by N. R. Walker
And that little blue line got a little tighter around August’s chest . . .
“Christ, Jake. Something’s not right.”
“I agree. There’s a lot of cops here,” he whispered. “But no one’s talking. I dunno, maybe it’s just because it was a cop who died. They knew him; I knew him. But everyone’s real quiet, August. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either. Something’s wrong, Jake. I don’t know what. I don’t know who. But we’re likely to find out today.” August let out a long breath. “I think I did something stupid.”
Jake was quiet for a second. “Like what?”
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to implicate you, but believe me, you’ll know soon enough.” He dug the heel of his free hand into his eye socket to try and quell the headache that was forming. “And I think I’m going to do something probably even stupider yet.”
“Aug, what are you talking about? What do you mean stupid? Because that kind of talk scares me—”
“No, nothing life-threatening. Sorry. I should have chosen my words better.” August sighed. But how did he say what he needed to say without being overheard. These walls had ears and eyes, and August had no idea just how far up the lack of trust went. “Um, I’m not sure how to say this . . . There’s a stench in the foundation of this building, Jake. Something’s rotting away and the structural integrity isn’t right.”
Jake was silent, and August gave him time to process what he wasn’t saying. “I hear you,” he whispered. “I don’t like it, but I hear you.”
“I don’t like it either. Actually, it makes me feel kinda sick. But someone logged into my computer this morning when I wasn’t here.”
“What?”
“Someone in this building.”
“What the hell were they looking for?”
“I don’t know. I’m more worried about them putting something on my hard drive. I didn’t log in. I wasn’t game enough to.”
“Fucking hell,” he breathed.
“Am I being paranoid? Do I sound crazy? Because I’m beginning to think my hold on reality might be a little tenuous.”
Jacob let out a breath and the sound, even through the phone, was comforting. “You’re not paranoid or crazy, August. Not for one second.”
“I gotta do something. I have to tell someone and make this official. I need the records to show I wasn’t complicit in this.”
“Please be careful.”
August smiled at that. For the longest time, he hadn’t had anyone in his life who cared enough to say something like that to him. “You too.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear about Schneider’s findings.”
“I already know what she’s going to say. Especially with Bartlett breathing down her neck. Suicide or inconclusive.”
“That’s bullshit.”
August nodded. “I know.”
“We’ll talk soon.”
“Okay.”
“I’m still not saying goodbye.”
August smiled despite himself. “Because that’s not what this is, right?”
“You’re such a fast learner, Detective,” Jake replied with a laugh. “Talk soon.” And the line went dead.
August was left smiling, holding his phone, knowing what he had to do. And knowing it would most likely be the end of his career but knowing he would probably do it anyway.
He was about to call the Professional Standards Command, and that was something that would follow him for the rest of his life. The PSC was the internal integrity command of the police. They oversaw possible corruption and cover-ups within the department, and once he made this call, there was no going back.
Nobody liked a snitch. Even if his concerns were found to be legitimate, and even if the commissioner thanked him for taking a stand against corruption, August knew damn well there’d be a few thousand cops who would despise him for it.
Telling the media and asking the public for help was one thing.
Calling the PSC was another beast altogether.
Maybe what Linden was about to release to the public would be enough for now . . . maybe August wouldn’t have to contact the PSC directly. Maybe they’d see the news bulletin and launch their own investigation. Maybe he’d get labelled a whistle-blower and a snitch, and maybe he’d get fired for what he’d told Linden . . .
August sat there, staring at Jacob’s whiteboard for a long moment. He’d drawn a timeline and added names and dates, and he’d circled the word coroner. Where was he going with that? Why circle that word? August knew Jake was wary of Nina; he’d asked if August trusted her, and August had admitted to not liking Bartlett. And of course, every ME report in all their cases had been ruled as suicide or inconclusive, which had seen their cases hit brick wall after brick wall. Maybe Jake had circled coroner because he wanted to push the issue.
Maybe Jake had wanted to ask the state coroner to overlook the findings . . .
Yes! Now that was a call August could put in. That was something he could do about hitting a hurdle at every turn. It wasn’t anyone in his department, it wasn’t anyone in the whole freaking building. They couldn’t hate him for this . . .
He searched for the number on his phone and hit Call. “Deputy State Coroner’s office,” a man’s voice answered. August asked to speak to whomever was in charge, and after giving his name and rank and after a minute on hold, a woman answered. “Deputy Coroner Polat speaking.”
“Good morning, my name is Detective August Shaw. I’m from the special cold case unit based at police HQ. Earlier today, the body of a police officer was found in a national park on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. The MEs are examining his body as we speak and they’re going to rule it was, at best, a suicide, or the very least, indeterminate cause of death.”
There was a moment pause. “And you know this how?”
“Because I have ten cases exactly like it, spanning eighteen years. They’re all the same. As in, exactly the same. For the last eight years, I’ve been telling them each case is connected and that we are witnessing one of Australia’s most prolific serial killers. And no one believes me.”
