GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS
The case is drawing to a close and I'm not entirely sure what to do with the rest of it, I'm thinking of terminating it here but possibly returning to it some six months down the track to see how they're getting on. It's been an interesting story to write because the focus wasn't just about getting two women together but also solving a crime. Leave this one with me and I'll see what comes out in the mix later on.
Thanks for all your helpful and encouraging comments.
Shaima.
Aussie Lingo 101.
Handbag: For American readers, handbag equates to purse and a purse would be the equivalent of a ladies wallet.
Larrikin:
A very old fashioned term for 'one of the boys' or a rascal, someone who may or may not break the law but was usually harmless.
Romeo:
Police/prison slang for a rapist.
SLR:
Self Loading Rifle, it was a locally produced version of the Belgian FN FAL, used by the Australian Army up until the 1990s. It fired three round bursts and semi auto. At the time this story is set (1980s) civilian versions were available in semi auto only in all states except Tasmania, which had special licences for fully automatic rifles under a special licence.
Stubby:
A small bottle holding the same amount as a regular can, sold singly or in blister packs.
Telephone Book Treatment:
An illegal interrogation technique used by police forces whereby a telephone book was placed against the suspect's face prior to being struck with a fist, thus leaving no telltale fist-shaped bruises.
Unroadworthy Certificate:
Colloquially known as a
Yellow Canary
or
Canary
because the adhesive paper was yellow, it was affixed to the windscreen of a defective car. The driver was then severely limited, only able to drive to and from a garage for repairs and afterwards to the Road Traffic Authority to present the Roadworthy Certificate. Only the RTA had the authority to remove the certificate.
Weed:
Marijuana.
The iconic hotel at Wye River had been a favourite destination for honeymooners and couples looking for a romantic getaway for many years. Overlooking the white beach and the deep blue of Bass Strait it offered spectacular views by day and at night a cosy hideaway complete with its own restaurant. No doubt this particular room had been witness to many romantic occasions along with illicit affairs Kay mused as she pulled the curtains shut and put her back to the window.
The man sitting on the other side of the bed in a seat brought in by the manageress looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. At one point he'd been a handsome man but years of hard drinking, smoking and poor diet had taken its toll on his body. The six pack had long since disappeared beneath the beer belly and a second chin was threatening to merge with his neck. The cigarette between his fingers was almost at the butt and he dabbed it into the ashtray as the door opened to reveal a woman in a tan suit and white shirt.
Detective Constable Michelle Reid glanced at her partner sitting on the edge of the bed, Sergeant Chris Jones nodded as she took a seat opposite Constable Steven Henry. Kay pushed away from the window as Michelle took out a portable tape recorder.
"Do you mind if our colleague remains?"
"That's fine," he eyed the stubby on the small coffee table.
Michelle took out a clipboard with an A4 pad and clicked the end of the pen. Her superior rested his hands on the bed and stared at the door for a few moments before speaking.
"And you understand that information you divulge could be used against you."
"I do," Steven nodded, "but I'd like a deal or at the very least a carrot before I open my mouth."
"What kind of deal?" Michelle adjusted her glasses.
"I'm out, I know that already. I'll resign or take a discharge but my pension is another matter," he examined his fingernails, "my oldest child is about to start university and I've got two more kids in high school, along with a wife."
Michelle didn't reply but did look at Chris and he spread his hands to show his palms.
"I'm sure that can be arranged, but you understand I have to speak to my people too."
"I wasn't born yesterday," Steven replied, "just as long as your people understand that if I lose my pension then you lose your testimony at the tribunal. I might just fall over and suffer a permanent case of amnesia."
"Well we can't have that," Chris replied, "like I said, I'm sure that can be arranged. So, you'd go all the way to the tribunal?"
"Well that's the idea I got from your girl," he glanced at Kay.
"And what can you give us?" Michelle broke in, "in return?"
Steven stared at the stubby and he seemed to age years in the blink of an eye.
"I can give you Roy's head on a platter, the whole kit and caboodle but I can fucking guarantee it'll go far beyond a tribunal," he looked at the tape recorder.
"You gonna turn that fucking thing on?"
There was a momentary intake of breath and Kay felt the hairs on the back of her head beginning to prickle, a moment later Michelle leaned over and turned the tape recorder on.
