The Long Game

by Simon Rowell

  ‘Whoa. Steady on. It’s just me,’ said Tom, taking two quick steps back.

  ‘Shit, you gave me a fright,’ said Zoe, before pulling the chair upright and stretching the kinks from her neck. Harry sat down, staring at Tom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Tom.

  Zoe tried to sweep the papers together and get them out of view. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to do some work.’

  Tom pointed at the notepad. ‘And what’s that all about?’

  Shit. On the notepad, Zoe had listed out the three cases in separate columns. The first read:

  Frankston Murder

  Victim: Ben Jennings

  Offender: Aaron Smyth

  Missing: Alex Verdi?

  The second:

  Hastings Murder

  Victim: Eric Drum

  Offender: Trevor Hill

  Missing: Eddie Nicholas?

  And the third:

  Portsea Murder

  Victim: Ray Carlson

  Offender: Dwayne Harley

  Missing: Greg Enders?

  At the bottom of the three columns Zoe had scrawled, Same person killed all three? What’s the link? Who is he? Where is he? What’s the motive? Why February?

  Zoe turned the notebook over. ‘How long were you standing there before I woke up?’

  ‘Long enough to read that. I thought you had charged someone for that Portsea stabbing? You think you got the wrong guy? You think it’s a serial killer?’

  ‘Look, I can’t discuss this with you. I shouldn’t have left this information out. It’s all confidential. Plus, it’s just a scenario. It’s not evidence, just an idea, okay?’

  Tom said nothing.

  Zoe put up a reassuring hand. ‘Don’t take it personally, Tom. You’re a defence lawyer. You know I can’t discuss it with you, or anyone else outside of Homicide, for that matter?’

  ‘Yeah, okay. Just let me say one thing and then I’ll leave it alone. If this scenario,’ he said, pointing at the notepad, ‘looks like being real, just be careful. Okay?’

  Zoe nodded. ‘I’ll be careful as long as you forget what you saw here. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

  It was just after eight when Zoe and Harry walked into the Homicide office to find a huddle of detectives around Charlie’s desk. Charlie, red-faced, was shaking his head.

  Zoe felt a chill run through her.

  ‘I don’t know anything about it. I wasn’t there,’ she heard Charlie say.

  ‘Ah, the great one has arrived,’ spat Iain Gillies. ‘What the fuck have you done?’

  ‘What are you talking about, Iain?’ Zoe said, trying to maintain a calm tone. ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Harry moved forward and stood between them, as more detectives stopped what they were doing and looked over.

  ‘I received a call this morning from a bloke named Jim Crowley in Hastings asking why we were looking for some guy called Eddie Nicholas. He says he got to thinking after your little visit yesterday about the odds of two different detectives visiting him about two separate cases in less than a year. He thought they were somewhere between slim and fucking zero. Then he asks me if Trevor Hill is innocent and Eddie did the murder. That specific enough for you? Then Charlie here tells me that you’re looking at one of Angus and Hannah’s cases as well, the murder in Frankston. The one where a guy’s already been found guilty. You’ve been back a week and you’re already undermining the squad.’

  Zoe glanced across at Hannah and Angus, who were staring hard at her. In the background, she also saw Anjali was standing against a wall, clutching a folder against her chest. ‘Well, there are some elements that seem identical in all three cases and I decided to look into it. Charlie had nothing to do with it.’

  Garry Burns crossed his arms, mimicking Iain. ‘I thought you charged someone for that murder down at Portsea. What are you saying—that you’ve got the wrong bloke?’

  ‘No, I’m not. What I’m saying is that I am examining every piece of evidence to make sure I get the right person. What exactly are you all worried about, anyway? If you are so sure you’re right, what’s the problem with me having a look?’

  ‘The problem,’ said Iain, ‘is that family and friends of the victim and the accused get the idea that there is another person involved. Then the media grab hold of this and we reach a whole new level of chaos. That’s the problem.’

