“How are you feeling, Mrs Evans?”
Gladys stopped singing and spun giddily to face me. “Fighting fit,” she replied.
I smiled and handed her the mug. “That’s good to hear.”
She sat on the small steel bench and glanced around the cell. “I don’t think much of the décor here.”
There was nothing to like about stark grey walls and bare concrete floor. That was the point.
“Why are you such a menace?” I asked.
She brought her coffee to her lips and smiled. “Because I’m free, Shiloh.”
“But you’re not,” I pointed out. “You’re in the lockup.”
Gladys set her mug down and put her shaky hand on her chest. “My heart is free,” she clarified. “No one can tame a wild heart. I will sing and dance and kiss the sun forever.”
It sounded like a romantic notion but wasn’t. The whole situation was dreadfully sad. The raucous woman of a few hours earlier was gone. However free her heart might’ve been, she looked old, frail and beaten. Somewhere along the line, life had walloped her hard.
“You need to get out and kiss the sun once in a while too, girly,” she added. “You’re too young to be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d accused me of kyboshing all things fun and reckless. Every time Gladys ended up in custody she strongly voiced her opinion that the line I walked was far too straight and narrow.
“I’m a police officer,” I reminded her. “We’re notorious sticklers for rules.”
“Oh, live a little,” she grumbled. “Remind yourself that you’re alive. I could teach you a thing or two.”
Gladys Evans wasn’t mentor material. I saw nothing more than a sad, old, drunken thief, but it wasn’t my job to enlighten her. My job was to keep her safe and protected from herself.
I urged her to get some sleep, backed out of the room and pulled the door closed.
***
Being threatened with a lamb shank was the most excitement we saw that week – right up until Friday afternoon. Just before five a man strolled through the front door of the station, his intense frown hinting that the reason for his visit was either complicated or unpleasant. I didn’t care to find out which. Hopeful of getting out on time, I continued shoving files into the filing cabinet.
The man thumped his hand on the service bell. “I’m looking for Constable Brannan.”
We were both in plain view, which meant he was arrogant. Sergeant Kelly does not do arrogant. He pushed his chair away from his desk and rose to his feet. “We’re all looking for someone,” he replied, wandering to the counter. “I’m looking for a decent barber.” He smoothed down the top of his hair. “My wife thinks I look like I’ve been in a fight with a lawnmower.”
“Constable Brannan,” he repeated. “Is she here?”
“I’ll check.” Allan turned to me. “Are you here, Constable Brannan?”
I bumped the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with my hip. “It depends on who’s asking.”
The man reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. Allan snatched it from him as soon as it was within reach.
“Agent Dan Grace,” he read aloud like a first grader. “Australian Federal Police.”
His profile fit the bill: stiff suit, stiffer hair and a stiff expression. The curt detective might’ve been good looking if he smiled, but at that point it didn’t seem possible.
“You and I need to talk,” he rudely demanded.
My mind spun in a hundred directions. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve the attention of the AFP, but it couldn’t have been anything good. I pointed toward the small office to my right. “We can talk in there,” I said. “As long as you don’t bite.”
I think I almost saw him smile. Almost.
Agent Grace strolled into the office leaving me to follow his lead. By the time I closed the door behind me, he’d made himself at home. “Take a seat, Constable.” He leaned back in the chair and undid the buttons on his suit jacket. “This might take a while.”
I stood firm with my back against the door. “What’s this about?”
I hadn’t noticed the bulging manila folder he was carrying until he dropped it on the desk. Then all I could focus on was my name scrawled across the cover.
“Am I under investigation?” I asked, grasping at straws.
“Of sorts.” He waved to a chair. “Sit.”
I did as I was told, but didn’t go quietly. “I’ve only been on the force for fourteen months,” I said pointedly. “I haven’t had a chance to do anything crooked, and if I was that way inclined it’s hardly likely to go down in a backwater town like Lawler.”
“Do you like working here?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It has its moments.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged.
I had no idea what he wanted to hear. With limited choices, I decided to share the highlight of my week. “Well, on Tuesday I wrestled a packet of sausages from a drunken old lady’s pants.”
He laughed, disproving my theory that his face was made of stone. It put me slightly at ease – until he picked up the folder. “The police force wasn’t your first choice of career, was it?” he asked, thumbing through the loose pages.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “No, but I’m guessing you know that already.”
“Four years in the Navy,” he read from a page. “Tell me about that.”
The constant demand for information was like an irritating catchphrase. “How about you tell me something,” I suggested grumpily. “What do you want from me?”
Dan closed the folder and dropped it back on the desk. “You have to give a little to get a little, Constable.”
I quickly realised I wasn’t going to win. I was becoming more frustrated with every passing second. Dan just looked bored.
“I did my time and then got out,” I vaguely explained. “It wasn’t for me.”
“Did you get a trade qualification?”
I motioned to the folder with an upward nod. “You tell me.”
He looked me dead in the eyes, speaking with absolute surety. “Abel Seaman, Shiloh Brannan. Electronics Technician.”
I shrugged, feigning apathy. “You’ve done your homework.”
