Red Mist

by Angus McLean

  Molly wasn’t sure on his use of English, but she got the gist. She nodded in agreement.

  ‘It took me three goes yesterday morning to disarm it,’ she said, ‘and the same again this morning.’

  ‘Two,’ the fat man said.

  Molly looked at him. ‘I’m pretty sure it was three,’ she said.

  He shook his head emphatically, making his curls bounce. ‘Nope, definitely two.’

  Molly frowned quizzically. ‘It was three goes yesterday morning and again this morning.’

  Brent stroked his beard again and turned to the new pad. ‘Come ‘ere,’ he said, ‘I’ll show you.’

  She joined him, close enough to smell his sweat but not close enough that he got the wrong idea. He fiddled with the pad and brought a page up on the screen that she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Here.’ He pointed at the figures with a thick finger. There was dirt under the cracked nail. ‘Three attempts this morning at seven o’clock.’ Molly saw her payroll number beside the time, showing it was her who had disarmed the alarm that morning. He moved down a line. ‘Two last night at five fifteen.’

  Molly saw a different number beside that entry. She didn’t recognise it, but presumed it was Ailsa’s number. She had never taken any notice of it before. Renee was always gone well before that time, and she couldn’t think who else would be there at five fifteen.

  ‘Here...oh, my mistake. Three attempts at six thirty yesterday, you’re right.’ He glanced sideways at Molly. ‘Jeez, six thirty eh? Early starter.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Molly wasn’t listening. What had caught her attention was the transaction three lines down. Four forty five the day before, the Tuesday. She and Ailsa had left together, and Molly had set the alarm. The transaction showed her payroll number beside the time. Everything looked normal.

  What was puzzling her though, were the next two lines up. Two records, made between the time Molly had set the alarm on the Tuesday afternoon and deactivated it again Wednesday morning. Eight sixteen on Tuesday night it was deactivated, and reset just four minutes later.

  The number beside the times on the two transactions was the same as the number showing on yesterday afternoon’s record. 216760. Both of the records showed two attempts to disarm or reset the alarm, the second attempt being successful each time.

  Molly repeated the payroll number to herself in her mind, committing it to memory. She didn’t recognise it, but her gut told her something was wrong.

  She realised the fat technician was staring at her, waiting.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said I’m all done,’ he repeated. ‘Just need a signature.’ He held out a pad with a carbonated invoice, and she quickly scribbled her signature. ‘That was pretty quick, actual. Time for a cuppa and a fag before I get to the next job.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Molly accepted the copy of the invoice. ‘Thanks for that.’

  She left him to let himself out and hurried back to her desk. Ailsa was on her mobile to someone, clearly a personal call from the way she was giggling. Molly dropped into her chair, grabbed a pen, and quickly jotted down the payroll number on her blotter before she forgot it.

  She didn’t know why, but something didn’t feel right, and Molly felt compelled to find out exactly what.

  ***

  Callum Pemberton operated out of a small office in Manukau.

  The tower building was filled with lawyers, being only a few minutes’ walk from both the District Court and the Police District Headquarters, and it was them that kept CP in a thriving business. Dan met him in the ground floor café, and had been waiting a few minutes when CP strode in.

  He was a tall, angular man with a shock of silver hair and a sharp face. He was smartly dressed in his trademark dark pinstripe suit and polished shoes. He acknowledged a couple of well-known defense lawyers who Dan had steadfastly ignored. A gold watch glinted on CP’s wrist as he shook Dan’s hand firmly.

  ‘Good to see you, boy,’ he said with a grin. CP had always referred to Dan as “boy,” a name he would have rejected from anyone else.

  The former cop turned and waved to the Korean guy behind the counter, calling out “Two please.”

  The guy nodded and smiled. CP turned back to Dan who had watched the transaction with a smile.

  ‘On your tab?’ Dan inquired.

  CP grinned. ‘Of course. I can claim it as expenses-business meeting.’ He shucked his jacket off onto the back of his chair. ‘I’ve got court today,’ he explained. ‘Just a burglary.’

  ‘Working for defense?’ Dan asked.

