

### Stand

Published by Anthony Van at Smashwords

Copyright Anthony Van 2015

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prelude

Darkness was upon the face, and in the voice, of the speaker. He was smooth, threatening, sinister. In conformity with his malignant mood, the conference room was in gloom, the shades were drawn and only two downlights glowed at the front of the room. They sat in plush seats around a large, restored mahogany table.

"Are you sure we're free to speak?" He spoke with a syrupy sweet voice but his look betrayed his anger.

"Don't worry... I've done the checks... nobody's listening in," growled the gaunt faced man. He was taller than the others. Unlike the others, he actually looked evil. There was an assassin's coldness in his stare.

"You know I hate meeting like this, we should use the code to communicate," he hissed venomously.

"This was necessary. There is a threat." A third man spoke with an affected gravelly wheeze. He obscured his face with a hood. He didn't trust any so-called watertight security. "As I said; if we don't put a stop to this immediately it will hit the papers and we'll be out of business."

"How did this happen Badger?" snarled the first man addressing the hooded conspirator.

"Ask Sonny," he wheezed flatly, turning to the fourth of the five disreputable companions.

Sonny spoke with a halting baritone and his mouth had a nervous twitch. He didn't like the attention being on him. "It's... it's the risk you take boss... if you want to distribute 'c'... well, ex-cons are the safest way... You know we try to vet them."

"So... what happened with the process?" growled the tall man.

"You know what it's like Red... every... every now and then an ex con wants to go straight. We hadn't even made him an offer when he gets suspicious... reckons Warder is bad news... says he might go to the police. So we shunted him... dumped some stuff in his lap." Sonny was perspiring from the strain of defending himself.

"So...what went wrong?" Red pressed.

"His lawyer believed him... and she starts digging around... I think some of Badger's lot were careless."

"Hey... don't put this on me you slimy—"

"Shut up the lot of you!" Mr Smooth interrupted Badger and eyed the malcontents. "Bickering won't help. Angus, can you sort this out?" All heads turned to the fifth member of the gang. He remained silent, ominous, calculating. His bottom lip extended and he gave a miniscule nod in the affirmative. "Well, what do you propose?" It was almost a sneer.

Angus looked at the boss disdainfully. "It will cost you a packet."

"How much?"

"Two hundred K now and a hundred more when it's done."

"Why so much?"

"From what Badger told me, there are a couple of scenarios and I'll need to use some independent contractors. You don't need to know how. It will be a clean job... and Badger will make sure there are no questions."

Badger grunted, "Don't mess up." He turned to the first man. As far as he was concerned he could now change the subject. "Can you get the long haired weirdo to tone it down a bit? We almost had a riot after the last mass meeting... stirred up so much hatred with that bunch of loonies that hang on every word he says."

"Don't complain. We're expanding fast because of that weirdo." He studied his cohorts. "I think we're finished. And remember; don't everyone leave at the same time!"
Chapter 1

Wednesday

...Aching—tension in his stomach spreading up to his chest—aching. And not just aching but empty. It was a hollow, lonely emptiness. Evan rolled over and looked at the vacant space in their double bed. Mindy had been gone just over a month now. He couldn't get used to it. She was beautiful. In her mid-forties, still slim, fit and lithe and so delighted to be working again. But her life had been cut short. No longer would he wake to those rich brown tresses and the gold flecked brown eyes. No longer would they wrestle on Saturday mornings, or share deep and intimate thoughts late at night, or discuss spiritual insights as they read devotions.

Mindy and Evan married young. They had a family while they were still young , a boy and a girl, and the children were now well on their way to working out their own life paths. Kate, recently married, was at Bible school with her husband, while Jim was studying engineering and software security at university.

The Bowles had relished the regular visits of their children and their friends, but also the new chapter in their lives. A stage in their life had just started in which they rode bikes together, went on long walks and short holidays without the responsibility of a little boy and a little girl. At the same time they missed the clatter, the complication and the affections expressed by the little boy and little girl—the strapping boy and winsome girl.

Evan rolled back to face toward the window and tried to imagine that, maybe, she was still asleep. But the desolation remained. The funeral had been agony. The sympathy of every friend, every relative, tore at his emotions. Kate and Jim were devastated, Mindy's parents were distraught. Everyone loved Mindy and now she was gone.

Evan knew he had to get up. But there was no motivation, no incentive... no joy. He'd spent the last month blaming God, blaming the world, blaming himself, and he'd run out of blame. He was slipping into despair. His life was a sequence of disparate events with no direction and no point. Thankfully, the philosophy department at the university had given him the term off. He couldn't have worked anyway. In the state he was in he had no focus, no interest. The vagaries of a priori knowledge, the arguments of truth and the existence of reality all escaped him in the tangled morass of grief and self-pity. He just ached.

He stared at the ceiling. The blankness was like his life—flat, colourless, devoid of interest. Twenty five years of partnership, of being inextricably entwined in the life of another. Seeking opinions, agreeing, disagreeing, arguing, making up, living life knowing that there were two to consider; all this contingent life now gone. He was drifting, stranded in an ocean of loneliness and not seeing any destination. He knew it was stupid but he felt like half a person. With no one to share affection, no morning banter and no plans for the day. Everything that was two was now one. That's half isn't it?

Eventually, he confronted the inevitable, he half stumbled and staggered out of bed. Numbly, he dressed in his jogging gear. It used to be a fitness discipline—a source of pride—that he could daily run his five kilometres along the scenic river track and then prepare for work infused with energy and well-being. Now it was punishment, or penance, or self-loathing; he didn't know which. He set off at a harsh pace, unsustainable. Panting heavily, Evan steadied. Striding along the gritty path, oblivious of all he used to relish—the trees, the birds, the river and other runners—he went farther and harder than ever before.

Maybe he wanted to run till the pain tore him apart. Run till the dark looming cloud of despondency was far behind. His lungs were heaving with rasping gasps. His legs seized with excruciating cramps. Evan staggered and then stopped.

Wheezing hard with hands on hips and head down, no clear resolution arose. Nothing was achieved by this spontaneous act of insanity. When he had recovered sufficiently to raise his head and look around, he realised that he didn't recognise this part of the river. The area was heavily treed and the undergrowth profuse. Slight rapids tinkled across submerged rocks in the water. The doleful call or a currawong reflected his mood. Still breathing heavily and soaked in sweat, he started walking the return journey.

Evan's legs were feeling something between numb and tingly by the time he tiredly walked up his garden path. He was fumbling for his keys when he heard the home phone ringing. There was no rush, no discernible anguish over the possibility of a missed call; wearily, almost in slow motion, he unlocked the door and sauntered in. The phone clamoured insistently, with an angry intensity. 'Bound to be a telemarketer, or worse, some well-wisher calling to check up on him,' decided Evan as he cautiously neared the phone. He never knew what to say to either. Whatever spunk or resolve he had in the past had sublimated into the ether. He now wallowed in the depths of self-pity, floundering in hopelessness; his life was mired by his apathy.

"Ah, too late," murmured Evan dryly when the phone stopped ringing. He was within a metre of picking it up. It was a relief. No interaction; he could huddle in his little cocoon, a collateral victim of crime. Was Mindy in a better place? All he'd ever believed suggested she was. Any place was better than where he was now—a bleak hollow. He had no desire to look around and relate to the world around him.

Peeling off his still clammy jogging clothes, he gazed at the pile of dirty laundry. Only two days before he had addressed the mounting dung hill of odorous clothing with his first washing foray. He'd made a slight dent in the dank mound, but several more loads were required. It wasn't that he surfaced from his morose lethargy; it was just a matter of necessity—he was running out of clean clothes. Mindy's mother, Avril, had cleaned up and brought all his washing up to date when they were over for the funeral and entropy had set in since then. Thinking about it now, it was probably the way she coped. She had worked industriously while he had been basically incommunicative, unable to emerge from the stultifying stasis of losing Mindy.

In the shower, as streams of hot water ran down his body, Evan recalled the funeral. It was that irrefutable event that he couldn't ignore. She was gone. Tears streamed down from his eyes and were immediately lost in the hot cascade all about him. He sobbed, desolate. How many times he had cried over the last month, he had lost count. This was a private place; he could wail, he could lament.

Where was God in all this? There was a time, in his rational intellectualism, when he believed his faith was reasoned by logical argument. He was convinced, by the paucity of credible evidence for an alternative, that God was the actual—the ultimate cause. He lay down his thoughts in terms of imperatives which obliged him to a faith in an all-powerful God.

Now, he didn't know what to think. Was it some cruel game that a deity could play, to rob him of his life partner, his love and joy—his life? Because what he had now was just an existence. What higher purpose could be served by his misery? Should he bounce back and become a better man? Was that an insult to Mindy's memory? Maybe life was just a random sequence of events, with no purpose, no promise, and he should just be fatalistic about everything—que sera, sera. Then he thought of Mindy and the genuiness of her belief. Eventually, emotionally wrung out, he got out and dried himself.

Once dressed in slightly crinkled clean clothes he put a load of washing on. Already he was learning from his past mistakes—check pockets, not too many clothes, don't forget softener. He was half way through a bowl of cereal when the phone rang again. Angry accusations about mindless persistence lurked unspoken as he picked up the handset.

"Hello, Evan Bowles," he half growled.

"Mr Bowles, I've been trying to contact you all morning. I need to talk with you."

Evan had no idea who he was talking to. "Who is this?"

"Sorry Mr Bowles. It's Serge... I'm the mechanic that was looking at your wife's car. She was bringing it here to be checked before she... she... "

There was a stab of pain as Evan's thoughts were again taunted by Mindy's 'not-there-ness'. He sensed that Serge hesitated after his unthinking restating of the conventionally unstated.

"What is it Serge?" His voice sounded wary. He contemplated some drastic repair job—some expensive replacement parts.

"Could you come to the shop? It's important. I can't get away 'cos I've got a lot of cars in but I really need to see you."

Evan yielded "Oh, all right. I'll be there in about an hour." A little peeved, he put the phone down. He wasn't going to rush to hear about some extravagant fix-it job. After all, the car had been sitting in the work shop waiting for his permission to do the service for over a month. He'd only got around to it three days ago when Kate cagily suggested that she could use 'Mum's car' to go on a driving holiday with Ben, her husband. It had to be in good working order no matter what he decided to do with it. He could see why his daughter would want to drive the BMW rather than her aging Ford. The sensible thing would be to get rid of his own Nissan and drive his wife's car but, somehow, in his present state, that was an intolerable idea.

The sedate drive to the cluster of small businesses had him speculating about the radical repair quote he would get. Why else would he want to meet personally? Perhaps he needed to cajole his customer with reference to safety, maintaining the value of the car or the importance of preventative maintenance. Evan was in no mood to be railroaded, though. Mindy had kept the car in good order and it was barely a year old.

He pulled into the angled parking bays and took a deep breath. This was the first substantial, constructive thing he'd done since... since. He left the thought there.

Slowly he emerged from the car. It was here that it had happened. He looked around slowly. There was the footbridge over the highway. A witness had seen the attack from there. He had yelled. By all accounts the assailant barely hesitated from his malicious attack, continuing his thieving of Mindy's handbag, and stealing her briefcase with computer and papers. The attacker had then run back up the road and driven off in a dark car.

Police had said it was a random attack. There was little to go on. He had been assured that everything possible was being done. He sighed. This place would bear the curse of his grief. His bereavement would always be associated with this parking area, these small businesses and the raised walkway crossing.

Evan sighed again. Emptiness overwhelmed him as he dragged himself to the office area of the car service and repair shop. A small bell tinkled as he entered. The musty, cloying smell of oil, petrol and exhaust fumes hung still in the air. Voices, a clatter of downed tools and striding steps told him he was about to be greeted.

Serge was young. He had black spiked hair, slightly mussed, and a classic broad Greek forehead. Tall and solid, clad in blue overalls, he gave a friendly smile, "I'm Serge," he said. He thrust a hand out before quickly withdrawing it, wiping it vigorously on a rag and then re-offering it. Evan shook it unenthusiastically.

"I'm not sure how to begin," he said. His face screwed, reflecting his indecision. "I've been to the police and they don't seem to want to know. They said it had nothing to do with the crime."

"What are you talking about? What did you tell the police?"

"I'll start at the beginning... then you tell me what you think." He leaned back against the counter and had a distant look. "When your wife rang... last month... she said that her brakes were failing. She'd almost had an accident. I told her to drive in second gear and let the engine slow her down... and to use the hand brake if that was necessary." He quickly explained with a guilty glance at Evan, "I would have sent a tow truck but she wasn't far away and I thought she could handle it."

Evan just grimaced and stared at the mechanic. "Well, I came out from the garage about half an hour later thinking she should have been here and... and there were police cars everywhere. I went outside and found out... what had happened." Serge sounded awkward and struggled to frame his next sentence. "Of course I told the police everything I knew... you know... why she was here and they told me they might get back to me. Well, I saw your son... er Jim the next day and told him. He said the police had finished examining the car and could I put it in the workshop. I said I would and left him details to contact me if he wanted it checked and repaired. I suppose he passed those onto you."

"That's right... and I rang you Monday because my daughter was hopeful of using the car. So have you got a repair quote? What's wrong with it?" Evan was brusque. The elaborate tale hadn't enlightened him at all. The police had told him all this already.

"No, no, no... I wanted to tell you. The reason the brakes failed is someone loosened the brake line near the combination valve. The grip marks can still be seen. Someone sabotaged her brakes!"

"You told the police?"

"Yes, yes... I told you. The detective said he would note it down but that it was clear she died from a mugging, not from a car accident, so it wasn't really relevant to the investigation."

"He said that?" Serge nodded.

Already, in Evan's mind, two glaring anomalies stood out. If the brakes had been tampered with it suggested an orchestrated event, not a random robbery and; the police said they would keep him informed of any new information—he hadn't heard a thing.

"You're sure it had been loosened?" Evan's look was alert, challenging.

"I'm sure. It was so loose it would have emptied fairly quickly and all I had to do to fix it was to tighten it, fill the cylinder and bleed the brakes. It could have caused a serious accident."

Evan nodded. "How much do I owe you?"

"No, I couldn't charge you Mr Bowles. Especially after what happened."

"No, I want you to. Write up an official repair report with what you've told me and bill me. I want an official document saying her car was tampered with... in your opinion." He qualified the statement to lighten the burden on the young mechanic. "I'll be happy to pay it."

"No problems. I'll have it ready for you tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll bring Jim along to pick up the car. Thanks for your work Serge."

"You're welcome Mr Bowles."

"Evan."

"Evan... I hope it helps." They shook hands and Evan left the shop.

Suddenly there were things he had to do, questions he had to ask. Tomorrow he would be more focussed. He had to think strategically. A visit to the homicide detectives investigating Mindy's murder was high on the list. Then there was the witness. The police had alluded to someone who had seen the attack. They said the description was vague. It was dark and the assailant was wearing a balaclava and dark clothing. He had to get the whole story from the witness.

His mind raced as he was driving home. Surely competent police would take into account every detail. Where were the Crime Stoppers' videos? What progress had they made over the past month? He would write a list of questions. If it wasn't random, then Mindy had been targeted. What was she working on? Was it something to do with her clients?

Back at home, Evan was on his computer for the first time in more than four weeks. He created a document listing things he wanted to know. He created another document cataloguing everything he knew about the crime. He annotated each point with the source of the information. The key providers of his initial points were the police and Serge.

It took about an hour of pecking at the keys, musing over all he'd heard and then wracking his memory for key details, such as times and specific names of those involved, before he had exhausted his recall. His next approach was to ferret through all the online news for reports about the 'homicide'.

The first article he found was titled 'Prominent Lawyer Killed'. It cited a police statement which concluded that: 'It appeared the criminal lawyer, Mindy Bowles, was the victim of a violent random robbery. She was beaten and robbed as she exited her car, which she was delivering to an auto repair shop.' There was some mention of a distinguished career as a defence lawyer and some high profile cases she had worked on. Senior Detective Malcolm Marsden was said to be leading the investigation and had said that information from the public was most welcome.

Evan found another news item from an investigative reporter, Maddy Quinn, who quoted Marsden saying there was no evident connection between Mindy's clients and the crime. Quinn described the present case Mindy was involved in as a classic cry of innocence. Bevan Haines would need to find a new lawyer to defend his charge of trafficking in a banned substance. She said that on the surface the state's case appeared very strong and it was unusual for Mindy Bowles to accept such a challenging brief. Quinn said that Haines, who claimed to be a reformed addict, was arrested with cocaine and a packet of money in his car.

The article made brief mention of a witness who saw the attack and described the assailant as wearing dark clothing and a balaclava. He escaped in a late model, dark car. Not the sort of eyewitness evidence that would give much encouragement to investigators.

The articles lengthened the list of questions on Evan's computer. He quickly reviewed what he'd written. It was then that he thought of the study. Mindy kept files and work notes in there. If he could dig up something that was contentious—a scandal or some evidence of a conspiracy—then he might have a motive for murder.

His hard run earlier in the day caused him to hobble stiffly to the study overlooking the park at the back. Immediately, upon sitting in her swivel chair, haunting memories besieged him. 'You're not sitting in MY chair are you?' she would cheekily accuse, before tickling him to distract him from whatever he was doing.

Evan was paralysed by wistfulness. The memories were bittersweet. Painful. Everything about her was so tangible here. He realised that he had avoided coming into this room since she had gone. In fits and starts he shuffled through the notes on her desk. One moment he would find himself smiling at a recollection of one of Mindy's idiosyncrasies—she would crunch noisily on a chocolate chip cookie or keep him awake with her mumbling or snoring and then complain to him the next morning about his snoring—and then he would descend into despair at the loneliness of the empty room where, any moment, he almost expected to see her, to hear her.

Amongst the notes was a hand written message: 'ring Jobe - police contact – has information about Haines'. There were two phone numbers scribbled beside the jotted note. One was bracketed with the words 'old home not used anymore' written next to it. Evan wondered who Jobe was. And what about Haines? He thought the name sounded familiar. Of course; it was a client. The man mentioned in the news article. He wondered what evidence she had gathered. He couldn't check her computer because it had been stolen. But he knew that her files were mirrored on the computer at the small law firm she worked at. Mindy had explained, once, when she'd left her lap top at home, that it was synchronised with a cloud drive accessible from work. He had had to use her password to update her files so she could use the desktop at the office.

Evan made a note to speak with Meredith or Larry, two of a number of other lawyers in the firm, about the cloud drive. It occurred to him then, that, apart from seeing them at the funeral, he'd had no contact at all with them. Merri, which is what they called Meredith, had written in a condolence note that when things settled down she would help him sort out Mindy's affairs. He could only conclude it was something financial because the firm had handled their wills and insurance policies as a matter of course.

It was four thirty by the time he decided to give Merri a call to find out about the files. Bonnie, the secretary, took the call and spoke compassionately for a few minutes before passing him on to Merri. She, in contrast, preferred face to face conversations when it came to sensitive issues with friends. So Merri scheduled a meeting for the next morning. Poignantly, she appended the call with, "We still miss her... hugely, Evan."

"Yeah... me too. See you tomorrow Merri," he managed to croak as he ended the call. His eyes were wet and his chest ached as the loneliness of loss weighed him down. Now he wandered back into the study.

There must be something else. He examined the filing cabinet but virtually all the papers were domestic business—taxation, rates, insurance, bills, bank accounts and various personal papers. He even found a folder that held a wad of love letters he had written when they were courting.

Eventually, Evan closed the drawers and scanned the bookshelves. One book sat prominently out from the row. He pulled it out. 'The Armour of God' was its title. It was a small book that he hadn't seen before. He opened the first page. A note was written – 'Some battles need special equipment – Love Mum'. It was dated for her last birthday only three months previously. This was something else he had to investigate. Was there a specific reason for the gift, or was her mum just being generic about her Christian walk?

The next page was the passage of scripture from Ephesians chapter six. He read it. It was familiar but the words resonated with a portent of evil ahead. Could he really be caught up in a battle 'against the powers of this dark world'? If so, he felt as if he were losing. He closed the book and took it with him.

Dropping it on the kitchen table, he glanced into the walk in pantry. Kate had ensured that it was well stocked. She had also come round and tidied up a couple of times. He knew it was an excuse to check up on him since he did very little to create a mess, apart from his dirty laundry. Washing and cleaning dishes were some of the few mindless tasks he had started doing recently to occupy his day.

After a minute examining the packets and cans he opted for some fresh vegetables from the refrigerator. With that he decided to have frozen chicken and make some potato mash. For the first time since Mindy had been alive, he had an appetite. Was time dulling his loss? Was it the first indication that life would attain some level of normalcy again? He didn't see how. He could be just as bitter, just as damaged, with a full stomach as with an empty one. Just the act of cooking made him face a reality. He was only cooking for one. He didn't need three potatoes or two chicken pieces. Merely thinking about it made him consider whether it was worth it. He paused, "Oh Mindy," he moaned, then he carried on.

Eating was silent, mulling over what he would do. 'Tomorrow,' he thought. It was the first time 'tomorrow' meant a task. He had a purpose. It meant that there was a plan, an agenda, which had to be pursued. He put his fork down and grabbed his computer, afraid that important ideas would merge with the flood of new questions and theories that cascaded into his mind and be lost forever.

Quickly he typed queries against the name 'Jobe' and an unknown police informant. He wrote, 'talk to Avril regarding book'. He wasn't sure how he would manage. He had put his mother in law off a couple of times already saying he wasn't ready to talk about 'things' yet. He added Senior Detective Malcolm Marsden and reporter Maddy Quinn to a list of people he wanted to talk to.

Sinking his teeth slowly into a piece of chicken for another bite of his now lukewarm meal, Evan recalled his appointment with Merri. So he added Larry's and her name to the list. He wondered if he could talk to Bevan Haines as well. He assumed his court case would have been postponed while he obtained a new counsel. Background into the case from him might offer some clues. Several question marks followed his name. Evan knew he was groping for any hint of confirmation that this was a targeted attack. His thinking was in a jumble as he stared at the screen.

The remainder of the meal was consumed with little awareness of its taste or the fact it was almost cold. There was one avenue he could explore tonight—a phone call to Jobe. Evan retrieved the number from the notes in the study and made the call. Repeated attempts failed. He became frustrated. "Why won't you answer?" he complained. He tried the home number. After several rings the phone was answered by a female voice. She gave the number and then waited.

"Um, I was wondering if I could speak to Jobe." There was silence at the other end and then a clearing of her throat, "I'm sorry, Jobe passed away a few weeks ago." The phone clicked as she hung up. Evan examined the handpiece as if it would offer further information. What had just happened? Had he called a bereaved wife and asked to speak with her deceased husband. A wave of empathy surged through him as he identified with her. He would do the same—say 'I'm sorry' and hang up. All he'd done was open sensitive wounds.

How would he find out who Jobe was? He had to ring again but not now. And when he rang he would have it carefully scripted so he didn't blunder and make things worse. He needed to know how Jobe fitted into the puzzle.

He'd finished cleaning when he remembered to give Jim a call. They would meet for lunch and then Jim could take him to the mechanic's.

It occurred to Evan that Jobe might have attended the funeral. The register of attendees was in the lounge. He walked into the lounge room—another place he had kept away from. In it were all the bereavement cards his brother Devlin had spread on the mantelpiece.

He thought of his brother now. Somehow they were much closer yet they hardly spoke while he had visited. Devlin had flown over from Northern Ireland. He had been the only one of his family to make the funeral. His sister, Heather, had just given birth and had been due the week of the funeral, so obviously unable to attend. She had cried for him over several video link sessions. He'd come away a mess each time. His parents were also unable to make it. His father had just come out of hospital with a new hip and so they had commiserated with him from afar.

Devlin had been consonant with his needs; an older brother who knew he didn't need pithy epigrams or soppy clichés. He sat with Evan. He listened to him rail against the world. Devlin provided solace to Jim and Kate recognising the inadequate support their father provided. His brother had said that at some stage Evan would have to read the comments people had written about Mindy. It would allow him to recognise how everyone cherished her and he would be able to thank them for their thoughts. Evan paged through the book, 'not yet', he thought to himself.

Looking through the felt covered memorial book reminded him that there were people he had to chase up. There was no entry under the name of Jobe in the register. He scanned the cards on the mantle and came across one from Don.

Don and Charlotte had been lifelong friends but had also been unable to make the funeral. They had left for Europe the day of the murder and hadn't heard of it until a few days later. Don was all for flying back but it was hit or miss whether they would arrive in time and Devlin assured him that they should enjoy their holiday and support Evan when they came back—when the surge of comforters had subsided. Evan allowed himself a small nod of agreement at Devlin's wisdom. He had been so uncommunicative, so in the doldrums, that their sympathy would have been virtually un-noticed.

He read Don's card. It was succinct. "Don't know what to say... We're praying, we're crying... Let us know if you need us-we'll be there in no time. Otherwise, we'll see you in six weeks. All our love." He closed the card. On the front it said 'Too beautiful for this world!'

Chapter 2

Thursday

There was an apprehension, an air of bewilderment, in his dreams as Evan's mind tried to sort out fanciful characters who all knew Mindy and wanted to explain what happened. He couldn't hear the words, the faces were nondescript and, as is the way of dreams, he started in her office and ended kicking the bedding trying to press the failing brakes of a speeding car.

He was out of bed by seven thirty. Another event unprecedented over the last four weeks. He ran the track along the river but this time it was measured and methodical with appropriate limitation to his cardio vascular stimulation. His return was hastened by an impatience to get into the business of the day. A brief hot shower was followed by a simple breakfast of toast and marmalade.

Evan opened the small booklet he had left on the table. Its form reminded him of devotion books Mindy used to read at breakfast time. It had been a point of contention between them. He had maintained that reading the scriptures allowed for personal revelation while she just wanted to share in some common spiritual bonding; he saw that now, but then he had been a self-righteous prig. Of course Mindy was gracious and that made him all the more angry at himself—that he had been so small minded.

The first words drew Evan's attention again: 1'Put on the whole armour of God.' The writer made a point of saying that St Paul was probably referring to a verse in Isaiah about the breastplate of righteousness and the helmet of salvation. The key being that a reference to God's 'own arm of salvation' was now being applied to the believer. God is our refuge and strength. All our armour is to be found in Jesus for he has won the battle. It is the armour of God.

Evan wondered why it didn't feel like the battle had been won.

He gulped the last of his tea and just dumped the dishes in the sink. First port of call was Senior Detective Malcolm Marsden. A phone call saying he had learned some new information ensured he got an appointment with the homicide detective that morning. He knew that Serge had already told the police but he wanted to know why nothing was being done about the report.

Rather than cart his laptop about, Evan went traditional and took a notepad and pen. He wanted to keep tabs on every fact and question that arose. After reporting to the front desk, he was led to the homicide section where Marsden's desk was to be found. The whole building was quite new and yet further upgrades were in progress. He walked past a screened off section being renovated. The smell of fresh paint and sharp aromatic fumes of glue invaded his nose. Once that was negotiated, he was admitted into a large operations room partitioned off into several desk islands and a couple with shoulder high corrals. Several faces turned to glance in his direction before resuming their tasks.

He saw the senior detective in a relatively open area near large windows. He recognised the man with the close cropped, slightly grey flecked, dark hair and angular face as he raised his head, even though he'd hardly taken any notice of him in their earlier encounter. Marsden rose as he came near and beckoned him to a chair. "Take a seat," he said superfluously. "He pulled out a notebook computer and sat down at his desk, opposite Evan. "Now, Mr Bowles... what's this new evidence you have?"

"I was called over to Nic's Repairs yesterday and Serge told me that the brakes on Mindy's car had been tampered with."

"Oh," There was a resignation in the way he said it. He put down the lid of his notebook. "We know about this." Marsden seemed to search for words before he spoke again. "This might be difficult to understand but there is very little we can do. I mean... we've kept notes of the report... our crime scene examination showed it up and we have marked it for closer examination. At this stage we have evidence that the oil started spilling in the car park outside your wife's law office. The team found a brake line had a loose nut on the combination valve but, because your mechanic has worked on the car, there won't be any more useful evidence now."

"Didn't they think it suspicious at the time?"

Marsden opened his computer again. "The report said the nut had probably worked loose. There was no mention of tool marks. Apart from that, we questioned whether anyone had seen anything unusual in the law firm's car park. That was negative. The CCTV of the car was obscured by a delivery van for some portion of the day—otherwise nothing." He was reading from his screen and spoke as he saw Evan was about to quiz him. "And... yes... the delivery was genuine... so that was a dead end."

"But Serge reported it... the tampering... so he could witness that someone had sabotaged her brakes."

Marsden nodded, almost sympathetically. "Yes he could, and I told you we've taken note of it but there is now no definitive evidence. His working on the brakes means if there were any tool marks they are compromised."

"Shouldn't you take it into account, though? I mean it looks like there was a plan of some sort."

"What? Are you saying there was some sort of plot? Do you have any more evidence for that?" Marsden was studying Evan's face as if trying to read what he knew.

"No... I thought..." Evan ran out of words.

He became condescending. "Mr Bowles, I know... It's very difficult. I'm afraid at this stage it still looks like a random mugging. Playing with the brakes just doesn't make any sense for someone who just grabs all the valuables and runs."

Evan had numerous theories that could possibly make sense but it was all speculation. "Have you made any progress?" he asked quietly.

"There's not a lot to go on but we're pushing on. I'm sure there'll be a breakthrough." He spoke confidently but it was just a practised patter to Evan. Lines fed to compensate for a lack of progress. "We found the car the assailant was driving... it was stolen. There was surprisingly little for forensics." He opened the file before him to run through a few details. "Oh yeah, a number of your wife's belongings were located in an alley several kilometres from the scene of the crime. He must have had gloves on 'cos the only clear prints were your wife's.

A witness described a man in dark clothing with his face obscured. CCTV gave pretty much the same... dim images in the distance. It was over in seconds."

"Is there a chance I could get to see the video and talk to the witness?"

"No." The detective shook his head firmly. "We don't think it's a good idea for the public to start sleuthing around. For one thing you have no authority and... well... in truth it's not a job for amateurs."

Evan felt like saying that he couldn't do any worse than they were doing.

"I don't think there's anything else I can tell you." He ran his finger down the screen. Then Marsden looked up and gave a raised eyebrow, taut smile, sorry-about-that, sort of face. "I'm sorry that we can't do more about your theory of car tampering. But let us know if you think of anything else. And... Mr Bowles, the case is still a priority." He stood and proffered his hand.

The interview was obviously over.

Evan glanced over at the enclosed office with a label 'Detective Inspector Burton'. "Is the Detective Inspector in?"

Marsden gave a steely glare. "No, he's on leave... won't be back for two months." He clenched his teeth in an annoyed grimace.

"So, who's in charge?" ventured Evan.

"Detective Sergeant Hendry is a temporary appointment," he stated with barely restrained animosity. "You'll have to make an appointment." He turned to a junior officer. "Hey Doby, take Mr Bowles to Jen will ya? He wants to make an appointment with the boss. Ha." Doby chuckled at the in joke.

As he was led to Jen's cubicle Evan broached the subject with the young officer. "What's so funny?"

"Hendry is just filling in. He's never here... hardly. He's trying for an Inspector's job." Doby leaned close, "Just between you and me, he's just a pen pusher, always looking for the next plum position." He then added, "I can't wait till Burton gets back. He's a legend."

Evan nodded, recognising the indiscretion of youth and deciding to glean some information. "So, what's Burton like?"

"Well, I've only been here a few months but, everyone talks about cases he's solved. And everyone respects his instructions and bounces ideas off him... for their cases." He clarified as if he was being vague. "That's his team over there." He indicated with a nod in the direction of four desks pushed together outside Burton's office. A couple of the detectives looked up curious of Evan's presence. "They're investigating the dead body dragged up from the river this morning. They've just been told by the pathologist that it's a homicide." Doby was saying this as he approached the young policewoman at the desk. She scowled at him making him immediately aware that perhaps his little monologue was injudicious.

"Ahh... Jen, Mr Bowles needs an appointment with Inspector Hendry."

"Okay Bobby, leave him with me. You go back to your work." Doby obviously disliked the nickname, but it seemed he was junior to the girl so he wandered off. His recalcitrance shown in the way he meandered along a roundabout route to his seat.

"So... Mr Bowles was it?"

"That's right."

"Why do you want an appointment with Inspector Hendry?"

"I'm concerned about the progress of the investigation into Mindy Bowles' murder. I wanted to ensure that all the evidence is being considered."

"That's Detective Marsden's case. Have you spoken with him?"

"Yes. He directed me to you."

Jen looked up at Evan sympathetically. "She was your wife wasn't she?" Evan nodded. "I'm sorry Mr Bowles but Inspector Henderson doesn't discuss cases during an investigation. If you have new evidence you can leave it with Marsden... or if you have a complaint, you can go to the ombudsman." Her expression revealed that she was unhappy with the protocol. "I'm sorry," she added softly.

A man nudged Evan's shoulder. He put out his hand. "My name's Rowan." Evan realised it was one of Burton's crew.

"Evan," he replied and shook the other's hand.

"Look, I couldn't help overhearing Mr Bowles. I'm sorry about your loss. I mean... I met Mrs Bowles in court a couple of times and she was a fine lawyer. Why don't I walk you out and you can tell me what's worrying you."

"Okay." Evan scrutinised the young detective, surprised by his confidence and understanding.

As they walked back the way he had come in Marsden looked up questioningly at Rowan.

"I'm just showing Mr Bowles out Mal," he said casually. The latter rolled his eyes and went back to attending his computer. Once out of earshot the detective began. "You understand that finding a random mugger is a very hard thing to do, don't you, Mr Bowles?"

"Call me Evan... Yes, I understand that. Except that... I don't think it was random." He went on to reiterate what Serge had told him and then explained, "You see, even if they can't establish the rigging of the brakes for themselves, the mechanic's story should be enough to check out the possibility that Mindy was murdered for a reason. Maybe a case she was working on or some information she had... you know her computer was stolen?"

Rowan was listening as they approached the front entrance. He ushered Evan through and stepped outside with him. On the steps, after a quick look around, he said quietly, "If my boss was here I think he would have taken this case on himself, but Hendry gave it to Marsden, convinced it was just a mugging gone wrong. I think you're right. There are some things about this crime that don't ring true. "I'll ask a few questions discreetly and find out if there is anything they've missed."

"Thanks," responded Evan.

"And, maybe you can let me know if you stumble across anything new. I can't guarantee anything of course. We're pretty busy—a new case every second day and with three teams plus a cold case team the pressure is always on." The two then exchanged contact details.

The detective went back inside and Evan examined the information the other had recorded on his phone. Senior Detective Rowan Rolf—homicide squad—he read. It occurred to him then that Marsden wouldn't be too pleased to have a colleague interfere in his case. He would have to be careful.

Evan drove slowly to the law office. Again, it was not something he'd done since Mindy was alive. He was apprehensive. Meredith had been reasonably close and he wasn't sure how he'd handle the reunion. She had seen him park from her office window and emerged from the building as he approached the main entry. She grasped him by the arm and hustled him off to a nearby café. Before he had a chance to sit down she gave him an affectionate hug. "Don't say anything yet... just enjoy the ambience... the exotic aroma of freshly ground coffee beans." She held his chair assertively and commanded him to sit.

"My treat," she insisted as they scanned the menus.

He looked up. Meredith was smiling. She was in her late thirties, attractive, with striking coiffured blonde hair, unblemished complexion and impeccable clothing style.

"How's Jarred?" he offered, unsure what to say and resorting to safe ground.

"Oh, gallivanting around as usual. I think he's in Dubai till the end of the week and then London."

"Must be hard."

"Mm... it has its low moments. I had school interviews last week and felt a little helpless dealing with some issues." Meredith frowned for a moment before brightening up. "But I keep very busy... and the kids are generally pretty good." A waitress hovered nearby and they both looked up to give their orders. When she'd gone Meredith slid her hand onto his and looked into his eyes. "How are you managing?"

Suddenly Evan's throat constricted and he forced a strangled reply, "I'm fine."

"You are not, you big liar. Jim told me you've been closeted in your house like a hermit."

"I'm out now," he said weakly, and then noticed her grin broaden, "... thanks to you."

"So... you had a reason to call... out with it. And also, fortuitously, there is some business that I need to address with you. Now would be an opportune time."

"Business?"

"I'll get to that later. Tell me, how can I help you?"

Evan recounted his meeting with Serge and then complained about the lack of police interest. The lawyer explained that it was understandable that they don't chase down every possibility, given the workload of police. He said that he was going to do a bit of snooping himself and then fixed a stare on Meredith's light brown eyes. "Merri, I need to know what Mindy was working on. I know she was involved defending a drug dealer. Was there anything else? Was there something about that case that didn't add up?"

"Whoa, hold on there a moment. There are some ethical issues here. Firstly, Bevan Haines' case is going to the public defender. I mean we're swamped so we couldn't take it on. I don't know what Mindy found out but we could search out the files. If we get permission from his counsel and Haines, we might be able to interview him. If his counsel is on the ball he'll get his hands on anything to bolster his case, so we could have something to bargain with. Cooperation with lawyers doesn't always happen though."

He took a sip from his cup, "So... it's possible to check the files?"

She smiled. "Yes... I'll access the web storage site. Everything we do is synced there. If there's anything that might suggest she had information that was damaging or incriminating for a third party, I'll let you know."

"Did Mindy talk much about her clients or her cases?"

Meredith looked doubtful. "Sometimes, but I don't recall her saying much about this one. If she thought her client was innocent she'd get quite excited but that didn't happen with Haines. I think Mindy was preparing to plea bargain, so she was doing her best for a guilty man."

Evan raised his eyebrows to accompany his look of resignation. After Rolf's comments, he was hoping for some other inconsistency—something peculiar with a case, that didn't fit the norm. "Oh well, if you come across anything let me know. Maybe you can ask Larry. He might have heard something.'

"Sure. I'll check it out." Her words were upbeat and encouraging but he felt it was a superficial response for his benefit. They talked for a few more minutes as coffees were consumed and the lawyer commented on how organised and efficient Mindy had been. She used the comment and segued to talk about a life insurance policy Mindy had set up.

"Would you like me to organise a claim?"

He looked pained. "Why would she set something like that up without telling me? Did she think she was in danger?"

"No, no... She's had the policy for a number of years. We all did it as part of a business decision and it became part of our salary allocation."

"Honestly Merri, I'm not in the mood to do it at the moment." He was thinking how grotesque the concept was—financial gain through Mindy's death.

"That's why I offered. I'll get the forms, get a copy of the death certificate and all you have to do is sign it." She waited for an answer but Evan's mind had detoured into heart rending nostalgia. He and Mindy sitting watching some weepy movie with tears in their eyes. "Evan!"

"Huh?"

"Shall I start the claim for you?" Her words were soft and soothing.

"Thanks Merri... yeah sure. Look, I'd better go. I have to meet Jim for lunch." Evan stood and Meredith unconsciously mirrored his action before giving him a quick farewell hug. He watched her walk back to her building and wave before entering. He then drove back to his place.

Jim was waiting when he got there.

"How's your thesis coming?" was Evan's attempt at a greeting.

"Pretty good...'aberrations from normal use' algorithms are not as complex as they sound." He went on to explain that he didn't have time for lunch because he was meeting some friends, so they decided to pick up the car straight away. Evan levered himself into the compact Hyundai and they headed off to the garage. "It's good to see you out and about for a change," observed Jim.

Evan was stymied for a response. What should he say? 'Life goes on?' Maybe, 'It's time to get on with life'. Some life. He knew he was a mess. Without Mindy it was an empty existence. He had to find out who was responsible.

Jim glanced across. "Are you okay Dad?"

"Mm... yeah." He looked across at his son. "I have to pick up the car... so I guess I have no choice but to go out."

"Yeah, but you were coming home from somewhere... that's what I meant."

"Oh... right... I had to have a chat with Merri. Say... thanks for doing this."

"Not a problem... I had the arvo off. How is she?"

"Who?" Evan was trying to run a parallel thought-line about what to do after picking up the car and couldn't follow the disjointed conversation.

"Merri! ... How is she?"

"Oh... fine, fine." He went on to relate some of what Meredith had shared about her own situation in random snippets, as he recalled them.

The short trip to the garage released him of any obligation to elaborate on the minor trials she endured because of her husband's regular absences. Just as he was exiting the car, Evan eyeballed Jim grimly. "Did Mum talk to you about any of the cases she was working on?"

Jim was taken aback, "What's this about Dad?" The question was delivered with a look of consternation.

"I think..." He stopped unsure how to put it into words. "I think Mum was targeted, murdered deliberately. It wasn't a random mugging."

"What! How do you know?"

"That's just it... I don't know... It's hard to explain, but Serge," he indicated with his thumb toward the workshop. "... he said that the car brakes had been sabotaged. That's why she was delivering the car."

"But that doesn't make sense." Jim was upset and confused at the same time. "Dad... Mum was mugged and robbed. She died from the attack... not from a car accident."

Evan closed his eyes as if he was in pain. "I know, I know... but if the car was tampered with, it suggests that someone was after her... It's too much of a coincidence."

"So... leave it to the police."

Evan pulled a tired smile. "I did that this morning... but because Serge has already repaired it, they said it was of little use." Jim contorted his mouth communicating his cynicism about the police and looked expectantly at Evan as his father went on. "So... do you remember anything about what Mum was doing?"

"Nah... I just knew she was defending a druggie or something. I'll give Kate a call. She might know something." It was as if Jim had decided that any hare-brained scheme his father took on was better than his moping around the house.

Jim waited till his dad gave a wave from the door indicating the car was ready and then drove off.

Evan went inside. He relayed to Serge that the police had observed the loose nut on the brake line.

"Well, unless they touched it themselves, to me it was obvious someone with a wrench had recently touched it," insisted the mechanic.

"Hmm... maybe we should have photographed it," said Evan, half to himself. "Too late now though."

"Wouldn't the police have done that?"

"Not unless they thought it was evidence or suspicious, and they didn't it seems."

Evan paid the bill and obtained a report of the mechanic's diagnosis and the repairs performed. Serge assured him he would let him know if he heard anything from locals and they parted.

Chapter 3

Thursday afternoon

Back at home, Evan consulted his list while munching on a sandwich. He would ring Jobe again—except Jobe was dead! He started to script exactly what he would say. It was important that he find out about Jobe before the woman cut him off again. He supposed she was his wife but he wouldn't make assumptions—there were too many variables these days.

When he was finally happy with what he would say he punched in the numbers. Upon hearing a listless hello he launched into his spiel. "Ah, good afternoon. My name is Evan Bowles. I'm ringing because—"

"Evan?"

He heard her query but he was determined to get through to the essential part of his speech.

"That's right, Evan Bowles... I'm ringing because my wife, who just passed away recently, left Jobe's contact number—" She cut him off again.

"Evan... it's Belle, Belle Reagan...you probably remember me as Belle Andrews."

Evan tried to digest the information. Belle and he had gone to the same high school. They had been quite good friends for two students with very different interests. She had been maths science and studious; he had been humanities and sports mad.

"Belle, Belle from Douglas Heights High?"

"That's right."

"So... what are you doing now?" His script was out the window.

"I'm a doctor. I work at Newhaven General. What about you?" Evan suddenly felt himself discomfited by his mediocre achievement.

"I'm at the university... I lecture philosophy and the History of Reason." His voice was diminutive. "Not quite the essential expertise you provide."

"I wouldn't say that. I think I read a book you wrote... something about 'morality'."

"Human Values."

"That's right. It was a strong case for objective morality and the spiritual dimension. I was quite impressed that I knew a published author."

He laughed. "That was some time ago." The unfamiliar sound of his laughter still echoed in his mind.

"So... why did you call?"

Evan marshalled his thoughts. "Belle, this may seem strange... but I'm trying to work out why my wife died... and... in her notes I found Jobe's name and number."

"Why would your wife have Jobe's number? Maybe she was a client."

"Mindy was a lawyer... What did Jobe do?"

Belle's voice dropped marginally. "He was a lawyer too."

"Oh... okay... that sort of adds to the mystery. You see... my wife was killed in unusual circumstances but I can't quite convince the police. I thought maybe you could help." There was silence at the other end and Evan wondered whether he had gone too far too quickly.

"Why don't we get together and you can tell me the whole story," she suggested. He imagined her saying, 'It would be good to catch up.' But after a pause she said, "Evan, I'm sorry about your wife."