Now I just needed to figure out why. My stint in the Navy was uneventful for the most part. I signed up at eighteen and got out at twenty-two with a qualification I’d never used since.
“What came next?” he asked, moving the conversation along.
Agent Grace wasn’t overly interested in hearing about the year I spent bumming around Europe after being discharged from the Navy. Nor did he care about my short gig as a telemarketer when I got home. I got the distinct impression that I wasn’t going to be able to tell him anything he didn’t already know. The folder on the desk led me to think he was well versed in all things Shiloh Brannan.
“Security work,” I mumbled. “At a bank.”
He frowned. “When?”
“Two years ago.” I shrugged. “Maybe three.”
He grabbed the folder and flicked through the contents.
I stared at him, enjoying the slight look of concern on his face as he pored over papers. “What’s the matter, Dan?” I asked. “Did your research minions leave that part out?”
His eyes locked mine and the fleeting moment of triumph I’d felt was gone. “You never worked for a bank,” he accused. “You did a nine month stint up north as a security officer at the Jorge Creek Diamond Mine.”
“And hated every minute of it,” I revealed.
Even telemarketing beat working for Jorge Creek. It was by far the most boring job I’d ever had, and for some reason I told him so.
“Why?” he asked curiously.
“Have you ever seen an uncut diamond?”
He shook his head.
“Very uninspiring,” I told him. “Perhaps that’s why no one bothered to steal any while I worked there.”
“Is that what you w
ere hoping for?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “That’s the only reason I took the job.”
There was no shame in admitting it. I naively expected that working security at a diamond mine would be hugely exciting. If I’d had my way, crooked employees would’ve been trying to make off with buckets of sparkly gems on a daily basis. The reality was much different. No one ever stole a thing, and diamonds in their raw form aren’t remotely sparkly.
“So let me get this straight.” He leaned back in his chair and flicked the end of his tie. “The military wasn’t exciting enough, security work wasn’t exciting enough, and then you tried your hand at the police force.”
And a year down the track, that wasn’t shaping up to be exciting enough either.
“Yep.” I slapped both palms down on the table. “And here I am – fishing sausages out of old ladies’ dacks.”
It sounded extra pathetic when said out loud, but Dan didn’t seem to notice. His focus was back on the folder as he neatened up the inside pages. “I’m glad I came here, Constable Brannan,” he said. “I think you’re exactly who we’re looking for.”
“Tell me about that,” I suggested.
“Jorge Creek has several mining operations,” he began. “One of them is in West Africa – a place called Kaimte.”
“Never heard of it.”
Dan stood and walked to the window, lifting a slat of the blind to peek outside. “It’s not as large as their Australian mine, but they see a little more of the action you’re seeking.”
A laugh escaped me. “I’m not looking for action.”
He turned to face me, frowning as if I’d just told the blackest kind of lie. “Over a million dollars’ worth of diamonds go missing from the processing plant each month,” he revealed. “We’re almost certain it’s an inside job.”
Detectives are trained to unnerve people with their intimidating words but AFP agents play on a whole other level. They command attention with steely glares and long pauses. To escape his eyes, I dropped my head and began picking invisible lint off my pants. “What does that have to do with me?”
Agent Grace sat down, clasped his hands and finally offered an answer. “As a past employee, you’re well versed in Jorge Creek operational procedures. We need someone on the inside – preferably a security officer.”
The absurdity didn’t end there.
“You tick all the boxes, Shiloh.”
I jumped to my feet, gearing up to put an end to the nonsense. “I don’t have a box to tick, Agent Grace.”
Ignoring me, he calmly slid the folder in my direction. “I beg to differ.”
“Look, Dan,” I began. “Everything in that file is like a practice run.” I drummed my finger on my handwritten name. “I don’t even know if the police force is for me. I’m a year in and still undecided.”
It was the absolute truth. At twenty-six I’d never stuck to anything because nothing ever held my interest. To date, everything from career choices to yoga classes had been a flash in the pan.
The steely agent glanced around the small office. “Being stuck in Lawler won’t help your cause. It’s hardly inspiring.”
My shoulders dropped, which was the only hint of resignation I was prepared to show him. He was right and he knew it.
“Why me?” I asked. “What could I possibly have to offer?”
“Knowledge of company procedures. Police training.” He ticked off each point on his fingers, “Security training. Meat recovery.”
As much as I fought against it, his smile was contagious. “I’m still not exactly sure why you’re here,” I confessed. “What do you want?”
The cloak and dagger was gone. For the first time since walking into the station, AFP Agent Dan Grace made his intentions very clear. He hadn’t come all the way to Lawler to interrogate me. He’d come to recruit me.
***
I was sworn to secrecy before he finally left. “There’s not a person on earth you’re free to discuss this with,” Dan warned as he got to the door. “If you want to know more, you call me.”
I took the business card he thrust at me and promised to at least think about the idea of an undercover stint with the AFP. Perhaps realising he wasn’t going to get one, he abandoned his initial demand for an immediate answer and agreed to give me a day to think about it.
