The Long Game

by Simon Rowell

  ‘I hear you, but look at this.’ Zoe opened her folder and put a print-out of a photograph on his desk. ‘This is from the Frankston murder two years ago, for which Aaron Smyth was convicted. It was taken at Ben Jennings’ funeral. See this guy?’ Zoe pointed out the slim, fortyish man with the dark beard and the cane.

  Rob nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoe, placing the other photograph on the desk. ‘The case from Hastings. A year later. Eric Drum’s funeral. That guy is Trevor Hill, who’s charged and in custody.’ She pointed at a tall man who was openly weeping.

  ‘That’s Iain and Garry’s case,’ said Rob. ‘The trial starts in just over a week’s time, yeah?’

  ‘That’s the one. See this guy?’ Zoe pointed to the solidly built man standing next to Trevor. He was clean-shaven, with neatly cut, dark auburn hair, and looked to be in his mid-thirties.

  ‘Can’t see it. What are you saying?’ asked Rob.

  ‘I think it could be the same person.’

  Rob shot her a look, shaking his head.

  ‘It’s easier if you see it on the videos. Can you pull it up on your screen?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rob. ‘Come around.’

  Zoe and Charlie walked around to the DI’s side of the desk.

  ‘You drive—you know what you’re looking for,’ said Rob, standing up.

  Zoe sat down and grabbed the mouse. She found the two video files and opened them up next to each other. Then she hit play. They watched people milling around the grave. Zoe forwarded the first video to a specific spot and paused it. Then she did the same with the second video.

  ‘Watch this part,’ she said, before clicking play on each of the videos. In the videos, both men looked directly at the camera for a second or two, narrowing their eyes. ‘See it?’

  ‘I do,’ said Rob. ‘It’s a similar expression, but it’s not the same guy. They look about ten years apart in age, for a start.’

  Zoe glanced up in time to see Rob give Charlie a baffled look.

  She opened her folder and pulled out a third photograph. ‘This is from Ray Carlson’s funeral yesterday.’ She pointed at a scruffy-haired man in the photo, his head tilted to one side. ‘That guy’s name is Greg Enders. He was friends with Ray and Dwayne Harley.’

  ‘What? You think that he is the same person as the other two?’ asked Rob incredulously.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Zoe. ‘Have a look at this.’ She opened the video from Ray Carlson’s funeral, found the right place and let it play. Greg’s neck was tilted and his shoulders were pulled back. He was wearing a loose shirt, barely tucked in over a small pot belly. His hair was messy, covering his ears, and he had a new beard, probably about two weeks old. He was standing next to Dwayne, who was also looking towards the camera.

  ‘See the time stamp,’ she said, as she held up her phone. ‘At this exact moment Anjali was calling me to tell me about the Crime Stoppers tip.’ In the video, Greg Enders was looking towards the camera, but off to one side, to where Zoe was standing. ‘He’s looking right at me.’

  In the video Greg narrowed his eyes, and then returned his gaze to the funeral. ‘He could’ve phoned in the tip just before the funeral. If so, he knew I’d be getting the call right then.’

  ‘Whoa, hold on,’ said Rob. ‘This is all very coincidental. You sure you’re not trying to retrofit a scenario from the information you’re finding? To my eyes, there’s three different people at three separate funerals, with one of them looking in your direction when you received a call. That’s it. Dwayne Harley is staring across at you as well. Perhaps they heard your phone ring and were pissed off since they were at a funeral.’

  Zoe made an effort to remain calm. ‘We noticed Dwayne staring at us. We weren’t paying any attention to Greg Enders. And my phone was on silent. Plus, I walked way back and was whispering. Look, I feel like there’s something there. It’s something in that look,’ said Zoe.

  ‘What do you think, Charlie?’ asked Rob.

  Charlie sucked in a breath before responding. ‘Honestly? I see three different people. So the expression at that moment looks similar, but they still look like different people to me. Maybe Enders was pissed off because we were taking phone calls during his mate’s funeral. Who knows? Sorry, Zoe,’ said Charlie.

  There was a knock at the door. Zoe gathered the photographs together and turned them over.

  ‘Come in,’ said Rob.

