by Gary Gregor
“Gotta be tough, losing one of your own,” Cassidy commented. “When you see Moose next, please give him my best regards.”
“I’ll be going to the hospital later today,” Barker told him.
Cassidy pushed away from the desk and stood. “We good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” Barker offered his hand across the desk. “Oh, and take that rag with you,” he indicated the discarded newspaper.
Russell Foley and Sam Rose entered the Alice Springs Hospital and approached the reception area.
“How can I help you?” a lady manning the reception desk asked, sounding bored and disinterested in whether she helped them or not.
Foley wondered if it might have been the hundredth time she had used those words today. He looked away from the woman and noticed about twelve, perhaps fifteen people seated in the nearby waiting area. He turned back. “We are enquiring about Lara McKenzie.”
The lady leaned closer over her computer. “Who?”
“McKenzie, Lara,” Foley said crisply. “She was brought here earlier today. Gunshot wound to the head.”
The woman typed something into her computer, paused, and looked up at Foley and Rose. “She is not allowed visitors,” she announced with an exaggerated air of authority.
“Is Mrs McKenzie’s husband here?”
“We don’t have a Mr McKenzie admitted.”
“I wasn’t asking if he is a patient,” Foley stated flatly. “We want to know if he is here in the hospital, visiting his wife.”
“I don’t know. How would I know if he is here in the hospital?”
“Maybe because you work here and I don’t,” Foley suggested sarcastically.
“You could wait over there.” The woman nodded towards the crowded waiting area.
Foley glanced across to where she indicated. “The waiting area?”
“Yes.”
“That’s for people waiting to see a doctor, is it not?”
“Mostly, yes,”
“If Mr McKenzie is here, he would not be sitting down here waiting to see a doctor. He would be here to visit his wife.”
“Mrs McKenzie is not allowed visitors,” the woman repeated, a slight smirk adorning her face.
Sam Rose stepped up alongside Foley, flashed his police ID and smiled one of his most bewitching smiles. It was the smile he reserved for pretty girls he would love to get to know better. The smile was wasted on this lady, he thought, but offered it anyway.
A name tag bearing the name, Sue Andrews, was pinned to the woman’s dress, just above her more than ample left breast. “Miss Andrews,” he said amiably. “Sergeant McKenzie is a police officer, as are we. We don’t believe Sergeant McKenzie would be far from his wife at a time like this. Perhaps you could make a quick phone call to the nurses on duty in Intensive Care on our behalf.”
The woman, appearing a little flushed, reached for her phone and punched in an extension number. She spoke quietly for a moment and then hung up. She looked at Sam, trying very hard not to catch Foley’s eyes. “Mrs McKenzie’s husband is outside Intensive Care.”
“Second floor?” Sam asked.
“No one is allowed in Intensive Care,” she advised sternly.
Sam produced that disarming, bewitching smile again. “Not even police officers?”
“Not even police officers. Mr McKenzie is up there by special permission of the hospital administration.”
“Sergeant McKenzie is up there?” Russell Foley asked, injecting himself into the conversation.
Sue Andrews glared at Foley. “He is Mrs McKenzie’s immediate next-of-kin. Are you?”
Foley held up a hand in a halt motion. “Wait just one moment …” He glanced reluctantly at the woman’s left breast. “Miss Andrews—”
“It’s Mrs Andrews,” the receptionist interrupted.
“I apologise … Mrs Andrews,” Foley said. “I will make a quick phone call to our boss. I understand he plays regular golf with your boss.”
Just then, a phone on the desk next to the woman chirped once. She glanced away from Foley, obviously grateful for the interruption. She spoke on the phone for a short while and then replaced the receiver and looked at Foley. “Sergeant McKenzie has been advised by Intensive Care staff that you are here. He has requested that you be allowed to see him. This is way outside our protocol for Intensive Care, so please make your visit short.”
Foley smiled. “I will be sure to mention to our boss how wonderfully accommodating you have been.”
