The Long Game

by Simon Rowell

  ‘It’s more about getting some advice. My podcast looks at human interest stories. Small stories with universal messages. Redemption stories, that sort of thing.’

  Zoe had looked up Westbrook after Sarah’s call. It was doing well, and was now the fourth-most popular podcast in Australia.

  ‘I am doing a multi-part story on people from my old high school in Hastings,’ Sarah continued, ‘on the far side of the Mornington Peninsula. It’s one of those middle-of-the-road sort of communities—not rich, not poor—where people can go any which way with their lives. I’ve been looking at successes, disasters, chances taken and missed, you know. Anyway, when I was digging around, I found out that one of my old classmates, Trevor Hill, is on remand awaiting trial.’

  Zoe met Sarah’s eyes. ‘For what?’

  ‘Another guy we were at school with, Eric Drum, was stabbed to death in his backyard in Hastings and Trevor has been charged with his murder. His trial starts soon.’

  Zoe vaguely remembered the case and felt her guard go up. ‘You aren’t recording this are you? This is off the record, right?’

  Sarah raised her hands. ‘Completely. No recording at all. Just background research.’

  ‘Okay, but why do you need to see me? I didn’t have anything to do with that case.’

  ‘I need advice. Preferably of the level-headed variety. I don’t want to get sucked in to doing a sympathetic piece on a killer just because I knew him years ago and he says he’s innocent. The thing is, though, I met him the other day and he tells me he was talking to another prisoner and that their cases are identical. Both say they were lifelong friends with the victim, that there were tip-offs about possible motives and evidence that appeared out of nowhere. The victim was stabbed in both cases. He’s telling me that they’re both innocent and have been framed.’

  ‘You know that the prisons are full of people who claim to be innocent.’

  Sarah shut her eyes momentarily. ‘Yes, I know that… It’s just that I am sitting there listening to this guy, trying to convince myself that he’s lying, but every fibre in me says that he’s telling the truth. I’ve been an investigative journalist for years and I know how to pick a liar. I knew Trevor and Eric really well when we were in high school. Something seems off about the whole thing.’

  ‘Okay, let’s break this down a bit,’ said Zoe. ‘Almost all murder victims know their killer, so that part isn’t uncommon. We get plenty of tips, so that’s not strange either. And knives aren’t an unusual weapon of choice. About half of all the homicides I’ve investigated involve a knife. So, you are probably dealing with coincidence—and not even an improbable one, at that. If your friend is innocent he will get a chance to prove it in court.’

  Sarah looked at her feet and sighed. Zoe could recognise something of herself in Sarah.

  ‘Anyway, you should be taking your concerns to the Director of Public Prosecutions,’ said Zoe.

  ‘I already tried that. The DPP told me to speak with a senior prosecutor, one of the bigwigs there. She didn’t want anything to do with it. Didn’t even hear me out when I called her. Sally Johnstone, you know her?’

  Zoe bit her lip. ‘Yes, I’ve known her for a long time.’

  ‘She told me I was wasting her time,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Did you ask Tom about her?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Sally and Tom dated when we were all at uni together.’

  ‘They did? Sorry, I didn’t know or that you’re friends with Sally. Small world.’

  Zoe laughed. ‘We are definitely not friends. Not for a long, long time.’

  At university, Zoe, Tom and Sally were part of a tight group of friends. Sally and Tom had dated for a year or so and, even after Tom broke up with Sally, the group stuck together. The next year, a rumour started that Sally was working on weekends at a strip club in Canberra, flying up Friday afternoons and coming back on Sunday. Zoe thought it so ridiculous that she made a joke about it to Sally one day at lunch. Sally tried to laugh it off, but the rage in her eyes was obvious. Instantly, Zoe realised that it was true. Within days, Sally had cut off their friendship, blaming Zoe for starting the rumour out of jealousy.

  Since she had been working in Homicide, Zoe now saw Sally regularly around the courts. Sally’s disdain alternated between hateful glances and blank stares, as if she didn’t know who Zoe was.

  ‘So, what do you want from me?’ Zoe asked.