  Two men entered. They looked like brothers, tall and fit, with the same blank expression on their faces. The older of the two was just under six foot tall and had short dark hair, while the younger man was slightly taller with a full head of auburn hair. They both wore blue business shirts and dark pants, their Victoria Police lanyards hanging from their necks.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ said the older one. ‘You Zoe Mayer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Doug Strong and this is Frankie Chambers from the Drug Squad,’ he said, tilting his head towards his partner. ‘We need to chat about Dwayne Harley.’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Zoe, standing up from Rob’s chair.

  ‘We’re charging him with methamphetamine production,’ said Doug. ‘Dwayne and his mate Ray Carlson have been renting a house outside of Somers, on the eastern side of the Mornington Peninsula. We’ve had the house under surveillance, inside and out, for the last couple of months. Dwayne and Ray are, or were, cooking meth. Big time. We were due to pick them up this week, once we had all the proof we needed about their supply chain. We’ve got a mountain of evidence on Dwayne, so our visit is just a professional courtesy.’

  Zoe remembered the tattooed men at Ray’s funeral.

  ‘We dug up a stack of cash in Ray Carlson’s backyard,’ said Charlie. ‘Over seven hundred and fifty thousand. I think we’ve just found our motive for Ray’s murder.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Frankie. ‘Seen it happen before. One guy gets greedy. These two have been at it a while, much longer than we’ve had them on our radar. They’ve been selling through a middle man, a mate of theirs from high school, who’s connected to a bikie gang. It’s a fairly low-risk operation, as far as this sort of thing goes. Sell to one trusted buyer only. We’ve just arrested the middle man.’

  ‘Joshua Priest?’ asked Zoe.

  Doug nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s the one. We’ve had him under surveillance for a while. We were watching when you chased him the other day.’

  Zoe had a thought. ‘Did you have Dwayne under surveillance on the day that Ray was murdered?’

  ‘No,’ said Doug. ‘We had plenty of evidence on Dwayne and Ray. We were focused on Joshua and the rest of the supply chain downstream. Sorry.’

  Zoe nodded. ‘You have audio with the surveillance in the house where Dwayne and Ray were cooking?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Frankie.

  ‘Did you pick up any disputes between them?’

  ‘Nothing. They were a professional unit, as far as drug cooks go. Careful, organised. They weren’t users as far as we could tell. That cash you dug up would be a small amount of the money they’ve been making. They’ve been smart operators until now. Keeping most of their money hidden away, continuing to pay off mortgages, not buying Ferraris, that sort of thing. We only found out about them because we were following Priest around, trying to work out where he was getting his supplies. We’ll be doing a lot of digging over the next few days. Dwayne’s backyard is probably full of bags of cash as well. Anyway, he’s going to be charged this arvo. Even if he cooperates, he’ll do a minimum of ten years on that charge. Hopefully longer.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for letting us know,’ said Zoe.

  ‘No worries. But we’re gonna need the cash. It’s evidence in our case.’

  ‘Sure. We’ll get the paperwork sorted and it’s all yours.’

  ‘Thanks, and we’ll give you a call if Dwayne gives us any information that involves your murder charge,’ said Doug, as he and Frankie turned towards the door.

  ‘Now we’ve got two motives,’ said Ch
arlie. ‘Dwayne decides he wants all the cooking duties for himself. Knocks Ray off. Maybe greed combined with finding out about his wife doing Ray was enough for him.’

  ‘Charlie’s right,’ said Rob.

  ‘I understand that,’ said Zoe, ‘but I still want to investigate these mystery men.’

  ‘Let it go,’ Rob said. ‘The three men are three different guys. You’ve been out of the game. Sorry, but you’re off base on this one.’

  Zoe silently fumed as she collected the photographs from Rob’s desk.

  1.30 PM, FRIDAY 7 FEBRUARY

  Zoe paced in the waiting area, looking at the text message that had summoned her here. Harry sat beside the couch, watching her. ‘I thought we’d finished all our sessions,’ Zoe said as soon as Alicia Kennedy opened the door.

  ‘Hi Zoe, come on in,’ Alicia said, as calmly as ever.

  Zoe moved towards the door, Harry joining her.