  ‘For the dark side,’ CP confirmed. ‘The defendant is facing probably five years if he goes down, but the prosecution case is full of holes.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘Shoddy work, I gotta say. The cop didn’t even follow up the alibi witness. I interviewed the guy, got his statement and also found CCTV which showed the defendant in Huntly when he was supposed to be doing a chemist burglary in Meadowlands.’

  Dan said nothing. He didn’t like defense lawyers, and was wondering now whether this was a bad idea.

  CP sussed him in a flash. ‘I know it won’t sit right with you, Danno, but that’s the justice system. Yeah the guy’s a scumbag, and he will have done a string of stuff he’s never gunna get caught for, but if he didn’t do this one-and I can prove he didn’t-then he shouldn’t go down for it.’ He frowned, and his tone got serious. ‘It’s better that a hundred guilty men go free than one innocent is falsely imprisoned, or whatever the saying is.’

  ‘I guess.’ Dan went quiet again while the barista delivered two cappuccino’s to their table. ‘I just never saw you doing that kinda work, CP.’

  ‘Neither did I.’ CP shrugged. ‘But here I am. It’s basically the same work as I was doing in the cops, the same skills, same system, just a different angle. At the end of the day, if there’s nothing for me to work on then the cops’ve done a good job. If not, then I’ll find the holes.’

  Dan took a sip. It was good coffee. ‘And you’re obviously not on the breadline just yet.’

  CP chuckled. ‘No, not just yet.’ He took a sip himself then put his elbows on the table and looked Dan in the eye. ‘So when’re you going to come and work for me?’

  Dan cracked a grin. ‘Dunno about that mate...I don’t think it’d really be my bag.’ His curiosity was pricked though. ‘You wouldn’t have enough work to take me on full time though, would you?’

  CP considered it for a moment. ‘I think I would. Close to full time, anyway. Unless you wanted to shoot down to Christchurch and do some EQC claims; there’s heaps of work down there.’ He saw Dan’s quizzical look and explained further. ‘Earthquake Commission. After the quakes they’ve had there are tens of thousands claims for damage. Guys in my trade are minting it at the moment.’

  Dan frowned. He’d been deployed down there for a couple of weeks earlier in the year, helping out after the big quakes, and had seen a city in ruins. Families were devastated, homes destroyed, lives completely upheaved. It didn’t sit right to talk about such tragedy in such a way.

  ‘I know what you’re think,’ CP said placatingly, ‘but it is what it is. For every cloud there’s a silver lining. What are the jobs you like working on best?’

  ‘Homicides,’ Dan said without hesitation.

  ‘Exactly. And someone has to die for you to get that opportunity.’

  ‘I get your point,’ Dan conceded. ‘It just seems so...cold.’

  ‘It’s business,’ CP said bluntly. ‘Anyway, that’s not the only thing going on. The PI industry is just growing and growing. You can stick to domestic inquiries, civil work, small business fraud, whatever. Even then you’d probably be taking home more than you are as a D.’ He smiled. ‘Something to think about, anyway.’

  Dan couldn’t deny that the possibility was interesting. He nodded and sipped his coffee.

  ‘So what brings you here, anyway? CP asked. ‘You didn’t come looking for a job.’

  Dan considered his words carefully. ‘We
’ve got a relieving boss,’ he said. ‘I want to know his pedigree. Hugh Kennedy.’

  CP’s face darkened and the coffee cup froze half-way to his lips. He regathered himself, took a slow sip, and put the cup back down. He pursed his lips.

  ‘Yeah, I know him,’ he finally said. ‘Is he a DI yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Won’t be long.’ CP nodded. ‘With his lips attached to the arse of anyone higher up than him, it won’t be long.’

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  CP glanced out the window, watching another lawyer stride past. Dan recognised her as a prosecutor for the Crown. She had prosecuted a robbery trial for him last year. The woman saw CP and waved. CP waved back. Dan gave her a nod and a smile. She gave him a puzzled look, as if trying to place him, before giving a half smile and hurrying on. Dan knew she didn’t recognise him and felt his cheeks burn.

