On The Job

by Sandi Wallace

  Almost exactly twenty-four hours later she was actually glad that work had stuffed up her routine when a fresh job came in. Break-and-enter while the homeowner slept in bed. Odds-on Luisa’s robber had struck again. And with luck, he’d have made a mistake that’d help them nab him.

  She mentally corrected herself to he or she, chased it with a yawn, then realised that was too hard for her shift-change-lagged mind and thought, bugger it, just call it ‘he’ for now.

  She was partnered two-up with Big Phil and he drove, non-negotiable. So, while he zipped through the neighbourhood illuminated by street lamps and the very occasional house light, Nessa mentally mapped the area.

  If she drew compass points from the park where she trained, her own home sat to the east, Luisa’s to the west and the latest job to the south. The crook had yet to hit north or east. She decided to remind her elderly neighbours to double-check they’d locked up until they caught him. And they would catch him. Small-scale crooks always made mistakes.

  ‘Next house, Phil.’

  Her partner nodded and pulled up the driveway.

  Nessa compared the property to Luisa’s. Both were detached from their neighbours. Both had side gates left ajar, presumably by the crook. However, this house had been modernised and extended, its garden landscaped.

  Minutes later, she discovered that Luisa Occhipinti and Heather Smythe were as different as their homes. Ms Smythe towered over Nessa’s 174 cm, almost matching Big Phil’s height, and was slim, of Anglo-Saxon descent and condescending. She gave their boots a pointed glare, sighing loudly when they left them on. Coffee, bickies and the use of first names weren’t offered at this address.

  But a victim was a victim, no matter whether the cops liked them or not. So Nessa and Phil followed protocol.

  Consistent with Luisa’s break-in, the crook had avoided violence and left most of the place unmolested. He’d broken a lock on the back door and entered while the vic slept. Her alarm hadn’t been armed. None of the expensive, bulky electrical equipment had been touched. A smartphone, iPod, stash of cash from a tin in the kitchen and digital radio were nicked. Smythe’s two teenage kids weren’t home and there wasn’t mention of a significant other, which corresponded with Nessa’s guess that Smythe was a divorcee forced to downgrade from a classier district in order to keep her kids in private school – and she’d remind them of that great sacrifice until they were old and wrinkled.

  Nessa thought they’d wrapped things up, but Smythe had saved the best for last.

  ‘When I entered the room,’ she gestured towards the kitchen, ‘he was standing there holding my handbag. I said, “Put it down.” And he said, “You shouldn’t leave it lying around, lady.” Then he emptied out everything.’ She pointed to the paraphernalia on the granite top and sniffed. ‘He stole my mobile and purse.’

  Nessa asked, ‘Was he wearing gloves?’

  Smythe’s lips puckered as she concentrated. ‘It was dark except for the beam of his torch and difficult to see. But no, I don’t believe so.’

  ‘We’ll take your handbag for fingerprints, then.’ Nessa bagged the item, adding, ‘As you saw and spoke to the offender, we’ll need a description.’

  Smythe lifted her chin, peering down her nose. ‘I drafted a statement for you and sketched him; I’m quite talented.’

  It turned out to be a passable statement, which would do for the interim, and a terrible image, but at least they had a starter on their guy. They finished their questions and promised to keep in touch.

  ‘When will the CSI department arrive?’

  Phil’s mouth quivered, possibly suppressing a rare smile. ‘Ma’am, fortunately for you, the scale of this matter doesn’t necessitate a visit from our Crime Scene crew, but rest assured we’ll fully investigate your case.’

  Smythe did a cockatoo screech. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re fortunate there’s no damage and the loss is of small monetary value.’

  Smythe’s cheeks mottled. ‘But –’

  ‘You’re also lucky that the offender didn’t take more – or attack you when you interrupted him.’

  Smythe huffed but gave up when Big Phil stared her down.

  Back in the van, he hesitated with his hand over the ignition. ‘So what’ve we got, Reid?’

