It was well after dark when I turned into my drive and realised with a slight sense of trepidation that I was being followed. The trepidation only intensified when my follower flashed a set of blue lights at me – something I’d done myself when I wanted to put the wind up someone, but I didn’t like being on the receiving end. Who the hell was it? Lance Cunningham? Did he think I was speeding in my own driveway? Or maybe it was Neville Wallace playing silly buggers?
I got out as the car doors opened. The passenger was a tall, hard-faced officer busily putting on his hat and adjusting his tie. He didn’t look familiar, but the tie was a worry, as was the folder in his hands. A man on a mission. He was trouble enough, but the driver was worse. Inspector Dougherty.
I got out and waited. Dougherty came up and loomed over me, as he tended to do.
‘Redpath,’ he said.
‘Boss.’
‘This is Sergeant Kurt Giddens,’ he said, indicating the other man.
We shook hands. It was like wrestling a set of Stilsons.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ I asked hopefully. There was always the possibility that there would be some pleasure involved, although I suspected – given the amount of extracurricular activity I’d been engaging in of late – it would be all theirs.
‘Chilly out here,’ said Dougherty.
‘Come in and I’ll put the kettle on.’
I unlocked the door and went in. As I turned on the light, I remembered Rupert. I prayed he’d have the decency to lie low.
No such luck. The little bastard popped his nose out of the teapot, scuttled across the bench, hit the floor and headed for the ceiling by way of a convenient wall. My visitors watched, drop-jawed, until he disappeared into the rafters.
‘Think we’ll skip the refreshments,’ said Dougherty.
Giddens didn’t say anything, but he looked like I’d just offered him a cup of arsenic. He gazed at my humble abode with an air of stern disapproval. The barn-raisers had done an amazing job, but a battered shack is still a battered shack, whatever way you look at it. My home had always been a modest affair, even before the tree fell on it.
‘Just give me a minute to light the fire,’ I said. ‘Get a bit of warmth happening.’
‘Don’t worry on our account,’ said Dougherty. ‘We won’t be staying long.’
‘Well at least have a seat,’ I said, sweeping some of the debris from the sofa. I touched the fabric; still relatively dry, amazingly. Dougherty sat down, but Giddens stood with his back to the non-existent fire. He wasn’t saying much, either with his mouth or his body. He had the appearance of one of those Aussie blokes who find it easier to crack a ball-bearing than a smile.
‘How’s suspension treating you?’ asked Dougherty.
‘Can’t complain. Been catching up on the home repairs.’
The wind picked up outside and rattled the plastic sheets on the windows. Possum’s HOME SWEET HOME sign wobbled and hit the floor with a crash.
‘Mind you, they’re mostly still at the planning stage,’ I expanded. ‘Had a tree fall on the house.’
Dougherty’s gaze shifted around the room, doubtless taking in the mismatched boards and beams, the temporary walls, the improvised handiwork.
‘They do that,’ he said. Then his voice took on a more pointed tone. Here we go, I thought. ‘Sergeant Giddens here is with Professional Standards Command.’ I may have died a little in the arse. Had they heard about my visit to remand? ‘He needs to give you a letter, ask a few questions.’
Giddens reached into the folder and came out with a fat yellow envelope. ‘We wanted to make sure you got this personally,’ he said. ‘It’s a statement giving official notice of the interview concerning the complaint that’s been made about your performance. The interview will be conducted in the Greendale station at nine am Wednesday week. I’ve also included contact details for the Victorian Police Association, who’ll accompany and support you, should you request it.’
He passed it over and I put it on the coffee table, unsure of the protocols for handling such a document. I’d never been suspended before. Was it like a birthday present? Was I meant to open it now or save it for later? My guests weren’t giving me any hints.
I stood up. ‘Right-oh. If that’s all then . . .’
‘No,’ said Dougherty. ‘It’s not all. I’ve got some questions myself. We’ve had another complaint, couple of complaints, actually. Sounds to me like you’ve been running round the countryside investigating Nash Rankin’s old cases. Surely that can’t be true?’
I sat back down.
‘Investigating?’ I replied with all the lightness I could muster. ‘I wouldn’t call it that. There may have been a bit of local banter here and there. I do live in this town. I have to engage with the locals. Word seems to have gotten round that I’ve been suspended. People are going to ask questions.’
Dougherty glanced at Giddens then turned back to me. ‘Sounds like more than local banter. You haven’t been accessing the LEAP database while under suspension, have you?’
The Law Enforcement Assistance Program? I shook my head, thanking the lord I’d hidden Vince’s files in the bottom drawer. If I was going to go down, I didn’t want to take him with me. I could only pray he’d been discreet, had obtained his information from trusted sources. I was confident he would have; despite the genial country cop vibe, Vince was a sharp operator. He was connected. He’d cruised the shark-infested waters of regional police politics for twenty years and hadn’t been eaten yet.
My visitors gave no indication they wanted to search the place. There’d been no mention of a warrant, no warnings issued. Not yet, anyway. This was just a shot across the bows.
I didn’t like that last question, though. The conversation was starting to feel like an interrogation. I wanted it over. I turned to Dougherty.
‘Can I ask who the complaint was from?’
‘You can ask.’
Giddens gave a sharp little smile. Kurt was a good first name for him.
‘Have you learned anything you’d like to share with us?’ continued Dougherty. ‘From all this banter with the local hayseeds, I mean. What are people saying about the Wycliff death?’
‘Not much, boss. They keep to themselves round here.’
Dougherty pinched the bridge of his nose then leaned forward, elbows on knees, feet spread.
‘I gotta tell you, Jesse – you’re skating on thin ice here. There are people who think we should never have taken you on. They said you were a wrecking ball. You got talents, sure, and you’re determined. You’re smart. But you’re dangerous. They said we got systems and procedures, and you’re the sort of person who ignores procedures, tears systems apart.’
He rose to his feet.
‘I wasn’t one of those people, I should add. I was willing to give you time to prove yourself. And like I said before, the night of the storm, you performed well. Really well. I was telling Sergeant Giddens about it on the way here. You rescued that woman from the river without concern for your personal safety. You spotted the truth about Raph Cambric’s murder in a way that most of us wouldn’t have in a million years. But sometimes you gotta hold your mouth and follow the rules. This isn’t the wild west – or the Northern Territory. We’ve got systems. Protocols. And you gotta work with ’em, woman. Otherwise they’ll chew you up and spit you out.’
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Dougherty put on his hat and moved towards the door. Giddens followed. Before the inspector disappeared into the darkness he caught my eye and fixed me with a slow-burning stare that gave me a hint of why he’d risen to the heights he had.
‘Are you hearing me, Jesse?’
‘I’m hearing you, boss.’
I stood on the verandah and watched them leave.
Somewhere in the night a bull bellowed.