AFTER THE ROBBERY, BRUNO’S night was long, involving a detailed statement at the station followed by a doctor coming in to fix the two-inch gash in his scalp. Someone patched him up back at the bank, but he needed proper stitches after the fact. The doctor told him it was either shrapnel or a near-miss from a bullet. Afterwards, Bruno slipped away to an empty meeting room and crashed.
In his sleep, he saw dark visions.
The bank manager and blood splatter.
Giant pools of water filled with broken glass.
A woman cut in two through the shoulders.
Then: Lana Cohen standing over him saying, ‘Easy now. Easy.’
Bruno is lost. ‘Where am I?’
She helps him up. ‘You’re still at the station. You’re in the meeting room. It’s morning.’
‘Is this the old Diablo homicide room?’
‘Yeah. Come on, let’s get you out of here.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ she says, smiling. ‘It’s different now.’ But then Lana stops smiling and brings her face closer, her eyes studying his. ‘I think you need something to eat.’
They’re back at the building society by 8.30 am, for a proper walk-through with the Robbery Squad. The footpath outside the bank is taped off but there’s people all around. Half the squad are still on shift. Their eyes track Bruno as he steps inside. He’s the guy who met their prey. He’s the guy who could have closed the case, but didn’t.
The room smells of petrol and death. Moisture lingers.
Lana stays close. ‘The bodies are gone,’ she says.
Bruno looks at a taped-out silhouette on the ground. Doreen.
Pete Reynolds breaks off from the others and comes over. He nods at Lana, studies Bruno. ‘There’s a lot here,’ he says. ‘How are you doing? You okay?’
‘I’m okay.’ Bruno momentarily flashes back to their last conversation. Reynolds griping in the carpark about the missing O’Grady family. It’s light-years away now, like it happened last year or the year before.
‘You feel like leading us through it again?’ says Reynolds.
Bruno starts at the start. They go to the bank manager’s waterlogged office where he tells them about the meeting. He reads the notes from his notepad. ‘Someone was making strange withdrawals from the O’Gradys’ account. I was following up.’
‘I’ll come back to that,’ says Reynolds.
They step out into the hall.
‘Alfred Simmons,’ says Lana, standing over the outline’s feet. ‘Your bank manager, yeah?’
Bruno nods. The wall beside the outline tells the story: shotgun wound to the head, close range. ‘I saw it happen.’
‘You remember what was said?’
‘They were looking for something and Simmons didn’t have it.’
Bruno details the rest, feeling bloodless and disembodied as he speaks. He tells them where everyone was standing, how they were dressed, and then how the fight went down. ‘I shot one of them, twice I think, but he kept moving.’
‘They were wearing vests,’ says Lana. ‘Ex-military stuff.’
Reynolds shows Bruno a polaroid of a bloody, water-soaked bulletproof vest. The dead bank robber’s hand is in the frame. ‘You actually got a shot into him, but it wasn’t enough to put him all the way down. That’s how you two ended up in this tussle over the shotgun.’ Reynolds gives an exasperated wave towards one of the outlines on the floor. A spray of black blood fans out from the outline’s head. ‘It’s a shitshow. No face, no ID. Prints could take weeks.’
‘It would’ve been great if he robbed the place with his wallet in his pocket,’ says Lana.
‘It would be something,’ grumbles Reynolds, in no mood.
They move to Doreen’s outline.
‘This is the part I don’t get,’ says Reynolds. ‘Why shoot this poor bird? You sure she didn’t just cop it in the crossfire somehow?’
Bruno’s surprised to find himself quite sure. A lot of the memories are blurry, but he can recall the choreography of it. ‘After they shot Simmons, she burst out of somewhere and took off.’
Lana points at a nook between the rear counter and a large mailbag. ‘From there?’
Bruno nods. ‘I guess.’
‘And she runs out there,’ says Reynolds. ‘And around here and then, as she’s fleeing across the room, the guy opens up on her with the shotgun? Same guy as the manager, right?’
‘That’s right. The one who shot Simmons shot her.’
Reynolds steps it out, holding up an invisible gun. He tracks across the room to where Lana is standing. ‘I dunno. He’s a violent bugger, this bloke. Could be anything, I guess.’
Lana looks at the scene and says, ‘His blood’s up. She’s running. He panics and shoots her just because she’s moving when he’s told them not to.’
‘It fucking fits, unfortunately.’ Reynolds rubs his temples. ‘He didn’t say her name or anything, did he?’
Bruno shakes his head.
‘Okay. Lana, leave him with me. Go find Webber. He’s bloody taking his time with the cars. I want their way in and out locked down before any of us go off shift, okay?’
She touches Bruno’s arm on the way out.
‘Come with me,’ says Reynolds.
Down under the bank, there’s a room filled with safe deposit boxes. It’s not dank or musty. The place is done up for clients, with a polished timber floor and recessed lighting. The handles on each safe box have a gold finish. In the centre of the room, there’s a plain table and two antique chairs. As Reynolds and Bruno come in, two SIB men stop what they’re doing. Reynolds waves them out. He waits in silence as they go.
‘See this,’ Reynolds says, watching the stair. One box is missing. Reynolds scratches at his neck. ‘What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential. It can’t leave this room. These recent robberies, this sort of stuff is what they’re all about. We’re not dealing with a regular smash and grab wrecking crew. They’re not desperate junkies. They don’t take the money off the tellers. They go for stuff like this. High value, precise. It’s all targeted. They know exactly what they’re pinching.’
‘What did they get from here?’
‘Dunno. Waiting on a warrant to open it. They’re bloody smart enough to close the boxes after them, so we don’t know what the scores are.’
‘Jesus. And the bodies?’
‘Very similar to what you saw last night. They shoot people without hesitation, but it’s always like an execution. These blokes are killing specific people, by the look of it, and they know a lot about what they’re doing. They get in, they get out, they kill key witnesses, they don’t take any risks.’
‘That explains the vests. Why are you telling me this?’
Reynolds points at the empty slot on the wall. ‘Because you were here, and I know you’re working this other thing about the missing family. This is their box. Do you have some information you’d like to share with me?’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve found the O’Gradys’ son yet?’
‘I made some calls. No one has seen him.’
‘He’s dead, I reckon. I think they’re all dead.’ Bruno stares into the wall of safe deposit boxes and finds some small, untapped reserve of determination. He straightens up. ‘I’ve got some leads, but if you want in on my case, you need to work the thing with me. Otherwise, you can go back to chasing your own tail down here.’
Reynolds can’t believe what he’s hearing. ‘Mate, this is serious. I’ve got three dead people upstairs and one in intensive care. If you have information, you need to disclose it.’
But it’s not like that.
Reynolds is dirty. To the boys in on the Joke, everything they do is above board. There’s no real corruption. It’s all harmless. All their secrets and windfalls. But when the proper police work needs doing, everyone outside their little system is supposed to just wade into their swamp without caution.
‘Do you remember what you told me, Pete? You told me to make this go away as quickly as possible, and now you’ve got three dead upstairs and one in intensive care.’
‘Yeah, well, that was yesterday. This is today.’
‘Sure. Are you in or out?’
‘Do you really have something that might help me?’
‘I have the start of something.’
‘What do you need in return?’
‘Right now? A ride to Brisbane.’
‘Oh fuck off. Really?’
‘I need to go to the airport, but I’m in no state to drive. I’ll tell you the rest on the way.’