"Oh... thanks." It sounded inappropriate. He felt like saying, 'I'm sorry too', but that also was ambiguously scornful.

"Look, it might help both of us to debrief... What do you think?"

Suddenly he was on the back foot. This sounded like a social engagement. Was he ready for that? He'd survived a coffee with Merri but Merri was Mindy's colleague and an old friend. This was someone he'd known, he'd liked, at high school. There was no recent history to share. It was a conversational minefield. How could he share his loss, his feeling of abandonment in small talk? Belle reacted to the pause in the call. "Evan, are you there?"

"Yeah... sorry... my mind was wandering. What did you have in mind?" He grimaced at his own ineloquence.

"Well... I'm still at work till this evening but I have Friday's off. So, maybe we can have lunch... any suggestions?"

It took several clarifications to sort out an eatery that was reasonably convenient for them both. Her home in Springside and his in Finton roughly formed a parallelogram with their respective work places so Evan opted for a central shopping mall that had several restaurants to choose from. They agreed on a time and meeting point and Belle expressed her pleasure in the prospect of seeing him again 'after all these years'.

When the call ended he felt strangely disengaged as if the severed connection had left him adrift in his thoughts. To Evan it was a bit disconcerting. She didn't sound like the grieving widow to him. Then again, maybe she was just resilient and didn't wallow in self-pity—something he'd become accustomed to. For several minutes, Evan sat at the dining table staring at his phone, contemplating their meeting. He wasn't ready for this.

Eventually, after thoughtfully consuming a glass of milk, he opened up his computer and reappraised his list. 'Things to ask Belle' he typed. He hesitated a second and then with a rush of inspiration and a flurry of fingers he produced a number of questions about Jobe's cases, his work place, his demeanour and, requiring delicate sensitivity, the circumstances of his death. He even wrote some innocuous, break-the-ice type questions just in case he froze or became incoherent. He printed them off.

Once that was done, Evan gathered his thoughts and confronted the items he still had to do. Ring his mother in law or ring the reporter, Maddy Quinn. Neither choice was without its difficulties. Avril was bound to be loving and compassionate and sympathetic, all of which would tear his composure into tatters. On the other hand, he didn't have Maddy Quinn's contact details, so he would have to trawl for that, and then how could he justify interrogating her without explaining what he was up to.

The call to Avril began well enough. She asked him about his health, about the children—though they kept in contact with her far more than he did—and about whether he was back at work yet. He tried to sound positive with his answers and also explained that he wouldn't resume till the new semester. He struggled when she asked about church and sharing his burdens, knowing full well that she was aware he had rejected pastoral visits and contact with other parishioners.

"Evan... you're part of a bigger family, a family that cares for you. You know that they will help you divide your sorrows and multiply your joys. That's what sharing does."

"Maybe Avril, but I'm not in the right place for that at the moment. I have to know why this happened."

"You may never know. You just have to believe that ultimate good will come from this."

"I can't see it."

"No... I realise that. But you should know that Mindy was confident in the sovereignty of God; that God could weave the vagrant threads of our lives into His perfect tapestry."

Deep down, Evan knew Mindy's faith was the way her mother described it. She was effervescent, filled with a joy and enthusiasm for life. That's why he couldn't reconcile what had happened with the plans of a loving God.

"It shouldn't have happened... not to Mindy." He choked on the words. Avril listened to his agony. She desperately wanted him to escape the bitterness that was entombing him.

"Evan, let me tell you something. It may sound cruel or harsh or maybe even a cliché of Christian optimism, but you need to think about it." She paused briefly. "When Lynton was sick he said to me that we all have to die one day... unless the Lord comes. And that when we get to glory we'll realise why descriptions of it were so hazy and symbolic. Because, if we really knew what it was like, none of us would want to wait around before going there. And once there, there was no way we would want to go back. He wanted me to think of him in heaven with a huge smile on his face. If our faith tells us anything it is that we are eternal, this world is not. Our citizenship is in heaven and we serve as ambassadors for our king."

He wanted to refute her words, to decry her heartless theological rationality but there was only a wordless hollow ache and a mumbled assent that Mindy would have concurred. "Mm... "

There was a reluctance and effort in the words Avril now spoke, "So, would you bring Mindy back? Would you have her leave Glory... and who would benefit from that?" He knew it was rhetorical but it still pierced his soul. She had intimated that he was being selfish. He had indulged himself in self-centred misery. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory he recalled King David's mourning while his child suffered, but then David revived—washing his face, worshiping God and brightening up—when the child had passed to eternity. Perhaps he would read the story again.

A groan emanated from his lips. "You're right. This is all about me. I'm being selfish, but I miss her Avril. I miss her desperately."

"I do too, Evan." There was emotion charged in those soft words. Evan heard her clear the huskiness from her voice before she spoke again. "So... what can I do for you?"

He remembered the reason for the call and tried to express it. "I... I picked up a book you gave Mindy for her birthday—The Armour of God—and you wrote something about battles. I was wondering if Mindy was having particular troubles. Did she say anything to you?"

"Well yes... she did talk to me a few days before her birthday. That's why I bought the book."

"What did she say?"

"At the time she wasn't sure. She said that her client had somehow been set up. She believed someone had placed drugs in his car to incriminate him. What worried her was that he had been a member of some cult that, according to him, was involved in some illegal activities." Avril was sharp for her age of seventy four and deduced that more pertinent information would be useful. Her voice rose with the vigour of someone more youthful. "And that's not all... several weeks later we talked on the phone and she said the case was much more complicated than she had first thought and it seemed as though her investigations were being thwarted. Then, a week or so before she died, Mindy said it was coming together. She said she was working with another lawyer who had helped her with the case. She was much more relaxed about it all."

"And then she died." Evan said perfunctorily. He didn't say 'And now they're both dead,' even though the statement was screaming in his head.

"This is about more than just that book isn't it?" Avril asked flatly.

"Well, the police still haven't arrested anyone, so I figure they could use all the help they can get," he said obliquely.

"I'm not sure they would agree with you."

The interchange milled around more mundane matters after that. Getting together, attending church, and starting to see friends were all negotiated like a tennis match with the contestants trying to get the ball into the other's court. Her suggestion that she would pick him up if he didn't get his act together bordered on coercion, but it made him smile as he ended the call.

"Who is next?" He said it as if there was an audience to his actions.

Evan looked up Maddy Quinn on the internet. She had a blog. She was obviously wary of giving contact details on her blog page. There was no email address or phone number. He read some of her comments, her descriptions of a day reporting court proceedings and a piece on how the public can assist police in solving crime. There was a short article soliciting information about 'major crime' with the suggestion that if the story was published it might be quite lucrative for the source.

Near the right side there was a link to comments and questions. He followed it and was immediately greeted with a warning that police could track any inappropriate submission.

Evan typed a short note giving his name and outlining the crime she had reported on. He explained that his wife was the victim and as yet police had made no progress. He requested her help and added the tantalising suggestion (tantalising for a reporter) that there were irregularities that needed to be investigated.

Ensuring that he had selected the private comment option, Evan left his phone number and closed the site. Almost immediately his phone rang.

"Mr Bowles?"

"Yes, that's correct. This is Evan Bowles."

"Mr Bowles this is Maddy Quinn. You just left a comment on my blog asking for help and I thought I'd call right away."

"Well, thank you. Maddy I'm following up some leads that the police think are unimportant and I'm wondering if you can help."

"I'll see what I can do, but we don't encourage amateur criminologists so I won't guarantee anything."

"That's fine. The other thing is that I have to have your word you won't report anything till there's an arrest. It needs to be discreet."

"That's a big ask. I mean, the reason I solicit information is so that I can deliver good press."

"The thing is... at the moment there is no story... just speculation, I need to know whether there's more to Mindy's death than just a random mugging. I have some indications but I need more."

"Like what?"

"Firstly, Maddy, I need to know that you agree to my terms. You break the story—if there is one—when I know what actually happened."

"You gonna trust me?"

"That's the plan. I'll tell you what I know but I need your help."

"Okay, Evan is it?"

"Uh huh."

"I'll give it a shot, only because you've got me intrigued and... well... I had a lot of respect for your wife.... So, what do you know?"

Evan retraced the events of the previous day—the mechanic's story, the police response, his mother in law's comments—and then observed that there were a number of threads he was trying to unravel. So, he might have more details in a day or so. Maddy listened to the account a little sceptically before speaking.

"So, what do you want from me?"

"I need to know who the witness to the attack was and I need to talk with him. He was the only witness. Could you tell me how to contact him?"

"If I do, you mustn't say where you got the information. I mean the way I got his number was sneaky, but sharing with you is probably unethical... I'm just doing it for the greater good; you understand?"

"Uh huh," responded Evan. But he wasn't sure whether the greater good was solving the crime or her getting an exclusive story.

After some fossicking through her files she relayed the details to Evan. He quickly added it to his growing compendium. His name was Adam Brunton. He had been walking his dog across a footbridge over the highway when the mugging occurred.

"So, I take it that's one of the threads. What are the others?"

Evan wavered. He wasn't sure where the trail was leading and whether there was any connection to Jobe. "What's wrong Evan?" she prompted, when he hadn't answered.

He sounded dubious when he spoke. "I'm not sure how relevant this is but it struck me as an unusual coincidence... Mindy was corresponding with another lawyer before she died. When I tried to speak with him, I found that he recently died as well. Tomorrow I am going to speak with his widow and, hopefully, find out how he died and whether his work was related to Mindy's."

"She was defending er... what was his name?"

"Bevan Haines."

"That's right. He was caught possessing drugs... cocaine I think."

"That's another one of my threads. From what her mother said, Mindy was convinced Haines had been set up."

"That explains why she took the case. Your wife seldom defended guilty clients, usually pointing them to elite trial lawyers, if they could afford it, or to legal aid, if they couldn't." Her voice conveyed a pensive mood. He was about to ask whether she'd met Mindy when she abruptly changed tack. "Maybe I can do some digging for you, just on the quiet."

It sounded to Evan like Maddy smelled a story and was jumping on board. They exchanged details and he got her phone number. Maddy suggested they meet Saturday morning. She was going into the office to finish off an article for the Sunday paper so an early breakfast meeting would suit her. Evan tried to convince her that he 'didn't do early' anymore, especially on weekends. But Maddy was an irresistible force—she was paying, she would have some background on Haines and she would check with a source in the police department regarding the investigation.

After the call, Evan set up a spreadsheet and allocated rows for key players. He made links to his calendar and included the appointments he now had. On the spreadsheet he wrote what he'd learned from Serge, Meredith, Avril and Maddy. He put a comment or two next to Belle, Detective Marsden and Detective Rolf. Several other names were conspicuously blank. Among those were Haines, Brunton and Larry Black, one of the lawyers in the firm.

On other worksheets he wrote questions and ideas and theories, including possible motives. Maybe Mindy had stumbled on the identities of the drug gang. Or, perhaps she was about to expose who had set up Haines. He wondered why he had never considered the dangerous people Mindy encountered in her job. He would have been a wreck. Then again, if he'd objected, she might have changed to corporate law or something that didn't put her in jeopardy.

He tried to remember cases Mindy had talked about that might have imperilled her life. Nothing came to mind. She had referred to hostile prosecutors and uncouth or tough witnesses, but her love of her fellows always shone through. In almost every occasion, she saw her clients as victims. They were victims of upbringing or their own naivety or, sometimes, their own stupidity. He knew she never sought to defend hardened criminals, not because she didn't adhere to the principles of jurisprudence, but because she was compelled to be truthful and transparent—not good traits for a defence lawyer trying to communicate an impassioned belief in her client. The one statement that resonated with him was that she was highly respected. It was obvious her integrity and her care for her fellow man had been noted by the likes of Rolf and Quinn.

His log of questions kept increasing. What did Larry know of Mindy's cases? What was on the web cache? He tried to dig up information on Marsden and Rolf. Neither had much of a public presence. However, numerous newspaper items cited Detective Inspector Burton. Mostly accolades from senior police attributing breakthroughs in various investigations, or court reporters describing evidence given by Burton that led to the indicted being convicted.

Evan was moved to stand and stretch and make a cup of tea when he realised how late it was. He would cook something from the freezer, but first there was one more person to check on.

Calling Brunton was more difficult than he had anticipated. He tried to explain who he was when the man asked how he got his number. Being evasive didn't work because Brunton persisted. Evan didn't want to lie but he needed to hear the eye witness account for himself. He was becoming frustrated by Brunton's petty quibbling, "Was it the police?... Oh, there was that TV reporter who promised me a fee... was it her?"

"Mr Brunton... I lost my wife... I'm very determined to get to the bottom of this... Does it really matter? I'm talking to you now. I just want to find out what you saw." His voice was raised and filled with angst.

After a short interlude in which Evan had decided he'd gone too far and ticked off the other man, he heard a sigh. "I'm sorry. Evan isn't it. I can hear the pain you're feeling. I still feel it and my wife's been gone for five years now. Why don't you come around now and I'll tell you what I know." The abrupt change caught Evan unawares.

"Now? I won't be interrupting your dinner will I?"

"No, no... it's fine. I was eating when you rang, so I'll be finished before you get here."

"Oh... I'm sorry for interrupting your meal." Evan added as an afterthought, "I should have rung later."

"Forget it. I'll see you when you get here. I take it you have my address too?" he added ironically and hung up.

Evan considered the scene in his mind. No wonder he was a bit crotchety. Probably was sitting in front of the TV all settled with his meal and the phone rings! Oh well, I'll apologise again when I see him, he reassured himself.

***

It took a few minutes for Evan to find the willingness to leave his car and knock on the door. The house, though clean and well-kept, was cheerless. Photos lay flat on their faces, light was subdued and the owner's expression defied you to dare contemplate a smile. Even the dog at his feet had a moribund look as if life was no longer worth living. The man had been prickly on the phone but he was taciturn in person. He constantly gazed at nowhere in particular and waited awkwardly as if he were the uninvited guest. He was a hollow man. Evan wondered if it was a picture of what he was becoming.

After making his apology once again, Evan asked Adam what he had seen the night Mindy was murdered. Painstakingly, with prodding and cajoling, the older man told the story. There would have been very little said if Evan hadn't probed with 'where', 'when', 'what', 'why', 'who' and 'how', carefully framing the questions to extract every detail. Eventually the whole event took shape in Evan's mind.

He reviewed the story, as he understood it, asking Adam to correct any misconceptions he might have had. With Adam's consent he recorded his reiteration on a mini tablet device.

"So... you walked the path you usually take with your dog. From the overpass you saw a car pull into the emergency lane just before the overpass. A man in dark clothing and a balaclava got out and walked quickly under the bridge. You looked to see where he was heading and noticed another car pulled into the car park just turn off its lights. As the woman got out..." Evan's voice became unsteady. He took several deep breaths. "... As the woman got out the man rushed at her and hit her with something in his hand." He stopped again.

After several seconds of staring blankly at his device he continued with wavering words, "... She went down almost straight away... but... but he hit her again a few more times."

Evan licked his lips. He wiped moisture from his eyes. "You said it was then he looked in the car and grabbed a case. You yelled at him as he came out. He glanced up, then went back in the car and grabbed a handbag. He ran back to his car and drove off... Is that it?"

Adam stared at the fireplace trying to conjure up some sort of reply. "The police didn't believe me."

"What?... What do you mean? What didn't they believe?"

"I said he must have followed her... your wife... because... because he just got there and she was just getting out of the car... They didn't believe me."

"Why didn't they believe? What did they say?"

It was like there was a long distance satellite delay. The question dawdled from his ears to his brain. Finally he replied. "They... they said I didn't see your wife's car stop. That... that I was just guessing that she had just stopped." Evan expected him to go on but his mouth moved and nothing came out. He leaned forward in his seat to hear what Adam was saying.

"Sorry... What did you say?"

Adam's crackly voice was strained. "I'm sorry about your wife."

Evan bit his lip. For many seconds he couldn't utter a word. When he saw the doleful expression, it roused his ragged emotions. He hastily thanked Adam for his help and fled as the tears welled in his eyes. Sitting in the car recovering, he realised that, though the meeting with Adam Brunton had been confronting, it had been worth it. 'He must have followed her'. That's what he said. It now was even less likely that it was a random attack.

He started the engine and drove, mulling all the while over this incipient sketch of a plot. He enumerated the phases in point form. One, the brakes are damaged. Two, wait for Mindy to crash or stop for help. Three, eliminate the threat—remove the evidence.

Pure supposition at this stage. Why was Mindy a threat? What was the evidence? He was merely scratching at the surface, he was sure. Half way home he pulled into a fast food restaurant. As he sat eating, he viewed a Bible app on his phone. He read the story of David's mourning of Bathsheba's first child. He read the explanation David gave to his servants: He had already mourned and humbled himself saying "The Lord might be gracious to me." He had said that referring to while the child was still alive. But the child had died so he concluded; "Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." So he had cleaned himself up and got on with life.

Would he ever face up to such a harsh reality? Mindy was gone. He had mourned... was still mourning. Mindy would not come back but he would go to her. Was that meant to be some sort of consolation? He sat staring at his fries aware that it was his lack of faith that caused him to cling to dejection. Avril was right. He was being selfish. He imagined Mindy sitting opposite him—in response to his fervent desire—trying to indulge him but longing to be in Paradise. That would be like her. She would put up with his late nights at the university, his reluctance to get involved in their church, his slovenly habits and her love was unstinting. No; he had to let go. Mindy had to be apportioned that past part of his life that was contentment and delight. He would cherish the past and hope for the future—even if the future was eternity.

What a noble sentiment. Who was he kidding? At the moment he was an emotional cripple. No amount of resolving would alter his sense of loss.

He sat there. After two coffees and a turbulent hour of self-flagellation, Evan headed home, loath to return to the loneliness and the memories but, at the same time, unwilling to abandon the balm of bereavement and hibernation.
Chapter 4

Friday

Evan had already showered and breakfasted after his run when Kate called. She asked if he was okay. To which he responded; as well as could be expected. He added a query of his own—why was she asking. Kate confessed that Jim had told her he was embarking on some personal crusade to find the murderer, and that he was propounding some conspiracy theory.

"Well Dad?" Kate asked following a temporary silence in the call. Evan considered his reply. Misdirection was his safest tactic. The last thing he wanted was his daughter thinking he'd got a screw loose or, even worse, was getting into some sort of danger. He couldn't cope with the fussing.

"You know what Jim's like. Gets the wrong end of the story sometimes. I told him what the mechanic told me, that it looked like Mum's brakes had been fiddled with. That's what had to be repaired. So I asked the police whether they had looked into it and they said it was a normal leak." He purposely omitted that, in his judgement, Serge provided the more reliable explanation.

"Oh, so you're not turning into some vigilante private investigator or anything?"

"Sounds exciting... what do I say... 'Listen sweetheart just give me the facts'." He used his best Humphrey Bogart impression. But it sounded more like Maxwell Smart mimicking Humphrey Bogart."

"Okay Dad... so you're all right?"

"I'm fine... and the car's ready when you want to pick it up."

Kate thanked him and, after a few pertinent questions about his domestic needs, said goodbye.

Evan then got on the computer and transferred the main points from his audio recording of Brunton. The suggestion that Mindy was tailed disturbed him. It indicated a level of desperation, audacity even, to risk an unpredictable place, time and situation for an attack. Did that make the scenario less likely or the attacker more brazen? He wondered. He gleaned other relevant minutiae that only registered when he listened a second and third time to their conversation. The attacker was right handed, he was about the same height as Mindy, though stocky, and seemed to limp a bit on the way back to his car; so he may have twisted an ankle on the kerbing.

For once Evan was impatient for lunch time to draw nearer. He read some of 'The Armour of God' to hasten the time and found himself confronted with word pictures of the Christian's battle. The first thing that emblazoned upon his consciousness was the purpose of the armour. It was so that he could stand. He could stand for, stand against, stand up to, stand out and just stand. He had to stand for right, for truth, for God in a spiritual battle against every imaginable evil power, in the Lord's strength—in His almighty power.

It was about not taking a backward step, not cowering but claiming the victory that Christ has gained. Evan felt a failure, but he knew the text was saying that every aspect of the armour was provided by God along with the power to stand. All he had to provide was the willingness to put on the armour, the willingness to wield the shield and the sword and to talk to the commander.

It was clear that the full armour provided complete empowerment. The text presented a rationale for battle—stand against the devil's schemes, a worthy cause—struggle against spiritual forces, a message of liberty and peace, protection from attack, security from defeat and a weapon for exposing the fallacies of opposition. There was no provision for turning and running—no armour for his back was mentioned though he supposed the Romans would have made provision for it.

His study of the booklet alongside the Bible text had Evan immersed in learning powerful truths as never before. When he noticed the time, he quickly left everything on the table, evaluated his appearance in the mirror and then departed.

***

The Friday lunch time crowds at the mall were considerably less than the weekend crush Evan remembered. He was grateful, for he had no inclination to weave his way through streams of people or battle for a restaurant seat. Belle was sitting at a table for two. He didn't recognise her at first but she obviously identified him and gave a short wave. She was quite youthful looking and attractive. It was hard to believe she was a woman in her forties. Last time he had seen her—when she was at university—she had long, black, silky hair. Now it was a modern shortish cut and her sweet smile lit up her face. For someone with her natural beauty, Belle's clothing was understated, the absolute definition of decorous. Neat jeans, a pale blue button up shirt and white knitted vest adorned a healthy physique. Her manner, quiet, thoughtful and intelligent, reminded him of some of the qualities he had admired in Mindy.

"Well, Evan Boyle, you haven't changed a bit."

"Hello Belle... No I'm definitely an older and sadder specimen." Belle stood up and gave him a cursory hug.

"I think you look about the same." She tilted her head and scrutinised him.

"That possibly means I looked like an ugly middle aged man when I was in my twenties." She laughed. "It's good to see you Belle," he continued. She resumed her seat and he sat opposite, quite taken by her appearance.

"I'm sorry to hear about your wife." There was sympathy evident in her expression.

"Mm... yeah... well, I guess I'm still coming to terms with it." He took a slow, deep breath. "What about you? How are you coping?"

Belle looked away to the wall above him as she considered her answer. "Okay... I suppose. I mean Jobe's death was a shock and... and I miss him, but we'd grown apart the last few years... both so busy at work. I suppose we took each other for granted." She stopped and Evan thought she was deliberately leaving things unsaid. "Anyway, we should order... then we can catch up."

Once they'd ordered, Belle fleetingly described her failed marriage and then spoke of her two teenage girls, Yvette and Zara. One was finishing high school and the other was in university. Both were bright and focussed on their studies. Belle said she was surprised how quick to recover they were from the loss of their father. Five weeks ago he died and after two weeks the girls went back to their studies. She had been much the same, going back to the hospital when her daughters resumed.

When Belle asked if he was back at work, Evan admitted, lamely, that the university had given him the term off.

Two orders of fish and salad arrived and Belle decided it was time to get to specifics. She glanced up from her meal and studied him momentarily. "So... why do you think there is more to your wife's death than what the police say?"

"Too many unexplained complications," he stated flatly. Evan then detailed the brake failure, the reported tailing by the murderer and the note referring to Jobe. Finding out that he recently died made the whole sequence of events more mysterious.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did Jobe die?"

"He drowned." Belle had a look of resignation as if the statement needed clarification. "He would swim once or twice a week from one pier to the other... at the beach near our holiday house on the bay... and then jog back."

"Oh... Was there anything unusual about the circumstances? Did he have a medical condition or were there any marks of a struggle?" Evan was groping for some link.

"Police say he may have cramped or gotten disoriented. They said they found nothing suspicious."

"Was he a good swimmer?"

"Yes... that's the thing. We kept asking how but the medical examiner said 'accidental death'. The fact is, Jobe was a good swimmer and he did the swim at least once a week. All we could get out of the autopsy was that he may have got his legs entangled in something." Evan chewed over what she said. He was trying to frame the right question but it eluded him so he opted for background information.

"Were you there when they found him?"

Belle shook her head. "No... we'd been living separate lives for some time and he'd been staying at the beach house."

"Oh..." He was still trying to phrase his query in his head and was muddled for some time. "So you were separated?"

"Not officially... it... it was complicated... We had issues."

Evan recognised he was on sensitive ground so he skirted the state of their relationship and blustered his way indelicately. "Have you considered the possibility that he was murdered? I say that because he was communicating with Mindy about some case... I suspect it was something she was working on that led to her murder... If Jobe was working on the same thing then maybe—I'm just speculating of course—maybe he was killed for the same reason."

"But... we had no reason to think it wasn't an accident... The official verdict was death by misadventure." She stared at Evan. His head moved up and down slightly. He was not willing to insist on the likelihood of such a flimsy theory. He watched her. Her lips compressed into a thin line. Though his suggestion was mere conjecture, he saw it take root in her thinking. She verbalised her thoughts. "Of course it could explain how a strong swimmer like Jobe drowned... if someone drowned him... but how would they do it?"

He reflected about what he was telling her and backpedalled a little bit. "Look Belle, I may be completely out of line here. Why don't we keep our options open and see what we can find out... what they were working on? It may have nothing to do with what's happened. I mean... I may be completely wrong about this."

"What do you propose we do?" Belle leaned forward. Her soft hazel eyes gazed up at him as if they were sharing a secret. He caught his breath at her proximity, surprised that he was moved emotionally by Belle's nearness.

"Ah... we need to find out what they were working on—Mindy and Jobe—and see if there is some plot... But I think we need to keep it low key... and not draw attention to ourselves."

Belle nodded. "I understand." She elaborated, "If someone has killed to keep Jobe and Mindy quiet... well, let's not stir them up." She gave a grim smile and spoke quietly. "I can see you're still feeling your loss. Mindy was a lucky woman to have someone love her so much."

Evan struggled to maintain his equilibrium, not wanting to collapse in a sobbing heap. Moisture gathered around his eyes. He felt her words were as much a commentary on her impaired relationship as compassion for his pain.

Together they charted a plan of action. Belle would go to the beach house and see if there were any clues in his files. She would collect his computer and casually check with the law firm he worked for on the pretext of finalising his affairs. There was his will and life insurance and pension fund that needed to be settled.

Evan shared how he had a list of things he still had to follow up. They would speak on the phone each night and keep each other up to date.

Once that was organised, Belle started relating some of her personal history since her early university days. How she was consumed by her medical career. How she met Jobe in hospital and thereafter he pursued her ceaselessly. Eventually, they were married and along came Yvette and Zara. Sadly, their relationship had been in a slow decline ever since.

Belle consciously maintained eye contact as she guiltily tried to give reasons for the breakdown of her marriage. "Evan... you probably won't understand but we were doomed from the beginning. I was stupid, really. I hid my beliefs from Jobe because I became infatuated with him. I thought I could slowly influence him when we were married. I didn't realise how antagonistic he was to the Christian faith. As I became more... devout—that's not the word I'm looking for, but never mind—he became more distant." She looked, suddenly, self-conscious. "I'm sorry... I've prattled on and you're not interested in my troubles."

"No... it's okay. If we're in this together we'll have to understand where we're coming from."

When she noticed Evan's look of care, almost as if he pitied her, Belle's response became more robust. "What about you? What have you been up to in the last twenty odd years?" Evan shrugged. He could have said that he and Mindy met at church and that their life had been full of love and fun—idyllic compared to Belle's story. What would that achieve?

He simply said, "We've been happy... the kids are great... I mean I was spoiled by Mindy really. She let me pursue my interests in academia and she built up a respectable law career."

"You haven't told me much," Belle remarked.

"What do you want to know?"

Belle quizzed Evan about his studies and was curious about how he and Mindy got together. He avoided all but the most general events from their courtship and early years of marriage. When he referred to the church they attended, Belle perked up and asked him point blank about his faith.

"You want the truth?" There was a clenching of his jaws and a coolness to his stare. He continued without waiting for an answer. "I've spent most of the time blaming God, but now... I'm probably in a worse place because I'm apathetic. I mean... where is the shelter, the protector, the shield? Where was God when Mindy needed Him?" He shook his head sadly. "I know... my mother in law pointed out the selfishness of still wanting her here, alive. Well I'm selfish.... Maybe one day I'll be able to make sense of all this... but not now." Belle put a hand on his and he became rigid at the appalling diversion from his own morbid depression.

"You're not selfish... you're normal. You should grieve, complain, cry out in protest... but know that one day justice will come. And eventually you're going to have to stand on your own two feet and choose between regret and blame and misery... or cherishing the past as a gift and looking to the future in hope."

Evan closed his eyes at the familiar sentiment and breathed, "Wow... where did that gem of wisdom come from?" he mocked more derisively than he intended. He opened his eyes to gauge whether he should apologise, but Belle just smiled.

"Okay...I admit. Some of it was plagiarised from what my pastor said to me the other day. But it's true, isn't it?" She looked for some affirmation. "I mean, I've seen my share of death as a doctor. And, it's amazing how there is a contrast between people with faith and those with none. What did Paul say? 'If there is no resurrection then we are of all people, most miserable.' or something like that."

"Are you saying I should have hope?"

"I don't know. Are you a follower of Jesus?" Her look was more mischievous than inquiring. "Because if you are you can hope for a new heaven and earth, a new eternal body, a place he's prepared for us...and justice... and according to Psalm sixteen, fullness of joy and pleasures for evermore."

Her contact with his hand was becoming all too agreeable and his gaze at her delicate long fingers splayed over his chunky mitt drew her attention. She withdrew her hand. "Sorry..." she grinned guiltily, "... invasion of personal space." Evan smiled, warmed by her easy manner. The dialogue, or maybe it was the company, had a cathartic effect on him.

As they drank coffee, Evan asked about Jobe's police connection. Belle knew nothing about it but added it to the list of things she would check out.

He filled her in on some of the matters that he was planning on pursuing and then suggested a few more things she could chase up. They needed to determine if there was a connection between the clients, whether there were any witnesses to Jobe's drowning and who could be harmed by what Mindy and Jobe were doing. He was certain there were other questions he should ask but he couldn't recall what they were so he just mentioned the fact that they would keep in touch to try and share what they'd learned and clear up any imponderables at a later date.

Then Evan reluctantly ended the meeting. This was the first time he had been enlivened sufficiently to appreciate human company; the first time he hadn't been mired in gloom and despair. Maybe, given time, life would be worth living.

The stimulus of his interaction with Belle must have fired up his brain cells because, back at home, Evan got an idea for an essay for his philosophy students. As was his practice he roughed out some key points so he could write on the topic. He always thought that it was best to tackle assignments himself before he gave them to his students. He typed, 'What does it mean to be Human?' A series of dot points followed: 'A sense of time, history and the future. An awareness of right and wrong—conscience and a conviction of what ought to be. The search for God. Imagination and creative expression. Aesthetic appreciation—beauty, art and music. Mathematics, reason and understanding the universe and their own existence.'

Then, caught up in the project, he began composing his philosophy of what it means to be human. Lurking in the back of his mind was the contention that it all made sense only if humans were made in the image of God. The desire to understand the algorithms of God, the hunger to relate to a deity and the valuing and pursuit of altruism were powerful indications to Evan that mankind had a model they were trying to emulate. He knew, given the policy of the university, that he could not explicitly promulgate his faith. But he also knew that he was free to publish under his own auspices. So this thought provoking paper would form the skeletal basis for his next book. He might just call it 'Human'.

As a postscript to his feelings from his meeting with Belle, he added the desire for community, association, friendship and love that could be construed as a human need— if not unique to humanity. He postulated that the shared experience, the communication of emotions and ideas is essential to providing meaning to life. Without the correlation of other perspectives, our own world view might be drastically distorted.

His unrelenting attention to writing had drained the afternoon of its light. It was a mild shock to him, as he looked up from the computer screen at the gloom, to become aware of the lateness of the hour. What was even more astonishing was that he was living life again rather than spurning its invitation to join in. Just the thought made him dispirited. Was it a slight to Mindy, or to her memory, that he should gain some traction on the path of life?

In a moment of truthful reflection he knew. He knew that she would scorn the maudlin, bogged down, mourning that had infiltrated every part of his being. She would be cheering his resurgence, his re-emergence into proactive living and productive society.

Choosing a milk drink and an early night rather than the tedium of concocting a meal, Evan went to bed and read the trials of Job. He had many questions. How did he cope? What was God's response to his complaints? Ultimately Job was asked, 'Do you understand God?' And Job confessed, 'I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted'. He confessed his ignorance. He confessed his unworthiness. He interceded for his friends.

For the first time in a long while Evan prayed. He prayed for the honesty and transparency of Job. He prayed for an eternal perspective and a living hope. The prayer itself magnified Mindy's absence, for she was the one who could put into words the things they both felt. His loneliness was just as real; his loss just as certain. But, if his faith meant anything, this life was one of temporary joys and sorrows, temporary failures and successes; his life should be predicated on eternal values where the shadows fade and reality shines. Those noble thoughts spiralled into slumber.

Chapter 5

Saturday

Evan dispensed with the early morning run because of the ridiculous time he was expected for breakfast. Seven thirty am in the city meant a six thirty start for him in order to get there in time.

On arrival two surprising things struck him, one was how young Maddy Quinn was, and the second was how busy the restaurants were for a breakfast on Saturday morning. He didn't often frequent the hub of the city proper and it thrummed with a contagious energy. The narrow lane was abuzz with numerous table fronted boutique eateries.

He had approached up one step and into the restaurant's open air enclosure and looked around. Immediately on entering, he was examined by an attractive girl. The young woman had a short, light brown, choppy, but neatly cropped, hairstyle with blonde streaks through it. It took a moment for it to register that it must have been her.

Maddy stood and proffered a small hand in his direction. "Evan... pleased to meet you." She seemed to look him up and down as if, maybe, she was caught off guard by his appearance. Evan looked down at his washed out jeans concerned that he was too casual. After all, she wore a pale grey business shirt and darker grey above the knee skirt—very professional and quite alluring.

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a grot."

"No... no... it's not that. I expected someone older. I mean, I looked you up. You've been lecturing at the university for fifteen years... philosophy isn't it?"

"That's right... I started when I was ten," he joked.

She smiled, "Well that explains everything then."

Evan pulled an ironic smile and then remembered his purpose. "So have you any information about Bevan Haines?"

She sat down and picked up the menu. He did likewise. "I confirmed much of what I already knew... He insists on his innocence and suggests the system has it in for him. His new lawyer, Bart Young, isn't enthusiastic about his chances... trying to talk him into a plea deal." She looked up at Evan who was leaning close on his chair avidly sifting for something useful. "What do you want to eat?"

He felt like saying 'who cares?' but quickly glanced at the menu and suggested the open bagel with smoked salmon and a coffee. A waitress took the menus and Maddy assertively ordered for both of them. She then looked at him directly, all business. "I did find out a couple of names from Bart that Haines says set him up." She looked on her phone. "Jack Warder, a known drug dealer was mentioned, though at present police are convinced they both are involved. I'm going to check with Kane Harris who's doing an investigative piece related to Warder and the drug trade."

"Who's the other person?"

"Er... a guy called Neville O'Hearne. Again... there was nothing against him. Police see him as a do-gooder who gives ex-cons jobs."

"Do you know anything about a cult? How they could be involved?"

"Why do you ask?" Maddy looked down at her phone and searched for something.

"Mindy mentioned to her mother that Haines was connected with a cult, and they were involved in something illegal."

Maddy was highly alert. Her brown eyes danced as she examined his face. "Like what?"

"She didn't say. But from your reaction, I take it, it means something to you."

"Heard of The Global Church?"

"I'm vaguely aware of them... I mean, a few news snippets."

"Well, they're a rapidly growing movement... definitely not mainstream... I guess you could call them a cult. Anyway, O'Hearne works for them, and by implication... Haines and Warder were members or something like that. So, maybe your wife found out something significant about them... It's worth checking out."

Their meals arrived and, as they ate, Evan told how Brunton thought Mindy had been followed and was upset that the police discounted his interpretation of events. He spoke of his meeting with Belle, the wife of the lawyer that Mindy contacted. He shared that Belle would poke around their holiday house for information and ask the locals about his drowning.

In response to her questions, he explained that the circumstances of Jobe's death were not entirely clear and there was a certain discordant tenor to the story that had Belle doubting the official report.

Maddy typed in names and ideas into her phone as Evan spoke, and she quizzed him on all his enquiries. He related Mindy's elevated anxiety before later feeling that she was on top of the investigation. Evan pointed out how her car was 'conveniently' obscured by a truck at her work car park prior to the brake failure.

The meal ended with them both isolating the key areas of research. Maddy urged him to keep looking for Mindy's files, to speak with Haines if he could, and try and find out what Jobe had been working on. She said she would run down her list of contacts and maybe try and interview O'Hearne.

Maddy noticed the time and quickly gulped the last of her coffee. "Gotta go."

As she rose from her seat, Evan injected one more variable. "Oh, I should tell you. We have a friend on the police force."

"Who?"

"Detective Rowan Rolf." Even as he said it Evan had second thoughts. He should keep some things close to his chest, just in case Maddy turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help.

She grinned, "Wow... he's in Burton's squad. You've got yourself a useful friend there. Catch ya later." She made to open her purse but Evan waved her off assuring her it was his treat.

The amateur investigator watched her disappear out of the lane. He sat quietly finishing off his own drink with leisurely sips while people watching.

On an impulse, from the café, he went to the legal aid offices using the address Maddy had provided. Bart Young wasn't in so he asked for an appointment from the receptionist. Once he'd established that he might be able to assist a client she pencilled his name in a time slot with the proviso that 'Mr Young may choose to cancel'.

It was mid-morning, after a walk in the city gardens, when he called Belle's number and listened to it ring out. On his way to his car he called again and it rang out again. A few minutes later sitting in his car, a chilling thought caused him to try again. Again the phone rang and rang to its expiry point.

He fretted as he drove. What had he gotten Belle into? Did someone hear her asking too many questions? Had she discovered some vital clue only to be confronted and threatened? His imagination ran wild.

Evan took the freeway exit toward Belle's suburb. He pulled over to enter the address into the GPS. Almost immediately after entering the details, his phone rang.

"Hi, it's me... Belle."

"Belle are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine... Sorry about not answering your calls. I left the phone in my car accidentally. I was in a bit of a fluster. Are you busy?"

"No... not really." He wondered why she asked as he said it.

"Why don't you meet me down here?" She gave the address of her beach house. "And I'll explain what happened."

"Okay," he responded. "It'll give us a chance to compare notes." He rejigged his GPS, did a squealing U-turn and re-joined the freeway.

Almost an hour later he pulled up outside a modern, two storey, glass fronted building. A sizeable, covered, second floor veranda gave priority to the bayside aspect of the house. Evan ambled to the front door, appreciating the elevated position and quality of construction. The door flew open.

"Come in Evan." Belle stood there clad in jeans and an oversized white, woolly pullover. Inside, she led him to a sort of den adjoining the kitchen and family room. "Would you like a coffee?"

"Ah... yes thanks." Evan watched as she moved around the kitchen.

"I went up to the shops yesterday to get some groceries and I asked about the drowning. Well most people didn't know much about it, but the proprietor gave me the name of a local who had said he'd seen the water police still talking to people hours after, trying to work out what had happened." She hesitated, "Sugar, milk?"

"Just milk thanks."

"So I found the guy, Cyril Gunston—he's an elderly man... spends most of his time fishing off the jetty. Anyway, he told me that he'd seen Jobe do his swim several times and even said hi occasionally. He was mystified how Jobe could have drowned. He wondered if he'd had a heart attack or something. I asked him if anyone could have seen him struggling. Cyril told me the people that found him floating were on their way out on a pleasure boat to do a bit of evening fishing. They hadn't noticed anything till they saw the body. The only other boat anywhere near where Jobe swam had a couple of scuba divers. Apparently they told the police that they hadn't seen anything unusual."

Belle brought the coffees to the arm chairs and sat down opposite him. "He said he hasn't seen the boat with the divers since... when I said I was hoping to speak with them."

"What are you thinking?" Evan probed as he studied her.

"It just gets murkier doesn't it? I mean, it opens up the possibility that the divers were linked to his death."

"It doesn't bring us much closer to a solution either way."

"But Evan, that's not all. This morning I noticed Jobe's office area had been rifled. His computer is missing and it looked like a number of files have been taken. I'd just come back from making a report to the local police when you called."

"So that's why you were upset?"

"I'd been racing around seeing what else was missing when I remembered my phone. I was going to call you."

He filled Belle in on his morning with Maddy, suggesting that they needed to be careful who they kept informed. He said that he felt he'd made a mistake telling her about Detective Rolf. A statement that instantly had Belle asking who Rolf was and how it was that a 'cute young reporter' could extract information out of him that she couldn't. Evan was confused and embarrassed at the same time, firstly because she intimated that they had established a level of confidentiality and secondly how did she know Maddy was cute?

The discussion turned to what they would do next. It was a lengthy session that called for a second coffee. People were listed, a series of questions provided direction for their enquiries and both committed to visiting law offices to determine whether files were accessible.

As he was leaving, Belle abruptly put her arms around him and clasped onto his shoulders. The hug was brief but intense. "Be careful won't you... I have a bad feeling about this."

"Yeah... you too." Evan replied huskily.

***

It was mid Saturday afternoon when he got home and he toyed with the idea of calling someone from Mindy's work. But Groom and Davis, the law offices where Mindy had worked, would be closed. Should he give one of the senior bosses a call? Of course Evan didn't know the senior partners well but he knew they respected Mindy. Among the half dozen other lawyers there she was the one being considered for promotion to a junior partner. Only Larry had preceded her with that sort of recognition, although he knew Merri ambitiously aspired the role.

Larry. Of course. He should talk to him and get his take on Mindy's cases.

When he spoke with him, Larry was noncommittal with what information he could divulge. He promised he'd look but there were all sorts of ethical and legal strictures that he had to adhere to. Evan didn't say that Merri was much more forthcoming. Perhaps she was bending the rules. Larry said he'd call on Monday night and tell him what he could. The whole feel of the conversation was unfruitful and constrained. Evan thanked him but privately decided to call Merri earlier on Monday to learn what she had discovered.

Restless as he was, and frustrated by the lack of any substantial progress, Evan pushed himself on an afternoon run. When he got back Kate and Laurie, her husband, were waiting for him.

After a quick shower, he emerged to smell food cooking. Her main purpose had been to share a meal with him but she also made a few announcements during the meal. Laurie's uncle was gifting them a holiday so they would be flying up north and wouldn't need the car. Next, she whispered in quiet delight the news that Laurie and she were expecting their first child, still more than six months away, but she couldn't keep it from him any longer. Kate hugged her dad as he stood unable to put into context his appropriate response. She murmured that she had cried when she realised Mum had missed finding out. Evan returned her hug.

"I'm so pleased for you both," he said earnestly. "And, you know, Mum would want you to revel in this child."

Lastly, after wiping a few tears from her eyes, she gave a warning. Avril was coming past the following morning to take him to church. Kate had been instructed that he should be reminded to be ready.

That night Evan reread the first part of the booklet. He figured that the instruction just to stand, may have meant that the Lord would do the fighting. The passage only referred to one type of opposition—fiery darts. And the shield, which was faith in Jesus, would quench those temptations. Just stand. He was stirred by its simplicity. He was reminded that it wasn't about doing, it was about being... being clothed in God's armour.

He went to the next chapter. It expanded specifically the bit about being 'girt with truth'. Surrounded with truth. Again, Evan was in awe at the capacity of scripture to teach him something new from a familiar text. Not only was this about having a right world view, but it was about being real and genuine in his faith and in his life. No pretences, no facades but living an honest, transparent life. He read how different we all would be if we appreciated the truth.

Then the chapter referred to Jesus as the personification of truth. He was the ultimate reality. Through Him one would have a right perspective, a purpose for living and a contentment in life. Evan knew that 'truth', for him, was predominantly a cerebral concept and not enacted in his life. It wasn't sufficiently a heart experience.

His last thoughts were of Mindy. She would have exemplified the grace that encouraged greater commitment rather than the cynic who decried any striving as pointless. He remembered her quaint analogy: 'It was like going on a car journey. There was not much difference in the effort to sit in a car or drive it. Just by putting your foot down something else provided the power. But at least you got somewhere if you made the effort to use the power.'

Chapter 6

Sunday

His phone rang at eight the next morning. "I'm on my way to pick you up for church," announced Avril, "... unless you want to drive yourself."

