Sea Angel rocked about with the incoming high tide, her sides dipping on the swell. Ben stretched his legs out, enjoying the sensation. For a western suburbs’ boy, he did like being on the water. Not that his income was ever likely to result in him buying a boat unless it was a dinghy. For the past few hours he’d imagined owning such a beauty as this one.
But she belonged to Ellie, and Ellie came from a whole different demographic. As humble as she was about her family’s wealth, it was still a fact. And the mega rich didn’t play well with the average man.
His phone vibrated and he shook his head to clear the thoughts.
“Anything, Andy?” He’d left Andy in the car at the top of the road past the apartment block.
“I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Don’t you have an endless supply of those bars you call food?”
“Clearly not endless.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “Alright. You head home and I’ll stay for a bit longer.”
“Wait up. Taxi just stopped.”
All evening people had come and gone from the building, but still the empty apartment remained in darkness.
“And?”
“One eighty centimetres give or take. Caucasian male, blondish hair. Short top, shorts, bag over his shoulder. Looks chilled.”
“Don’t say chilled in your report.”
Andy laughed. “Looks calm. Better?”
“Slightly.”
“He has a key. Inside now. Taxi is gone.”
“See you in the morning, Andy.”
“It is morning. Two in the morning.”
For another half hour Ben fought a heavy tiredness. He drifted off for a few moments, jumping as a night bird flew past. The air had cooled, and he took a final swig from his water bottle. He trained binoculars on the dark apartment again.
The sliding door was open.
A car approached, and Ben turned the binoculars to the carpark as a black Alfa Romeo weaved into it, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle.
Dennis Connor. What the hell?
Ben stood, planting his feet wide to steady himself and looked up at the apartment. Someone was up there on the balcony, staring in the direction of the carpark. A man in dark clothing from head to foot. He couldn’t see his face and then, the man was gone.
After stepping onto the pier, Ben texted Andy. Need you back here. Ahead, a car door slammed. Hand on his holster, Ben worked his way to the bushes, then skirted the carpark until he had better visibility.
Dennis was at the bonnet of his car, swaying on his feet. He took his phone out and promptly dropped it. With a loud curse, he leaned down to retrieve it and lost balance, dropping onto his knees. Comical if he hadn’t just driven the streets of Melbourne in that condition.
Somehow upright again, Dennis lurched in the direction of a council rubbish bin. He leaned against it as he checked something on his phone, then reached inside.
Ben videoed on his phone as Dennis extracted a paper bag. Drugs? Money? He almost held his breath as Dennis opened it and peered in. His expression was one of pure confusion. He turned the bag upside down and white material fell out. A shirt.
Dennis stared at it on the ground. Ben lowered the phone, mind racing. The material he’d retrieved from the rocks where Fred Barlow was caught. It was shirt material. Quality. Dennis reached for it and Ben propelled himself into the carpark.
“Leave it, Dennis!”
“Whaa?”
“I’m identifying myself as Detective Ben Rossi. Do you understand me?”
With a frown, Dennis leaned forward for the material.
“I said to leave it. Stand up straight and put your hands behind your head!” Ben bellowed the command as he ran.
Dennis staggered back a step or two and lifted one hand. Behind him, Andy’s car pulled up across the entry to the carpark and he jumped out.
“Someone’s in that apartment, Andy. Get up there but be careful.”
Andy was back in the car in seconds, turning it in a tight circle before flooring it up the road.
Ben reached Dennis. He wrinkled his nose at the reek of alcohol emanating from the man. “Dennis, do you understand who I am?”
“Ben Rossi. Mr Policeman who likes my wife.” Dennis smirked. “Watcha doing here?”
“More to the point, what are you doing here? Answer carefully, no more of your smart mouth.”
Camera out again, Ben took shots of the shirt, crumbled on the ground.
“My shirt.”
“Are you identifying this as belonging to you, Dennis?”
“Huh? Sure.”
“Car keys.” Ben held his hand out.
After checking every pocket, Dennis pointed at the car. “Might go home now.” He took a few steps and slowly sank onto the ground.
Ben strode to the car and took the keys from the ignition. His own car was parked two blocks away, complete with his breathalyser.
“How much have you had to drink?” he squatted beside Dennis, examining his eyes.
“A glass of champagne with my lady.”
“With Meredith Bannerman?”
“Maybe. Why are you staring at me?”
“Working out if you need an ambulance, Dennis. Bit more than one glass.”
“And we had some red wine. And some white. And then, a whiskey or two.”
“Why did you think it was a good idea to drive?”
Dennis frowned and reached for an inside pocket.
“Stop. Keep both hands where I can see them.” Ben checked Dennis’ pockets. Phone, wallet, a set of keys. “What’s on the phone?”
“Had a call. Was in bed but thought it might be Jack. Miss him, you know.”
Sure you do.
“Wasn’t Jack.”
“Who called?”
“Said he was a friend. Said I had to find a bag in the bin here and it would lead to Jack.” Dennis lay on his side. “Go away.”
Ben’s phone vibrated. “Where are you?”
“On my way back.” Andy sounded puffed. “Apartment was wide open but empty. Just missed him, sorry.”
“I’ll call it in. Bring your breathalyser. And the biggest evidence bag you have.”