“You’re saying a police officer was killed?”
“Yes. On duty, in his uniform. Made to look like a suicide. He will have been found with a handwritten note and a silver cross. I have eight cases on my desk just like it.”
She paused for a moment. “And you’re calling me for what exactly? I can’t do anything without the proper proceedings. If the death is deemed questionable—”
“The death is questionable. I’m telling you, he didn’t commit suicide,” August replied. “Just make one phone call to the Coffs Harbour coroner. Ask the MEs for cause of death. If they say it’s suicide, ask them to test for elevated levels of phenylacetic acid and amine tryptamine.”
“And that would prove what, exactly?”
“The drug used to subdue the victims is untraceable except for those two markers,” he explained. “As soon as you mention that, they’ll know it’s come from me. Two days ago, I put in a request to re-examine evidence for all these cases looking for those two markers in any evidence we still have left. No one’s been overly accommodating, to put it mildly.”
“Detective . . .”
“Detective August Shaw.
“Detective Shaw,” she said flatly. “I’m not sure if—”
“One phone call, doctor,” August interrupted. “One goddamn phone call. I think we can both agree this young officer’s life is worth one phone call.” Not to mention the lives of every gay man this arsehole has also murdered, but August didn’t say that. “I can send you every case file number I have and you can see for yourself.”
She grumbled something that August was pretty sure was a string of curse words in Turkish, but then she sighed. “One phone call, Detective.”
August grinned. One phone call was one victory. Small, granted, but a victory nonetheless.
His celebrations didn’t last long though. Some u
niform knocked on his door and stuck his head in. “Ah, Reinhart wants to see you. Now. And just so you know, he’s pissed.”
August’s stomach tightened. Twisted knots in his stomach made the coffee he’d had earlier churn, curdled and rancid. He managed to smile at the guy at the door and stood.
This was it.
He felt like he was walking to the gallows.
He was almost certain Reinhart knew about his speaking with Linden. And when he walked past the tearoom, it was confirmed. There on every screen was Phillip Linden, all suited up and looking his very best with the Chyron underneath that read Breaking News: Possible Serial Killer. Police officer slain. Police seeking public help.
August turned to see Reinhart standing in the doorway to his office, and August was struck by how much, in that very moment, he looked like Elmer Fudd. You know, when Bugs Bunny had made Elmer mad and Elmer’s face went so red he blew steam out his ears? He looked exactly like that.
In fact, he looked so mad it seemed he couldn’t speak. He simply pointed directly at August, and a few cops close by shrank back.
So, this wasn’t going to be good at all. But it was done now. The story had broken and August couldn’t take it back, even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. This needed to be told. The public needed to know, and the victims had been silenced long enough.
August had set this wheel in motion, and he’d wear the responsibility of whichever direction it took him. If it gave him one lead, one hope of finding this piece-of-shit killer, August would own it. With that in mind, he raised his chin and walked right into a shitstorm of his own making.
Chapter Eighteen
Jake put a coffee on the counter in front of Deans. She looked tired and stressed, and she was trying to put on a brave face for the public whilst walking on eggshells around Hirsch. Tallowwood station had become the control hub of the investigation, and she was bearing the brunt of it. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing—the fine residents of Tallowwood were more curious than concerned—and the constant flow of other cops and high-ranking officers from Coffs Harbour walking in and out, all while directing questions or instructions at her, had just about taken its toll. All calls were now directed to the Coffs precinct and it was the first time Deans had stopped in three days.
“Thanks,” she replied quietly.
“It’s crazy, huh?”
She nodded. “No one’s talking,” she whispered.
“You noticed that too, huh?”
She looked over her shoulder toward Hirsch’s office, where he was in a closed-door meeting with Kenny. “What do you reckon that’s about?”
Jake sighed. “Damage control.”
Deans expression clouded over. “An officer turns up dead and they’re only worried about appearances. Protect the town’s reputation.” She mimicked Hirsch. “It’s fucked. That could have been you or me instead of McNeill, Jake.”
“I know.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Do me a favour and don’t go anywhere alone. If one of them”—he nodded to Hirsch’s closed door—“tells you to go somewhere, come get me. I don’t care if I’m not working. Swing past my place and get me.”
She looked up at him, her eyes edged with seriousness and fear. “Deal. And same goes for you.”
Jake’s brow furrowed and he considered not saying anything more, but maybe Deans had a right to know. Like she said, it could have just as easily been her or him on Schneider’s slab right now. He stepped in a little closer to her, giving her a quick glance before looking back out to where some other uniforms were standing outside talking. “If I were to tell you to be wary of everyone, you’d understand, right?” He shot her another quick look. “Badge or no badge. You get what I’m saying?”
She paled a little but nodded weakly. “Jake . . .”
“I know. Scares me too. These cases are all related to Detective Shaw’s cold cases,” he whispered. “McNeill now as well. It’s the same killer or killers. We don’t know.”