  Zoe knew that he was right and her stomach tightened. ‘I gave them no indication that I was looking at Eddie Nicholas for Eric Drum’s killing. Same with Alex Verdi for Ben Jennings’ murder. Zero. I told them my questions were about another case altogether.’

  A grin formed at the corner of Iain’s mouth. Zoe heard high-heeled footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Sally Johnstone strutting across the office, her black silk court robes trailing behind her like a cape. The expression on her face signalled war. Her blonde hair, usually pinned up, had fallen free. As she came to a stop, she crossed her arms and glared, thin-lipped, at Zoe.

  ‘Well, Jim Crowley didn’t buy it,’ resumed Iain. ‘Thanks very much. We have motive, opportunity and physical evidence that Trevor Hill murdered Eric Drum. The trial starts next week, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘There’s no mention of any Eddie Nicholas in the file,’ Zoe replied, ‘which is strange as he was good friends with both your victim and suspect. How’d you miss him?’

  Iain laughed sarcastically. ‘Probably because he had nothing to do with the case. And what are you doing fishing around in our files? If this prosecution gets wrecked because of your bloody meddling, I’ll be coming for you.’

  ‘If your case is solid, you’ve got no worries, do you?’

  ‘You’ll be creating reasonable doubt, and you know what that means. Maybe you should have become a defence lawyer, like your boyfriend, instead of a cop. You seem to be doing a good job of defending killers. Especially now you’re a fucking basket case. How the psych signed you off to come back to work, I’ve got no idea.’

  ‘What about Sarah Westbrook?’ Zoe could feel the heat rising.

  ‘What about her?’ snapped Iain.

  ‘She’s doing an investigation for her podcast. You saying she hasn’t reached out to you?’

  ‘Yeah, she did. And I told her there’s nothing in it. She’s just some lefty journo trying to do an anti-cop podcast. And she’s conned you into fucking helping her do it.’

  ‘So, that’s it then,’ said Zoe. ‘Nothing to see here. Is that the line? Sarah Westbrook isn’t some random conspiracy theorist. She’s a respected journalist with a podcast that is listened to by over a million people every week. If there’s something in what she’s saying, then we need to get in front of it.’

  ‘But there’s nothing in it,’ Iain said. ‘She’s looking at cases that look similar and deciding that they’re linked, while ignoring a ton of contradictory evidence. Just because she knew some of the people involved a lifetime ago.’

  ‘My job is to get to the truth. I am doing my job.’

  Sally gave a short jab of laughter. ‘Your job? Doing off-the-book work on closed cases. Is that your job now?’

  Zoe turned to Sally. ‘I was looking into strong coincidences between three crimes. One of these put someone in jail for life, another will put someone in the dock in a murder trial starting next week, and someone has just been charged in the third.’

  ‘I’m obviously aware of that,’ said Sally. ‘That’s why I’m here. What I want to know is why? These cases are built on overwhelming evidence.’

  ‘And what if that evidence has been fabricated, created to tick all the boxes and convict the wrong people?’

  ‘Zoe, what if you aren’t ready to be back at work?’ Sally said slowly, venom on her tongue. ‘You went through something last year. Maybe it broke you.’

  Zoe stood a moment, waiting for composure to catch up with her, before she responded. ‘Sally, there’s something more important than winning cases.’ />
  ‘Really? And what’s that?’

  ‘Justice. If there’s even the slightest possibility that this is the work of a serial killer setting up innocent people, you should be asking how you can help, not sneering at me. Same goes for everyone else,’ Zoe said, looking around. ‘We should all be interested in the truth, not just closing cases. We need to investigate every lead. Sally, you’re starting a murder prosecution in a week’s time. If there was a surprise on the way, wouldn’t you want to know?’

  Sally said nothing, continuing to stare disdainfully at Zoe.

  Zoe went on in a low, deliberate voice. ‘Sally, the thing is, I don’t really give a flying fuck about what you think I should be investigating. This feud you have with me—the one that clouds your judgment—is your invention. It lives in your head. I have nothing to do with it…and I never have.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what you have to say once I’ve spoken to your DI,’ snapped Sally.