  Alicia walked around her desk and sat down. Zoe remained on her feet. ‘I thought I was cleared for full duties,’ she said.

  ‘You are. I wanted to see how things have gone in your first week back.’

  ‘The boss called you.’

  ‘I rang him to check in. He said there’d been some issues. So, I thought I’d catch up with you. That’s all.’

  ‘Well, I’m fine. There was a disagreement, that’s all. They happen.’

  ‘Take me through it,’ said Alicia.

  ‘We have charged someone with murder and there’s another avenue I wanted to check out. To be one hundred per cent sure that we’ve got it right. Rob and my partner disagree with me. That’s it.’

  ‘What makes you so sure that these three men are the same person?’ asked Alicia.

  Zoe shot Alicia a furious glare, incensed that Rob had told the psychologist the details of their conversation. These particulars should have been kept confidential, even within Homicide. She saw Alicia flush in response to her glare.

  ‘Instinct,’ said Zoe, ‘honed by years of experience. But I’m not going to start discussing cases with people outside the squad. It’s not ethical.’ Zoe could feel her heart beating hard, and the air felt thicker. She could sense a panic attack coming on. Not here, not now.

  Harry leaned in against her leg, his head against her thigh. Zoe looked down at him and placed a hand on his head.

  ‘How’ve you been sleeping?’ asked Alicia.

  ‘Fine,’ said Zoe. ‘Sorry, Alicia, but I’ve got work to do. Come on, Harry.’

  Harry jumped to his feet and followed Zoe to the door.

  3 PM, FRIDAY 7 FEBRUARY

  Zoe could feel the vibration through her desk. She sensed Charlie glancing across at her every minute or so from his adjoining desk.

  ‘You right? Maybe give that jig you’re doing under the desk a rest,’ she said.

  The vibration stopped. ‘Yeah. Look, sorry about earlier with the boss,’ said Charlie. ‘I should have just backed you up.’

  ‘No need to say sorry. Thrashing around theories—together—helps us get to the right results. Look, just forget about it and concentrate on getting the paperwork finalised on Dwayne Harley, okay?’

  ‘Yep, you’ve got it.’

  Zoe copied the case folders from the archives and saved them in a folder she named ‘System Drivers’ on a USB drive. She put on her headphones and listened to the recorded Crime Stoppers calls from the Ben Jennings murder case in Frankston. There were two calls.

  On the first, the caller sounded young and nervous. These two guys were having a blue outside the old Mechanics Institute building on the Nepean Highway, the caller said. I was walking towards the pub and they were coming towards me. I recognised the guy who got killed from when his photo was on the news. It was definitely him. At first they seemed to be getting along all right, but then they started to argue. The guy who got killed was saying ‘Aaron, ten grand is ten grand, and I need it back’. I kept walking. Might not mean anything, but…anyway, my missus said I should let you know. The caller didn’t leave a name or number. Zoe opened up the original case file. Hannah and Angus had visited the Mechanics Institute after the call and looked for CCTV cameras, but there was nothing in the vicinity. They did find footage from outside a hotel a hundred metres away showing Aaron Smyth and Ben Jennings walking towards the Institute. They concluded that the call was genuine and that the information was relevant to the case.

  Zoe opened the recording of the second call. This one was from a male who sounded significantly older than the first caller. I was driving by and saw one of the people who lives in our street—Mica Street, Frankston—dropping something into another neighbour’s bin a few doors down from where he lives. It was bin night last night so all the bins were lined up on the footpath. Anyway, this guy’s bin didn’t look to be overflowing or anything when I drove past his house, so I thought that was odd he was disposing of rubbish in someone else’s bin. I don’t know the gentleman myself, but he lives at number seven. The bin he put something in was outside number twelve. Anyway, with all the trouble a few streets over with that ghastly murder, I thought I’d best let the police know. You know, just in case. Okay, that’s it. Zoe knew from reading the report that the call had come in after the local patrol had noticed, by chance, what looked like a smear of blood on the side of the bin and had found the bloodied t-shirt that linked Aaron to the murder.

  In the case file, Zoe read that Angus and Hannah had interviewed everyone living in Aaron’s street to try to find the caller, without success. Every male denied having made the call.

