by Simon Rowell
‘And I took a copy of all the folders on a USB,’ said Zoe. ‘I can restore them later. But who deleted them?’ She felt the heat rise in her face. Tom was with Sally. Did he tell her about the notes he’d seen the morning he found me asleep at the dining-room table? Did Sally find someone—someone with a vested interest—to delete the evidence? Iain? Garry?
‘Zoe, you okay?’ asked Rob.
Zoe shook her head. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. Anjali, can you work some magic and trace who deleted the files?’
‘I can try,’ said Anjali.
Zoe exhaled. ‘It’s an inside job,’ she said finally.
10 AM, SUNDAY 16 FEBRUARY
Zoe lay on her couch, staring at the white ceiling. How could they find Marko and his computer? His house was under surveillance. She’d spoken to the morgue in case Marko contacted them about collecting Ivan’s body for burial. She’d had the data log for the Department of Justice offices checked—neither Marko nor anyone else had entered or left the office since late Friday.
Harry was fast asleep on his back beside the couch, his legs in the air. They had been on two walks to the park already. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. She flicked through the channels, past sitcom repeats, sports wrap-ups and shopping channels, until she stopped on a nature documentary. The screen was filled with kangaroos on the edge of a rainforest.
Zoe sat upright, staring at the screen, energised. ‘Harry, wake up, we’ve got to go.’
She grabbed her phone and called Charlie.
It was just before noon when she parked outside the supermarket in Yarra Junction. She looked at her watch, checking her side mirror for any sign of Charlie. A minute later her phone buzzed.
‘Charlie, where are you?’
‘I was almost there when I got a tip that the witness in one of my other cases, that DV homicide in Toorak, has popped up having brunch at a cafe in Malvern. I’m on the way there now. Can you get a couple of the local uniformed officers to assist? I’ll be tied up with this witness for a few hours. Sorry, Zoe.’
‘Don’t sweat it. Do what you need to do,’ she said, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Good luck with it.’
‘You be okay getting some local uniforms to help?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, all good,’ she said.
Zoe drove slowly up Mount Bride Road into the rainforest. She’d decided to take a look and then radio for back-up if she needed it. She thought that Marko was too smart to be hiding out in the cabin, but she knew it would be a good hiding place for his computer. In the roof cavity. Or under the floor.
With the overhanging rainforest darkening the winding road, Zoe felt her stomach tighten. She hadn’t seen another car since Yarra Junction. She could feel her quickened pulse throbbing through her injured leg. She slowed her breathing down to get her heart rate under control. Harry sat in the back, studying her reflection in the rear-view mirror.
Zoe saw the small opening to the left, half obscured by gigantic ferns fanning the entrance, and she coasted onto the rough dirt track. She turned off the engine and the car rolled silently to a stop. She opened her window. Apart from the birds singing in the trees, there was no other sound.
The cabin was a hundred metres down the track. Zoe got out of the car, leaning against her door to shut it quietly. By force of habit she felt for her gun in its holster, and then opened the back door. Harry stared at her hesitantly, sensing her anxiety. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered. ‘We’re just going to have a look, that’s all. Let’s go.’
Harry jumped down and stood at her side, his tail down. Zoe pushed the door shut.
With a hand on her still-holstered gun, she walked cautiously along the side of the track, Harry in tow. Her leg was causing her pain. Every ten metres she would stop, listening for unusual sounds. Harry kept pace, stopping whenever she stopped. There was nothing. The cabin wasn’t yet visible through the forest.
They’d walked a few more metres when a branch cracked to her right. She spun and drew her gun, levelling it in the direction of the sound. A small grey kangaroo stood blinking at her before bouncing away through the undergrowth. Zoe shook her head, looking back towards the cabin. ‘Come on,’ she whispered to Harry.
As they got closer, Zoe started to bend at the waist, her weapon still in her hand. The track began to widen into the clearing in front of the cabin. Once again, she stopped and listened. Nothing.