"No... that's fine," he mumbled tiredly. "I'll be ready." He acquiesced because he knew that Avril had decided that his self-imposed exile was over. He hoped having her with him would shield him from excessive doting or misguided prying.

The talk on the way over to the church was mainly about Avril's other children—Mindy's two brothers and two sisters—and the different ways they had responded to Mindy's death. It was awkward because Evan was in no mood to be analysed and he had made it clear that he didn't want to be included in their 'group therapy sessions' as he called them. Avril had told him it was about family and support, not about baring your soul. He needed to know that his extended family was there for him.

Outside the large contemporary auditorium only one well-wisher got through with 'how was he coping' when Avril was distracted by the pastor. He merely nodded and smiled as his voice deserted him, a lump catching in his throat.

Inside, Amy and Fiona, his sisters in law—Mindy's sisters, gave him affectionate hugs. He quavered with emotion, convinced the excursion was premature. One more compassionate overture and he would become a blubbering mess.

Avril manoeuvred him into a row where her sons and their families were sitting. Both Theo and Murray were low-key in their greeting; taut smiles, facial affirmation and minimal hellos struck a chord with his own cloaked feelings. Their respective wives, Darylyn and Lucy gave sincere gestures of acknowledgement—a tilt of the head and a slow blink. He was grateful of the passive greeting. Probably, they were all in attendance from other churches on his behalf.

Thankfully, the meeting commenced soon after and he wasn't required to acknowledge more than two or three concerned congregation members that gave him a pat or a sympathetic smile. The service itself was a blur because Mindy's absence was at the forefront of his conscious thought. He recalled how she would sit with different people in different places, sometimes almost dragging him to the front. It had grated with him sometimes, but now it was her quirkiness, her unpredictability, that he missed.

After the meeting, he eventually escaped with Theo. Both were averse to cordial greetings and exchanging pleasantries and, even though a few parishioners got through the barrier of their 'earnest conversation' about trivialities, they negotiated the well-wishers with minimal comments of gratitude. Evan was relieved that Theo had an excuse to leave. His wife, Darylyn, and his two children stayed on so he could go off and bond with Evan. The rest of the family would meet at Avril's for lunch.

On the drive home neither Theo nor Evan were particularly chatty. Apart from agreeing that it was hard to resume 'life' and that they missed Mindy, very little was said. Theo asked about his plans and he blankly responded that he didn't really have any yet.

When they arrived there was a white Lexus parked out the front. Belle got out of the car as they pulled up. Theo gave a quizzical look across to Evan. Evan, in turn, pulled an anguished face.

"I'll tell you all about it sometime Theo. Except to say... she's going to help me find out why Mindy was killed and... hopefully, who's responsible."

Theo shrugged, but Evan detected a hint of scorn in his expression as he declared. "None of my business... really."

"No... seriously, her husband was—"

Theo cut him off, "You don't have to explain... you're an adult. It's got nothing to do with me." He looked across at Evan and virtually dismissed him. "Look, I have to go... meeting at Mum's for lunch."

Evan got out of the car in two minds. One was to hold up his brother in law and give a detailed version of what had been happening since Wednesday. The other was to fuel the perceived impropriety by greeting Belle with a hug. He did neither of course. Instead, he watched Theo drive away convinced that he would say something mildly provocative about his brother-in-law's unseemly behaviour.

"Who was that?" Belle asked as she walked toward him.

"My brother in law."

"It looked like he'd just sucked a lemon the way he went past."

"He disapproves."

"Of what?"

"An attractive woman meets me at my home... it's palpably salacious." Belle was a little taken aback by Evan's off hand compliment. She stopped and tilted her head, unable to prevent a little smile playing on her lips.

Evan abruptly became aware of what he'd said while caught up in a rush of self-righteous candour. He stood stock still momentarily, closed his eyes to summon some miraculous linguistic solution to his discomfiture. "I mean... well... until Wednesday I'd hardly surfaced... coming to terms with... with... well anyway, Theo will think it was all a sham... having seen you here waiting for me... not that I care what they think."

Belle smiled warmly. She identified to some degree with him having been accused by her daughters of a lack of mourning for their father because she returned to work after a couple of weeks.

Feeling that he hadn't explained himself, Evan braved another attempt with a different tack. "Anyway, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say that you're attractive." His voice dropped off as he realised he was getting in deeper than the original faux pas. He changed the subject. "So why are you here?"

Her face showed triumph and excitement as the impetus of her thoughts preceded her words. "After church this morning I went back to the beach house. I remembered that Jobe kept some of his important private papers in a wall safe." The green in her eyes lit up with vivaciousness. Her enthusiasm animated her whole being with a youthful vigour.

He became conscious of the incongruity of the scene—a lively kerbside conference about confidential matters. "Er... why don't we go inside... I'll make you one of my famous coffees."

Sipping a foamy brew, Belle described how she found documents in their wall safe. Many of them were about the Global Church and dossiers on some of the central figures. Bayley Burnley, Jair Helios and Neville O'Hearne were featured along with sketchy notes on numerous peripheral members of the church. She also made mention of an address book that contained informants, expert witnesses and contacts he needed to keep secret.

She pulled the small book out of her handbag. "In here, Jobe has listed a narcotics squad detective, Greg Miles. I gave him a call." She beamed teasingly with a tight lipped grin, aware that Evan was impatiently waiting for her to speak.

"Okay...so what did you find out?"

"I'm sure he's the contact that your wife mentioned. When I spoke to him he didn't want to talk on the phone... I asked if he passed information to Jobe, but he said it was unsafe to say anything. I believe he knows how deep corruption is embedded in the force. 'Don't say anymore'. Those were his words. He said he wanted to meet with us this afternoon."

The university philosophy professor stared at her as if her contention was invalid. The machinations people were capable of had frozen his visage and transported him into a world of 'what ifs'. "Are you okay?" Belle asked.

"Have you thought about the ramifications of meeting with this detective?" Evan leaned forward. He gave her a squinty, piercing look. "Jobe contacts this guy and Jobe dies mysteriously. There's a possibility that he's the cause. He might just want to stop us."

Belle was wide eyed. "What do you suggest?" She was examining him close up, watching him mull over something internally.

"What if we ask another detective, from a different squad, to monitor the meeting?"

"Do you know someone you can trust?"

"Detective Rolf, from the Homicide Squad. He introduced himself to me when I was telling Marsden about my concerns... said he'd help out if we needed him."

"That's right, you mentioned him the other day. What's to say he isn't bad? I mean it's a bit unusual him getting involved out of the blue isn't it?"

He weighed his words. "You're right to be suspicious, but I have to be honest. If I had to choose between Rolf and Marsden... well... Rolf just seemed much more genuine. Besides that... he got a vote of confidence from Maddy Quinn... you know that reporter I told you about." Belle dipped her head in acknowledgement and a small knowing smile crept onto her face.

Evan made some toasted sandwiches and for the next hour the two of them mapped out a plan of action, made phone calls and said a prayer.

***

Once Detective Rolf had heard Evan's story of the expanding interconnected events, he said he would join them, even though it was Sunday! His proviso meant that Evan and Belle relinquished some control. Rolf insisted that he sit in on the meeting with Miles rather than watch from a distance. He explained he wouldn't 'spy' on a fellow detective and what he knew of Detective Miles indicated that he was a trustworthy and dedicated police officer.

When Miles heard of Rolf's involvement he was likewise upbeat and a bit more relaxed. He reasoned that anyone from Adrian Burton's crew would be reputable and reliable. So it seemed confirmation that both detectives—Rowan Rolf and Greg Miles—would be valuable allies.

***

There were four of them sitting in the café section of a fast food restaurant. Following introductions and preliminary to hearing Greg Miles' contribution, Belle and Evan tag teamed their story, revealing how it coalesced and that a solution appeared to be reliant on understanding the link between the two lawyers. They hoped Greg could provide that link, or at least explain why Mindy was interested in his information.

Greg Miles was stocky, the sort of chunky build that oozed tough, streetwise, uncompromising cop. All eyes turned to him to hear what he had to say.

"Have you heard of Jack Warder?" He scanned the other three.

Evan intervened, "Maddy told me he's in the drug trade. Police think he's Haines' accomplice."

Miles' scowled, "Okay, so you know more than you've told me. Well... Warder was Reagan's... your husband's..." he indicated Belle with a head tilt, "... client. Jobe was compiling evidence for a guilty plea with mitigating circumstances... when... when he contacted me. He said there were some discrepancies and asked if I could do a bit of snooping on the quiet."

"What were the discrepancies?" interjected Belle.

Miles held up both hands signalling he didn't want to be interrupted. "Apparently, Warder had told him the cocaine delivery was ten pounds, but the charge sheet recorded a haul of two pounds. Later Warder changed his story to two pounds and Jobe suggested somebody had coached him about what to say.

At one point he was dumping a pound in Haines' car... then later the story was they were in it together and Haines was the distributor. That wasn't the only thing that worried Reagan... someone was funding Warder's defence. He was told that money was not a problem. Jobe had his suspicions that O'Hearne and the Global Church were behind it since he was offering to 'put in a good word' for Warder on the grounds that they were rehabilitating him."

"Let's get this straight." It was Rolf speaking. "Ten pounds becomes two pounds... and setting up Haines becomes Haines is the supplier. It sounds like Mindy was right. Her client was being set up. Maybe she found out why."

It was all going a bit quick for Evan. "Wait a minute. What happened then? Did you find anything?"

Miles chewed on some fries as he contemplated what to say next. "Let's say, you have to be careful how you ask about details of someone else's bust. There are some hints that the haul was bigger than two pounds. The suggestion from the guy at evidence impound was that maybe most of the stuff had already been sold... I didn't push it. Anyway, Reagan told me he contacted Haines's lawyer—inappropriate as that may seem—and found that her defence was basically in line with his first impression of what had happened. They were claiming Haines was set up."

There were some knowing looks around as the implications of what was being said sank in. "So... what you're saying is that there may be corrupt police in the drug squad?"

"Wait... wait... not so fast. Don't jump to conclusions." It was clear Miles was organising his thoughts. "At present... all we can say... is there appear to be 'irregularities' in the evidence... in the accounts... that need to be clarified."

"Do you have some likelies?" Rolf had eyebrows raised as if he were communicating more than what he was saying. Miles reciprocated with a comprehending head movement.

"There is something more... A reporter... Kane... er... something. It seems he's been digging up a story about illicit drugs... both Reagan and Bowles..." He paused again and acknowledged Belle and Evan. "... Your partners... were working with him, sharing information. It might be an idea to chase up what he's got on all this."

Evan was checking his phone notes. "Kane Harris. Maddy was saying she was going to talk to him too."

"Aren't they with different papers?" It was Rolf looking slightly bemused.

Miles concurred, "Yeah, but I think they're friends... or maybe honour between enemies... I don't know... I have seen them in the court press box together."

"So, where do we stand with Haines and Warder? Can we talk with them?" Evan sounded impatient and a touch irritated.

"Well, Haines' lawyer is changing his plea to guilty for a reduced sentence. Though, from what I hear, Haines himself wasn't very pleased. He's awaiting trial. Warder is claiming he was tricked, saying Haines set him up. He's tried to get out on bail. There's no way he'll get off because he's a repeat offender. I doubt we'll get to see either of them."

Belle piped up. "Who's Warder's lawyer now?"

"Er... from the same firm... a guy called Burlington."

"Kevin Burlington!" exclaimed Belle. "There must be some money behind Warder. Jobe used to say that Burlington billed everything, and then some."

"With client's privilege, it doesn't matter who the lawyers are, I doubt we'll get anything out of them," observed Rolf. He looked at his phone to read a text message and then declared, "I need to get a move on. So, what are our plans from here?"

Over the next ten minutes they identified where to head, who to speak to and the key questions that had to be answered. Evan would check with Merri and Maddy and also contact Larry Black—he explained that he was one of the other lawyers in the small firm. Because Belle was working most of the week she limited herself to doing some background research of the Global Church. Her rationale was based on the fact that Jobe had been gathering data on the group and the church's interest in Warder was considered to be particularly benevolent.

Rolf said he had some things he would look into but was oddly cagy about what he proposed to do. Greg seemed to take his cue from Rolf and said there were some things he could check out too. The young homicide detective then made a point of warning them off the main players. He calmly stated that if two people had been killed to keep some crime secret then it was too dangerous to waltz in and start asking questions. From the nuances in the way Rolf and Miles glanced at each other, Evan gathered some private accord between the two had been reached that police business was police business.

The two law officers left and Evan and Belle sat drinking coffee and evaluating what had just happened. "Did you get the impression that Rolf is keeping something to himself... or maybe... between him and Miles?"

"I think the phrase is, 'leave it to the professionals'," commented Evan emphatically.

"Well, that's not stopping me from finding out the truth," she murmured distractedly, gazing into Evan's face as if she was seeing a new facet to his personality. She smiled and added drily, "And I bet you'll keep snooping around too."

"Well, be careful. Rolf is right. If there is a plot then these people are callous killers."

"Maybe we should work together... you know... safety in numbers?"

"Maybe," replied Evan enigmatically. There was a torsion in his stomach. He had coffees with Mindy on a regular basis. Now here he was with Belle, again. Was it possible for Belle to replace Mindy? No one could replace Mindy, could they? He struggled with the proposition that meaningful life could actually proceed, post what he had considered his emotional death.

"I've said something wrong, haven't I?" She touched his hand with concern. Evan shook his head. He knew the problem was, not that she'd done something wrong but that she was too nice, too beguiling. She seemed to do everything right.

"Belle, I don't think I'm ready for this. I... I'll give you a call." He got up turned and walked away as if he'd heard an evacuation alarm. He left her sitting there replaying what had happened.

It occurred to him as he sat in his car that he was still fragile—still trying to come to terms with his devastating loss. It was different with Belle. She had told him about her pain and sorrow, but she and Jobe had been estranged for over a year. She had already been contemplating the possibility that there might be someone else in her life. Jobe had filed for divorce and had engaged in a singles social life. Maybe that's why she had been familiar with Evan.

The night was spent reviewing all he had learnt. He tried to grasp the whole gamut of facts as part of the same plot. There were two clients involved in drugs; the possibility of somebody stealing part of the drug haul; two lawyers that may have been killed because they shared the same information and a detective on the drug squad who had suspicions, albeit kept to himself, of police that might be involved. He gave up.

It was all too hypothetical so he went to bed with a milk drink and resumed studying Mindy's booklet. The section was about the Breastplate of Righteousness. Again, the author reiterated that Jesus provided it. It was essential for the protection of the Christian. Just as the Roman breastplate would shield the heart and lungs, so Christ's Righteousness made the Christian safe from the deadly accusatory arrows of Satan. We are protected from any fatal blow. Evan read how there was no condemnation, Christ's Righteousness was now ours. It was a powerful defence—there was no chink in His perfection.

The writer reminded readers that every aspect of the armour needed to be put on. Omit one thing and pay the price of having your defences weakened. Also, in one sense you stood alone, empowered by Christ, not reliant on what others think or do. You with Christ is enough. But imagine the encouragement to know that others, similarly equipped, are standing alongside resisting the enemy.

Unavoidably, Evan again thought of Mindy. The empty bed beside him was a constant reminder of his aloneness. How could someone so caring and good be gone while he was still alive? She had worn the armour so much better than he. She had taken her stand while he had skulked about on the fringes and put forward moral rationales for Christian ethics as if the Christian faith needed his philosophical justification. Mindy had lived showing that 'Christ-life' was the truth and she relied on the knowledge that Christ was righteousness Himself.

Chapter 7

Monday

Evan picked up the phone.

"Where've you been?" The voice was aggravated, anxious. He couldn't identify the caller. "Don't you answer your cell phone?" Now it was critical.

"Sorry, who is this?" His response was curt.

"It's Maddy Quinn. I've been ringing you since seven this morning."

Evan felt like saying 'don't get hysterical', but instead kept an even tone. "I've been on a run and then showered... both places I don't take my phone. What's the problem?"

"Kane Harris is dead. I tried to ring him... this morning and... and got the news." Her words were broken with emotion.

"How? What happened?"

Maddy ignored him and continued on, sounding even more agitated than before. "Do you know what this means? Three people... Kane, Jobe and Mindy... who are in some way linked to investigating this drug raid... are now dead! This must be some kind of major conspiracy. I can't believe they killed Kane." She ended with a half sob.

Evan waited a moment, grappling with his own heartache and the frailty of Maddy's emotions. "So... who killed him?"

"Police don't know, but one news source has said that it may be a gangland hit in retribution for some of his expose` crime reports. But Evan... you and I know... this is looking more and more like some orchestrated silencing."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'd rather not say... And whatever we do it has to be undercover... I mean really discreet... no one can know that we're asking questions. It's too risky!"

"What about Rolf and Miles?"

"I think we can trust them... but be careful how you contact them."

Evan had a hunch that she was also suspicious of crooked cops, and she hadn't heard what Miles had said about missing drugs or seen the looks of mutual understanding between the two detectives when the point was obliquely mooted. "Are you all right?" It was a belated attempt to acknowledge the hurt in her tone.

"We were rivals... but... we were... friends. He... he..." There was a gasping sigh as she kept her emotions in check. Evan gauged that what was left unsaid probably described the relationship more eloquently. "Anyway, we have to find out who's behind all this... I'll get back to you... And, keep your phone on you." The last was in the form of a reprimand.

***

The call to Merri had been disappointing. She had accessed the on-line files and had found only archives of previous clients and cases Mindy had done. There was some reference to Haines but nothing had been written up. Merri suggested Mindy hadn't gotten around to it or had been too busy. Whatever the reason, there was nothing about the case apart from the beginnings of a file.

On a brighter note, she said Haines' lawyer was happy to talk to them, though since they couldn't offer him anything, such a meeting offered scant hope. When he'd hung up, He stared into space. Evan wondered what had troubled Mindy so much that she hadn't kept up to date with her notes. Perhaps she'd worked on comprehensive documents on her laptop away from internet access and had omitted uploading a backup. But it was inconsistent with her fastidious nature, and it niggled at Evan.

Belle was at work so there was no point in annoying her. Larry would call at night but there was little promise of helpful input from him, given his reluctance to be anything but strictly in line with procedures. He castigated himself for not getting phone contact details of Haines' new lawyer, Bart Young. It might have been possible to give him a call and find out if he could talk with his client. Maybe if he could speak to Haines directly, he would learn what he'd told Mindy. Evan resolved to ask Larry first thing when he called.

Neither Rolf nor Miles would appreciate being harassed for information, though he was keen to get Rolf's take on Kane Harris' murder. The fact was, he was desperate to make some inroads into the puzzling malaise that was spreading like an ominous black fog.

He went to his computer and consulted his list of information. Using a sheet of printer paper he tried constructing a diagram. Central to the diagram were the three victims. Each had a different cause of death but there were several connections—clients charged with drug offences, communication between them, references to the Global Church, missing records.

Evan put circles for the murderers and wrote the minimal points he knew of each. He needed to know much more about the man in the dark clothing with the dark car, about the divers seen in the vicinity of Jobe's drowning and of the killer who displayed a level of experience or expertise in the murder of Kane Harris. There were names placed around the periphery with fewer connections. Amongst those were Bevan Haines, Jack Warder and Neville O'Hearne, with police and reporters around the edge—Greg Miles, Malcolm Marsden, Rowan Rolf and Maddy Quinn.

In a separate box in the corner Evan listed the lawyers: Meredith, Larry, Kevin Burlington and a question mark next to Bart Young's name. It was looking complex but it meant that commonalities would be highlighted and it may indicate what the driving force behind the crimes might be.

He wrote down some institutions. The police force and the Global Church had several links, the law firms had a few while the respective newspapers had singular connections to the reporters. Already Evan felt more comfortable about where the emphasis of the investigation should be.

***

A quick scan at his phone map, a longer sip from his take out cappuccino and an appreciative sigh at the nimble response of the BMW preceded the jingle of his phone.

"Yes," he answered abruptly using the hands-free utility of the instrument.

"It's me... Belle. I'm just on a short lunch break and thought I'd give you a call. What are you up to?"

'Thought I'd look around the Global Church... see what it's about... maybe chat with O'Hearne."

"I looked it up... did I tell you? It's led by Bailey Burnley."

"I recall the name."

"Well he does a lot of the preaching and up front stuff and another guy, Jair Helios, does the rest, which includes histrionics on the internet."

She went on to elaborate on her research. She told him that Helios was a malevolent false prophet who mixed part truths with wholesale lies and duped impressionable followers who wanted any alternative to a sovereign God. She said, with a degree of disdain, that his anti-monotheistic prattle conjured an imaginary malicious God created by the church while he advocated a Gaia-esque pantheism where everyone is god of their own lives and integral to a universal organism. Privately, Belle thought he was an atheist who was masquerading as a spiritual guru to engage new age sensibilities. His rants on internet videos seemed to draw the weak minded who were too lazy to check out his so-called 'historical facts'. With his largely inaccurate appraisal of history and scripture he belligerently rejected the claims of Christianity, magnifying its historic aberrations and departures from the truth as typical of the whole."

Before Belle rang off, she warned him to be careful. Evan assured her that he wouldn't use his name and just make like an interested party checking out their facilities.

***

When eventually he drew into the car park, he opened an internet site that Belle had passed on. Firstly, he saw a slick, suave communicator spouting on about self-actualisation. Then he saw a long haired, hippy styled, somewhat beady eyed, humanist guru chant abuse at mainstream Christianity and Judaism. At the same time the quasi-prophet referred to the teachings of their founder revealing that he was wholly in league with Bailey Burnley in his pseudo-intellectual, new-age propaganda.

Once out of the car, Evan took in his surroundings. The large car park skirted the central, multi hall building. Patches of shrubs and hedges provided borders between car park sections and screened the highway. There were a number of cars parked near the entry indicating that it operated even on a week day. The building itself was salmon in colour and had tall, oriental looking minarets on the large, impressive central entry and smaller, rounded turrets on the corners of the main frontage.

Inside the main foyer it was light and bright with angular, geometric panes of stained glass in floor to ceiling rectangular windows on either side of the big doors. He wandered around looking at notice boards that advertised meditation sessions, the value of unburdening and confession, how to maximise your genetic strengths to advantage and how financial membership released you from the unfulfilling cycle of meaningless materialism. He couldn't help smiling at the presence of a 'Resource shop' on the right of the entry. The foyer also had a coffee shop and a library on the right and offices, storage rooms and toilets on the left.

He stood and watched Helios, on a video screen, denounce the myths of conservative Christendom as an establishment plot that hindered every individual from enjoying the right to do what they wanted, as long as they 'didn't hurt anyone else'. There was an excerpt from, what he assumed was, a Burnley sermon. Elegantly attired in a light coloured suit and almost crooning his words with a hypnotic lilt, Burnley coaxed from the screen. He adjured the listener to look within. You were in charge of yourself. Your destiny, your future were in your hands. What you decided, you could do. When you teamed up with the church, like a giant organism it could change the world. His closing words were an attack on conscience itself— "Don't feel guilt or shame or regret, revel in who you are and in the pleasures that controlling moralisers want to deprive you of. The universe is ours. The globe is ours. We are the Global Church."

Evan was just about to go toward the main auditorium when a fair haired, suited man with Hollywood good looks came out of one of the offices.

"Can I help?"

"Er...I don't know. I saw your big sign, 'Know yourself, learn your purpose, achieve your potential.' So, I thought I'd come in and see what it's all about." Evan gave him a winning smile.

"Right... well I'm Denny." He extended his hand and Evan took it, receiving a vigorous handshake. "Denny Burns. I work in the office and do a bit of meet and greet." He smiled broadly, flashing his perfect white dental arrangement.

"Nice to meet you Denny. People call me DB." He was purposely referring to the name his philosophy students called him, not wanting to disclose his real name.

"So... DB... same as my initials. Are they your initials?"

"No... not really... it's just a term of endearment I guess." Though, in truth, he was aware the letters stood for Doctor Bowles. "This place is very impressive. What do you believe?"

"Ah... belief... we're not so quaint as the conservative churches. We deal with facts. For a fact we'll make you happier, healthier, smarter and more successful. We have a gym, combat classes, and personal development in assertiveness, positive thinking, business skills and communication."

"What... as part of the church?"

"That's right. For a fee to cover costs we'll make sure you're more successful in business, in relationships... in life."

Evan had a crawling feeling up his spine as if he were talking to a snake oil salesman. Yet Denny spoke as if he believed it. Somehow he'd become an acolyte, mesmerised by the sermons of deviants who preached what people wanted to hear.

"I'll show you around if you like." He offered, and Evan readily took up his suggestion.

They entered the huge auditorium. It had two levels of seating. The upper level went a third of the way to the large theatre like stage and fringed the sides with five rows of seats and thirty rows at the rear, while the ground floor level had a wide central aisle and narrower aisles on either side separating the seating sections. A transverse walkway divided the front from the back and provided access to double door side exits. Evan estimated the hall would accommodate at least two thousand members easily.

Six massive, ornate pillars supported, what he imagined were, huge cross girders concealed above a cream ceiling dotted with a myriad of downlights. Near the front and high near the ceiling, a width spanning metal framework was festooned with an incredible variety of spotlights, projectors and speaker stacks. Denny chuckled at Evan's studied admiration.

"We can produce anything from a full-blown stage show or movie presentation to a rock concert, but mostly people come to hear Bailey. Come on... I'll show you the rest of the place." He sounded like a little boy with a new toy.

Leaving the auditorium to the left, a corridor led to a connected building. They walked into the gym. It was a hive of activity with exercise machines, weights, an aerobics group danced to blaring music and the shouts of an instructor, and several pairs of combatants tussled in a corner with mats and a ring for martial arts.

From there they passed through a double doorway into a steamy, chlorinated heated pool. Spas at the far end bubbled away as a number of young women luxuriated in the foaming bath. Behind the spas there were doors labelled sauna and massage.

"It's like a health club," commented Evan as they bypassed change rooms.

"Oh, it's much more than that, and premium members get access to all the facilities."

"How do you become a premium member?" Evan tried to appear genuinely interested.

"Well... you have to be approved first and then there's an annual subscription... less than two thousand dollars." Trying to sound like it was a bargain, he went on. "I'll show you what else you get for that." Evan followed him out another door into a rear foyer. They went up a spiral staircase and headed back toward the main auditorium. On the way Evan passed racquet ball courts, table tennis, billiards, meditation rooms and a lounge area with a bar.

From there they traversed parallel to the rear of the main building, along a spacious passage, to a twin two storey complex angled on the right side. The upper floor on this side housed classrooms, computer facilities, video games and meeting rooms. Downstairs was a large restaurant connected to a kitchen that extended all the way to the main foyer. On the left there was the resource centre and coffee shop he'd seen earlier.

Denny indicated the offices. "I'll see if Neville is in. He is the administrator ... my boss." Approaching across the large open space, Evan could see how the congregation could access serveries in the kitchen and urns along the wall. He looked across at the banks of labelled boxes used for communications. Only about two thirds were in use.

Apart from the large front office where two secretaries were at work, the offices seemed to get bigger as they headed away from the front entry. Just as Denny was about to knock on the third last door it opened and a tall, well-dressed man hurriedly stepped out. He was tanned, slightly greying at the temples and stood looking at them with a stern expression and steely blue eyes.

"Ah...Mr O'Hearne, I'm just showing DB around. He's quite interested in our mission."

"Well... DB is it? You're certainly welcome to join us. I'm sure Denny will give you all the forms... I'm sorry, I can't stay... I'm in a bit of a rush." He gave Evan a little double take as if for a moment there was something familiar about him. He glanced down at his watch. He was obviously compelled by a deadline. "I must go... hope to see you again." He manufactured a parting smile and then strode off.

Evan reacted in a similar vein, as if he'd just remembered an urgent appointment. He grasped the forms that Denny insisted on giving him. He rapidly exited and almost jogged to his car. O'Hearne had driven his late model Porsche to the driveway entrance abutting the highway. He was waiting for a break in the traffic as Evan slowly headed toward the driveway.

Immediately the Porsche pulled onto the highway, Evan accelerated in pursuit, pulling dangerously in front of an approaching truck. The BMW leapt forward as he over compensated in his effort to escape the looming truck.

Trailing O'Hearne, a few cars back, Evan wondered what it was that had instigated this chase. Was he curious about the cause for O'Hearne's haste? The Porsche was weaving through the traffic trying to coax cars ahead of him to speed up or change lanes. Evan's tailing BMW was more economical in its movements, changing lanes only when there was an obvious impediment to his progress.

His course, heading east, was in the general return direction to his place, so Evan was not overly concerned about his impulsive decision to follow. Unexpectedly, O'Hearne veered off to a service road which accessed a sprawling municipal park. Evan slowly eased the BMW onto the car park drive, ensuring he was barely within sight of the Porsche.

O'Hearne parked midway along the second set of parking bays. Evan pulled his car into the first available spot conveniently obscured by a television repair van. The driver sat gazing over the tranquil lake scene, munching on an oversized sandwich. Evan started feeling more and more like a stalker. His quarry was probably keeping a lunch date or following some daily exercise break. Getting out and stepping to the front of his car he spotted the church administrator following a downhill path. Evan wandered casually toward the lake. He kept O'Hearne in view walking in the distance beyond numerous scattered trees.

His quarry then marched with clear intent toward a boardwalk on the lake. Evan was about to turn back, having determined that O'Hearne's exercise regimen was of no interest to him, when a tall, thin, angular man rose off a lakeside bench and greeted the church official. There was no way of knowing, from the distance he was watching, what the meeting was all about. It was clear, however, that the business was quickly entered into. There were furtive glances about and, to Evan, the whole event smacked of secrecy.

It was at that point that he switched his focus. A new player and new questions had piqued his curiosity. This was the first man that actually looked menacing. O'Hearne appeared apologetic, almost harassed, as he waved his hands about. The other just bobbed his head minimally; he appeared unimpressed by the discourse of the churchman. O'Hearne shrugged, turned about and walked rapidly back to his car. The tall man faced the lake and studied a family of ducks swimming nearby. After a minute, he picked up an overcoat off the railing, carried it over his arm and sauntered up to the car park.

Evan quickly returned to his car and pulled out sufficiently to monitor the parking area he was in and the next two along. In the second parking bay, about one hundred metres distant, he saw his new target get into an SUV. As he headed for a farther exit, Evan drove slowly to the one nearest to him. The two vehicles turned out onto the service road at the same time. From there it was relatively simple for Evan to keep track of the SUV since the driver drove as he walked—unhurriedly. In no time they had diverted onto a route that took them toward the city.

After fifteen minutes, the cars left the main thoroughfare and jostled through a local shopping precinct. The clutter of traffic and pedestrians conspired to slow Evan and he lost sight of the SUV. Extricating himself from the jam caused by two uncooperative drivers pulling into the stream of cars at the same time, Evan sped up straining his vision on the road ahead. Too late, he noticed the driver getting out in one of the driveways of a row of old terrace houses.

Finding nowhere to pull over, and being stuck in a line of cars stopped at lights, Evan watched the tall man speaking to a smaller, agitated man who had stomped out from the house. Fortunately, he was positioned at a break in the conifers surrounding the porch of the house. The younger man had a shorn head, sleeveless tee shirt and black jeans in the mould of a juvenile ruffian. Like 'the Mouse that Roared' he waved his finger threateningly at the man a head taller than he. The visitor slowly reached into a pocket of his overcoat. The complainant abruptly backed off and raised both hands protectively as his words similarly appeared to take retrograde steps.

Evan was just about to blast his horn when a wad of money appeared in the hand withdrawn from the coat pocket. Whether it was a conciliatory gesture or compensation or a bribe, each notion occurring to Evan in turn, the cash seemed to placate his anger. The smaller man, emboldened, quickly assessed his payment and then looked like he spoke sternly, with a frown, trying to make a point. Evan wished he could lip read. The tall man had a grim expression and nodded his head appearing to consent the point. Evan couldn't help thinking the small man might be pushing his luck.

A blast from behind made Evan jump. The lights had changed and he had been holding traffic up. He quickly drove off, trying to keep a low profile, aware that heads were turned in his direction. Without a backward look, he moved with the accelerating file of cars and mentally tried to ascertain how to add these disparate events to his growing collage of questionable happenings.

He had been travelling for five minutes when he realised he would have to take a right turn soon or get caught up in congested inner suburban traffic. The journey back to his place was one of introspection. 'Was that all it took?' he wondered. A cause, a distraction, a conundrum that bore into his soul and he was consumed by it. So much so that Mindy's passing had, briefly, faded into the background. How could the love of his life be so heedlessly consigned to the past by the present, by the exigencies of the immediate?

"Sorry Mindy," he whispered. And even as he did, he knew that it was a futile gesture. Somehow, sometime he had to come to grips with her passing. His mind swirled around memories of happier times. What had Don said over the phone? He needed to celebrate the time they had together. Don had suggested that Mindy would want him to get on with life, 'over time become a blessing to other people' he had said quoting one of Mindy's favourite aphorisms. He shook his head. They were just platitudes. Her absence, he was sure, would always come back to unravel him. Whether it was the empty bed, the vacant place at the meal table or sitting in whatever random seat at church.

Evan was surprised to see where he had gotten to during his ruminations. It only took another ten minutes to get home. It was no joy to see the modern house they had created together knowing the emptiness inside. He emitted a sigh as he closed the door behind him. His mind was directed by his growling stomach to producing some physical sustenance. It dawned on him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

A loud rap on the front door sent shivers up his spine. Had he been seen? Did someone follow him? A glance out the peep hole eased his fears. Larry stood on the entry decking, looking concerned, intense. Evan threw the door open.

"Larry! I thought you were going to call."

The normally dapper lawyer was in disarray and out of context with his usual high standards. His tie was askew, his vest was unbuttoned and there were dusty scuffs on the knees of his pinstripe trousers. His bottom lip trembled slightly and he fidgeted with his coat cuff. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, sure... sorry... you look—" Evan searched for a tactful phrase.

"A mess... I know... but something's happened and... in all honesty... I'm absolutely rattled by it."

Larry bustled in and waited for Evan to close the door. Evan shepherded the beleaguered man into the dining area adjacent to the kitchen. He fixed them both drinks and tried to ease his mood with small talk about his family. Evan sat opposite him.

"How's Ellen?"

The lawyer wasn't to be deterred by pleasantries. He held up a hand like a traffic policeman and tried to gather his thoughts. Evan gave him a prompt.

"Okay, what's the problem?"

Larry began his story, rapid fire. "You know you asked me to check Mindy's files...Well I went to her web files. There was the thoroughly organised collection of past cases one would expect from Mindy. Then I looked at her Haines' case. There was her initial briefing with Bevan and her record of his past criminal history. I couldn't find her plea intent, trial strategy or any record of evidence or interviews. It looked like Mindy hadn't updated a backup because I was sure, after all the time she had spent on the case that there would be reams of documentation. So I checked the date of last upload. The file was modified a few days ago. Someone's tampered or hacked into her files." His anxiety was apparent. "If they can do it to her files they can do it to mine. That's privileged information!"

Evan broke in. "So what are you saying? Someone's hacking into the law firm files?"

"Or...someone in the firm—one of my colleagues—has interfered with...deleted files." The denunciation of a co-worker was a surprise. Evan tried to apply some clear thinking. "Maybe someone just accessed a file or checked something or..." He petered out as Larry vigorously shook his head. He held up a data key. "What's that?" asked Evan.

"Mindy told me she was keeping sensitive data on a memory stick and showed me where she kept it. She told me it was just in case... and I never asked her 'in case what', I thought she was simply being melodramatic. What I found on this is shattering!"

The data key was inserted in Evan's laptop computer. Anyone viewing the ensuing conversation from a distance would have seen troubled countenances, slowly shaking heads and pointing with disbelief, and they would have heard occasional loud outbursts of incredulity and angry invective aimed at one or other of the villains identified by Mindy's investigation.

"What are we going to do?" It was Larry, clearly upset by the conspiracies being described and the connivance of senior officials being intimated by Mindy's brief.

"We need to meet with the others and get them up to speed." Evan's voice sounded grave.

"What others?" Larry's response was alarmed. "We have to be careful. If Mindy was right, important people, powerful people are mixed up in this."

"I know Larry... I think I can trust these people. They all have... I don't know... a cause... a reason to be on our side."

He went through and attempted to rationalise the perceived integrity of their growing band. A doctor whose husband, a lawyer, died at a similar time to Mindy and probably for a similar reason. An investigative reporter, now infuriated by the death of a colleague and convinced of an evil scheme behind the deaths. Two policemen, one suspicious of colleagues in the drug squad and one unconvinced by the progress or competence of fellow detectives investigating the homicides.

Larry still remained cautious. The more people who knew of their scrutiny on the Global Church and the drug squad the more likely it would be that they would be tracked down. He insisted that no one else be brought in.

Chapter 8

Monday night.

The six of them sat around Evan's kitchen table. He had ordered pizza and was making brewed coffees on his machine—a gathering of people at his place was another first since Mindy. He wondered to himself, as he frothed the milk, if he should date his life SM and gauge the transition to normalcy. He gazed at the unusual gathering. Belle had them introducing themselves, establishing their bona fides and explaining how each of them had become entangled in Evan's crusade.

The pizzas had arrived and Evan was placing the last of the coffees down when he asked the young reporter to bring them up to date. Maddy told how she had linked with an underworld informant. This man knew the drug trade, the gangs who drove much of the illicit drug traffic and criminals who had mob connections. He was adamant that Kane Harris' killer was not a mob hitman. His connections were a bit in the dark. Not only that, they were displeased that there was competition on the scene—another source of cocaine driving their prices down.

Then Rolf confirmed that the killer, by all accounts, was a pro and Miles supported the contention that the drug trade was in a spin with a new supplier invading the territory. Both police said that little progress was being made on Mindy's murder as well as Jobe's so-called accidental death or discovering the source of the cocaine. Since the arrest of Haines, the police and the church had ensured that no drugs had been exchanged there. Miles added that his informant knew of no drugs coming from police sources. So if police had decanted the missing cocaine they had funnelled it through an unknown distributor.

Belle, who had worked at the hospital all day, had nothing new to report. Evan made a more formal welcome to add to his individual greetings. He then told of his exploits to the Global Church, the sinister stranger that met with O'Hearne and the peculiar meeting he had witnessed just past Glenville shopping strip. He rued the fact that he hadn't thought to take a photo, especially when Rolf said it was possible for them to check identities.

Sitting around, chewing on slices of pizza, it seemed a relaxed gathering but it belied the grimness of their thoughts. All eyes were on Larry. In his earlier introduction, he said that when Evan had contacted him he had been ill-disposed to digging through files. Meredith had told him that she had looked and there was nothing there. And she was right. He had checked it for two reasons: because it was uncharacteristic of Mindy and because a colleague had no qualms seeking out the files. But, he said, the date on the files indicated someone may have deleted them recently. It was then he recalled a backup Mindy had told him about and, after locating it, he opened it up. It blew him away.

So they awaited his bombshell. He held up the data key. "On this memory stick we have Mindy's case notes, her copies of incriminating documentation, records of interviews and copies of information that Jobe forwarded to her from his investigations. She was putting a case together that would not only exonerate Haines but would, at the very least, put the spotlight on a number of police and their links to the Global Church. We've not looked at it all, but what we've found should make us very wary about who we deal with." Larry raised his eyebrows in emphasis, and looked at each in turn to ensure they understood the gravity of the situation.

"On these files there is an interview with an attendee of the Global Church, Roy, who suggested that Neville O'Hearne had been a key component in the cocaine trade when it was centred at the church. According to Roy, he had noticed that Jack Warder had been regularly given a leaflet carton for distribution. One day he saw a trace of white powder in Warder's communication box. The witness knew enough about cocaine, from past experience, to recognise its appearance and taste. At the back of the box he spied a wad of money. Anyway, the interview related how he found a spot where he could monitor the drop, supposing there might be something in it for him. When he saw O'Hearne pick up the money he was all set to blackmail the man." Larry looked around at the others rapt with what he was saying.

"Here's the crazy part. Roy went back the next night ready to confront O'Hearne, confident his ploy to forward his information should anything happen to him would be sufficient insurance. But instead there was a police car outside the building. He bumped into Haines who explained that it was probably because he warned O'Hearne about Warder's drug involvement. To Roy, that was it, the police had made the connection.

Instead, the next day, Haines is arrested and accused of trying to frame Warder. For Roy, that was evidence of police collusion, and he kept quiet about what he knew."

"Did Mindy write who the police were...something concrete that we can use?" asked Miles.

"No, nothing like that," inserted Evan. He turned to Larry, "Keep going...there's more."

"Well there are a whole lot of notes about the Global Church that were sent by Jobe Reagan." Evan handed him the computer and Larry began reading excerpts.

"Their meetings are ostensibly to promote brotherhood but ultimately promote the fortunes of the founder, Bayley Burnley and his immediate leadership hierarchy. He publicly shows compassion but is hardnosed in committee decisions. With his followers; he works on their guilt/insecurities and through the teachings purportedly provides significance and importance to their existence. The presence of an elite clientele (who get special treatment) draws many others who are attracted by their celebrity."

Larry hesitated briefly as he searched for another passage.

"History of the Global Church-wealthy author constructs pseudo psychological science cult based on cachet (prestige), earned by financial contributions/ learning the ten stages of Tao/ good works/ gaining more acolytes/ purchasing the many worship aids... gemstones, prisms and buying the electronic recordings of the tenets of Bailey Burnley. His concoction of positive thinking and eastern mysticism led to the creation of 'sacred texts' which tell how everyone is part of god."

Larry looked around and saw he had their avid attention, "Jobe rewrote the information about Warder and O'Hearne that Mindy had discovered and then added some key observations. One: that Warder wasn't aware that it was O'Hearne who was supplying. He was under the impression that they hired him to rehabilitate him from the drug scene. Two: that it seemed that the Global Church was financing Warder's defence, probably because his innocence would deflect attention from them. Three: that it is likely the church engineered the framing of Haines."

"It's here that you get a mention Greg." Evan had been looking over Larry's shoulder and the text he was scanning.

"That's right. Mindy quotes Jobe as saying he had spoken to Detective Miles and that he inferred from the conversation that corrupt members of the drug squad had syphoned off drugs and money before logging it in evidence."

"That's what you basically told us," interrupted Belle.

It was clear that Miles wasn't happy with the premise. He scratched his head and contrived a pained expression.

"Could I be on the record as saying that I have not made one allegation of police corruption." His remark was clearly aimed at Maddy who then indicated that she appreciated his situation.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to manufacture a story based on allegations. I'm only interested in nailing the scum that killed Kane and whoever is behind this whole cesspit." The angst written on Maddy's face told of the hurt she was still suffering. She then addressed Rolf. "Have you heard anything about Kane's murder?"

"No... nothing yet. As I said before. The word is, it was a professional hit... but, as you probably know, it's been handed to Marsden and his team." Rolf grimaced. He was clearly seething underneath at the snub to Burton's team.

"What about Mindy's killer?" objected Evan. "What are they doing about that?"

"It's on the backburner at the moment. Says they've hit a brick wall."

"That's outrageous... it's... it's incompetence. Can your squad take it on?"

"Not unless the super pushes it in our direction... and that's not very likely as we've just been given a domestic murder to sort out. Not a big deal. It's just a case of ensuring all the evidence lines up with the husband's confession, but it still has to be tried and we make sure there are no loose ends. While Ade... Inspector Burton... is away we're getting the menial stuff... It's a seniority thing I think." Rolf didn't look very pleased as he said it.

Larry looked a bit peeved at the digression. "Could we get back to this... and then decide what we do next?" The other five resumed their focus on Larry. "So, Jobe theorised that Warder happily ran his drug distribution business, supplying small time pushers on a cash basis, ignorant of who was supplying him. Jobe suggested that the church framed Haines because he would set back their lucrative trade. Though without hard evidence, without securing Roy's eyewitness account, the police would struggle to get any charges to stick against the church."

He took on a more typical lawyer's persona. "There are several areas where allegations and hearsay have to be bolstered with actual facts. Which police are breaking the law and how are we going to prove it? Is O'Hearne working alone or is he a part of a bigger organisation? Can we link O'Hearne and the Global Church to the three deaths that have drawn us together?"

