The Long Game

by Simon Rowell

‘Nothing. Went to the car, took off the wetsuit, tied down the board and came home. That’s it.’

  ‘Did you put anything in the bin?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘The bin? No.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive. Why?’

  ‘Dwayne, we got a call this morning from someone who saw you dumping a garbage bag in a rubbish bin in the car park.’

  ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘We retrieved a garbage bag this afternoon. Forensics have taken it and its contents away for testing.’

  ‘What contents?’

  ‘A hoodie that looks like it’s covered in blood.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t put anything in any bin there today. If someone said that, then that person’s trying to set me up.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoe, ‘in that case, would you consent to a DNA test and let us take your fingerprints?’ She looked into Dwayne’s eyes.

  He met her gaze. ‘Absolutely, let’s finish this bullshit right now,’ he said, defiant.

  ‘I’ll get a swab kit,’ Charlie said.

  6.30 PM, THURSDAY 6 FEBRUARY

  The office was so quiet that Zoe could hear the murmuring of the air conditioning. Only a few other detectives were around, catching up on paperwork. Zoe knew that the heatwave would be taking its toll—a week of restless sleep and a high workload for the squad. They all knew that violent crime spiked during heatwaves. There had been three new homicides in Melbourne in the four days since the Carlson murder. Harry sat under Zoe’s desk, oblivious to all that, happily chewing a stuffed-toy gorilla.

  Zoe thought about her conversation with Sarah Westbrook. She knew it would be an itch she needed to scratch. She unplugged her laptop and carried it down the hall to the conference room. Harry followed her through the door, his toy gorilla in his mouth. Zoe glanced down the empty hallway before shutting the door behind her.

  She sat on the far side of the long table, facing the door, and logged in to the server. She opened the archive folder, and quickly found the case of Sarah Westbrook’s school friend, Trevor Hill.

  The victim was Eric Drum. A landscaper, Eric was thirty-eight years old when he was stabbed to death at his home in Hastings, on the far side of the Mornington Peninsula. His body was found at eleven the next morning by his boss, after Eric didn’t show up for work.

  The alleged motive was that Eric was threatening to out Trevor as gay, something that Eric had found out about a few months beforehand. There was evidence of emailed taunts from Eric in the month leading up to the killing, as well as bloodied clothing buried in the bushland behind Eric’s house. Zoe noted that the evidence was recovered after a tip-off, as Sarah had mentioned. The photos from the pathologist showed Eric had been stabbed three times in the upper chest. One of the blows punctured his heart. No weapon was found, but the autopsy showed that Eric had been killed with a large knife, most likely a hunting knife.

  She scanned through the pictures taken by the police photographer at the funeral. They showed the usual sombre cast of black-clad mourners.

  With a clear motive established and physical evidence found linking him to the crime, Trevor Hill was charged with murder and remanded in custody. The last note in the file stated that the trial was due to start on Monday 17 February. Eleven days from now. The homicide detectives listed on the case were Iain Gillies and Garry Burns. The prosecutor was Sally Johnstone. Zoe sighed. No wonder Sally didn’t want to listen to Sarah.

  Zoe closed the folder and opened the second case Sarah had mentioned, the one she had said was identical to her friend’s prosecution.

  The victim was Ben Jennings, aged thirty-seven. He had been killed two years ago in the bayside suburb of Frankston. Zoe scanned the case summary. Ben’s body had been found by his wife, Charlotte, in the morning. The pathologist determined he had been killed between 1 and 2 am. In her statement, Charlotte had said that Ben and his friend Aaron Smyth had been drinking in their backyard the night before. She had gone to bed at 10 pm and had heard nothing after that.

  Zoe opened the evidence folder on the screen. She clicked through the crime scene photos showing Ben Jennings slumped down some wooden stairs at the rear of his house. A bloodied steak knife lay close to his body. The photos from the pathologist’s examination at the morgue showed two stab wounds to the upper chest. She glanced at the photos from the funeral, before moving on. The homicide detectives listed on the case were Hannah Nguyen and Angus Batch. The prosecutor was Sally Johnstone. Fantastic, thought Zoe. The summary document noted there were no fingerprints on the steak knife.