Zoe walked off the track towards the giant ferns growing near the clearing. Harry followed as she found cover beneath an ancient tree, its base the width of a car. Edging around the trunk, Zoe peered at the cabin. There were no signs of life. Everything seemed to be the same as when they’d found Ivan’s body. She made her way through the bush until she was directly across from the windowless side of the cabin.
‘Wait,’ she said to Harry, before gesturing to him to lie down. ‘Stay.’
Zoe walked alone into the clearing, gun raised. Facing the cabin, she walked around to the back. The area was clear. She waited, considering her next move. A kookaburra startled her by breaking into its long cackling song. It’s probably laughing at how recklessly stupid I am. She walked backwards a few metres, out of the clearing and into the large ferns. Switching her gun into her left hand, she reached down and picked up a fist-sized rock. She stood up, wincing as pain shot through her injured leg.
Harry was lying still where she’d left him. He was watching her intently, head tilted. Zoe tossed the rock high towards the cabin. She swapped her gun back into her right hand just as the rock crashed onto the corrugated iron roof. Zoe waited, listening intently for any sound. Nothing. She breathed out, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed.
Training her gun on the back door, she walked into the clearing. She reached the cabin and found the back door unlocked, just as it was when she and Charlie discovered Ivan’s body. She called Harry over and told him to sit outside the door. She opened it quietly and ducked under the blue-and-white police tape that was stuck across the doorway. Her finger remained on the trigger, ready. The odour of death lingered. Going from room to room, she found the cabin empty. She checked the fridge, which was on. There was nothing in it.
Her eyes moved to the large freezer. It remained unplugged. She walked over, raising her gun in readiness. In one motion she lifted the lid and thrust the gun into the freezer space. It was empty.
Zoe went from room to room, looking up at the ceiling, searching for an access panel. She found it in the bedroom. She grabbed a rickety chair from the living area, dragged it into the bedroom and stood on it. As she pushed the cover out of the way, Zoe felt a surge of anticipation. Reaching up with both hands, she pulled herself up into the darkened roof space.
Zoe sat on the edge, her legs hanging down from the ceiling, and used her phone to light up the area. Cobwebs hung between beams. She spun around, searching. Nothing. She pointed the phone’s light down around the entrance. All she could see were her own handprints in the thick dust. Shit.
Zoe spent another fruitless hour checking beneath the floorboards in the cabin, before she decided to head back. She was driving along a hedge-lined road through Gladysdale when her phone picked up a signal and buzzed that she had a voice message. She pulled over to play it.
‘Hello…Detective…My name’s Serge. You spoke to me at the pub after Ray was killed. Anyway, you told me to call you if I thought of anything else. Look, I don’t know…maybe it’s nothing, but I am in Warburton visiting family and I saw Greg Enders. I went up to say hi, but he told me I was mistaken. He had sunnies on, but it was him. His car’s got a deep scratch near the fuel cap and I remember seeing it at the footy club. Anyway, it was definitely him. I thought that was bloody odd, especially seeing how nice he’d always been. My missus said to call you about it. Anyway, all the best.’ The line went dead.
Zoe went over her memories from interviewing people at the hotel until she could picture Serge. Older man. Short and stocky. Faded Italian accent. Firm handshake. Yes, that
was him. She called him back. He answered after two rings.
‘Serge, it’s Detective Mayer. I got your message. Thanks for calling.’
‘No problem. I don’t know if it’s even relevant, but it was just that Greg was always friendly. Anyhow, today he stared at me like I’m a lunatic. Told me he’s not Greg. I just thought it was odd.’
‘What sort of car was he in?’
‘Blue Camry. Fairly new. Probably only a year old. I got the rego.’
Blue Camry.
‘Great,’ said Zoe, reaching for a pen. ‘Go for it.’
‘ELP 886.’
‘Thanks. Where was the car?’
‘In the main street. There’s a tourism info building there—got a big waterwheel on the side of it—he’s parked outside of it right now.’
‘What? Are you still there?’ asked Zoe.
‘Yeah, I’m parked down the road a bit. Thought I’d keep an eye on him until you called back.’