Larry brushed a blond curl from his forehead and adjusted his glasses. "And... there are some areas where we will have to tread carefully. I think we can presume that files have been deleted. Someone at Groom and Davis is sabotaging the investigation. It could be anyone from a senior partner to a law clerk." He shrugged. "I know... it's not very helpful. We just have to be careful who we talk to. There's a lot more stuff in those files, mostly surveillance notes and interviews, I think."

"So you think Kane's murder is connected?" Maddy was trying to clarify something that she had assumed and that had been concluded indirectly.

He raised his eyebrows. "All three were investigating Warder, O'Hearne and Haines."

Larry asked Evan to show his diagram. Its connectivity had been supplemented from the 'missing files' input. Evan demonstrated how Harris had identified Warder's links to the spread of cocaine and cocaine was the substance that was distributed at the Global Church. He also linked the trade to a number of minor criminals in the drug scene. Maddy said it was a tenuous link. Larry tactlessly countered that the fact he was dead added to its validity. He quickly apologised when Maddy bit her lip as she was overcome with upwelling emotion.

Evan changed the subject. "So, tomorrow I might go back to Glenville and find out what the payoff was all about... or at least find out who he is. Has anyone else an idea of what they can check out?"

Belle piped up, "I'll be working tomorrow, but if you come around for dinner we can have a look at the rest of those files." Evan returned a curt nod and felt a bit sheepish when he noticed a couple of barely disguised smiles.

"I'd rather not discuss police work," announced Miles as he maintained a steady gaze across at Rolf. "It might be sufficient to say that, with the leads my informant gave me, we can put some pressure on Warder to confess to his involvement."

"I might talk to Bart Young..." volunteered Larry, "... do some pro bono work and assist him with Haines' defence. It might flush out the rat in the firm."

Maddy looked miserable. "I'll probably be busy writing so don't expect anything from me."

"Do you mind if I ask what you'll be writing?" Evan inquired tentatively, concerned that any of their exchanges should appear in print.

"A eulogy for Kane... how he campaigned against lawlessness, the drug culture and murderers and it ultimately claimed him. It will be a protest against the lack of action by the police finding Mindy's killer and now his." She pulled a face acknowledging the two detectives, "Sorry guys."

"No, fair enough," answered Rolf. "Just don't give our hand away. We don't want to alert anyone." Then he addressed the group in general. "Don't expect too much from me. I can watch Marsden's crew but I have my own assignments at this stage."

Conversations after that were in pairs. There was a mutual rapport between Greg Miles and Rowan Rolf muttering about inadequacies in the law enforcement hierarchy and the inadvisability of colluding with civilians. Belle and Maddy identified with each other in their desire to bring about justice, while Evan sought to learn from Larry more of Mindy's mindset over the last weeks of her life.

It was late when Larry, who was last to leave, bid him farewell. The quiet of the house again became an oppressive weight. The company had stimulated him and now he was alone, taunted by memories. Perhaps he was one of those creatures who pined for companionship—who languished when a solitary existence was imposed on them.

He sought solace from his Bible reading. He had progressed from the Ephesians passage and had begun Philippians. Evan read of Paul's thankfulness. He knew, in his present condition, that gratitude was absent. An apology was all he could manage but it couldn't rectify the issue. He then went to the study booklet and resumed reading.

Once more he was assailed by his puny insignificance. Through a momentous event—the momentous event—in history he could now stand clothed in the armour provided by Jesus. He reread the 'Breastplate of Righteousness', attempting to appropriate the fact that his only qualification was a willingness to put on the armour.

Then he read about the footwear. An item all too often down played, said the author. You would rarely consider going outside without something on your feet, let alone go into battle unshod. So what did the shoes—or sandals—represent? Evan read how important it was. The footwear spoke of the soldier's readiness. It was readiness in the battle and readiness for its final victory. The writer argued that to know the purpose for which you were in battle was essential and surely the goal of every battle was to bring about victory, security and peace in the end.

Evan considered the idea of fighting for its own sake or to foment greater violence. It seemed incomprehensible. And yet, he wondered about the delusion of many in past conflicts. What was their goal? Conquest of land? Power? Wealth? Whatever it was it was most certainly a vain enterprise.

He read on. The purpose of the battle was the good news of peace. There was peace available for the individual in a battle for each person's eternal soul, and there was the readiness for the ultimate peace that would be the culmination of the battle. The questions were posed; was he ready? Did he live with eternity, with the reign of the Prince of Peace in mind? He recalled three aspects of peace—Peace with God, Peace of God and Living at Peace with people.

The shoes were important, he conceded. After all, as well as standing in the armour of God, one day he would stand at the judgement seat of Christ. Was he ready? Was the Gospel his footwear?

Later that night he climbed into bed, unsettled. Belle's invitation to dinner was on his mind as he tried to get to sleep. Had he warmed at the thought of her? Evan recoiled at the idea and it made him feel shallow. Why dinner, why her place; the whole thing had him second guessing himself. He should call and say he couldn't make it. He wasn't able to contemplate a different reality.

Chapter 9

Tuesday

The rain didn't prevent Evan from his early morning run. He was soon drenched by the steady spatter of drops but the upside was that most of the other regular joggers had taken the day off. He could cogitate without constantly greeting his fellow runners, as was the accepted etiquette. The dull surrounds and haze of rain formed a shroud that, for the moment, shielded him from a darker, dangerous world.

Evan was still committed to keeping his appointment with Bart Young irrespective of Larry's plans. His separate enquiry would distance himself from Larry. Without a peer there he might draw out the lawyer from the constraints of fastidiously maintaining his professional standards.

As he jogged, he thought about the names mentioned in Mindy's notes. O'Hearne was cast as a key player. She had cited Kane Harris as saying he had evidence tying O'Hearne to running a drug operation based at the Global Church. Mindy and Jobe were to sit on the information till he published, then they could use it for their clients.

The assumption from that, thought Evan, was that the church was a front for a raft of criminal activities. Harris said Jobe had also suggested that some members of the force were in league with the church, though he withheld the names of those he suspected.

Evan watched the animated impacts and ripples of the rain as he ran to his turn around point. A crack of a twig startled him. Turning around he saw a bedraggled girl with a mop of wet hair, clad in spandex, mauve tee shirt and white singlet over top, not far behind. She smiled.

He stopped. "You gave me a scare. What are you doing here?"

Maddy puffed as she answered, "I remembered you like your fitness regimen, so I thought I'd join you."

"Because... you just love running, getting soaked on a miserable rainy morning," he said half sarcastically.

"No... because I couldn't say last night, what else I learned from my informant. Until we know for sure, Rolf and Miles don't need to know our suspicions. "

"Why?"

"Because it involves the police. Rather than have them on the defensive, I thought we'd keep it to ourselves."

"So, what did he say?"

"He suggested Marsden might be tied up with the Global Church, and someone higher up than him... much higher. We can't be one hundred percent sure of anyone with the police."

"Do you have a name of this... higher up?"

She shook her head and water sprayed from her short brown hair. "I'd say he didn't know... just said that Marsden probably answered to him and everyone else answered to Marsden."

"Everyone else? ... You make it sound like corruption is endemic in the police force."

"Well, when someone high up is involved the culture has a way of spreading."

He looked at the slim, athletic looking girl. It had been five or six years since he had jogged with Kate along this same path. Maddy reminded him of his daughter. He should keep in touch with Kate. What was Kate doing now? Had she gone on her holiday? The young reporter responded to his scrutiny, "What are you thinking?" That shook him. It was a question Mindy often asked.

"Oh, nothing really... I'm heading back now."

"I'm glad. I was worrying whether I'd make it back." She grinned perkily. They jogged, mostly in silence, with an occasional reference to the miserable wet and the satisfaction of physical exertion.

Near his home, Evan saw Maddy's canary yellow MG parked out front.

"Could I sneak in and grab a shower?" Maddy asked, looking forlornly sodden as they stopped at the driveway.

"Sure..." he replied, as unsurely as the word could sound. "Er... you can use the en suite... I haven't used that since... there's a hair dryer and all in there." He stumbled over the words. "I'll just grab my clothes and use the main bathroom."

"You sure?" she tested, recognising his discomfit.

"Of course,... you can't drive to work like that."

Maddy took a sports bag of clothes from her car and followed him into the house.

Inside, Evan showed her where everything was and then left to enjoy a rejuvenating hot shower himself.

While he was getting his breakfast organised he heard the hairdryer humming away. The sound roused memories of less lonely days. It stirred a longing for the inaccessible past.

"Would you like some breakfast?" he called loudly. She shut off the blower and got him to repeat his question.

"Oh... no... I'll grab something on the way," Maddy replied, gaining a sense of imposition from his awkwardness.

"Nonsense," he countered with growing authority. "I could do with the company."

In no time he was flipping pancakes and decking out the table with condiments.

Evan quailed when she came out to breakfast. A waft of fragrance awoke memories. His wife's perfume made him weak at the knees. It lacerated an already battered psyche.

"What's wrong?"

"Mindy's perfume... it's... I haven't smelt it since..." His voice faded.

"I'm so sorry. It was stupid of me... really stupid. I'd forgotten to bring mine, so I thought... I'm really sorry Evan." Moisture formed in her eyes as she saw him struggling with his emotions.

"No... no... it's fine. It's just that it's... it's so... so evocative." He took a deep breath and rallied. "Come on, help yourself to some pancakes. I'll pour out some coffee."

Still the reporter admonished herself. Her sucked-in lips became biting lips as she evaluated the ill-considered splash of scent. Evan noted her distress and sought to alleviate her chagrin. "Maddy... it's okay. Forget about it. Besides... I think it suits you." She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement of his graciousness.

She sat opposite him, dressed for work, in a pale pink vest over a white shirt and baggy camel coloured cargo pants. Maddy took a deep breath to quell her emotions. "It smells delicious. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."

"Well, if you're willing to come out in the rain to warn me about Marsden... it's the least I can do. Do you mind if I say grace?" he queried as she had a piece of rolled up pancake with maple syrup half way to her mouth. Evan breathed an economical prayer of thanks and started spreading his own food. "How can you be sure your informant is right about Marsden?" His movements halted mid spread.

"It's sort of complicated. Kane had previously spoken to me about two uniformed police he had his eye on. When my informant told me those same police were known to be on the take and then said they were first on the scene at the alley where Kane was shot. I assumed he was hinting they were in on some kind of trap. He then went on to say that when Marsden and his crew arrived he didn't question the police straight away... he went around seeing if there were any witnesses. Some of his men spoke with the uniformed police like it was a social gathering."

"That's hardly an iron clad case." Evan looked doubtful.

"I know his guy. He has a nose for these things. If he said it looked suspicious that Marsden didn't get the details from the first cops on the scene, like he already knew what to expect, I believe him."

Evan crinkled his brow looking unconvinced. "So, why worry so much about Marsden?"

"The main reason," Maddy mumbled, her mouth full of food. "Is... I don't think we should tell Marsden anything about what we've learned... just in case he warns O'Hearne that we're onto them. I came over because these days any electronic device can be monitored... so if we can, we need to meet in out of the way places... And... I guess... I wanted the company of someone who I could talk to about all this. Your fitness run seemed like a good idea... except I was half way here when the rain came."

There was a lull in the conversation as they ate, Evan considering the incongruity of the scene that such events could have people who were total strangers days ago now sharing breakfast. Maddy peered at him over her cup. Her pale grey eyes sparkled with humour. Becoming aware of her examination of him he reacted.

"What?"

"You sure you're a philosophy professor? I always pictured them as stuffy, bearded men with tweed coats and corduroy trousers."

"Hey... don't knock the corduroys... they're comfortable. And yes... I do take values and morality units in a course of Philosophy and the History of Reason at the university. I can show you my doctorate if you like."

"No, no... that's okay," she laughed.

"Maybe I should grow a beard... though nobody's complained before that I'm not the stereotype academic," he added.

"I'm sure they haven't," she replied, disciplining a smile by biting her bottom lip. His brow puckered as he attempted to decipher the joke.

Maddy announced that she had to leave soon after. Evan advised that she steer clear of mentioning anything specific about what Kane had been investigating. It wouldn't do to draw attention to the fact that they were trying to dig up even more. Her hug at the door, as he saw her out, had him bemused. "Keep safe," she had said, almost as if to confirm the camaraderie in the emotional damage they sensed in each other.

A call to Larry, soon after, had him sounding out the lawyer about the possibility of requesting a coroner's inquest into Mindy's death. There had been little progress and little communication to him about the state of the investigation. Wasn't he entitled to ask for an investigation? Larry told him it was worth a try but it might be necessary to get statutory declarations from the various sources just to add weight to petition the coroner.

Larry also pointed out, taking into account that three people who had investigated Haines, Warder and the Global Church were now deceased, that any witness could be put in jeopardy by making their testimony public. More hard evidence would be necessary to provide some protection for witnesses and, as yet, everything was supposition and guesswork.

Evan concluded that they would have to do some more snooping. Larry reacted instantly. He argued that anything that smacked of illegality would make his evidence inadmissible. It would be wiser to let Rolf and Miles do the required police work and the rest of them keep their 'ear to the ground'. Evan felt like saying that was a good way to get your head stomped on, but instead, he meekly acquiesced. It seemed to him that what Larry didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

***

Later in the morning he headed off to the legal aid office. His time with Bart Young was an eye opener for Evan. Here was an ambitious lawyer doing pro bono work for appearance' sake. It was a tag he could add to his resume` that would enhance his personal advancement. He had little interest in Haines, his client, who, he was convinced, was a recidivist—a petty criminal who habitually would reoffend. When Evan asked about a chance to speak with Haines, the lawyer gave a qualified no—unless he could add anything pertinent to his case.

Evan had hesitated for a moment before deciding that he wasn't willing to risk sharing his speculations and the inferential evidence they had accumulated. He knew it wasn't substantial or the sort of irrefutable information that courts needed.

Feeling the weight of unanswered questions on his shoulders, he left the law office wondering whether he needed to be more strategic. Alerting people of his interest in anyone connected to Haines, Warder or the Global Church on the mere hope of finding out some incriminating clue was hardly rational or prudent, given the mounting number of lethal outcomes.

On his way to Glenville, Evan resolved to set clear goals for every foray into enemy territory. His task this time would be to find out the identity of the small angry man. Perhaps, suggest that he had heard he would do a job for a fee and see what his reaction would be.

Evan was approaching the shopping strip from the opposite direction to what he had taken last time. Traffic slowed. Ahead there were flashing police car lights. People were together in clumps on the sidewalk. An officer directed the cars to detour around the road closure. Following the queue of cars, he chose to park in a supermarket carpark a block past the house he wanted to go to.

Quickly he exited and, by foot, regained the main thoroughfare. From the shop-lined street he could see the house was within the area cordoned off by police.

Walking slowly, he tried to gain a sense of what he was looking at. It was obviously a crime scene. Already a mind numbing thought pressed in on him. Another victim! He would be patient and learn everything he could by watching from a distance and asking the numerous bystanders.

A café provided a convenient view point. Situated on a substantial rise, he could watch over the heads of the gathered crowd as he sat at a pavement table drinking coffee. A detective appeared exiting the house. It was Marsden. Two others followed him out, then a third.

The homicide detective waved to a constable to guard the door. Then he and the other three went to a van where they spoke with some more police. From the vehicles out front, Evan guessed that forensic investigators were already inside and that the crime scene had been established for some time. He watched the detective, wondering whether Maddy's informant was right. Could he be crooked, in their pay—whoever they were—and helping to orchestrate the mayhem he was employed to fight?

For almost an hour he watched the comings and goings. Plastic bags containing evidence were ferried to one of the vans, a police photographer emerged and took some shots near the entry and eventually, a body concealed under a draped blanket was stretchered to a waiting ambulance.

When a waiter delivered his second latte Evan quizzed him about the crime.

"It's been going on all day," the laconic young man observed. That was it. Evan had hoped to tease some information about the victim or the time. About a minute later, one of the baristas came out.

"Hi... Manny was saying you were interested in the hoo-ha down the road." He pulled up a chair and sat, obviously keen on a bit of social interplay.

"Just curious, I guess."

"My name's Phil." He thrust out a hand and Evan shook it. "I delivered a dozen coffees down there a couple of hours ago and had a chat with one of the constables." He gave a cheeky grin. "She was very pretty. Anyway—" He had a little chuckle at his own audacity. "—she told me that a guy had been shot overnight. He was a criminal... known to them... and it seems they've found evidence of him committing other crimes. They've been coming and going all day. They took his missus away almost first thing. Jo... she's the proprietor here... she says the young woman is a regular here. I usually do afternoons and evenings so I wouldn't know her." He took a breath as if he was organising his thoughts for another burst.

"I wonder what the evidence was tying him to other crimes." Evan was fishing, trying to keep him talking, not expecting Phil to specifically answer the question. The barista leaned close.

"Fiona, the female constable, told me she overheard one of the detectives call from a squad car saying the gun they found was the same make as the one that killed someone else."

"Did she say who?" Evan was leaning in as well now and they appeared like two seedy characters plotting.

"No... not that I remember... but she did say they were finding all sorts of things... evidence of other crimes. He was a real bad boy. I reckon he had it comin'. Whoever knocked him off did society a favour."

Evan thanked him for his 'very informative' chat and resumed watching and sipping coffee.

After another half hour of studying the scene, he paid his bill and wandered down to the onlookers held back by the police crime scene tape. He watched with them for a few minutes and listened to commentaries of the declining standards, ad hoc references to any crime whatsoever and observations about the crime ridden streets of Glenville.

"What happened?" he asked casually amidst the crowd within hearing from a dozen or so bystanders.

"Willy's been murdered," divulged a white-haired elderly woman with a touch of chin hair.

"Willy?" ventured Evan.

"Willy Spinoza. Him and Alexis have been living there for about a year."

"Alexis?"

"His girlfriend...The police took her to the station this morning. I wonder if she did—" She stopped as movement drew everyone's attention. "—ooh there she is now."

Evan looked up to see a skinny, twentyish girl with red streaks through stringy black hair and wearing tight jeans and short black tee shirt walking from a police vehicle. Instead of walking past the crime tape she turned right and walked to a house two doors down from the cordoned off house. There she proceeded up the pathway and was promptly let inside.

"Where's she going? That's not her place is it?" queried Evan.

"No, it's Maggie's place. Her and Maggie have been friends for a little bit. I think Maggie has a heart for strays. Don't s'pose the cops will let her in her own place," spouted the old woman.

A gaggle of media ran for the gate and hovered hungrily at the neighbour's doorway. Evan had hoped to speak with Alexis himself, thinking some fast talking may get him inside, but the reporters were now an additional obstacle.

For several minutes he stood with the ogling crowd listening to their way-out theories of crime syndicates and vicious family disputes. The milling media were eventually herded away from Maggie's house, a police woman stood watch at the gate while the scrum regrouped with another cluster of news hounds laying siege to the command vehicle.

A sliver of an idea insinuated into his thinking. "Worth a try," he muttered to himself. He eased his way out of the congestion and then strode to his car behind the supermarket. Minutes later he returned carrying his laptop case. He walked purposefully to Maggie's front gate and was immediately accosted by the policewoman.

"Excuse me sir... I'm afraid you can't go in there."

"But I'm Doctor Bowles... Doctor Evan Bowles. I'm going to see Maggie." His confident bluster had the constable taken in.

"Oh... sorry Doctor." She stood aside and Evan took a steadying breath as he readied himself for the second hurdle of his bluff. He tried to convince himself of his own ruse to make it more believable. He rapped a rusted door knocker loudly, suggesting that his arrival was expected. He waited a few seconds and then called out.

"It's Doctor Bowles... Hello..."

The door swung open slowly and a diminutive, jolly looking, apron clad woman peered around the door. "Yes?" she uttered uncertainly.

"Maggie, I'm Doctor Bowles... May I come in? I've come to talk with Alexis." It may have been a statement of how the elderly viewed the medical profession or just his pure effrontery, but the door opened wider and Maggie invited him in. He followed Maggie from the small entry hall into a snug sitting room with two, floral covered, individual armchairs and a two-seat couch. A gas fire was burning even though it was quite mild outside.

Now came the tricky bit, thought Evan. "Alexis, I'm Doctor Bowles. I'm sorry to hear of what happened. I'm wondering if there's anything I can do for you."

"What do you mean?" Her voice was husky and beginning to be annealed by the effects of habitual smoking.

"Well, yesterday, as I was passing by, I saw a tall man who seemed to be threatening your... partner. Was Willy in some sort of trouble?"

Alex retorted roughly, "He was always in trouble. I warned him... one day it will end bad but he never listened."

"So you think this man could have killed him?" Evan was working hard trying to wheedle something new from the girl.

"Nah..." she paused for a second to consider the possibility then repeated, "Nah... He was payin' Willy for a job... Willy had complained that they didn't pay enough for what he done so they paid him some more."

"Why would they do that? I mean, toughs like that don't usually give in to men like Willy, do they, Alexis?"

The girl was completely absorbed by the conversation. "He was crazy... I told him... He said he would squeal anom... anom... secret like if they didn't pay him more... He can't squeal now," she said poignantly. She fidgeted with her hands wringing her fingers, reflecting the angst she was feeling.

Evan saw that, though she would berate her boyfriend's poor choices, there was hurt at his passing—a love that had smouldered beneath the acrimony. Alexis became tight lipped quashing any semblance of sentimentality. "I reckon he had it comin'."

Evan was detecting a bit of a theme. Maybe it was her way of coping.

"So, the police were right... he shot some other people?"

The woman swore under her breath. "Scum coppers... said they found a gun that killed some reporter guy. Willy never had a gun... said stupid people carried guns. They were right about that woman he killed... poor girl... he was meant to take her computer and stuff and scare her..." She sounded almost apologetic for her boyfriend. "... but he hit her too hard... said he didn't mean too."

Evan was trying to dispel the tightening lump in his throat and just nodded in acknowledgement.

Alexis went on. "But no ways would he bring stuff to the house. The bag they reckon they found... no ways Willy brung that home." Her face looked tortured at the injustice of it all. Evan studied the youthful features of the girl. The nose ring, ear studs and dark eye makeup didn't quite camouflage the frail waif beneath.

Maggie, who had been riveted to her seat lapping up every sweet morsel, took the lapse in the revelations from her neighbour to speak. "Would you like a cup of tea Doctor?"

"Yes thanks... er milk, no sugar," he pre-empted. Maggie waddled off to the connected kitchen and tilted her head in their direction so as not to miss anything.

Evan attempted to get the story in order. "Sooo... Willy was offered how much to scare the woman?"

'Fifty thousand... But then they paid him only ten 'cos they said he killed her... That's when he complained. They sent a guy around who gave him another ten and tellin' him he'd get the rest tomorra'..." She looked up with dark blood shot eyes and said pathetically, "... and they killed him."

"Did you tell the police all this?"

Alexis looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. She swayed her head from side to side slowly as if the question itself beggared belief. "All they were interested in when I told them I heard Willy scream was, had I seen who shot him. When I said no they just told me what Willy done... They said he robbed and killed a woman and he shot a reporter. I say, Willy don't own no gun and they say they found it with the other stuff and it had his prints on it. I tell them I don't believe it."

"So is that all that happened at the station?"

"They kept at me askin' me if I know what Willy's up to and who he was workin' for but I say nuthin'. I mean, they were stitchin' him up for stuff he didn't do."

The tea came in and they both took their drinks. Suddenly Alexis looked at him suspiciously, "Who sent ya? Is it the cops?"

"No... no one sent me. I told you. I saw someone threaten Willy yesterday. I was coming to talk with him today and I heard what happened."

"Why'd ya wanna talk with Willy?" She was starting to sound hostile now.

Evan rose slowly. He was trying to sound stern but his voice wavered. "I thought he might be connected with the death of my wife... now I know." Both women looked shocked. Alexis gaped and Maggie held a hand over her mouth in consternation.

"You poor man," clucked Maggie when she had recovered sufficiently. The young girl's mouth moved but nothing came out. She had basically admitted that her partner had bludgeoned Mindy to death and the concept that it was a real person, and real suffering had been caused by Willy, seemed totally novel.

"I should go... unless you can tell me who paid Willy to attack my wife?" Alexis dumbly shook her head. Evan picked up his bag and strolled to the door. "If you do think of anything, call Detective Rolf at Homicide... don't tell anyone else. It might not be safe."

At the door he heard her raucous voice, "I heard Willy call the big man Red." Evan mentally noted the name and said it to himself a few times as he left quickly. He saw Marsden step out of the command vehicle and gaze around so he hastily averted his face and turned to walk farther down the hill, away from the shopping strip and his car.

It took some time for him to work his way back up the slope on the supermarket side of the street. His mind was in turmoil. Was that it? The end of his search? No more mystery, no more righteous cause? He found the killer; the killer was dead. That was it. He felt so disconsolate. There was no closure, no exacting punishment or retribution—no justice. No, there was still the instigator. Who was calling the shots? There were evil minds causing mayhem in people's lives merely to satisfy their own wicked schemes. To stop them would be a gift to society.

In his head he pictured his schematic and he attempted to add a few connections. What changes did he have to make to his diagram? He had a name for the tall man, and he was linked to O'Hearne and O'Hearne was part of the Global Church. From what Spinoza's girl said, they were trying to blame Willy for Harris' death. That would be neat for the police but it didn't ring true. If Willy didn't own a gun, if that wasn't his MO, then the precision of Harris' execution was beyond the career criminal.

Someone else, whether it was Red—the tall, intimidating man who was the epitome of the Hollywood tough—or some other hired thug; someone else had murdered Kane Harris. And it was all part of some plot, some cover up, to prevent people finding out. Finding out what? That's what chafed at him. Some evil secret, some scandal, was being concealed at all costs.

***

Back at home he readied himself for dinner with Belle. He was still experiencing regret at having agreed to the invitation. There was something too friendly, too personal with having dinner in her home and, as he had later learned from a text, with her girls.

His innards were tying up in knots as he drove over. He knew what he feared, that he would like Belle. Well, he already liked Belle. He was afraid that he would really like Belle. He knew that she had been out of a relationship for well over a year and maybe she still had fond memories from their high school days, but he was not sure if he could even think about getting close to someone else.

Seconds passed as he stood motionless at the door grilling himself about his actions. Why was he here now? He pressed the doorbell and seconds later the door opened. Belle greeted him, fresh faced, all smiles, she was eye-catching in her sloppy cream cashmere pullover, slightly off the shoulder, and light chocolate corduroys that gave her a comfy allure.

"They found Mindy's killer," he blurted. Not 'hi' or 'good evening', just the banner headline that was foremost in his thoughts.

"Oh... that's good," she said uncertainly, registering his grave expression. "Isn't it?"

"He was just a minor criminal sent by someone else. There's a crime boss or a criminal network orchestrating all this... they're the people we want to expose."

Belle led him into the kitchen where she put on her apron and resumed her cooking duties while prompting Evan to tell her of his day.

He replayed the story about Willy and the paid job. He expressed his doubts that Willy was the shooter responsible for Harris' death, but apparently the police were going to attribute the crime to him. It was all too convenient.

Belle hustled him into the lounge room with a cool drink. He was there a few minutes when her two daughters sauntered in as a result of some coercion from their mother.

Now he wondered what he was doing in the lounge of the Reagan home. Evan spent an awkward fifteen minutes trying to make conversation with Yvette and Zara. It appeared both were studious; both were musical and both simmered with a thinly veiled hostility toward him.

"So, what do you do?" Yvette managed to curb a sneer.

"I'm..." He faltered, deciding to downplay his role, "... a teacher."

"What do you teach?" interposed Zara.

"Philosophy... and a bit of History."

"Sounds sort of geeky to me," derided Yvette as she smirked to her younger sister.

"Oh... it's profoundly geeky," Evan returned, smiling. "Probably even more bookish, but it keeps me out of mischief."

"But what use is it?" goaded Yvette, "I mean it's not like medicine or... or law." The undercurrent of their disdain was becoming more unambiguous. She had highlighted her parent's occupations.

"It's a good question. In some ways it has no practical use at all, but in other ways it's the essential rule book for human thinking. Even asking what use a profession has, has a philosophical basis. Why we talk about 'use'. Whether what we say is logical or true or good or important, it all comes down to a theory of the world—your point of view... and that is the quintessence of philosophy." Evan smiled again, "I bet you're sorry you asked."

Zara giggled and Yvette shot her a scowl. The older girl turned back to him and almost hissed, "We don't need a new dad!" Her animosity was evident in her glare.

Evan splayed his fingers and raised his hands defensively. "Hey... say no more. Your mother and I just have some work to do."

There was a stifling silence for the next few minutes as Evan tried to read a magazine from under the coffee table. The two girls were a contrast. Yvette maintained a clenched jaw and a steely gaze while Zara appeared contrite, chewing her lip as she weighed up the confrontation.

Belle, unaware of the tension that had arisen between her daughters and their guest, rescued the situation by announcing that dinner was ready. They all entered the dining room and responded to the beautifully presented meal table. Belle had decked out the table with a white table cloth, her best cutlery set, crystal glasses and folded napkins. Pea and ham soup with golden croutons sat steaming in their places.

Evan responded with a simple grace when asked to give thanks and then the meal commenced. The conversation was muted and sporadic with the two adults exchanging pleasantries while the girls sat in sullen silence. Only brief answers were given to enquiries from Belle attempting to stimulate the mood.

A beef roast with vegetables followed the soup and an apple pie dessert rounded it off. Evan helped clean up while Yvette and Zara excused themselves for the onerous task of homework.

"I'm sorry Evan, the girls weren't very sociable tonight."

"And understandable... I'm just an intruder. I think they're trying to be protective of you."

"But we're friends... aren't we?" Belle's eyes visibly moistened.

"Yes... of course we are," Evan answered. "I guess they don't understand that we're caught up in the same web... and there's no need for them to know that," he added.

"No... I guess not." There was pathos in her reply, and a gaze that Evan couldn't fathom. It made him wonder again why he was there. He wasn't ready for anything more than friendship, was he?

Belle brought in her computer and sat on the lounge. She looked up and beckoned him to sit beside her to study the files. He sat next to her on the plush leather upholstery. Belle tucked her feet up on the couch and leaned on him. A cautious look into his face with wide eyes, now more blue-green than hazel, took in his flush. She peered at him around a spray of glossy black hair. A hint of a flirtatious smile.

"This way we can both read what it says," she murmured and nestled into Evan's shoulder.

Evan knew it was too soon even to consider a deepening friendship but nevertheless he enjoyed her contact. They both followed the early documents they had already seen. The interview notes from Roy Barnes clearly identified O'Hearne as the link man between Warder, the pushers and whoever was supplying drugs. Was he doing it off his own back or was the church involved? Somehow they would have to get into the church files.

Further into the mass of information there was a link to a video file— 'Corrupt Police?' was the interrogative. They watched as O'Hearne spoke with two police. After some furtive scanning around, a large box was handed over to the church administrator and then they quickly departed. They reran the footage a couple of times to ingrain the image of the two police in their memories.

Next were several references to the ploys the church used to attract members. According to Mindy, Jobe had noted that they offered entertainment, fitness programs, promises of social engagements and almost any enticement to expand their congregation. Mindy hinted that moral constraints were barely evident.

Much of the other documentation was Mindy's formal deposition for her client and consisted of arguments and evidence she would use to prove that Haines was innocent. Both grew tired of wading through the case notes and Belle offered to make a coffee.

As she left she turned on the television news. The lead story was reprised. The country's federal political leader—the Prime Minister—had resigned. Sources quoted that 'personal reasons' were cited, yet speculation was rife that there had been a party room coup. The previously invulnerable leader now shunned the media and refused to make a public comment. Commentators declared that his resignation would introduce an era of instability. He was the third public figure in recent days to end a promising career. The first was ruined by scandal, the second—a model of propriety—had suffered peculiar health issues that specialists were only now identifying as some form of exotic poisoning.

Belle came in with a tray of hot drinks and muffins as an analyst provided his perspective on the recent political upheavals. Perhaps sensitive to his fluster at her proximity she sat nearby without being as familiar, watching him as he viewed the screen.

Evan was transfixed as the next story showed a police mug shot of Willy Spinoza. It accompanied a report from the scene of his death. Marsden was interviewed and made much of the allegation that Willy was the perpetrator of numerous crimes. The detective stated that they believed his last two crimes—the murder of two unrelated people—were the most serious.

Belle squeezed Evan's hand as a picture of Mindy was flashed onto the screen along with a summary of the details of her death. Marsden was quoted saying evidence had been found linking Spinoza to the murder of the reporter, Kane Harris. The reporter asked him speculative questions about the breakout of underworld violence and the possibility of a turf war between rival gangs. Marsden discounted the suggestion saying they would investigate Spinoza's murder like any other.

While he watched subsequent items, Evan's thoughts were elsewhere. He thought of Jim and his specialised skillset with anti-hacking software. How would his son respond given the challenge? It took an ad break for him to realise Belle still held his hand. He withdrew his hand slowly and their eyes met. Belle smiled. Evan shook his head. "I can't do this Belle," he said trying to sound gruff.

"If it's my girls... they'll come round Evan." A trace of pleading coloured her tone.

"Belle!" he responded with more vehemence than he intended. "It's been only five weeks. Mindy is in my head... she's still a part of me... I... I don't know if that will ever change. I don't know if I want it to change." His words petered out toward the end. "I should go... I don't mean to upset you... you've been... lovely." He strained to find the words. "Maybe... maybe I'm damaged." He stood and moved to the door. Belle followed. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry. You're still hurting and I barge into your life... take care Evan." It was almost a whimper. She let him out. "I'll call later in the week... just for an update." She sounded wounded. Evan's eyes were smarting from the tears as he drove off, brushing them with his sleeve.

Chapter 10

The phone call to Jim went along the lines of Jim expressing relief that his mother's murderer had been identified. Then Evan spent time explaining that a whole lot of nefarious events were linked. At which point Jim sought some evidence to this so-called evil plot. This suited Evan as he invited him over to see his copy of Mindy's files.

Jim arrived just before ten and they consumed coffee as they examined the notes. Evan particularly wanted to highlight the presence of the Global Church in the background of many of the offenders. He told Jim it was also a focus of those caught up in the vortex of intrigue. That it was like a whirlpool sucking people in with deadly effect. Evan challenged him; did Jim understand that Spinoza was just a pawn? Somehow a puppet master was pulling strings. Two lawyers had been killed, then an investigative journalist and now the strings were being cut—Spinoza was dead.

Jim leaned back on a chair and chewed on one of the biscuits Kate had left days before.

"So... you had something in mind when you called me. What is it you want?"

A grim smile snuck onto Evan's face. "Can the Global Church be hacked?"

"Anyone can be hacked given enough time and effort but... you know it's illegal, don't you?"

Evan scrunched his face. "I'd like to think of it as a moral dilemma where finding out the truth about them is the lesser evil. Not doing anything while people are killed and framed for crimes they didn't do... well... I think that's inconceivable."

"I do not think it means what you think it means," quipped Jim, referring to a favourite family movie.

With an ironic smile his father retorted, "All right... maybe I find it intolerable. They need to be stopped."

When Jim quizzed him on his fears, Evan tracked all the connections. Mindy, Jobe and Miles had all cited the church as suspicious. The man he followed from the church met a man who visited Spinoza the day before he was killed. It was the centre of drug dealings which they claim they had no knowledge of. He also mentioned Jobe's view that unsavoury dealings there were condoned under the rationale of personal liberty.

Jim looked at him thoughtfully. "So?"

Evan spoke deliberately. "So... more particularly... could you hack the Global Church?"

"I have to say you've asked that at an incredibly opportune time." He raised his eyebrows and excited anticipation could be seen on his face. "You see... as part of my Masters' Project I'm developing some multistage inhibitors against a new malware based algorithm that insinuates itself into computer operating systems and masks itself as part of the indigenous software. As part of the process I've had to replicate the hacker's code... So... it's new enough to avoid detection and neutralising... for the moment. You want me to do this don't you?" Evan gave an affirmative tight lipped smile. "I'll grab my computer from the car... And I could use another coffee. This may take some time."

Jim had been working for about an hour when he giggled nervously.

"What's wrong?" Evan asked.

"This was much easier than I imagined. It's scary really. Someone in their office must still be working."

"What did you do?"

"The malware mimics system-ware updates and has already been accepted and installed. Whoever created this virus either had access to corporate codes, or has found a way to synthesise or steal the coding that enables entry to operating systems. I can now sift through data files at will." He shook his head in dismay. "The proprietary owners of the platform will have to add validation codes to any updates... maybe even email reply and ask for authentication and verify internet connection. I mean, doing this is giving me ideas for my own project. I'm thinking it would be good to stalk the stalker and expose them to the public."

Evan could see he was relishing the intellectual stimulation. Jim's eyes flashed with vigour as he scanned files.

"Whoa... I don't believe it." He fixed Evan with a surprised stare. "Gladstone... the guy that just dropped out of politics... these files are filled with dirt on him, photos, recordings... blackmail material, if there ever was any. I'd say he was forced to quit."

"The church did that?" He looked at his son in dismay.

"Looks like it. What a racket!" Jim flipped through a few more. "There are half a dozen eminent leaders who have dossiers on them. I think they're targeting people to get rid of—or maybe bribe."

"Can you get copies of those files?"

"Yeah... but I want to check on what they have on your little group first." He typed in a series of commands and waited before whistling.

"What?"

"This email... It says they're going to grab Maddy Quinn and... they suggest to make it look like a drug overdose." His look was wild eyed. "It's signed Badger."

"When was it written?"

"A few hours ago."

Evan found his phone and quickly punched Maddy's name. He paced up and down impatiently waiting for her to answer.

"Hello Maddy," he finally uttered. "It's Evan.

"Hi Evan... what's up?

"Maddy, you're in danger."

"What—"

"Don't ask me how I know... you've got to get out of there. They're sending someone to get you."

"Evan, don't get hysterical. How do you know all this?"

"I'd rather not say... we just know, through some unconventional... er research, that they've targeted you."

"Badger wrote that she has identified two of his crew," interjected Jim.

Evan repeated what he said. Instantly tension filled her voice. "That was just this afternoon. I was—"

Evan cut her off. "Don't worry about that now. Maddy, I need you to go to a room where you can check the street without getting seen. The light has to be out when you look out the window."

"I'm going to my bedroom," Maddy whispered unnecessarily. He heard some rustling, scraping noises. "There's a car. It's about fifty metres down the road. I think there are two people inside." She was beginning to sound frantic.

"Maddy! Where do you live? We'll come and get you." He was commanding now. Maddy recited her address and then started to stutter. "C... c... call... call Greg Miles or Rowan. We can't trust just anyone."

Evan already had an idea what she was referring to but he didn't ask. "I'll call back in a minute. Keep the lights on. Maybe that's all they're waiting for." He hung up knowing what he'd said was cryptic and semantically garbled. Jim was packing his computer as Evan informed him that they had to leave immediately.

"We'll take the BMW." The orders were becoming curt and emphatic. He was in no mood to do anything but ensure Maddy's safety.

The pressing concern on his mind was that he had drawn the young reporter into this maelstrom. The responsibility weighed heavily on him. The two of them jogged to the car and drove off with the urgency ignited by worry. All he could think about was the impending violence and trouble he would have brought on Maddy.

Knowing that he had all the contacts, Evan had his son drive while he called Greg Miles. The conversation was insistent and consisted of abrupt instructions for Miles. Evan assured him he would tell him the whole story once Maddy was safe. It was vital that they quash the threat to her first. The detective said he would get there first and to let Maddy know that he was coming.

Next, Evan called Rolf. The young homicide detective was not so agreeable. They had woken him and he took some convincing that they weren't jumping at shadows. Rolf made it patently clear that if it was a false alarm some compensation was in order.

As soon as the call to Rolf ended, he contacted Maddy again.

"It's Evan again, how are you?"

"Scared," her voice quaked as she said it. To Evan she sounded like a little girl. "I'm watching through my bedroom window. A man has gotten out of the car. He's walking up and down and glancing up at my apartment." He heard her catch her breath. "There's a police car. Is that Greg already?" Evan cast a doubtful glance across to Jim.

"The police car is slowing down. It's stopped next to them. The man is leaning into the window and talking to the police. The other guy is getting out of his car. He's taller and thinner than the first guy. They're both talking with the police." There was a brief gap in her commentary and Evan's anxiety level grew.

"Maddy, are you okay?"

"Yeah, the police car's pulled over at the other end of the road. It looks like they are working together. Those two guys... they look dangerous. I think they're heading for the entry. Evan! What'll I do?"

"Is there somewhere you can hide? Miles should be there soon. It might take us a bit longer." Evan was willing them to go faster but he said nothing. He knew Jim was already pushing the limits.

"There's a cleaner's room at the end of the hallway, third floor. I'll try and hide in there."

After a short silence her last words were, "Hurry, I think they're trying to break into the front door. I'll hang up now. Don't ring me."

The car swung rapidly around a corner as Jim managed to negotiate an amber light. Evan rang Miles to determine his progress. "I'm just a few minutes away," he half shouted, obviously using a hands-free and complaining about erratic drivers at the same time.

"They're trying to break into her apartment building. She's hiding in a hallway at the moment. I've called Rolf too."

"I'm going as fast as I can. Any idea where Rolf is?"

"No, but I'll check... Oh, and Maddy said there's a squad car up the road just watching. They are probably in on it."

"Thanks for the heads up," he called out. "It complicates things a bit. I'll run my car cam to record what happens. I may need it if things get sticky." He hung up. Evan was trying to digest what he meant as he got Rolf on the phone.

"Where are you?"

"Not too far to go," he replied.

Evan repeated the information he had passed on to Miles. Then he added, "I think Greg is worried about a confrontation with the other police."

"Right... I might as well come in with lights and siren. If they're there illegitimately they'll run for it."

The young detective's audacity heartened Evan as he imagined the surprise effect his arrival would have.

Precious minutes dragged by as the BMW worked its way to Maddy's suburban address. It was now after midnight and, thankfully, traffic was relatively thin. The tension was tangible. Heavy sighs, white knuckles and agitated grimaces all described their apprehension.

"What are we going to do if they're armed?" Jim was finally analysing the predicament they were in.

"Hope that Miles and Rolf can handle any weaponry," Evan said sombrely. "Maybe if we sound the horn and make as much ruckus as we can they'll shun the attention."

"What if they find this reporter?" The possibilities were looming ominously in Jim's mind.

"We can't think that... Jim, I dragged her into this thing. If anything happens to Maddy it'll be my fault!"

The car lurched from an agonising red light stoppage and squealed around a corner. "Not far to go now," announced Jim as he zigzagged between some slower vehicles. "Next corner!" he yelled.

Pitching around the corner the scene was chaos. Shots started coming from the parked police car. Jim's response was visceral. He slid the car perpendicular to the road directly adjacent to the apartment entry. Simultaneously a car with flashing lights and wailing siren was rapidly approaching from the opposite end.

Jim leapt out of the car even as Evan was trying to assess what was going on. Rolf's unmarked car slewed sideways next to the BMW. He launched out of his seat and was running toward the squad car pulling out his gun as he went. With screeching, smoking tyres the police car speedily reversed, careered wildly in an arc and accelerated away.

Shaken from his spectating paralysis, Evan ran from the car and into the building. Immediately, thundering feet raised his gaze. He collided with the two stampeding intruders charging down the stairs. The first bundled into him with his tall frame and roughly shoved him aside. Evan went sprawling backwards down the hallway. Both were waving guns menacingly. The tall one he recognised as Red, the man contacted by O'Hearne and purportedly sent to Spinoza's place. The other one was shorter and solid and appeared to snarl with rage as he went by. Things were not going to plan for them. The door clattered shut behind them.

Evan picked himself up and staggered up the stairs, still winded from the shoulder bump to his chest. Up the second flight he started to have concerns about Jim. He couldn't hear any noises.

Suddenly a burst of gunfire rang out from the street. He hoped Rolf was all right. Gasping as he ascended to the third level, he saw two bodies. Detective Miles lay bleeding, unmoving and Jim was prone, metres farther on.

The distraught father ran to his son. "Jim!" he cried out as he straddled his body trying to ascertain what had brought him down. Leaning over Jim, he saw his son's eyelids flutter. A groan emanated from his quivering form. Evan breathed a prayer of thanks and moved Jim's head toward him revealing a nasty welt above his cheekbone. Knowing that Jim was probably just concussed, Evan quickly attended Miles. He checked the detective's neck and found a weak pulse. The blood seeping from his side had to be staunched.