  In evidence to the court it was revealed that Aaron owed Ben ten thousand dollars, but Aaron denied that this had caused any conflict between them. He insisted that Ben was in good spirits when he had left around midnight, walking the two streets back to his house. Aaron lived alone and so there was no one to verify his story.

  Later that morning, a bloodied t-shirt was found in one of Aaron’s neighbour’s garbage bins, three doors down from his house. A keen-eyed constable in a passing patrol car had spotted blood near the lid of the bin, and then found the t-shirt inside. Two hours later, a tip came into Crime Stoppers alerting them that a man acting suspiciously had put a t-shirt into a rubbish bin outside a house that wasn’t his. The caller said that the man lived at 7 Mica Street, Frankston: Aaron’s address.

  The DNA results showed that Aaron’s DNA as well as Ben Jennings’ blood were on the t-shirt. Aaron was charged with murder. He pleaded not guilty, but was convicted that November.

  Zoe thought about what Sarah had said. She was right that each case involved knives, that the victim and suspect knew each other, and that the police had been tipped off. But both cases had strong motives—Eric had been threatening to expose Trevor Hill’s sexuality, while Aaron owed his victim money—and undeniable physical evidence. A coincidence, as she had told Sarah.

  She was closing down the image files on her screen when something caught her eye. She enlarged the photograph, staring at one of the figures at Ben Jennings’ funeral. The man had a beard and was using a cane. He looked to be in his forties, medium height, slim build, and Caucasian. Something about him seemed familiar to Zoe. Where have I seen you before?

  She scanned the list of witnesses, searching for a name she recognised from another case. None of the names was familiar. She was about to click off the photographs from Eric Drum’s funeral, and then stopped. One of the mourners looked similar to the man with the cane at Ben Jennings’ funeral. Zoe brought up the two photographs so they sat next to each other on the screen. The fellow at Eric Drum’s funeral looked younger, about thirty-five, and was solidly built. His hair was dark auburn and he was clean-shaven. The two men might have been brothers. Again, she scanned the list of witnesses, but recognised none of the names.

  Ten minutes later, still thinking about the two men, she went to get a coffee. Harry followed close behind. On her way back to her desk she heard Charlie speaking in Rob Loretti’s office.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he was saying. ‘Something happened when we were doing an interview down the peninsula. There was some noise, a hoon driving by and then a chopper over the house. It was only for a few seconds, but she froze up. The person we were interviewing noticed. Then her dog barked out the front and she snapped out of it.’

  ‘Okay, keep an eye on her and let me know if anything else happens,’ Rob said.

  ‘Will do, boss.’

  Zoe was almost back at her desk when Charlie came out of Rob’s office.

  ‘Hey, where have you been?’ he said, his face reddening.

  Zoe felt the anger building in her chest. Her phone vibrated, saving Charlie momentarily. ‘Mayer,’ she snapped.

  ‘Zoe, it’s Melina Fredericks from the lab.’

  ‘Melina,’ said Zoe, her tone softening. ‘What do you have for me?’

  ‘Blood on the outside of the hoodie found in the bin at Portsea is a match to your victim, Ray Carlson. DNA samples from the inside match
Dwayne Harley. Skin cells, hairs on the insides of the sleeves and around the collar. His DNA’s also on the zipper. From the blood pattern on the front, it looks like your suspect took the hoodie off soon after the murder and scrunched it up, probably to bag it. No prints on the garbage bag. Whoever dumped it must’ve been gloved up. I’ll email you the report in a minute.’

  ‘Thanks, Melina. Appreciate you fast-tracking it for me,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Do me a favour and keep that quiet. I don’t need a reputation as a soft touch,’ said Melina.

  ‘You’ve got it,’ said Zoe, and ended the call.

  ‘Bad news?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Dwayne’s DNA is all over the hoodie. The blood is from Ray Carlson.’

  ‘What? That’s fantastic,’ said Charlie, triumphant. ‘Motive, opportunity and evidence. He’s cooked now.’

  Zoe was silent.

  ‘But…’ said Charlie.

  ‘It doesn’t feel right. It’s all too easy.’

  ‘If easy is how it comes, I’ll take it,’ he said. ‘It’s your first case back after four months off. You sure you’re not looking for something that’s not there?’