  CP sensed his discomfort and moved on. ‘What can I tell you that isn’t going to send my blood pressure sky high? Not a lot. Put it this way, I would work a defense case against him for free if I had the chance.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘I’ve met child abusers with more integrity than him, and most of them I would happily put a bullet into.’

  Dan supped his coffee. He wiped froth from his moustache. ‘So you’re not close then.’

  CP’s jaw was clenched and he had lost his usual cool. ‘He cost me my career. I hate his guts,’ he said simply. His fists were bunched together, his knuckles white.

  Dan nodded. There wasn’t much grey area there. ‘Gotcha. He’s come in as our boss, don’t know how long for. He’s already started making changes for the worse.’ He sat back, his hands folded in his lap. ‘I think he’s dangerous and I need to know how to handle him.’

  CP nodded slowly. He drained his coffee and wiped his mouth. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Here is the sermon according to Pemberton...’

  ***

  The Major Crime Team were housed in Stage 3 of the Hub, as the Manukau station was known.

  It was a large open plan office filled with rows of desks, home to three sections of detectives, with a communal eating area on the far side-the Ds at MCT didn’t eat in the cafeteria downstairs.

  Their focus was homicides and robbery crews, as illustrated by the white boards lining the walls, each one carrying plans and details of current investigations. Still a young squad, the members were handpicked and this brought a sense of elitism to the team. They were expected to be experts in their field, “go to” guys and a few girls, and that was certainly how they saw themselves.

  This was not a place for rookies.

  Ace held no particular ambition to join their ranks, and was no fan of the elitist attitude. He walked into the office with his notebook in hand and sunglasses pushed up onto his head. A few of the desks were occupied and he spotted who he was looking for.

  Dana Fitchett was known as Fitch to her colleagues, although Ace knew she secretly hated the nickname. He always called her Dee instead. She had only recently qualified as a detective and was one of the juniors on the team. She had a reputation as a methodical, thorough investigator. It had been a few years since he met her on an undercover course. She had struggled on the course and ultimately decided Special Programmes weren’t for her, but they had kept in touch since then.

  She spied him as soon as he entered the office and looked up with a smile. She was a plain girl with straight brown hair and a nose that once got broken by a stray elbow in a social netball game.

  ‘Hey stranger,’ she said, ‘got your passport?’

  Ace gave her a quizzical look as he pulled a spare chair over to her desk.

  ‘Passport. Crossing the border into MCT,’ she explained with an eye roll. ‘Get with the programme, Pet Detective. You know this is hallowed ground.’

  ‘So I heard.’ Ace glanced around, not recognising any of the other Ds in the office. ‘Where is everybody?’

  Dee rolled her eyes again. ‘So we went for coffee earlier, because we all had stuff to do, right? But that’s against the rules apparently. Coffee time is ten, not nine fifteen. So us losers...’ she indicated the other staff, ‘had ours and got on with our bizzo. But the big boys had to go for theirs at ten, they couldn’t break their routine, right? So they’re downstairs, probably due back about now.’ She checked her watch. ‘Like probably in about a minute, actually.’

  ‘I’ll be quick then.’ Ace grinned. ‘I’d hate to throw a spanner in their works or something crazy like that.’

  ‘It’s so cool working here,’ Dee said in a low voice. ‘I get to do all the paperwork, interview the witnesses for them, put the files together for them, maybe deal with a female offender if there is one...’

  ‘And the big boys take the cool lock ups and get all the face time with the bosses?’ Ace nodded. ‘I hear ya, girl. Lame.’ He glanced at the white boards. ‘Who’s running the CIT jobs?’

  ‘Who d’ya think? The glory boys, of course.’

  ‘Oh great.’

  As if on cue, they heard approaching footsteps and a loud voice.

  ‘So I said to her “Sweetheart, if you wanna talk, there’re plenty of other places to do that, but I’m not your girlfriend and right now the footy’s on, okay?” I tell ya...’

  The voice trailed off as a huddle of Ds entered the office, coffee cups in hand. The speaker was the leader of the pack, Detective Sergeant Tug Wallace. A squat balding man with an overhanging gut, Tug had been around for years and had a reputation as a hard man. Ace didn’t know how he came about the nickname, but he had his own thoughts on it.

