peak hour traffic, the red brake lights of the opposing traffic snaking along the highway.
I looked around for cars following us but didn’t see anything. I tried another tact. ‘Or were you two lover boys fighting over Amanda?’
‘Keep your fucking mouth shut or Dad’ll put a fucking bullet in you.’
I glanced at Philip, and he smiled sideways, eager for the opportunity.
‘You’re not going to shoot me for talking too much,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that a bit Hollywood gangster, even for you? I mean, what are we doing here? I have information. You have information. It’s best we work together.’
Michael produced a cigarette from somewhere and lit it with a Bic lighter, then rolled down his window an inch and blew the smoke out. ‘The cops want you to think Rob was a fuckin’ louse,’ he said out the side of his mouth. ‘They want you to think he was a liar and drug runner and all that shit, but Rob was a target.’
‘Who targeted him?’
He took a long drag and blew smoke out the window.
Philip looked at me incredulously. ‘Who do you fuckin’ think? The same psychopath who stalks Michael day in and day out. Paul Green.’
‘Sergeant Green stalks you? That’s a strong word.’
‘He fuckin’ stalks all of us,’ Philip said. ‘I could get that cunt on harassment, intimidation, and perverting the course of justice. It’s not the same for everyone, all right? They say everyone has the same rights, the same protection, but that’s bullshit. No one here gives a shit about us, all right? We could kill each other in the street and no one bats a fuckin’ eyelid. You look at Jill Meagher. Everyone was up in arms about her, but did anyone give a shit about Rob? My arse, they did. He’s a drug dealer and gets his head bashed in, who cares? Good riddance to bad trash is what they are saying.’
Michael took a long drag and exhaled slowly. His eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. ‘And where do you fit in?’
‘What do you mean, Michael?’
‘Are you on his books?’
‘Cut it out, Mickey,’ Philip said. ‘Don’t get fuckin’ paranoid.’
‘It’s not fuckin’ paranoia if it’s fuckin’ true.’
I let that slip for the moment. ‘You said Paul Green was stalking you. How?’
‘Me and Michael both,’ Philip said. ‘It’s the reason Michael got out of fuckin’ Sussex. He couldn’t take a shit without Paul Green knowing about it.’
‘Have you got something going on with him? He got something against you?’
‘He hasn’t got shit on me,’ said Michael.
‘They found your phone at the crime scene, Michael. That’s pretty damning evidence.’
‘What fucking phone?’ He looked genuinely confused.
‘Black Samsung Galaxy five. Ring a bell?’
‘I lost that phone, you dickhead.’
‘Oh, you lost it. Convenient.’
‘Mate, I lost it months ago. I’ve got an iPhone seven now. You can check with the fuckin’ phone company how long I’ve had it.’
‘What are you saying, Michael? That you lost your phone, someone found it, and planted it at a murder scene?’
‘How the fuck should he know?’ Philip said. ‘He’s telling the fucking truth. I was there when he bought the new one.’
‘And besides all that,’ Michael said. ‘I was in fuckin’ Randwick when Rob got wasted, okay?’
Finally, some interesting intel.
We approached a set of lights on the Princes Highway and caught the red.
A soccer mum with three kids pulled up alongside us and completely ignored us. To her, we were just three guys, driving around all chummy-like.
The lights changed and Michael drove across the highway and into a small suburban street in a quiet neighbourhood.
I eyed the gun, which Philip held steady against my abdomen. The gun told me the Le Mats had cash and were most likely distributing across the far south coast. The Coalition spent $100 million dollars on customs screening to try to reduce the number of illegal guns coming into the country. I’d read that police intercepted two hundred Glocks through an Australian post sub-agency.
Apparently, this one slipped through.
We meandered and zigzagged through unfamiliar suburban streets. I did my best to take note of the street signs. We came to the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, where a driveway led up to a dirt road, which petered out to large expanse of forest-lined reserve.
We got out, and Michael walked me to the front of the car.
Philip kept the gun aimed at me but held it at hip level.
Michael gestured with his hand. ‘Give us your phone.’
Amanda must have told him about the photos I’d taken at the Entertainment Centre car park, which inclined Michael to eradicate the risk of me having leverage over him. I didn’t particularly shine to the idea of Michael Le Mat possessing my phone, and with it my private inquiry licence. I wasn’t prepared to let him hold something so hard earned.
‘No,’ I said.
Michael must have made a signal because Philip approached me.
I tensed my muscles, and saw a chance. I grabbed Philip’s left hand and rolled it back on itself.
He immediately twisted away and dropped to his knees.
I rammed my knee into the side of his head and heard the clack of his jaw shutting.
He grunted and the gun spun out of his hand.