  ‘I don’t know where to go next. I mean, if there has been some sort of injustice, I want to help, but I’m not sure how.’

  ‘You tried speaking to your friend’s lawyer?’

  ‘Yes, but he sounds only halfway engaged in the whole case. His bills have been paid in advance and that’s all he’s worried about. He said the evidence is overwhelming and not to get my hopes up. Trevor sold his house to cover his legal fees. He’s skint, and his lawyer’s interest level has fallen in line with his bank balance.’

  ‘Look,’ said Zoe. ‘Officially, I can’t look into this, okay? If I did, every crook and their lawyer would be on the phone. Do you understand?’

  Sarah understood.

  Zoe gritted her teeth, reminding herself to thank Tom for giving her number to a journalist. ‘What’s your friend’s name again?’

  ‘Trevor Hill. Charged with the murder of Eric Drum at Hastings on the fifth of February exactly a year ago.’

  ‘And the other guy?’

  ‘Aaron Smyth. He was convicted of murdering a guy called Ben Jennings a year before that, in Frankston. He was found guilty the following November of that year and given life.’

  ‘So how did Trevor and Aaron Smyth meet?’

  ‘They were in the same housing unit at the Melbourne Remand Centre. Got talking about their cases and realised how similar they were.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Zoe. ‘Aaron Smyth was convicted three months before your friend’s alleged crime was even committed. Why was he still at the remand centre after his sentence?’

  ‘Overcrowding in maximum security at Barwon Prison.’

  Zoe stared into space, thinking.

  ‘Should I write it all down for you?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘No, definitely not,’ Zoe said. ‘All right, if I hear anything of interest, I’ll call you. If you hear nothing, it means nothing’s there, okay?’

  Sarah gave a hint of a smile. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to appreciate,’ Zoe said. ‘Understand?’

  Sarah nodded, her expression serious again. ‘Hundred per cent. Got it.’

  ‘Come on, Harry. Time to go.’ Harry bounced to his feet, wagging his tail.

  10 AM, THURSDAY 6 FEBRUARY

  Ray Carlson’s pine coffin was carried from the stone chapel by six pallbearers, including Dwayne Harley. The breeze was once again coming from the north and the air was heating up again. Dwayne’s tie was pulled across to the side, as if he’d tried to wrench it off at some point. He was gazing grim-faced at the ground as he walked.

  The eulogies had praised Ray’s love of surfing, beer and football. Not a lot for almost forty years on earth, Zoe thought. Neither Donna Carlson nor Dwayne Harley had spoken.

  Zoe and Charlie, dressed in dark suits and wearing sunglasses, had slipped outside towards the end of the service and waited under the shade of a Norfolk pine. Charlie flapped the lapels of his jacket to cool down. ‘This would have to be a record for a funeral after a homicide. Four days. Donna couldn’t wait to get him buried, eh?’

  Zoe was focused on Dwayne. ‘Why would he be a pallbearer?’ she asked under her breath. ‘He’s carrying the guy who was screwing his wife.’

  ‘He’s trying to save face,’ said Charlie. ‘It’d be stranger if he wasn’t a pallbearer. He wants to stop people finding out about Ray and Katie. Around here he may as well try to stop a wave crashing to shore.’

  They watched people milling around near the hearse. There were a few dozen mourners. Donna Carlson, wearing a black dress, stared across at them,
her expression blank.

  ‘Our runner obviously got bail,’ said Zoe, nodding towards Joshua Priest. He was in a wheelchair, one leg elevated in a cast, one arm in a sling. He was being pushed by an older woman, wearing a black dress and a pearl necklace, who Zoe guessed was his mother.

  ‘His days of police pursuits are over for a while,’ said Charlie.

  Zoe had parked her SUV under a nearby tree with the windows down. She knew Harry would be asleep in the back. Near the car, a video camera operator from the Major Crime Scene Unit was recording everything. Videotaping the funerals of homicide victims had become routine after a couple of instances of mourners breaking down and making admissions or even confessions at the graveside. At the very least, the presence of a video camera tended to upset people with something to hide, so the detectives thought of it as a handy tool.

