by Ian W Taylor
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FRIDAY - DARWIN
After days of extensive but unsuccessful investigations trying to locate the vehicle that had run down Barry Buckstone, the N.T police received their first real clue as the whereabouts of the vehicle. A car mechanic from an auto workshop in Palmerston, an outer suburb of Darwin, had reported to the local police that he had seen a vehicle matching the description of the wanted car being driven into the panel beater shop next door. A police car was promptly despatched to the premises and two uniformed policemen interviewed the mechanic. He pointed to the adjacent shop which had an old sign on the roof saying ‘Mick’s Auto Repair Shop’. The officers walked over to the building and, as no one was in the office, they stepped into the workshop. They saw a 4WD in the process of being spray painted blue by a bearded middle-aged man in grey overalls. They signalled to him to stop and he turned off his spray gun at the auto shop and removed his protective goggles. He identified himself as Mick, the owner of the shop.
On being questioned, Mick advised that a tall skinny guy calling himself Stringer had come in the previous day and had asked for an immediate re-paint of the duco of the 4WD and paid cash in advance for the job. He was in a hurry and didn’t want to wait for the usual four coats that would be required to make a good finish. He left a contact number and told the painter to ring him as soon as the vehicle was ready.
The police found the spare wheel of the 4WD which had been unbolted and was lying on the workshop floor. The design on the cover was of a crocodile and fitted the description provided by the owner of the petrol station in Jabiru. One of the policemen checked the registration number and established that the vehicle had been stolen two weeks previously. They advised Mick that the vehicle was stolen and that they wanted to arrest the man who had brought the car in. He was in trouble himself for helping with the theft of a stolen vehicle. Mick protested his innocence and said he had never met the guy before.
They called their sergeant and worked up a plan to capture the man. Police reinforcements were called in and hidden around the workshop. Then the sergeant ordered Mick to call Stringer and tell him the vehicle was ready to pick up.
An hour later, two men arrived in a utility truck and drove into a parking space outside the workshop. They got out and went into the office where Mick was waiting. Mick nodded his head and suddenly the office was full of policemen.
The two men were taken to the Darwin Police Station and interrogated. They were placed in separate rooms and questioned individually. The tall thin man who called himself Stringer refused to answer any questions other than giving his name and address. His younger companion however succumbed to the pressure after two hours of interrogation and started talking. He admitted to stealing the vehicle but swore he was paid to do it by Stringer. He hadn’t seen the vehicle since he delivered it to Stringer.
Assistant Commissioner Popolo was informed of the arrest and the lack of cooperation by Stringer. He decided to interview Stringer himself. Popolo was a huge man and his bulk and shaven head could be intimidating even to the most hardened criminal. He let himself into the room where Stringer was being interrogated and asked the interviewing officers to leave. He switched off the recording device.
He sat opposite Stringer who stayed slumped in his chair.
“You’re in big trouble Stringer. Your real name is Brett Anstey and you’ve spent time in prison for assault and various felonies. Now you’re up for a hit and run murder.”
Stringer sat up and spat straight in Popolo’s face.
“That’s bullshit, you’ve got nothing on me.”
Popolo slowly wiped the spittle off his face. Then he leaned over the table and shoved Stringer so hard that he fell backwards in his chair hitting his head on the floor. Popolo knelt over him and sunk his knee hard into his solar plexus. Stringer doubled up in pain and started dry-retching. Popolo pulled him back into his chair.
“You’re gonna pay for this copper. I want a lawyer. You don’t have shit on me.” Stringer struggled to get the words out but he’d lost his bravado.
“Oh yes we do. Your colleague has dumped on you big time. Says he stole the 4WD for you and that you drove it down to Jabiru the day before the hit-run. You returned the next day and hid the vehicle in his garage until you could get it spray-painted. We’ve found traces of the victim’s blood on the bumper bar and under the mud-guard. You’ll go for a life sentence here.”
“You’re bluffing, you can’t prove anything.”
“You’re responsible for a black death here and I’ve got a bunch of aboriginals and politicians screaming for justice. Someone’s gotta pay and you’re all we’ve got.”
Popolo continued “Look we know that someone paid you to do this. If you tell us who hired you we can go easy on you and you’ll get a lighter sentence.”
