The Robbers

by Paul Anderson

  ‘Paradox six-zero-five. Time is now 21:22 hours. We’re in position outside the Lucky Dragon.’

  Kelso’s voice came back. ‘Roger, six-zero-five. Regular updates, please.’

  In the neighbouring suburb of Mooroolbark, Rogers and Kelso sat across from their restaurant. A call came in.

  ‘Paradox six-zero-two. Time is 21:24 hours. In position outside the Tandoori Jewel.’

  Kelso, in the passenger seat, returned message. Made a relevant note in his daybook. ‘That’s everyone in place.’

  Rogers munched on a sandwich Karen had made for him. ‘Righto. The net’s been cast. Let’s see what we can catch.’

  CHAPTER 41

  The clock in 605’s sedan clicked over to 11.52 p.m. Most of the customers had paid up and left the Lucky Dragon. Gilmore and Hunter sat back in their seats. Hunter finished up a phone call.

  Gilmore was curious. ‘Who was that chick?’

  ‘A little stunner I met at a chemist.’

  ‘Buying some cream for that rash were you?’

  ‘Nah. Looking for the Trojan-sized rubbers … I bumped into her while we were canvassing pharmacies during the Letts job. Gave her my card and she called.’

  ‘You dog.’

  ‘Her name’s Sonya. I really like her.’

  Back over in Mooroolbark, Rogers and Kelso were talking shit.

  Kelso was in full flight. ‘So we’ve gone in looking for McMillan and he’s not there, but his mum’s home. She’d be late fifties and she’s in one of those short nighties. She walks us to the laundry and bends over to open the cupboard—and there’s her fat hairy vajootsa smiling back at us.’

  ‘At least you found the gun.’

  ‘Yeah. But at what cost? I’ve been trying to repress the memory ever since … I think Gooch went back three times to take her statement.’

  ‘He’s a sick unit. Did you see any of that porno he brought in the other day? Raiders of the Lost Arse, or whatever the hell it was called. They were all large women.’

  ‘Must be a European thing.’

  A message cut across the radio. ‘Paradox six-zero-three. Time is 23:59 hours. Our restaurant is closing without incident.’

  Kelso responded. ‘Roger that, six-zero-three. Stay put until it’s all locked up and everyone’s gone home. Radio back and I’ll sign you guys off for the night.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  It was just after midnight on 4 July when Gilmore saw an orange firefly among the tree trunks across the road from the Lucky Dragon. He peered through the windscreen, the tip of light again igniting in the black pocket—only to disappear in an instant. ‘Can you see that?’

  Hunter joined his stare. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘There’s someone over in those trees having a dart.’

  ‘Strange place to be having a ciggie.’

  ‘Yeah, didn’t see him come out.’

  ‘You wanna check him?’

  ‘We’re looking for two, not one.’

  ‘He could be doing a reckie …’

  ‘Contingencies say maintain surveillance and call for backup.’

  Hunter started the car. Left the lights off. ‘Let’s do a drive by and eyeball the fucker. Could just be a restaurant worker having a break.’

  Hunter drove on to the roadway and flicked on the high beams, the headlights illuminating the smoking man and revealing his identity. Hunter’s hand instinctively reached for his weapon.

  ‘Of all the gin joints in all the world …’

  With hand out his window, Gilmore placed a blue flashing light atop the roof as the smoking man stood unmoved resting against a tree trunk, his right hand shoved deep in a jacket pocket. He flicked his cigarette.

  Gilmore’s tone was urgent now. ‘Is he gunna run? I think he’s gunna run.’

  Over in Mooroolbark, Rogers and Kelso sat empty handed: their target restaurant now locked. Lights out.

  ‘Nothing happening here tonight, Roy.’

  Another radio message. ‘Paradox six-zero-seven. Our restaurant has closed for the night. Nothing to report.’

  Kelso spoke into the two-way: ‘Roger that, six-zero-seven. You two can head home. Thanks for your help tonight.’

  ‘Not a problem, six-zero-one.’

  Kelso set down the two-way. ‘I didn’t tell you, but I went to see Johnny Maggs at his strip club a couple of weeks ago.’

  Rogers turned. ‘That shithead?’

  ‘He knows about everything that happens out this way. His strip club’s like shit central station.’

  ‘You know he dead-set wants to kill you.’

