by Keith Yocum
“You told me not to.”
“Since when do you follow anyone’s orders?”
“You have a point,” he said turning to look at her. “But you seemed particularly vulnerable. I’d never seen you that way before.”
Louise made a strange face that Dennis could not interpret. They drove in silence until she pulled into the hotel driveway and put the car in park. She turned to look at him but kept her sunglasses on.
“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t fool around last night because that’s the last time you’ll ever have the opportunity. You had your chance. Your attempt would have been met with a very passionate response.”
Dennis stared at her and conceded that she was a beguiling, mysterious, and beautiful woman. He got out and walked slowly around the front of the car and to her side window. He tapped on it and she lowered it, looking up at him into the sunshine.
“What?” she said.
“Just a second.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers. When they parted, their lips stuck briefly together.
“And you’ll never have another chance at that,” he said.
He wished he could see her eyes, but all he saw were two round, dark, convex lenses, reflecting his confused and distorted face.
He entered the hotel coffee shop, bought a cup, and sat at an isolated table. He looked at his watch and did a quick calculation. Perth was thirteen hours ahead; it was 10:45 a.m. in Virginia on Sunday, so it was 11:45 a.m. on Monday in Perth.
He dialed, and she answered on the second ring.
“My wayward Yank,” Judy said.
“Ha,” he said nervously. “Wayward in what sense?”
“Wayward from me. I miss you.”
“Well, I miss you too,” he said staring into the top of his coffee cup. “I wish you could join me here. I’m lonely. People do weird things when they’re lonely.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Just that I wish you were here.”
“My calculation shows you’re almost done over there.”
“I’ve got three more days counting today. Strange how I’m talking to you in real time, and yet we’re in different times zones and days of the week.”
“So how is the project going?”
“Simpson wants me to go back to New Zealand, but it’s too late for that. I have a couple of wild ideas on what might have happened, but I just need some things to add up first. How are you doing?”
“I hate my job.”
“What happened now? You just started back with a new partner.”
“I wish you were here,” she said.
“In less than a week, I’ll be back in Perth. But what’s going on at work?”
“It’s too complicated to explain. Just get back here soon.”
Dennis’s agency phone started vibrating.
“Judy, I’ve got to jump off. Be home soon.”
“I love you,” she said.
“Love you too.”
Dennis saw the number was blocked.
“Hello?”
“Dennis, this is Rangi—Rangi Winchester. New Zealand security bureau.”
“Hey Rangi, how are you?”
“Fine, mate. How are you?”
“As well as could be expected, given the circumstances.”
“Assume you’re referring to the Forrester investigation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I’m calling, actually. I’d appreciate it if we kept our conversation confidential, to the extent that anyone’s conversation is confidential these days.”
“Well, I’m on an agency phone right now.”
“I reckon that’s about as locked down as they get.”
“I suppose so,” Dennis said. “Then again, who the hell knows. What’s up?”
“Was talking to Colin yesterday. Remember, he’s NZSIS. They handle sigint.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“He mentioned in passing that they picked up some encrypted communications on the South Island about three hours after Forrester went missing, which would have been about three a.m. here. It an outbound call from the Marlborough area.”
“Iranian agents?”
“Possibly.”
“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“No, there’s a bit more. Colin didn’t want to bring it to your attention. He said it wasn’t relevant.”
“What wasn’t relevant?”
“You can’t repeat this, or I’m in a bit of trouble if you get my drift.”
“No worries. What else is there to this outbound call?”
“It was a satellite phone, not a mobile phone.”
“Interesting. What kind of sat phone?”
“The kind you blokes use.”
“What blokes?”
“You blokes.”
“The agency?”
“Right. Encrypted sat phone typically used by your people.”
“You sure of that?”
“I’m repeating what Colin told me. He said sat phones are more difficult to triangulate and track, but he was certain it was you folks. Thought I’d tell you, in case that helps at all.”
“I appreciate you letting me know.”
“Cheers, mate.”
Dennis hung up and took a sip of coffee.
His agency phone vibrated on the table again, rippling the calm surface of his black coffee.
“Hey, Louise,” he said.
“Hey.”
“Miss me already?”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“Done what?”
“The thing at the end when you got out of the car. That was not called for.”
“Too late to take it back now. Sorry if I offended you. But I thought I heard a little bit of a dare in the conversation.”
She sighed.
“You’re an interesting man.”
“Is that why you called? You in the office?”
“Yes, I’m in the office, but no, that’s not why I called. I didn’t want you to bother Simpson about my absence schedule.”
“OK, where were you when Forrester disappeared?”
“Melbourne.”
“Melbourne, Florida, or Melbourne, Australia?”
“The latter.”
Now he sighed.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“For obvious reasons. Thought you’d be overly suspicious and waste your time. I was in meetings for two days there, including the day Forrester went missing.”