I held his arm up, exposing his torso, and kicked him hard in the ribs.
He choked on his breath and moaned.
I twisted his arm and he cried out and obediently rolled over. I let him go, and he nursed his shoulder while I bent and retrieved the Glock.
Michael stood frozen to the spot with a dumbfounded look on his face. No doubt, he wasn’t used to seeing his father in such a subordinate position.
I shrugged. ‘Sorry, but I’m an opportunist. If I see a chance for the upper hand, I’ll take it.’
I offered Philip a hand up and received a curt ‘Fuck off’ for my effort.
He staggered to his feet with a series of groans and grunts. ‘You busted something, you fuckin’ cunt.’ His right shoulder was more lopsided than the other.
I levelled the gun at Michael, and he focused on me.
‘If either of you give me any shit,’ I said, ‘this goes to the federal police. I don’t think you want that. So be smart. And I definitely know you don’t want Sergeant Paul Green investigating the history and who’s importing these for you.’
‘You can tell that fuckin’ cunt anything you fuckin’ want,’ Philip said and spat on the grass. ‘He’s got it in for Michael anyway.’
‘Why has he?’
‘Because that spastic son of his used to rat us out to the principal.’
‘You’re talking about Rory?’
‘Who the fuck do you think we’re talking about, genius?’
I met Michael’s eyes. ‘You asked me if I was on Green’s payroll. What did you mean by that?’
‘I’m not telling you shit, you fuckin’ prick.’
I had about as much as I could take. I was sick of reasoning with black marketeers, and on the balance of personal rectitude, I liked to think I still came out on top in that regard.
I strode up to him, pressed the barrel of the gun into his cheek, grabbed his rat’s tail, and forced him to his knees. ‘Tell me what the fuck you mean or I’ll run your nose out through the back of your fucking skull!’
He started breathing hard. ‘Jesus Christ! It’s nothing! I thought you were working for him. I thought he was paying you to come after me and stitch me up for the fucking murder. Paul took my phone, when he arrested me three weeks ago, when me and Rob ripped up the Tavern. Paul booked me and took my fuckin’ phone!’
I let him go and he fell back. Everything he said confirmed one of my theories. Paul Green must have planned the whole thing—take Michael’s mobile phone, kill Rob, and plant the mobile phone.
I pulled out my phone and tried Constable Hunter’s mobile. This time she answered, but before I could get a word in, she said she wanted to talk about my pathetic witness statement, my conduct from last night, and the many glaring holes in my recount of what had occurred. I asked her to bring a paddy wagon due to an imminent situation, and she continued to speak over me about my reckless cowboy attitude.
‘Will you shut up for a minute?’ I said. ‘I’ve got Michael and Philip Le Mat in front of me. At gun point.’
She asked me to repeat what I said, and I did.
‘Why haven’t you called homicide?’ she said.
‘Because I trust you,’ I said. ‘And I have a very strong suspicion someone framed Michael for Rob’s murder. I’ve got a direct line to who did it, but I need you to come down here.’ I gave her the name of the street Michael had driven down.
I ignored the duo’s pointed barbs and death stares, and after a tense fifteen minutes, immense relief settled in when a paddy wagon appeared on the street.
Philip shot me an evil eye that I wouldn’t forget for a long time.
‘You piece of shit,’ he muttered. ‘You gave your fuckin’ word, Kowalski.’
Constable Hunter climbed out of the paddy wagon, put her hand on the butt of her pistol, and directed me to drop the weapon.
I showed her the Glock, then slowly bent down and placed it on the grass.
As Constable Hunter came around, Philip lunged for her. He had mass over her but she had training. After a clumsy scuffle, she soon had him pinned face down on the grass with her knee embedded into his middle back. She handcuffed him, walked him to the back of the wagon, unlocked the door, and marched him in.
I kept my eye on Michael as I heard the door shut and lock.
When she came back, she got Michael on his feet and searched him.
‘Call my fuckin’ lawyer,’ Michael said. ‘His name’s Fabian Poulos.’
‘You’ll have your chance to consult with your lawyer at the station,’ Sue said.
‘You have to call him. He can tell you where I was the night Rob was killed. Here.’ Michael held his arms out to his sides and twisted his body around. ‘Pull out my wallet. His card’s there, Poulos and Kennedy. Call him now.’
I pulled out his wallet, found the crumpled business card forced into one of the sleeves, and shoved the wallet back into Michael’s back pocket.
‘He’s expecting a call,’ Michael said.
I told Constable Hunter that I had a strong lead in the Demich case, and talking to Michael’s lawyer would be beneficial to Michael in the first instance.
