The Long Game

by Simon Rowell

  ‘You going to work on a Sunday?’ he asked. ‘I was hoping we could get some lunch.’

  ‘Sorry. I would have loved that too, but I just need to get out in front on this case.’

  ‘I don’t reckon Charlie’s going to be so thrilled to have you back. Working him seven days a week and all.’

  Zoe said nothing. She was planning on working solo today too. She ate her breakfast slowly, savouring her morning coffee.

  Zoe turned off the freeway and drove east through farmland, across the top of the peninsula, and towards the town of Hastings. Stands of arthritic-looking trees lined the road, their limbs bulging and haphazard, stunted by droughts and beaten down by storms over the years. Zoe looked at them with respect. Survivors. Angling the rear-view mirror, she glanced at Harry, who had his chin resting on a paw, and was staring back at her.

  Zoe drove into Hastings. Facing onto Western Port Bay, the town was a mixture of older houses and newer developments of larger houses, especially by the shoreline, where two-storey residences overlooked the water and the marina. It looked like a place where not much happened. Probably just as they like it.

  Following her phone’s directions, she slowed as she passed the house where Eric Drum had been killed. It was a white brick house with a charcoal-coloured roof. Pink climbing roses were growing up the pillars of the veranda, almost to the gutters. A hose was neatly coiled, hanging on a hook attached to the side of the house. The front garden was overgrown with long grass and there was no car in the driveway. The blinds were open, but it was dark inside and the scene radiated despair.

  She drove on a few blocks and passed Trevor Hill’s house. The lawn was mown and scattered with children’s toys. The fence enclosing the front yard looked new. Zoe remembered Sarah Westbrook telling her that Trevor had sold his home to pay his legal fees.

  Zoe accelerated, turning at the next corner. She stopped outside a weatherboard house painted white with grey trim. She got out and opened the back. Harry jumped down, and began to sniff around as Zoe walked up the pathway bordered by pink rose bushes.

  Zoe opened the screen and knocked on the front door, holding her notepad and badge in the other hand.

  The door opened slightly.

  ‘Hello…’ started Zoe.

  ‘Not interested,’ said the woman’s voice, before the door slammed shut.

  Zoe opened the screen door again and slapped her hand against the door. A bad night’s sleep had left her too tired for this. ‘Victoria Police, open up,’ she growled, loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

  The door opened fully this time, to reveal a wide-eyed woman in a white t-shirt and denim shorts. Her blonde hair was starting to grey. ‘S-sorry, I thought you were a charity collector or a bible-basher. They sometimes walk around with dogs to get you on-side, especially on Sundays.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Zoe, holding her badge up. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Zoe Mayer. Are you Andrea Milburn?’

  ‘Yes, but what’s happened?’ the woman asked. ‘I’m sure I paid that parking fine.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Detectives spoke to you following the death of Eric Drum last year, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We are working on a separate case and our software hit on a matching photograph in our system,’ lied Zoe. ‘We are trying to locate this man. Do you know him?’ Zoe opened her folder and showed Andrea the solidly built, clean-shaven man with dark auburn hair who had been at Eric’s funeral.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s Eddie…Edward Nicholas. What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Zoe. She couldn’t remember seeing the name in the case notes. ‘He may be a witness in another investigation.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you know Eddie’s address?’

  ‘Yeah, he lived in Tyabb, next town back up the peninsula.’

  ‘Lived. You mean he’s no longer living there?’

  ‘That’s right. He left ages ago. Made an Irish exit.’

  ‘Sorry, what’s that?’

  ‘Took off without saying goodbye. A few people were pissed off, thought he was their mate, you know?’

  ‘Do you have any idea where he went?’

  ‘None at all. The guy vaporised.’

  ‘He ever mention family? Where he’d come from?’

  ‘Nah, he didn’t talk about himself much. Was more of a quiet type.’

  ‘When did he leave town?’

  ‘Around the end of autumn, probably late April last year. I remember driving over there to see how he was and the house had been rented to a family. His neighbour said Eddie had left three weeks before that. Wasn’t too impressed, myself. Thought we were friends.’