Zoe felt a rush of appreciation for the man. ‘That’s fantastic, Serge. You’ve done a great job. Don’t approach him again. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ She said goodbye and turned on her siren. ‘Harry, lie down.’
Slowing as she rolled into Warburton’s main street, Zoe turned off her siren and the flashing lights hidden behind the car’s grille. The town was surrounded by forested mountains that towered above it. In the distance she could see a large plume of smoke, no doubt from a bushfire. At the far end of the street a fire truck was driving off towards the fire, its red-and-blue lights flashing. The street was busy and she scanned it for Marko and his car. On her right, she saw the waterwheel turning at the side of the tourism office. The blue Camry was there, parked on her side of the road. Further on, a late-model Ford pulled out and did a quick u-turn, travelling away from them. Thanks, Serge.
She decided to drive past and confirm it was Marko before she called in the cavalry. As she approached, the blue Camry darted out and sped off. She instinctively turned on her lights and siren as she started her pursuit. She concentrated on the road for half a kilometre until she reached the outskirts of town, then grabbed her radio to call in for assistance. It was dead. She tried again. Nothing.
She sped up. ‘Harry, lie down,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road. Harry lay flat in the back. ‘Stay.’
They were headed up a winding road. Marko drove wildly, cutting corners. Victoria Police policy was to abandon dangerous pursuits, but without a radio she couldn’t organise local officers to block the road ahead. Something told her this was her last chance to catch Marko.
Watching him take another bend, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She glanced at the screen before a truck flashed past her. She fumbled the phone and it fell down between the seats. Shit.
They came to a stretch of relatively straight road and Zoe tried the radio again. Nothing. What the fuck is happening?
Marko pulled off sharply onto a dirt road. Zoe was thirty metres behind. The fine dust thrown up by the Camry made it hard to see and she bounced in and out of potholes, causing the car to lurch across the road as she went. To her left, a large family of grey kangaroos bounced away into the bush, fleeing the noise of the siren. A secondary track loomed up on the left. Marko swung the Camry onto it at the last moment, the back end of his car sliding out. There was a No Through Road sign. She slowed to a stop, and parked her SUV diagonally across the track, blocking it. She turned off the siren, leaving the red-and-blue lights flashing on her front grille and back window. She tried the police radio again. Nothing. She checked the lights on the radio. Everything looked normal. She reached around under the seat and found her phone.
She got out of the car and listened. In the distance she could hear sirens competing with each other as they raced towards the bushfire. She glanced down at her phone. No coverage. She looked at the dense forest surrounding her and the mountains towering above. Only then did she notice the haze of the smoke in the air, being blown down the track as if following in Marko’s wake.
Zoe thought about leaving Harry in the car, but decided it was too risky. Marko could try and make a run for it and smash into her car. ‘Harry, let’s go,’ she said, opening the back. She knew that Marko pulling off here was no mistake. He wants a confrontation. She drew her gun and walked slowly along the track for a few metres, feeling completely exposed. She could feel her anxiety levels surging. All around her was lush rainforest, with large ferns the size of cars. She listened hard but, apart from the birds, she could only hear her own breathing.
Zoe walked a few metres into the rainforest to give herself some cover as she followed the track off to her right, Harry alongside her. She could see around the trees and ferns for about fifty metres ahead, but there were thousands of places Marko could be hiding, waiting to ambush her. Her leg began to throb again. She could now smell smoke. She walked as quickly as she could without making noise, stopping every twenty metres to listen. Then she would do the same thing again, edging her way alongside the track she could now barely see.
Zoe had travelled about a hundred metres when she felt another great wave of anxiety surge through her. Her vision flickered and she felt a huge weight on her chest. A massive firefighting helicopter roared low overhead, its tanks filled with water, blades thumping the air. Zoe fell to her knees, and her world turned black.
The sound was bouncing off the curved concrete wall of the stadium. Zoe looked up at the hovering black police drone. But this was a different sound, higher pitched. Then she saw it. Another drone was flying in from the northwest, over the parkland, headed directly towards the packed Melbourne Cricket Ground. It was silver and smaller.