  The hearse moved off at walking pace, followed by the mourners, a mixed bunch. Some wore suits and smart dresses, but there were a couple of tattooed guys and a number of younger people in t-shirts. They all passed by Zoe and Charlie, mostly lost in their own thoughts. Joshua Priest sneered at them as he rolled past in his wheelchair.

  The sad convoy travelled for five minutes, before reaching the freshly dug grave.

  The video camera operator walked at the rear with Zoe and Charlie. As the coffin was carried from the hearse, people gathered.

  The detectives instinctively watched Dwayne. He was standing apart from his wife, gazing up at the sky, as if willing the whole event to be over. They could see his body heaving as he tried to hold back tears.

  Katie’s eyes were on the coffin, her expression distant. To her left, Donna Carlson stood in silence. Everyone seemed to be in their own world.

  Zoe’s phone vibrated. She walked away. ‘Mayer,’ she whispered.

  ‘Zoe, its Anjali. The boss asked me to call you. Somebody called in a tip to Crime Stoppers about a guy looking suspicious this morning, dumping a garbage bag into a bin at the Surf Beach car park, at the end of Back Beach Road down at Portsea. The caller said that it was Dwayne Harley.’

  Zoe turned back towards the mourners fifty metres away. Dwayne was staring at her. ‘Did the caller leave a name?’ asked Zoe, maintaining eye contact with Dwayne.

  ‘Anonymous,’ said Anjali. ‘The only info I have is that the caller was a male. Sounded older.’

  ‘Did he have a slight Scottish or Irish accent?’ asked Zoe, remembering the tip they’d got about Katie and Ray’s affair.

  ‘Nothing here about an accent. I’ve rung the Rosebud station to get someone down to the car park to seal off the area.’

  ‘Good thinking, thanks—can you call Forensics and organise for them to get down there as well? We’ll go as soon as the funeral’s over.’

  Zoe ended the call. Dwayne Harley was still staring hard at her.

  An hour later, Zoe’s phone vibrated again. She looked at the screen: Forensics are here.

  Her eyes moved from the beach up to Charlie at the top of the stairs that led to the dunes. He gave her a wave. She called Harry back out of the shallows, where he was playing. Harry shook himself dry and they walked from the beach to the car park. Charlie was chatting to Jenny as they approached.

  ‘Hey Jen,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Hi Zoe. Down here twice in one week. Should have brought my swimsuit.’

  ‘Or a surfboard,’ said Zoe. ‘You on your own today?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re backed up a bit. What’ve we got here?’

  ‘Crime Stoppers tip. Someone who’s a person of interest in our murder allegedly jammed a garbage bag in that bin over there this morning.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get my gear.’

  Jenny photographed the area before taking fingerprints from the rim of the bin. Harry watched, sitting on the grass.

  ‘Couple of prints there,’ said Jenny, ‘but they’re from children’s hands. No right-thinking adult touches a rubbish bin if they can avoid it.’

  Jenny handed the camera to Charlie. ‘Can you video this part?’

  ‘No worries,’ said Charlie, taking the video camera and pointing it towards Jenny.

  Using a battery-powered screwdriver, she expertly dismantled the lid of the bin. Lifting the large plastic container out from inside, she used metal forceps to remove three soft drink bottles and a takeaway food container, placing them on a plastic sheet she had laid out beside the bin.

  She then used the forceps to pick up the bag and placed it on a plastic sheet. She worked it open and looked inside.

  ‘Pullover hoodie. The label says “Large”. Looks like there’s blood on it. A fair bit actually.’ Charlie moved in, videotaping inside the bag. ‘There should be DNA inside it from whoever was wearing it. Your person of interest may be about to get an upgrade.’

  ‘Good. We could do with a break,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Best get their DNA sample quick-smart. We’ll try to see if there are prints on the garbage bag back at the lab.’

  ‘Any chance you can get it prioritised for us?’

  ‘Let me see what strings I can pull,’ said Jenny, giving Zoe a wink and taking the camera back from Charlie.