Without delay, Evan called emergency services. At the same time he was taking off his pullover and shirt with one hand and packing the shirt fabric against the wound. Jim had managed to crawl alongside and Evan had him hold his hand to apply pressure to the puncture as per instruction. From there he went to the apartment, putting on his pullover as he went. The door had been smashed open. Inside the place was in disarray. Furniture had been flung sideways or toppled over and bed coverings had been cast off the bed. All a clear indication of the hasty search that had occurred.

He called Maddy's name in the same instant that he remembered the phone conversation. Back out in the hallway, he ran to the unlabelled door at the far end of the row of three apartments. Pulling back the door he saw Maddy crouched in a foetal position, sobbing quietly.

"It's okay Maddy. It's safe now."

She looked up at him and croaked, "They were shooting. I heard someone call my name and they started shooting... and then thumping feet and screaming out." He helped her up and gave her a reassuring hug. Maddie looked back at Jim hovering over Miles' blood soaked body and cried with breathless gasps as the shock set in. An ambulance siren sounded in the distance and quickly drew nearer.

Rowan Rolf stomped up the stairs and checked on everyone's wellbeing. He was on the phone to the police, talking insistently in lowered tones. Within a few minutes the paramedics were looking after Miles. And by the time they were carefully transferring him into the ambulance, three squad cars had turned up and Rolf was giving them his version of events.

Evan looked around. Maddy and Jim were sitting on the bed. She was holding a cold compress to his cheek. "You can't stay here," Evan said to Maddy. "The place is a mess and it's too dangerous. They know where you live." Maddy looked up at him. She had been talking to Jim and was concerned about his injury. "I'll find a motel or something."

"No... no... Jim and I will take you to my place. At least for tonight. You can get some sleep away from all this." A sweeping arm indicated the broken door and dishevelled rooms.

More medics arrived and examined Jim and Maddy. Then each gave an account to police of the brief fracas, trying to describe the short-lived onslaught as the offenders made their getaway.

Rowan finished speaking to a police sergeant and then spoke to three huddled whisperers. "After tonight you're all going to have to stay in a safe house. I was speaking to internal affairs and with a number of corrupt officers involved it's essential we get you out of circulation. They may be desperate enough to get rid of any witnesses to their involvement so you're not safe in your own homes."

"Those police... did you recognise them?" Maddy questioned.

"I didn't really get a good look but their car number will give them away. There's already a search for them going on."

"What about the other two?"

Rolf gave a wry grin and shook his head. "I dived for cover when they came out and started shooting. And they were gone before I could get a look at them."

"Okay, after tonight, Rowan can show us the safe house. It shouldn't take long to pick up those police and find out who they're working for... and then it should be a bit safer." Evan was attempting to get things moving. It was after two am and everyone was wrung out.

He sought an okay from the medics to get Maddy and Jim away. They were reluctant to let them go. One paramedic stridently described the symptoms of shock and concussion that the patients were exhibiting and only relented insisting on hospitalisation when Rolf assured him they would seek medical attention.

"Can you get a bag of clothes and things organised and we'll head off," Evan instructed Maddy decisively as if there were no alternative. Maddy, looking harried and fragile, meekly obeyed and began gathering her things in a large sports bag.

Rolf advised them that he would come around before lunch after visiting Greg Miles in hospital. He would see if he could glean any more information from the young drug squad detective about the two thugs that had broken into the apartment.

The homicide detective then subtly inquired how they got wind of the break in. Evan replied, in a low voice, that, had they used illicit technological means, it might initiate some disquiet, so it was better not to pursue the subject. The detective then gave Jim an appraising look before allowing himself a respectful bow in his direction.

***

Exhausted as they were, Evan, Jim and Maddy were still too wound up to go straight to bed. Evan made them hot chocolate drinks and noted, not for the first time, the mutual curiosity the other two shared in each other.

Maddy explained how she had recognised two policemen looking through Kane's desk when she went to his newspaper office to get quotes for her eulogy. His editor explained to her that they were looking for evidence that might tie a suspect to his murder. Maddy had thought it strange that uniformed officers were doing that sort of work. Determined to see what they were up to, and aware of the possible existence of corrupt police, she had followed them. They led her directly to the Global Church. It was there Maddy thought they noticed her, when they came out of the building.

The young reporter then quizzed them on how they found out about the planned attempt on her life, Jim only caved in when she vowed to not breathe a word of it to anyone else. He skittered over the details, merely admitting that he had insinuated access into the church computers. Jim didn't explain that, as it was, they now had a parasitic digital worm lying camouflaged as proprietary software, latent, ready to be roused.

Evan hustled them to their various rooms: Maddy to Kate's old room and Jim to his former bedroom. There was much to do later in the morning and he knew that it would be difficult to garner some rest given the ordeal each had endured.

Chapter 11

Wednesday

At seven in the morning, Evan answered his phone. His voice was croaky and he was hardly coherent.

"Evan, it's Belle."

"Good morning Belle." He tried to sound with-it, but sounded like someone rudely awakened out of a deep slumber.

"I'm sorry to wake you... Look, I owe you an apology. I couldn't sleep last night. I... I had no right to offer anything more than friendly support. I put you in an invidious position and... well, I'm sorry. I'm going to work now, but I wanted you to know... I just want to be a friend... If that's okay."

Evan tripped over his words, "Belle... sure... of course we're still friends... I'm still having trouble... er... dealing with stuff I guess... so, I'm not... you know... relating well... so I guess, I'm sorry too."

"No... no don't take it on yourself... anyway, I've gotta go... take care."

Evan was thankful it hadn't descended into an argument over who was sorrier. He gradually tumbled out of bed, showered and had a reading time. His text was the latter part of the first chapter of Philippians. Paul was emphasising the pre-eminence of the gospel. He was saying that irrespective of whether he lived or died he wanted it to be for the furtherance of the Good News about Christ. Evan marvelled at such a faith that the apostle was actually drawn to be with Christ 'which is far better' he had added. It was such a stark contrast to his feeble preoccupation with his personal woes. Evan confessed his frailty. Maybe that's why he had to learn to stand.

The two young guests struggled to get to the breakfast table by nine despite Evan knocking on doors several times. He had everything ready for them when they finally emerged. Jim basked in the sympathy Maddy offered for his bluing cheek and complimented her on looking so perky after such a harrowing night. It was clear she was pleased her freshening up preparation hadn't gone to waste.

Evan turned on the television news to see if their overnight incident had been registered as newsworthy. What played out had them riveted to the screen. Bailey Burnley made a press statement in which he told reporters that, unbeknownst to the church, Neville O'Hearne had conspired to distribute illicit drugs. He had fled last night, fearing capture as police were tightening the net around the gang. O'Hearne had used church funds to hire a private jet and escape with a number of confederates.

Burnley stated, in a manner which portrayed him as appalled by the extent of the crime, that the church administrator had acted alone and had used his position to defraud the church and engage in criminal conduct. He said that amongst O'Hearne's partners in crime were some police and underworld identities. There was no word on where the jet had gone though, he said, some reports from Fiji suggested that a private jet may have crashed into the sea. The screen showed Burnley trying to look sage-like as he concluded, "If the plane has crashed then karma has run its inevitable course."

Malcolm Marsden then appeared announcing that authorities were looking into the disappearance of the jet aircraft after it departed from Fiji. He also commented that it may be the end of a violent period in the state's history with the chief suspect of an underworld killing believed to have been a passenger on the plane.

A reporter then covered the events of the night in which it was alleged that a number of the gang had been foiled in their attempt to silence a key witness. Sources suggested that the key witness had links to the murdered reporter, Kane Harris. The remainder of the report dealt with Harris' efforts in exposing crime through his newspaper column and details of his funeral that was being held on the Friday.

Superintendent Gordon was interviewed and claimed the dramatic events of the previous week were a result of good police work in their constant battle against crime. Although the reporter attempted to point out that it was more a case of the underworld tearing itself apart as no arrests had occurred. Gordon had none of that, saying that pressure placed on the criminals by police investigators had them attacking each other.

All three were numb at the conclusion of the special report and broke their speechless daze as the international news items commenced.

"What does it mean?" asked Jim. "Is it over?"

His father squeezed his forehead as if suffering a migraine. "No... no, it means that the Global Church are one step ahead of us. Somehow they have managed to get rid of all the links we had to Mindy's murder and Kane's murder." He gazed at the other two. His mouth twisted in a scrunched pout of resignation. "It's like a surgical amputation... the gangrene has been cut off."

"So... we've got nothing?" Maddy was indignant.

"We've got a name," posited Jim softly, "Badger."

***

Rolf called and ensured they were all prepared to stay at a new location 'till it all cools down a bit' he stated. He turned up a short time later and they all drove to a leafy suburb to the northeast of the metropolis but northwest of Evan's house. The cars pulled into a nice, spacious, two level unit. Rolf explained that it was his boss's son's place and he had okayed it with him in a phone call. They were all overseas so there were no issues. It was quite open plan and airy with two bedrooms upstairs and a guest room downstairs. Jim and Evan took the upper and Maddy the lower.

A doctor friend of the detective came by and examined Maddy and Jim. He suggested that Jim have some bed rest to alleviate the residual effects of the heavy knock he had received. His prognosis for Maddy was all positive, remarking that she was made of resilient stuff. A comment to which Jim tried to feign offence.

They learned from Rowan that Greg Miles was stable and, coincidentally, had been treated by Belle, who worked in the very hospital where he had been admitted. The plan was for them to stay put for a couple of days, at least while he checked with Larry and kept digging around to find out about the fate of the four absconders.

Maddy protested immediately saying she was sitting on the biggest story of her life and there was no reason why she shouldn't put her story, at least what was public knowledge, into print. She also added that nothing would prevent her attending Kane's funeral.

Having conceded that, since reporting was her livelihood, she should be able to send her story to the newspaper, Evan suggested that there was no reason why she couldn't stay, at least until the funeral.

Rolf said, unequivocally, that their whereabouts would be an in-house secret for the next few days so he requested that they didn't contact anyone about their location. He would send his fiancée with some groceries and, if they gave her a list of what was still needed, he would return that evening with the rest.

After he had gone, they explored the other rooms. It had a well-stocked library and, to Evan's delight, a good range of Christian literature, including some contemporary apologetics and practical Christian living guides. While he continued to examine the bookshelves, Jim took some headache tablets and then worked on his thesis. Maddy called her work and submitted her eulogy for Kane Harris. She also secured permission from her editor to write a feature of the Glenville murder from her perspective and relating her brush with the criminal element.

When Evan learned what she was writing he secured her promise that she make no mention of either his or Jim's role. Telling of Miles' intervention and bravery and Rolf's subsequent arrival was probably fine but he suggested that she check with them, nevertheless.

Holly Witney—Rolf's fiancée—turned up a little after one that afternoon. They filled the fridge with meat, vegetables and dairy products and stored the other things she had bought in the pantry. The provision of a variety of beverages, snacks and cereals rounded off a fairly comprehensive supply of goods. Holly then assisted with a late lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches smeared with French mustard. Upon discussion with Maddy, some food supply omissions were identified along with a few bathroom and laundry items.

Holly stayed for coffee and told her tale of meeting Rowan Rolf in less than ideal circumstances. Her sketch outline of an epic drama had them all insisting she tell them the whole story when she had more time. She also enlightened them regarding their curiosity about the quite opulent domicile belonging to a homicide inspector's son. It seemed Micah Burton had inherited a third of his grandparent's estate, was also a successful author, and had started lecturing in astrophysics at Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

"So, why does he keep this place?" asked Maddy.

"From what Ro told me, he eventually wants to return here with Erin. But she is determined to stay in her job researching micro circuitry." Holly spoke amiably as though they had all been friends for years.

Maddy reacted, "Whoa... that sounds like a heavy duty, cerebral couple if ever I've heard of any."

"No... you'd be surprised. They're really down to earth. As with most people who are connected with Adrian Burton, they've got a story too."

After Holly left, they went back to their individual preoccupations. Evan ultimately took responsibility for the evening meal, considering his activities were more guided by whim than necessity.

The night was spent in the comfortably furnished mini cinema watching the first of the original Star Wars trilogy.

Late that night, unable to adjust to a different bed and new environs, Evan extracted Mindy's booklet from his duffel bag. He looked at the Shield of Faith section. The writer emphasised that because faith was in Jesus Christ then it was Jesus that quenched the fiery darts of temptation. It was a complete protection. The soldier's defence was a case of fleeing youthful lusts by resisting temptation. The darts were aimed at our inner weaknesses, faith would shield our vulnerabilities. If our faith was in ourselves or something else, the shield would be useless, for only one has defeated the evil one. In truth it would be no shield, a fiction without effect.

Evan thought about Mindy's faith. She surely had been a front-line soldier, because temptations, or trials, were permitted to the extent that you could bear it. She often drew Jesus into the conversation, always seeing his relevance in her daily life. Behind the shield of faith, you were screened from the temptations but should you be distracted by the fiery darts and be drawn to focus on them, then you would become susceptible to the wounding and scars of sin.

With the chapter completed and little desire to bed down, Evan read about the Helmet of Salvation. This was the guarantee of eternal security. No fatal blow could befall him because his head was safe, protected by salvation. 'Jesus saves to the uttermost' he thought. How absolutely crazy it would be to have your head unprotected in those ancient times. And yet those people who make a pretence of belief and commitment in Christ go without that helmet of salvation. They risk the deadly blow. One that will forever separate them from the presence of the Saviour.

Evan was moved to pray for an upward perspective rather than an inward self-pity. He then prayed for all the ones who had been affected by the intrigue and violence and bereavement associated with this still hazy plot. He prayed for broken families and relationships and for healing. At the conclusion of his prayer he was, almost predictably, very sleepy. A few minutes and several yawns later he was asleep.

***
Chapter 12

Thursday

Rowan arrived the next morning with a bag of groceries and the good news that Greg was conscious and mending well. He was also disappointed that their most promising leads had fizzled out with the disappearance of their main suspects. It was then that Rowan confronted them with the query that had also niggled Maddy.

"Greg and I would like to know how you knew about the attack. I mean, five minutes later and Maddy wouldn't be here with us." Maddy shivered; one of those involuntary, base of the spine to the shoulder blades, shimmies you get when a consequence doesn't bear thinking about.

Jim gave his dad a meaningful stare. The pause weighed heavily on them both, indication that neither wished to spell out their scheme. "Rowan, this is one of those instances where if we don't tell you, you won't have to conceal something marginally illegal." Evan accompanied the assessment with an apologetic facial contortion.

"Marginally illegal hey." He studied Jim for a moment with a knowing bob of his head—similar to the previous day. "Okay, I think I can guess... and if someone asks, I don't know and no one has told me." He smiled cheekily, then he glanced at the three sitting around the table. "Probably one more day here. Commander Gascoyne has pretty much put this case to bed. Satellite data suggests the plane went down over the Pacific, northeast of Fiji. Some searches have been made but there's little to go on." He hesitated momentarily, "I think you'll be safe. I mean, no Floyd Keller—that's the guy known as Red—, no Neville O'Hearne, No Burt or Gant—the two crooked cops, and no Willy Spinoza, though he was only a minor player."

"And no way to find out who ordered all this to happen," Evan growled.

Rolf noticed Evan half turn away and grit his teeth. He put his hand on Evan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that... he—" The young detective helplessly hunted for the right words but they eluded him. "I'm sorry."

Maddy distracted them by taking orders for coffees. When they sat down Rolf started afresh. "Oh... by the way, I spoke with Larry Black. He talked to Haines yesterday. I don't think his lawyer is that interested in the case... so... Haines has dropped Bart Young and engaged Larry to defend him. And, to make a long story short; Haines basically stuck to his version of events. Namely, that he was unaware that cocaine had been put into his car and that he believed Warder had set him up. He repeatedly claimed that he knew nothing about the drugs in his car. He said he had become suspicious of Warder because he knew him from the trade. Haines said he had mentioned it to O'Hearne, though he had no evidence, and told him he was considering going to the police." Well Larry is a swift operator, it seems, and he got a subpoena to interview Warder, much to Burlington's annoyance.

Rolf continued, "When he talked to Warder, Larry told him he knew everything. He said he had a witness that saw him take drugs out of his communication box and put money in. Warder then spilled. He suggested that his anonymous contact thought the Global Church would be an ideal setting to conceal their drug trade. Warder would park his car, go to the church communication boxes and put money in his box. The drugs would be in his box, carefully packed in a pamphlet distribution cardboard container. He never saw anyone who looked part of the drug scene from when he arrived till when he got back to his car. The amount of drugs he got was determined by how much money he had placed in his box the previous week. It was up to him to gain what profits he could manage."

The young detective described how an anonymous note with the drugs had warned the cocaine dealer that Haines was going to dob him in. "Warder had admitted he had tried to frame Haines and thought it was quite humorous that O'Hearne's reaction was that Haines had probably decided to get a piece of the action. He said the church administrator was apparently appalled that the church was being used for illegal narcotics. Warder joked that O'Hearne didn't have a clue what was going on. Because the churchman had told police it could be any one of the thousand church members or, to his mind, someone off the street who came in to pick up the money... maybe after they put the drugs in the box."

Rolf related how, evidently, Warder had been dumbfounded to learn from Larry that O'Hearne was now considered the mastermind of the whole scheme. The drug dealer had been recruited and duped by the man he thought he was outsmarting.

Once Rolf left, the two young members of the enforced retreat busied themselves with their writing tasks. Evan felt obliged to ring Belle. She needed to know they were still supporting her. It had occurred to him that he had some degree of closure with the culprit of Mindy's murder identified and dealt with by the harsh reality of felonious retribution. But Jobe's death was still a mystery. Police hadn't even acknowledged that there was anything untoward about his drowning. Though Belle, presumably, coped with the circumstances of her husband's passing, Evan knew, eventually, Jobe's unresolved demise would drive him to distraction.

The call was awkward in the wake of their last two interactions. Evan shared his frustration that Mindy's death was caused by a clumsy, bungled mugging. He said he was committed to seeing the investigation through—to find out who was giving the orders. He would let her know if they found out any more about Jobe.

Belle was anxious to know how Maddy was and said she'd heard some of the details from Rowan when he visited Detective Miles. She also wondered how Jim had got involved. Evan skirted the issue of their information gathering and mentioned that Rolf had hidden them away for a few days until he was sure there was no more threat.

He had to clarify for Belle that three of them were ensconced in a house together. She commented that Maddy might need some female company if they were there any length of time. Evan remarked wryly, watching them chat affably, that she seemed quite comfortable with Jim's company. The conversation spiralled in on the lack of direction in their investigations. Belle shared that she had nothing new on the Global Church though the news was full of the corrupt element that the leadership was distancing itself from.

"Do you think Marsden's behind all this?" She was groping for some new angle.

"It's hard to say. All we've got is some informer telling Maddy he's implicated, but so far he just looks incompetent."

"So, what do we do now?"

Evan wasn't about to disclose any information about their digital sentinel and opted for sounding vague. "I guess we'll wait and see what Rolf and Miles, when he's recovered, want to do. I mean, the police are saying everything is solved so we're not getting any satisfaction from them."

"Well, Greg won't be in action for a while... I will say he's so much better than yesterday, but it will take some time for a wound like that to heal. I'm not sure what Detective Rolf will do... can do, unless we can give him evidence that Jobe was murdered." Her voice trailed away. The path ahead was indistinct. She had confronted a strange mix of guilt and release when coming to terms with Jobe's death. Then meeting Evan had rekindled a spark of hope. But now her prospects of getting closer to him were bleak. She had been too pushy, too desperate.

With neither of them having anything else to add, the call ended with the same atmosphere of uneasiness in which it had begun. There was a plaintive plea from Belle to keep in touch and Evan's thoughts echoed her words, challenging his fears, flaring his memories, making a judgement—not yet.

A call to Merri had him backpedalling almost straight away. She was put out that he was now consulting with Larry. And what was more, Larry had now taken on the Haines' case as a pro bono project. Evan listened to her vent about being considerate of their friendship and not keeping her in the dark. He refrained from reminding her that she had been totally unhelpful with regard to locating Mindy's notes and advising on the Haines' case itself.

She calmed down a bit and suggested they could meet again and he could bring her up to date. The rush of thoughts cloyed his mind as he tried to imagine how he'd deal with the probing questions about how he'd known about Spinoza or O'Hearne or the attack on Maddy. He had no idea how much she knew. He derailed her suggestion clinically.

"No point really. The police say Mindy's murderer is dead. The people who framed Haines and manipulated Warder tried to escape and are probably dead. So there's nothing obvious for us to do. If I wasn't a Christian I'd be like Bailey Burnley and call it karma."

It was apparent Larry hadn't mentioned any of the details unearthed in the files on the thumb drive and he had no intention of even hinting at Jim's handiwork with his computer. The notion that someone in the law firm had colluded with the opposition was sufficient deterrent for him to keep such confidences within the present group.

"What about a social engagement? You aren't averse to a little companionship are you?"

"No... no... not at all." His throat tightened at the suggestion. "When we fix a time I'll bring Belle Reagan... you know Jobe's wife. I think she's in need of a bit of... you know, getting out with other people." Evan had no idea why he'd said it. It was like a reflex protective response. He wanted to avoid 'socialising' with a married woman, friend or no, and the safety in numbers ploy was sheer desperation.

A moment's hiatus had him wondering if the connection was lost. "Sure... we'll organise something." Merri's enthusiasm had been blunted and Evan, inwardly, sighed with relief. Her answers to questions about family were clipped and the conversation was soon curtailed. He stared at his phone in his hand and reviewed what was said. Perhaps being with Belle was less disagreeable than being with Merri, he surmised.

That second night, Jim and Maddy watched another movie but Evan opted for an early night. His sleep patterns had been so disrupted that weariness made trying to stay awake in a darkened room unlikely. Instead, he decided to try and finish the booklet before sleeping.

The 'Sword of the Spirit', said the next chapter. Evan read how this was the Christian's only weapon. It represented God's word. It combatted the wiles of Satan without and the natural evil inclinations of the heart within. Jesus refuted the Devil with words of scripture and in the same way it can keep us from straying from the Way. The truth of the word demolishes the lies of Satan. Similarly it is 'a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart'. It takes God's word to 'get to the heart of the matter', to reveal the true state of our nature, to convict and bring about repentance.

Evan thought that of the many suggestions why two-edged sword was an appropriate description, the fact that it applied to yourself as well as the world around was a powerful analogy.

He went on to the next verse. It considered prayer as the final equipping. He recalled thinking that prayer was speaking to the commander. It was being encouraged by his presence. It was seeking guidance for the battle.

At the end of the chapter he was reminded, every aspect of the armour came from Jesus—was Jesus. Truth, Righteousness, Good News of Him, Faith in Him, Salvation by Him, the Word and Talking with Him. It was all Jesus. The author concluded that we needed to put Christ on, to live in Him, to be clothed by Him. Evan felt relieved that, because of the presence of the Holy Spirit, it would be Jesus that would enable him to stand to see everything through to a victorious end. A verse resonated within—Christ in you the hope of glory.

***

The next several weeks saw little advance in their digging for some sort of breakthrough. The safe house had served its purpose. Rolf was convinced that no imminent threat to them existed any longer. Evan and Jim went along to Kane Harris' funeral in support of Maddy. Miles recovered steadily and was back at work after six weeks.

Evan started the new semester back at the university lecturing, setting projects and, at the same time, starting a new book called 'Exchanging the Truth for a Lie'. The unfinished draft of 'Human' had been set aside while his inspiration shifted to this new idea. He roughed out a series of chapter ideas examining the relativistic view of morality. Some of the material he used in lectures: Democratic morality—Feel good Rules, The Myth of Equality and The Origin of Rights.

He dealt with the sympathy and well-meaning hugs from colleagues as best he could. And when he was busy, aloneness faded into the background.

Belle was absorbed in work and also became more accountable for her faith. She joined a small study group, after some encouragement from the pastor, and linked with some other single mothers who struggled with the desire for companionship.

Evan and Jim had one more electronic foray into the computers at Global Church. They glimpsed at large files containing scandalous recorded confessions of members and waded through endless humanistic philosophies of positive thinking, toleration of all, the priority of pleasure and the supremacy of self. Jim warned that infrequent use of the buried Quisling virus would increase its longevity. Any carefully placed process usage monitor could isolate an unfamiliar operation and draw attention to it. Multiple executions of the program was a sure way to ensure its prompt eradication.

It was important, however, to record the prominent leaders who were yet to be targeted by the church campaign and somehow warn them or avert their political destruction; if only to frustrate the church's plan.

They made a copy of the high-ranking officials that had been identified in the files and contemplated what would be the best course to take to intervene in a credible manner. After thrashing it about, no simple solution was reached. It had to be brought to the notice of the larger group. Jim anticipated that, surely, the expertise of the others would generate a way to protect the elected leaders while exposing the Global Church.

Evan was under the impression that Jim had ulterior motives, especially when he suggested a dinner for all the stakeholders. It was, by all accounts, meant to be a thank you for everyone's efforts and to share the sensitive information Jim had pilfered via his computer hacking. Evan set about calling them with a mildly sceptical view of whether all would accept the invitation.

Surprisingly, for a Friday night, everyone said they could attend the Bowles' house dinner. Larry, Rowan and Greg could come with their partners. This meant, by default Jim and Maddy and Evan and Belle were nominally paired off. Kate and Laurie offered to cook and serve, to give the meal a degree of formality and sophistication. Evan accepted the offer on the condition they did it as a paid job, in consideration of their meagre finances.

***

Nibbles and refreshments were had from six pm and there was surprising conviviality amongst the guests. It was initiated by everyone's enquiries into Greg's recovery and followed by Kate's remark that she and Laurie were students at a well-known city Bible college. Holly, Rowan's fiancée, happily confessed their recently acquired belief in Jesus and then made a point or having friendly conversations with Maddy, Larry and his wife Marta and Greg and his friend Louise.

By seven, all were seated and the meal had started. While they ate a creamy tomato soup, Larry gave a rundown of his defence of Bevan Haines. He described how the prosecution withdrew charges when faced with Warder's admission of setting up Haines. Warder himself bore the brunt of drug charges with the so called drug boss having absconded and possibly perished in a plane crash.

Greg spoke about the unexpected brutality he encountered when Keller and a man named Kernot stormed out of Maddy's apartment. His call to stop was greeted by several rounds from a silenced automatic pistol, one of which, he said, 'smashed into his side'. The pain rendered him useless to do anything but writhe on the floor. His memories of what ensued were all blurred. Jim took up the story saying he heard the commotion upstairs. He crept up as quickly as he could.

"They were leaning over you and the shorter guy pulled out a gun. I just went crazy and charged them. I sent them both sprawling but tripped over myself. I think it gave the tall goon enough time to whack me. That's all I remember till Dad came up."

Maddy inserted, "Well I heard Greg shout and then a few phut sounds. I knew he'd been shot, and then one said something like; 'I think we should finish him off.' That's when there was crashing and swearing and running feet going past."

"I never did thank you guys," Greg returned sincerely. "I am really grateful you came when you did."

Louise said in a small voice, "So am I." And gripped his arm possessively.

They had commenced a tasty risotto when Rowan added his perspective of the scene. Then he sought the information that had been bothering him since the event. "So, spill... how did you find out about the attempt on Maddy's life?" It was obviously going to torment him.

Evan and Jim locked eyes for a few seconds. There were knowing smiles before Jim acquiesced with a nod and Evan elaborated on their digital scheming. He disclosed how the discovery of the email had been the trigger. They had abandoned their hacking once it had been discovered. He even speculated on the providential nature of the timing.

Following that, Evan explained how more recently they had a second incursion into Global church files. Jim, at his urging, had begun trawling through some very incriminating information. The implications of what the data revealed took a while to surface.

Jim got out his computer to show the files he had copied. They congregated in the adjacent sitting room to view the information on a large screen TV. Suggestions on what the church would use the contents for were progressing from bribery and extortion to destabilising the government. It wasn't until Maddy connected the dots and deduced her theory of a methodical coup by stealth that the group sat stunned and appalled at the possible consequences.

"There's a pecking order of preferred candidates," observed Holly, as they all surrounded the screen of Jim's laptop.

"If the church has groomed these officials... or bribed them, then the repercussions would destroy legitimate democratic government here for years. These puppets would be at the behest of whoever is calling the shots at the Global Church," declared Rowan.

"So, what do we do?" Greg regarded the rest of the onlookers. His first instinct was to do, to react, now that the malady had been isolated.

"We find out more," stipulated Rowan. "Before we even think about breaking this thing open we have to get some hard evidence. And it has to be legitimate." His wide eyed stare at Jim and then at Evan ably announced who the statement was aimed at.

"That's right," said Larry. "Anything that's collected illegally... without a court order will be inadmissible in court. All we'll be doing is telling them what to hide."

"So... we have to find a way where they'll reveal themselves... get caught out doing something illegal, and hopefully trigger an investigation that will uncover all their crimes." Evan looked dubious. "How do we do that?"

"We'll find a way," consoled Rowan.

He wandered back to the dining table as steaming pudding and custard were being served by Kate and Laurie. Everyone followed.

Belle remarked to Holly that Rowan was more buoyant than their earlier meetings. She whispered back that, though he wouldn't admit it, he was pleased that his boss, Adrian Burton, was back so he wouldn't have to lead up his team. Also, they were getting more interesting cases with Burton's seniority.

The remainder of the evening was more of a social gathering. The two cooks joined them for coffees, and conversations ranged from vague references to police work and current cases to church sermons. Some interest was expressed by Maddy to join Jim and his dad at church. Her reservations were alleviated some when Belle took the opportunity to volunteer her presence so Maddy would have another familiar face.

PART TWO

Blackest darkness awaited them. The basement room had a stuffy electrical odour. Lights flickered as Mr Smooth waved a hand that triggered a sensor. There was a table and chairs, not as comfortable as the conference room but serviceable, and a room divider toward the back. Behind the dividing screen there was the hum of computer servers. Three of the conspirators moved to the table and sat down. Badger, ever suspicious stayed momentarily at the entry and examined the room.

"Things seemed to have settled down," said Smooth. He looked across at Badger. "Any more on the leak."

Enigmatically, the man was still hooded, as if he imagined cameras were somehow able to pry into this subterranean hideaway. He shook his hooded head. "We don't even know if there was a leak. The girl might have got lucky and saw them pulling up outside. Or the copper may have stumbled onto something." He wandered cagily to a seat and sat.

"Well, Angus appears to have cleaned the mess up."

"Remind me not to have Angus organise any flights for me," chortled the long haired guru humourlessly. Angus just peered deprecatingly at their so-called mystic. He then looked down and continued filing his nails.

Mr Smooth ignored the irrelevant triviality from the guru.

"Any signs of them making links to the church?" The hooded figure directed his question at Mr Smooth.

"No... nothing. The solution was enough to satisfy that nosey reporter and the others with her. Having our former colleagues eliminated was a flash of genius Angus."

"Sonny was a bungler, but Red was handy. He was just stupid doing that job himself." Badger's tone had a trace of regret.

"Are we restarting the candy shop?" The guru was being his obtuse self.

"Why?" Mr Smooth was a bit irritated.

"The money of course... Don't we want the money."

Badger also looked fed up. His voice grated as usual. "We've outsourced it. They use our connections. We get fifty percent of the profits and no risk. It was stupid to run it from the church in the first place." His disdain for the deceased administrator hadn't ebbed with his passing. "Have we got someone in mind to run the store front? Maybe Denny?"

"Denny is not in the mix. He thinks everything is legit... and it's better if he stays that way. I doubt if he could be as convincing if he knew the truth. No... I've got a guy from our New York branch, Hugo Carter. Really good at drawing in the celebs and big noters and then getting them over a barrel."

Mr Smooth turned his attention to the surly Angus. "I think we can resume whittling down the impediments to our takeover. Downy is waiting in the wings. There are thirty five confirmed on the payroll in the government and a few less in opposition. If we can guarantee another ten we'll have a safe margin and we can take over control."

"I'll tell Glasser," growled the terse enforcer.

"What happens then Bailey?" The guru was more attuned now they were talking about their greater goal of attaining power.

"Really, Jair? Do we have to spell it out again?"

Mr Smooth closed his eyes for a second to alleviate the frustration. Then in a firmer quiet voice he reiterated the plan. "The members will quit their parties and join a common voting bloc. Given a few weeks this coalition will form a new party with a constitution, a new name and a new agenda... to support a movement for global peace. Remember, there are similar movements occurring all over the world. We will all surrender our authority to a united world government. One economy, one faith, unity and equality... these things will shut down the out dated moralists who push the myth of human evil and try and perpetuate their own religious organisations... whose Victorian sensibilities can't cope with modern freedoms."

His explanation had deteriorated into a vitriolic diatribe.

He took a breath as the sneer retreated from his face. "Tell us Jair, when is your next big rally?"

The guru smiled with pleasure. "Next week. I thought I'd do the war history of Christianity again. Maybe I could introduce the idea of global peace through the Global Church and you could join me on stage."

Bailey looked thoughtful. "That's not a bad idea Jair... not a bad idea."

Chapter 13

Investigating

Inspector Adrian Burton was reading the last paragraph of evidence notes he was forwarding to the prosecuting attorney. He smiled, satisfied that the case against the ex-husband was water tight. He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and put them into a file. The notes themselves would be transferred by email but he, redundantly, still kept a hard copy in his filing cabinet.

Rolf walked in. "Finished?" It was more rhetorical than inquisitive.

"Mm... You know, I still find it fascinating that it's the tiny mistakes that end up unravelling all the cunning and devious calculations and plotting of the premeditated murderer."

"You mean the window."

"Yes... that started the dominoes falling. I mean, going outside and breaking the window, after the murder was committed, to make it look like a break in... well, it was a fair idea. But you'd think he'd check to see if he could unsnib the lock through the broken pane. There was no way he could have done that without leaving some sort of fibres on the glass shards. We probably would have been searching for a break and entry if we didn't become suspicious about that."

Rolf loved the ease at which his mentor solved the complex constructions of the treacherous and unscrupulous. He admired the way he underplayed his deductive reasoning to one simple misstep, while omitting a raft of hunches, connections and observations that caused him to bring charges against a very clever man.

"What about the money then?" The apprentice still wanted to get a grasp of Burton's techniques.

"He wore gloves didn't he?"

"Yes." Rolf answered as if to say, 'that's my point'.

"The money was missing and yet the boyfriend said he didn't take it because it was already gone."

"Right."

"It stands to reason; the ex knew where it was hidden and the jar was one of the few things not thrown down."

"So, he took the money thinking it was the one thing not traceable to the victim." Rolf filled in the gaps. Then he made the leap. "And when we found money at his place, his fingerprints were not on it because he wore gloves, but the victim's prints were! If it was his money, his prints should have been on at least some."

"Well done padawan."

"So... do we get the rest of the day off?" He chuckled half hopefully.

"No... I think Gordon would like us to look at a cold case if there's nothing pressing." He slipped the folder in the cabinet. "Let's see if we can find something interesting in the archives."

He got up and Rowan followed him out the back. The renovations were now complete and all the old cases were housed in different sections of the storage area. They reached the cold case group of shelves when Burton looked at him in a peculiar way.

"Ro... Gordon said that you were moonlighting with a drug squad detective while I was away. What was that all about? You not getting enough action in Homicide?"

Rolf looked sheepish. "It wasn't quite like that. There was a guy that came in trying to get Mars Bar—" he stopped abruptly, remembering that Burton didn't approve of disrespectful or derogatory nick names. "—... Detective Marsden," he corrected with a grin. "... to make some ground on the investigation of his wife's murder. I sort of felt sorry for him... the way Marsden brushed him off... sooo... I offered to help."

"Under cutting a senior officer? That's not really on is it Ro?" Burton had now fixed his gaze on him. He saw himself as a mentor to the young detective and he wanted to model a high code of ethics.

"Give me a break Ade. It's not as though you do everything by the book."

The senior detective pulled a grimace. He knew there were times...

"All right, tell me about it."

Rolf reran the story about Mindy's death, the strange coincidence of another lawyer's death and then the murder of a reporter, all chasing after the same information. He went on to describe the meetings between a small team of people who had been enmeshed by the bizarre circumstances. When he told of the professional hit on Mindy's killer and the 'convenient' incriminating evidence that basically cleared the decks of Marsden's investigations... well, it seemed to end their little vigilante posse. Maddy's recognition of two police involved with the church set the ball rolling again. That's when Evan's vital tip off prevented Maddy's elimination and, in his opinion, led to the removal of any link to the church.

Burton gave a low whistle. Rolf knew instantly that his boss was hooked. "So that's why you wanted to use Micah's place for a safe house."

Rolf grunted assent. "It was the first place I thought of."

"Have you spoken to the marina authority?" Burton asked.

Rolf shook his head. "I haven't done anything about Reagan's death... I mean... it was a drowning... coroner was no help... I thought it was a dead end." He scrunched his face at the unintended pun.

Rolf felt the squinty stare of his boss. He knew he was expecting him to formulate a line of inquiry. He hated these pressure situations. "Okay... so... we go to the marina... um... we ask about the boat, the one with the scuba divers. Maybe it is registered with its regular docking place."

"Mooring." Burton couldn't help himself when it came to terminology. He commended Rolf. "That's good. I imagine if divers wanted to stay in a marina for a few days they would be noticed... even expected to ask permission. So, that's the first approach. What else can we do?"

The young detective bit his upper lip and then scratched his head. He didn't realise his behaviour epitomised the 'I-don't-have-a-clue' body language. "Maybe... look into the church?"

Burton smiled. "That's on the list. No... we have to be discreet, but ask around, and find out who Burt and Gant hung around with... contacted. Maybe there's a money trail that will reveal who's paying them. I'm sure Grant would chase that up for us." He referred to Detective Drake a financial forensic accountant with the Fraud Squad.

"We'd have to get a court order... oh... right... your friend Judge Forrester."

"Yeah... well, let's not push that option until it's really necessary. We could check with internal affairs to see if they've made enquiries. Especially with Spinoza's murder still a matter of guesswork." There was a glint in the older man's eyes that indicated he had taken up the challenge. Here was a conundrum that required some attention.

"Do we bring the team in on this?" Rolf watched as Burton flicked through a couple of fifteen year old unsolved homicides. Preoccupied, the older man didn't answer. He turned from one to the other of the two files. The germ of an idea developed and was shown in his changing expression. "Ade?"

"What?"

"Do we bring the others in on this?"

"Mm... gradually. I'll get Gully and the other two to start working on these to keep the squad visibly, justifiably employed and we'll fill them in, as we go, on our alternate... er... interest."

"Two cases?"

"Just a hunch... we'll give both to them and see if they can guess why my nose tickles from a suspicious smell."

Rolf wanted to say, 'but you only looked at them for a few minutes', instead, he said nothing. He knew better. Sometimes it only took a few minutes for the uncanny wiring in his brain to do its work.

***

Gully, Arrington and Lee had come back from a celebratory lunch. It had been at the suggestion of Burton who said they had earned a break for the good work they had put in. The three detectives had gladly accepted, aware that their boss appreciated their unstinting loyalty, their readiness to run down leads and the chance moment of inspiration they contributed to a case. Such an occasional reward always went hand in hand with the expectation that they would 'go the extra mile' should the situation require it.

They were ragging each other about who was to blame for suspecting the victim's new boyfriend, given that each one of them, at some stage in the investigation, had pointed out incriminating indications of his guilt. In consolation, Burton had had the man charged with hindering an investigation and theft. His unprincipled theft of valuables, when confronted with the dead body, had mistakenly painted him as a classic break and enter, accidental murder felon. All three stopped laughing when Burton and Rolf walked up.

Burton put down the two files and threw down the gauntlet. "See if you can work out why I think these two are connected," he goaded them with a teasing grin. "Ro and I are going to do a little research on the passing of one Jobe Reagan. It's been labelled 'death by misadventure', but you never can tell these days, can you?"

"Is he having a go at us?" Lee murmured as Burton and Rolf departed.

"Probably," replied Arrington, "but ya gotta love the guy. He's got instinct."

They settled down to read the files. Gully began writing down notes for the two cases in two columns. The whole idea was to look for a pattern.

***

The marina office was a leased extension of the modern yacht club. Burton and Rolf found the manager, Geoff Spencer, working at his computer. Spencer was a tall, sandy haired man with a freckled complexion. Burton couldn't help thinking that he would be susceptible to sun damage.

"Mr Spencer... perhaps you can help us," began Burton in his deferential manner. He showed his credentials.

"I'll certainly try... but homicide? What are you investigating?"

"Well, two or three months ago... er March twelve to be exact, there was a drowning in the bay here. Should there be an inquest, we'd like to make sure we covered all the bases."

"Yeah, I remember it. I answered questions to the police already. Asked if I saw anything and... well... I didn't."

Rolf stood looking out a large window with a panoramic view of the marina and the bay beyond. Burton gave an encouraging smile, "That's good to know. Tell me... what do you know of a diving boat moored here over that time?"

"Yeah... I remember them... about four guys. They said they were just doing some training dives and then they explained they'd be practising a fish count for some jobs they were doing."

"Did that sound reasonable to you?"

"Well, it was a bit weird, but you get all sorts... you know."

"Do you keep a record of moorings?"

"Yeah, sure thing... I'll show you. They had to pay a casual mooring fee... er... for three nights I think."

Spencer opened a spreadsheet and went back to March. Running his finger up the column he exclaimed, "There! Nick Jones and... the boat was ..." He ran his finger further along the row. "Blue Horizon. And yeah... it was for three nights."

"Did they give you a home port?"

"No... we don't usually insist on that. We've got a registration number... but I think it was a rental."

Burton recorded the information as he read it out. Then he set off on a different tack. "So did you ever see the deceased swimming the length of the cove?"

"No, I didn't myself, but some of the members spoke about him."

"Was he considered a strong swimmer?"

"That's exactly what they were saying... he was such a strong swimmer. Though, I suppose anyone can have a heart attack."

"He didn't have a heart attack," inserted Rolf, who had turned from the window.

"What was it then? A stroke?"

"That's the difficulty we're faced with, Mr Spencer. The coroner ruled that he came into difficulties. Is it possible that a stray fishing net or sea weed entangled him?"

"Haven't had any issues of anything like that. I mean... I guess it's possible."

He nodded slowly before starting afresh. "Er... back to the boat... Tell me, how did they pay the fee?"

Spencer checked another column. "Cash... otherwise I'd have some credit card details." Burton pulled a squinty face that resembled an annoyed twinge.

The detectives thanked the manager for his help and moved toward the door. Suddenly Burton spun around, "One more thing. The divers were here for three days. Did they leave on the twelfth?"

"That's right... why?"

The senior detective folded his bottom lip over the top lip and distorted his face in mock confusion. "Just trying to get all the pieces together." They thanked him again and walked out to scan the bay.

Distractedly, the two men wandered along the beach. The brisk breeze caused a chop even in the sheltered confines of the marina.

"That's a fair swim," remarked Rolf as they assessed the distance from one pier to the other.

"He did it regularly," countered Burton. "Nothing unusual, the coroner said. Yet already we have: strong swimmer drowns, divers in unlikely training area and, from what you told me, an associated break in at the victim's home."

He got his cell and punched a contact while addressing the younger man, "So Ro... enough to make it worth looking into." He averted his eyes at the sound of a voice. "Gully... will you find out who the motor cruiser Blue Horizon is registered to?" He read out the registration number, then listened to Gully repeat it. "That's correct and... do me a favour. Find out who the ranking officer was in charge of Jobe Reagan's drowning at Peale's Bay on March twelve. It'd be nice to get a flavour of what he learned." He paused for a second before answering. "Well, if you could. And get a list of who he spoke to." He waited again. "No... no, don't do that. Say it's linked to a murder we're tidying up... Mindy Bowles. That should satisfy him."

Rolf looked at him with surprise. "You're letting Gully check it out?"

"Gully's a good man. We can't do everything ourselves... You know, delegation... succession planning and all that. Besides, I don't think we'll get much from the report, otherwise 'death by misadventure' wouldn't be the conclusion."

"Ade, why wasn't it listed as accidental drowning." Rolf looked curiously at him.

"Ah ha... Ro my boy... coroners hate drownings. There are too many variables. If it hasn't been witnessed... if a body has just been found floating in the water, well, they can't be categorical. They won't say anything beyond 'drowning being the likely cause of death' in the absence of any marks or medical conditions."