“Are there records of the meeting and your participation?”
“Those are confidential. You won’t be able to see them. We were working on a plan to target a Chinese tech company operating in Australia.”
“I don’t know, Louise. I’ll need to check, regardless.”
“I’m telling you, aren’t I?”
“What if I go ahead and ask Simpson now for more detailed records on your absence from Langley?”
“Go right ahead. But you’re wasting your goddamn time.”
She hung up.
It was clear now that Craig was flirting with Judy at any given chance. They had returned from their surveillance of Kadlec with little to show for their time in a dusty, small town, except that Craig was studiously flirting with her. Judy was troubled by the attention that Craig was showing her, not because she found it aggressive or inappropriate, but because she liked it. And liking it meant that she would have trouble telling him to stop. And if she had trouble telling him to stop, he would continue. And she would continue to like it, leading to a cascade of trouble.
Judy and Craig were given yet a new drug case in Fremantle, to add to their already overloaded docket. The Rebels Outlaw Motorcycle Club Gang, or Reb
els OMCG, was suspected of starting up a small-time heroin ring in the Fremantle and Mandurah area. The Rebels OMCG was an Australia-wide gang that patterned itself on the Hell’s Angels. The gang’s unlikely insignia is a U.S. Civil War Confederate flag, with the image of a human skull wearing a Confederate cap inset in the middle of the flag.
Judy’s initial reaction years ago to the Rebels was incredulity. She thought it was a poor joke of long-haired men, pretending to be American outlaws in leather jackets, driving Harley-Davidson motorcycles around in large, highway-clogging groups.
But the truth was that some Rebel OMCG members were dangerous, and indeed, supported themselves by any means possible, including distributing drugs.
WA Gang Crime Squad Detective Stephen Saul, and Senior Sgt. Louie Fermi of the Fremantle District sat in a meeting room with Judy and Craig reviewing the case.
It did not take long for Judy to get angry.
During Judy’s earlier years on the AFP, she deferred respectfully to the senior members of the force, as well as other interagency crime-fighting organizations. She had much to learn, and she listened dutifully to their direction and wisdom. The fact that their behavior towards her was often condescending and sexist was, unfortunately, part and parcel of those times.
Over the years, as police organizations employed more females, the pampering and condescension grew less overt and grating.
In this meeting, Craig unexpectedly took control.
“At first we received complaints about the sound of the motorcycles from two of their neighbors,” Sgt. Fermi said. “When those Harleys start up, the noise is quite loud.”
“But there are noise regulations, yes?” Craig said.
“Correct. In W.A. it’s 95 decibels at 5,000 rpms. And I believe all of the bikes at this address are way over that limit.”
“Well, why don’t you blokes just cite them for that infraction then? Show those bikies who’s boss,” Craig said.
Judy rubbed her forehead in a display of irritation, and Saul from the gang crime squad looked at her. The two had worked on several cases together over the years and maintained a respectful working relationship.
“That’s not the best approach with these fellas, Craig,” Saul said. “I’m sure Judy can explain. She’s done this kind of work before.”
Judy, still smarting from Craig’s sudden grandstanding, had trouble keeping her voice calm and level.
“Craig, I’m sure district police will soon stop by and ask the bikies to be mindful of the disturbance they’re creating in the neighborhood,” she said. “It’s the first step.”
“First step?” Craig said.
“Yes,” Saul said. “If we come down too hard on them now, they’ll just move to another rental and start all over again. We want to nab them on more serious charges than having illegal mufflers.”
“Well, if that’s the way you do it, then fine,” Craig said. “Seems a little slow, if you ask me.”
Judy stared down at her notebook.
“We already have one of the bikers engaged in selling heroin in Cottesloe,” Saul said. “Our goal now is to find out who’s supplying them with drugs. And we believe they also have firearms in the house. Judy has been through this routine several times.”
Craig crossed his arms in what Judy took for a pout. “Right. You’re the veterans. Just seems a bit slow, if you ask me.”
The moment Judy’s car door closed, and before Craig started the car, she said, “Mate”—she could barely control herself—“don’t you ever do that again. Next time we go into a meeting like that, you keep your bloody mouth shut unless you’re either confirming some information or have a question about a fact. You are in no position to pass judgment on any aspect of an investigation with veteran police officers. And in the future, in interagency contacts, I’ll take the lead in those discussions. Today you sounded like a bloody teenager.”
“Well, it didn’t make sense to me, Judy—”
“Damnit, Craig. Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re the junior member of this team. I’ve been doing this for ten years, for god’s sake. If you have any questions, ask me. Next time shut your bloody trap. You sounded like a wankasaurus back there.”
“Throwing a bit of a tantie, are we, Judy? I didn’t mean any harm.”
She looked out the passenger window at the light winter rain drifting down. The streets had a melancholy sheen, and she wondered whether she was tired of being lonely, or just tired.