  Zoe bristled. ‘He didn’t ask for a lawyer, didn’t even blink about giving a DNA swab, wasn’t evasive. I don’t think he knew about his wife’s infidelity before we told him either. It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Sorry boss, but we’ve got what we need to charge this guy, and we need to do it.’

  Zoe exhaled. She knew he was right. ‘Yeah, okay. Let’s go and pick him up.’

  Dwayne angrily paced around the interview room. It was just before 11 pm. Zoe, Charlie and Rob Loretti were watching him from the monitoring room.

  ‘He doesn’t want a lawyer,’ said Zoe.

  ‘He bitched the whole way about false imprisonment and fake charges,’ added Charlie.

  ‘Maybe he thinks he is smarter than the rest of us and can talk his way out of it,’ said Rob, stifling a yawn.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Zoe. She patted Harry on the head, and then gestured for him to lie down. She and Charlie headed down the hall to the interview room.

  ‘Have a seat, Dwayne,’ Zoe said.

  Dwayne sat down. ‘Took your fricken time.’

  Zoe turned on the equipment and read Dwayne his rights again. Again, he refused a lawyer.

  ‘Dwayne, is there something you want to tell me? You know, good people make mistakes sometimes.’

  ‘No, there’s nothing. Except that I am innocent and this is bullshit.’

  ‘Do you recognise this hoodie?’ said Zoe, pulling a photograph from her folder and placing it in front of him.

  Dwayne leaned over the photograph and squinted at it. ‘I’ve got one that looks like it. That’s not mine, though. Mine’s at home, not covered in blood. I wore it a week ago. Probably still in the laundry basket. I could’ve shown you back at the house if you’d asked me. Fucking hell, you two are complete drongos.’

  ‘Dwayne, the blood on this is from Ray Carlson,’ said Zoe, ‘and your DNA is on the inside of the hoodie. Skin cells and hairs. What do you have to say to that?’

  Dwayne’s mouth fell open. He stared again at the photograph. ‘No way. That can’t be true.’

  ‘Now’s your chance to get in front of this,’ said Zoe. ‘If there are mitigating circumstances, now is the time to tell us. We can help you.’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ Dwayne roared. ‘You’re trying to stitch me up. You hear about this sort of thing, but you think it’s all crap. You know, urban legend. I can’t believe you are doing it to me.’

  ‘Why’d we want to do that, Dwayne?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘How the fuck would I know?’ he bellowed. ‘I don’t have any issues with the cops, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe you need to solve the case fast. Maybe this is how you guys work all the time. Put my DNA sample in there. All I know is that I didn’t kill Ray.’

  ‘You’ve got a solid motive,’ said Charlie. ‘Katie and Ray. You found out, and that’s why you did it. Look, you panicked, right? You went to confront him and you just lost it. That’s why you still had the clothes to dump. Cause it was spontaneous. Unplanned. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘No. No. No. I had nothing to do with this. Nothing.’ Dwayne slammed the table with his fist, causing Charlie to flinch. Zoe didn’t move. She could see that his hand was starting to shake.

  Zoe and Charlie said nothing, staring at Dwayne. If he was going to confess, they did not want to distract him. Zoe knew that silence applied its own type of pressure to a suspect.

  Eventually, Dwayne lifted his eyes. ‘What do ya want me to say?’ he said, exhausted.

  Zoe could hear the excitement in Charlie’s breathing.

  ‘We just want the truth, we owe it to Ray,’ said Zoe, making her voice soft and sympathetic, as she had outside Ray’s house on the day of the murder.

  At that, Dwayne snorted a laugh. ‘Owe it to fucking Ray. What a joke. Okay, the truth is this—I don’t have the first fucking clue how that hoodie ended up with Ray’s blood all over it. Or with my DNA inside it. What I do know is that I didn’t do this. I’m getting set up.’

  ‘Why would someone do that? Who are your enemies that would do this to you?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘I have no idea. I don’t have no enemies. Until Ray got killed, I thought my life was sweet. Now my best mate’s dead and I find out he was shagging my missus. But I didn’t know any of that before you two told me. Shit.’