  Zoe ran the date through her mind. It was after Trevor Hill had been charged and was in custody for Eric Drum’s stabbing. ‘How long was he around for?’ asked Zoe.

  Andrea shut her eyes momentarily. ‘Probably about six months. Met him at the footy club one night. He’d won a grand on the ponies and was shouting drinks all round. Nothing like free drinks to make you popular. He was a good bloke, easy-going, mates with everyone. Funny, too.’

  ‘Who was Eddie closest to in town?’

  ‘Probably Eric Drum, the guy who died. He was mates with Trevor Hill as well. And with Jim Crowley.’

  ‘Where could I find Jim?’

  ‘Over there.’ Andrea was pointing to a house three doors down, on the other side of the road. ‘The one with the green letterbox.’

  Zoe gave a grin. ‘Small town.’

  ‘You’ve got that right. Too small sometimes.’

  ‘Where did Eddie live in Tyabb?’

  Andrea gave her the address.

  Zoe noted it down and then handed her a business card. ‘Thanks for your help. Give me a call if you think of anything else.’

  ‘Will do. Hope he’s not in strife with the coppers.’

  ‘No, just a witness. Nothing to worry about.’ Zoe did not want to start a wildfire of rumours in a small town like this. She said goodbye and led Harry across the street.

  A man around fifty was sitting on a chair on his front veranda as she approached. He wore khaki shorts and a blue tanktop. A dagger was tattooed high up on his left arm and Zoe could see that he was fit and strong. ‘Jim Crowley?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘I know who you are. I saw the news. You’re a fricken hero for what you did last year.’

  Zoe blushed.

  ‘They got you a service dog, eh? What’s its name?’

  ‘Harry.’

  Jim leaned down, letting Harry sniff his hand before giving him a pat on the head. ‘Harry, nice to meet you.’ He looked up at Zoe. ‘Top dogs, golden retrievers. Smart and loyal. Mate of mine from the army has a service dog too. He got blown halfway to God in Iraq. We managed to keep him going. Medevac pulled him out.’

  ‘How’s he doing now?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Some days are good, some not so much. That dog is keeping him alive, though, that I do know.’

  ‘How about you? Army?’

  ‘Yeah, infantry. Did tours in Iraq and then Afghanistan. Did my twenty years and got out in one piece, more or less. Rest your legs.’ Jim motioned towards the other seat on the veranda.

  Zoe sat. Harry lay down by her feet. She used the same preamble about photo-matching software. She could see Jim was doubtful of the story, but didn’t want to say so. She showed him the photograph from her folder.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Eddie,’ he said. ‘He just vanished one day. Strangest thing. Left a lot of people confused.’

  ‘Andrea said he lived in Tyabb.’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon she was keen on him. Saw him as a fixer-upper. A project, you know? She was a bit miffed.’

  You know who else he was close to around here?’

  ‘Eric Drum, who got murdered. Shitty business that. And to Trevor Hill, who you guys locked up for it. Then there’s Andrea. He was pretty popular down at the footy club, always buying drinks for peop
le.’

  ‘Do you know what Eddie did for work?’

  ‘Said he worked in construction. Must have been a decent job as he was flush all the time.’

  ‘Ever mention family?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Or romantic relationships?’

  ‘As far as I know he was single the whole time, but I’ve no idea about before that.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for that.’ She pulled out a card. ‘If you think of anything else, give me a call.’

  ‘No worries, will do. You sure this has nothing to do with Eric’s murder? Trevor’s trial starts soon.’

  ‘No, nothing at all.’ Zoe could see that Jim was still in two minds.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘there was a reporter fishing around a few weeks ago. She was making one of those podcast thingies.’

  ‘Well, the trial’s coming up. There will be stories in the media,’ said Zoe, wanting to dampen Jim’s instinct. ‘It must have been a rough time around here then.’

  ‘Yeah, we were pretty shocked. Eric being killed and then finding out that Trevor did it. Sorry, allegedly. That’s what you’re supposed to say, isn’t it? And all because Trevor was gay?’ Jim looked off into the distance. ‘No one would have even cared. Not nowadays. Just a waste.’