  From the back of the room, Rob Loretti spoke, ‘No need, Ms Johnstone.’

  Sally turned, scanning the room.

  ‘I’m backing Zoe,’ Rob went on. ‘All the way. And I am sure you wouldn’t want to try to impede the activities of this department. That would be a very serious overstep.’

  Zoe felt like the cavalry had arrived.

  Sally started to protest, ‘Yes, of course, but—’

  ‘I gave Zoe the okay to look at these cases,’ Rob said, addressing the room. ‘We have a person who may have been at all three funerals. I want to know if it’s true and, if so, who he is. That’s it. Now get back to work everyone. Zoe, I want an update in five minutes. Thanks.’ Rob turned on his heel and headed back to his office.

  Sally, her neck now pink, turned quickly and walked towards the door, while the rest of the squad broke up, returning to their desks. Iain and Garry muttered something Zoe couldn’t make out.

  When Zoe sat at her desk, Harry lay down under it.

  She looked across at Charlie. ‘You okay?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’ He didn’t meet her gaze, continuing to stare at his screen.

  Zoe saw the light flashing on her desk phone. She listened to the message.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to Charlie.

  8.25 AM, MONDAY 10 FEBRUARY

  Zoe walked into the DI’s office and found Rob leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. ‘Bloody hell, Zoe,’ he said in a deep whisper. ‘I told you to leave it alone.’

  ‘Sorry, boss. You didn’t have to back me up out there.’

  Harry sat beside Zoe, also staring at Rob.

  ‘Well, you didn’t give me much choice. It was either back you or suspend you, Zoe. I’m responsible for the squad. What you do reflects on me, too.’

  Charlie walked in, looking despondent.

  ‘How are you doing, Charlie?’ asked Rob.

  ‘I’ll be okay if Zoe’s theory turns out to be right, otherwise we’re both rooted.’

  ‘Being universally loved is overrated,’ said Zoe, not looking at Charlie.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Rob. ‘So, what did you learn on this weekend fishing trip of yours?’

  ‘Okay, I went to Portsea on Saturday to look for the guy from Ray Carlson’s funeral, Greg Enders. Went to his house, but it was empty. His neighbour said he’d moved out on Friday. His mobile number was disconnected.’

  ‘You spoke with him after the murder, yes?’

  ‘We spoke to him last Tuesday. No mention that he was leaving. Said if we had more questions, we’d know where to find him. He was friendly, but didn’t seem to know anything relevant. What’d you think, Charlie?’

  ‘He seemed like a normal bloke. He did give us a background on Joshua Priest, though, the guy that Dwayne and Ray were supplying with meth.’

  ‘True,’ said Zoe. ‘Anyway, on Saturday I chased up the real estate agent. Enders, or whatever his name is, paid six months ahead, in cash, and was a model tenant. The place was meticulously cleaned. Every surface smelled of bleach. Even the wheelie bin was scrubbed. He left nothing. I rang the rental reference he gave the agent and the number was dead. She had a copy of his driver’s licence showing his previous address in Mount Eliza. I checked it out on my way back up the peninsula. It was a vacant block. I also went to see Katie Harley. She was surprised Enders was gone. Like everyone else she said he was a top bloke, and got tickets to the Grand Final for Ray and Dwayne.’

  ‘Small world,’ said Rob.

  Zoe was confused for a moment, before remembering Grand Final Day. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘So, what happened yesterday?’ asked Rob.

  Zoe went over her trip to Hastings and Frankston, detailing the similar behaviours of the men known as Eddie Nicholas and Alex Verdi. ‘Cash up front for the lease. Generous. Easy-going. Then there’s a killing and they leave. The house is scrubbed with bleach both times. No one pays much attention. It’s got to be the same guy.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Rob. ‘If there’s something to all this, we need to play it smart. Charlie, you keep wrapping up the paperwork in the case against Dwayne Harley. You don’t need your career stuffed as well if this goes south. Zoe, keep investigating. We need to find this guy if we’re going to be able to prove any of this. Okay?’