  She summarised: ‘Broad, dark-haired, possibly a teenager but could be as old as twenty-eight and a little above my height. He wore a baseball cap with a fluorescent Metabo logo, so Smythe couldn’t see much of his face but “he seemed hairy”. Blue jeans, black hoodie, sneakers, backpack. That description could fit hundreds of males in the area and plenty on our books.’

  ‘Yeah, not that helpful.’

  With that, the big guy turned over the engine and they headed for the station.

  Throughout the rest of that shift and the next two nights, they spent any available time working through possible candidates for the home invasions. They interviewed several possibilities but Nessa’s instincts told her they were non-runners.

  At the thought of running, she craved her morning workouts and wondered if Jake would still be at it when she finally went back on days.

  A few hours before her next night shift, Nessa double-checked security as she left her house and jogged to the park. She debated which of her usual circuits to do. Undecided, she found herself revolving in a circle in the middle of the oval.

  She stopped. To her right was home, on the left Luisa’s and behind her lived Snooty Smythe, all approximately a kilometre from here.

  Was there a pattern to their crook’s work? Would he target one of the other two directions soon? Would he follow the same timeframe?

  He’d turned over Smythe’s place three mornings after he’d robbed Luisa. They’d had busy shifts the last couple of nights, but there had been no jobs with the same MO. Did that mean their crook would strike again tonight?

  Nessa’s stomach flipped. She’d lay money on it but Mac or Sarge Sally would say she didn’t have enough, whereas Big Phil would drop one of his dark stares, making it obvious what he thought of young upstarts, particularly those without a dick.

  What to do? Take out a patrol car one-up and check the area? What time? Luisa was robbed after midnight—when she’d scoffed a block of chocolate in the kitchen—and before her husband’s return at 5.00am. Smythe called in her burg at 4.00am.

  How could she convince Phil to let her out alone for those five critical hours?

  Matters were taken out of Nessa’s hands when her shift started with a nasty car accident, followed by a domestic dispute. While they continued to negotiate with the blueing parties, she heard a call to a nearby hot burg picked up by another car.

  Thirty minutes later, they returned to the station, processed the husband and dumped him in a cell to sober up. Nessa immediately dialled a number.

  ‘Smiley,’ she greeted Chele Smilik, her counterpart at the adjacent station. Chele’s nickname was both a twist on her surname and a nod to her perpetual good mood, which came in handy for Nessa now.

  ‘How’s things?’ her friend returned.

  They chatted for a few minutes, then Nessa switched to business. ‘I heard you handled a burg in our area a couple of hours ago?’

  ‘Yep. Small-scale theft, the only thrill being that the owners were home at the time.’

  Nessa contained her excitement. ‘What was nicked?’

  ‘Couple of hundred bucks and a few gizmos belonging to the teenage daughter. That’s about it.’

  Faking laid back, Nessa said, ‘I’m guessing side-gate entry, then through the back door, probably forcing the lock?’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘No other damage and no violence.’

  ‘How do you do it?’ Smiley joked.

  ‘We’re seeing a pattern on our patch. But you mentioned the owners plural were home?’

  ‘Yep. The hubby and wife were in. Their kid was at a sleepover.’

  Nessa mused aloud, ‘Our burgs involved women on their own.’

  It
still seemed more than coincidence.

  Smiley chuckled. ‘Hubs and wife were having nookie when the break-in happened. Wife was red-faced about only hearing the burg when he broke a vase.’

  Nessa laughed.

  ‘By the time they put on some clothes and went downstairs, he was already on the run.’

  Nessa’s breath caught. ‘They saw him though?’

  ‘Yep. Our bloke—if we have a match—is tallish, well-built and wore jeans, dark windcheater and a cap.’

  Nessa hazarded, ‘A Metabo cap?’

  Smiley rustled in the background. ‘Correct. So we have a match.’

  ‘Seems so. They only saw him from behind?’

  Smiley made a buzzer sound. ‘No. The bloke’s cap got caught on a shrub and he turned around when he lost it. Both witnesses said he had short, thick, black hair. Hubs said he had a beard and wife reckoned stubble. Gotta love the powers of observation in the general public, don’t ya?’