  She was approaching Somerville, halfway across the peninsula towards Frankston, when Harry gave an urgent bark from the back of the car. Zoe checked her rear-view mirror, then flicked on the indicator and pulled over. She punched at the button for the hazard lights. She knew what that bark meant.

  As she turned back towards Harry, her eyelids flickered and she felt the pressure build in her chest even before she heard the thumping sound. Then the car went black and her head slumped.

  Zoe could see the vapour from her breath. She looked at the cold blue September sky. And then a gap in the crowd caught her eye, revealing a bulging blue backpack beside a wooden bench. She walked across to get a better view.

  There was no one near it.

  She touched the side of her earpiece to activate the microphone. ‘Suspicious bag, sector eight. Blue backpack, unattended.’ Zoe peered up at the roof of the stadium. The spotter was scanning the area, looking for her location. Zoe took off her baseball cap and waved it, as if signalling a friend.

  Time seemed to stand still after that. They cleared the crowd quickly from the area and waited, listening to the humming sound of the Bomb Squad’s robot as it made its way to the backpack. She waited for the explosion, but could only hear the sound of her own breathing.

  ‘All clear, all clear,’ came the voice through the earpiece.

  And then Zoe heard another sound.

  She came to in the car, pulled over to the side of the road, with Harry yelping and straining to reach her in his harness. She remembered where she was, and listened. The chopper was gone. ‘Good boy, good boy,’ she said.

  Harry looked at her. His mouth opened into a smile and he sat down, now relaxed.

  Zoe headed back into the traffic and went over what she had heard in the past few hours.

  After Jim Crowley’s place in Hastings, she went to the footy club and heard the same story from the regulars at the bar. Eddie Nicholas was a top bloke. Disappeared off the radar. Then she called by the local real estate office, which was closed. She rang the mobile number plastered all over the front window. The real estate agent came in reluctantly and dug up Eddie’s rental file. First six months’ rent paid up front, all cash. A phone number for a rental reference that was disconnected. Everything was the same as she had discovered about Greg Enders the day before in Rye, fifty kilometres down the peninsula. When Zoe looked at the photocopy of Eddie Nicholas’s driver’s licence she gasped. She might have been looking at Greg Enders. At least, a clean-shaven version with different-coloured hair.

  Zoe drove through Frankston’s back streets. The suburb, once almost exclusively working-class, was changing fast. Every third or fourth house had a luxury car parked in the driveway. Zoe pulled up outside the house she was looking for. It had recently been rendered and was freshly landscaped. She hoped that Ben Jennings’ widow still lived here.

  Harry hopped down from the back of the Escape and they walked to the front porch. Zoe rang the buzzer.

  A pale woman opened the screen door. Zoe knew from the file that Charlotte Jennings was about forty, but this woman looked much older, with dark rings under her eyes. She wore an old t-shirt with a coffee stain on the front and yoga pants.

  ‘Charlotte Jennings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Zoe Mayer, Victoria Police,’ said Zoe, badge in hand. ‘Have you got a moment?’

  ‘Did he escape?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Aaron Smyth. Did he escape from prison?’

  ‘No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s not about that. Can we chat?’

  ‘I don’t like dogs,’ Charlotte said, punching each word out in a staccato rhythm. ‘One bit me when I was a kid.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s okay, he can stay out here. It should only take a minute.’

  ‘Okay. You’ll have to excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

  Zoe gestured for Harry to lie down on the porch as Charlotte stepped back inside. Zoe followed her in. The house was dark, the curtains pulled shut. Charlotte turned on an overhead light to reveal a dishevelled room, with a quilt draped over the couch and magazines lying on the floor. Stained coffee cups littered the table. Charlotte pulled some newspapers off a chair and indicated for Zoe to sit. The air was stale.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you were still here. Looks like you’ve had some work done outside recently.’

  Charlotte looked confused for a moment. ‘Oh yeah, we were going to fix the house up before…before what happened to Ben.’ She stopped. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d get it done. Thought it might cheer me up.’ Charlotte’s expression told Zoe that it hadn’t. ‘Dad did the landscaping. Put in all the yuccas.’ The trees stood guard behind the shut curtain, lined up like spiky soldiers. ‘Do you want some water or something?’ Charlotte asked, without making a move to get up.

