by Chris Krupa
As Constable Hunter came around, Philip lunged for her. He had mass over her but she had training. After a clumsy scuffle, she soon had him pinned face down on the grass with her knee embedded into his middle back. She handcuffed him, walked him to the back of the wagon, unlocked the door, and marched him in.
I kept my eye on Michael as I heard the door shut and lock.
When she came back, she got Michael on his feet and searched him.
‘Call my fuckin’ lawyer,’ Michael said. ‘His name’s Fabian Poulos.’
‘You’ll have your chance to consult with your lawyer at the station,’ Sue said.
‘You have to call him. He can tell you where I was the night Rob was killed. Here.’ Michael held his arms out to his sides and twisted his body around. ‘Pull out my wallet. His card’s there, Poulos and Kennedy. Call him now.’
I pulled out his wallet, found the crumpled business card forced into one of the sleeves, and shoved the wallet back into Michael’s back pocket.
‘He’s expecting a call,’ Michael said.
I told Constable Hunter that I had a strong lead in the Demich case, and talking to Michael’s lawyer would be beneficial to Michael in the first instance.
‘Bugger me,’ she said. ‘All right, do what you have to do. I’ll keep an eye on this one.’
I took out my phone and dialed the number.
A voice answered after two rings. ‘Fabian Poulos.’
‘Mister Poulos, my name’s Kowalski. I’m a private detective. I’ve been told you know of Michael Le Mat’s whereabouts on the night of the eleventh. I have an officer in my presence willing to arrest your client unless you provide something compelling right now.’
‘Michael wasn’t in any way involved in the murder of Robert Demich. I can provide you with some information that will place my client at another location entirely.’
‘And what would that information be?’
‘I’ll need your word you won’t place my client under arrest. He’s been a victim of extenuating circumstances.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe there are forces acting against my client. However, I’m not in a position to discuss this over an open line.’
‘Then the officer will place your client under arrest and refer him to the homicide detectives. The charge of murder will be a certainty.’
I heard Poulos take a breath and I sensed his weariness over the line.
‘Do not arrest him,’ the attorney said. ‘On the night of the murder, Michael Le Mat was in Randwick negotiating the sale of sixty thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine.’
‘You’re telling me you have known criminals willing to testify they were selling narcotics?’
‘At best. At worst, I’ve got unreliable witnesses and one undercover police operative who may have connections to those forces conspiring against my client.’
‘You’re overreaching,’ I said, but believed his words.
‘Listen, I don’t know how far I can go with this. I’m working out of a granny flat. I haven’t got a cent to my name. I don’t have the firepower to take on these guys. If I go up against an institution this powerful, and I think you know what I’m alluding to, they are going to steamroll me. I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell, and these guys couldn’t give a flying fuck. I’ll be blackballed, with my name dragged through the mud. Either way, Michael’s going to jail.’
‘Say I take you at your word. I have a theory, but I’m not quite there. I’m going to pass the phone to Michael. Tell him he needs to talk to me.’
I put the phone to Michael’s ear and he listened. I watched as he appeared to shrink inside himself, not dissimilar to a snail reacting to salt.
He shuffled his feet and looked at me like a scolded child. ‘Fabian’s right. I was waiting on some coke to come down from Queensland. I was up in Sydney sorting the distribution.’
‘Those are serious charges, Michael,’ Sue said, resting her hands on her belt.
Michael shrugged. ‘And I’ll deal with it.’
Sue stepped forward with her left hand raised, palm out, and her right hand on the grip of her pistol. ‘I’m going to ask you to turn around and lean against the car for me. Spread your legs and put your arms behind your back.’
‘What’s going on?’ he said.
‘I’m placing you under arrest.’
Michael looked at me incredulously. ‘You promised you weren’t going to arrest me.’
I shrugged sympathetically. ‘I’m not arresting you.’
Sue removed the handcuffs from her belt, and Michael allowed himself to be handcuffed.