From the second pier, the two detectives ambled back along the sand to the small shopping strip adjacent to the car park where they were parked. For several seconds, Burton stopped outside of the grocery store and surveyed the frontage. He looked at Rolf who watched his mentor attentively.

"Do you want to go in and ask or will I?" he asked oddly. His junior had been with him long enough to know this was what Burton called a 'grasshopper moment'. This one didn't appear too obscure.

"Okay."

The two walked in. Rolf addressed a senior looking gentleman. "Excuse me sir. I'm detective Rolf." He flashed his badge. "I was wondering how long you keep your CCTV footage."

"You'll have to ask the boss, Mr Ricco there." He pointed. They turned to see a young man stacking cereal boxes. Rolf repeated his question and Ricco predictably asked why. Rolf took the standard line; it was in the course of an ongoing investigation. It may have no bearing on what they already knew but they had to check.

The young owner kept stacking boxes, "Well, it's geared to overwrite after four weeks. So I should have about four weeks of video. Four weeks of chilly, cloudy, slow customer weather." The latter was said with a trace of pessimism.

"Mm... thanks for your help." Rolf looked at his colleague and shrugged. It had been a long shot.

"You're welcome to have a look." The manager's curiosity prompted the offer.

"No, it's okay. We were wanting something a bit over three months ago." Burton forced a smile. He still had a germ of an idea that he was trying to nurture. "Does the camera take in any of the bay?"

Ricco stopped and stared. "This is about that drowning isn't it?"

"It would've been nice if it was caught on camera," admitted Burton.

"Well ... no, it only takes in the main jetty to... about the entrance. They already asked me about it when the drowning happened. He drowned about a hundred metres to the right there." He was pointing in the general direction, about half way between the two piers.

"I suppose it would have recorded the diving boat that was around at the time," ventured the older detective.

"Funny you should say that. I had a look that night just to be sure the camera's didn't catch anything helpful and... it did show the divers working on... whatever it was they were supposed to be doing."

"What did you see?"

"I saw them go in a few times. There were two divers and a couple of fellas on the boat. They had a sort of net. Geoff—that's the marina manager—he said they were doing fish counts or something, or training, but I doubt if they got much... a few stone fish maybe."

Burton appeared more alert now. "Were they diving when the drowning occurred? Maybe they saw something."

Ricco was doubtful. "They were, as I said, about a hundred metres away... and they said they knew nothing about it. But they probably were in the water around the same time... cos they were packing up when the police were over there. We were all on the shore watching police divers checking the area." He tried to make clear why he knew what was going on. "Anyway, the diving boat left about an hour after the police questioned them. Haven't seem 'em since."

Burton and Rolf were heading for the door when the proprietor called out, "Talk to Cyril Gunston. He was watching the whole thing." Ricco said that he was often out on the jetty fishing, but it probably was too cold today. The old guy was probably keeping warm inside, staving off his rheumatism. He gave an address and bid them good-day.

As Ricco predicted, the elderly man was huddled next to a glass fronted gas fire in his small, old weather board house. Cyril offered them a tea and Burton, who usually refused such offers, detected a yearning for company that he couldn't decline. Sitting around in old arm chairs, Cyril gave a long-winded account of the events on the day of 'the drowning'. Several times he digressed to colour his tale. Though they had no interest, both men listened politely to what bait was best for catching which fish, how the cove and marina was ideally sheltered from south westerlies and how the place bustled in summer.

Things got more relevant when he explained why the seaward side of the breakwater was much better for fishing—he tried to tell the divers that, he said. Then he spoke of how often he'd seen Jobe swim and how occasionally he'd have a word. And those divers, he had chuckled, they had been novices. Initially, they had troubles with masks and getting into gear. By the third day they were much more confident and organised. "They never did bring any fish up in that net they had. Not that I saw anyways." He snickered at a private joke.

Then Cyril leaned forward and concentrated on the drowning. He told how people on a pleasure boat discovered the body. They yelled at everybody around until people took notice. "I'm not sure who called the police." He looked at them. His creased face looked tiredly perplexed. "Such a shock... he was a good swimmer... and then he drowns."

The old man became pensive. "Life is so fragile." His baggy eyes were mesmerised by the flickering flames. The swaying tongues of orange-red in the old gas fire had him briefly wandering a maze of memories. "He was a lawyer you know... Years ago he would bring his whole family to the holiday house—beautiful wife and two lovely little girls. I think they separated. Hadn't seen them for a while and then his wife showed up and asked me if I saw anything. I told her what I'm telling you."

***

Being alone in the house was something Evan would never get used to. There was one course of action that arose in his mind. He had to sell the place. It was the only way out of this quagmire; the only way to escape the persistent memories. It was going on four months now and, although he tried to cram his life with work—lectures, guest speaking engagements, the ubiquitous assessment tasks and the fall-back distraction of his new book—the airless quiet of the house shouted Mindy's absence.

Sundays had become unusual. He was pleased to see Maddy attending church, asking questions and then, recently, making a commitment. Belle and her girls came the first few times and, after that, Belle had come by herself occasionally. Mostly, Jim and Maddy, and sometimes Belle, would come to his place for lunch. Once or twice Kate and Laurie would also join them. It was those times that he felt least aware of his loss.

He would often contribute to discussions about the sermons or reasons for faith. His perspective on a God who was much more 'loving Father' than personal genie or the jolly Santa Claus of materialistic movements, begged the question of suffering. His response to those issues was hesitant. He understood the theory of a fallen world, free will and an ultimate eternal reality, but embracing the personal ramifications was something he still couldn't do. He'd sum it up as God's sovereign will but wouldn't talk about it with people or with God. Blame still simmered.

So Sundays were now predictably unpredictable. He knew he would meet people but 'the-who' was the unknown. Life, in general, had become mundane, pastel, insipid. Apart from beating himself up with his morning runs, there was little real pain in his life. Of course there was the dull, persistent ache of loneliness that gnawed at his soul. Occasionally it would overwhelm him and he would sob. Mostly, though, it made him feel numb. And, there was no real pleasure, only the soothing, consoling company of family and friends.

Now, Evan sat at the study desk. He was writing comments on essays that agonised, to varying degrees, to formulate coherent philosophies about what it means to be human. They varied from emotional waffle about brotherly love and self-sacrifice to mechanistic, clinical descriptions of the human genome. There was, however, a broad, eclectic middle group that attempted to address the philosophical paradigm for humanity. Contentions that included metacognition, morality and meaning, resonant of his alliterative three pillar lecture, provided some cogent basis for defining human beings.

Evan pushed the last essay away. His hands went to his face and he wept quietly. Life couldn't go on like this. He was an emotional mess. He wanted to do something dangerous. Do something to shake himself out of his apathetic moods—his lethargy for life. Somehow the Global Church had escaped unscathed and yet it reeked of corruption. He had to catch them out; he had to show how they used, what he called 'venal people in power' to achieve their own ends.

Detective Rolf had said that his boss was now looking at the case and, if there was anything to discover, he would discover it. Evan hadn't heard of their progress for over a week and he was sure Jim and he could hasten the process with a little electronic infiltration.

'Tomorrow is Saturday,' he thought. 'Jim could come over and we could scour their files for schedules of meetings or more of their dirt files.' The prospect of engaging the enemy raised his spirits a little. The main problem was that because such information was inadmissible in court, it raised the issue of how they could use it? Media outlets would be leery of anything illegally obtained. It would be difficult to corroborate, and attributing to an anonymous source would smack of the tabloid press and be rejected, out of hand, as unsubstantiated.

***

Saturday morning had almost expired when Maddy arrived with Jim. Evan knew he should have realised that the two would communicate. Their friendship had grown steadily stronger, especially since she had become a believer. Now he would be hampered by the possibility that she would want to become involved in any action. Whatever he decided to do, it would have to be solo. Risking the lives of others would be indefensible to his conscience. Somehow he would have them construe his inaction as some sort of resignation that the police would handle it. Whether they thought it was his indifference or fearfulness, he didn't care. The last thing he wanted was for Maddy or Jim to be in danger again, because of him.

There was some light hearted banter from Jim about the folly of showing a reporter the intrusive capabilities of his burrowing software. Maddy grasped his arm as he crouched over his computer.

"It's good to share," she purred.

"Just so long as you're happy to share the consequences if we get caught," he returned and tilted his head to bump hers lightly.

"If you're there I'll share," she rhymed.

Jim was chuckling when he abruptly stopped. "Hullo, we're in." Both Evan and Maddy drew closer.

Jim's racing through menus and files, quickly scanning emails and tracing through key calendar dates had Evan and Maddy's heads spinning. Evan moved away and offered to fix refreshments as Jim tapped away. He was halfway to the kitchen when Jim called.

"Look at this."

"What is it?" Evan walked back to look over his shoulder.

"The calendar highlights September twenty as 'target vote day'. What do you suppose that means?" Jim swivelled round to look at the other two.

Maddy pointed to the calendar, "There's a note about it. It says progress on insider list. Can we find that?"

Jim was already doing a search. Within seconds he had a spreadsheet open and they were all aghast. Parliamentarian names were listed. Almost forty had a tick in a column labelled 'secured'. Several were in a column labelled 'negotiating'. The next two columns were more ominous. One was 'targeting' and the last was 'removed'. There were numerous names with ticks in one or both of those columns.

"We've been pinged!" gasped Jim as he frenetically exited the site and closed down his computer. He stared at them motionless.

"What does that mean?" Evan couldn't match the words with the message of alarm his cry conveyed.

"It means they put a trace on this computer. They must have detected our snooping. And they must have some very high powered surveillance software." Jim looked at Maddy. "We should go... all of us. If anyone comes around it won't be for a social visit."

In a rush, Evan piled things he thought he would need into his car. Jim and Maddy grabbed several photos and anything that might identify people easily if someone broke in. The frenzied evacuation took little more than fifteen minutes, but even that was too much for Jim. He hustled the others out of the house.

"Come on, come on. I don't want to run into any of their gorillas again if I can help it."

"Okay, okay... don't shove," Evan grumbled as he pivoted and grabbed a photo, missed by the other two, of Mindy and himself, suddenly clutching it as a sacred relic of a treasured past.

In something of a role reversal the son instructed his father, "Follow us. We'll go somewhere for lunch and work out what we do next." Evan mechanically obeyed. Inside his head too many voices were complaining 'unfair, abandoned, persecuted', as if the protests would somehow influence the events.

***

Chapter 14

Detection

Burton's crew gathered around Rolf's desk. He had Marsden's reports in front of him. Their boss' conviction that something smelled about Reagan's demise, had had them scurrying about following every trail, every clue, in no doubt that the truth would surface.

Burton started in his inimitable fashion with no preliminaries. "I've been reading the notes on Mindy Bowles. Convenient that a delivery van happened to obscure any possible evidence of her car being interfered with. The delivery turns out to be one ordered by the law firm. So... why did it stay so long?"

"I'll check it out," volunteered Rolf.

"What do you have Gully?"

"The boat—pleasure craft—is owned by Mars Bay Boat Hire." He swiped to the next screen of his tablet.

A small quirky smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He continued. "The manager informed me that the boat was hired by two men... John L Bird signed the documentation."

"Ah... the man has a sense of humour," murmured Burton dourly. Then he added encouragingly, "That's good work Gully."

"That's not all Ade, there were some security camera shots, a series of individual snaps of every customer taken as they come in, that cover the last year. We've identified the two men. "

"Who?"

"Bruno Stavenic and Tarik Zlatan, tied to the Bosnian mob. They have a few priors but nothing lately."

Arrington mimed a soft clap, Lee patted Gully on the shoulder, "Way to go Gully," he encouraged cheerfully.

Gully couldn't conceal his smile anymore. "Thanks... say, Ade, do you want Fred and me to bring them in?"

"No thanks Gully. We're still not official on this. Ro and I will have a chat with them. How are you going with the cold cases?"

Gully pointed to Lee and he read off his open laptop. "As far as we can tell, the two cases are related by the similarities in their situations. Both key suspects had a motive—money, dysfunctional relationships. Both had ironclad alibis. Both occurred in the same month. But as far as we can tell, they didn't know each other." Lee looked a trifle confused. "The differences in the MO suggest they're not related. One was strangled, one was shot. One was found by the husband and one by a neighbour. They had different social settings, different occupations, lived in different areas of the city, though not that far apart, and it seems that one victim was talking of divorce while the other was committed to trying to save the relationship."

Lee pulled a face, shrugged his shoulders and looked around. "What they don't tell us is who else had a possible motive."

Burton pulled a thin-lipped smile. "So, what's the next step?"

Rolf had a glimmer of an idea. "Was this a movie or something once?"

"Go on," prompted Burton.

"Well... if we can establish that somewhere, somehow, the two suspects met and conspired to murder each other's partner then it's a whole new ball game."

"Worth looking at, do you think?" The senior detective looked at his team.

"We'll get on it right away," Gully announced. He got up and Arrington and Lee followed him to his desk.

"So what now," Rolf was anticipating the next move.

"The Bosnians," uttered Burton quietly. "Then we'll get Grant Drake to do his magic on the money trail." He chuckled and gave the younger man a soft punch on the shoulder, "Come on Ro... let's see what these Balkan gentlemen have been up to."

As they went past the other three, Burton reminded Gully about the police report on the drowning.

"Oh, right... yeah, haven't got around to that yet." His palm pushed against his forehead as if to impress his cranium with the request. "It'll be on your desk in the morning."

"Don't stress," advised Rolf as he went past. And then he whispered loudly enough for the other two to hear, "Ade has a way of deflating our egos."

Burton turned, ignoring his facetious partner, and spoke up, "No, don't bother. We'll do it. I need some leverage on Stavenic and that report should give it to me."

Gully looked chastised. "I have something more important for you," the senior officer added. Gully's spirits visibly revived. "I need you to confirm the hire of scuba equipment by Stavenic." He half turned before delivering his last inspiration, "Oh, Gully, how did they confirm their identity with the boat hire?

"Fake licence."

"Could you check if they did that again for the gear hire?"

Gully grinned, "You want me to stack up minors, don't you?"

"How did you guess?" answered Burton sporting a huge smile.

***

A Sergeant Gleeson from the local station had filed the report. Over the phone he was quite curious as to why the Homicide Squad would be interested in a drowning. He became defensive when Burton suggested that there were a few loose ends.

While he blustered about being a stickler for procedure, the detectives listened over the speaker. They listened until the sergeant had finished describing how no one had seen Jobe drown, how no one had heard cries for help and that all the coroner would say was that it appeared he had drowned. Burton then informed him that the divers had given false names and addresses. That, in fact, they were known criminals. Gleeson became apologetic. He should have checked their identities, he said. Maybe if he'd been more receptive to the people who insisted that Reagan was a good swimmer he would have dug deeper. Was there anything he could do?

Burton found himself assuring the sergeant that it wouldn't reflect on his record. It was an understandable mistake. He then subtly suggested that if all those witnesses on that day could be asked about the antics of the divers, it would be a great help.

The report itself gave little fresh insight. But it did provide documented evidence that Stavenic and his cohort gave false information. Just what he needed. It would be sufficient for Judge Forrester to grant him access to bank records, maybe even phone records.

Their next step was to read the coroner's report into the death. There were no medical conditions identified which could have brought about a sudden inability to swim. It was conjectured that a possible mental condition or self-destructive mood swing was a possibility. The coroner also identified minor chafing on the legs, and suggested that entanglement could also be plausible, although no snags were found.

A phone call to the medical examiner had him explaining, unnecessarily, in detail to Burton, why determining a drowning cause of death is plagued by uncertainties. Did the lungs fill with water post mortem? It was possible and there were precedents, but in his opinion it was unlikely given the relatively short period of time the body had been in the water. Again, he wouldn't categorically state that heart failure was brought about by drowning trauma, though it was more likely since there was no pathology suggesting a heart condition.

To stem the flow of medical jargon, Burton interrupted with a question. "Doctor Brown... If I speculated that Mr Reagan was forced under water by swimmers using breathing apparatus, is there anything in your autopsy results that would support or refute that suggestion?"

There was silence at the other end of the line. Then a clearing of the throat. "You understand inspector that no one has made this suggestion as a possibility to me before? I mean... such er... theories would change the nature of the autopsy. I would have a better idea of what to look for."

It was clear they were encountering another episode of self-justifying, of protecting one's reputation. Burton went into exoneration mode. "Of course doctor, there's no way you could have guessed, from the police report, that this was a possible homicide. Nevertheless, I want your expert opinion now."

"Well... I'm only guessing you realise, but the slight chafing on the legs could be considered consistent with being dragged down by the legs. I would suppose, by at least two people."

"Would you consider putting that in writing, Doctor Brown?" Burton eyed Rolf expectantly.

"Only if you will vouch for the fact that your department advised that they had no reason to suspect suspicious circumstances."

"Could you tell me who told you that?"

"Not off hand. I have it in my notes somewhere." There was a long pause. "Ah... here it is. Detective Marsden."

The senior detective gave a look of resignation to Rolf and started nodding as he answered. "Well, I'll certainly state that once I confirm it with Marsden. I'll let you know doctor. Thanks for all your help." He was massaging the examiner's bruised ego to the last.

Judge Forrester was pleased to see Burton and, as was his way, sought the intimate details of the case. Whether it was Burton's reputation, or merely that the judge enjoyed the homicide detective's company, it was rarely the occasion that he could nip in and come out with a warrant, a writ or court order without participating in the judge's social conventions.

He would brew a coffee, have banana muffins, or some other delicacy, served, and he would cajole Adrian on every nuance and hint that had given him direction in the case. For the judge it was better than a murder mystery. Here was a real live sleuth, with a knack for sniffing out obscure clues, humbly solving criminal conundrums.

The attendance of Rolf in these tete-a-tetes somewhat disrupted the concept of their private conversations but, like the loyal sidekick he was, he silently merged with the furniture and spectated as the two friends, figuratively, painted tableaus of the criminal mind at work.

As they talked, Rolf rang Larry, at the law office, and asked him to find out why the delivery van had stayed so long on the day of Mindy's death. Larry promised to get back to him.

Ninety minutes after he sat down for coffee, Burton left with Rolf. They had their warrants for financial records and bank account searches, and summary arrest of the Bosnians for obstructing a police investigation by providing false information.

The drive into the western suburbs was used to talk strategy. Rolf listened as several points were outlined. Two squad cars would be on hand but just out of sight while they eased themselves into a conversation. Some bluff might be required regarding what the autopsy report actually found.

Then would come the outlining of charges against them. They would progress from obstructing justice to premeditated, first degree murder with a gradual vice like compression that would hopefully lead to them implicating who had hired them. The inducement would be to improve their plea-bargaining position in court.

On the way, Gully confirmed the scuba gear was obtained under the alias John Bird and the suits were fitted for two other men that matched Zlatan and Andelko's descriptions. It appeared all the transactions were in cash, clearly to avoid connection to Bruno and his brother Dusan.

He then gleefully told them that, in the cold case, Lee had discovered that both husbands were members of the same gymnasium. Lee and Arrington were going to follow up whether they actually got together there. The men were in their late forties by now and their actual addresses hadn't yet been determined.

The two detectives sat outside Minton's Car Sales. The moderately dubious establishment was owned by the Stavenic brothers and Zlatan was known to frequent the car yard along with a number of other shady Bosnians.

Rolf was furiously writing out bank balance figures dictated to him by Burton. Drake had quickly determined that three hundred thousand dollars had been transferred into the Stavenic company account, one hundred and twenty thousand of which had been distributed between Zlatan and the other man Enis Andelko; a man also known to police as Angel. The money had been traced back to an intermediate bank, but Drake was sure he could source the origin.

"We might assume that the Global Church financed the hit, given what you told me about their scheme. But we don't say anything till Drake confirms it."

They were walking to the entry as Burton sorted out what was on his mind. "Don't refer to the church at all. If they are a front for some political power play, we don't want to tip them off." He glanced up the street and noted two squad cars unobtrusively parked in front of a fast food outlet.

Inside, they were immediately approached by the younger Stavenic—Dusan. "Can I help you? We have some real bargains just in."

Rolf held up his badge. "We're here to see Bruno."

Dusan became animated. "This is a regular business, detective. We're legit' now... no more... er insurance work." His euphemism brought a guilty smile to his face.

"Nevertheless," inserted Burton, "we need to speak with Bruno."

"You need a warrant. He doesn't have to see you."

"I have a warrant. Step aside or you'll be arrested for impeding a lawful investigation." Burton strode to the back offices. Rolf kept an eye on the younger Stavenic.

Bruno hung up his phone hastily. A tinge of guilt flickered across his face as Burton walked into the office. 'Some people you don't talk to while the police are around,' thought Burton.

"I'm Detective Inspector Burton, Bruno; we have a few questions for you," he began.

"Whad about?" retorted the Bosnian gruffly.

The inspector casually sat himself down in a chair opposite and watched the man try and bury his tension. "Done any scuba diving lately, Bruno?"

"Whad ya mean?" He flinched visibly and a vein in his neck betrayed his racing pulse.

"Do you want me to spell it out for you, Bruno?" There was an ironic head tilt associated with the comment. "On March the ninth you brought a boat, the Blue Horizon that you had hired, into Peale's Bay. It was obtained under an illegal, fake driver's licence. The same one you used to rent the scuba gear."

Bruno's face contorted with derision. "So, someone says they saw me drive a boat. I say they was wrong."

"We have pictures."

The elder Stavenic squirmed nervously in his chair. He gathered himself as if he'd just done a damage evaluation report, and brashly scowled, "So, you charge me with identity fraud. I'll let my lawyer know. I must have accidentally switched my wallet with John Bird. Silly really."

"Then there's the small matter of the murder of Jobe Reagan." Bruno lost colour and twitched the right side of his mouth. Burton continued, "The coroner made some interesting comments about chafing on Jobe's legs. We have witnesses seeing Zlatan and Andelko taking a net into the water with them at the time Mr Reagan went swimming. So, first degree murder, conspiracy to murder, you might be left carrying the bag."

Burton's cell rang. He stood and looked at the caller. "Ah... the office... Excuse me a minute Bruno... Burton..." As he listened, he watched Stavenic shift uncomfortably and stiffen. "Right... you sure? Well, that nails down where the money came from... thanks." Just as he said it, Bruno launched out of his chair and out the door. He charged off left, about turned as he saw Rolf and sprinted toward the back of the offices. He crashed out the back door and clattered away amidst shouts of protest.

Totally ignoring the ruckus, the homicide inspector strolled back through the front reception area. He waited while Rolf was informing Dusan that he would be accompanying some police to the station.

Outside, Bruno was already being shoved into a squad car by the officers who had been waiting for him out the rear of the sales office. The men from the second squad car took charge of Dusan and placed him in the car. Burton reminded them, before they drove off, to secure them in the holding cells to await formal charges.

Both Burton and Rolf had a chuckle about the predictability of the Bosnian thugs. Their behaviour made it more and more likely that assumptions about being contracted for the drowning were correct. But so far everything was circumstantial and that was never satisfactory. Motive—the money trail provided that; opportunity—they were seen by several witnesses at the scene of the crime, and means—where was that net?

Burton had Rolf drive to the boat hire at Mars Bay. He wanted to eliminate any possibility that something was overlooked and, though he respected Gully's ability to carry out instructions and independently make decisions, he still wanted to see and hear for himself. The truth was that the rest of the crew lacked the intuitive flare that some investigations required.

Rolf was a possible exception, and so, taking the young detective along, he encouraged him to lead the questioning of the manager. A blustery wind blew outside the boat hire, at the large, modern Mars Bay marina.

"You gonna give me a hint Ade... what are you after?"

The older man was almost expressionless. "Sometimes you don't know till you ask but... we know about the hiring agreement. What else can we check?"

Rolf entered the door and immediately remembered that their photos had just been captured. He introduced himself and Burton and then reminded the manager of Gully's visit.

"Firstly, we'd just like to see the security photos of the men who hired the Blue Horizon." Rolf read out the dates from a phone app. The manager called over an employee and instructed him to print some copies of the photos that he stipulated.

"Now, the boat was returned on the twelfth of March in the evening. Is that correct?" The manager resorted to his computer records. "That's right."

"Was there anything you noticed about the state of the boat... anything left on board?"

It didn't take much thinking for the man to reply. "Now that you mention it; the boat was in a bit of a mess. I told them they'd lost their bond because of its condition, but they didn't seem to mind. They were in a hurry to get away."

"What was messy about it?" The young detective grew in confidence.

"Well, you know, food containers all over the place... the galley, the head, all grubby." He was shaking his head slowly as he recalled the event. "Oh, yeah, there was a big throw net stuffed in the back... quite new it was."

Rolf jumped as if he'd been stung. "Do you still have it... the net I mean?"

The manager swivelled on his chair and pulled at the bottom draw of a filing cabinet. "Here—"

"Don't touch it!" both detectives cried in unison. He retreated fearfully as if it was highly toxic.

"Why... what's wrong... I... I stuffed it in here an age ago. It's not dangerous is it? "

"No, no... it's evidence," explained Rolf. "We'll DNA test it... the less contaminated the better."

"But I have already—"

Rolf cut him off. "Yes, I know. What we want to do is limit any handling. We'll send someone to take swabs of your staff, so we can register the source of any touch contamination." He looked across at his boss and saw a self-satisfied smile providing assent to his actions. "I'll go and get an evidence bag so we can test it."

As Rolf scampered out to the car the manager appraised Burton. "Can they really do that... work out who touched it?" Burton nodded.

"Has it been handled much?" The detective wondered whether they were wasting their time.

"Nah, I was going to use it in a window display... Basically been here since we took it off the boat."

"So, anything else you notice about those men?"

He scratched his head. "It was a long time ago. All I remember is that they weren't your typical divers... not enthusiasts... I think they were just glad to get off the boat. Can you tell me what they've supposed to have done?"

"Well, that's the thing..." Burton looked at the name plate, "...Mr White, we're not really sure what they did. Would you say his ID looked genuine?"

"Oh, don't ask me to remember that. I usually do give them a good look, so I'm guessing it was okay."

Detective Rolf hustled in through the door and humorously smiled up at the camera as he entered. Firstly, he took some photos with his phone—the drawer, the net and the office area itself. He gave some gloves to Burton and a large, plastic evidence bag. After both had put their latex gloves on, the young detective indicated where everyone was to move to minimise the likelihood of dropping the net. Then carefully, with outstretched arms, he gathered the net in a clump and deposited it in the open bag held by his boss. The bag was sealed and labelled before they thanked Mr White and left.

Rolf told Burton that, while he was out at the car, Larry Black, a lawyer at Groom and Davis, had rung and informed him of the reason for the delivery van's lengthy stay outside their offices on the day of Mindy's murder. The explanation was quite simple. The tea lady had offered afternoon tea and biscuits and the driver readily accepted the invitation. Burton fixed a slightly sceptical gaze at the younger man. "A bit serendipitous don't you think? We need to establish from the tea lady whether it was her idea, or maybe it was suggested by someone else."

Instead of going back to the station, Burton received information about the location of Zlatan and Andelko. He called for some backup and had roads accessing a 'sports club', used by ethnic Bosnians for illegal gambling, sealed off. The arrests of the two suspects turned out to be routine, as the initial impression from the patrons was a gaming raid which usually meant a fine and subsequent change of venue for the offenders.

Chapter 15

Captive

The cell was unlike a dungeon except for the fact that it was in the basement of the building and it had bars. The bars were obvious enough and strong enough to convince the occupant that it was a prison. Glaring light and antiseptic features suggested a psychiatric security ward. Evan sat on a metal bench, thinly disguised as a bed by an undernourished mattress. He sat, exhausted, demoralised, in the brightly lit, stark sterility of the cell.

Evan thought back. He had stayed two nights at Jim's flat. They both decided that it would be safe and he would return home after work on the Monday. He had barely got out of his car when he was grabbed, subdued with some sort of tranquiliser injection and abducted.

The shock of waking up in the cell, with only an assumption that he was somewhere below the church complex, took some time to overcome.

What had happened? Evan reasoned that, having ascertained the location of his house by their 'pinging', they worked out who he was and his connection to Mindy. Plainly, his foes were prepared to wait. They might also have wrongly assumed that he had performed the technological wizardry that had rummaged through their computer files. He suspected his image had been captured on their CCTV and alarming conclusions drawn. He desperately hoped that no one else would be linked to him.

The subject required analysing. Maddy and Jim were not implicated in any way that he could think of. Maddy would no longer be considered a threat because the police she had recognised were out of the picture. Putting all the blame on O'Hearne and then devising his radical removal had sanitised the image of the Global Church publicly and removed their liability of exposure by severing any known criminal links. Jim had only been seen by the raiders of Maddy's apartment and those witnesses had been eliminated.

As far as Evan could tell, he was the only threat to them. He had stirred up interest at the police station, he had visited the church to reconnoitre and the viral attack on the church had come from his place. If they assumed he was on some personal crusade or had launched a personal vendetta on the church then the others were safe.

He determined that they would get no information from him. They would have to kill him. They probably would anyway. He tried hard to pray. In the end he just asked that God would heed his groaning spirit and deliver him, one way or another.

***

When Jim rang his dad on Monday night to find out how he was, there was no answer. He rushed over and discovered the BMW parked in the garage. Evan's mobile phone was found crushed on the driveway. The garage door was open and his other car still inside.

Frantic, he rang Maddy and they got together. They could only conclude that he had been kidnapped, or worse, by goons from the Global Church. There were other less likely possibilities but by far the most obvious was one they had no solution for.

Jim contacted Rolf and Miles, both of whom said there was little they could do apart from setting missing persons on the case. Unofficially, the two policemen plotted some unorthodox procedures.

The next day Miles turned up at the Global Church seeking further information to 'tie up the paperwork' on the O'Hearne drugs case. While he interviewed Burnley and Denny Burns he mentioned that a key witness—Evan Bowles—had disappeared. He got no obvious reaction but sensed that Burnley tightened up and became more wary. He asked whether he could look around and was courteously informed that it would require a search warrant. Getting a search warrant was out of the question, based on the flimsy suspicions he had.

Miles conveyed his impressions to Jim and then informed him that he would be off the scene for a week or two as he had just been ordered to work with some international agencies on a huge drug smuggling ring. The job was right out of the blue, but he felt he was being removed because of his work investigating O'Hearne.

Larry also rang on Tuesday and said he was worried about Evan as he couldn't contact him. Jim told him that his dad was missing. The lawyer was appalled but stepped back from any overt action.

Later that day Meredith rang and said she had heard about Evan. Was there anything she could do? Jim thanked her but couldn't think of anything.

Jim also plotted. He made phone calls to his uncles, Theo and Murray and his dad's best friend, Don. Initially, his plan was deemed ludicrous, but as he communicated his fears for his father and the information at his disposal, his scheme was less outrageous and more audacious. It would take time though. He hassled them constantly to carry out their assigned tasks. Jim kept reminding them that his dad's life was at risk and it was a matter of urgency.

***

By Wednesday, Belle was also on board, but only because of her persistent harassing of Jim to own up and tell her what had happened to his dad. She had rung several times and got no answer. No one was home when she dropped by. Belle wanted to know what he was up to. Jim was reluctant of course. He was attempting to be protective but Belle would have none of it. She was prepared to play her part to find out why he had disappeared.

On Wednesday night a very anxious group assembled at Jim's flat. Both Greg and Rowan were absent. The two had communicated their concern about doing anything outside the law so Jim opted to leave them out of any clandestine break in of the church. Rowan had expressed over the phone that they were frustrated by the illegality of the evidence on hand but they were sympathetic to the cause; off the record, he insisted. He said he spoke for both of the detectives.

The others sat around a small table as Jim carefully described his plan. Questions abounded. Some he had pre-empted and dismissed with detailed answers. Some queries required them all to brainstorm an alternative strategy so that a 'Plan B' and a 'Plan C' were in the mix, given certain eventualities.

"What if he's already dead?" It was Theo. There was a morbid silence as the previously unspoken, real possibility became the elephant in the room.

Maddy placed her hand on Jim's. Don, being aware of the past history of Belle's affection and seeing the alarm in her eyes, patted her on the shoulder. He spoke in a quiet, firm voice, "It doesn't change anything. We go on the presumption that he's okay and do what we have to do. From what we've learned, they have to be stopped, one way or the other." It was one of those enigmatic statements that conveyed incredible meaning and yet didn't seem to mean anything at all.

Jim took a deep breath. He couldn't countenance the worst so he ignored it. "We all have to be ready at midnight tomorrow night. Murray, have you managed to get all the stuff we need?"

"It's all sorted, Jim. I'll bring my work van to get ready in. Much easier than the back of a car."

"Great. Theo, what about you?"

Theo fidgeted uncertainly. "I think I can do it. It depends on how quickly their backup comes into play."

Don smiled conspiratorially. "Don't worry about that. You just do what you have to do. They don't know me so I should be able to bluff my way through." His steady, confident gaze exuded a positive feeling among the others. Don fixed his eyes on Jim. "What about you? I take it you've got this new-fangled... whatever it is... organised?"

Jim pulled a strained smile. "I've got a bunch of university friends coming and Maddy says that she's got some contacts and has posted it on the Internet." He halted momentarily. "I mean, this is a first for me so it's anyone's guess. The backup is to incinerate my car on the driveway and hope we can get away while it burns." He grinned nervously. "If it comes to that, I may be in a bit of trouble. It won't be too hard to track me down from that."

"I'll be there with my medical gear," murmured Belle disconsolately. "I'd rather being doing something a bit more radical."

"Don't say that. You're the expert and we need you there because you will make the difference if it's a life or death situation," Jim encouraged. He had warmed to Belle, not just because she obviously cared about his dad but because she had maintained a steady, even growing, faith when so much had gone wrong for her.

Maddy gave her a hug. "I'll bring the video camera. And, don't worry, this will work out." Her remarks were mostly directed at Jim, who had wavered a bit when he spoke of the part where only she and he had any idea what to expect, though the others had heard him describe it. It was 'their obfuscation', she had said with a glint in her eyes. "I've posted templates so people will probably bring their own gear, but I'll have a few spares." Her wide open eyes twinkled as she looked at Jim. "It will work." The confident statement was accompanied by a minimalist head oscillation.

***

It was a Thursday afternoon. Amazingly, Lee and Arrington had incredible breakthroughs in their cold case investigation and made two arrests. Once it had been established that the two men had met and interacted, each was located and a warrant was issued to allow searches of both properties. It was weirdly contradictory that, after having been so devious in their concocted plan to murder each other's spouses, they had kept the offending weapons—namely a revolver and a knife. And these weapons matched the forensic details associated with the murders.

The two detectives had spent most of the afternoon writing reports and thanking their boss for the opportunity to run with the investigation. It said something about them that they owned the victory as a team.

Since news of Evan Bowles' disappearance, Burton and Rolf had intensified their scrutiny of all the evidence. Now the whole crew could work on the case. A hush fell upon them as Burton came out of the office where he'd taken a call. In an unexpected move, he invited them all into his office—the one that Hendry had used when he was there. He seldom used it himself, preferring to meet with his team at their desks. That way they had their data and connectivity at their fingertips. It was easier for him to bring one device to them than for them all to troop in with their equipment.

This was different. He closed the door. They looked expectantly at him. "Well, it's coming together. I have the doc's note that says; given the verdict from forensics that the victim's skin cells were on the net, and the abrasions on the legs, he's confident that forced submersion was the likely cause of drowning. That, and the money trail that leads to the church, is enough to charge the Stavenics, Zlatan and Andelko with murder." He looked down at some notes. "The presence of the Bosnians' epithelials on the net makes it fairly ironclad."

"So, do we get a warrant and go now for Bailey?" asked Arrington as he was rising from his chair, keen to make some more arrests.

"Not so fast. We're going to get the whole lot... we chip away and half the crooks are warned and run for it." He turned to Rolf. "What have you found out Ro?" The young detective checked his notes on his tablet.

"The ME compared the wounds of both Harris and Spinoza and in his opinion—he said he wouldn't be more definitive than that—and... in his opinion, it's quite likely they were shot by the same person. He would also concur that there was no forensic evidence indicating Spinoza ever fired a gun and it was possible the gun and fingerprints were planted."

Burton lowered his voice. "This suggests to me that Gant and Burt were not the only police involved with the church. Someone from homicide is on the take and—" Unnecessarily, his voice dropped to a whisper. "—the Badger that Ro mentioned, could be someone higher up."

"Marsden!" hissed Gully.

"Take it easy Gully. Don't jump to conclusions. You might be right but I want to talk with him first... tease a few things out."

Rolf was shaking his head. "What's the problem Ro?" probed Burton.

His face showed concern "Ade, if it's not Marsden... if someone high up is in on this, then we could all be in trouble. I mean, who's pulling the strings?"

"That's why we don't talk about this with anyone here. And we find out who it is." He looked at Lee. "Arnie, did you find out anything?"

"I spoke with Greg Miles, caught him just before he left, as Ro suggested. We went through the evidence registers. The only other possible accomplice to Gant and Burt is Sid Higgins. He was with the squad that nabbed Haines. Records showed that he took the call from Warder that set up Haines." Burton didn't bat an eyelid. It seemed he already knew about Higgins.

"What about here?" Rolf inserted, in a muted voice. He looked out the window and quickly scanned the large room.

Lee grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. "You'll be pleased to know I ruled out us ... and Shultz's crew? They're just starting out, so it's unlikely but still possible. My bet's on Marsden. I mean, the way his cases all fell in his lap when the investigation had gone pear shaped."

Burton cleared his throat and immediately Lee retracted. "I know... I know, don't jump to conclusions and never allege anything about a fellow officer without proof." Burton pulled a superficial smile. "That's right, but don't forget rule one; 'we're a team' and that includes Marsden's squad." They all nodded, recalling a previous detective who treated each case as a competition and hoarded information to the detriment of the performance and morale of Homicide.

So, aware of the abnormal circumstances, each of the men scrutinised their boss. With the door closed, he began. "This is a dicey situation. We need to make sure we have all the evidence before we move. Once we have it, I'll talk to Internal Affairs, Superintendent Ralph, and we'll all move together. We first sweep the station. Nab Higgins first. Not because we suspect him but because that call I had was from Ralph, and he confirmed that Higgins was tied in with Gant and Burt and all three have inflated bank accounts from the same overseas bank that traces back to Global. His cell phone records also show many calls with a suspected church identity seemingly recruited for his skill at eliminating people."

"A hit man?" muttered Arrington.

Burton focussed back on Arrington and gave a cheesy, toothy grin and added, "Your instincts are right Fred, but it pays to have friends who can give you some hard evidence."

He looked at his tablet. "Firstly, we have to find the loose cannon in the squad room. Whoever it is, Ralph assures me... he must be getting paid in cash." He held his thumb and forefinger close together. "A smidgeon smarter than the others." Burton screwed his face in concentration. "I'll talk with Marsden... but it's really important we don't say anything to anyone else. Because, somehow, we have to find out how high up this goes and clear them out."

"How we doin' that Ade?" Gully studied him intently.

"I'm still working on that," he stated vaguely.

He continued. "Once we've purged the force then we can raid the church complex. It may seem drastic but I want to have units outside the Global Church by midnight tonight."

There were 'ahs' and 'you're kiddings' thrown in as they digested his challenge. He reminded them that since Bowles had been missing for more than three days it was critical that they moved speedily.

"What do you want us to do?" Rolf reacted, realising the urgency.

"Get yourselves kitted out." They all understood that to mean bullet proof vests and firearms but they waited for the rest of his orders.

All four were accustomed to his methodical, slow, stepwise process of doling out instructions.

"Ro... You contact Ralph and make sure you're on the same page. Take Fred and Arnie. Gully, once you're geared up, get yourself to the canteen. I'll buzz you when I need you here. We will need to take someone into custody."

Gully's face glowed and his spirits soared. He'd be in on one of the boss's stings! The other three headed off behind Gully, less than enthralled at missing out on a Burton special.

Members of Marsden's squad all looked up. They were curious about the unprecedented powwow in the inspector's office. Shultz's team wouldn't be in till six so they would only hear about this weird anomaly as part of office scuttlebutt.

Burton had been in the office for about fifteen minutes when he went to his door and opened it. He called across the office, "Mal, could you come in here please?"

For the second time all heads turned toward Burton's office. Their faces said it all. Had the world gone mad? Was there no respect for routine? Watts, Wheatley and Mawson followed the steps of their squad leader. Speculation was whispered amongst them, trying to prise away some sort of meaning to the events.

While the door was still open, they heard the fateful words, "Sit down Detective Marsden. I have some questions for you regarding the murders of Mindy Bowles and Willy Spinoza." Burton scolded himself as he realised the door was still open. Quickly he moved across and shut it. Marsden sat down. His expression was ashen.

Over the next hour Burton quizzed the senior detective. If you observed his antics through the office window, as did Marsden's associates, you would have seen waving arms, counting fingers enumerating specific points, shaking of Burton's head and pinching of his nose as if the entire state of affairs was an incredibly embarrassing headache.

The haranguing appeared to escalate as Burton made his points. He picked up some papers and waved them at Marsden and then threw up both hands in frustration. There was a quiet stare between them and then Burton picked up the phone.

Thirty seconds later Gully came in wearing his operational gear. He had with him Detective Smyth from Internal Affairs. The two men escorted a chastened Marsden out of the office.

Burton looked at Marsden's men and did a small double take before wandering over. He pulled up a chair and sat. He gave a big sigh and then spoke soothingly. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm afraid I have to inform you that Detective Marsden has been taken to the lockup downstairs."

"Why?... What's he done?" cut in Wheatley.

Burton appeared to measure what he could say. "It seems that Marsden has been complicit with a group of criminals shrouded under the guise of the Global Church. They have been responsible for a number of murders and a conspiracy we're only... just now... getting to the bottom of. Of course he claims to be innocent, but the evidence is stacked against him."

"What happens now?" It was Watts being practical.

"Well, firstly, we keep the lid on this. There is a fair bit for us to do before we want the story to break."

They all nodded solemnly, conscious of the necessary mobilisation of police to bring about the arrest of participants of a group conspiracy.

"Detective Watts, as next senior, you will take charge of this squad. Have you finished the investigation on the party brawl death?"

"Still a bit to do, Inspector. I mean, we've got the offender, we're just tying up witness statements and then we'll recommend a manslaughter charge as both were drunk as skunks." He gave a resigned look, clearly not impressed with the stupidity of young men. After all, the victim had been a friend of the charged man.

"Right, well, I'll leave you to it... And... if you feel you need it, Howard is always happy to talk these things through." Burton purposely refrained from referring to the psychiatrist's role but, among the force, the name 'Howard' now had its connotations.

The three men mumbled their thankyous awkwardly, still weighed down by the shattering news.

Burton returned to his office and spoke on the phone to a number of people. Watts, Wheatley and Mawson left the office to pursue various tasks. Burton watched them leave as he talked. He punched in some new numbers and listened as the phone rang at the other end. A crease furrowed his brow as he contemplated why it took so long to answer.

"Ah, Stan... yeah sorry I know you need your beauty sleep... yeah, something's come up and I'll need your team in by five. Can you manage that? That's right... I'll fill you in when you get here." He hung up the phone.

For the next few minutes, Burton fiddled around his office, tidying papers, checking emails and making a quick call home to his wife, Ally, to let her know he was committed to an all-nighter.

He put the phone down and waited. He hated waiting. Burton knew he could have acted on his instincts. But this was too important. He had to wait. He sat down in his reclining office chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes and pondered all that had transpired. What if he was wrong? What if the Global Church people escaped after all his meticulous planning?

The phone rang. Burton almost fell backwards off his chair before he regained his balance and answered the call. A broad smile gradually spread across his face. The superintendent had praised him with a complimentary one-liner. He sought details. "It's all recorded?" he asked.

"Excellent... so who did he call? You're kidding! Whoa!... That's going to be a headliner... He did get a warning through, did he?" Burton listened intently as Superintendent Ralph related the whole story. "That's it then."

He rose from his seat as if he was readying for action. "Okay, so we get all units ready to move by midnight. We'll watch and decide whether we move in then or wait." He listened again as Ralph voiced some concerns. "You've shut down his phone so he won't get through... Well all we can do is put a tail on him and hope he doesn't scare off his cronies at the church. You've got a locator on his cell right?... Good." Burton again heard the other iterate a checklist—probably written—trying to cover every contingency.

