Zoe could feel the vibration through her desk. She sensed Charlie glancing across at her every minute or so from his adjoining desk.
‘You right? Maybe give that jig you’re doing under the desk a rest,’ she said.
The vibration stopped. ‘Yeah. Look, sorry about earlier with the boss,’ said Charlie. ‘I should have just backed you up.’
‘No need to say sorry. Thrashing around theories—together—helps us get to the right results. Look, just forget about it and concentrate on getting the paperwork finalised on Dwayne Harley, okay?’
‘Yep, you’ve got it.’
Zoe copied the case folders from the archives and saved them in a folder she named ‘System Drivers’ on a USB drive. She put on her headphones and listened to the recorded Crime Stoppers calls from the Ben Jennings murder case in Frankston. There were two calls.
On the first, the caller sounded young and nervous. These two guys were having a blue outside the old Mechanics Institute building on the Nepean Highway, the caller said. I was walking towards the pub and they were coming towards me. I recognised the guy who got killed from when his photo was on the news. It was definitely him. At first they seemed to be getting along all right, but then they started to argue. The guy who got killed was saying ‘Aaron, ten grand is ten grand, and I need it back’. I kept walking. Might not mean anything, but…anyway, my missus said I should let you know. The caller didn’t leave a name or number. Zoe opened up the original case file. Hannah and Angus had visited the Mechanics Institute after the call and looked for CCTV cameras, but there was nothing in the vicinity. They did find footage from outside a hotel a hundred metres away showing Aaron Smyth and Ben Jennings walking towards the Institute. They concluded that the call was genuine and that the information was relevant to the case.
Zoe opened the recording of the second call. This one was from a male who sounded significantly older than the first caller. I was driving by and saw one of the people who lives in our street—Mica Street, Frankston—dropping something into another neighbour’s bin a few doors down from where he lives. It was bin night last night so all the bins were lined up on the footpath. Anyway, this guy’s bin didn’t look to be overflowing or anything when I drove past his house, so I thought that was odd he was disposing of rubbish in someone else’s bin. I don’t know the gentleman myself, but he lives at number seven. The bin he put something in was outside number twelve. Anyway, with all the trouble a few streets over with that ghastly murder, I thought I’d best let the police know. You know, just in case. Okay, that’s it. Zoe knew from reading the report that the call had come in after the local patrol had noticed, by chance, what looked like a smear of blood on the side of the bin and had found the bloodied t-shirt that linked Aaron to the murder.
In the case file, Zoe read that Angus and Hannah had interviewed everyone living in Aaron’s street to try to find the caller, without success. Every male denied having made the call.
When questioned, Aaron Smyth openly admitted owing the deceased man money, but denied they had argued about it. He also denied placing the bloody shirt in the neighbour’s bin.
She listened to both calls again. She could not hear any similarities in the voices. She pulled her headphones off and stood up, stretching her arms.
Charlie looked up at her. ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘It’ll be beer o’clock soon.’
Zoe gave him a half grin, dropping back into her chair. She reopened the other case file, the murder of Eric Drum a year later. As with the murder of Ben Jennings, there were two calls. The first seemed to be an elderly man, his voice crackling. I’ve never called about anything before, but I heard that Trevor Hill was…well, someone at the bowls club told me that this Trevor Hill fellow was, um,a hom-o-sex-ual and that the gentleman who died was apparently upset about it…That is all I know…All the best. My name is David Mc— Oh, I don’t suppose it matters what my name is. Anyway, all the best, cheerio.
Iain and Garry had been unable to locate the caller, despite contacting all the local bowling clubs and interviewing every member named David.
The second caller was male. He sounded middle-aged, and had a clipped English accent. Hello, my name is Mark Wilson…Yesterday, I was walking through the King Creek Bushland Reserve in Hastings when I saw a man with a shovel and a bag. It was about two in the afternoon, maybe two-thirty. Anyway, I thought he looked suspicious, so I stood behind a tree to watch what he was up to. He dug a shallow hole and buried a bag, then walked off with the shovel towards a street called Mariners Way. I didn’t go near where he’d dug the hole, but if you were to keep walking directly in from where the road ends and the reserve starts, it is about a hundred yards in, behind a spindly old eucalyptus…Not sure what it means, but I thought it proper to call…Okay, thanks. Goodbye.
Garry had made a note that they’d been unable to find anyone with the caller’s name, Mark Wilson, living locally.
Police searched the area the next morning and located the bag within two hours. It contained bloody clothes which had Eric Drum’s blood on them. DNA linked the clothes to Trevor Hill.
When Trevor Hill was first interviewed he denied being gay, although he admitted it once the detectives showed him the taunting emails from Eric. Trevor also denied burying the rubbish bag with bloody clothes in the forest.
‘Come on, Harry.’ Zoe got up from her desk and headed for the elevator.
Zoe and Harry walked a block up La Trobe Street to Flagstaff Gardens, on the fringe of the central business district. His tail waving high, Harry ignored the coos of people walking around him. As soon as they had left the building, Zoe put on her large dark sunglasses and removed Harry’s Service Dog vest, carrying it under her arm. She knew that it attracted too much attention when he wore it, with people soon starting to remember where they’d seen Zoe before. As soon as that happened, then the questions always started to flow.
Once they arrived at the gardens, Zoe said, ‘Free.’ Harry ran across the grass, sniffing the air, tail wagging. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled.
‘Hey Zoe, long time no speak,’ Rebecca Willis said, answering. Rebecca worked in the Forensics Department as an audio expert.
‘Hi Bec. How’s things at the audio lab?’
‘Good. Busy. When did you start back?’
‘Sunday, on a case right now. Hey, I’ve got a favour to ask. You got any free time?’
‘For you, I’ll find some. What are you looking at?’
‘I’m doing a review of some old cases and I wanted to get some voices from Crime Stoppers tapes analysed. I want to confirm that the callers on the tapes aren’t all the same person. The voices sound different, but I need to be sure.’
‘When do you need it by?’
‘Soon as you can.’
‘Okay, email me the files. I’ll try for Monday.’
‘One more thing. Can we keep this one quiet? It’s a hunch I’m chasing and I don’t want blowback.’
‘No drama. I’ll keep it off the books until I hear differently from you.’
‘Thanks, Bec. You’re a champ. I owe you.’