  Charlie and Zoe nodded. The relief in Charlie’s eyes was obvious.

  Rob continued, ‘Charlie, you get back to work.’ Charlie left, closing the door behind him.

  Rob picked up the phone. ‘Anjali, can you come in please? Thanks.’

  Zoe gave Rob a quizzical look.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said.

  A moment later there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Rob. The door opened slowly. ‘Come in and grab a seat, Anj. And shut the door.’

  Anjali entered, closing the door behind her. She sat.

  ‘I am assigning Anj to assist you. While you were away, I personally recruited Anj from the Fraud Squad. She’s very good at finding people and keeping secrets.’

  Zoe looked at Anjali, who gave her a humble smile in return.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoe, thinking. ‘I need you to run three names. There’s nothing on our database, but I’ll get you to look at the tax office, motor registrations, immigration, the electoral commission, land titles office, Centrelink, Medicare, the works. Plus, the banks. Perhaps we’ll get lucky.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Anjali.

  ‘Also,’ said Zoe, looking back to Rob, ‘I have a friend in Forensics. I asked her to run a test—off the books—on the recordings of the phone tip-offs in each case. She just left me a voice message.’

  ‘And?’ asked Rob.

  ‘There is an eighty per cent chance all of the voices are from the same person. There’s a common inflection in certain words.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘Eighty per cent isn’t enough. A good lawyer could tear that to shreds. Ninety-nine-plus per cent is what we’d need in court.’

  ‘Agreed, but from an investigative viewpoint, it’s a good indicator that we’re onto something.’

  Zoe and Rob stared at each other. Anjali waited.

  Rob broke the stalemate. ‘You’re a hell of an instinctive detective, Zoe. I hope you’re right, because otherwise the roof is going to come down on both our heads.’

  ‘What other choice do we have?’

  ‘Okay, but what’s the hypothesis?’ asked Rob. ‘If the cases are all connected, how?’

  ‘I don’t know. But we need to find out fast. Trevor Hill’s trial for the murder of Eric Drum starts on Monday.’

  ‘The clock’s ticking, then,’ said Rob.

  The message light was again blinking on the phone on Zoe’s desk. ‘Hi Zoe. It’s Sarah Westbrook here. I know you said you’d get in contact only if you found anything, but… anyway. Hope you’re well. Bye.’

  Zoe replaced the receiver. I have nothing I can tell her. She looked across at Charlie, who was furtively glancing about the office. ‘Listen,’ she said, her voice low,
‘if you want to win a popularity contest, you’ve got the wrong partner. Seriously. You’re a good detective, but you can’t always just go with the flow. Not with me, at least.’

  Charlie was silent. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said after a while. ‘I just hope you can prove all this, that’s all.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Zoe. She checked her email. There was something from the real estate agent in Frankston. She clicked on the attachment. Zoe leaned in. ‘Check this out.’

  Charlie walked around to look. An ID photo from Alex Verdi’s driver’s licence filled the screen. In it, the man looked at the camera with blank, half-closed eyes, as if he were sleepy. He held his head back, and chin out.

  ‘Okay,’ said Charlie, ‘It could be Greg Enders, minus the bent neck.’

  Zoe keyed the address on the licence into the computer. ‘According to the address on his licence, he was living at the Australia Post office in South Melbourne.’

  7.45 AM, TUESDAY 11 FEBRUARY

  The two whiteboards in the conference room had been scrawled all over. On one board, Zoe had listed everything they knew about the Portsea killing of Ray Carlson. On the other were details of the murders in Frankston and Hastings over the two years prior. It was a jumble of names, dates, alleged motives and evidence.

  Standing there, arms folded, Zoe was willing new information to appear. She closed her eyes, going over everything she knew—that all the murders happened at yearly intervals in the summer heat of February; all the victims were male, all late thirties; the accused in each murder had motive and opportunity; evidence linked them to the killings.

  Maybe my instincts are off. She smiled wryly down at Harry. ‘Your mum might be out of practice.’

  Harry tilted his head, leaning it against her leg, and looked up at her.