  Nessa chewed her pen. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That’s the gist of it.’

  About to end the call, she belatedly asked the key question: ‘The address?’

  When her friend named a court around the corner from Nessa’s house, she felt a wave of adrenaline.

  They disconnected and Nessa mulled over the cases. She deduced that the crook would strike again in three nights and to the north of the park; the only direction he had yet to hit.

  All she had to do now was catch him in the act. She grinned.

  At shift changeover, Nessa was finishing a report when Mac approached her desk and rapped his knuckles on the top.

  ‘Shop.’

  Nessa smiled wearily, wondering if he had good or bad news. ‘Hit me with it, Mac.’

  ‘You’re back on days from tomorrow, kiddo. We’ll sort out your rest days later. Unless you want to stay on nights, that is?’ His laugh rumbled through the quiet muster room. He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think you were that mad.’

  And when her alarm bleeped at 3.50am the following morning, she sprang out of her warm, comfy bed, letting out a laugh that sounded like Mac’s. Maybe she was mad.

  Nessa sprinted to her park, then jogged on the spot, checking her watch. She was a little early.

  A couple of laps of the oval later, her stomach knotted with disappointment.

  Then a voice from behind said, ‘Nessa.’

  She spun around, almost colliding with the travel mug Jake thrust towards her. ‘Coffee?’

  Nessa took a mouthful and savoured the soothing, strong hit. ‘Ah, nice.’ She smiled. ‘You always have a spare with you?’

  ‘No, I saw you arrive and ran home to get one for you.’

  Embarrassed when warmth flooded her cheeks, Nessa lifted the mug to take another mouthful.

  ‘Oh shit, I forgot.’ Jake dug through his right tracksuit pocket, then the left. He held out a couple of sugar sticks. ‘I didn’t know if you take sugar and took a guess you’d like it white.’

  ‘This is perfect, thanks.’

  Now he blushed through his beard, which she noticed he’d trimmed.

  Nessa frowned as she processed a thought. ‘You live close, then?’

  ‘Yeah, about a K in that direction.’

  North. In the vicinity of where she believed her crook would next hit. She debated whether to retract her lie, admit she was a cop and warn him to take care with security.

  Her gut tightened. What if Jake wasn’t as nice as he made out?

  She stared at him, unconvinced that he wasn’t part of the dubious bearded-character club. Then she considered the descriptions of the crook from the witnesses. Smythe said he was hairy. The hubby at Smiley’s break-in said he wore a beard. Even if the guy had stubble rather than a full beard, as the wife claimed, Jake’s beard could be a stick-on disguise.

  She kept her mouth zipped.

  ‘Do you live nearby?’

  ‘Yeah, about a K, too.’ True, except that she pointed towards Luisa’s house in the west. ‘That way.’

  They sealed the mugs to finish their coffee post-workout, before Nessa pushed Jake through her toughest routine, satisfied when he fell to the ground starfish-style and whimpered, ‘I surrender.’

  She offered him a hand up, laughing.

  After they’d stretched and drained their drinks, he took her mug. ‘I missed you over the last few days.’

  Nessa’s face warmed stupidly again. She normally had strong instincts about people that were spot on but Jake was messing with her head.

  ‘Be here tomorrow?’

  She kept it vague. ‘Hope so.’

  ‘You know what I love most about training at this time of day? You see some interesting things on the way here.’

  Nessa smiled. He probably thought she agreed, but she always jogged from home to the park with blinkers on, focused on the workout ahead.

  ‘Drunks staggering home, domestics, people going out to work, crooks coming home from work –’

  She froze, except for her racing heartbeat. Had Jake just thrown out a catch me if you can?

  Or was he as nice as he seemed and really had seen crooks in action? Had he spotted her home intruder?

  ‘God, where did you say you live?’ Her chuckle sounded odd in her ears. ‘My area doesn’t have crims.’

  She hoped he swallowed the act.

  ‘Top end of Barley Street. And you’d be surprised. I see dodgy stuff all the time.’

  Her head cocked. She had to force it level. Surely he was challenging her?