Sam revived his winning smile one more time and winked at Sue Andrews as he and Foley turned and crossed the reception area to the single elevator.
Sam leaned in and said quietly to Foley, “‘Our boss plays golf with your boss’? What the fuck was that about?”
“We need to get up there to see Moose,” Foley answered flatly. “I had to say something.”
“Do they play golf together?”
“Probably never met each other for all I know.”
They stopped at the elevator and Foley pushed the call button. As they waited, he said quietly, “Got a bit of an attitude problem that one.”
“You mean the accommodating Miss Andrews?” Sam asked.
“Mrs,” Foley snorted. “Who in their right mind would marry that woman?”
“Obviously someone did.”
“Poor bastard,” Foley said dismissively.
“You just haven’t got it with the ladies, Russ,” Sam snickered.
“What do you mean?”
“You gotta give ‘em the old ‘come hither’ smile and pretend that, for that moment at least, there is no one in the world you would rather be talking to.”
Foley stared at Sam.
“What?”
“You’re an idiot.”
21
When Foley and Rose exited the elevator, they found themselves in a small sterile-looking lobby. Standing before them was a nurse who was obviously waiting for their arrival. Mrs Andrews must have called up and warned the staff that two detectives were on their way up.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “I understand you gentlemen are here to see Mr McKenzie.”
Foley smiled at the nurse who seemed to have a much better manner about her than Mrs Andrews two floors below. “Good afternoon. Yes, we would like to speak with him for a few minutes, if we could. We understand that visitors are not usually permitted in Intensive Care but it’s important. We promise not to keep him long.”
A name tag similar to the one worn by Sue Andrews indicated that the nurse was Sister Jane Barry. She glanced from Foley to Rose, and then back to Foley. “You’re right. Visitors, other than the immediate next of kin, are generally not permitted in the ward. However, when Mr McKenzie was informed that you were downstairs, he asked that an exception be made in this case. I ask you to understand that this is most unusual, and I ask that you keep your visit short.”
“Of course,” Foley responded. “We appreciate your help.”
“Please, follow me,” Sister Barry said. She turned away and walked swiftly but silently to a small room at the end of a short corridor. She stopped outside the open door to the room and faced Foley and Rose. “Once again,” she said quietly, “please keep your visit brief.”
“Thank you,” Foley and Sam said in unison.
Sister Barry returned the way she had come, the sound of her footsteps quieter than a whisper against the highly glossed linoleum floor.
Foley and Rose entered the room. It looked like a disused, window-less, single-bed ward with connections on the wall to one side which might be used for attaching essential medical equipment, should the room be brought into service. At the back of the room, their friend Moose McKenzie sat motionless in a standard high-sided, hospital-grey chair. There was no other furniture in the room.
Moose was a big man. He sat slumped forward in the chair with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, and his big hands covering his face. Although his big frame seemed to fill the chair, incongruently he looked l
ike a small, broken man. He gave no indication that he was no longer alone in the room.
“Moose,” Foley called quietly, then a little more loudly. “Moose!”
Slowly, McKenzie raised his head and looked at Foley and Rose. His eyes were puffy and red, and his cheeks were flushed and damp. It was obvious he had been crying.
“He-ey,” he said softly to Foley and Rose, his voice threatening to break.
Sam stepped forward and rested a hand on Moose’s shoulder. “Hey, big guy, how are you holding up?”
“I d-d-don’t know,” Moose answered quietly. “I just … feel numb.”
“How’s Lara?” Foley asked.
Moose choked back a sob. “I j-just spoke to the surgeon a few minutes ago. She has just come out of emergency surgery. They have her in an induced coma. They are going to keep her that way until she stabilizes and then they will try to slowly bring her out of the coma.”
“Did the surgery go well?”
“I feel so numb … a lot of what the surgeon said didn’t sink in. I think they just cleaned the wound and stitched it up. Blo-oody bullet burned the outside of her brain, without actually penetrating it.”