  Zoe tapped on the table. ‘Dwayne, we’ve recovered a large stash of money that Ray had buried in his backyard. Do you know how he came to have that money?’

  ‘What do you mean by a large stash?’

  ‘Seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand in seven plastic bags.’

  ‘Shit, where’d he get that from?’ Dwayne sat back, staring Zoe in the eye.

  ‘We’re asking you. What was he into?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘The house he lived in with Donna, the car she’s driving, and the place he rented in Portsea. Don’t tell me that working in the winery paid for all that. The guy was living like a funds manager or a crook’s lawyer. Do you think we came down with the last shower, Dwayne?’

  ‘Look, he was still paying off the house—why would he have all that cash? It doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘Well, it makes sense to us,’ said Zoe. ‘He was getting divorced and didn’t want to share it with Donna. It’s also highly likely the proceeds of criminal activity.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  ‘The situation is this,’ said Zoe, as she tapped the photograph. ‘We have evidence, and you had the opportunity, means and the motive to kill Ray Carlson. You will now be charged with murder. I strongly recommend you appoint a lawyer to represent you.’

  Dwayne slumped forward and put his face in his hands.

  9.15 AM, FRIDAY 7 FEBRUARY

  ‘What time’s the game?’ Charlie said into the phone. ‘Any of the other kids need a lift?…Okay, no worries…see you then.’

  He turned to Zoe. ‘That was Jane. Alex has cricket tomorrow. Even in this heat. What I wouldn’t give for a few hours of rain to cool this city down.’

  Zoe was only half listening.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Charlie. ‘Five days from crime to charge. That’s a pretty good result for your first case back.’ He tossed a ball of scrunched-up paper into the air, caught it and threw it hard into the bin. ‘The guy’s guilty. It’s a slam dunk.’

  ‘Something’s not right.’ She was going to say something but stopped herself. She knew that once what she was thinking was out in the open, anything might happen.

  ‘Look,’ said Charlie, ‘maybe your instincts are a bit off. Maybe you’re not back in your groove yet.’

  In her peripheral vision Zoe noticed several detectives stop working and look their way. She turned to her partner. ‘Which squad are you working in?’ she asked, her voice so low he had to lean in to hear.

  ‘Come on,
Zoe. I didn’t mean—’ Charlie said.

  ‘Which squad?’

  From under the desk, Harry got up and walked around next to Zoe. He sat down, watching her.

  ‘Homicide.’ Charlie looked left and right, his face turning dark red.

  ‘And where do you want to be working next week?’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to offend you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Charlie, I don’t appreciate your attitude,’ she said, her volume back to normal. ‘We don’t just need to prove a case, we need to prove it entirely without doubt. That’s the only way to stop cases falling to pieces at trial when your evidence is put under the torch by some highly paid barrister who was born angry. If there’s an acquittal, the heat is on us. I test my cases from every angle to make sure they can’t be pulled apart. That’s why my cases don’t turn to shit in front of a jury, you got that?’

  ‘I understand. Zoe, look, I was out of line.’

  ‘You’re dead right there. And while we’re at it, I don’t appreciate you reporting back to the boss on how you think I’m travelling. If you’re worried about that sort of thing, get a fucking transfer. I’ve got no time, and even less respect, for that bullshit. Do we understand each other?’

  The veins on Charlie’s neck were bulging. ‘Yes, absolutely. It won’t happen again. Okay?’

  Two desks down, Iain Gillies was chuckling.

  ‘And you can shut the fuck up, too,’ growled Zoe, standing up. ‘Right, come on,’ she said, grabbing a folder from her desk. She headed for Rob’s office, Harry at her side.

  ‘Wait—what?’

  Zoe knocked and walked in without waiting. Rob looked up as Charlie caught up, almost falling through the doorway.

  ‘What do you need, Zoe?’

  ‘The Carlson case. I think we’ve got an issue.’

  Zoe brought Rob and Charlie up to speed on her meeting with Sarah Westbrook, her review of the murders at Hastings and Frankston, and the parallels with the Portsea case. Rob and Charlie listened in silence.

  ‘Okay,’ said Rob, when she had finished. ‘But they are just similarities. The motive and evidence both stand up and that’s what’s important. Plus, we have stabbing homicides every week.’