  Jake suddenly checked his watch, then made a suction noise with his tongue and teeth. ‘We have a big job on in the city today and I’ve gotta get on-site.’

  He looked shattered, which she didn’t swallow. He’d obviously sensed her suspicion and gone into fast-backpedal-mode. Too late, buster.

  She observed him take off in the direction of Barley Street North, suspecting that Jake would be busy two mornings from now. Either he wouldn’t show for their workout or he’d have done his business beforehand.

  Come to think of it, hadn’t he worn an extra twinkle in his eye the morning of Luisa’s robbery? That was the day he’d pushed for her name and jumped into her workout. Was that because he was on a high after the break-in? Maybe even because he knew she was a cop and he had one over her?

  Nessa’s eyes burned into Jake’s back as he fled. She was determined to nab him before he hurt someone. The next homeowner that interrupted him might be less robust than Luisa or Smythe and have a heart attack.

  She laid plans every spare minute until midnight on Thursday finally arrived.

  Donned in black tracksuit, black beanie, black gloves and even an old pair of black sneakers, she was still worried that a neighbour might spot her and call the cops. It’d be just her luck if Big Phil took the job.

  If anything, that thought bolstered Nessa while she jogged to the top end of Barley Street. She squeezed into a bushy shrub, gagging on the stench of the crushed flowers. It reminded her of one of her first tasks on the job: clearing used condoms after an illicit sex-drugs-and-dance party, fortunately armed with long tongs and Vicks rubbed under her nostrils. She repressed a sneeze, wishing she had some of the menthol ointment now, and scoped the scene.

  Based on the crook’s recent jobs, he chose detached homes with a side gate through which he entered, exited or both. That eliminated two sets of units and a handful of townhouses, along with the place she’d chosen as her base. This spot gave her the greatest camouflage and best view of the houses she considered most vulnerable.

  If her theory was right.

  A shiver of doubt started deep in her gut, chased by a rush of adrenaline through her body, a corresponding surge in her heartbeat and dryness in her mouth. The same symptoms she’d felt before competing in her first fun run. Fear being overcome by excitement and expectation.

  The job would go down tonight.

  What if she’d misjudged the location, though?

  Her eyes narrowed. Her crook was either dum
b and therefore predictable, or playing catch me if you can and conceited enough to want a close shave, which made him dumb enough to underestimate Nessa.

  Either way, it’d happen around here. If she didn’t spot the entry, she hoped the homeowner would discover the crook in the act. In the quietness of night in this sleepy suburb, she’d hear a scream or shout and probably manage to head off the crook. Their guy travelled on foot and Nessa was a fast runner with excellent endurance these days.

  All good, providing the vic didn’t have that heart attack.

  She nestled into the shrub to take some weight off her feet. This could take a while.

  An hour later, she dodged a ciggie butt thrown into her hideout by a dog walker.

  Half an hour after that, Nessa’s feet hurt from being stationary so long.

  By 2.30am, she resorted to tugging on the ties of her windcheater for amusement.

  Twenty minutes on, she needed to pee. She knew boredom and bladders had stuffed up many surveillance ops. Surviving both tonight would be good preparation for detective training.

  She managed to hold on, cross-eyed, for forty more minutes before squatting in desperation, mouth-breathing to avoid inhaling ammonia mixed with the stench of the bush.

  At 3.45am, her heart thudded. It had to happen soon.

  Nessa sneezed and for that split second her eyes shut. When she opened them, she saw Jake jog from one of the houses, just as she heard a female yell, loud and shrill, followed by the bang of a gate.

  Another person sprinted in the same direction as Jake, passing him a moment later. Nessa noted they were of similar build and this one wore a backpack.

  She bolted after them, yelling, ‘Stop! Police!’

  The two men threw her a glance, then ran on. Jake scooped an object off the ground. The other kept going but slower and with a limp.

  Nessa repeated her warning.

  She came abreast of Jake, the buzz of the chase clouded by the hurt on his face. As they ran together, she said, ‘Jake, I’m sorry. I’m not in childcare.’

  ‘I just clicked. Are you after Cinderella?’