  ‘You two again. What do you want this time? Come to tell me my kids don’t love me anymore either?’ Dwayne was standing at the door, shirt hanging loose, a beer in his hand. Zoe could smell the stale odour of beer coming from him.

  ‘We need to have another chat, Dwayne,’ said Zoe.

  ‘I’ve told you everything I know. Why don’t you both rack off and catch whoever did this.’

  Zoe saw a girl of around thirteen come into the room in the background, and watch them warily.

  Leaning in close, Zoe whispered, ‘Dwayne, you don’t want us dragging you away in handcuffs in front of your kids, do you? That kind of image stays with them forever.’ She stepped back.

  Dwayne went to respond angrily, before stopping himself. ‘Tell your mum that I’m headed out for a while,’ he said, over his shoulder. He finished his beer, setting the empty bottle down hard on the sideboard next to the door.

  At Rosebud station they took Dwayne into the interview room.

  ‘I intend to interview you in relation to the death of Ray Carlson,’ Zoe said to Dwayne. ‘Before continuing, I must inform you that you do not have to say anything, but anything you say or do may be given in evidence. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘I must also inform you of your rights. You have the right to communicate with or attempt to communicate with a friend or relative to inform that person of your whereabouts. You have the right to communicate with or attempt to communicate with a legal practitioner. Do you understand these rights?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Do you want to exercise any of these rights before the interview proceeds?’

  ‘No. Don’t need a lawyer and my family…’ Dwayne faltered, ‘…my family know where I am. What is all this? Why would I need a lawyer? I just found him there. I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Who did?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘How the fuck would I know? That’s your job to find out.’

  Zoe tapped her pen on the table, drawing Dwayne’s attention. ‘Have you been drinking alcohol today?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, you know I have. I had a beer in my hand when you arrived to pick me up. Crack detective you’re turning out to be.’

  ‘How many drinks have you had today?’

  ‘Two. Two beers, that’s it.’

  ‘Any drugs?’

  ‘What? No, I don’t do drugs. Why are you asking that?’

  ‘We want to be assured that you are okay to be interviewed, that’s all. Not impeded at all, you know?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Dwayne, what’s twelve multiplied by twelve, minus ten?’

  ‘Um, a hundred and thirty-four,’ he shot back. ‘Why does that matter?’

  ‘Just confirming your sobriety for the tape,’ said Zoe. ‘Where were you this morning?’

  ‘Getting ready
for the funeral. You were there today, you saw me.’

  ‘Take us through your day, Dwayne. From the beginning.’

  ‘Okay. I got up around six. I am sleeping in the spare bedroom and the mattress in there is crap. Why it’s me in there, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not the one who’s been rooting around. Anyway, I got up and had some toast and a coffee. Then Katie got up. I had to get out of the house. Can’t even look at her…So, I grabbed my board and headed out for a surf. Would’ve been just before seven when I left.’

  ‘Where’d you go? Which beach?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Surf Beach.’

  ‘End of Back Beach Road?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Isn’t that where you and Ray used to surf together?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Isn’t it weird going back there, after what’s happened? Don’t you want to surf somewhere else?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it. It’s just where I surf. It’s like I get in the car and that’s where I end up.’

  ‘So, what time do you reckon you got there?’

  ‘Just after seven.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Dwayne snorted. ‘I pulled on my wetsuit, waxed the board and hit the waves. It’s called surfing. Not rocket science,’ he said.

  ‘Anything else when you got out of your car?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything at all. Talk to anyone, do anything.’

  ‘Nah. Just went into the water. The waves were only average. I wouldn’t have bothered except I didn’t want to be at the house. There were a few other people already out there. Teenagers. City kids, by the way they were surfing. Didn’t know them.’

  ‘Anyone in the car park when you got there?’

  ‘Two or three cars, but I didn’t see any people about.’

  ‘How long were you out in the surf?’

  ‘Probably an hour.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I came to shore, drove home, had a shower and got dressed for the funeral.’

  ‘So, between leaving the water and getting in your car, did you do anything else?’

  ‘What is all this?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’