"That sounds really comprehensive. The only thing I would suggest is putting a travel alert at the airports with a rundown of the key suspects." He nodded slowly as he heard an echo of his suggestion being relayed to an assistant. He finished off with a chuckle at the remark made by Ralph, "Ha... right... see you at midnight."

He sniggered again as he recalled the superintendent's quip. It didn't pay to dwell on small victories or the acclaim from others. He shook his head dismissively, but Adrian was secretly pleased at the accolade, "The legend lives on... huh," he snorted.

"What did you say sir?" It was Mawson back from completing some errand standing near the open door.

"Oh nothing Zac." He glanced up at the man, "Finishing up for the day?"

"Er... yes sir. Nothing much else going on and Watto isn't around... can't get him on his mobile. So, I'm heading off."

"Okay... have a good night."

"Er... sir." It was obvious he was drawing on a rehearsed speech. "I just want you to know that I had nothing to do with Detective Marsden's scheme... and... well, I never did trust the man."

Burton paid more attention and looked at the detective directly. "Oh, and why's that?"

"Well he... he didn't seem with it... you know Watto found that gun after Marsden had searched the place himself. Maybe he missed it on purpose." Feeling he hadn't made his point, he waved an index finger at Burton and continued. "And, you know, straight after he interviewed Harris, that reporter, about Mindy Bowles' murder, the reporter was killed."

The inspector tilted his head and looked at Mawson questioningly. "You know Detective, Marsden has had a pretty good career. He earned his senior stripes." He wasn't sure whether the young detective was trying to ingratiate himself with him or distance himself from his senior's criminal activities. "Are you suggesting Marsden had something to do with Harris' murder?"

"Well, Detective Wheatley said he was jinxed the way everyone we were investigating died, but I thought it was a bit suspicious."

"That's hardly indictable," observed the experienced investigator as he picked up the phone.

Mawson tried to justify his reasoning. "Well, when we asked him what Harris had said, he told us the reporter wasn't saying anything. Watto suggested we put some pressure on Harris but he said no."

Burton punched in a number as the other detective watched. "Excuse me a second," he said. "Gully, are you coming back now?" He pulled a pained but impish grin as he attended to the diatribe from the other end of the line. "Yeah... sorry about that. Sometimes these things have to be. You did a great job." After smiling at Gully's closing salvo he hung up the phone.

Addressing the young detective again he spoke gently. "To tell you the truth Zac, I can't agree with you. Sometimes the first logical explanation is not the only logical explanation. Now go home and get a good rest. You've had a troubling day."

The young man knew he'd been dismissed and left looking a little humbled. He'd tried to express his solidarity with the boss and his arguments had been refuted. Rather than go straight away, Mawson sat at his desk and did a bit more sorting of the witness statements he had gathered from the pub brawl. He would show that he was a dedicated investigator.

A minute later Gully appeared at the door still in his operations gear. Behind him entered Marsden. He had a smirk as he saw Mawson's boggled eyes and gaping mouth. They both walked into Burton's office and closed the door. The young detective wasn't so thick that he didn't realise there had been a setup. Now he was highly inquisitive. Who had they trapped? He strode to the office and knocked.

Upon entering he blurted, "Sir, I need to apologise to Senior for doubting him and I respectfully request that you let me know what has just happened."

Marsden stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay Zac. We've had a bad few months. I was starting to doubt myself. But, as Ade has explained to me, we were sabotaged all along the way. But now we have the rat."

"Sabotaged... the rat... who?" Zac's head was spinning.

Gully motioned him toward a chair. "Take a seat Mawson. You're not the only patsy in this operation."

"Now, now Gully, don't be bitter. Your convincing portrayal of leading the culprit away sweetened the bait."

"Except I wasn't acting," groaned the detective miserably.

"But you were brought up to speed at the first opportunity... and, it worked beautifully."

Gully indicated that, of course he knew that's how these sting operations worked, and, he objected, that he didn't need to be pacified. So Burton went on to enlighten Mawson of their plot.

"Someone was providing the Global Church with information from here, both from the Drug Squad and Homicide. So, from your team, who was the most likely?" Burton's eyebrows went up. He didn't wait for an answer of course. He was performing the legendary sleuth monologue.

"Marsden, of course. It appeared to be his blunders—apologies Mal—that had prevented the cases from being solved... unless... unless, he had been sabotaged by one of his own crew. We had our suspicions, but it was clear that the gun was planted at Spinoza's. Nothing suggested he'd ever had one, ever acquired one or ever used one and yet the victim had been expertly dispatched. So, who? As I said, we had our suspicions." At this point Gully looked across at Detective Mawson and he shrugged and shook his head as if to say 'no one knew what was going on inside Burton's brain'.

Burton remained still till he regained Gully's attention, acknowledged his impertinence with a forced smile, and then continued. "So the offender had to reveal himself... Enter the set up. We announced, by arresting Mal that we knew about the Global Church, about infiltrators in the force, and about some conspiracy. A good informer would run to his phone and spill the beans, so to speak. To be certain, we had all three of you monitored and detective Watts was sprung calling his contact. IA recorded the whole thing, then monitored his contact to see if he would warn the church."

They all wanted to know who the high ranking contact had been. Ralph had been specific. It was on a need to know basis. Burton wouldn't say. He did invite both Marsden and Mawson to join the midnight foray and they readily accepted.

When Marsden and Mawson had gone to get a bite to eat and then outfitted, Burton gave Rolf a call. Rolf was exuberant that Ralph had told him what was going on and he, Arrington and Lee were in on the arrest of Higgins and the monitoring of Marsden's team along with Smyth, Turner and Atkins from IA.

Rolf enthused, "Watts was catatonic when we appeared and arrested him. He just stood there like a statue. I think it registered what the consequences would be. I mean, accessory to murder, kidnapping and possibly accessory to subversion."

"Yes, I suppose it should start to sink in what this means to his career... to his life. Pity he didn't think of that first. I'm on my way to have a chat with him now. Get something to eat before we leave tonight. It might be a long night."

"Sure... do you want a small sweet and sour pork and fried rice from Wang's?" Rolf asked knowing his boss would rather not eat than have something from the canteen.

"That sounds good Ro, thanks." As an afterthought he reminded his colleague, "Have you called Holly... let her know you'll be working all night?"

"It's all taken care of Ade... You're training me well."

Burton met Ralph and Turner in an interview room. Watts was sitting, morose, cross armed.

"I know I don't have to say anything till my lawyer gets here," he began belligerently as Burton stood behind the two internal affairs investigators.

"You realise that being uncooperative will be held against you," stated Ralph dispassionately.

Without turning he spoke again. "Ade, have you anything to say?"

Burton rubbed his jaw. "You know Brian, I'm trying to catalogue all the charges against Mr Watts." He'd already been stripped of his rank in Burton's mind. "We have charges ranging from conduct unbecoming, conspiring to pervert the course of justice, tampering with evidence... to accessory to murder, kidnapping and subversion of the state. I'm surprised he doesn't want to minimise what could be several life sentences if he is considered unremorseful."

Watts glared. "Don't run that line on me. You people all belong to a corrupt system that's got to come to an end. We're going to introduce a world order. The Global Church will be truly global and they'll join with a global government. Then we'll have global order and global peace." He finished his rant sneering.

"Hmm, and it doesn't bother you that to do this you kill people and kidnap and bribe and threaten? Hardly a peaceful movement," remarked Burton.

"Just necessary to rid the world of institutionalised evil." Watts was still scowling.

"You getting all this, Mel?" Ralph looked up at the almost black glass. He heard a voice in his ear plug and smiled. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell us... like, who killed Harris and Spinoza?"

Watts ground his teeth. He knew every word he spoke buried him deeper, and yet he had still gotten taken in.

"I feel sorry for you Brad," sighed Burton. "There is none so blind as those who will not see."

He walked to the door. "He's all yours Brian. And don't forget to grab a bite to eat before we close in on the rest of the conspiracy." He stepped out as Turner continued to provoke Watts by explaining that his phone call had provided them with some valuable information.

All his men were back at the office when he returned from a quick visit to Superintendent Gordon to bring him up to date on selected details of the link to the Global Church. The super had been, as usual, grouchy at being detained from going home and, at the same time keen to feel part of this major investigation. When he left, Gordon was still totally unaware of the breakthrough sting, including the identity of a high ranking police officer. His past history and aspirations for media exposure, made him a liability when it came to major operations.

Rolf had arrived back with the takeaway meals. Funnily, the idea of Chinese food had become contagious and they all sat around the open desks eating the fare from Wang's restaurant—across the road from the station—and drinking the aromatic coffees from the café next door to it.

While they ate, plans for the night's vigil were reviewed. Shultz's team had joined them and it took a bit of explaining to have them take in the events of the day. Burton told them that the Tactical Response Group would also be on hand should they get some potent resistance. He said they didn't want anything to be unanticipated.

***

At a guess, Evan had been there about four days. He had no accurate idea since he had no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. Also, the bright light was always on so day and night were indistinguishable. The light was a painless but blatant torture, making him sleep on his stomach with his arm pressed against his eyes.

Despite his efforts, sleep was transient because of the light, because of the regular amplified pronouncements about the sacred nature of the Global Church and because, at regular intervals, men with balaclavas would drag him out and interrogate him about his electronic spying. The whole process was dehumanising, with sleep deprivation making him susceptible to the inculcation of the mind-numbing propaganda.

He had to stand. And the strength to stand wasn't his, it was God's. He had to believe that the God who provided every aspect of defence—his armour—also provided the strength.

Now he ached. His head throbbed. Welts covered his torso and cuts and bruises on his face made him sensitive to any movement or touch.

While Evan was processing his predicament, he heard the trudge of feet that always prefaced a round of grilling. They badgered: where was the computer he used to infiltrate their network? Who was working with him? Why was he doing it? What did he know and who had he told? It had consistently been the same questions. The strategy was to wear him down, tire him out, break down his resistance. But he would blank his mind of their questions and try to recall scriptures—you have shown me the path of life... When I cry unto you attend to my prayer... The Psalms were particularly effective at buffering out their insistent demands.

His noncompliance eventually sparked a hostile reaction and the last session of gruelling inquisition had led to a physical beating. He quailed at the prospect of further punishment to his bruised and battered body. The men burst into his cell. He flinched as they grasped his arms and stood him up.

"Your last chance!" snarled the taller fiend through the mouthpiece of his woolly balaclava. Evan stood mute. It slowly dawned on him that regardless of whether he spoke or not, they would kill him. That's what they had done with everyone else. A summary execution was only delayed because they were fearful other people knew of their despicable plans.

A kidney punch brought him to his knees with a gasp of pain. "Do you want more?" the second thug taunted. "Tell us what we want to know," he shouted. Evan dropped his head. Amidst the swirling mist of agony his inner voice murmured, "Dying's not so bad. No more loneliness, no more pain. I'll go to meet her." A slap from the back of the thug's hand collected his cheek and knocked him sideways. The other man hauled him back to his knees. "So, who's working with you?" he growled menacingly. Evan tried to clear his mind and decipher what the garbled words meant. Another blow slapped his other cheek and he collapsed in the opposite direction.

"Let's get it over with Bernie," muttered the taller one ominously. Bernie heeded his leader's instruction and held off another blow. The room appeared to be spinning and everything was foggy. An involuntary groan passed his lips as the thugs grasped his arms. They dragged him to his feet and manhandled him to the cell door.

It was then that Evan knew his fate was sealed. Like any obstruction, any kink in their plans, he would be removed. He would join the growing list of necessary casualties for the nefarious causes of the Global Church.

A swelling anger stirred within. They had murdered innocent people. He wouldn't go easily. He would fight to the last second, but timing was essential.

Suddenly, he pushed and thrashed about. One man went sprawling. The other bashed him in the side of the head. Evan collapsed onto the floor. Everything went black momentarily. Even as he recovered, he coaxed himself to remain still, face down on the cold vinyl tiles.

"Oh great! We're going to have to carry him to the car. I hit him too hard Angus." Angus, the one who had fallen back on his rear and jarred an elbow, had regained his composure and was leaning over the prostrate body.

"I'll get Jake and Lou. The three of you can take him out into the bay and dump him." He gave Evan's leg a parting kick as he left the cell.

Evan peered through almost closed eyes at the feet of the man called Bernie. He thought furiously. Whatever he did it had to be sudden, violent and decisive. He gathered his senses. Each muscle tensed. Out of the corner of his eye it appeared that Bernie was examining his knuckles. They gave him some discomfort and he was bending and stretching them. Slowly he walked around Evan. Stepping over his prone form with one leg the would-be murderer leaned over and muttered, "Maybe you're already dead."

Instantly, Evan grabbed hold of his leg and rolled as hard as he could. Caught off balance, Bernie crumpled onto the floor, his arms splaying out to protect himself. In a frenzied rampage, Evan leapt on top of the man grasped his collar and thumped his head against the floor, once, twice and a third time. He was half way into delivering another thudding blow when sanity regained a hold of the explosive terror that had driven his assault.

He held up the shoulders and Bernie's head slumped, limp, bleeding. He was unconscious. Evan rapidly fled the scene. His head was pounding, his heart was thumping. He ran to the left—the opposite direction to his entry into the cell. He passed three similar cells before being confronted with a solid looking door. Two things dogged his thinking. Would he run straight into his captors again and, had he killed Bernie by his fear fuelled fury? They were going to kill him so surely that would mitigate his actions.

Tugging the door open revealed stairs in a cold, bare concrete stairwell. After three steps he swayed, almost swooning from a dizzy spell. The battering he'd received was still paying out on his body. Taking deep breaths, Evan ascended again with urgent, forceful lunges, trying to rein in his panic. His legs still felt wobbly and his head was heavy and throbbing as though he had a severe head cold.

A glance out at the next level offered no promise of escape. The floor had fairly Spartan furniture and he sensed, and then heard, the quiet hum of computer equipment. Running up the next flight, one step at a time, he again cracked the door open and scanned the area. The door opened near the front of the main building at the end of a passageway that accessed all the public bathrooms. He had been here before.

He hesitated there briefly. No cries of pursuit yet. It was dark outside. That was a boon and a curse at the same time. He would be difficult to see if he avoided the car park lighting but, on the other hand, their aggression would not be inhibited by the presence of the daytime crowd. A slight clatter of footsteps below caused him to risk entry into the passage. Quickly, he walked, as naturally as his injuries allowed, to the large sliding doors.

A muffled shout impelled him into a dash for the highway. Cries and shouts signalled that the chase was on. He was running for his life. The harsh white mercury lights painted him brightly against the dark night. The fizz of a bullet past his head had him swerving to the right and then zigzagging toward the tall hedge at the front of the property. A searing, stinging impact spun him round and spiralled him onto the ground. He'd been hit and they were still shooting. Bitumen grit splashed on one side and then on the other. The distant, stifled gunfire sprayed messengers of death all about him.

Evan staggered to his feet, willing himself on. The pain in his side screamed at him. His shirt clung to him, sticky with blood spreading from his wound. He stumbled to the bushy hedge and dived into its shadows. Deadly, streaking projectiles harried the leaves about him. Crawling through the flimsy shrub barrier, he launched himself onto the highway.

Amidst the glare of headlights, screeching brakes, blaring horns and smoking rubber which surrounded him, he swayed drunkenly. He tried to signal for help as he traversed the roadway. Spotlighted on the tarmac stage, Evan hailed to one stopped car and the driver promptly swung around him and accelerated away. A woman driver stationary in the next lane, fearful at his approach, similarly sped off. With a spark of insight, he stormed across the median strip and over the other side of the highway. He tripped on the kerbing and catapulted headlong into longer grass past the verge of cut lawn. Gasps of agony escaped his lips as he rolled down a slope.

In a culvert, Evan wormed his way painfully. The wound jabbing like a knife at his every movement. He mustered all his strength and clenched his teeth as he raised himself on hands and knees and crawled as swiftly as he could. He hoped and imagined that he was on a downward grade. Within seconds his adversaries would reach the highway. His only chance was to stay out of sight and hope they would suppose he had been picked up. With the cars obscured by the hedge there was no way they could know that he hadn't got in one and fled the area.

He kept going. Feeling weaker from blood loss, his breath rasping with every excruciating intake, Evan heard shouts from behind him. He pushed himself on. Scintillating, ephemeral stars hovered in his vision. "Don't blackout now, don't blackout now," he wheezed softly to himself with each forward movement. The slope was noticeably downward now. The culvert suddenly dropped down into a drainage ditch. He eased himself left toward the roadway and grovelled his way into a drainpipe running beneath the highway. Enduring the hurt, he wriggled farther in.

With the last of his energy, Evan tore his shirt sleeves off, tied them together and bound them as tightly as he could around his stomach. The aim was to apply pressure and to restrict the blood flow from his side. Managing to lean against the wound sent a wave of agony through him. He passed out.

Chapter 16

Incursion

Dark clothes were in vogue for the night. Jim, Theo, Murray and Don were crouched in the back of the van. Tension was high.

For one last time Jim briefed them on the specific steps, the critical timing and the essential completion of their particular roles.

"If you can't complete your task... Don, two ring tones... Theo, three ring tones... Murray, four ring tones. I can't emphasise enough that if you don't carry out your job, Murray and I might be dead meat." Jim's voice was husky with nervousness. He produced a squinty frown to convey his resolve and conjured up some courage. "Are you guys all set?" Affirmative nods and grunts followed. "Let's just check our watches. I have exactly... eleven forty-four... now." Murray held up his hand as he adjusted slightly. He asked for another check at eleven forty-five before they were confident they were all synchronised.

Don slid out of the van. Theo, carrying a large shoulder bag, went next. He skittered through the hedge fronting the church complex and surveyed the grounds. All was clear.

Although the night was dark the car park was splashed with bright, white light. Theo sprinted as fast as he could along the murkiest area between the islands of illumination. The tools jangled and the weight of the bag pulled at his shoulder, but he didn't stop till he got to the main power switch box. His breath came in heaving gasps. He tried to dampen the noise by pulling his sweater up to his nose. At the same time he retrieved large bolt cutters from his bag and snapped the locks on the board.

Theo gave his watch a glance. Still on time. For the next ninety seconds he readied himself for the second phase of his task. He was going to sever the main connecting cables the moment Don had done his job.

He looked around at the car park a little concerned at the number of people still in the establishment. Some parked around the corner were at late night gym sessions but what about the others? Some sort of meeting. Even as he said it a car pulled into a far corner of the car park. That seemed a bit strange.

Meanwhile, high on a power pole, Don was doing something he hadn't done since he was a lineman fifteen years earlier. He studied his watch. Thirty seconds to go. Already he had tethered the three phase, high voltage cable to an insulator arm. All he had to do was disconnect the live wire from the supply and they would be cut off. Fifteen seconds. Then Theo would ensure their backup generator had nowhere to go by cutting off that connection.

Time! Rapidly, Don levered the ratchet spanner back and forth. The clicking sprockets screamed to the world of his vandalism. Finally, the cable released and dropped away, with a spark from the feeder power line, only to be restrained by the insulator connection. The whole complex fell into inky blackness.

With all his might, Theo severed the cables. Replacing the cutters in his bag, he ran to a low window near the left-hand corner of the building. Without hesitation he thrust the heavy bag against the glass, shattering the pane with an alarming smash and tinkling of glass. He hastily cleared the edges of sharp glass shards before crawling through into a small passage alcove facing a door immediately in front of him. To the right, in the dimness of the emergency exit lighting, he could see another corridor that led past the bathrooms and into the main foyer.

Again, he checked his watch. Fifteen seconds late. Quickly he darted toward the main entrance and snuck left down a hallway that passed offices on the left-hand side. Somewhere in the distance he could hear voices. On the right were doors that led to the main auditorium. Theo dashed through the next one he saw and threw the bag down. He had no time to waste.

As quickly as he could he removed smoke canisters from the bag. From the varieties he had obtained, Theo chose the rapid, large volume smoke screen first and then ignited longer lasting smoke grenades. He rolled them under seats and placed them in strategic, hard to get to places. The last two were fifteen-minute, rescue smoke markers that would keep adding to the massive pall already forming.

Inside the van, Jim and Murray had outfits 'borrowed' from the local voluntary fire station that they put on. Before putting on the helmet with a protective visor, Jim rang emergency services using an online security encryption application. It made his phone untraceable. He asked for the fire brigade and said that someone had asked him to report a fire at the Global Church. Apparently, there was a whole lot of smoke inside. They started asking for his details as he hung up.

They went into the front of the van to await the arrival of the firetrucks, hoping desperately that the call wouldn't be dismissed as a false alarm. Fortunately, unknown to them, a patron of the gym had emerged from the blackout to smell smoke. He assumed immediately the fire had begun as an electrical fault and had also called the fire brigade.

Sitting waiting in the van, the seconds passed slowly, treacle like. Cars were beginning to congregate in one section of the car park and his mood was buoyed by the sight—the plan was coming together. Jim started the engine, highly alert to everything going on about them. As he pulled into the car park, he noticed Belle drive in and join the growing group of cars in the far corner. He parked the van along the inside of the hedge on the opposite side of the entry drive from the gathering cars. To his surprise, several vehicles arrived in convoy form and pulled up out the front of the darkened building.

A small crowd of gym patrons scuttled from the rear of the complex as the first fire appliance raced through the entry, lights flashing and siren wailing. Even as the second appliance arrived, Jim and Murray left the vehicle and trailed a fire chief's car closely as it parked near to the trucks. In a rush he and Murray joined the clambering, clustering firemen. Smoke was beginning to seep out of doorways and windows.

On cue, a loud cry emanated from inside the building. In the distance, seconds later, Jim spotted the dark form of Theo emerge from the corner of the building. He skirted the far side of the car park away from the growing gathering of cars. The two faux firemen stormed into the smoky edifice, ostensibly to the rescue but absolutely intent on undertakings totally unrelated to firefighting.

Small lamps on their helmets pierced the clogging, smothering smoke. Two, three, four minutes were spent looking for the servers that Jim had hacked. Zipping through the offices, he didn't take long to discount the small desktops they discovered. Both jogged back to the front past trudging, hose toting fire fighters and located the door near the public bathrooms that opened to stairs heading down.

On the first level down, it took little time to find the cavernous room with computers concealed behind a room divider.

Murray scooted away and went downstairs one more level. He was back within a minute with news that 'the prison was empty'. While his partner in crime had been gone, Jim had managed to access the machines and ensured they had the data he wanted.

Hurriedly, Jim withdrew some implements from his pockets. Showing the dexterity of well-versed hands, he dismantled the servers. He arranged the screws he removed methodically, rather than haphazardly discarding them. His compulsive routine aggravated Murray, who anxiously hovered around the doorway while coaxing him to speed things up. Unperturbed, Jim removed the first hard drive and slipped it in a cloth bag inside his jacket.

An urgent, hushed call came from the doorway, "Hurry, someone's coming!"

Jim maintained his systematic disassembling and carefully removed the cover of the second server. Murray glided across the room and joined him behind the screen. "Turn your lamp off and get down. They're coming in here," he hissed. Lights were doused and they knelt together, listening to the voices grow louder. The invasion of firemen upstairs could barely be heard.

Torch beams swung across the room. A scraping of chairs suggested that a peculiar meeting was being convened. "Doesn't look like anyone's broken in Badger."

"Well, how do you explain the blackout and the fire?"

"I told you. I reckon one of the switchboards have blown."

"Right Jair, and that crowd just happened to turn up by coincidence? I tell you, something's wrong. I got a message from Watts that said they've arrested Detective Marsden, Watts' boss... they think he's tied to us somehow. Said he'd meet me and tell me all about it. Then he hung up. I haven't been able to get on to him since."

"If they knew about us they'd be here by now," asserted Bailey. He didn't sound so smooth anymore. The blackout and fire ruffled him.

Angus was examining the bullet clip of his automatic pistol. He had got a glimpse of the crowd Badger told him about and he was all set for their emergency evacuation. "If anyone from that crowd try to break in we can claim self-defence," he said coldly, looking along the barrel of the gun.

"Let's just wait to see why they're here," calmed Bailey. "It might be one of those mobile parties, merely using our car park. Once the lights come back on we could invite them in... good PR."

Badger was agitated. "Come on... there are too many things going wrong. Somebody's on to us I tell you. If you hadn't let Bowles get away Angus, this would never have happened."

Angus growled, "He was wounded. He's probably dead now. As you said, no hospital's admitted him. I'd say from the skidding... he got hit on the highway and the driver's removed his body to hide the evidence."

"That's a bit of a long shot."

They went on arguing among themselves as Jim and Murray knelt thirty feet away, hearing every word. Murray turned on a masked helmet light. Very quietly, Jim resumed the removal of the second hard drive. His hands were now shaking. The thought of his dad being cast aside by some negligent driver gripped his stomach like a cramp. He carefully aligned the sets of screws, as was his habit, in readiness for reassembling. Deftly, with an exaggerated delicate touch that battled the nausea he felt, he slid the cover off the server. He froze at a miniscule squeal of metal. In the background he heard the ongoing squabble about how they would determine what happened to their prisoner. There was no hint that the sound had been heard.

"It's only been a couple of hours at most. He'll turn up." It was the flowery voice of Jair trying to be upbeat.

The assassin maintained his threatening snarl. "If Badger can get Higgins or Watts to find him in a hospital, I'll dispatch him myself."

With a guilty look at Murray, Jim recommenced his hard drive extraction. Having removed the clamps, he placed his two hands in the computer's innards and pinched the flat connection cable between the fingers of his right hand while restraining the drive with his left. Holding his breath, he wiggled the plug out of its socket using meticulous care. The connection separated producing a minute clunk as the drive struck the housing.

"What was that?" murmured Bailey, who had been listening to the others struggle to settle their disagreements.

Badger, who still wore the hood like some mystic monk, replied, "What was what?"

"I thought I heard something."

"It's just that crowd trying to put out the fire," assured Jair.

The talk turned to getting some insurance assessors in straight away so they could get back on plan.

"It was mostly smoke from what I could tell," offered Badger.

Jim pulled a 'that-was-close' pursed lips face and relaxed as he lifted the second hard drive out. Unfortunately, he didn't notice the cover behind as his elbow knocked it off the table. There was an alarming metallic, clattering crash. Jim had a tortured look on his face.

A gravel voice screamed, "Who's there... don't move or I'll shoot."

The young man bit his upper lip in resignation but Murray grasped his arm and shook his head vehemently. He placed a finger to his lips and withdrew a gift from Theo—one of his smoke incendiary devices.

He pulled the wire ring ignition and rolled the cylinder around the corner of the divider toward the distant table. An eruption of dense white phosphorous smoke created an opaque screen. The thick plume spurted in a jet sounding chortle to clog the room with an acrid fog. Both 'firemen' dashed in the direction of the door. Frantic seconds were lost as they felt the wall in one direction and then the other. Fizzing bullets whizzed by. Murray yanked Jim by the arm through the doorway.

"I think they're firemen," called Jair.

"No they're not," rebuked Angus harshly.

The two intruders hurtled along the corridor back to the stair well. The air was clearer and they felt more exposed. Bullets ricocheted off the walls as they escaped behind the heavy fire rated door. Several thuds told of more shots aimed in their direction. Jim scampered up the steps while the heavier, less fit, Murray scrambled after him, puffing hard.

Once at the top, Jim and Murray swung to the right into the rest room. They shed their protective outfits and Murray delved into his backpack to retrieve large paper bag masks. Quickly stuffing the discarded gear into the bag they evacuated via Theo's broken window.

Outside, the masks were pulled over their heads. There were three fire trucks now and men running in all directions. Hoses led from trucks into the building and a number of senior men stood outside trying to coordinate the emergency. From the snippets they heard as they passed no one had yet discovered the source of the fire.

Jim and Murray rapidly got their bearings and melted into a large crowd similarly dressed with paper bags over their heads. More than a hundred young people, laughing and shouting, were drawing nearer to the entrance. On their masks were photocopied images of the guru, Jair Helios. Lights from several cars shone on most of the group.

At a signal from one female they all raised their arms mimicking the familiar remonstrations of the easily recognised new age prophet.

"We are all part of the earth!" shouted the girl.

"We are all part of the earth," echoed the crowd, though some couldn't contain their amusement.

"We please ourselves and please each other," the leader cried following the long haired mystic's mantra.

Again the crowd repeated her lead, vociferously, with more energy.

Finally, with arms waving emulating Jair's rally histrionics, she chanted, "The universe is ours. The globe is ours. We are the Global Church."

The others rose to the occasion and shouted with an almost uniform roar, "The universe is ours. The globe is ours. We are the Global Church."

Jim and Murray joined with the throng again as they repeated the well-known phrases four times, each successive chant louder. And, much to the hilarity of the crowd, one of the number, a tall gangly youth, planted a long haired wig on his head and gave his own version of a very animated, evangelical Jair Helios.

He went through a celebrated routine—one that had been highlighted by several media outlets of the past year. With a religious quaver in his voice he parodied the church's spiritual guru.

"You must reach up," he cried fervently. His arms stretched skyward. "... to draw in energy from the universe. The crowd joyously copied his every move echoing, "Reach up." Others called out, "Energy!"

"You must reach out," he pleaded dramatically. "... to your fellow creatures. We are one life force," he declared passionately. His arms flung forward in exhortation. Again, the action was mirrored by the jubilant group. "Reach out!... Life force." There was laughter as he almost lost his balance.

"You must reach in... that's where you will find peace and harmony," he intoned sanctimoniously, placing both fists over his heart. The youthful supporters repeated, "Reach in... peace."

The mockery continued with the masquerading preacher repeating, "Reach up... reach out... reach in," over and over with associated movements and the aping adherents joining in. It looked like some bizarre aerobics' routine.

At the back of the crowd, standing on the tray of the utility, some similarly disguised enthusiasts were busily filming this flash mob for an internet audience.

Jim sidled up to the female instigator of the earlier chants as they listened to the quirky rhetoric of the young, comical orator. He slipped a hand in hers. "Hi... how's the flash mob doing?"

"Very well thank you," she said pertly. Then in a lowered voice Maddy asked, "Did you find him?"

"No." was his hushed answer.

"Look," she noted, indicating the direction of the main entrance of the church building. "I think you just made it out in time."

He looked across. There, on the raised entrance scanning the crowd, were three tough, angry men. Their scowls were clearly visible and hands were reaching under jackets clasping only partly concealed weapons.

From the car park the noise of several more cars skidding to a stop registered with Maddy and Jim. This wasn't part of the plan. Each glanced at the other fearfully. What was happening? Car doors slammed and a number of men started shouting. Out of the darkness numerous uniformed police appeared forming a perimeter around the building and the crowd. Then several plain clothes officers forged ahead toward the group of thugs on the entry porch. The men who had looked threatening moments earlier ran inside like frightened rabbits.

More police cars raced in and secured other exit points from the sprawling buildings. It was obvious they aimed to seal off every avenue of escape.

One young detective came across to address the crowd. Everyone had now fallen silent. All attention had been diverted from the flash mob frolics as they witnessed the police raid. Rolf yelled out, "We want you all to move right back away from here. Let the fire brigade and police do their jobs. You've had your fun... it's time to get clear of here."

There was a restless movement of the crowd. Catcalls and cheers reflected their varied moods as they slowly withdrew to the far corner where their cars had been parked.

But no one left. They all wanted to watch. Rolf joined Burton and a number of other officers at the main doors.

The detective inspector grumbled quietly to the others, "No unanticipated surprises, hey?"

"Well who can predict a flash mob?" chuckled Rolf.

"You know I don't like coincidences," remarked Burton out the side of his mouth.

Rolf gazed at the retreating mob. A small number were peeling off and heading toward a large van stationed alongside the exit driveway. Could it be that he knew them? He bit his lip to prevent a smile breaking into a laugh.

Two more unmarked police cars arrived. Superintendent Ralph emerged from one and hurriedly joined Burton near the large doors. "Communications have pinpointed our man here." That was his opening greeting to the senior homicide man. "Something he might find quite difficult to explain, given the recording we have of him and Watts." Burton gave him a thumbs up. "Do you want to talk to the men?" he asked deferentially.

"No, it's your show Adrian," responded the superintendent graciously. Burton pulled a tight smile of appreciation.

"Okay, everybody. Let's take everyone from the building into custody and then we'll weed out the innocent bystanders." Burton gave his orders in his customary manner—quietly and firmly.

He sent Marsden and Mawson to quiz the gymnasium evacuees. He selected Gully and Shultz to take teams inside. A number of the special response force, completely outfitted in fatigues, bullet proof jackets, helmets and radio feed, moved ahead of them with automatic weapons at the ready. Ralph stayed while his subordinates returned to their cars. They had one purpose and it involved one of the force's own.

As they were entering, one of the fire captains was on his way out. "Smoke grenades," he announced with a look of disgust. "Probably that crazy lot over there," he said pointing at the distant, undiminished group, some still wearing their paper bags with the church prophet motif.

It was then he noticed the large contingent of armed police. "Have you been called out on this false alarm too?"

"No this is genuine police business. You need to get all your men out of here as soon as possible," directed Burton calmly.

"Is this a raid?" the fireman's eyes lit up at the prospect of some real excitement."

"Let's just say we were hoping they weren't expecting company."

"You guys gate crashed our party," kidded Rolf.

Just then shots were heard from the far side of the building. A call of 'officer down' rang in their ear pieces. Burton shouted, "You guys get down." His arm waved the firemen back against the wall. "Arnie, call an ambulance quick." He turned to Arrington. "Fred call for back up. I need traffic stops on all exit points from the Global Church."

Rolf tried to imagine what his boss was anticipating. He withdrew his weapon and began to stride in the direction of the shooting.

From around the corner sounds of tyres squealing and engines revving had all reaching for their guns. "Everyone get down!" yelled Burton authoritatively. All but two of those gathered there complied immediately. Two dark sedans screamed around the corner. Shots were being fired at the cordon of police who had now taken refuge and were returning fire. A burst of automatic gunfire was aimed at the two officers still standing. One fell moaning and he then cried repeatedly, "I'm hit, I'm hit."

"Block off the exits," ordered Burton rising to his feet, even as the cars raced onto the highway passing the unprepared squad cars, causing several cars to swerve, brake and sound their horns. Rolf, Lee and five other officers raced to the cars. Rolf took the wheel of their unmarked vehicle as Lee tumbled into the passenger seat still completing his emergency call.

Their car roared down the driveway and set off in hot pursuit of the escaping cars. Lights and siren came on seconds before Rolf charged through a gap in traffic and sped off.

Ralph informed Burton he was getting back to his car to confirm the whereabouts of his objective.

In the next seconds several squad cars closed off both exits. Even as drivers emerged another car charged around the corner. This time it was met by a hail of bullets. The windscreen smashed, tyres punctured and perforations appeared all along the side panels. A violent turn at speed made the car roll once and then onto its roof.

Men from special operations moved with lethal precision toward the area from where the three cars had come. Some shouted and fired warning shots. The show of force proved to be enough for the occupants of a fourth car to surrender.

Instructing three men to guard the main entry, Burton headed first to the wounded man. Colleagues were administering first aid. What had sounded like a serious injury now appeared to be a relatively minor, but no doubt painful, wound to his left buttock.

Burton was quickly assessing the situation when a woman ran up carrying a large bag. "I'm a doctor," she asserted. "Let me look at him."

"There's another man around the back that's also been shot," informed Burton as she quickly staunched the bleeding from the man's wound. "Just keep pressure on that pad till the medics get here. He should be okay." She turned and looked up at the homicide inspector. "Where's the other casualty?" she asked directly. Burton pointed toward the rear of the building, wondering at the same time what she had been doing at the scene.

Once assured that the man was in good hands, he ran around to the side of the building as well. There a number of men were being handcuffed. Anxiously, he checked the condition of the first policeman shot. The doctor was clearly a capable trauma specialist. She had already applied a drip and was applying restrictive padding. A female constable was comforting the man who had a serious stomach wound.

Already, more police units were arriving, waiting as the blocking cars allowed them entry and then pulling up front. An ambulance could be heard in the distance, rapidly approaching. Men were carefully extracting the driver and passengers of the overturned vehicle as those from the fire brigade doused the beginnings of a car fire with smothering foam.

Gully and Arrington, who had run out when they heard the shooting, went with Shultz and his team to check out the building for any other occupants. They escorted a couple of firemen who were given the task of removing the spent smoke canisters. At the same time, Burton began questioning some of the occupants of the cars whose exit had been unsuccessful.

It appeared they all claimed to be 'security staff' a common euphemism in criminal organisations for the muscle, or enforcers. They were clearly the lower echelon of the gang since they had been left to fend for themselves and had only bailed when they saw the hierarchy make their getaway.

The two dragged from the rolled vehicle were a little the worse for wear and had been armed with some serious fire power. They were totally uncooperative in giving any information about the other fugitives and Burton gave up after a short stint of questioning. He advised Shultz, who had reappeared because his asthma couldn't cope with the smoky atmosphere, to have them initially charged under breaches of the firearms' laws. He then used the radio to check on efforts being made to apprehend the others.

One of Ralph's men came over and told him that 'the bird had flown the coop'. They would go after him and be guided by central command who were tracking his phone. Burton wished them luck.

Three ambulances arrived, in close succession, and the most seriously wounded policeman was evacuated immediately. Belle accompanied him in the ambulance, determined to ensure his safe arrival and communicate her treatment procedures to the emergency team.

The second casualty was treated and taken to hospital with the assurance that his injury would be the topic of humorous quips for some time to come. The third team of paramedics stayed on the scene and treated the injured captives and a fireman who had fallen over a hose.

Fortunately for Burton, Shultz was a real team player. He offered to begin questioning the so called 'heavies' at the station and assigned two of his men to accompany the injured suspect to a security ward at the local hospital.

Inside, Gully caught Jair Helios stumbling through the dark offices. He claimed he was sorting through files when the power went off. He said he had waited, expecting it to come on again and then had hidden when he heard shots. The irate preacher insisted he had done nothing wrong when informed that his association with the Global church meant he was under suspicion of numerous crimes against the state. While Gully continued searching, Arrington delivered the 'spiritual leader' to Burton. All the time Jair proclaimed the injustice of the police state.

When questioned by Burton, the new age preacher had little more to say, apart from commenting on religious persecution. He avowed he had no knowledge of any conspiracy or illegal activity. Burton had Helios consigned to a squad car ready for transport and then decided to chat to the jovial flash mob and intriguing van members who had been detained till they could be cleared of any involvement.

Arrington accompanied him.

"Fred, I might need you to take down some names. I'm not entirely convinced this wasn't some convoluted plot." The other looked at his boss blankly, trying to decode his double negative. Burton smiled. "I think it was arranged, Fred."

Arrington was a bit old school and managed to extract a notepad and pen from a pocket in his jacket.

The huddle of people near the van hovered about uneasily. Surreptitious glances in the direction of the approaching detectives underlined their disquiet. Burton sent Arrington to the motley collection of exhibitionists to determine the flash mob organiser's identity.

Burton drew near. He smiled disarmingly at the four men and the young woman. "I'm Detective Burton," he began, downplaying his rank. "Could someone here explain what you all are doing here?"

The young woman took the lead straight away. "Who can resist a flash mob lampooning the superstar prophet of the Global Church?"

"So you know nothing about a break-in, smoke grenades or calling the fire brigade?" He tilted his head, providing a touch of cynicism. The young woman imitated his pose, smiling blandly. Her short, slightly mussy brown hair accentuated her girlish appeal. The implication of her response was; who us?

A young man beside her cleared his throat. "Er... Inspector Burton... we may have had something to do with some of these things."

"And, what is your name?" The detective switched his attention.

"Er... I'm Jim Bowles. You see, my father went missing four days ago and we have reason to believe the church is responsible for his abduction and—" Maddy cut him off, grasping his arm and speaking with her eyes before adding a valuable aural component. "Don't say any more Jim. If the good detective wants to, he can arrest us."

Jim was not to be deterred. "No," His answer was subdued but firm. He faced Burton. "Detective Rolf said you believe the church needs to be scrutinised—you wouldn't be here if you didn't—so you might understand that, with no word about my father, we had to do something. This is what we did." Then with a hopeful look he continued. "The plan was, when everyone had evacuated, we would search the whole complex for Dad."

"That's not going to happen," the inspector stated sternly. But he allayed their fears of an outright rebuff by adding, "My men are scouring the premises at this very moment. If your dad is anywhere around, we'll find him."

"Thank you sir," deferred Jim politely. Internally, he was chafing at the prospect of locating his father. They said he'd escaped. Maybe he got picked up, or hospitalised, or run over. His stomach churned at the thought. "They said he escaped," he offered lamely.

Burton took a few minutes to record the details of what they knew. He also learned of the other aspect of their break-in.

Arrington joined them with his notebook open. He addressed Burton. "Seems like a reporter—Maddy Quinn—used social media to promote this little party."

Adrian fixed his eyes on Maddy, who was trying to fade into the background. "I take it that would be you, Miss Quinn." The words had a slightly comical ring to them as he peered around Jim to eyeball the mischievous reporter. Would that be the same Maddy Quinn who writes the Quinn-t-essential Truth column in the Daily Sun?"

Maddy confirmed the query with a coy head movement, unable to avoid his searching gaze.

Burton regarded her youthfulness and the discernible connection with young Bowles. He attempted to sound gruff. "You've given us police a hard time lately Miss Quinn." Maddy shrank back, ready for some verbal assault.

"As much as I hate to say it... and I've never been a fan of the media... it appears from what we are learning that it was justified criticism."

The inspector turned to Arrington. "Anything else Fred?"

"No... for what it's worth... the whole thing... flash mob or whatever, was a bit of harmless fun from what I can tell. We should probably let them go. They're getting a bit antsy." Unlike some others of his rank, Burton didn't take umbrage at the licence his men took to offer advice—sometimes it might be useful. But he had no qualms ignoring it either.

"Before you do that Fred, I'd like you to politely requisition the video footage they took from the back of that truck. And, make sure you have everyone's name."

Arrington set off immediately. Not for the first time was he chastened by being instructed to do what should have been apparent. To his credit, he delegated men from a couple of squad cars to take names and contact information as they let them pass through, one at a time.

Burton then spoke to Theo, Murray and Don to ascertain their involvement. Over an hour had passed since the two vehicles had burst out of the compound and most onlookers had departed. He had begun a short lecture on the dangers of taking the law into your own hands when he was interrupted by a desperate scream.

Chapter 17

Rescue

At the hospital, which was only a few minutes away from the church, Belle helped transfer the wounded constable to the emergency ward. It was her workplace and she was familiar with the night duty shift. Treatment was expedited by her rapid communication of the steps she had already taken to minimise pain, calm the patient and restrict blood loss. Belle described her perception of the wound and consulted with the on duty emergency surgeon regarding the best procedure.

One of the injured 'security men' was admitted as she was leaving. As they were placing him on a gurney, she accosted him. "Where is Evan Bowles?" she demanded. "The man you kidnapped. Have you killed him?" The two detectives watching him moved to draw her away. The man, known as Jake Richard to the police, was taken aback and in a slightly delirious state from a shot of morphine. He protested immediately, denying he was a killer.

"No... no he escaped just tonight... ran to the road. We couldn't find him... maybe someone picked him up."

Belle looked at the detectives with distress showing in her expression. "If he'd escaped we would have heard from him by now." She bit her top lip. "He could still be there."

Suddenly she resolved what she had to do. "Take me back there," she insisted. The detectives looked at each other, not accustomed to being ordered around by a civilian.

The more senior of the two nudged his partner. "You keep an eye on Jake here. I'll take her back." The other acquiesced begrudgingly, realising his colleague wanted what he also wanted—to be back where the action was.

Inside the squad car, the detective relayed to headquarters that he was heading back to the church and that his partner would need some relief from his guard duty. Belle told him of her fears. "We have to search the roadway. He must be in a bad way if we haven't heard from him." She refrained from taking the pessimistic view to its logical conclusion. He could be dead.

Detective Ireland used the opportunity to race back to the Global Church with the lights flashing. Within minutes he had made the return journey. The numerous pulsating lights of emergency vehicles and squad cars and the gathered jaunty crowd gave a circus like impression.

"Do you have a torch?" asked Belle, just after he came to a screeching halt not far from the large entrance. A line of cars on the inside were being allowed through one at a time preventing his entry

Ireland reached below the dashboard and tore away the Velcro attached torch he had stowed there. It was a heavy, black, metallic cylinder that released a powerful beam when he switched it on. She shielded her eyes from the dazzling shaft of light. He tentatively handed it to Belle. He had a wry grin. "You make sure I get Bertha back."