  When questioned, Aaron Smyth openly admitted owing the deceased man money, but denied they had argued about it. He also denied placing the bloody shirt in the neighbour’s bin.

  She listened to both calls again. She could not hear any similarities in the voices. She pulled her headphones off and stood up, stretching her arms.

  Charlie looked up at her. ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘It’ll be beer o’clock soon.’

  Zoe gave him a half grin, dropping back into her chair. She reopened the other case file, the murder of Eric Drum a year later. As with the murder of Ben Jennings, there were two calls. The first seemed to be an elderly man, his voice crackling. I’ve never called about anything before, but I heard that Trevor Hill was…well, someone at the bowls club told me that this Trevor Hill fellow was, um,a hom-o-sex-ual and that the gentleman who died was apparently upset about it…That is all I know…All the best. My name is David Mc— Oh, I don’t suppose it matters what my name is. Anyway, all the best, cheerio.

  Iain and Garry had been unable to locate the caller, despite contacting all the local bowling clubs and interviewing every member named David.

  The second caller was male. He sounded middle-aged, and had a clipped English accent. Hello, my name is Mark Wilson…Yesterday, I was walking through the King Creek Bushland Reserve in Hastings when I saw a man with a shovel and a bag. It was about two in the afternoon, maybe two-thirty. Anyway, I thought he looked suspicious, so I stood behind a tree to watch what he was up to. He dug a shallow hole and buried a bag, then walked off with the shovel towards a street called Mariners Way. I didn’t go near where he’d dug the hole, but if you were to keep walking directly in from where the road ends and the reserve starts, it is about a hundred yards in, behind a spindly old eucalyptus…Not sure what it means, but I thought it proper to call…Okay, thanks. Goodbye.

  Garry had made a note that they’d been unable to find anyone with the caller’s name, Mark Wilson, living locally.

  Police searched the area the next morning and located the bag within two hours. It contained bloody clothes which had Eric Drum’s blood on them. DNA linked the clothes to Trevor Hill.

  When Trevor Hill was first interviewed he denied being gay, although he admitted it once the detectives showed him the taunting emails from Eric. Trevor also denied burying the rubbish bag with bloody clothes in the forest.

  ‘Come on, Harry.’ Zoe got up from her desk and headed for the elevator.


  Zoe and Harry walked a block up La Trobe Street to Flagstaff Gardens, on the fringe of the central business district. His tail waving high, Harry ignored the coos of people walking around him. As soon as they had left the building, Zoe put on her large dark sunglasses and removed Harry’s Service Dog vest, carrying it under her arm. She knew that it attracted too much attention when he wore it, with people soon starting to remember where they’d seen Zoe before. As soon as that happened, then the questions always started to flow.

  Once they arrived at the gardens, Zoe said, ‘Free.’ Harry ran across the grass, sniffing the air, tail wagging. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled.

  ‘Hey Zoe, long time no speak,’ Rebecca Willis said, answering. Rebecca worked in the Forensics Department as an audio expert.

  ‘Hi Bec. How’s things at the audio lab?’

  ‘Good. Busy. When did you start back?’

  ‘Sunday, on a case right now. Hey, I’ve got a favour to ask. You got any free time?’

  ‘For you, I’ll find some. What are you looking at?’

  ‘I’m doing a review of some old cases and I wanted to get some voices from Crime Stoppers tapes analysed. I want to confirm that the callers on the tapes aren’t all the same person. The voices sound different, but I need to be sure.’

  ‘When do you need it by?’

  ‘Soon as you can.’

  ‘Okay, email me the files. I’ll try for Monday.’

  ‘One more thing. Can we keep this one quiet? It’s a hunch I’m chasing and I don’t want blowback.’

  ‘No drama. I’ll keep it off the books until I hear differently from you.’

  ‘Thanks, Bec. You’re a champ. I owe you.’

  6.30 AM, SATURDAY 8 FEBRUARY

  Zoe woke from her dream, feeling the bed being thumped gently. She blinked twice, getting her bearings, before turning towards Harry, whose tail was doing the thumping. He laid his chin on her shoulder, looking straight at her from a few inches away.