‘Bugger me,’ she said. ‘All right, do what you have to do. I’ll keep an eye on this one.’
I took out my phone and dialed the number.
A voice answered after two rings. ‘Fabian Poulos.’
‘Mister Poulos, my name’s Kowalski. I’m a private detective. I’ve been told you know of Michael Le Mat’s whereabouts on the night of the eleventh. I have an officer in my presence willing to arrest your client unless you provide something compelling right now.’
‘Michael wasn’t in any way involved in the murder of Robert Demich. I can provide you with some information that will place my client at another location entirely.’
‘And what would that information be?’
‘I’ll need your word you won’t place my client under arrest. He’s been a victim of extenuating circumstances.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe there are forces acting against my client. However, I’m not in a position to discuss this over an open line.’
‘Then the officer will place your client under arrest and refer him to the homicide detectives. The charge of murder will be a certainty.’
I heard Poulos take a breath and I sensed his weariness over the line.
‘Do not arrest him,’ the attorney said. ‘On the night of the murder, Michael Le Mat was in Randwick negotiating the sale of sixty thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine.’
‘You’re telling me you have known criminals willing to testify they were selling narcotics?’
‘At best. At worst, I’ve got unreliable witnesses and one undercover police operative who may have connections to those forces conspiring against my client.’
‘You’re overreaching,’ I said, but believed his words.
‘Listen, I don’t know how far I can go with this. I’m working out of a granny flat. I haven’t got a cent to my name. I don’t have the firepower to take on these guys. If I go up against an institution this powerful, and I think you know what I’m alluding to, they are going to steamroll me. I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell, and these guys couldn’t give a flying fuck. I’ll be blackballed, with my name dragged through the mud. Either way, Michael’s going to jail.’
‘Say I take you at your word. I have a theory, but I’m not quite there. I’m going to pass the phone to Michael. Tell him he needs to talk to me.’
I put the phone to Michael’s ear and he listened. I watched as he appeared to shrink inside himself, not dissimilar to a snail reacting to salt.
He shuffled his feet and looked at me like a scolded child. ‘Fabian’s right. I was waiting on some coke to come down from Queensland. I was up in Sydney sorting the distribution.’
‘Those are serious charges, Michael,’ Sue said, resting her hands on her belt.
Michael shrugged. ‘And I’ll deal with it.’
Sue stepped forward with her left hand raised, palm out, and her right hand on the grip of her pistol. ‘I’m going to ask you to turn around and lean against the car for me. Spread your legs and put your arms behind your back.’
‘What’s going on?’ he said.
‘I’m placing you under arrest.’
Michael looked at me incredulously. ‘You promised you weren’t going to arrest me.’
I shrugged sympathetically. ‘I’m not arresting you.’
Sue removed the handcuffs from her belt, and Michael allowed himself to be handcuffed.
She said, ‘I’m arresting you for the possession of an illicit narcotic.’
‘Listen, Michael,’ I said. ‘I know someone who can help, a lawyer named Reggie Cash. I’ll have him talk to Fabian, and maybe they can work things out.’
‘From one liar to another,’ Philip called out from the back of the paddy wagon.
I let that one go.
Constable Hunter read Michael his rights, led him to the back of the wagon, and loaded him up.
His face showed a mixture of disbelief and anger toward me.
I walked up to the driver’s side window and knocked.
Constable Hunter wound it down a fraction.
‘Any chance of a lift?’ I said. ‘I was at Mothman’s Gym when these stooges kidnapped me.’
She scoffed. ‘Not a chance, Matt. Not with two prisoners aboard. I need to get them to the station.’
I indicated my gym shorts and tank top. ‘My clothes are back there.’
‘Call a cab.’ She started the wagon, backed out, and drove away.
I contemplated my next step. Now that a slim possibility remained of Le Mat being charged with Rob’s murder, I had to work out a way to bring down a superior police officer. Despite her leaving me in the lurch, I wasn’t prepared to jeopardise Constable Hunter’s career, so I thought the less she knew, the better. That would only lead to further complications and more resources being brought in, which meant time and money.
Paul had lost a son, and now he faced losing his wife. A man in that situation could easily tip over the edge, and in all likelihood, if I didn’t find Paul, Vicki Pearce could be dead, and Constable Sue Hunter would forever be labelled a turncoat by the force and, most likely, lose her job.
I considered Michael’s Statesman. Under the law, I was looking at an impounded vehicle, and there I was stuck untold kilometres from my car with a known killer up to who knew what. Given the circumstances, I had no other option.
I got in the Statesman, drove it back to the gym, locked it up, got changed, then gunned my ute back toward the inlet. The clock was ticking and I had to find Sergeant Paul Green.