"Bertha?" said Belle, holding up the solid implement.

"That's right... she's been with me since just after the academy."

"You'll get it back," retorted Belle, thinking that was the least of her concerns at the moment.

Detective Ireland leapt out of the car and abandoned her there at the side of the highway. He was intent on what was going on in the car park. The thought that someone could actually be in danger, or missing, by the roadway hadn't percolated to the zone of actuality in his brain.

Belle began edging her way along the verge of the highway, swinging the tight, glaring beam to and fro just ahead of her and then slowly across the tarmac. Horns tooted and cars swung out of their lanes, confused by the bobbing light on the side of the road. What was she looking for? The voice in her head kept challenging. Belle couldn't put it into words but in her mind she knew. It was the only thing that made sense. Either, Evan had been struck by a car and his body removed by a fearful driver or he had been seriously injured and somehow managed to hide in the fields across the highway. She was looking for a clue, any confirmation, that he might be incapacitated.

After fifty metres of close examination of the shrubs, grass verge, compacted shoulder and the road surface itself, Belle was beginning to question the wisdom of her actions. Maybe one man saw Evan run while another chased and killed him. They may have disposed of him far away so that he may never be found.

Another ten, then twenty metres and the futility of her search dawned on her. If Evan had got away, he'd be miles away by now. With no phone, of course he hadn't contacted anyone. Belle was about to turn, go back and tell the others her theory because, she reasoned, none of them had heard that he had escaped, when a dull shimmer reflected from a dark patch on leaves of the hedge.

On closer inspection, dark spots trailed from that point to the tarmac and across it. Almost involuntarily, she bent down and touched a spot on the roadway. It was wet and sticky. Under the torchlight it was red. A sickening feeling swamped her. That amount of blood. How far could he get? How long could he live?

Impatiently, Belle waited for a gap in the traffic. A spurt of speed got her to the middle. In two more strides she was across the median strip. Then she accelerated to avoid cars coming and received an irate horn blast for her effort.

On the other side the blood splatter became difficult to track. The grass became longer. It took a minute of careful scrutiny to recognise that the stalks of grass had only been disturbed in one direction.

Belle followed the slight crush of the stems down along a culvert. Every now and then she detected a flatter area of vegetation with more blood staining. Places where he paused briefly to muster his strength. Step by step she went, lower and lower. The trail appeared to end at a drain where the ditch dropped a few feet.

'Where?' she thought. Would he have crawled along the drain? She looked up. The depression in the grass below a drain pipe show signs of being disturbed. The pipe went under the road. She scrambled up the short slope. Stains on the concrete pipe backed up her assumption. Belle shone the torch into the depths of the dank cylinder.

There, two metres in was Evan's scrunched body. He was motionless, soundless. Desperately, Belle crawled in on her hands and knees. She felt his carotid artery. A weak pulse was present but clothing was soaked with blood and his breathing shallow. "Evan can you hear me? Evan?" He was unconscious.

With all her strength she grasped his feet and attempted to drag the dead weight out of the narrow space. Evan's limp body hardly budged. "You blockhead Belle," she rebuked herself. Quickly, she backed out of the concrete drain and clambered up the side of the embankment.

Upon reaching the road she cupped her hand around her mouth and screamed, "Help!... Someone help me!" The call was high pitched, extremely loud and frightening. Of the various clusters and assembled groups across the highway, almost every head turned toward the shrill scream.

Belle screamed again and finally some people started running. Several police and firemen came across.

"I've found Evan Bowles. He's been shot," she shouted as they came closer. He's barely alive. Get the ambulance." Already she was silently reproving herself for not bringing her medical bag.

Belle's harsh commands had effect immediately. Men ran for help while others called for it. Several police blockaded the road and held up traffic in both directions. Detective Ireland, who came over a little shamefaced, sprinted away to get Belle's medical bag. He returned shortly, sliding down the slope to join emergency workers who were assisting Belle. The stretcher lay waiting as a couple of men crawled into the pipe with instructions from Belle to keep movement to a minimum.

The ambulance arrived almost simultaneously with Jim, Maddy, Don and Jim's uncles. They pushed their way through the gathering crowd as paramedics helped ease Evan out of the confined space. Gently lifting him onto a stretcher, they carefully strapped him in as Belle inserted a needle pointed catheter and attached an intravenous saline drip—the last from her medical bag.

Police created a human corridor to the waiting ambulance and the stretcher, bearing Evan, was carefully passed up. Belle was given a helping hand to ascend the steep bank and she piled into the back of the van and furiously started to attach monitors and a breathing mask. She was concerned by the level of blood loss and clear indications that he had been beaten over a period of time.

The doors slammed shut on Belle and a paramedic assisting her. A sudden jerk of acceleration and the emergency vehicle was on its way with the mandatory blaring siren and pulsating lights.

Jim and his small commando contingent were left standing, hardly placated by the prognosis of a nearby first aider who muttered to a colleague that Evan's condition was critical and he was unlikely to make it.

Burton drew together the band and began by denouncing their little foray. But he softened quickly.

"Even though I don't approve of your methods, I believe you have been vindicated. Your procurement of incriminating information, however illegal, gave us the impetus to put them under the microscope." He paused as they appeared to brighten up, then he countered the slight revival.

"However, your actions endangered the lives of each one of you, and now Evan Bowles has been rushed to hospital." Faces were drawn. Maddy put her arms around Jim as his lips quivered from emotion. Burton then flipped to the opposite tack. "And yet... it appears... that your actions have flushed them into the open. By getting hold of the truth about their schemes they were forced to become reckless and have overtly contravened the law."

Gully, who had arrived back a few minutes earlier and was standing next to him, sniggered. "Fair go Ade, this speech is like a tennis match."

Burton grinned. "You're right Gully." He lowered his head and stared at them as if looking over spectacles admonishingly. "I'm trying to say you did a great job... but don't do it again."

Gully then reported that no one else was found in the complex. They had found a basement with cells which might take some explaining. And he would bet that blood spatter on the floor belonged to Evan Boyle; mainly because he had just heard that Evan had been badly bruised and battered.

Marsden then arrived with news that Mawson had been struck in the chest by a bullet. The body armour he was wearing meant he was bruised but pretty pleased with himself. He then described how the gym members were completely in the dark, both figuratively and literally, about what had transpired that night.

The police had noticed a break and entry and the destruction of the church's power board. He mentioned that the local power company had turned up a short time ago and they couldn't understand how the wires were cut without causing some explosion.

When he mentioned that, Don feigned taking great interest in his feet. The sidelong glance from the others didn't escape Burton.

"There was obviously considerable expertise on hand for these unidentified intruders." He gave a conspiratorial squint in Gully's direction. "What do you think Gully... a special ops group? What with disabling the building, undetected break in, smoke grenades, impeccable timing and getting away unobserved. They had to be pros."

"Could be," acknowledged the other detective vaguely, "... could be. But those guys will never admit to anything."

Marsden was bemused. This wasn't the Detective Inspector Burton that he knew was it? He would uncover any mystery regardless of whose toes he stood on. Only when he registered the relieved sighs and smiles of the huddle before the inspector did he interpret the irony of the comments. His realisation was one of those light bulb moments plain for others to see as they observed his facial features.

***

Rolf and Lee were hurtling behind the second car. Even with full warning mode in operation the young detective found time to blast the horn repeatedly at cars wandering into their path. Lee was constantly on the radio updating all on the network of their location and heading. Already the fleeing vehicle had clipped two cars and barely missed inebriated pedestrians on a crossing.

"Number one is turning right," barked Rolf as he watched the first lot of offenders peel off. "We'll stick with number two." He swerved violently just as he said it, narrowly missing a backing truck on one side and on-coming traffic from the other. Lee called out the street name and description of the first car. Hoping other squad cars could take up the chase.

Another zigzag through an intersection shook them up before Rolf accelerated closer. A menacing gun barrel appeared out the passenger side and immediately Rolf eased back.

Lee almost shouted into the radio mike, "Suspects are armed... looks like an automatic, maybe military issue... Alert, suspects are armed and dangerous."

The police communications centre broke in with orders from a senior incident coordinator.

"Car nine... car nine... ease back, we have police chopper coming on board. Repeat, we have police chopper on scene... ease back, acknowledge."

Lee answered to the affirmative as he saw a second then a third squad car draw up behind them.

From there on the observers in the helicopter kept everyone informed as the target car twisted and turned through inner-city streets. Rolf asked on the status of the other car being pursued and was curtly told there was a communications blackout on the chase. He deduced that the suspects had access to the police frequency.

The incident coordinator was trying to marshal squad cars to set up strategic road blocks and force their quarry to less populated, industrial sectors. In the first two instances this appeared to work. The car was heading further north, though it was by no means deserted, even at that early hour of the morning. Large factories and warehouses proliferated in the relatively new, expanding industrial zone. The way ahead had police cars closing off all routes except one that led to a cul-de-sac with a scrap metal and wrecker business taking up most of the area.

However, the suspect car reacted unpredictably and rammed its way through the police checkpoint. It was now out of sight. Rolf accelerated and then slowed to negotiate his way past the damaged squad cars. Directions from the air wing soon brought the fleeing vehicle into view again.

Again the weapon protruded out the of the car's window. This time a volley of shots sprayed from the menacing gun barrel. Several shells ripped into their car with shuddering, clunking impacts. Lee withdrew his service pistol and released the safety.

"This isn't the wild west Arni," remarked Rolf coolly as he swerved sharply to avoid a motor cyclist. "We don't encourage gun fights in the street." Lee flipped the safety on again.

"I was just thinkin' a couple of shots at his wheels and he'd be a lot easier to chase."

Rolf looked ahead and behind in the mirror. Apart from the headlights of the squad cars in their wake, there were few cars around. He made a decision on the spot.

"All right. It's fairly quiet here. One burst. If that fails, we don't try again." He reflected sombrely, "You know you have to give account of every shot."

Lee wasn't deterred. He wound down the window and waited for Rolf to accelerate to the shortest intervening distance possible.

As the squad car lurched closer, the deadly semi-automatic extended out of the car again. Lee acted decisively. He put his head out the window, took aim with both hands on the gun and fired, fired again and fired again. The other gun spurt out several more rounds. Lee raised his aim and fired four shots in quick succession. The shooter's gun tumbled out of the window and on to the roadway.

Immediately, Rolf exclaimed into the radio, "One of you guys behind us, will you pick up the gun that fell on the road... please," he added as an afterthought.

"I thought I said one burst," uttered Rolf flatly.

"Hey, he was shooting at us," protested Lee.

"And, you missed his tyres," he supplemented dryly. At the instant Rolf glanced to see the effect his attempt at humour had on Lee, a grinding crunch of metal announced the end of the car chase. A truck had collected the suspect car as they tried to run a red light. The huge transport with trailer had collided with the front end of the sedan and spun it around one and a quarter rotations until it embedded itself into a stationary car in the oncoming lane.

Rolf veered to the left and braked hard. He switched his howling siren off and launched himself in the direction of the smashed-up car across the road. Lee catapulted out of the other side and they both trotted warily with guns trained on the twisted metal wreck. Glancing into the car, both occupants looked unconscious. One, the driver, had a heavily bandaged head that was smeared with blood.

"Check the other car," yelled Rolf as he indicated the hapless driver of what was, seconds before, a near new Mercedes. The woman driver appeared dazed but well enough to wrestle with the deflating air bag. Lee happily came to the aid of the fair damsel, using his most sympathetic tone and assisting her out of the vehicle.

Two men from the second squad car barricaded the other road in the intersection and were getting out when Rolf requested they call an ambulance. The driver had an additional severe gash to the side of his head and didn't look in a good way. He worked his way carefully around to the passenger side when the door was thrust violently against his right knee. It buckled under the impact. As he went down, the thug jumped out and started running in a sort of rapid hobble down the street opposite the police car obstructed street in the intersection.

Rolf awkwardly regained his feet and grimaced with pain. He set off in pursuit with a similar restricted hobbling gait. He shouted for the other to halt with a threat to shoot. But the fleeing man was dodging between exiting hotel patrons and knew he was safe for the moment. Rolf put in a painful, extra burst of speed. The sudden acceleration catching his prey by surprise. The detective brought him down with a heavy tackle and a resounding thud and then belted him once with his left hand for good measure.

An instant later, three more men—police from the other two squad cars—had piled on top and were securing him with handcuffs. They found a small hand gun on the inside of his jacket. He was dragged to his feet, still groggy from the concussive collision with the ground. Rolf holstered his gun and searched for some indication of his identity. The wallet in the top of his pocket identified him as Ivan Bull.

The detective returned to his radio to call in their apprehension of one Ivan Bull. He called over to Lee, "Hey Arnie, who's the other guy." Lee concluded his enquiries of injury with the pretty, young Mercedes driver and then tried the driver's side door. It was jammed. He scurried around to the other side, leaned in and then came out having extracted the driver's papers. Bernie Kernot was his name. Lee imparted the information to the impatient Rolf who relayed it on.

He was told that Ivan Bull, commonly known as Angus, was a much sought-after contract executioner. The incident coordinator spoke directly with the young detective. He said Kernot had a history of strong-arm stuff but not the prize that Angus was. Rolf couldn't help chuckling at the play on words. He had caught a 'prize Bull'. A glimmer of realisation opened his eyes wider. "Ah... Angus... Bull."

"What did you say?" asked Lee.

"Nothing," murmured Rolf, "Just doing some deductive reasoning."

Once the ambulance had taken Kernot with a constable as escort, Angus was bundled into the back of a divisional van. Then two newly arrived squad cars accompanied them to the station lockup prior to an interview and charging.

Rolf and Lee vacated the area while it was still littered with damaged cars, tow trucks, traffic police and late-night spectators. Calls back to the cars at the church proved unsuccessful until he got onto Shultz. Shultz informed him that Evan Bowles had been found and rushed to hospital in a critical condition. Apparently, he'd been shot trying to escape. Burton was questioning the last of the witnesses.

That was enough for Rolf to race back to the Global Church, the red and blue warning lights piercing the unevenly lit roadway were advertising his haste. It surprised him how long the journey back took. But it provided sufficient time to grill Lee on why he saw fit to offer no assistance in his tussle with Angus. Lee retorted that he was sure Rolf had things in hand. Besides when he looked up a whole horde of constabulary were in pursuit.

"That's the only reason?" Rolf said dubiously. A crooked smirk playing across his face.

"What else?" answered Lee, wide eyed but unable to contain a broad smile.

Chapter 18

Elusive

By the time Rolf and Lee pulled into the sprawling car park of the church, most of the flash mob had passed through the gateway. A few still lingered and gawked at the dwindling presence of police and firemen, reliving the excitement of, what they thought was, the fire, the shooting and then finally, the frantic ambulance operations. An evening that had started out as a mere lark had become a riveting ringside seat to real life drama.

Unfortunately, the police were recommending that the evening's entertainment was over and were ushering them toward the checkpoint.

A cluster of people still stood adjacent to the entry drive. Among them were Burton, Gully, Arrington and Marsden from the police and the members of, what Burton humorously referred to as 'the organising committee'. Burton had relieved them of the computer hard drives and had informed them that they would probably not be called on as witnesses because of the illegal activities they had been engaged in.

He beckoned Marsden and they walked a little apart from the others. He had been the victim of his subordinate's interference. Watts had misinformed him, planted evidence and protected criminals all without him becoming suspicious. Marsden, who had in the past been competent, now looked incompetent and he was clearly depressed that he had been fooled by Watts. Though Marsden didn't merit much esteem in the eyes of Burton's team, the homicide inspector sought to elevate his standing.

"Malcolm, I wonder if you could deliver these hard drives to the Federal Police. There should be sufficient evidence here to indict Bailey and co for subversion or sedition or whatever they want to call it. Tell them we're on their trail and would appreciate their help."

Marsden cheered up. "Where will I send them?"

"Good question... If you get them to contact me, when they're on board, I might have a clearer idea of where." He gave a tight smile. "And at the moment that's an imponderable."

Marsden recognised Burton's caginess when it came to committing force members while he was still in problem solving mode. He performed a polite, grateful salute and headed to his car where Mawson was waiting.

When Burton strolled thoughtfully back to the group, the one female member immediately tackled him about the video and her rights as a reporter to information gained. "Give me a call tomorrow and I'll let you know the status of the investigation... within reason."

Maddy, always the assertive reporter, got an assurance from the homicide detective that they would get a copy of the video. She argued that she didn't want to welch on her commitment to upload their flash mob footage. Some negotiations by Burton elicited an undertaking that no excerpt or published version of the night's events would contain any police or emergency personnel and no depiction of those who would be subject to criminal proceedings.

To Burton's dismay, Rolf showed him video clips already uploaded from smart phones belonging to some of the flash mob participants. In their submissions there was no discrimination about what the content was, and shots of fire trucks and police cars and speeding vehicles dispensing numerous rounds of deadly gunfire. The added action and colourful commentary certainly caught the attention of the Internet audience. No doubt it would be all over the news in no time.

Burton answered a call from central command and wandered away from the men who were watching different videos of the flash mob and incidents the detectives had participated in. The chatter became humorous commentary about the mimicking of Jair Helios and the panicky diving for cover when shots were fired.

Rolf moved away too. He wanted to talk with Jim and Maddy. Before the small group left to go to the hospital and keep vigil over Evan's bedside, Rolf conferred with them privately. He probed them about details of the break in.

After getting some of the story, he advised that too much information might be embarrassing for him. He did find out what they had achieved and affirmed that, though their methods had been unconventional, the final outcome looked to be favourable. He explained that the murderers of Jobe Reagan were in custody and clear links between them and the Global Church had been established through Ivan Bull and the money trail. The whole thing had been orchestrated to quash any media revelations of their political meddling and intimidation.

He then farewelled them and watched as Murray slowly drove the van out onto the highway. Rolf gave one final wave and then re-joined the team. Burton was strolling back deep in thought. "What's the word on the first car?" Rolf asked the others point blank.

"They lost it," grumbled Gully. "Instead of keeping an eyes on approach they relied on the technical crew."

"And?"

"He dumped his phone," interjected Arrington.

Lee included himself in the conversation. "So what's Ralph going to do now? Wasn't it all about catching him red handed?"

Rolf took heed of Burton's reticence to join in. He marvelled at his boss' equanimity. "So Ade, what do we do now? I mean... we don't know if Bailey and the so called 'Badger' were in the car and Badger's identity is only supposition at this stage." The young detective instantly regretted leaving himself open to a Burton-ism. But it was too late.

"All right Ro, let's do a thought experiment. What would you do?"

Lee, Arrington and Gully relished the novice mistake of their colleague, having each fallen victim to similar pressure inquisitions. Rolf looked helplessly at his fellow detectives who each managed to shuffle backwards so as not to be included.

"Well..." began Rolf, trying to buy himself some time. "I guess I would try and... get away."

The banality of his statement rang in his ears. Burton was giving him time and all he was doing was digging a deeper pit for himself. Why didn't he just ask for Burton to give the answer? Where was the book with the answers at the back?

He began again, falteringly. "So... We put out an APB on the car." The reciprocated nod indicated that had been done. "And... there has to be a watch at airports. All small flights would have to be checked." He was feeling the heat rising to his face but he pressed on. "So... I guess we have to check all the ports... something big enough to get them far enough to get out the country." Burton still stood there looking at him. But now there was a hint of a smile and a small nod. He was encouraging. 'I'm almost there,' thought Rolf.

The last step eluded him. Which port? Which boat? Suddenly it dawned on him. Yes he knew! "Then!" he blurted. We see if Gascoyne or Bailey have access to, or own, a pleasure cruiser. And we seal off the ports."

Burton clapped him on the back. "Nicely done Ro... nicely done." He gazed at the others, "We may have a senior detective in the making here. What do you think gentlemen?"

Gully, who was most senior of the three and already a senior detective, was quick off the mark. "Well done Ro. Hope you join the club...but make sure you study for the exam. I had to sit it twice." Lee and Arrington also gave him a pat on the back. Neither of them had shown much inclination for more study with both having worked hard over the past years to get their Detective certifications.

"Well, let's head off to the coast. Hopefully the station will get back to us soon with a destination."

The inspector started walking to the car. The others went to their car near the building. Rolf couldn't help smiling. He felt a mild euphoria of being at the top of his game.

"Tell me Ade, you know something about them using a boat don't you?"

Burton chuckled as he opened the door and sat down. Rolf did likewise, strapping himself into the driver's seat. "Well?"

"Okay... I remember the super talking about Gascoyne's luxury boat—"

"Gordon?"

"That's right... He said he couldn't understand how he could afford it, even on a commander's salary." He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'you get my point,' but then he made it anyway. "So, now we know how he could afford it."

The cars were on the highway five minutes when the call came through. "East Port," enunciated Burton succinctly. He listened a few more seconds then spoke again. "The mooring is East Port and the luxury cruiser is called Wild Rover." He ended the call and looked with satisfaction at his junior partner. "I love it when it all comes together." Lights and siren applauded his sentiment.

On the way Rolf learned that he wasn't the only one privy to 'the organising committee's' clandestine sortie. Burton remarked that their combined expertise and resources had generated an innovative plan that any commando unit would be proud of.

It was a thirty-minute highway dash for the two homicide cars. As was his custom, Burton shared his intel'. He brought Ralph up to date with the latest breakthrough. The internal affairs man had been disconsolate at the collapse of his plans for a high-profile arrest. He felt foolish for having relied on phone location data. An explanation to the commissioner was all the more daunting because he had been forewarned and given access to the recording that implicated Gascoyne. The call perked him up and had him mobilising two of his units. The fact that Burton was including him when the homicide conspiracy and accessory charges had precedence over his own, boosted his admiration for the investigator.

Lights and sirens were disengaged within a kilometre of the port. Burton argued that stealth, though not essential, often provided that extra minute advantage. Parking the cars near the yacht club allowed them to survey the three main wharves where the larger boats were moored.

It was now almost three in the morning. The whole marina was asleep. All of it, that is, with the exception of one large motor cruiser. On it a few lights were glowing, the twin engines thrummed a deep resonating tone and preparations were being made for an imminent departure. The name on the side was clearly painted in bold, florid script, 'Wild Rover'.

Gully was instructed to contact the water police as a precaution should the boat manage to get away. Rolf checked on the progress of the other units attending to determine whether it was judicious to wait or make a move immediately. Only a few minutes were required for Ralph's men to pull up and make their way, noiselessly, to where Burton and his team were gathered.

Turner, one of Ralph's senior investigators had brought a megaphone. Burton smiled to himself at the stereotypical picture they presented. He touched the man lightly on the shoulder. "Don't use that till we're on board. It should scare them witless." He gave an approximation of what he should say and then moved to the head of the line.

The men readied their weapons and snuck silently, in single file behind Burton, along the solid timber wharf. Stepping on board the gently swaying craft, Burton raised his arm to signal Turner to demand their surrender. "This is the police. All on board the Wild Rover come up on deck and surrender. We have you covered." The words blasted full volume from just behind Burton, who nearly fell off deck after losing his balance.

The first man that climbed out from below was brandishing a shotgun. He was felled by a hefty shove from Lee the second after he emerged. Another man came armed with a spear gun and dropped it as Rolf bellowed his threat to shoot if he didn't abandon his weapon. A third man ascended with his arms raised.

The inspector put his hand on Turner's shoulder and had a comical expression as he spoke. "You scared the life out of me detective. I expected you to stay on the wharf."

"Sorry sir," he replied a little self-consciously. "I didn't realise."

"That's okay. We certainly got our shock value." He grinned and patted his shoulder.

While Rolf secured the three men, Burton, Arrington and Gully went down the three steps to the small steerage deck. Then down from there the lower deck opened out to a galley, saloon area, sleeping quarters and small bathroom all economically organised. What troubled Burton immensely was that it was deserted. The other two searched fore and aft in every possible corner and cranny. No one else was there. Brief questioning had the men hastily admit to being instructed to wait for Ivan Bull, Bernie Kernot and their cronies and make a run for it along the east coast.

Burton rang headquarters. Botched raids were not something he enjoyed, though everyone experienced them. He sought all the background they could dig up on both Bailey and Gascoyne. A few minutes passed as the researcher fed bio information to the inspector. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and held the bridge of his nose. It looked like a severe headache but he was actually frustrated and berating himself for not being more thorough in his research.

He felt inclined to ask whether headquarters had considered doing a full rundown on both suspects but he kept his mouth closed. If he hadn't thought of other alternatives, he couldn't expect others to. After all, he was the experienced investigator. Burton gritted his teeth. He hated foul-ups, and this was one of his own making. Now, with time at a premium, he was compelled to act on a hunch and look all the more foolish if it was wrong.

A second call he made was one linking with a past acquaintance—a man he'd never seen but spoken to and worked with on a previous occasion. The call was a hypothetical. The contemporary in the next state north was happy to oblige. Not only that, but he had a similar reciprocal agreement with a contact in Queensland and he was happy to smooth the way ahead for him there should he need it. He ended the call and observed his tired colleagues. They were waiting for some sort of direction.

There was an uncomfortable muttering among the loitering detectives. A squad car had whisked away the underlings taken from the boat and the remnant were already categorizing the episode as one for the history books—Burton had been out-manoeuvred. A number of them looked at him as he made another call; some couldn't look at him.

He spoke with Gordon. "Yes... I'm sorry it's after three am." He listened to Gordon berate him for his thoughtlessness. "Well, you see..." He went on to explain the revelation of Gascoyne—Gordon's superior—as a key manipulator in the Global Church conspiracy. "The short of it is that Bailey and Gascoyne have got away—" The superintendent unleashed some spontaneous invective. Which, Burton reflected, was quite creative for his torpid state of wakefulness. When the outburst ceased, he tried again.

"Superintendent Gordon... I'm calling you because I wish to fly interstate."

"What for?" Gordon grated.

"I believe sir, and it's just a gut feeling... I believe they've taken a plane to Sydney."

"Didn't you alert the airport?" It was a disparaging rebuke. Most officers wouldn't have humoured Gordon with an answer. Burton ate humble pie. He replied quietly.

Yes sir. I believe both major airports and all airfields were contacted... at least, those were my instructions."

The superintendent was becoming manic. "Then how could he have flown out by plane?"

This was the coup de grace, the one element he hadn't anticipated till it was too late.

"Sir... Bailey has a private plane at his own private airstrip."

Gordon's response wasn't worth dwelling on. He pressed his request, conscious of the passing time. "Well sir?"

"Yes... yes... how many will you take with you?"

"Uh... only Rolf and Gully. That should be enough."

There was a brief interval of silence and Burton was about to thank Gordon and sign off when his immediate senior sought to clarify a sticking point in his reasoning. He sounded a touch more conciliatory.

"So Adrian, what makes you think he'll head for Sydney or Brisbane? Surely he could go anywhere."

"It's just a hunch sir. Shultz did some research for me and mentioned Bailey's flying routine."

Gordon had fallen foul of disregarding his hunches in the past and he was in no mood to untangle his circuitous thought patterns. He took the detective at his word.

"All right... Good night Burton."

Burton was taken aback because the last comment was a trifle snappy, like he actually didn't care. The super also hadn't appreciated that they had been working for almost twenty hours straight. He was tempted to end the call with 'Good morning sir', but the call disconnected before he had a chance to say anything.

He looked up from his cell phone. "Gully, you come with Rowan and me. The rest of you may as well go home and get some sleep." That was fine for most of them but Ralph wasn't so easily dismissed.

"I'd like to be in on this, if you don't mind, Ade." It was only his respect for the homicide detective that caused him to resort to a deferential manner. After all, he was the ranking officer.

"Oh, sorry Brian." Burton was apologetic on a personal level and he recognised his friend's angst at being omitted. "We're heading to Sydney and from there to Brisbane." He stopped and reappraised. "No, it would make more sense to go straight to Brisbane... and on from there if necessary. My guess is that they're going to try and scarper through PNG. I hope we get them well before that." He pulled a pained expression, "Thing is... your jurisdiction is internal affairs here."

"Yours is here too," he countered.

"Granted," Burton allowed. The thing is, I've made arrangements with Clive Grierson in Sydney, so he'll accompany us if we stop off there. Gordon gave us the go ahead. I couldn't get that for you."

Ralph chuckled. "I could try and contact Gascoyne and ask him for permission to arrest him." He grinned broadly. "So, it's settled. I'm coming with you. My budget can cope with it... and I haven't come this far to pull up stumps and go home."

Burton then explained his reasoning regarding the news that Bailey flew a light plane and in all likelihood was already airborne. He said they should head off soon. The first flight would leave a little after seven am.

On the way, with four of them in the car, Burton played with a phone app that showed light plane activity in the region. Only one plane looked a likely candidate. At that hour of the morning, and taking into account its heading, Burton was convinced the plane he identified belonged to Bailey. Ralph booked all four tickets with his department expense account and suggested he might not even ask for reimbursement if they were successful.

"I'll be glad when all light planes have tracking devices," commented Burton. "This app loses the planes outside the greater metropolitan area."

"What do we do when we lose it?" Rolf didn't mind asking the obvious question, after all, he was still the padawan.

"We make some informed guesses." Burton glanced around from the front passenger's seat to the back seat before continuing. "His Beechcraft will travel around fourteen hundred kilometres before needing to refuel. He'll play it safe and work his way north, inland or the coast, and we'll have to get some air transport to intercept them."

Ralph looked slightly bewildered. "That's not much to go on Ade... what's the catch?"

Burton sighed. "No catch, just hard work. Shultz is alerting airfields and aero clubs. We've got national air traffic control providing radar data and we know that Bailey has flown north at least twice before and he went via Forbes, Roma and Townsville to Cairns both times." He gave Ralph a weary smile. "I'm hoping he's too inexperienced to opt for a new route when everything hinges on escape... I'm hoping... and, of course, we have the contingency of tracking around cities on the web.

Little was said till they got to the airport. They all sent text messages to their spouses, suitably apologetic that duty had called them interstate. Regular yawns showed they were very tired and Burton realised the day ahead would be even more taxing.

On the plane they appeared more bleary-eyed than the early morning business commuters. While Gully snoozed noisily, Burton further unpacked his thinking. He estimated that it would take four hours for the Beechcraft to reach Forbes for refuelling. By his calculation they may have already taken off from there to go to Roma. Clive Grierson told him he'd let them know if the plane was sighted but they wouldn't apprehend it. His Queensland opposite number would have two squads at Roma and two at Cairns. If Forbes had been confirmed then Roma would be the designated interception point. He would inform the Federal Police of the plan and they would then have precedence.

An hour into the flight Burton received a phone call. Grierson confirmed the Beechcraft had landed in Forbes, taken about forty minutes to refuel and then set off. He had notified Inspector Peter Jones of the Queensland police and all things were already in place. The group on the plane was jubilant. Ralph whispered in Burton's ear, "The legend lives on."

Minutes later, he got a call from the Federal Police. They appreciated his collegial approach and had mobilised a team to head to Roma. In a show of mutual respect, it was suggested that homicide take custody of the two suspects and work out extradition to Victoria. That would allow the feds a timely interval to prepare their indictment.

Burton proffered an alternative point of view. If the feds arrested them on suspicion of subversion, there would be no need for extradition since they were a national body. Specific homicide charges could then be laid in Victoria. Needless to say, the federal policeman in charge, Federal Agent Coordinator Gower was happy and very amenable to the suggestion.

***

Chapter 19

Resolution

At the hospital, Jim, Maddy, Theo, Murray and Don were all waiting in a small lounge, some distance from the operating theatre where Evan was receiving emergency care. Tiredly, Belle came in wearing her surgical gown that was smeared with blood stains. That was anathema for hospital protocol which insisted that blood spattered surgeons were a bad look. It took seconds for Belle to comprehend why they all stared at her. Then with a rapid turn away she removed the offending garment.

"How is he?" The question most likely, was asked by Jim.

Belle smiled. It brightened her face and everyone else revived as if run down clockwork toys had been rewound. They rose from couches and armchairs, energised.

"He's better than expected... considering. I mean, he lost a lot of blood... but there seems to be no organ damage... just a chip off his hip. He's also suffering concussion and has some nasty bruising."

"Can we see him?" Jim initiated again.

"Well, he's just been put into a recovery ward and he'll be out to it for at least a couple of hours." With their faces all turned to her, Belle's demeanour became that of a compassionate parent. "But, I don't suppose a couple of minutes will do any harm... after all you've been through."

They followed her to the ward and saw Evan, swathed in bandages and attached to monitors and a tube. His face was mottled with bruising. His breath barely perceptible. All six looked at him, not saying anything. Then Maddy said, "He's alive." Jim gave the reporter, who was very close to him, a hug.

After some whispering about the night's adventure and the determination of Belle that brought about Evan's rescue, Theo, Murray and Don excused themselves and left. Jim thanked Belle again for all she had done.

"It's the first time I've operated on someone I've known." She said it like there was an obstruction in her throat. "There were three road trauma patients at the same time so, even though I am off duty, I took him to emergency rather than wait for an on call."

Jim gave Belle a hug and thanked her again. His eyes moistened with emotion. The two women also hugged and then the couple said good night and they parted. Belle sat on a chair by the bed and watched Evan. It was not something she usually did, but then Evan was special.

At six in the morning, a nurse doing her rounds woke Belle. She had fallen asleep and her head had dropped onto the pillow beside Evan. Opening her eyes she met his steady gaze.

"How long have you been awake," breathed Belle as she tried to stretch a crick from her neck. "A while," he huskily responded, non-committedly.

Self-consciously she ran her fingers through her fringe. You should have woken me."

"Why?... I was enjoying looking at you."

The nurse, who was still in the room pretending to be busy, giggled. Belle attempted to restore her professional image by picking up his chart and noting some recorded observations. Not much new since she had written most of it. The nurse moved to the other side of the bed to change over a drip bottle. She asked him if he needed anything and Evan asked for a drink.

Belle insisted that she would organise his drink and record his vital signs. She came back with a jug of water, a glass and a straw. The nurse left, enjoying a private joke, as Belle sat down beside Evan, leaned forward and held the glass for him. She then monitored his pulse and blood pressure.

Belle finished up by making him comfortable and then told him she'd be back later as she was on duty in a few hours. Evan spoke as she moved away. "You know, I was almost hoping to die back there and then you came and... I guess, I wanted to live." Belle stopped, sat back and brushed some dark strands of her hair out of her eyes as she faced him.

"You were conscious when I found you?" She said it with such disbelief that he hesitated to explain.

"I... I'm not sure if 'conscious' is the right word to describe it. Sort of dreaming you're awake... 'delirium' would be closer... but I knew it was you. You were saying something... I don't know what it was. It was... comforting... hearing your voice."

Belle smiled, put her hand on his shoulder and, to Evan, she appeared even more comely.

For the next fifteen minutes they talked. Belle brought him up to date with the arrest of Jobe's murderers and she had only recently heard of the capture of the men who had abducted him. She explained that they were still hunting Bailey. Recounting the exploits of Jim, Maddy and co had Evan shaking his head. Secretly, he was proud of Jim and the others for such an ingenious, if rather hare brained, scheme. But to Belle, he protested that they were crazy and, 'didn't they realise how dangerous these men were?'

Belle placed her hand on his cheek and grinned. She saw through his bluster. "This is the man that followed criminals, spoke to a murderer's partner and had his son hack into the church's computers. I'd say, like father like son."

Though his jaw still ached, Evan produced a smile and put his hand on Belle's. He warmed to her tenderness.

"Thanks for caring," he said huskily.

Moved with emotion, she reminded herself that it was too soon. He was vulnerable and hazy with drugs. She was exhausted, fragile and desperate for his affection. It was too important, and fraught with stumbling blocks, to admit her longing.

She glanced at her watch. "I should go. I have an hour before I start my shift. I have one procedure scheduled for eight, so I'll probably do some rounds at ten."

"Okay," he croaked, though his fingers, momentarily, were unwilling to release her hand.

She eventually untwined her fingers, gave his shoulder a light squeeze and parted with a soft command, "Get some sleep."

***

Evan woke at nine thirty. Someone was watching him. As his blurry vision cleared, he recognised Meredith. "Hi," she said softly.

He tried to raise himself a little but the pain in his body caused him to clench his teeth and become immobile.

"Merri," he wheezed, how long have you been here?"

"Oh... a few minutes. I heard you were in hospital... so I thought I'd visit."

He attempted to get up a bit in the bed again and succeeded in easing himself up onto the second pillow.

"Don't get up," she said. "I'll just stay a few minutes." Contrary to her suggestion, Evan raised himself higher on the pillow, though he couldn't mask the stab of agony across his stomach.

Merri looked concerned. "Be careful Evan you'll hurt yourself even more."

"I'm okay," he rasped. "Thanks for coming to visit."

"Here, have a drink of water." She passed the glass with the straw to him and watched him sip.

"You look in a bad way. What happened?" Merri asked as he took another sip, hoping to lubricate his throat.

"I was kidnapped by people from the Global Church."

"What! Why would they do that?" She had a look of consternation as she touched his arm.

"Merri, they were responsible for Mindy's death," he uttered forlornly. "They hired the killer and then killed him."

"Oh, how awful Evan. Can you prove it?"

Evan thought hard. No, he still couldn't provide indisputable evidence. He just knew it was the case. He shook his head. "No... but we've got enough information on Jim's computer to expose them to some very serious charges. And I can testify that they abducted me."

He took another sip.

"Jim needs to be careful. He might get charged with cyber-crime," Merri stated. She patted his arm again.

Evan began to feel extremely tired. His chest felt heavy and his eyelids drooped. He hadn't slept much. Perhaps he should lie back down. Merri took notice of his feebleness and took his glass.

"You need your sleep. I should go. Take care of yourself Evan."

A sort of misty fog dampened her voice as he squirmed back into the bed. He was so tired. He wondered, who had told Merri he was in hospital.

Moments later, Belle walked into the room. It took a second to register what she was seeing. She launched herself at the woman who was leaning over Evan, pressing a pillow tightly against his face. With all her might, Belle grasped the assailant around her waist and threw her onto the floor. A loud oomph escaped the woman's lips as she struck the polished vinyl.

Belle cast aside the pillow and scanned the monitors. There was no warning alarm. They were switched off! She couldn't detect any breathing so she gave him two quick resuscitating breaths. Next she checked his pulse. It was very faint. The woman behind her was scrambling to her feet. Belle slammed her hand against the emergency call button. She administered another two quick breaths and then turned to confront Evan's attacker. She was already at the door and scampering around the corner.

Two nurses rushed in. Belle fired instructions at them. "Mandy, call security. That woman tried to kill the patient." She addressed the other nurse. "Lucy, could you take this down to pathology." She handed her the glass. "I think Mr Bowles has been drugged. I need to know if it was BZD or an opioid." She put her face close to Evans and felt a slight flutter of his breath against her cheek.

The girl ran out. Mandy returned a little breathless. "Security are looking for her now. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, you can turn on the PO and his drip pump. I think she unplugged everything."

Mandy leaned over and seconds later the machine restarted, sounding its reassuring rhythmic beep.

Belle smiled a strained smile. "I think he'll be fine. Maybe he'll sleep for a while." She sat on the chair. "I'll watch for a bit."

"Is there anything else?" Mandy was hyped up by adrenalin.

"Well, I guess you could call the police. Tell them there was an attempt on the life of one of our patients."

***

Jim and Maddy and Kate and Laurie visited Evan in hospital that afternoon. He had been given a dose of flumazenil and it abbreviated what would have been a lengthy slumber, since he had consumed the equivalent of four benzodiazepine tablets. Though scarcely lively, he enjoyed the jubilation they exhibited at news that the whole saga was drawing to an end. He listened intently as they elaborated on all the events he had been, literally, unconscious to.

Larry had contacted Jim and told him that Meredith had been the one who had told the tea lady to provide morning tea for the delivery man. She had also organised the delivery, and that put her right in the middle of the conspiracy. It didn't take much for Marsden to link that information with the attempt on Evan's life and put out an APB for her arrest.

The attempt by Merri to eliminate him as a witness against Bailey struck Evan as bizarre until he heard of a romantic connection between her and Bailey. It was apparent to Evan that she would have been the one who deleted the files.

Of course Jim readily hailed Belle's tenacity and commitment to find him and be protective, telling all that Belle had, modestly, left unsaid.

It was pointed out that Belle had managed to save his life twice within twenty four hours and perhaps, now, he should stop looking behind wistfully but rather cherish the past. Maybe also he could look with optimism to the future. After all, there was a lovely woman who cared for him deeply.

When they left, Evan got the Bible out of the drawer. After flicking through a few pages wondering what direction his life should take, he turned to the story of Jehoshaphat. A few key ideas struck him. The battle is the Lord's, was what Jehoshaphat was told. All he had to do was –take up his position... stand firm... and see the deliverance of the Lord. That had to be his blueprint for life. He would be delivered from his despair if he stood, with the armour, wait and watch the Lord work in his life.

Belle came in minutes after he had finished praying. She had a troubled look as he greeted her. "Hi... Jim told me all about my rescue. I owe you a debt of thanks for what you did for me. You saved me... twice!"

"Evan, you don't owe me anything. But I owe you an apology. I haven't given you the space and time you need. I'm sorry." Evan opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. "Don't say anything. I have to say this. I think I'm very fond of you... but I want to give you time. Say, six months, we work, we put all this behind us... and... then, maybe... we can start again."

"That sounds very wise," he said softly.

***

Uncanny was too strong a term for the way every piece fit into place. It was almost an anticlimax. By the time the exhausted cadre of Victorians disembarked in Brisbane, they had word that Bailey and Gascoyne had already been seized at the small Roma Airport by Roma Police. A police helicopter was still in transit, but almost there, and a trio of police vans which would bring the suspects back to Brisbane were still a couple of hours out.

Ralph put his expense account into play again and the four checked in at a motel, showered, breakfasted and had a leisurely walk along the river. It was all too civilised. They had coffees at a riverside café and, for lunch, they met the federal agents with whom they would return to Melbourne.

It was at lunch that Arrington called and reported the arrest of Meredith for attempted murder. He'd also heard from a workmate of hers—Larry Black—that she may have been an accomplice or, more probably, an instigator of the plot against Mindy Bowles.

Sometime after lunch, Bailey and Gascoyne were briefly interrogated at police headquarters in Brisbane. Ralph was in the unusual position of informing his commanding officer of the charges against him. One of the feds also advised him that numerous sedition charges were also pending and that, with the international contacts gained from the hard drives, overseas authorities had been informed of the coordinated plot to subvert elected governments.

On the afternoon flight back, Burton's phone rang. It was Maddy asking about the search for Bailey. Burton smiled. "Miss Quinn, I don't know if you realise, but I don't do media. I'll put you through to my media manager." He tapped a half snoozing Rolf on the shoulder. "It's for you Ro... Maddy Quinn... wants a press statement for her column." He then dropped his head and pretended to doze off.

Rolf blinked as he grasped the phone, looking a bit panicky. Then a roguish grin spread across his face. "What'll I say?" He moved the phone near to the detective inspector's mouth.

"Tell her the suspects have been arrested. When they're expected in Melbourne. Talk about cooperation between the states and feds. Use the word 'alleged' a lot when you refer to the charges... and don't mention me."

Rolf grinned, "Did you get all that?" he asked Maddy. Burton was not amused shaking his head slowly with mild disapproval. And then Rolf answered questions exactly as his boss recommended—except for the exclusion of his name.

"That's right... Inspector Burton deduced that both suspects had alternative means to evade capture. His decision to monitor private aircraft paid off and the... alleged leaders of a political coup are in custody... thanks to Inspector Adrian Burton."

Burton rolled his eyes.

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer?

Thanks!

Anthony van

About the author:

What does a retired teacher do? Especially a teacher with a hyperactive imagination and ingrained work habits. Well this one writes. And being a Christian, each novel I have written necessarily is pieced together from a Christian perspective.

I have a broad range of interests which include science and technology, mathematics, travel, sports and the interrelationship of people. Much of what intrigues me about people is that some pursue truth with the determination of a bloodhound while others almost ignore existential ideas and while away their short time spent on earth being distracted by pleasures or possessions or power.

Other titles by Anthony Van

The Only Thing That Counts

Dying to Live

What Is the Lie

More Precious

The Profit Prophet

Impossible to Please

  1. Ephesians 6:10-18 (NIV)