  ‘If he was gunna do it he would have tried by now. That was five years ago.’

  ‘Revenge is best served cold, pal. You ended his run when no-one else could. You made him pay in the interview room that night. I thought you were gunna kill him.’

  ‘He had it coming … I’m gunna start riding him now.’

  ‘Okay. But the next time you pay him a visit, I’m with you. Right? … Right?’

  Kelso nodded. ‘Yes, pal. You’re with me.’

  Gucciardo’s voice cut from the radio speaker. ‘Paradox six-zero-four.’

  ‘Go ahead, ’ Kelso replied.

  ‘Nothing happening here. Lights off.’

  ‘Roger that. Did you try the food?’

  ‘The ribs were too small and the chicken was tough.’

  ‘I’ll set you up out the front of an Italiano joint next weekend.’

  ‘You’d better.’

  With a smile, Kelso jotted down more notes. Spoke into the receiver. ‘Paradox six-zero-one to Paradox six-zero-five …’

  No reply.

  ‘Paradox six-zero-one to Paradox six-zero-five … Respond. Over.’

  There was no reply from Gilmore or Hunter. Only dead air. Kelso scratched his head in frustration, concern starting to poke at his mind. ‘Paradox six-zero-five, come in.’

  He lowered the receiver. ‘Something’s not right Roy.’

  He lifted the receiver. ‘Paradox six-zero-one to any Paradox unit close to the Lucky Dragon restaurant in Cullens Road, Chirnside Park. Please proceed with caution for welfare check on Paradox six-zero-five.’

  Gucciardo and Lynch had just cleared their restaurant and were en route back to Knox. Lynch turned the wheel under light and siren. Gucciardo told him to gun it. Whiskers was already well on his way. Gooch raised his receiver.

  ‘Paradox six-zero-four en route.’

  A male voice cut across the air. ‘Paradox six-zero-six en route also.’

  Kelso gave word back. ‘Roger that Paradox units. Word back asap, please.’

  He sat back, receiver in hand. Rogers, staying silent, gripped the wheel with both hands, his knuckles white. ‘Come on,’ Kelso muttered. ‘Happy. Mitch. Respond …’

  Kell stared at the radio. Into it. Like the proverbial abyss it stared back into him.

  At Ringwood police station—base command—Shepherd stood hands on hips by the radio. He took a seat and turned up the volume. The silence was truly deafening. Hand to mouth he sat anxiously awaiting an update. Had Schwarzenegger and Rambo crossed Gilmore and Hunter’s path? Had his boys happened to be at the right restaurant and a confrontation ensued? They could be out on foot, he thought optimistically. Involved in a foot chase. Unable—just for the moment—to radio in. Maybe they had the bastards in custody.

  In the industrial estate—Cullens Road, Chirnside Park—Gilmore and Hunter’s unmarked vehicle sat empty across the dark roadway; both front doors open and its engine still running. The blue light atop continued to strobe the scene. Kelso’s voice echoed from the radio in the sedan.

  ‘Paradox six-zero-five … Paradox six-zero-five. Respond …’

  CHAPTER 42

  When it finally came it was the sit rep from hell: Lynch’s voice screaming across the air. He sounded like a man who had just survived a shark attack. Breathless. A sense of urgency at fever pitch.

  ‘Mitch is down! Repeat! Mitch is down!’


  Shepherd’s blood ran cold. ‘Fuck!’ He snatched up the receiver. A calm head and steady hand had to prevail in the face of a tidal wave.

  ‘This is Paradox one-fifty. All Paradox units, switch to open channel. Repeat, switch to local open channel.’

  Shepherd clicked the channel across. Now every unit in the district could hear and respond.

  Kelso barked into his receiver as Rogers took a turn at eighty under light and siren. The sedan roared, its tyres screaming like banshees under whip.

  ‘Paradox six-zero-one. Sit rep from Paradox six-zero-four, please.’

  Lynch’s frenzied voice filled the airwaves again. ‘Apparent gunshot wound to the head, and abdomen. I could not feel a pulse … We need an ambo now! No sign of Gilmore. Commencing a search.’

  Kelso gave the orders. ‘All members take due precaution. Offenders could still be in the area. And watch for friendly fire. Missing member Gilmore could be injured and disoriented.’

  Shepherd felt a long way removed at base command. ‘Paradox one-fifty to VKC.’