Zoe felt her stomach tighten. Oh, fuck.
She grabbed at the microphone in her sleeve. ‘Silver drone flying in from the north. Approximately a hundred and fifty metres elevation.’ Her voice was desperate and loud.
A second later, Zoe heard a single gunshot. Distant. High-calibre. Sniper.
‘Suspect down. Suspect down,’ she heard through the earpiece.
Above them, the drone gave off a sudden screeching sound. Its propellers stopped. People were looking up and pointing. Zoe saw the drone wobble as it lost momentum.
The now silent device began to fall.
People began to scatter in all directions. In the chaos, Zoe judged that the drone would hit the ground about ten metres from her. Iain was directly beneath it, staring up at the device.
Before Iain had even begun to run away, Zoe knew what was going to happen. She burst forward, sprinting. Her eyes were fixed on the drone, as it fell like a stone. In her peripheral vision, at the last moment, she saw the solidmass of Iain, who was about to collide with her as he ran for his life. She stepped to the side just as his shoulder hit hers, jolting her sideways.
Time seemed to slow and everything went quiet inside Zoe’s head. There was just one goal. Keeping her eye on the drone, she dived forward and caught it at waist level. It was small, about half the width of her shoulders. Iain had vanished.
She tightened her grip on it as her body was about to hit the concrete. Don’t. Drop. It.
Zoe smacked into the concourse hard, her knees and elbows taking most of the impact. Crying out from the pain, she managed to keep her elbows bent and her wrists cocked through the impact. The drone stayed just off the ground. Then she felt a secondary wave of agony rush through her and she let out an involuntary scream.
A young constable in uniform ran over to her, her voice cracking in panic. ‘Fuck, you okay?’ she asked, crouching down beside her.
The drone had two thin glass cylinders attached to its base. Both were filled with clear liquid, which was now sloshing around.
‘Yeah,’ moaned Zoe, her voice wavering. ‘Hey, what’s your name?’
‘Rachel.’
‘Okay, Rachel,’ said Zoe, keeping her attention fixed on the cylinders of liquid. ‘I need you to clear the area. Fast.’
Zoe’s body throbbed. She lay flat against the con
crete, her elbows bent, arms jutting up. The drone sat dead in her hands, its four propellers still and silent.
She half expected it to come to life and take off again at any moment. It was so heavy. Under her jacket, Zoe could feel warmth and wetness around her elbows: blood.
The tremor in her hands was getting worse. She saw small waves roll back and forth in the clear liquid.
The concourse was now deserted, though she could hear the crowd, unaware, in the stadium. To her right she heard the humming sound of the bomb disposal robot speeding towards her. A male voice came from the speaker attached to it.
‘Hi Zoe. I’m Joel. This will all be over soon.’
‘Hi Joel. Good. I’m feeling sore.’
One of the robot’s arms swivelled low. It had a camera attached to it, recording the action. The arm made a broad sweep, taking in the scene from multiple angles.
‘What are we looking at here, Joel?’ asked Zoe, trying to sound upbeat.
There was no answer.
The robot’s arm swung away from her and up into the air. ‘Just give us a sec,’ said Joel, his voice solemn over the robot’s radio.
‘Sure, take your time,’ said Zoe, deadpan. Her stomach was in knots and she could feel her heart pumping. Blood from her injured elbows had seeped through her jacket onto the concrete. The drone seemed to be increasing in weight every second. Zoe shut her eyes and tried to meditate, concentrating on controlling her breathing. The robot reversed a couple of metres. The arm with the video camera swung up and pointed straight at her, now a silent witness.
Zoe looked at the camera. ‘Hey Joel. Any chance you could tell me what the fuck I’m holding?’
‘We’re trying to work it out. Give us a moment.’
‘Great,’ said Zoe, under her breath. Inside the stadium the crowd gave off a cheer.
Zoe stretched her head from side to side, trying to release the tension in her neck.
‘Zoe, two members of our team are approaching from your right.’