I probably wasn’t cut out for the job he had in mind. I broke his first rule the instant his car pulled out of the car park by running next door to the Sergeant’s house to tell Allan everything.
The police station and adjoining house were as old as the town. The heritage listed building was quaint and charming, with a garden to match. Sergeant Kelly couldn’t take credit for any of it. His wife Lynette was the one with the magical green thumb. I slowed my walk as I made my way up to the house, distracted by the aroma of the jasmine hedge lining the path.
“Don’t you be picking my flowers,” warned a familiar Irish brogue. “I know how many are there.”
I quickly scanned the yard searching for the tetchy Irish woman. Lynette finally appeared, walking across the immaculate lawn cradling a black rabbit like a baby.
“Dinner?” I teased.
“He should be,” she grumbled, brushing her blonde her from her face with her free hand. “Furry little bastard has been digging up my carrots. He’s a hopping cliché.”
Her ire wasn’t the least bit convincing. The Kelly household was a veritable menagerie. Lynette had a soft spot for all manner of stray animals, and almost all of them were permanent residents. Her promise of rehousing them hardly ever held, and Allan seemed to have given up nagging her about it.
“Come inside,” she urged, walking us up the path. “I want to show you the joey.”
My eyes widened. “You have a kangaroo now?”
“His mother got hit by a car,” she replied. “But he’ll be alright – unlike this rascal.” The black rabbit scurried away as soon as she lowered him to the ground. “Watch yourself, bunny,” she warned. “I’ve got a crockpot with your name on it.”
Much like her husband, Lynette Kelly was all bark and absolutely no bite. She didn’t suffer idiots – even those of the furry variety. I wasn’t sure if it was an Irish trait or a Kelly one, but either way I appreciated it.
“Stay for dinner,” Lynette demanded.
Before I could answer, Allan appeared on the porch. “You’re in for a treat tonight, Shiloh,” he taunted. “We’re having lamb shanks.”
***
As desperate as I was to tell them my news, I managed to hold off until after dinner. I expected tutting and disbelieving chuckles upon hearing of the job offer I’d received. It would’ve completely validated my opinion that the whole idea was ludicrous. What I wasn’t expecting was stone cold silence and blank expressions.
“I haven’t committed to anything yet,” I added, desperate for a response. “He gave me until tomorrow to think about it.”
Both of them continued the silent stare down from across the table. The only movement came from Jenson, the oversized brown Labrador. He slowly approached from the living room and unceremoniously dumped a couple of soggy jigsaw pieces on my lap, which I quickly knocked to the floor.
“Are they corner pieces?” asked Allan listlessly. “He only ever eats the corner pieces.”
I didn’t get a chance to answer. Lynette snatched our plates and loudly stacked them one on top of the other. “Talk some sense into her, Allan,” she ordered. “I beg of you.”
However confusing it might’ve been, that was her only input. Lynette stormed out of the room with the fat old Labrador in slow pursuit.
Allan managed a smile, but his handsome face was full of concern. “She worries,” he said simply.
“There’s no need to,” I weakly replied.
“Working undercover isn’t easy, Shiloh,” he told me. “It’s dangerous. You must realise that.”
Until then, the notion of putting myself in harm’s way hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’d been con
centrating on the thrill factor. Nabbing international diamond thieves seemed far more appealing than busting petty shoplifters.
The rose coloured glasses I wore were probably inherited from my mother. I’d only been out of high school a week when I sat my parents down and told them that I’d enlisted in the navy.
The parental concern was entirely my father’s. “How will you cope if you’re sent into combat, Shiloh?” he worriedly asked. “You could be killed.”
My mother piped up. “She’ll be fine, Steve,” she assured him. “I’m sure they’ll give her a gun.”
Much to my father’s relief I never did see much action, even after two deployments. What I did see were a few parts of the world that I would never have visited otherwise. I also gained a kick-arse appreciation for order and discipline. I like structure and rules, which is why the police force was the obvious choice when it came to changing careers. Apprehending crooks was supposed to be the icing on the cake – except Lawler had no cake.
“I can take care of myself,” I pointlessly defended.
“You’ll have to,” Allan replied. “The minute you’re thrown into the mix, you’re on your own.”
I downed the last of the wine in my glass, buying time while I thought things through. I still couldn’t focus on the risk involved. I was more intent on deciding whether I had the nous and experience to do the job, and what would happen if I couldn’t.
“Are you ready to give up your whole life?” Allan asked, still trying to tip the scale of reason. “If you take this on, Shiloh Brannan will be no more. You’ll be given a new identity, which is fine until you wake up one morning and realise that every single aspect of the life you’re living is a lie.”
I knew he was speaking from experience. Many quiet days on patrol were made brighter by my sergeant’s tales of his time in the Gardaí. Four of those had been spent undercover in the Organised Crime Division. He’d seen the very best and the very worst that life had to offer, including the death of his partner during a botched bank robbery.
“Will you be mad if I go?” My voice was unreasonably small. He was my boss, not my father, but when I was first posted to Lawler, the Kellys took me under their wing – just like every other stray they selflessly adopted. In a sense, they were family, and their opinion mattered to me.
Shiloh Page 2