She let out a low breath. “Jesus.”
“August thinks someone’s covering up. But now one of us is dead, they’re not going to be able to keep a lid on it.”
Deans shook her head like she couldn’t believe it, just as Hirsch’s door flew open, making both Jake and Deans jump. Kenny walked out, his expression neutral, but he never looked at them, never even acknowledged them as he walked out the front door. Two young constables had to step back out of his way as he strode to his car.
When Jake looked back toward Hirsch’s office, Hirsch was now standing in his doorway. He leaned against the doorframe looking every bit the definition of exhausted and defeated. “You okay, boss?” Hirsch grumbled some noncommittal response, and Jake saw an opportunity to pounce. “Hey boss, I was thinking . . .”
“Not now, Porter,” he mumbled.
“Deans and I will get out of your hair for twenty minutes. I want to check something out.” Jake collected his hat and keys and shrugged into his coat. He went to the door and called in the two constables who’d been standing outside. “Can you two man the counter, please? Deans and I have an errand to run.”
“Sure thing, sir,” the first one answered. He gave a serious nod and gave heart-eyes at Deans, which she ignored.
“All calls are diverted,” Jake explained. “If anyone comes in asking questions, tell them no official comment has been made and ask them to come back tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” the second guy replied. They were probably just happy they weren’t being given a filing job or told to clean vomit out of the back of a patrol car.
Jake turned back to Hirsch. “Make yourself a cuppa, boss, and take a breather. We’ll be back before you know it. Thirty minutes, tops.”
Jake didn’t really give Hirsch time to argue. Not that he would have. The man was beat. He was done arguing with Kenny every day for the last week, he wasn’t going to start now with Jake, and Jake would bet anything you like, thirty minutes’ peace and quiet probably sounded like heaven right then.
Deans followed Jake out to his Patrol, and only when he’d started the engine and pulled out onto the street did she speak. “Wanna tell me what the hell’s going on, Jake?”
“We think we know the kind of drug the killer uses. It’s not completely untraceable,” he replied. “Well, apparently. It all kinda went over my head. But that exact kind of drug, which is a class nine prohibited substance, by the way, was admitted into evidence after a bust in Sydney back in 1998.”
“So?” she said, confused. “I’m not following. If it was admitted into evidence . . .”
“That evidence is now missing; all official record of it has been deleted.”
She stared at him. “What? How?”
“We don’t know exactly. But someone, be it a records clerk or a delivery guy, or a cop, took the drug and wiped the records.”
“A cop?” Deans whispered. “What the fuck?”
Jake nodded. “But you can’t say anything. Not yet. Just keep a lid on it for now. We don’t know who we can trust.” Then Jake thought about how that sounded. “What I mean is, don’t go telling anyone or volunteering that information. If you’re asked, don’t lie. Not for me, not for anyone. But we need to play a bit smart, that’s all.”
Deans paled again. “Christ.”
Jake pulled up out front of the pub and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Come on, I have an idea.”
“Can’t say I’m too hungry,” she replied, following him inside.
Jake chuckled. “I’m not here for the food.” He held the door open for her and followed her in. His mum was behind the bar, and he took his hat off.
“Jakey, love, what the hell is going on in this town?” she asked. All the locals turned to face him, waiting to hear his answer.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” he replied.
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that,” she answered. “It’s good to see you though, love. Now, can I get either of you two something to eat?”
“No thanks,
Mum. I’m actually here on official duty.”
Her face fell. “Oh?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said with a smile. “But I was hoping we could have a word in your office?”
She took the tea towel from her shoulder and put it on the bar, gave a nod, and Jake and Deans followed her out through the Staff Only door to the office. She turned to face him. “Please tell me you’re okay,” she said, worry etched on her face.
“Yeah, of course. Got a call this morning to come back from Sydney ASAP, so here I am. They found another body, Mum. I can’t tell you more than that, but you’ll hear about it soon enough.”
She frowned. “Okay. But if you’re here officially, what does that mean? Did I know the person? Oh God, it wasn’t old mad-Jefferson, was it? Was there crop circles and aliens involved, because he always said that’s what’ll get him?”
Jake almost laughed. “No, Mum. It wasn’t old mad-Jefferson.”
She put her hand to her heart. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“I was hoping we could have a look at your surveillance cameras,” Jake said. “Just the one in the main bar.” He walked to the small screen and pointed to the top left of the screen. “This one.”
“Oh, sure,” she replied. “What for?”
“Can we make it bigger?” he asked.
She clicked a few things on the keyboard and the split-screen became one screen of the camera in the main bar—where they could also see the window out to the street and any traffic heading up through to the top end of town toward the national park. Technically, if the killer came through town, he’d be on tape.
Deans grinned and whacked Jake on the arm. “Yes! Jake, that’s brilliant!”
Jake smiled right back at her. “There might be nothing, and I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I think we’ll know when we see it. Mum, we need to go back three days, around 3:00 pm.”