“I don’t know what it means,” Forrester said, pushing the printout across the table to Dennis.
The Starbucks in Rosslyn had become Dennis’s office. Forrester called him and said he had the report from his alarm service but could not make sense of it. He agreed to show it to Dennis in person, and the two sat side by side at the small table. Dennis was still a little groggy and confused about his night at Louise’s.
“Well, this column here shows the dates,” Dennis said, running his finger slowly down the first page of a thick, stapled set of sheets. “And it looks like this column, mmm, yeah, this one shows the timestamp when the alarm was armed, and this one here is when it was disarmed. And this final one shows if the alarm went off, which I doubt ever happened.”
Dennis started to flip the pages.
“OK. Let’s start here,” he said. “Your wife left on this date, so let’s run through these timestamps to look for anything unusual.”
Forrester adjusted his reading glasses and leaned in, while Dennis ran his finger across the columns. The dates showed a regular pattern. Forrester left for work during his wife’s absence and turned on the alarm. When he returned in the late afternoon, he turned it off until he left to work the following day.
“You don’t turn it on overnight?” Dennis said.
“No, not really. It’s a pain, and once I forgot and opened the door in the morning to get the paper, and the stupid thing went off. Police came and I felt like an idiot.”
They continued to look at the dates, and Forrester noted on some occasions that he stayed at his daughter’s condo and did not return home until the following afternoon.
“Oh, this is the date that I left with my son for New Zealand,” Forrester said. “I put the alarm on.”
Dennis’s finger stopped on the line that showed the second day of Forrester’s trip. Both men leaned in as his finger moved horizontally across the page.
“What does that mean?” Forrester said as Dennis tapped his forefinger on a number.
“It means that your alarm was turned off on this date at 2:44 a.m., and then it was re-armed at 3:23 a.m.”
“Not possible,” Forrester said. “I was in New Zealand.”
“Anyone else have the alarm code?”
“My son who was with me. We have a house cleaner. I’m not sure if she has the code, to be honest. Jane was always there when Maria cleaned the house.”
“Anyone else you can think of? Your daughter that you had together?”
“She lives in San Jose; if she has it, she wouldn’t be stopping by from the west coast at two o’clock in the morning.”
“And your daughter from your first marriage?”
“She doesn’t have it.”
“Let’s keep going,” Dennis said, bending the corner of the page.
They continued to the final page and then returned to the page with the corner turned down.
“I’m guessing you think this is when Jane’s notes were taken?” Forrester said.
“Yeah.”
“But whoever did it must have known the alarm code and combination to the safe.”
“Yeah.”
“How is that possible?” Forrester said.
Dennis did not answer because he didn’t want to stress Forrester. The answer was not pleasant.
“Do yourself a favor and change the entry code for the alarm,” Dennis sai
d. “Someone else has it.”
“That’s creepy. Should I call the police and tell them?”
“Not now, if you don’t mind. I’d like just a few more days to work on this. Just change the code. I’d keep the cops out of it for now.”
“It’s as if no one cares about Jane,” Forrester said, leaning back in his chair. “The CIA, the New Zealand police, our local police. Christ, what a depressing end to a wonderful life.” His eyes watered and Dennis, for the first time, felt awful for this poor, proud man, whose wife had been caught up in something evil and inexplicable.
“Well, I care about her,” Dennis said. “I’m trying.”
“I appreciate it,” Forrester said, standing. “But I don’t hold out much hope. You’re just one guy. Keep this printout. It’s no good to me.” He walked out of the coffee shop, his head held high, but his shoulders were stooped.
Dennis returned to his hotel room, pulled the chair to the desk, and re-read his notes in painstaking detail. He used another blank pad of paper to summarize items from his small notebook. After an hour he had reduced his twenty-two pages of notes into a single summary page.
At the bottom of the summary page, he wrote: “Someone or some group wanted Forrester’s notes on agency clients. Why?” The “why” was underlined three times.
Underneath that sentence, he wrote: “For intelligence reasons or personal reasons? Which one? Find the reason, you’ll find the killer. In three days!”
Almost as an afterthought, he wrote at the end: “NB: What does Louise have to do with any of this???”
Dennis stood up, took his burner off the table and positioned the camera over the one-page, handwritten summary, and took a picture of it. Then he sent the image in a text message to Judy and wrote: Help! another set of eyes. what am I missing? 3 days left and all I have to show is a headache
With studied reluctance, Dennis put down his burner and picked up the agency phone. He sent a text to Simpson that said simply: can u send me louise’s absence schedule for past 6 months?
He looked around the hotel room and noticed it was later than he thought. The summer skyline had darkened in Rosslyn’s cavern of glass skyscrapers. Dennis decided to take a walk before settling down for dinner at a chain restaurant nearby. This being a Sunday evening, he hoped it would be about as smog-free as it gets in Rosslyn.