“That has to be a positive, doesn’t it?” Sam suggested.
“I guess so,” Moose shrugged. “I just hope she wakes up.”
“Is there any suggestion she may not wake up?”
“They can’t be sure,” Moose said solemnly. “The bullet skimmed along the very outside of her brain. Burned a lot of tissue as it passed through. They think she will recover, but they can’t be sure.”
“Have you seen her?” Foley asked.
Moose closed his eyes and inhaled noisily, the inhalation broken by several uncontrollable audible spasms. “Th … they let m-me see her for a couple of minutes when she came out of surgery,” he said. “She-e didn’t even know I was there. I held her hand.”
“Where are the kids?” Sam asked softly.
“They both flew in early this morning. They were here but left when Lara went into surgery. We have a house here we rent out from time to time. It is empty at the moment, so they are staying there. They’re both tired and I told them to go home. There is nothing they can do here.”
“It’s nice that they could get away to be with you at a time like this,” Sam said with a fleeting smile.
“Yeah.” Moose stifled a laugh. “If you think I look a mess now, you should have seen me when they first walked in. I’m glad they are here. I couldn’t do this on my own.”
“You’re not on your own, mate,” Foley stated firmly. “You have the whole police family standing with you.”
“I appreciate that, fellas. Thank you. I had to turn my phone off; it has been ringing constantly all morning. I thought the nurses were gonna throw me out.” He pushed himself further back in the chair, his body a little more upright now. “Tell me you’ve caught the bastard who did this.”
“I wish we could,” Foley replied. “But we will find him. The boss has thrown every resource, and more, at the case. The net is tightening, mate.”
“Give me a couple of days with the kids, and I will join you,” Moose said.
“You have to know Yap Yap will never allow that, mate,” Sam said. “You’re too close to the case. He would be frightened you would blow the prick’s head off if you caught up with him.”
“He shot my wife,” Moose insisted. “She might die. Why should my taxes go towards keeping the arsehole in a nice comfy prison cell for twenty years? If he behaves himself, he will be out in thirteen or fourteen years. I’d shoot the bastard twice, just to be sure that doesn’t happen.”
Sam smiled drily. “Yap Yap knows that, mate. That’s why he won’t let you anywhere near the case. Besides, Lara needs you close by. And you need to be at home, with your kids, waiting for the call from the doctors.”
“Has anyone checked with Frank and Barbara Logan at the Kulgera roadhouse? They have CCTV installed. Maybe they will have a picture of the perp, or maybe of his vehicle.”
“We brought the tape back with us,” Foley informed him. “We have someone going through it as we speak. Unfortunately, the camera focuses only on the fuel apron of the roadhouse. If he didn’t re-fuel, there will be nothing on the tape of any help.”
“Why don’t you go home, Moose?” Sam suggested. “There’s nothing you can do here. I’m sure they will contact you if there is any change. You look like you could use some sleep. Spend some time catching up with your kids.”
“The nurses told me the same thing,” Moose said. “I’m scared she will wake up and I won’t be here for her. Besides, I couldn’t sleep even if I tried.”
“She won’t wake up until they are ready to bring her out of the coma,” Sam advised. “I’m sure they will contact you when that time comes.”
“They told me that too,” Moose said with a quick nod.
“Did you come up here from Kulgera in your personal car?” Foley asked.
“Yeah, it was in the car park, but I let the kids take it to get home to the house.”
“We’ll give you a lift,” Foley said.
“I … I d-don’t know,” Moose stammered.
“Come on, mate,” Foley persisted. “You are no help to Lara just sitting around here, waiting. Go home, get some rest, get some food into you, and get some sleep.”
“Do you think they will ring me?”
“If they said they would ring you, they’ll ring you. Go home and see the kids.”
“Okay, I suppose it will be all right. I am tired.”
“Of course, it will be all right,” Foley affirmed.