  The emotionless voice of a female D-24 operator came across.

  ‘Go ahead, Paradox one-fifty.’

  ‘I need a MICA—possibly two—to Cullens Road, Chirnside Park. We have reports of a member down. Possibly a second. Both are involved in a covert stake-out operation.’

  Word of possible members down was always like burley in the water. A local unit, a sergeant, came across the air.

  ‘Lilydale two-five-one.’

  ‘Go ahead two-five-one,’ the female operator said.

  ‘We’re heading in that direction now.’

  ‘Roger that. Any other units that can assist with a member down, possibly two, in Cullens Road, Chirnside Park?’

  ‘Ringwood three-eleven en route.’

  ‘Lilydale three eleven en route also.’

  ‘Roger that … Paradox one-fifty, do we need the assistance of a canine unit?’

  ‘Roger that. And the air wing,’ Shepherd replied.

  ‘VKC to all units proceeding to Cullens Road, Chirnside Park. Put your vests on, please.’

  Kelso’s voice joined in. ‘Paradox six-zero-one to VKC. Just a reminder to all uniform units proceeding to Cullens Road. We have several units involved in an Armed Robbery Squad operation all in scruffs and they are likely to be out on foot.’

  The operator took up the general warning. ‘VKC to all uniform units. Be mindful we have several members in plain clothes more than likely on foot with weapons out in Cullens Road. Take all due care.’

  On his back in the gutter, Detective Mitchell Hunter lay in bloodstained flannelette. His stare was vacant; his left temple a spent volcano, spilled blood and brain matter the lava. His left arm was bent awkwardly above his head, a gaping hole, like stigmata, drilled through the palm. While his right hand still gripped his weapon, his soul had departed. Paradox six-zero-six arrived at the shooting scene. Gucciardo yelled the orders as he pulled on his ballistic vest, telling the two six-zero-six members to vest up as well.

  ‘You stay with the injured member,’ Gooch boomed at one of them. ‘His name’s Mitchell Hunter. Guard his body but do not touch him!’

  Gucciardo yanked free his .38. In his left paw he held a long torch. He addressed the second six-zero-six cop.

  ‘We’re looking for Detective David Gilmore—and possible offenders. Come on!’

  Lynch, minus a vest, was already in among the treesGucciardo looked up to the with gun hand resting atop torch hand. Swipes of his beam severed the darkness as he searched for Happy. His Smith & Wesson, in the other hand, lusted for a bead on an offender. Two torch beams cut a swathe behind Lynch. A gunshot exploded in the darkness. Muzzle flash lit the trees. Lynch’s heart skipped a beat. He headed towards the flash bang. His torchlight found Gilmore on his back at the base of a tree with gun in hand—blood bubbling from his mouth. A chest wound blooming. Steam rising.

  ‘I’ve found him! I’ve found Dave! We need the ambos now!’

  Gucciardo and the other Paradox officer closed in with their torches; Gucciardo down on knees next to Lynch trying to comfort Gilmore. The shot Robber was pasty-faced and struggling for breath; crimson spittle spattered across his face. He clutched at Lynch while clawing for life.

  ‘Happy—it’s Whiskers. Gooch is here too. We’ve got you, brother. You’re gunna be okay.’

  A uniform constable with portable on shoulder joined the group as the other Paradox officer checked Gilmore’s gun. He tipped the casings into an open hand. Signified to Gucciardo that five rounds were spent. Gooch looked up to the constable with the portable radio.

  ‘Tell D-24 we’ve found the second member and he’s alive—gunshot wound to the chest. Tell them to broadcast he got several rounds off.’

  Lynch squeezed Gilmore’s hand. ‘Looks like you’ve copped one in the chest, pal, but it looks okay. It looks okay. Ambos are on the way.’

  Gucciardo was fierce to the constable: ‘Tell them to get that bloody ambulance!’

  Gilmore dragged Lynch close. Gasped and whispered in his ear. ‘No … parrot.’

  At least that’s what it sounded like to Lynch.

  ‘Parr … rot.’

  There wasn’t much air left in Gilmore’s chest. He shook his head. Gargled up more blood. It sprayed across Lynch’s face.

  ‘What are you saying, pal?’

  Gilmore’s eyes began to roll. He shuddered. Lynch tightened his grip. ‘Stay with me, brother. Just hold on. Ambos are nearly here. I can hear them.’