"For the record, please state your full name, rank and serial number."
Steven closed his eyes for a few seconds and then began to speak.
It was slow going at first. Steven seemed almost reluctant to speak, as if the mere act of talking was torturous but Michelle was a skilled interviewer, part of a new breed of copper who didn't need to fall back on the telephone book treatment. Kay got the distinct impression that Chris was merely here in case a little muscle was required. Nevertheless, the fact that Michelle was attractive might have had an impact as well, because Steven answered her questions far more readily than when Chris asked questions.
Roy's descent into corruption was a familiar one. Most cops walked a fine line between upholding the law and tolerating lawbreakers. There were times you had to turn a blind eye, especially where the infraction was minor or the consequences would have a negligible effect on the community. After all, did it really matter that Mick's father, Tom possessed guns that weren't legal? The man was an ex soldier, he wasn't likely to go out and commit a mass shooting. Similarly the times he let people off for vehicle defects but somewhere along the line he got greedy and started his own private pension fund.
For a fee he would look the other way but if the person didn't cough up the 'beer' money then he'd come down on them and charge them, or make their lives hell. But in such a small community there was bound to be fallout and that was where Steven and a couple of other cops were dragged in. It was up to them to slap an unroadworthy certificate on a car or confiscate certain kinds of guns, Roy would simply explain he was upholding the law. To keep his boys happy and quiet, he just paid a little hush money from his slush fund, which was augmented by his cut from the local SP bookie and it might have gone on undetected for years if not for the savage gang rape of Brian some eighteen months ago.
"Brian's old man, Mark owed gambling debts to Roy but couldn't pay them," Steven butted out his third cigarette.
"In the end Mark just flat out refused, he even threatened to make an anonymous call to Internal Affairs in Melbourne," his eyes shifted.
"Roy went through the fucking roof, we had to physically restrain him from going out after Mark that day. About a week later though I got this odd call from Roy. He told me to head up to Teddy's Lookout and pick up Brian," he looked down at the carpet.
"I said, what the fuck for? He said, he's in a bad way. Perhaps you should have a word to him. I thought it was fucking odd considering Roy had fallen out with Mark but I went up anyway, I was nearly run off the road by Mick and his boys coming the other way. I found Brian at the lookout with his jeans torn off and blood all over him. He came out with this story about being raped, he even named his rapists. I took him back home and told him to take care of himself, we'd be in touch and I went back to see Roy," he swallowed.
"Before then I thought Roy was a bit of a larrikin, he'd take the piss out of people or rough them up if they crossed him. I knew he was bending the rules but we were all in on the game, but when I told him about Brian and said I was going to take someone out to haul Mick back in for questioning, he told me to forget it. Brian got what's coming to him. I told him he was a fucking psycho, nobody deserved that kind of treatment. He backed down a bit because he's always stepped wide around me and he did call Mick in but the interview questions were all well prepared. Mick denied being near the lookout and my report was revised to leave out my account of seeing him driving away from the crime scene."
He studied the backs of his hands.
"Roy knew he'd fucked up with me. Hell, I went along with his capers because it was all a bit of fun and we were making money but nobody was supposed to get hurt. When Brian knocked himself I told Roy flat out that I was out of the game, he offered to have me transferred but I wasn't going to let him. It might sound nuts but I believe in keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, it's curtailed his dirty deals in town but I know he goes into Melbourne every chance he gets."
There was more dirt to come but by the time he'd finished talking it became apparent to all that Steve and his family would need to be moved, especially when Chris raised the possibility of a sting operation involving undercover detectives from nearby Geelong.
"They're not all bent, not by a long shot but he's got cops as far as Geelong who'll give him the word if his name comes up in conversation and in return he gives them birthday money," he studied the door for a moment or two.
"Any list of names I'd give you might be out of date. He knows I'm out of the loop but because I haven't talked I'm not a threat yet. The only thing you've got in your favour is the fact he hasn't got any influence with city cops. He was forced to tighten the circle after Brian topped himself but if he thinks you're taking an interest in him he'll fake an injury and go for the sympathy vote."
"So where does that leave us?" Kay asked some twenty minutes later as Steve headed back out to the carpark.