The Major Crime incident room at police headquarters in Alice Springs was too small. Intended to hold fifteen detectives at any one time, it now held in excess of fifty officers. Extra desks and chairs, and a large bank of extra telephones were brought in from other parts of the police headquarters complex to accommodate the extra personnel involved in the investigation. A couple of desks had even spilled out into the corridor and telephone extension wiring was a jumbled, spiderweb array of wires laying across desks and crisscrossing the floor, forcing investigators to watch every step they took to avoid a fall, or worse, ripping out the makeshift communication connection. The incident room was now a mishmash, ugly conglomeration of desks, chairs, and telephone wires positioned about the room in a make-do, random fashion. It was not a comfortable place in which to work.
They had to take over the General Duties muster room and spread the investigation personnel over two rooms. It was not an ideal solution but, rather than uplift everything, filing cabinets, desks, chairs, telephones, and personnel, and relocate to an entirely different premises somewhere outside the station precinct—a mammoth task in itself—this was the only manageable option available. It would be a little inconvenient, particularly for the uniformed officers attached to General Duties who came and went through the room both before and after their shift, and it entailed those officers involved in the investigation move about from one room to the other as they relayed information and filed paperwork relative to the case.
Officers were temporarily transferred across from other departments, called back to work from their leave entitlements, and brought in from stations such as Tennant Creek, Katherine, and even as far away as Darwin. Nobody complained. The killer had to be stopped and now that one of their own had become the latest victim, there was no shortage of volunteers offering their time and expertise.
Like the military, police forces everywhere were a close-knit, family. There existed a camaraderie that brought members together unlike any other form of employment. Hurt a cop, either directly or, as in Moose McKenzie’s case, indirectly, and you hurt every member of the family, and you better be prepared for each and every one of them to come looking for you, most of them with vengeance in their heart if not in their mind.
Every officer involved in the investigation had worked tirelessly since the killing of the Watson family. They were enthused, and the energy and commitment su
rged through the team as a whole. No one was going to quit. They would search until they dropped. If anyone’s frustration at the lack of success began to show, someone else on the team would quickly remind them of just why they were there.
It was relentless. Phones rang constantly with members of the public offering tips. Some were important and some were worthless, but all were followed through to conclusion. Some callers had no relevant information at all; they just wanted to chat with someone about the case. Others wanted to report that a member of their family was responsible for the killings—their uncle or their cousin, or some other family member with whom there existed a longstanding family rift. Sifting the positive tips from the negative was always difficult but no tips were left on the table. If a family member suspected cousin Larry was the Desert Demon, someone on the investigation team had to follow it up. No information, relevant or otherwise went unexamined.
Rarely, if ever, in the history of crime in Australia had so many resources and manpower been thrown at a particular case. Now, with the shooting of Moose McKenzie’s wife, there was a palpable lift in energy and commitment by everyone involved. Whoever and wherever the killer was, he had every reason to be worried.
22
Adalhard Jaeger was sitting on the soft, dry river sand in the shade of a large river red gum tree growing out of the dry creek bed when, for no good reason, his thoughts turned to Anneliese, the girl he left broken-hearted back home. He was in that hazy, dreamlike state where he was not sound asleep and not fully awake. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open with a start and his hand flew to his waist. Then he remembered his gun was in the glove compartment of his vehicle. He looked around, up and down the riverbed. He sat with his back against the tree and had to lean sideways, first left and then right, to see around the base of the tree and across to the opposite side of the dry creek bed. There was no one there.
He was somewhat annoyed that his thoughts should turn, for no good reason, to his girlfriend back home. It was over between himself and Anneliese. Why would he suddenly think about her now? She had tried ringing him and sending text messages several times since he arrived in Australia. He never answered. In the middle of the Australian Outback, mobile phone reception was hit-and-miss at best. Whenever he got back to civilization, he made a point of deleting her text messages without even reading them. He was not going back to her; he told her that before he left. What he didn’t tell her was that he probably wasn’t going back to Germany at all.