She said, ‘I’m arresting you for the possession of an illicit narcotic.’
‘Listen, Michael,’ I said. ‘I know someone who can help, a lawyer named Reggie Cash. I’ll have him talk to Fabian, and maybe they can work things out.’
‘From one liar to another,’ Philip called out from the back of the paddy wagon.
I let that one go.
Constable Hunter read Michael his rights, led him to the back of the wagon, and loaded him up.
His face showed a mixture of disbelief and anger toward me.
I walked up to the driver’s side window and knocked.
Constable Hunter wound it down a fraction.
‘Any chance of a lift?’ I said. ‘I was at Mothman’s Gym when these stooges kidnapped me.’
She scoffed. ‘Not a chance, Matt. Not with two prisoners aboard. I need to get them to the station.’
I indicated my gym shorts and tank top. ‘My clothes are back there.’
‘Call a cab.’ She started the wagon, backed out, and drove away.
I contemplated my next step. Now that a slim possibility remained of Le Mat being charged with Rob’s murder, I had to work out a way to bring down a superior police officer. Despite her leaving me in the lurch, I wasn’t prepared to jeopardise Constable Hunter’s career, so I thought the less she knew, the better. That would only lead to further complications and more resources being brought in, which meant time and money.
Paul had lost a son, and now he faced losing his wife. A man in that situation could easily tip over the edge, and in all likelihood, if I didn’t find Paul, Vicki Pearce could be dead, and Constable Sue Hunter would forever be labelled a turncoat by the force and, most likely, lose her job.
I considered Michael’s Statesman. Under the law, I was looking at an impounded vehicle, and there I was stuck untold kilometres from my car with a known killer up to who knew what. Given the circumstances, I had no other option.
I got in the Statesman, drove it back to the gym, locked it up, got changed, then gunned my ute back toward the inlet. The clock was ticking and I had to find Sergeant Paul Green.
PART THREE
Chapter 23
I hadn’t eaten since the coffee and banana bread earlier in the day. I briefly considered stopping at the Oxley for a schnitzel with pepper gravy, chips, and salad, but the thought immediately made my stomach turn, and I decided against it. I felt nervous and anxious and found myself craving whiskey. I’d never gone up against anyone in Paul Green’s position, and I put some serious thought to the ways I could expose him, with limited damage to my reputation.
It rattled me. I thought about the connotations and level of conspiracy Paul Green held over his little fiefdom of retirees on the south coast, and wondered how far his circle of influence spread. I suddenly felt exhausted, the events of the day having led up to something that might have been beyond my level of planning.
I negotiated a long bend in the road and coasted down a gradient onto a long, level stretch of empty bitumen.
A streak of white came at me fast from the right—a car with no headlights on.
There wasn’t a thing I could do. They say everything happens in slow motion when you’re about to have a car accident, and this was no different. I barely had time to slam my feet on the brake and say, ‘Shit!’ My fingers dug into the steering wheel.
M
etal screamed and my head hit the side pillar. I came to rest at an angle, in a ditch off the side of the road. I smelled burnt rubber and tasted metal in my mouth. The stalled engine ticked over in the silence of the aftermath. Something inside under my ribs felt broken, but I didn’t want to look down at my body. I panted and gasped for breath. My neck had taken most of the impact, so I was scared to move.
A figure appeared to my right. Sergeant Paul Green’s countenance stared at me through the fragmented glass, then turned, and walked away.
Chapter 24
I must have slipped in and out of consciousness because it felt like I’d been in the same position for hours. My body told me to rest, take some time out, and let someone else sort out the mess. My head said other things. I consciously pulled myself out of it, said a silent prayer, turned the ignition, and... I almost cried when the car started.
I eased my trusty ute into gear, gingerly drove it up the slight embankment, back up onto the empty highway, and back into the village. I slowed at the approach to Sandpiper Street, and turned onto it, following the loop around until spotting Paul’s house on the western side of the field.