  Gucciardo wiped wet bloody hair from Gilmore’s forehead. ‘Happy, it’s Gooch. Who did this mate? Who did it?’

  ‘Where’s Mitch?’

  ‘Mitch is hurt, pal. Who did this?’

  More blood. Less breath. ‘Two guns … Tim … my boy …Tell him … I was brave …’

  Gucciardo looked up to the uniform constable. ‘Go back to the road and guide the paramedics in!’

  Gooch returned his focus to Gilmore. ‘Happy—any descriptions?’

  Gilmore’s body seized. His eyes glazed over, lungs emptying themselves of their last ever breath.

  Wiping the blood away, Lynch began CPR. Donated his breath. Put it into his brother in arms. ‘Breathe, damn it! C’mon Happy. Breathe!’

  Happy did not respond. He, like Mitchell Hunter, was gone.

  CHAPTER 43

  Someone was dead. The fact that Andrew Shaw’s mobile phone was ringing on his bedside table was testament to that. Shaw’s wife was awake, eyes open. She knew the drill. Shaw sat upright on the edge of the bed. Switched on his lamp. Glanced at the clock.

  ‘Inspector Shaw … I see … Yes, sir.’

  He scribbled a note. ‘Who was in charge? I see. I’ll get dressed and get out there … Yes, sir.’

  He hung up. Sat and took a moment to appreciate the situation.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Shaw turned to his wife. ‘That was Jack Clancy. Two Armed Robbery Squad detectives have been shot dead on a stake-out operation.’

  ‘Oh my God. That’s tragic.’

  ‘I’ve just been handed the case. They want a taskforce up and running immediately. There’ll be acid on this one.’

  CHAPTER 44

  The Chirnside Park industrial estate was a hive. Robbers, Internal Affairs and local detectives were doing their initial thing alongside forensics, canine units, uniform coppers and a scene photographer. Cops with torches scanned the gutter while others combed the grass. It was called preserving, detailing and working the scene: hunting the offender, or offenders. Two sets of large portable lights erected sixty metres apart had turned night to day. One set, on the roadway, shone down on Hunter’s body and the 605 crime car, its engine running and light still flashing. The second set of portable lights had been wheeled into the treed area to illuminate Gilmore: his flannel ripped open and T-shirt cut—a paramedic’s intubation tube jutting from his mouth and cardio tabs dotting a chest wound. Outside the
inner perimeter, Rogers was signing a statement. Against orders, Kelso had slipped away in a commandeered police car. Having arrived from their stake-outs, McCrann, Barlow and Caulfield stood alongside Shepherd, Gucciardo and Lynch. Whiskers appeared to have the shakes.

  ‘Fuck, boss. Fuck! Happy and Mitch are gone.’

  Shepherd placed a hand on Lynch’s shoulder. ‘I know son. Robbers, gather round.’

  The squad stood together, away from the rest of the cops. ‘Something tragic happened here tonight … but this is a Homicide scene now. We have to give it to them.’

  Rogers piped up. ‘Jack, was Happy able to tell you anything? Was he lucid?’

  ‘Um … he was whispering something about a bird.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘I swear he said something about a parrot … “No … parrot … Two guns.” He mentioned Mitch. Asked us to tell his little boy that he died brave … and then he was gone.’

  Gucciardo was more composed. ‘He fired five rounds, the last to possibly alert us to his position.’

  Shepherd stood in charge. ‘I know it’s difficult, but let’s focus. We could have one or even two injured offenders … Any description of a car?’

  Lynch shook his head.

  ‘Everything we know has been broadcast via D-24,’ Rogers said.

  On the other side of the scene the brass arrived. The media, gathering fast, were on to Chief Commissioner McFarlane as he stepped from his sedan in full uniform. Shoulder crowns catching the camera flashes, he straightened his blues, lifted the tape and strolled straight into the middle of the crime scene.

  The Robbers watched on, incredulous.

  Shepherd said it first. ‘Have a look at the wombat. A man can be killed only once but a crime scene can be murdered a hundred times over if you let idiots like him anywhere near it.’

  Lynch could only shake his head. ‘Un-fucking-believable.’

  Gucciardo stood enraged. ‘You’re standing right in the middle of evidence! Get out of there!’