  ‘No. Thanks though. This shouldn’t take long.’ Zoe opened her folder and held up a photograph. ‘Do you know this person?’ she said. It was the dark-bearded man supporting himself with a cane.

  Charlotte took a sharp breath. Zoe realised that she knew the photo was taken at her husband’s funeral. Shit. She should have prepared her first.

  ‘Yes, that’s…Alex…um…Alex Verdi. He was friends with Ben. I haven’t seen him in a long time.’ She shot a look at Zoe. ‘Was he involved in Ben’s murder, too?

  ‘No. We believe that this man, Alex, is potentially a witness in another matter. Nothing to do with your husband’s case.’ Zoe felt the small pang she always experienced when lying at work. So much of her job was about misdirecting people to get a result.

  ‘That’s good. I couldn’t take another trial. The first one…it kind of broke me, you know?’ Charlotte’s eyes grew moist.

  Zoe waited for a moment. ‘Do you know where Alex is now?’

  ‘No, he dropped out of the scene after Ben died. Most people did. I felt like a leper for a long time.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. It must have been horrible,’ Zoe said. Again she waited. ‘Any idea where Alex lived?’

  ‘Yeah. Hold on.’ She pulled herself out of the chair and walked over to the kitchen bench. She shuffled through a stack of papers, pulled out a sheet and walked back over. ‘I made a list of the people who sent cards or flowers when Ben died. I was going to write to thank them once I came good, but—I guess I’m not there yet.’

  Zoe wondered how she would act, and feel, if she was in Charlotte’s position. It was two years since Ben had been killed, yet it obviously still felt raw for his widow.

  ‘There,’ Charlotte said, her finger resting on Alex Verdi’s name and address.

  Zoe wrote down the details. ‘Thanks, that’s great.’

  ‘He went to th
e first day of the trial. Also, the sentencing,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘So he was still living around here then?’

  ‘No, he left soon after Ben died, but must have come back for those two days. I was happy to see him. I just sort of said hello, gave him a hug and that was it. When I saw him at the sentencing he looked so different. He’d shaved off his beard and bulked up, like he’d been at the gym a lot. Took years off him, I remember thinking.’

  ‘The trial would’ve been tough to get through,’ said Zoe.

  ‘Yeah, it was. Everyone was so tight-knit that I wasn’t sure who was at the trial for me and who was there to support his killer, you know?’ A single tear fell down Charlotte’s face. ‘At least we got the right verdict in the end.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Zoe. ‘I didn’t come here to upset you.’

  Charlotte waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. This is just a normal day round here.’

  ‘What was Alex like?’

  ‘Average bloke. The guys liked him. He won some competition once and took a big group of the boys off for a day on a fancy golf course. They all got golf carts as Alex’s leg was stuffed, you know, he had the cane to get around. They loved it. Ben said he’d never seen grass so perfect.’ Charlotte smiled at the memory.

  ‘Do you know what Alex did for work?’

  ‘I think he worked as a surveyor…something like that. I seem to remember Ben telling me he’d smashed up his leg falling into a pit at a construction site.’

  As Zoe noted it down, the two sat in silence.

  ‘You know, it’s weird,’ Charlotte said. ‘No one has spoken to me about what happened for months, and now two people in the last week.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This woman called Sarah Westbrook came by on Friday asking all sorts of questions for a podcast.’

  ‘I know who you mean,’ Zoe said. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her to piss off. Told her that Ben’s life and death weren’t for sale as entertainment.’

  6.25 AM, MONDAY 10 FEBRUARY

  Zoe opened her eyes. Her head lay on her crossed arms on her dining-room table, which was strewn with papers. A notepad was open beside her elbow. She blinked, trying to get her bearings. Just above her left ear she heard someone breathing. Instinctively, she jumped to her feet, kicking her chair away, and spun into an attack stance. From across the room, Harry jumped up at the same moment, rushing to Zoe’s side.