Stringer shifted uneasily on the seat. “What guarantees have I got that I’ll get a lighter sentence?”
“None, but if you help us I can assure you that I’ll do my best to mitigate your sentence. If you don’t, you’ll be held in gaol with some blackfellas until your trial comes up. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes in those circumstances.”
Stringer turned pale. “Orright, I’ll tell you what I know.”
Popolo turned on the recorder.
“O.K. speak up.”
“I had a call from a mate who asked me if I was interested in doing a job. He said he’d been contacted by a guy who would pay $50,000 for a hit-run job. $10,000 in advance, the rest once the hit was made. I said yes, but I wanted half up front in cash. My mate rings me back and said I was to meet the guy at the gardens at 5 p.m. that day. I front up at 5 and this aboriginal guy comes up. He was wearing a hoodie covering half his face but I knew I’d seen him before. He discusses details of the hit and asks me if I can do the job. I say yes if I can see the money and he passes over a small plastic bag. I count up $25,000. He also gives me a description of the guy he wants whacked and details of his whereabouts.”
Popolo said “O.K. who was the guy that contacted you?”
“He didn’t say his name, but I think it was that aboriginal guy who heads up the Land Council. I’ve seen him on T.V.”
“Holy shit, you mean Bert O’Shea?”
“Yeah.”
“Just a minute.”
Popolo dashed out the room and came back a minute later with a photo of O’Shea. He showed it to Stringer.
“Is that the man?”
“Yep, that’s him orright.”
Popolo opened the door and beckoned the two interviewers.
“O.K. Stringer here wants to make a confession. You can take his statement.”
Popolo left the room and went back to his office. A few minutes later a constable knocked on his door.
“The forensics people are just about to check the vehicle over to see if there are any blood samples or other evidence to link up with Buckstone’s death.”
Popolo smiled to himself, “Good, let me know if you find anything?”
The constable left wandering what the joke was. Popolo picked up the phone and gave orders to Sergeant Barker at the Jabiru Police Station to keep Bert O’Shea under surveillance until warrants could be processed for his arrest and transport to Darwin. He commenced the process of obtaining warrants for arresting O’Shea and for searching O’Shea’s house and the office of the Land Council in Jabiru. Then he dialled Commissioner Fisher’s number.
Fisher was at a meeting in Canberra when Popolo rang but he returned the call to Popolo fifteen minutes later. He shook his head in disbelief when Popolo told him about the capture of the hit-run driver and his confession. He congratulated Popolo and asked to be informed once O’Shea had been arrested.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON - JABIRU
Sergeant Barker and two police constables drove up to the front of Bert O’Shea’s house and parked behind O’Shea’s car sitting in the driveway. They got out of their car and climbed up the steps to the front door. The house was a “Queenslander” style
home built on stilts and looked like it had recently gone through a major renovation. One of the constables walked around the veranda to the back of the house in case O’Shea tried to escape that way. The sergeant knocked on the front door and called out O’Shea’s name. Receiving no answer, Barker tried the door handle, found it unlocked and pushed his way into the house.
The house had a lived-in look about it but there was no sign of O’Shea. They spread out to search the house. One of the constables checked the main bedroom and suddenly swore loudly.
“Sarge, you better come and look at this.”
Barker strode into the room to see O’Shea lying prostrate on the bed. At first he thought he was asleep but then he saw the hypodermic needle and a small bottle of liquid on the chair beside the bed. He checked O’Shea’s pulse but could find none.
“Is he dead?” asked the constable.
“Yep, looks like he’s overdosed. Don’t touch anything and call for an ambulance and forensics.”
Barker pulled out his mobile and told Popolo the news. He had to hold the phone away from his ear to lessen the impact on his eardrum of the roar of the expletives coming from the other end.
Barker waited for the forensics team to arrive and do its work before ordering his fellow officers to search the premises. They found O’Shea’s computer and personal files in the study and boxed them into cardboard cartons and packed them into the police wagon. Barker picked up O’Shea’s mobile phone, wallet and keys. They drove back to the town where they entered the offices of the Kakadu Land Council and continued their search for any incriminating evidence.