The white Ford F100, its front end pushed in and damaged, sat in the driveway. At least now I knew what he used it for: getting rid of nosy private detectives.
I came around and parked one house back from his, wrenched open my door, and slowly got out and lifted the tonneau. I rummaged around and found a backup crowbar. It wasn’t ‘Old Blue’, and it wasn’t a match to a Glock, but I wasn’t going in empty-handed. I crouched low and snuck up to his house.
The street fell eerily quiet and suddenly looked far too normal. When his car came into view, I discerned the top of a head in the driver’s seat through the small rear window.
I stopped and watched as it lolled to one side and then the other.
As I planned my next course of action, the driver’s side door opened and Paul climbed out. His face looked ashen and tired. The Glock hung loose in his hand by his side. He moved across the yard to the front door, pushed it open, and paused for a moment to glance back along the street, then went inside and closed the door.
I walked up the road crouched over, keeping my eye on the door and windows for movement. Seeing nothing, I cut across the front lawn to the front door. I hesitated and listened, the voices inside came from one male and one female. I wasn’t at my best—my blood sugar was low, my ears were ringing from the crash, and I felt faint and tired—but I couldn’t walk away. I tried the door....
It opened and I went in.
Chapter 25
I stepped into a dimly lit hallway, closed the door as quietly as possible, and stood in a small alcove with hooks and a shoe rack on the right-hand wall. I carefully stepped across the polished wooden floorboards and came out into an open plan living and dining room.
Paul stood in the landing between the kitchen and the living room. He held the Glock to his wife’s head. Blood trailed down the side of his face from a deep cut above his right eyebrow. Dirt stained his glasses.
‘I’ll kill her, Matt,’ he said.
Vicki cried. Her matted hair stuck to parts of her face. She still wore her work stockings. Her eyes wavered between stoic and scared.
I froze, my mind whirring with a thousand options—all of them bad.
Paul put the gun against Vicki’s head and she moaned.
‘Very slowly,’ he said. ‘Put the crowbar on the floor.’
Groaning inwardly, I lowered the bar and let it go. It clanked with a heavy finality. I raised my hands and stood still. ‘Paul, don’t do this.’
Vicki yelped and really started to cry. She shut her eyes tight and her entire body shook.
Paul moved his free hand from her neck to her shoulder. The gun moved away from her head, but only slightly. ‘Vicki,’ he muttered. ‘Vicki, please....’
She was trying to control her sobs but she made choking sounds. She stood rigid, cheeks wet with tears, mouth open.
I’d never negotiated with anyone before, and had no idea what to say. Useless cliché’s and slogans ran through my head as Vicki fell to her knees and doubled over, her face to the floor.
Paul lifted her arm but it hung limp in his grip. ‘Vicki, please... don’t do this now.’ He dropped his arms to his sides, and his shoulders slumped.
‘Paul,’ I said. ‘You know I’m not armed. I’m not going to try anything, okay? I think we should take Vicki over to the couch. I think she needs to rest, just for a minute. Okay?’
He stared at the crumpled form of his wife at his feet, then looked up at me. He appeared confused, but after a moment, he nodded. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and put his hands under Vicki’s armpits.
I took her feet, and together we carried her into the living room, placed her on one of the two-seaters, and sat her upright.
She’d stopped crying, and now stared into the distance.
Paul stood over her and fixed her with a confused stare. He reached out to her, as if to say, ‘Are you okay?’, but drew his hand back. He reminded me of an automaton imitating human action.
Vicki remained frozen in place and wide-eyed. She occasionally glanced up at her husband, despite her best intentions to try to ignore his impending threat.
He stayed there for what seemed like minutes, until he turned on his heel, strode to a single-seat recliner, pulled the gun out, and slumped down into the chair. He moved forward and rested his arms on his knees, the gun dangling from his hand as he stared down at the carpet at his feet.