  ‘Otahu’s finest,’ Tug said with a smarmy undertone. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Just enquiring about the cash van jobs.’ Ace stood and met the group half way across the office. Two of the Ds drifted off but Tug’s right hand man stayed at his shoulder. Romana was a lanky Samoan with a pock marked face and a gold tooth. Ace had played rugby with him a while back, and knew him as a lazy trainer and loose with his boots.

  ‘Oh yeah, come to crack it for us, have ya?’ Tug glanced at Romana, and they both snorted.

  ‘Oh.’ Ace looked surprised. ‘You haven’t cracked it yet then?’

  Tug eyed him. ‘Don’t you worry son, we’ll crack it. Major Crime always gets our man.’ He squared his shoulders and took a loud slurp of his coffee. ‘So what’re you after, anyway?’

  ‘Just got some bully on possible offenders, that’s all.’ Ace shrugged. ‘Thought you might like to know.’

  ‘That right? Who ya lookin’ at?’

  ‘Haven’t got names yet, but...’

  Romana gave a derisive snort. ‘No names but you got suspects? Come on, man.’

  Ace ignored him. ‘The source is good, just takes time to get it pinned down. Have you got anyone in the frame yet or no?’

  Tug hesitated before replying. ‘I’m not really in a position yet to confirm that, but if you tell us what ya got we can throw it in the mix.’

  Ace frowned. He didn’t like giving anything away for nothing in return. ‘The guys you’re looking at are gangsters?’ he fished.

  Tug stroked his jaw as if thinking about it. ‘How about you just put your cards on the table and we’ll play it out? We’re all on the same side here, there’s no point keeping back info if it’s going to help, eh?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Ace said, with more emphasis than he had intended. The looks on the others faces told him they hadn’t missed it either. ‘My source tells me it’s a crew from Mangere, not gang related, but describes them as bad dudes. Says they did the Manukau and Papatoe jobs.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Tug gave nothing away. ‘How good’s your source?’

  ‘Good.’

  Tug glanced again at Romana. ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘Not quite what we’ve got, but interesting.’

  ‘Lotta talk,’ Romana chimed in, ‘always a lotta talk about these jobs. Everyone wants to claim a piece of the notoriety, get people thinking they’re the biggest and baddest dudes in
the hood.’ He chucked his chin at Ace. ‘What else your source got?’

  ‘That’s all so far. She’ll be getting me more.’ Ace deliberately threw out the female reference, and noted the look of surprise from Romana. He didn’t trust these guys, so the less they knew about his informer the better. ‘So you don’t think that’s on the money then?’

  Romana jumped in again before his boss could reply. ‘Jobs like this are always gangs, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s a particular kinda crook to stick a shooter up someone’s nose and steal a couple hundred grand.’

  ‘The two jobs are related though?’

  Tug shrugged non-committedly. ‘We’re looking at it,’ he said.

  The two men went silent then and waited. Ace took the hint.

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘You’re obviously all over it.’

  ‘You know it,’ Tug smirked. ‘Like a fat kid on a cupcake.’

  Ace shot Dee a wave and headed for the door. If nothing else, the conversation had given him some direction. And that direction was taking him away from Major Crime.

  ***

  A pair of uniformed cops were smoking in the corner of the car park when Joe pulled in, slotting the unmarked Commodore into a designated spot against the wall.

  He gathered up his notebook and the manila folder holding a file, and headed across towards the back stairs. The two cops greeted him as he got near. The guy was a short muscular Asian with a flat top. The girl was a slim blonde with a pony tail and too much mascara. Joe knew them both from his time downstairs on frontline.

  ‘What’s happening, Joe?’ The girl took a drag on her cancer stick.

  ‘Same old, Debs, same old. You know how it is.’ He cracked a grin. ‘How’s that health kick goin’?’

  She gave him a cocky smirk and blew smoke. ‘I can hold my own.’ She tossed her chin towards the red Nova near the back gate. ‘That your Mustang?’

  Joe shook his head and chuckled. ‘It’s a Chevy Nova, and no, it’s not mine.’

  ‘Whatever.’ She shrugged and her partner grunted, sucking hard on his smoke. ‘Whose is it then?’