I let out a breath I’d been holding since I came in through the front door. I glanced at a liquor cabinet by the hall entrance, stocked with wine bottles, a half-full bottle of scotch, and some whiskey glass tumblers.
‘I think I need something,’ I said. ‘Paul, I need a whiskey. Is that okay? Can I get up and pour a drink?’
I thought, given the situation, it was prudent not to draw attention to the state the three of us had found ourselves. I wanted to take another approach, endeavour to steer his thoughts to a better place—for a better outcome. Maybe I could establish a sense of trust and manoeuvre myself into a position to diffuse things.
With his eyes still downcast, Paul nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
‘Vicki,’ I said. ‘Do you need anything? A bottle of water?’
Vicki snapped her eyes in my direction. ‘I’m sorry?’ she whispered.
‘Would you like some water?’
She shook her head as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
I got up slowly and kept a wary eye on the gun. When Paul didn’t react, I walked over to the cabinet, poured two generous servings of Johnny Walker black label, steeled myself, and returned to Paul. I placed his glass on the table beside him, and sat down too.
Paul didn’t acknowledge his glass.
I drank a solid belt and prayed it would take away some of the pain that wracked my shoulders and face.
Vicki turned to her husband. ‘Paul?’
He continued to stare at the carpet. A fresh drop of blood oozed from the wound on his forehead.
‘We need to talk about Rob and George,’ I said.
‘Nothin’ to say,’ Paul mumbled.
‘What happened at the construction site? Did the talk get out of hand? Is that why Rob wasn’t shot, because you didn’t go out there to kill him?’
Paul remained silent.
‘Maybe you had to work your nerve up to do it, to actually pick up the concrete brick, to actually smash it against a human skull. It’s not easy.’
‘You don’t know anything, so be quiet. I’m trying to think.’
‘I know about Rory,’ I said. ‘And I know Vicki’s divorcing you.’
‘Shut up!’
It felt good to get some sort of reaction out of him.
To blot out the silence, and my thoughts, I said, ‘What about McCaskill? You got something over him?’
Paul remained silent.
‘Michael’s not going to be charg
ed for the murder. I’ve convinced a very good friend of mine to draw up some solid affidavits, and I’ve arranged a surveillance detail for Amanda Hotchkiss—so don’t think of targeting her.’
Paul scoffed. ‘Jesus, I’m not a psychopath.’
‘Turn yourself in, Paul. It’s only a matter of time. They’ll match the wound in George’s head to your police-issue pistol.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’
‘I need to use the bathroom,’ Vicki said.
Paul’s eyes narrowed.
‘Paul,’ she said. ‘Is that okay?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Paul said.
Vicki watched him carefully.
Paul looked at her. ‘Why are you doing this? You’re everything to me, Vicki. You don’t understand.’
Vicki had calmed a little, and the tears had stopped, but she still looked ashen. ‘We can’t keep going on like we are, Paul.’
‘Like what? We’re together. We’ve got each other. It’s all we have.’
‘Paul—’
‘Don’t leave me.’
‘Paul, I have to use the bathroom.’ Vicki stood and manoeuvred around the coffee table, and then she bolted for the front door.
Paul got up and stumbled after her.
I got up and loped after Paul, the glasses clattering from the coffee table.
She reached the front door, but Paul caught her by her shirt and dragged her back. Vicki screamed, and he put the gun to her head.
I stopped a metre away and shouted, ‘Don’t!’
He paused for a moment, and the phone rang.
Vicki made a noise, and Paul looked at me as the ringing continued, his breath laboured. He looked flushed, and blood dripped onto his shirt.
The answering machine came on and, after the message, Sue Hunter’s voice came on.
‘Sorry to call you at home, Sergeant. I’ve tried to call your mobile but it must be turned off. I’ve arrested Michael Le Mat and he’s in custody at Shoalhaven LAC.’
Paul put his hands to his temple and moaned.
I lashed out and pushed him hard in the chest, and he fell against the wall and tripped over some shoes.
